Work Text:
- one -
Stiles kind of hated going to the gym, but he made himself go like clockwork every morning at seven am, right before work, except on Thursdays when he attended the 6:30 am Omega self-defense class at the rec center. It was important for him to keep up his strength and stamina, if only to prove to himself (and his dad) that he could defend himself from an unwanted Alpha’s advances, if necessary.
One day in April, though, going to the gym became a whole different experience.
Stiles was running on the treadmill for Cardio Wednesday, when he inhaled the most incredible scent. Musky, warm, and bittersweet like the darkest of chocolates.
Stiles looked in the mirror in front of him, trying to pinpoint where the scent was coming from and that’s when he saw him -
A gorgeous specimen of a man: tall and broad, muscles bulging beneath his black tank top as he lifted a seventy-five pound weight in each hand like it was nothing - and it was just that, too: his warm-up was seventy-five pound weights. His skin was a warm, dark brown and shiny, a layer of sweat just starting to form. Stiles wanted to lick him all over.
The man looked up and met Stiles’s gaze in the mirror, so naturally Stiles tripped over absolutely nothing on the treadmill and broke eye contact, nearly braining himself against the machine. He breathed through his mouth for the rest of the workout, trying to concentrate on running without the distraction of the Alpha’s delicious scent invading his nostrils.
- two -
For the first time ever, Stiles was sad the following day to be heading for the rec center instead of the gym. His Omega self-defense class had no Alphas in it, obviously, and Stiles found himself missing the sight and scent of the handsome Alpha so much that he was put down on the mat by Omegas much smaller than him during their practical exercises.
The other Omegas seemed pleased with themselves, though, so Stiles chalked his distraction up to boosting the others’ self-confidence, rather than him just daydreaming about an Alpha’s scent.
To Stiles’s delight, Friday found him walking into the gym greeted with the sight of the sexy black man on a rowing machine, his biceps and calves straining with every stroke.
Stiles practically drooled at the scent of the man mid-workout, but kept it together enough to walk right by and head for the weights. He found a bench and gathered some equipment for himself to start his reps.
If he was directly in the line of sight to watch the guy finish his workout, Stiles would swear it wasn’t on purpose.
- three -
His name was Boyd.
Stiles only figured this out because he happened to be signing out just as the Alpha was signing in one day, his scent fresh and somehow even better than it was when he was pumping out pheromones during a workout. Stiles was able to sneak a peek at where he signed once he’d stepped out of the way, his scent leaving a trail that Stiles just wanted to follow forever. Unlike the other names on the sign-in list, there was no surname - or first name - just Boyd.
Like Shakira, or Beyonce.
Stiles’s mind immediately wondered if Boyd’s hips could move just as well as those other mononymous people’s could, and as soon as he wondered, he could imagine it:
Boyd, poised between Stiles’s spread legs, his hips undulating in a delicious rhythm as he pounded into Stiles’s tight, wet -
A throat cleared, prompting Stiles to actually pick up the pen on the desk and sign out. The worker was giving him this look, and Stiles had been zoned out long enough that Boyd was already clear across the room, doing his first rep of squats at the rack.
Stiles stared at those hips for a moment more, deciding that yep - Boyd’s hips could definitely move.
- four -
The weekend was Stiles’s rest from the gym, but he did go for long runs Saturday and Sunday mornings, doing his best to enjoy nature. He got lunch with Lydia and Jackson, talking their ears off about the handsome and delicious smelling Alpha who’d joined his gym.
Jackson was highly skeptical that Stiles was being casual about his attraction, but Stiles insisted: the Alpha had barely looked his way. There was no way he knew that Stiles was interested.
When Monday came around, Stiles was at the gym first, deep into his kettlebell routine. When Boyd came in, Stiles nearly dropped the bell on his toe, but kept his cool at the last second.
Today, apparently, Boyd was working with a trainer.
Stiles wondered what Boyd thought he would gain from a trainer, with his bulging muscles and obvious strength, but he wasn’t going to complain as he watched Boyd work with the ropes (his ass looked incredible as he held the half-squat) before moving to the pull-up bar.
The trainer guided Boyd through pull-up reps that Stiles could only dream of accomplishing: first with both hands, then one arm at a time. Stiles wondered if he were to attach himself to Boyd’s torso like a koala, nose embedded against his scent gland, if Boyd could do a pull up with them both.
He probably could, and Stiles might have felt a little bit of slick forming at the thought. He quickly gathered his things to head out, right as Boyd flipped upside down on the bar to do crunches, hanging from his knees.
Stiles’s shower was a little longer than normal, caught up in thinking about wrapping his legs around Boyd’s waist (but not allowing himself to jack off in the public showers, even if he was in the Omegas-only section). He waited until he was home to take himself in hand, bringing up Boyd’s scent in his memory to help him come.
- five -
Stiles was going to choke on his own spit if he wasn’t careful. That wasn’t what he was wanting to choke on, though, because damn .
He was (totally and completely casually, not at all creepy-like) watching Boyd bench press this morning, and three things were standing out to him:
One, Boyd was definitely benching more than Stiles’s body weight . That thought alone had Stiles imagining Boyd picking him up, throwing him around, manhandling him, fucking Stiles standing up -
You get the picture.
Two, Stiles had chosen the perfect place to sit in relation to Boyd and the fan in the gym. Every time the fan oscillated in their direction, Boyd’s chocolate-y scent was sent directly toward Stiles, even though he was a solid twenty feet away. It was heavenly.
And three, because of the way that Boyd was laying down on the bench, every swell of muscle on his torso was straining beneath thin fabric (like those nice, strong pecs) but more importantly: his soft but still very impressive package was framed perfectly by his gym shorts.
That bulge is what had Stiles’s mouth watering, wanting so badly to just slide Boyd’s shorts down and worship at the altar of Alpha cock, finding out just how concentrated his scent would be in the most intimate of places.
Boyd lifted the barbell one final time, hooking it onto the rack and sitting up. For a split second, he met Stiles’s eye before Stiles immediately turned away, his own measly forty-five pound weight seeming lame as he pretended to be concentrating on something other than the gorgeous Alpha across the room.
- +one -
Stiles was just getting his bag packed after showering when a shift in the air brought the scent of Boyd over to him. He froze, realizing that for all the times he’d seen or smelled (or lusted over) Boyd in the gym, they’d never crossed paths in the locker room.
This could be either very good or very bad.
Thinking it might be best to just skedaddle as quickly as possible (avoidance had always been Stiles’s favorite tactic), Stiles finished packing his things and zipped his bag, slinging it up to hang on his shoulder when -
“Oof.”
Stiles felt the bag hit someone and bounce back, quickly turning to apologize. “Oh my God I’m so sor-”
His words were cut off when he saw who it was that he’d just nailed in the chest with his bag.
It was Boyd.
Stiles felt like he was going to melt into the floor in embarrassment, his mouth opening and closing but no more words able to come out. He’d just hit the most attractive Alpha he’d ever laid eyes on, he was absolutely mortified.
Deciding to cut his losses, Stiles lowered his gaze, tilting his head slightly in respect and apology as he began to slink away. Before he could get too far, though, a hand caught his arm.
“Hey, wait,” a honey-sweet voice said, and Stiles turned to see Boyd’s hand loosely grasping him. “It was my fault, with the bag.”
Boyd dropped his hand when Stiles didn’t move further away. Stiles shook his head to argue. “No, I wasn’t looking, I totally hit you and I’m so sorry.”
Boyd smiled (Stiles’s knees went weak at the sight, it’s like the heavens opened and the angels started singing) and shook his head. “No, it really was me. I was coming over to talk to you, I just had bad timing.”
Stiles sputtered. “You were - you… coming to talk to me? About what?”
Boyd looked down, and Stiles caught a hint of a blush. “I, um. Was hoping that you’d be interested in getting coffee sometime after your workout. Unless, ah. You know…” Boyd met Stiles’s eyes before looking away again. “Unless you just like to watch and scent from afar. Um. If you just want to look, that’s fine, but I’d really like to take you for coffee.”
Stiles realized then that he had not , in fact, been very sneaky with his spying on Boyd’s workouts. He flushed a bright red, mortified.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” Stiles said, shame filling the air around him. “I’ve been making you uncomfortable, I’m sure. I promise it’ll never happen again, I’m so sorry…”
Stiles started toward the door before realizing -
“Wait, did you just ask me out?”
He turned to see Boyd chuckle and nod. Stiles closed the distance between them again, nodding enthusiastically.
“I would love to get coffee with you, yes please.”
Boyd’s smile widened and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat at the way Boyd’s scent swirled around him, all sunshine and warm and happy . “Is now okay?” Boyd asked, offering his arm.
Stiles sighed as he placed his hand on Boyd’s strong, firm bicep, nodding. “Now is perfect.”