Page 8 of The Titan and the Trainer

“You’re quiet tonight, Cal,” Leo said, unbuckling a rubber armlet. “You’re here, but your head is definitely somewhere else. New guy, by chance?”

“Just a client,” Callum said, pulling his trench coat over his harness. “It’s complicated.”

“They’re all complicated. That’s why they pay us,” Leo said, laughing, clapping him on the back. “Come on, a few of the guys are going to that 24-hour diner. Toby and Mark are already there. Let’s get some grease in us.”

The diner was a sanctuary of cracked vinyl booths and harsh fluorescent lighting. His friends, all hot men with perfect bodies and weary eyes, chattered about gym drama, bad Grindr dates and the rising cost of protein powder. They were his tribe and he loved them, but tonight his struggle felt heavier than usual.

He looked at his hands, still smelling faintly of the expensive eucalyptus soap from the executive showers. He thought about the silence of that office, the stillness, the way Julian didn’t have to worry about the subway schedule or whether his radiator would clank all night. I want that safety and security, Callum realised, a dull ache forming in his chest. Not just the stability of a relationship that feeling that the world actually belongs to you, or that you rightfully belong in it.

He’d had plenty of hookups. Quick, breathless encounters in dimly lit bedrooms that were easily forgotten. He’d had situationships that lasted a month or two before fizzling out into awkward texts. But he’d never had a man look at him the way Julian had in the lobby. It was like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

He so wanted that.

“Earth to Callum,” Toby said, nudging him. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Callum lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired, man. Long week.”

As he walked home, the sun was just beginning to grey the horizon. He climbed the stairs, the wood groaning under his feet. His apartment felt smaller than ever, just a collection of mismatched furniture and workout gear.

He stripped off the harness and threw it on a chair. Why had Julian looked so fascinated and so shocked by it?

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Julian was currently sleeping in high-thread-count sheets. What did the Titan sleep in, he wondered…? Or maybe Julian was still awake, thinking about the harness or about him? He could only hope. The chances that Julian could be interested in someone like him…

Julian was the most eligible bachelor, likely terrified of the world knowing who he really was. He had an image to maintain. Callum was just an average Joe, happily out to everyone and with zero image to maintain.

How completely opposite they were. It could never work.

Chapter 4 - Session 3, I Spy & Synchronicity

Thu. 16th Jan. 25

The silence on the 50th floor felt different on Thursday night. It wasn't the silence of an empty office; it was the silence of a fuse that had already been lit.

When Callum walked in, Julian was already on the mat, standing by the set of adjustable dumbbells. This time he was wearing black compression shorts and a white sleeveless compression vest that showed off the sheer scale of his frame. Callum, despite his resolve to be professional, felt his throat immediately go dry. He himself had opted for a pair of very short navy lifting shorts and a tight white tank top.

Both of them were in the least possible amount of fabric together, so far. This could be a real challenge.

Neither of them mentioned the lobby. Neither of them mentioned the leather harness. But as their eyes met, the memory of it sat between them like an unexploded bomb.

“Before we start,” Callum said, his voice a little rougher than usual. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. “My personal number. Your assistant Kerry has it and she’s great, but if things change last minute, you can just message me directly.”

Julian took the paper, his fingers brushing Callum’s for a fraction of a second. He stared at the handwritten digits as if they were a secret code to a vault. “Thank you,” he said softly, putting the paper on the nearby chair. He said, “I’ll put you in my phone,” knowing full well the number was already there.

The workout that followed was a masterclass in psychological torture.

“Deadlifts,” Callum commanded. “High volume. I want you focused on the eccentric movement and the recovery, really slow on the way down; that’s where the real gains are.”

Julian obeyed, his body slick with sweat in ten minutes. The compression gear left nothing to the imagination; every time Julian hinged at the hips, the fabric strained over his glutes and thighs, the bright office lighting showcasing the unmistakable bulge that he seemingly wasn't even trying to hide anymore. Was he now getting comfortable with Callum?

He himself wasn't doing much better. The heat in the room was stifling. He stayed close, too close, pacing around Julian like a predator. He could smell the salt of sweat and the underlying cologne, a scent that now felt synonymous with his own desire.

They moved through the routine Callum had created, which focused on specific sets of muscle groups.

Julian was working with a barbell, doing barbell bent-over rows. His firm ass was high in the air and looked tempting, encased in the tight Lycra shorts. Callum decided to test some limits.

“Right, stop, please, I need to show you where you should be feeling this move.” He decided to be bold.

Julian lowered the bar and stood back up, waiting for him, a quizzical look on his face. Callum moved to his side, and, looking him straight in the eye, asked, “Is it okay if I touch you?” He thought it only polite to ask permission.