Love Trainer [VegasPete Edition]

Week Two

Pete knew that he had let his ego get the best of him as soon as his eyesight got a little blurry. He also felt it in the trembling of his triceps as he powered up his arms with heavy weight. Pete had run a few more miles the night before trying to look extra sweaty in his picture, but he barely got any sleep or hydration to fully recover.

"Steady," Vegas came behind him. He aided his client in completing another lateral raise.

Pete was annoyed at how the bastard smelled so clean and how his body emanated such an incredible heat. He focused on posture as he watched through the mirror, convinced that the trainer had a serious beef with shirt sleeves. This was the only logical reason as to why Vegas cut off all the sleeves from all his gym clothes. Pete refused to acknowledge he could see the trainer's nipple every time he lifted his arm.

"Flex your core," Vegas patted Pete's sides as he directed and it sounded like a cord snapping. Suddenly Pete's arm couldn't hold the weights.

His torso leaned forward, taken down by the pull from the dumbbells he eventually dropped. Vegas barely had a chance to wrap an arm around him, successfully keep him from completely falling over.

Their bodies clashed, and Pete got a chance to feel that marble body for himself. It felt like a heated stone pressed against his back. Pete wondered how it was possible to be so warm considering half his shirt was missing, and why he wouldn't let go.

"You okay?" Vegas asked, releasing his confused client and stepping back.

"I think I need to sit down." Pete flopped down onto a nearby bench. His heart was running a marathon and his head was spinning. Wait, what was I doing?

"Hey, look at me," demanded the adonis. His monolid eyes assessed Pete's face meticulously. Pete's blurry eyes blinked hoping to find focus, it was a damn shame he couldn't have a better look at the face that was just a few meters away. "I'm getting you electrolytes, don't stand up until I get back."

Once alone, Pete allowed himself to remember the clash of his back against his trainer's chest. The way his hands had touched his sides, the incredible force of that forearm squeezing around him.

Damn. How could someone be so hot and enraging at the same time?

The trainer was back in no time, ripping open a bottle of some red drink. He kneeled again and placed the drink in Pete's hand.

"Drink," he demanded.

Pete would have rebelled if he didn't feel so dizzy. Instead he followed his command, and tried to hide how much his legs were shaking.

"We should take it slower the rest of the week. You need more rest." Vegas patted Pete's knee. "What time is your last meal of the day?"

Pete's mind was so foggy he was having a hard time even remembering the answer to such a simple question.

"It depends, usually around 8. It's been a busy week with lots of deadlines and I am having trouble picking what to eat recently. No carbs, more protein—"

"You need some carbs," Vegas intercepted.

Pete was back to being annoyed even in his fog. "You said to cut carbs!"

"Exactly, not eliminate them completely. You need some carbs, especially if you are doing more cardio."

Pete tried to get up, hoping to get away from the attractive titan with dietary restrictions. It was a bad idea, Pete tumbled back down, pressing his thumb and index finger to the pressure on his temples.

"Woah, take it easy, Pete."

"Take it easy? You're the one putting me through the ringer here, guy." Pete wasn't expecting to be so honest, but he felt too shitty to give a damn.

"Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" Vegas' question was interesting, because in the heat of the moment it felt like there was a strange connotation to it.

Pete stared at the trainer, giving his mind a second to come back from some seriously dirty ideas about the kind of ringer he would prefer to be put through. Instead, he hung his head in shame.

"Forget it," Pete succumbed.

"Okay, I'll ease up, but you need to buy more protein bars and drink more fluids. Also have healthy carbs, not alcohol." Vegas stood, placing his hands on his hips like some super hero.

"I could definitely use a drink," Pete professed.

"You are allowed one, but that's it. Don't undo all the work you've already put in."

Pete looked up at the hot guy with the zero clue and wondered how he got so unlucky. The perfect looks draped over such an insufferable being.

However, the trainer waited patiently for Pete to gather most of his bearings. True to his word he kept it slow the rest of the workout.

The problem was Vegas stayed extra vigilant, staying close as he aided his client. His hand was always there to catch Pete's arm and his eyes vigorously scanning his client's body for signs of distress.

Pete left the gym with an accelerated heart-beat and a chubby he could barely keep hidden.

The kicker came around 9:30 PM as he slaughtered his friends on his video game. A text message appeared on his phone.

"How are you feeling?"

WTF! Pete stood from his gaming chair, Overwatch match be damned.

It was an opportunity, all Pete needed was the perfect picture to respond.

So he undid the first two buttons of his pajamas and adjusted his hair and his headset. Pete smiled for the camera, making sure to show off his dimples as he gave a thumbs up. It took two tries to get the right angle.

"All better now," Pete replied.

The thumbs up came automatically. Pete slumped, his lip sticking out in his disappointment.

"Good. Make sure to get a lot of rest." Vegas replied.

Pete gave the message a heart. It wasn't anything special, but it was better than nothing. It wasn't like Pete had the crazy notion to think he could actually catch his trainer.

That's why the next message made the least amount of sense.

"What are you playing?" Vegas asked.