Alfred- Sophomore
Arthur- Junior
The distance runners walked through the door, numb but sweating after an upbeat five mile run in the cold. Arthur sniffed loudly, cursing and striding to the bathroom in search of something to wipe his dripping nose. The girls would be back in a few minutes for stretches and abs and he wanted his nose to stop bloody dripping all over the place by then.
When he entered back into the gym, the sprinters were just rounding the corner on the tiny, indoor track they were forced to practice on in the winter, and judging by their breathing, they were coming toward the end of a rather intense workout. Arthur joined back with the other distance runners, pushed to the corner of the room and out of the way.
"What did they have for practice today?" he asked the others. They all shrugged.
"Something fucking brutal," Gilbert sneered. "Golden Boy's even having a hard time keeping up."
At the mention of Alfred, Arthur turned his attention back to the sprinters and, sure enough, caught Alfred finishing at the back of the pack. He ended the lap by unceremoniously running into the upright high jump mat they had pushed against the wall for padding and punched it viciously. Arthur cringed.
"Finals have taken a toll on him this semester," he mumbled by way of an explanation. Across the track, Germania was walking purposefully toward Alfred, his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. "He's hardly had a wink of sleep these past few days."
Toris pulled off his hat with a nod. "Yes, the science department makes sophomore year the hardest to weed out the weak. I remember forgetting to sleep during half of finals week last year because I was studying so much. Feliks had to force me to bed on more than one occasion."
"I remember that," Eduard agreed, sitting on the floor to stretch out his legs. "You looked horrible."
"Thank you," Toris sighed, rolling his eyes. "But I imagine that Alfred has it even worse. Astrophysics is probably much more difficult than biology."
Arthur bit his lip, watching as Alfred threw his hands in the air in frustration while he spoke angrily with Germania across the track. Germania appeared to yell something back, causing Alfred to storm off in the other direction, slamming his fist into the wall for good measure as he went. Arthur sighed.
"Wonderful," he groaned, as Alfred stormed past the distance girls as they walked through the door and went straight to the hallway leading to the weight room.
Lien crinkled her nose at his rude behavior and joined the rest of the team. "What's his problem?" she asked.
"Bad practice," Gilbert explained. "He's off to go break shit now."
"Pssst, Arthur, Toris!" The boy's heads turned to face Rome, who was waving them over urgently. "Come here for a second, sì?"
They shrugged at each other and walked over. "What is it, coach?" Arthur asked.
Rome fiddled with his hands nervously. "Alfred went to go let off some steam in the weight room," he explained. "You know as well as I do that it is best to just let him do his thing when he is upset, but...there is a bit of a problema."
"What problem?" Toris asked, looking just a bit nervous. Rome ran a hand through his curly hair.
"Elláda is taking the throwers in to lift today, too."
Instantly, both Toris and Arthur's faces fell. Elláda Karpusi, or Mama G, as she was affectionally known by the throwers, was an Olympic-class discus and javelin thrower from Greece. She had long since retired, but had graciously offered her talents to the World U track program after her son, Heracles, was accepted on scholarship. She was a lovely, albeit terrifying, woman who had coached the World U throwers to perfection with an iron fist.
But she wasn't what the boys were worried about.
As intimidating as Mama G could be, there was something much worse that her presence in the weight room meant.
And that, was Ivan Braginski.
No one knew how it started; if it was an argument or a snide comment or simply just a look between the two, but one thing was for certain: Ivan and Alfred did not get along. It wasn't that they would break out into fist fights in the middle of the quad or try to run each other over in the parking lot or anything, but they had their own unique ways of showing how little they thought of each other. Usually in, what Arthur considered, pointless, stupid little competitions.
Their favorite was in the weight room.
Needless to say, the last time both Alfred and Ivan were in the weight room at the same time, they had caused almost $500 worth of damages.
It was no wonder Rome looked so fidgety.
"So, you see, I was, ah, wondering if you two would just go and make sure nothing bad happens?" he asked desperately.
How could they say no?
O
It was a general rule of thumb that the saying "a fish out of water" was synonymous with "a distance runner in a weight room," a fact that Arthur had simply learned to accept.
It wasn't that distance runners weren't their own, special brand of strong, but the rippling, bulging muscles typically owned by the rest of the team just were not necessary for their races. A distance or mid-distance runner focused on staying trim and toned, and there was simply no need to do much in the weight room when most of the exercises that helped them could be done out of it.
That being said, Arthur found he was pretty much the poster boy for the rule.
Something about the loud, screaming, heavy metal music that was constantly blaring at about ten times the appropriate volume acceptable for a learning institution, and the scathing clank of metal on metal just did not sit well with him. In fact, there was probably only one thing that could make him feel at ease in a weight room, and that was-
"Arragh!"
Alfred.
Not just any Alfred, Arthur reminded himself as he encouraged his lungs to breathe, damnit, but weight-lifting, sweaty, compression-shirt-wearing, breathing hard and grunting loudly, Alfred.
It was one of the most unintentionally erotic things Arthur ever had the pleasure to witness, and he thanked the heavens for it every moment he had the chance.
Alfred hardly ever got angry. It was something Arthur really admired about him, especially as a well-known hot head, and he respected him a great deal for his laid back attitude. However, just because he didn't get mad often, it didn't mean he never got mad at all. When Alfred got mad, it wasn't for long, as long as he had a way to outlet his feelings. Sometimes he would eat, or play violent video games, and often, he would run or go to the weight room and lift. Whatever he would do, he always finished his usually cheerful self.
At the current moment, Alfred was just finishing up on the bench. Beads of sweat were dripping down his temples and tangling in his messy, blond hair. He was breathing heavily the moment he placed the bar back and he stayed laying down, catching his breath for a few moments before sitting up abruptly and walking over to the leg press. He wiped his face down with the hem of his tight, dark grey shirt, giving the room a view of those tanned, toned abs.
"Why don't you put your tongue back in your mouth, lover boy?"
Arthur jumped, spinning to face Elizabeta, who was grinning cat-like behind him. "E-excuse me?" he gasped.
"Put your tongue back in your mouth," she repeated with a laugh. "You're drooling all over the floor."
Arthur coughed in embarrassment as Toris chuckled goodheartedly. "Hello Elizabeta. Are all of the throwers lifting today?" he asked.
Se nodded, tossing her hair out of her eyes and swiping a dumbbell from the shelf. "Yep. Which reminds me, what the hell are you two doing in here?"
"Alfred had a bad practice," Arthur replied, ignoring the obvious dig at his lack of physical strength. "Rome wanted us to keep him and Ivan from causing too much damage."
"Oh, good idea." She nodded, peaking over her shoulder where Ivan was getting strict stance advice from Mama G at the squat machine. "Just make sure Ivan doesn't get wind that Alfred is in a bad mood. He'd be all over that like white on rice."
Elizabeta sauntered off, literally kicking a sleeping Heracles off the bench press and taking his place. Toris and Arthur sighed. "Well, what do you suppose we do?" Arthur asked.
Toris shrugged. "We could split up, I suppose. One of us could go with Ivan, the other with Alfred, and we could keep them separate-"
"I'll take Alfred," Arthur cried, sprinting across the room. Toris blinked, watching his flee with a sigh.
"I probably should have seen that coming."
O
Alfred had moved on to the rowing machine, his movements making it obvious that his anger had yet to be cooled. The peg on the machine had been lowered all the way to the bottom so that he was lifting the most weight possible, and his movements were erratic and jerky. And if he was going to be completely honest with himself, if Arthur wasn't so turned on by the grunts and growls Alfred was making every time he yanked the handle back into his chest, he would have scolded him for being so loud and obnoxious.
Instead, he awkwardly stood behind him and cleared his throat. "Hello Alfred, did you need a spotter?"
The heavy pile of weights fell back to their resting place. Alfred peaked behind him and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "Artie? Dude, what are you doing in here?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. Would no one mock him for his lack of muscles today? "Rome told me I needed to do some ankle strengthening drills and I've finished, so I thought I would see if you required any assistance."
"Ah, nah, I'm good bro." He stretched out his arms and gave the first smile Arthur had seen from him all day. "Don't really need a spotter for row, ya know." He chuckled. "Not sure how much you would help me anyway."
"Oh, do shut up," Arthur grumbled. Alfred laughed, standing up from the machine. He glanced behind himself cautiously to make sure Mama G wasn't watching, and whipped off his shirt. He sighed in relief, using it to dap the sweat off his face.
"It's hot as Hell in here, dude. Someone needs to turn on the air conditioning, stat."
Arthur nodded, unable to do much else with Alfred's half-naked body on display right in front of him, all tan and sweaty and perfect...
Maybe he should start lifting more.
"Jones!" Mama G yelled from the door of her office, instantly gathering all of the room's occupant's attention. "Put your clothes back on, this is a public area! No one wants to see that!"
Before Arthur could argue that, why yes, there was most certainly someone who wanted to see that thank-you-very-much, Alfred rolled his eyes and did as he was told with a pout. The only thing keeping Arthur from pouting as well, was the fact that Toris was currently making wide, deer-in-headlights eyes at him from where he was helping Ivan put put a medicine ball away.
Ivan knew Alfred was in the room.
Bugger.
Alfred wandered over to the cleaning platform next, casually mentioning that Arthur could keep an eye on his form, for no other reason than to make Arthur feel useful, he was sure, and set to work putting weights on the bar. Biting his lip, Arthur took a quick peek across the room at Ivan, just to make sure he hadn't decided to come-
"Well, this is unexpected surprise!"
Double bugger.
O
Alfred finished slipping the twenty-five pound weight onto the bar before standing up and regarding his newest companion with a sigh. Figured as soon as Arthur showed up to brighten his horrible day a little, Ivan would come along and ruin everything once again. "Hey there, Braginski. To what do I owe the displeasure?"
Ivan smiled that deceptively pleasant smile of his and giggled childishly. "You are so funny! I just came to see if Arthur was in here working on his shin splints like Toris. I was so surprised to see them join us today, I knew it had to be for an important reason!"
Arthur coughed. "It was ankle strengthening, actually."
"Oh, those are very important too," Ivan agreed, still smiling. Alfred narrowed his eyes.
"Yeah, well, now that that is all taken care of, I'm gonna do some cleans." He brushed passed the Russian and situated himself on the platform, eager for Braginski to leave him alone. He wasn't in the mood to deal with his games today. "So if you would be so kind as to move your blubbery self out of my way I'd-"
"This also confuses me," Ivan interrupted. "What are you doing in here, Jones? Is it not Monday and Wednesday that the sprinters come in to lift?" He chuckled. "If what you all do could be considered lifting, anyway."
Alfred glared, grinding his teeth to keep from exploding. "I needed to let off a little steam."
Ivan nodded. "Ah, I see." And then he sat down on an empty bench and grinned at him knowingly.
"Can I help you?" Alfred finally cried, finding it difficult to keep cool with the weight of his horrible workout and Braginski staring at him like a creeper.
"Oh, I was intending to use cleaning platform as well," he said easily. "We can take turns, da?"
Alfred rolled his eyes, but fought back the urge to tell Ivan exactly what he could do with the fucking platform when he met eyes with Arthur. Somehow, his roommate always knew when Alfred was about to do something stupid and managed to convey though his eyes to cool down and just share the bloody thing before someone gets hurt. Alfred nodded, told Braginski that it was fine, and returned to his lifting, ignoring the thrower to the best of his ability.
To Alfred's surprise, things were actually working out better than he had imagined. He found that if he put all his attention on Arthur, it was almost liked Braginski disappeared.
Not that he didn't have enough practice focusing his attention on Arthur, of course, but it was kind of fun having him in the weight room for a change. He knew Arthur wasn't exactly one to be impressed by his, and he quoted, "stupid, moronic caveman strength," but seeing his eyes light up with what could only be admiration every time he lifted that bar into his chest, was almost enough to make him forget about the shitty workout and even shittier company.
Until it was Braginski's turn again and he started adding weight onto the bar.
"What's up, Braginski?" Alfred asked with a chuckle. "Ready for your last round already?"
The Russian laughed. "Do not be so silly, Jones! That was all my warm up!"
His warm up?
"Your warm up?" Arthur gasped. He and Toris were eyeing the bar wearily, probably doing the math in their heads to see if the thing weighed more than they did.
It did. Combined.
"I like to do a few easy repetitions with a light weight before I get into actually lifting," he explained, stepping up on the platform and gripping the bar firmly. "It helps to get the blood flowing, da?"
And then he lifted the bar with ease, the ends of it bending towards the floor slightly under the weight.
"Wow," Toris mumbled. Arthur nodded in agreement, his eyes wide.
"Wow indeed. I didn't realize Ivan was that strong."
Alfred froze, Arthur's words running mockingly through his brain.
Aw HELL NO.
"He's not so strong," Alfred growled, pushing Ivan off the platform as soon as the bar hit the ground. "I bet I can lift it, no problem."
Toris's eyebrows furrowed. "Alfred, are you certain about this?"
"Absolutely." He planted his feet and gave one last glance in Arthur's direction. The Briton's eyes were alight with nervousness and excitement, and as far as Alfred was concerned, that was all the strength he needed.
"And that," Arthur scoffed, sitting in a hard, plastic chair in Rome's office next to a shaken Toris and an ashamed looking Ivan and Alfred, "is how the entire shelf of dumbbells was knocked over."
Rome rubbed his temples, sharing an exasperated look with Germania before sighing. "Alright. Graize, Arthur. You may all leave."
"Do you, like, want us to help clean up or anything?" Alfred asked, wringing his hands together. Rome frantically shook his head.
"No, no, I think you all have done enough. Arrivederci." The four boys walked out of the office with their heads low, save for Arthur who was giving Alfred and Ivan an earful. He shook his head. "What am I going to do with them?"
Germania shrugged. "You recruited them, not me."
"Don't remind me."
Later that week, a strict schedule had been posted outside the weight room door, dictating when Ivan and Alfred were allowed to enter.
It took five months and 742 more dollars before they finally started following it
Some harmless fun picking on distance/mid-distance runners in this one. In all seriousness, I was a distance runner all through college and I will admit, we are NOT the strongest people in the world. XD That "distance runner in a weight room" line was actually used on me by a coach when I was flopping around on the ground, trying to lift once. XD
Also, yay for the throwers! A few of you have asked me about the throwers, so here is a taste of them. I admire throwers so much. A a distance runner, I can hardly LIFT the things they throw around like nothing, so bravo to them. :P
Anyway, hoping to get a little plot in the next chapter, but I make no promises. XD Thanks for the wonderful reviews and I hope you all had a great holiday!
-Car