Survivor | Frank Castle

.19.

With a bandage still covering his nearly healed wound, Frank has made a makeshift pullup bar in the garage, even going as far to tie a chain with a cinderblock around his waist to add some weight.

The muted sounds of the city beyond the garage walls serve as a distant backdrop to the rhythmic creaking of the makeshift pull-up bar. Frank, his movements methodical and precise, pulls his body upward with a controlled strength that borders on the relentless. The chain around his waist clinks against the garage floor, adding a layer of challenge to the workout.

Mary watches, her gaze transfixed on the spectacle of raw power and disciplined control. Her eyes trace the lines of Frank's sculpted muscles, his biceps flexing with each ascent. The play of light and shadow on his back accentuates the scars etched into his skin, a testament to the battles fought and survived.

She can't deny the allure of the scene unfolding before her—the sweat that glistens on his skin, the tension in his muscles, the way his body moves with a fluidity that defies the harsh realities of their world.

Mary's fingers unconsciously trace the edge of her jacket as she leans against the wall, her eyes never leaving Frank's form.

Frank lowers himself, the chain around his waist clinking against the floor. He pauses for a moment, catching his breath. The intensity in his gaze, a fusion of concentration and focus, remains unyielding. Mary, feeling the weight of his gaze even before he turns to face her, meets his eyes.

"You gonna watch, or you gonna join in?" Frank's voice, gruff and laced with a hint of challenge, breaks the silence.

His eyes, a mirror to the intensity of his workout, hold a challenge that goes beyond the physical. Mary straightens, a flicker of defiance in her gaze, "You offering a lesson, Frankie?"

A smirk plays on Frank's lips, a response to the challenge laid before him. He unties the chain from around his waist, letting it fall with a metallic clatter.

" Nah. Just thought you might want to break a sweat," Frank replies, his tone a low rumble that resonates in the confined space.

Mary, unbuttoning her jacket with deliberate slowness, meets Frank's gaze with a challenge of her own. The jacket slides off Mary's shoulders, revealing the sinewy strength beneath. Her muscles flex subtly as she approaches the makeshift pull-up bar. Frank watches with an intensity that borders on hunger, the unspoken tension between them palpable in the charged air.

She steps up to the bar, her movements a deliberate echo of Frank's earlier precision. Her fingers wrap around the cold metal, and she pulls herself upward. The rhythm of her pull-ups syncs with the cadence established by Frank, creating a silent symphony of exertion.

His eyes remain locked on Mary, a gaze that penetrates beyond the physical to the complexities hidden beneath the surface. Mary's muscles ripple with controlled strength, a display of power that resonates with a different kind of intensity. Frank, despite the gruff exterior, watches with a hunger that transcends the physical.

"Didn't think you'd take me up on it," Frank remarks, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the rhythmic sounds of their workout.

Mary, her breath steady despite the exertion, smirks, "You offering to spot me?"

Frank steps closer, the proximity between them charged with a magnetic force. The garage seems to shrink as they navigate the unspoken boundaries, a dance of tension and desire.

"Wouldn't want you falling," He replies, his voice a whisper that ignites a spark in the confined space.

Mary's eyes meet Frank's, a challenge and invitation woven into the gaze. The pull-ups, initially a physical exercise, evolve into a manifestation of the unspoken connection between them. Each repetition becomes a testament to the complexities etched into the fabric of their shared existence.