Homecoming

Chapter 29: Warmups

Ishan never understood gym rats - he got in, did his routine, and got out - people who flexed their muscles, obsessed over every cut and every calorie freaked him out. More than the influencers with a camera, people who talked about gym 24/7 were worthy of a tape over their mouths, Ishan thought. They were vain, they were...

"Complain however much you want in your mind, with your mouth - we are doing this."

Ishan scowled - it had been a few days since his plasters were removed, and he could now move a bit more freely. His wounds were healing rapidly, his latest MRI had remained unchanged, and it was now time for his body to regain his mobility and muscles. Shubman had (a little too enthusiastically) volunteered to take over his basic mobility exercises, and was now dragging him to his home gym; hence, the scowl.

Honestly, Ishan was looking forward to beginning his fitness routine, but spending time with Shubman was fast becoming an inconvenience. Shubman was trying his hardest to crumble the walls Ishan had built around him - he cooked whatever Ishan liked, took care of him, held him, wiped his tears, and, on one embarrassing occasion, even put him to sleep. All this, with a smile on his face, as if he wanted nothing more than tending to Ishan of all the exciting adventures in the world. It was frustrating for Ishan, and more often than not, he wanted to lash out at Shubman, cut him deeply, but even the thought of Shubman crying made Ishan want to crash land with another plane.

So yes, Ishan was vexed, and it did not help when Shubman piled on the care - like today, for example. He was carrying Ishan's bag, and even opened the car door for him like the chivalrous gentleman he was.

When they reached Shubman's house, Ishan was hit with a sense of deja vu - he remembered a time when they could not keep their hands to each other in this very house - all of it seemed like a faraway dream now. Ishan closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for the pain of memories to hit him, but was surprised when only a trickle was felt. Annoyed, he opened his eyes, but wished he hadn't - because Shubman had changed into his gym clothes.

Specifically, a compression tee and shorts that showed off his toned body.

Ishan felt like the air in the room had been sucked out. A normal Shubman was too much for Ishan's senses; a toned, tight-tee Shubman was bound to give Ishan arrhythmia on sight. Ishan could feel his palms getting sweaty, his mouth dry, and his breathing labored, but he was determined not to give Shubman the satisfaction of watching him squirm. He stood still, waiting for Shubman to make the first move.

Shubman moved around the room, testing the weights, sorting his equipment, but his steps had a swagger, as if he knew the effect he was having on Ishan. There was a perpetual smirk on his face, as if he could smell Ishan's arousal from where he stood. Ishan wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, preferably with his fist.

He settled for talking.

"So are we going to exercise or are we waiting for the GQ photographers?"

Shubman's dimples deepened at that. Blinking slowly, he walked toward Ishan, but made no movement to slow down. Ishan watched Shubman come close, then closer, and closer. Sensing he was not going to stop, he matched Shubman's steps backward, until his back hit a wall.

Shubman still made no move to back down. Instead, he caught the neck of his tee, and yanked it off in one jerk. Ishan gulped and strained to not let his eyes wander down, where he knew toned, mouthwatering abs awaited him. Unfortunately, the only option left for Ishan was to look up, where two black orbs were waiting to drown him.

Shubman was the one half-naked, but if his hooded eyes were anything to go by, Ishan was the one in danger of getting devoured. Shubman was close, too close, with his body radiating too much heat, and his breath coming in short spurts, as if being close to Ishan was wreaking havoc on his senses too. Ishan felt like he needed to do something, anything, otherwise he would do something dangerously impulsive, like lick a strip across Shubman's abs, or bend him over the barbell and fuck him until he begged.

After a few moments, Shubman bent down a little (too close, Ishan thought a little frantically), and whispered,

"Raise your hands for a wall slide, baby."

Ishan was finding it difficult to remember his own name at the moment, but he jogged his memory for a 'wall slide' and slowly raised his arms.

"Very good. Up? Good, now hold it."

Ishan took a deep breath to get rid of the fog dissipated in his mind, but all it did was give him a lungful of Shubi, which meant his head was swimming in citrus, fresh laundry, and a scent that can only be described as 'unique Shubi'.

He slowly pushed himself downward, taking care to not move his arms, and Shubi moved in tandem. His pelvis brushed against Ishan's stomach, which swooped like a 12 year-old girl with a crush.

Get a grip, he told his libido.

You get a grip, preferably on that sinful waist, his libido supplied, unhelpfully.

They continued this dance, with Ishan becoming more delirious by the moment. Their breaths mingled, and Shubman's choked out '9, 10, 11' became more and more whispered hushes. Shubman's pupils were dilated, and his grip on the wall threatened to leave claw marks.

Suddenly, Shubman snaked a hand through Ishan's waist and pulled him flush against himself.

"You alright?"

Ishan feared that he would burst into flames if he stayed close to Shubman for a moment more, so he hurriedly disentangled himself and shot an annoyed look at Shubman.

"Shut up, your sweat is all over me!"

He started wiping himself with a washcloth when Shubman's voice reverberated in the silent room.

"Ishan."

"Hmm?"

"Tshirt hatake paseena chaatega?"

Shubman couldn't even be upset when a cloth was hurled at his head.