"I'll take that shower," you say.
Karim nods once. "Towels are in the cabinet."
He doesn't move. Doesn't offer to walk you back there. Just stays where he is, wiping his hands on the towel at his waist.
You walk toward the locker room.
Your legs are still unsteady. Partly from the workout. Partly from uneven blood flow. Your cock has softened but there's still an awareness there, a sensitivity. Your skin is flushed, sticky with sweat.
The locker room is quiet when you push through the door.
You strip off the Lion's Den clothes. The muscle shirt first, then the shorts. Stand there naked in front of the lockers for a moment.
Your cock is already responding to the freedom. To being naked. To thinking about what just happened minutes ago. The bench press, Karim's body above you, his cock and balls against your face, the ten reps of contact, his hand on your chest.
You grab a towel from the cabinet and head toward the showers.
White tile. Three shower heads mounted to the wall. No dividers. No curtains. Just open space.
You pick the middle one. Turn the water on.
It's hot. Almost too hot. You adjust it slightly, but not much. The pressure is brutal, pounding against your shoulders, your back, your chest.
It feels good.
You step fully under the spray. Water runs over your skin, washing away the sweat, the heat, the evidence of the workout.
But not the feeling of Karim's hands. Not the memory of his cock brushing your face, the weight of it, the warmth. Not the scent of him when you inhaled. Not the ten reps of his ass grazing your cock, the contact building and building until you were hard and visible and he didn't stop.
Your cock is hardening again.
Inevitable. Unavoidable.
Your hand moves down. Wraps around it. One stroke. Two.
You close your eyes. Let your head fall back into the spray.
The water beats down on you. Hot and relentless.
You think about Karim's thighs bracketing your head. The view up at his body. The way the shorts hung loose and gapped when he moved.
You think about the moment he squatted down to help with the bar. The way everything came into view. The way his cock head brushed your cheek, his balls grazed your jaw.
You think about his ass pressing down on your cock. Ten times. Ten deliberate, unavoidable contacts.
You think about his hand on your chest. "Steady."
You stroke faster.
Your breathing is getting harder, louder. The shower echoes everything, the water, your breath, the slick sound of your hand on your cock.
You're not trying to be quiet. Can't be quiet.
You're close already. Too wound up from everything.
Your free hand slides down. Over your hip. Between your legs. Fingers brush against your hole.
You think about the weight of Karim's cock against your face. The warmth of it. How close it was. How it would feel to have it pressing somewhere else. Pushing inside.
Your finger circles your hole. Presses. The pressure feels good. Needed.
You press harder. Your finger breaches, slides in to the first knuckle. You gasp, the sound echoing off the tile.
Your hand moves faster on your cock. Your finger pushes deeper, crooks inside, searching.
You think about Karim above you. His weight. His control. The way he positioned you, moved you, touched you wherever he wanted.
Your finger finds that spot inside. Presses. Your hips jerk forward, fucking into your fist.
Right there. Right—
Then you feel it.
Awareness.
Being watched.
Your eyes open.
Karim is standing in the doorway to the showers.
Fully dressed. Arms crossed over his bare chest. Just standing there.
Watching.
How long has he been there?
You freeze. Hand still on your cock. Finger still inside you. Still hard. Still close to coming.
You stare at him.
He stares back.
His eyes drop. Take in what you're doing. Your hand on your cock. The angle of your other arm. He knows. He can see exactly what you're doing.
Eye contact. Held.
Three seconds. Five. Ten.
You should pull your finger out. Should stop. Should—
You can't move.
Karim's expression is... not unchanged. There's something there. A tightness around his eyes. His jaw. His arms are crossed but his hands are gripping his own biceps, knuckles slightly pale from the pressure.
His chest is rising and falling. Faster than it should be. Not calm. Not steady.
His eyes are locked on you. On your hand. On the position of your body.
He's watching you finger yourself and he's not unaffected.
The professional mask is there. But it's cracked.
Fifteen seconds. Twenty.
Your finger is still inside you. Your cock is still hard in your hand. The water is still beating down.
Neither of you speaks. Neither of you moves.
Then Karim's tongue darts out. Wets his bottom lip.
The movement is small. Unconscious, maybe.
But you see it.
Then he blinks. The moment breaks.
He turns. Walks away. His footsteps echo in the hallway, then fade.
You hear the door to the gym open. Close.
Gone.
You stand there under the spray. Water still running. Cock still hard in your hand. Finger still inside you. Heart pounding so loud you can hear it over the water.
What the fuck just happened?
You pull your finger out slowly. Your body clenches around the loss.
Should you finish? You can't now. Can you?
But you're so close. Your body is screaming for it. Your cock is leaking, your hole is clenching on nothing, and all you can think about is the way Karim looked at you. The way his chest moved. The way he licked his lips.
You finish.
Your hand moves fast on your cock. Rough. Desperate. Two strokes, three, and you're coming. Hard. Your other hand braces against the tile as your knees nearly buckle. Your come hits the wall, the floor, washes away in the spray.
The release is sharp and overwhelming and leaves you shaking.
You stand there for a moment longer, breathing hard, then rinse off mechanically. Turn off the water. Step out.
The towel is rough against your skin. You dry off quickly, then walk back to the lockers.
Your street clothes are where you left them. You get dressed. Jeans, shirt, shoes. They feel strange after the gym gear. Confining. Wrong.
You gather your belongings. The Lion's Den clothes are still in your hands. You stare at them for a moment, then fold them and tuck them under your arm.
You walk back into the gym.
Karim is at the front desk, writing something on the clipboard.
He doesn't look up when you enter.
You walk toward the door. Stop a few feet away.
"I'm heading out," you say.
Karim looks up.
His eyes meet yours.
There's a beat of silence.
"See you Thursday."
Not a question. A statement.
His voice is calm. Even. But his eyes are darker than before. More intent.
You nod. Don't trust yourself to speak.
He looks back down at the clipboard.
You push through the door. Up the stairs. Out onto the street.
Outside, you stop. Stand there on the sidewalk, breathing hard.
He watched.
He stood there and watched you jerk off in his shower and didn't stop you. Didn't say anything. Didn't leave immediately.
He watched.
And then he said "See you Thursday."
Like it was decided. Like you're coming back.
And maybe you are.
Because he watched, that has to mean something.
You're not sure what. But something.
Thursday is three days away.
The code still works.
You're going back.
Karim nods once. "Towels are in the cabinet."
He doesn't move. Doesn't offer to walk you back there. Just stays where he is, wiping his hands on the towel at his waist.
You walk toward the locker room.
Your legs are still unsteady. Partly from the workout. Partly from uneven blood flow. Your cock has softened but there's still an awareness there, a sensitivity. Your skin is flushed, sticky with sweat.
The locker room is quiet when you push through the door.
You strip off the Lion's Den clothes. The muscle shirt first, then the shorts. Stand there naked in front of the lockers for a moment.
Your cock is already responding to the freedom. To being naked. To thinking about what just happened minutes ago. The bench press, Karim's body above you, his cock and balls against your face, the ten reps of contact, his hand on your chest.
You grab a towel from the cabinet and head toward the showers.
White tile. Three shower heads mounted to the wall. No dividers. No curtains. Just open space.
You pick the middle one. Turn the water on.
It's hot. Almost too hot. You adjust it slightly, but not much. The pressure is brutal, pounding against your shoulders, your back, your chest.
It feels good.
You step fully under the spray. Water runs over your skin, washing away the sweat, the heat, the evidence of the workout.
But not the feeling of Karim's hands. Not the memory of his cock brushing your face, the weight of it, the warmth. Not the scent of him when you inhaled. Not the ten reps of his ass grazing your cock, the contact building and building until you were hard and visible and he didn't stop.
Your cock is hardening again.
Inevitable. Unavoidable.
Your hand moves down. Wraps around it. One stroke. Two.
You close your eyes. Let your head fall back into the spray.
The water beats down on you. Hot and relentless.
You think about Karim's thighs bracketing your head. The view up at his body. The way the shorts hung loose and gapped when he moved.
You think about the moment he squatted down to help with the bar. The way everything came into view. The way his cock head brushed your cheek, his balls grazed your jaw.
You think about his ass pressing down on your cock. Ten times. Ten deliberate, unavoidable contacts.
You think about his hand on your chest. "Steady."
You stroke faster.
Your breathing is getting harder, louder. The shower echoes everything, the water, your breath, the slick sound of your hand on your cock.
You're not trying to be quiet. Can't be quiet.
You're close already. Too wound up from everything.
Your free hand slides down. Over your hip. Between your legs. Fingers brush against your hole.
You think about the weight of Karim's cock against your face. The warmth of it. How close it was. How it would feel to have it pressing somewhere else. Pushing inside.
Your finger circles your hole. Presses. The pressure feels good. Needed.
You press harder. Your finger breaches, slides in to the first knuckle. You gasp, the sound echoing off the tile.
Your hand moves faster on your cock. Your finger pushes deeper, crooks inside, searching.
You think about Karim above you. His weight. His control. The way he positioned you, moved you, touched you wherever he wanted.
Your finger finds that spot inside. Presses. Your hips jerk forward, fucking into your fist.
Right there. Right—
Then you feel it.
Awareness.
Being watched.
Your eyes open.
Karim is standing in the doorway to the showers.
Fully dressed. Arms crossed over his bare chest. Just standing there.
Watching.
How long has he been there?
You freeze. Hand still on your cock. Finger still inside you. Still hard. Still close to coming.
You stare at him.
He stares back.
His eyes drop. Take in what you're doing. Your hand on your cock. The angle of your other arm. He knows. He can see exactly what you're doing.
Eye contact. Held.
Three seconds. Five. Ten.
You should pull your finger out. Should stop. Should—
You can't move.
Karim's expression is... not unchanged. There's something there. A tightness around his eyes. His jaw. His arms are crossed but his hands are gripping his own biceps, knuckles slightly pale from the pressure.
His chest is rising and falling. Faster than it should be. Not calm. Not steady.
His eyes are locked on you. On your hand. On the position of your body.
He's watching you finger yourself and he's not unaffected.
The professional mask is there. But it's cracked.
Fifteen seconds. Twenty.
Your finger is still inside you. Your cock is still hard in your hand. The water is still beating down.
Neither of you speaks. Neither of you moves.
Then Karim's tongue darts out. Wets his bottom lip.
The movement is small. Unconscious, maybe.
But you see it.
Then he blinks. The moment breaks.
He turns. Walks away. His footsteps echo in the hallway, then fade.
You hear the door to the gym open. Close.
Gone.
You stand there under the spray. Water still running. Cock still hard in your hand. Finger still inside you. Heart pounding so loud you can hear it over the water.
What the fuck just happened?
You pull your finger out slowly. Your body clenches around the loss.
Should you finish? You can't now. Can you?
But you're so close. Your body is screaming for it. Your cock is leaking, your hole is clenching on nothing, and all you can think about is the way Karim looked at you. The way his chest moved. The way he licked his lips.
You finish.
Your hand moves fast on your cock. Rough. Desperate. Two strokes, three, and you're coming. Hard. Your other hand braces against the tile as your knees nearly buckle. Your come hits the wall, the floor, washes away in the spray.
The release is sharp and overwhelming and leaves you shaking.
You stand there for a moment longer, breathing hard, then rinse off mechanically. Turn off the water. Step out.
The towel is rough against your skin. You dry off quickly, then walk back to the lockers.
Your street clothes are where you left them. You get dressed. Jeans, shirt, shoes. They feel strange after the gym gear. Confining. Wrong.
You gather your belongings. The Lion's Den clothes are still in your hands. You stare at them for a moment, then fold them and tuck them under your arm.
You walk back into the gym.
Karim is at the front desk, writing something on the clipboard.
He doesn't look up when you enter.
You walk toward the door. Stop a few feet away.
"I'm heading out," you say.
Karim looks up.
His eyes meet yours.
There's a beat of silence.
"See you Thursday."
Not a question. A statement.
His voice is calm. Even. But his eyes are darker than before. More intent.
You nod. Don't trust yourself to speak.
He looks back down at the clipboard.
You push through the door. Up the stairs. Out onto the street.
Outside, you stop. Stand there on the sidewalk, breathing hard.
He watched.
He stood there and watched you jerk off in his shower and didn't stop you. Didn't say anything. Didn't leave immediately.
He watched.
And then he said "See you Thursday."
Like it was decided. Like you're coming back.
And maybe you are.
Because he watched, that has to mean something.
You're not sure what. But something.
Thursday is three days away.
The code still works.
You're going back.