The Glory Years, by Katricrush
Ordinarily, the sight of a lone man just standing around a child's playground would make you extremely suspicious, but there's just something about this one. You bend to unclip the leashes from Stella and Guinness and watch them bound happily away into the woods that border the small park.
He looks as if he's waiting for someone and he's having trouble doing so. You watch as his eyes keep drifting over to the old, metal "monkey bars," his half grin slightly wistful, and your guess would be, he remembers climbing them as a child.
Finally, he throws down the stick he's been breaking into pieces and walks over to put his hand on the bar about chest height.
He pauses, looking at his watch before glancing around. You clearly hear him say. "Aw, what the hell…"
He backs up about fifteen feet before rushing the bars. Pushing off on the lowest one with his left foot, he uses the momentum to climb each one in turn, until he's standing on the top of the jungle gym, having never touched it with his hands. He takes a moment to look around the park, then crouches down to ease his way through the bars so he can hang from the center topmost bar, his knees bent, as he sways slowly back and forth. Pulling himself up by his arms, he does ten slow pull-ups before lowering himself to the ground to stand up and look around again.
You glance around, too, but don't see anyone else, so you return your attention to this decidedly athletic figure before you.
He is squeezing through the monkey bars and heading over to the horizontal bars set up.
Raising his arms over his head, he grabs hold of the highest bar, his forearms and upper arms flexing and tightening, and he swings himself up and around a few times. As he rests at the top, he takes in his surroundings from this vantage point, and you find yourself holding your breath, hoping you'll go unnoticed if you don't move.
Don't look here…oh, don't let him see me… Not sure if it's a mantra or a prayer, it's the only thing you can think while you watch him, waiting to see if he reacts to your presence. You finally breathe again when he goes back to what he was doing.
Dismounting, he casually walks over to the playground rings. Even from here you can see the flush of his cheeks and the sweat sticking his t-shirt to his back and sides and it's not surprising when he removes the constricting garment, grabbing the front bottom and pulling it off in one slow, smooth motion. It only sticks a little at his shoulders before he tosses it onto a small patch of grass as he eyes the rings.
You see him inhale, then let his breath out slowly. He leaps up a little to grasp the rings and swings his legs and body up and around in an arc that finishes with him holding the rings in his hands as he keeps his body supported in a straight line by his tensed and locked arms and shoulders.
He slowly raises his legs into the classic "L" shape, keeping them straight and parallel with the ground. You see his stomach muscles lock and his six-pack becomes even more defined as he breathes slowly while holding the position for a slow count. Lowering his legs quickly, he pushes to a backuprise, extending his arms out to the sides as far as he can to an almost perfect iron cross. Every muscle in his upper body strains to hold his position, and he doesn't release until he is completely still. He dismounts with a simple kick forward and a flip over backward to land, and he just stops himself from falling on his ass by taking a couple of quick steps backward. Looking at the rings, he smiles and then moves to pick up his shirt.
He's pumped up and sweating enough that his body glistens in the reflected lamplight that shines over the area. He doesn't put his shirt on right away and his back, shoulders and chest muscles are so clearly defined by his exertions, that you almost gasp when he moves fully into the light. You're only able to stop yourself by putting your hand over your mouth.
He looks around the park again before going to sit on the green bench near a large ash tree. He looks warm, you imagine his muscles must be loose, and his upper body and arms are flush with the effort he put into his playtime. They ripple and flex as he puts his arm across his chest to rub at his upper back and shoulder.
You idly wonder how he'd react if you stepped out from where you are and offered to massage the knot for him, and through your distracted musings you hear him sigh deeply.
He seems lost in thought for only a minute or two when you see a taller man approach him from behind.
Without turning to look, it's obvious he senses the second man's approach, and he takes his t-shirt in both hands and stretches it out a little before putting it on. He turns his head to watch the tall man come near. It's clear to you that this is who he's been waiting for as they smile at each other in greeting.
"Yeah, Sammy, you caught me…relivin' the glory years." You hear him chuckle, deep and resonant, and "Sammy" laughs.
"Yeah, those glory years, Dean. They lasted all of one semester your Junior year, if I remember correctly."
So, it's "Dean". You whisper the name, your tongue and lips enjoying the feel of it, but you turn your attention back to the present when you realize he's speaking again.
"Ah, Sam, but what a semester it was. Gymnastics was a girl-magnet, and brother, were there some beauties that year."
Sam shakes his head, but can't seem to stop his smile from negating his initial response.
"Every sport was a girl-magnet for you, Dean. Didn't matter what you did. You could've done curling, and they would've packed the ice rink."
You grin knowingly to yourself, recognizing the truth of that one.
"But, you always were good at the gymnastics, I gotta admit that…I never could get a handle on the rings thing, but you made it look easy."
"Hey, don't feel bad, Sam. Shooting hoops from half court, you could swish 'em without lookin'. Too bad the basketball teams always sucked. No way was that sport gonna be a girl-magnet. Which, thinkin' about it, is prob'ly why you have to struggle so much now. Not enough practice." Dean tried to hide his crooked grin at the obvious baiting tactic, and was rewarded with Sam's response.
"Dean, you're an ass."
Dean smiled openly as he stood to leave.
"Yeah, I know, little brother, I got the better part of that one, too."
They walk away shoulder to shoulder, their steps synchronized, and you enjoy the grace of their movements even now, while they're leaving--a small encore to finish off this special night's entertainment.
Finally allowing yourself a soft sigh, you're left to round up your Labs. Taking your time as you walk home, you find yourself lost in your thoughts as you replay the images the mysterious "Dean" has left for your imagination. Beautiful, slow moments in time haunt you, and walking home takes a little longer than usual this night.
You don't even notice.