Chapter 4 - Session 3, I Spy & Synchronicity
When Callum walked in, Julian was already on the mat, standing by the set of adjustable dumbbells.
This time he was wearing black compression shorts and a white sleeveless compression vest that showed off the sheer scale of his frame.
Callum, despite his resolve to be professional, felt his throat immediately go dry.
He himself had opted for a pair of very short navy lifting shorts and a tight white tank top.
Both of them were in the least possible amount of fabric together, so far. This could be a real challenge.
Neither of them mentioned the lobby. Neither of them mentioned the leather harness. But as their eyes met, the memory of it sat between them like an unexploded bomb.
“Before we start,” Callum said, his voice a little rougher than usual. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. “My personal number. Your assistant Kerry has it and she’s great, but if things change last minute, you can just message me directly.”
Julian took the paper, his fingers brushing Callum’s for a fraction of a second.
He stared at the handwritten digits as if they were a secret code to a vault.
“Thank you,” he said softly, putting the paper on the nearby chair.
He said, “I’ll put you in my phone,” knowing full well the number was already there.
The workout that followed was a masterclass in psychological torture.
“Deadlifts,” Callum commanded. “High volume. I want you focused on the eccentric movement and the recovery, really slow on the way down; that’s where the real gains are.”
Julian obeyed, his body slick with sweat in ten minutes.
The compression gear left nothing to the imagination; every time Julian hinged at the hips, the fabric strained over his glutes and thighs, the bright office lighting showcasing the unmistakable bulge that he seemingly wasn't even trying to hide anymore.
Was he now getting comfortable with Callum?
He himself wasn't doing much better. The heat in the room was stifling. He stayed close, too close, pacing around Julian like a predator. He could smell the salt of sweat and the underlying cologne, a scent that now felt synonymous with his own desire.
They moved through the routine Callum had created, which focused on specific sets of muscle groups.
Julian was working with a barbell, doing barbell bent-over rows. His firm ass was high in the air and looked tempting, encased in the tight Lycra shorts. Callum decided to test some limits.
“Right, stop, please, I need to show you where you should be feeling this move.” He decided to be bold.
Julian lowered the bar and stood back up, waiting for him, a quizzical look on his face. Callum moved to his side, and, looking him straight in the eye, asked, “Is it okay if I touch you?” He thought it only polite to ask permission.
“Err, yes,” stumbled Julian in response, seemingly rather apprehensive.
“Put your hands on your temples, please - so your arms are at extension.”
Julian complied. This was a typical bodybuilder pose and stretched the underarm and lower-shoulder muscle group.
Callum stood at a ninety-degree angle from Julian, put his own arm out straight and reached under Julian’s left armpit, in indicating his latissimus dorsi muscle, which connects the biceps and obliques of the abdomen.
He explained, “This is your latissimus dorsi muscle.” He laid his hand across the muscle, which was dripping with sweat and hot as hell from body heat. He continued, “This is the key target area for the barbell bent-over row.”
Julian’s body spasmed at his touch, and he gulped so hard that Callum heard it clearly in the silence of the deserted office. He checked his face. It was red. “OK?” Callum asked in an affirmatory tone. Julian just nodded quickly without saying a word, eyes fixed forward, avoiding his.
Callum decided to ramp things up. “This is the muscle we are trying to focus on here, if we are doing this set and you aren’t feeling the strain, right here,” and he pressed hard into the flesh and solid muscle with his hand, “then you are simply not doing it right.”
Callum then pivoted ninety degrees, to standing directly in front of Julian, very close, too close, his hot breath now on Julian’s face.
Those green eyes never looked sexier, Callum thought, even though they were still avoiding eye contact.
Callum slowly raised his other hand and placed it on the other armpit muscle.
Callum and Julian were now the closest they’d ever been, both connected, skin on skin. They were almost hugging. Groins and faces temptingly just inches apart.
Julian gulped again, very red in the face.
Flushed and self-conscious of his growing erection, Callum asked, “Can you feel it?”
Silence. Eyes fixed forward, daring not to find Callum.
He repeated. “Julian, tell me, can you feel it?”
“Yes, sorry, yes, I feel it,” Julian blurted out, but looked very uncomfortable.
Callum immediately took his hands away, regretting his test, hoping he hadn’t made things awkward between them. “Now, let’s try that again.”
Callum was aroused. The physical contact had sent a rush of blood straight to his dick, which was now straining awkwardly against his shorts. He gave Julian’s groin a discreet glance and could see his bulge was also now more obvious.
“Back to work, come on,” he spurred their session on, “seated knee tucks, three sets of twelve reps.” This was a floor exercise and would give them both time to calm down.
“You're shaking, Julian,” Callum murmured, standing directly behind him as Julian held a weighted plank, 20 kilograms of weight on his back.
“I'm... at… my… limit,” Julian grunted, arms trembling, face flushed a deep, dark red.
“Not yet,” Callum whispered, leaning down so his breath fanned over Julian’s ear. “Three more inches down. C’mon, you can do it… Hold it.”
Julian let out a choked sound, halfway between a moan and a growl.
He was vibrating, his entire body rigid.
His self-control and endurance were beyond anything Callum had ever witnessed.
Callum looked at the back of Julian’s neck, seeing the pulse thrumming there, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out and grabbing those broad shoulders.
The tension was off the scale. Every time Callum reached out to adjust a limb, his hand would impulsively hover for a heartbeat too long. A dangerous game was being played out here, waiting to see who would break the client-trainer barrier first.
The attraction was obvious, yet neither acknowledged it. The barrier held strong.
The alarm on Callum’s phone crashed into their reverie. “Time,” Callum barked, stepping forward and lifting the weight from Julian’s back.
Julian collapsed onto the mat, his entire body heaving, his eyes squeezed shut.
He stayed there for a long time, trying to catch his breath, his hand instinctively twitching toward his groin before he stopped himself.
Callum knew why, his package was probably quite uncomfortable from being aroused and probably needed adjusting. But in Lycra, nowhere to hide!
“Good session,” Callum said, his voice tight. He returned the weight to the rack, then returned, throwing his equipment into his bag with unnecessary force. He couldn't look at Julian. If he looked at him now, while he was flushed and vulnerable on the floor, he was going to ruin everything.
Julian rolled over and sat up, wiping sweat from his eyes. He looked at Callum; really looked at him with a raw, aching frustration that mirrored Callum’s own.
Once again, the air was heavy with what was unsaid.
“I have a board call at midnight,” Julian said, his voice thick with disappointment. “I have to stay here late.”
“Right. Corporate life,” Callum said, smiling sympathetically as he headed for the lift, his heart feeling like a dead weight in his chest.
For the first time with Julian, he felt somewhat annoyed. He added over his shoulder, “I’ll wait for a message about next week.”
“Callum.”
Callum stopped and turned back. Julian was standing in the middle of the vast office space, looking somehow magnificently pumped and powerful, yet utterly alone.
“Thanks for tonight, that was our best session so far.”
Callum just nodded, choked and unable to find his voice, rooted in place. He wanted to say something, call out, admit his feelings, ask if Julian felt anything for him, but his throat was constricted tight. He couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to.
Julian’s back muscles were engorged from the exercises, and as he headed to his office he exhaled a long, ragged sigh as he peeled the soaked compression vest off over his head, discarding it on one of the nearby leather visitors’ chairs.
The vest slid slowly off the seat, pooling in a pile on the floor beside it.
This shirtless Julian gave Callum a spectacular view of his back, which was a perfect sea of muscle, glowing from their session.
Julian retreated to the sanctuary of his office.
Dare he?
Callum quietly tiptoed forward, dreading Julian’s return, and quickly made it across to the chair where the sweaty shirt lay on the floor. He picked it up. He sniffed it. It smelled of Julian’s scent.
Fuck it. Life is about taking risks he told himself as he stuffed it in his gym bag and scarpered.
With this memento of the session safely stowed in his bag he called the lift. He checked himself out in the mirror, expecting alarms to sound somehow and police to descend upon him.
He didn't feel like he’d just finished a workout; he felt like he’d been in a battle that was left unresolved.
Was this guy playing with him? There seemed to be a real attraction; Callum was sure of that.
But what was holding him back? He wanted Julian to act on his instinct, but Callum vowed not to make the first move.
He was just a trainer; this guy was a CEO, a Titan of Industry.
He had all the power here, but would he ever have the balls to actually wield it?
***
In the downstairs lobby, the elevator doors opened, waited, then closed once again. He couldn't leave, not like this.
The air between them had been too thick, the frustration too sharp to carry all the way back to Brooklyn. He needed to say something, anything, to either break the spell or finish it. Was this guy into him or not? He needed to know.
He jabbed the button for the 50th floor and rode the lift back up, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. When he stepped out, the main office suite was bathed in shadows, the only light coming from the moon outside.
“Julian?” he called out softly. No answer.
He crossed and walked past the chair where he’d taken the shirt, moving toward Julian’s corner office.
He hadn’t seen inside before.. The office was large.
Past the huge desk, a wall panel stood slightly ajar, a sleek, hidden doorway that led to another room.
A sliver of warm, golden light spilled from it onto the carpet.
Callum tiptoed across and looked through the gap.
Then he heard it, a jagged, broken exhale.
A name, groaned with a desperation that made Callum’s blood turn to liquid fire.
“Callum.”
He peered in. He could see the end of a bed and another room with an open doorway leading to what must be a bathroom.
Julian was visible, leaning against something marble, shirtless, shorts pulled down, eyes tightly shut, head tilted back, chest heaving.
One hand was braced against the marble, knuckles white; the other was working his cock with a frantic and rhythmic intensity.
Julian wasn't the CEO in that moment. He wasn't a Titan of industry. He was just a man, horned up, undone and aching, his face contorted in a mask of pure agonised pleasure. He looked equally beautiful and destroyed.
Callum felt ashamed to look. This was an intensely private moment that shouldn’t be witnessed. He stepped back and checked around, but he was alone. He looked again; he somehow couldn’t help himself.
Julian’s cock was huge, curving upward in a graceful arc. Callum estimated it was probably seven inches around the girth at the base, and it was long. It was exceptional and somehow befitting of the man it was attached to.
Callum breathed consciously, quietly. He longed to cross the distance, kneel before him and take it in his warm mouth, and work it until its salty climax.
He wanted to taste his cum. He could step inside, he could reach out, but the sheer intimacy of the moment, the private vulnerability of a man who never showed weakness, instead rooted him to the spot.
Callum wanted to stay and watch, maybe join in from a distance, but he couldn’t risk it.
Shakily, he backed away on slow, silent feet, his trainers making no sound on the plush carpet.
He tiptoed slowly on the marble floor and fled the office, skin crawling and aroused with a heat that was becoming unbearable.
He didn't go back down to the lobby. He hit the button for floor forty-eight.
The executive showers were empty, and he quickly pulled his shorts and briefs down, exposing his erection.
He slumped against the cool glass of the far stall, his breath coming in ragged gasps that mirrored the sounds he’d just heard two floors above.
He closed his eyes and saw Julian, head thrown back, his name on his lips.
On the fiftieth floor above, Julian’s fingers tightened, his back arching as he hit breaking point. A low guttural cry echoed off the marble walls as he finally let go, his release arcing high across the bathroom.
On the forty-eighth floor, at almost the same moment, Callum’s knees buckled. He groaned into the empty room, his own load spurting against the glass, repeatedly hitting him like a physical gut punch, a rush of heat that left him trembling and hollow, legs shaking.
For a long minute, both men stayed exactly where they were, unknowingly separated by two floors of steel and concrete, yet more connected in that moment than they could ever have realised.
The silence that followed was heavy with a new kind of pain.
This wasn't just lust anymore; it was a realisation.
They weren’t connected, yet this was tearing them apart. The distance of the closeness between them, the roles they were both playing.
Callum cleaned himself up with trembling hands, his eyes burning, the hot water washing away any evidence. He felt a strange mixture of feelings. Guilt for watching, triumph for daring, and grief for the man. But what he knew now, beyond any doubt, was that Julian was interested in him.
But he also knew that as long as they were in this building, within his domain, oppressed by the weight of his business empire, they were both just playing roles, fumbling in the dark for answers that remained hidden.