The New Routine

It started like any other Monday.

Nico showed up to the gym just after lunch, like he always did—right when the morning crowd thinned out and the after-work beasts hadn’t yet arrived. He liked the quiet. The mirrors. The scent of effort still hanging in the air.

He wore his usual tight blue compression tights, no shirt. He didn’t need one. His body wasn’t just sculpted—it was trained. Not for vanity. For control. His body did what he told it to do, when he told it. And lately, he’d noticed others doing the same.

It started subtly.

One guy asked to work in with him on the cables. Then another “accidentally” brushed too close at the dumbbells. A few glances here and there turned into longer stares. Then touches. Then more.

Nico didn’t mind.

Today, though, things changed.

He was mid-set on the pull-up bar, sweat dripping down his back, chest rising with each exhale. When he dropped down, he saw them: four guys, casually circling, not saying a word. One of them—dark beard, tank top, a little too confident—stepped forward.

“You smell like work,” he said, half-laughing.

Nico didn’t answer. He just raised an eyebrow and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

Beard guy took another step forward, closing the gap. Then, without asking, he reached out and pressed his palm against Nico’s chest.

“I bet you smell even better here,” he whispered, before leaning in.

And Nico let him.

He raised one arm, resting it behind his head in a fluid motion that somehow made his torso stretch tighter. Another guy moved behind him, brushing fingers lightly down his back. A third crouched beside him, palms tracing the line of his hip. The fourth just watched, entranced.

And Nico? He didn’t speak. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blush.

He just breathed.

They kissed his chest. One of them brought his face right to Nico’s armpit, inhaling with a kind of reverence that surprised even him. Another traced his fingers down Nico’s tights, like reading braille written in muscle.

He looked up at the mirror and caught his own reflection—surrounded, worshipped, still.

He hadn’t planned this. But it felt… right. Not chaotic. Not erotic. Just powerful. Centered.

Nico lowered his arm slowly and finally spoke, his voice low, calm, firm.

“Now you know the new routine,” he said.

And none of them moved.

They were still breathing him in.