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Doppio couldn't decide if he had the best or the worst luck in the world. Why was the most intimidating, big and sexy trainer the only one that worked the shift Doppio would go to the gym?
The downside: It hadn't been long since Doppio enrolled at the gym to try to put on some muscle. It was a tragedy to see him try to lift the lighter weights in some of the exercises of his workout routine. Not even his mother had seen him make the grotesque faces he made every time he had to stay in a plank for thirty seconds.
Red-faced as if he had been boiled, Doppio would suddenly hear:
“You need help” A statement, not a question.
And as if it was nothing, Risotto would lift the weight off him; or place a hand on the small of his back to straighten his posture. That was the upside. He could see that trainer every night.
He didn't know if it was that Risotto preferred the night shift because there were fewer people, or because since he was the only gym staff present he had more freedom to do what he wanted, but Doppio wasn't one to complain. Sometimes, he was blessed by the wonderful sight of the trainer working out just a few meters away from him. Doppio’s favorite exercise—to see, not do—was the elbow extension with a dumbbell. Risotto could easily lift a forty-pound weight above his head, bringing it back to touch his shoulder blade by flexing his elbow. On many of those occasions, his hairy armpits were exposed. Risotto would wear shirts, which were barely more than a pair of suspenders that flared out to cover his torso, but left the well sculpted serratus muscles on the sides of his ribs exposed for all to see— Doppio was now an expert in all the muscles of the body, and he could certainly say that Risotto had worked every one of them. With just the slightest movement, the shirt straps would slip away, revealing the rings that pierced his dark nipples.
How was Doppio supposed to focus if all he could perceive was the intoxicating aroma of Risotto’s sweat from his bench? How could he finish his routine if all he was thinking about was how good Risotto would look fucking and drenched in sweat?
“Doppio, right?” Risotto said to Doppio the first time they spoke, snapping Doppio out of his fantasies.
“Y-Yes. Hello!” Doppio answered, startled as he continued with the repetitions of that set.
"You're lifting your shoulder a lot. You shouldn’t exceed the natural line drawn by your arm.” Risotto invited him to repeat the movement, and used his finger to stop Doppio's bicep and delineate the height that this exercise should reach.
"Th-th-th-thank you." Doppio managed—and then scolded himself. A sentence without a stutter would be great.
The instructor nodded.
“I see progress. Keep it up," he said before leaving with the almost imperceptible hint of a smile.
Doppio completely forgot what he was doing when the trainer turned around. The only thing he cared about was the broadness of his back, his narrow waist, the tightness of his ass, which Doppio could only imagine squeezing with both hands, so he could hear that huge man squeak.
Sometimes, Doppio would feel bad for objectifying Risotto like that. Despite the trainer’s seriousness, he would always be patient with him. If they were alone in the gym, he would play whatever music Doppio wanted on the speakers; and when it was time to go, he would walk a few blocks with him, until they went their separate ways. Risotto would say “See you soon,” before pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt and jogging away. In those few blocks, Doppio learned Risotto had been working as a trainer for a few years already; also that he lived about twenty minutes away from his work, and that he played the guitar in his spare time.
Yes, of course Risotto was much more than the fantasy Doppio would furiously jerk off to… but he looked so good drinking water carelessly: his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, a bit of liquid trickling from the corners of his lips and drenching his chest. Doppio was just a man of flesh and blood, and he was sure that he had never met a person who aroused such basic instincts in him, not the way Risotto did without even meaning to.
Sometimes Doppio was on the stationary bike and in the mirror in front of it, he could see Risotto's reflection punching and kicking the punching bag at the back of the gym. He moved quickly for such a massive man. He’d keep his fists in a defensive position and, like lightning, would raise his leg until his foot was over his own head for a kick, making the chain from which the bag hung struggle to hold it. Oh no, not only is he incredibly tough, but he's also very flexible, Doppio would think, losing the rhythm of his legs as the bicycle chain threatened to break his knees if he didn't keep pedaling.
But that was all there was between them… Nothing more than a cordial coach-and-the-guy- who-gets-stuck-under-the-weights relationship. Until Doppio's blessed injury occurred.
He didn't know how it happened, but at the end of leg day, Doppio's thigh refused to cooperate any more and went as stiff as a board with the final hip extension. Luckily, he was already finished, so he limped back to the locker room. Risotto was stretching after beating the hell out of the punching bag and noticed Doppio struggling to support his weight on one of his feet.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think I made a bad move.”
“Hmm, come here, let me see.”
Doppio obeyed and plopped down on the mat where Risotto was.
"Are you sure you stretched before you started?"
"Y-yes.I think so…”
“Wait, I'll be right back.”
The trainer went and came back with a bottle of oil; and without asking, he knelt next to Doppio and gestured for him to lie on his stomach.
"I took therapeutic massage classes," Risotto said, pouring the lotion into his palm.
The oil felt icy on contact but as Risotto rubbed it in, heat began to build over his muscle. Doppio could feel Risotto's fingers slipping under the edge of his shorts, too close to his right cheek. Doppio felt himself sweating more than he would sweat during a squat and jump set, and with horror he felt the discomfort of a sudden erection against the mat.
"Better?" Risotto asked.
Doppio nodded.
I'd feel better if you sucked me off was the intrusive thought that echoed in Doppio’s head, and he clenched his fists to try to control the involuntary reaction of his body; but it was difficult with Risotto's hand still rubbing up and down his thigh, while more of the scent of the sweat under his armpits was released with each movement.
"Okay, turn around. We're going to flex your deltoid a little bit.”
"Eeeeh... I..." Doppio hesitated, but the trainer, accustomed to correcting the postures of his clients, only turned him over on the mat.
Risotto's eyes immediately fell on the huge bulge trapped in Doppio's shorts, who thought that this was the end of everything. He would have to change gyms, move to another city, and adopt a new identity. Now Risotto would know the truth. He would know that all this time he had been a pervert, who had had the idea to steal one of his shirts; that would drool seeing his pecs bounce when he jumped rope... He waited for the coach to move away in disgust, but Risotto remained there, with his hand suspended, still very close to Doppio’s cock wrapped inside the boxers that could no longer contain it.
"I'm so sorry!" Doppio finally reacted, sitting up suddenly and taking his hand to his crotch, "I’m sorry, so sorry," he lowered his head, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes.
After a moment of absolute silence, the trainer finally opened his mouth.
"Let's go to the locker room," his voice didn't sound like a suggestion, but it wasn't tinged with the same authority he would use to make Doppio hold on for another ten seconds in a plank. No, it was a timid invitation. “There aren’t any cameras there…”
Doppio allowed himself to look up as the coach stood up to walk towards the locker room. After a few steps, Risotto turned around to check if Doppio was following him. Doppio blinked in disbelief for a moment and ran after him like it was nothing, without noticing that his cramp was gone thanks to the coach’s magic touch.
Walking into the locker room, Doppio found Risotto sitting on a bench, touching himself with restless hands over his shorts; then getting his fingers underneath the cloth, caressing what wasn’t visible yet. Doppio stopped in front of him, and even though Risotto was sitting, he was still too tall to be level with Doppio's hard-on. Before Doppio could say a word, Risotto was already getting on his knees, but Doppio stopped him.
He needed a moment to make sure this wasn't just another wet dream. Doppio bit the inside of his cheek to confirm it, and after feeling the small discomfort, he finally allowed himself to grin.
"Undress first," Doppio commanded.
Eyes up, Risotto began by raising his arms, showing off his triceps in all their glory, as he began to remove his shirt.
"Stay like that for a moment," Doppio said and tilted his head, biting his lips.
Risotto remained with his hands linked behind his neck, so that Doppio could watch the beads of sweat run down from his armpit hairs to his ribs. Doppio brought his face closer to the source of his fantasies; to the smell that would remain attached to his brain even hours after returning home. He breathed in, long and deep, almost burying his nose in the thickness of that armpit.
"You stink so good," Doppio hissed with a drunken smile.
Unable to take it anymore, Doppio reached out with both hands to squeeze his trainer's pecs, swollen from that night's training, and Risotto flinched, swallowing a groan. No doubt Doppio’s strength had increased in those weeks of intense exercise under his tutelage. Risotto hadn't finished assimilating the surprise of the squeeze, when Doppio brought his tongue closer, so he could taste the salt on Risotto’s skin, then slid it all the way to one of the rings that pierced the trainer’s nipples. Doppio tugged at the piercing with his teeth, still squeezing the other pec, until the trainer had no choice but to let out his voice in a sweet whimper.
"You like this, huh? Tell me, don't be shy.”
Still obeying the order not to lower his arms, Risotto nodded with teary eyes.
"Take off your shorts. I want to see you how much you like it”
Risotto got up from the bench and let his shorts fall to his feet. Doppio felt on the verge of madness to discover that underneath, Risotto had been wearing a jockstrap all this time. How could he not have imagined him that way? Well, it was no longer necessary to do so. Risotto was in front of him with his dick and balls in a single tight package. The elastic straps biting his ass, making them appear even firmer and harder. Doppio's hands weren't big enough to grasp all of that musculature, but he didn't let that stop him from digging his nails into them, parting those ass cheeks to expose Risotto's twitching asshole.
Doppio fiddled with the straps cinched on either side of his trainer's hips for a while. With his thumbs, he tugged at the elastics and released them, snapping it against Risotto’s skin making him whimper once more.
"Do it again," Risotto asked timidly.
“Whatever you ask for,” Doppio smiled, and again reddened Risotto's cheeks with a snap of the straps. “What else do you want me to do with you?”
As usual, Risotto didn't say a word, but let his actions speak for him. Still looking Doppio straight in the eye, he knelt in front of him. He slid his oiled-up fingers up Doppio's legs; his calves, his thighs, the fly that separated him from the prize. The boy's impressive cock jumped by itself from under the shorts that couldn't contain it anymore. Risotto contemplated, half intimidated and half excited, what he was holding with both hands, before collecting the pre-cum that dripped from the tip with his tongue.
Doppio ran a hand through Risotto’s damp hair as the trainer filled his mouth with that cock and increased the pace of his blowjob, gagging on purpose. A few strands of hair had stuck to his forehead, so Doppio brushed them out of the way, tangling his fingers to pull the trainer’s head back a bit. That way, he wouldn't let Risotto’s tear-filled eyes stray from his. Doppio brought his ankle to Risotto's crotch and applied enough pressure to watch him shudder with his mouth full.
Although Doppio felt like he was about to reach a state of enlightenment, he wondered if Risotto didn't want to do something else. But the trainer seemed very comfortable sucking him off like his life depended on it. With one hand he was holding Doppio’s cock, while with the other he was stroking himself over the jockstrap, where a wet spot could be seen spreading more and more.
At some point, when Doppio was lost in his own pleasure, he felt Risotto gagging particularly hard. Doppio stepped back to check if he was okay.
"Hey, hey, breathe," he told Risotto softly, as he held his chin and wiped a bit of spit from the corner of his mouth. Risotto was just so pretty. His wet lashes looked as if they had been drawn with fresh ink. “If you wanted this so much, why didn't you just ask for it?” Doppio asked, suddenly feeling hypocritical.
But Risotto didn’t disagree.
"I didn't want you to think badly of me," he replied as he jerked both of them off, "I didn't want you to think that I only wanted this from you..." Risotto said in such a tender, vulnerable, docile voice.
Doppio's heart stopped an instant and then began to beat wildly. He felt paralyzed with guilt again. This intimidating guy was actually very sweet. He already knew that from the way he always would say goodbye to him with a smile, or offered him one of the energy drinks they had in the gym vending machine. Doppio almost felt unworthy of fucking his mouth; but Risotto wasn’t feeling the same way. The trainer kept sucking Doppio off with an increasing urge, as the release he was trying so hard to delay, became imminent.
"You're very good at this..." Doppio commented, his voice cracking from the thrust of his hips.
"Mmmm~" was all Risotto could articulate.
Feeling Doppio pulsing into his throat, Risotto's body didn't know what to do but to come like he never had in his life. The jockstrap was a mess and couldn't stop the flow of semen down between his thighs. His own orgasm didn't seem to interrupt his plan of pleasuring Doppio, even though his shaky knees couldn't seem to support his own weight anymore. Doppio noticed this and asked him to sit on the bench again, to which the coach didn’t object.
Doppio was unable to ignore Risotto's lips, swollen and red from being used so much. Drawn by an invisible but powerful force, he leaned in to kiss him. Risotto's face turned red; his eyes widened more than usual, but then closed them as he sank deeper into the kiss with a joyous smile.
"Did that feel good?"
"Yes," Risotto agreed, looking down, embarrassed. "But you haven't finished," he replied, a little disappointed in himself.
“Don't worry. I have an idea…”
Doppio's hands squeezed Risotto's pecs again, this time with the intention of bringing them together and sticking his cock between them.
"Will you let me fuck your tits?"
"Yes, please," Risotto answered with a tremor in his voice.
The sweat made it easy for Doppio to slide his cock between the muscles of his chest, and Doppio was big enough for Risotto's tongue to continue savoring the pre-cum that would ooze in abundance. The vision that Risotto offered was divine, and Doppio was on the edge of it. With one last thrust of his hips, the boy bathed Risotto's face with his hot cum, and the trainer received it with an ecstatic expression.
Risotto scooped up Doppio's spunk with his fingers to play with it in his mouth before swallowing it all.
"My God," Doppio gasped, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Risotto smiled wide and beautifully, proud of himself.
┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈
After helping the trainer to lower all the metal grates over the windows of the gym, Doppio turned to look at him. Risotto was shier than usual. Doppio walked up to him, nudged him with his shoulder, and gave him a charming smile.
"It was fantastic," he said before Risotto had to think of what to say.
“Yes…” Risotto murmured, and after a brief silence, he ventured to ask “Um… I'm sorry if it's weird or silly but…” his gaze evaded Doppio's “Can I… kiss you?”
Doppio blinked slowly in astonishment, but without having to think much, he stood on tiptoes and joined his lips with Risotto's.
It wasn't in the dressing room. No, it was at the moment Risotto took him by the waist to pull him closer that Doppio was finally able to define his type of luck: the best.