Summary: a drabble in which you meet the LaDs boys for the first time at the gym
Pairing: all the LaDs boys (separately) x Reader
Content : Xavier, Zayne & Sylus are suggestive. 🤫 Rafayel & Caleb is just fluff. 🫠
a/n: Inspired by this snowcrow fanfic on AO3 by the author SerendipitySushi. ❤️
MEET ME AT THE GYM
XAVIER (word count: 729)
Despite your complete lack of enthusiasm for exercise or sports, you can no longer avoid it.
The gym comes highly recommended by your colleagues and, more importantly, opens in the early hours of the morning.
The plan had been simple.
Wake up early. Go to the gym for an hour or two. Head to work.
Needless to say, that didn't happen.
Instead, you got up at your usual time and went straight to work.
After your shift, you stopped to buy groceries before heading home to plan and prepare meals for the week. By the time everything was done, you found yourself pacing from one end of your living room to the other, staring at the gym bag you'd packed the night before.
Finally, with great resignation, you grabbed the bag and left.
The gym was relatively quiet.
Only a handful of people occupied the vast space, most likely because it would be closing in less than two hours.
You wandered around awkwardly, examining machines that looked more like medieval torture devices than exercise equipment.
Not wanting to embarrass yourself, you played it safe and settled for a treadmill.
You set it to a gentle uphill walk.
Five minutes later, you are bored out of your mind.
Ten minutes later, you are actively questioning why you’re here.
In hindsight, it might have been smarter to have booked a session with a personal trainer like your colleagues had suggested.
With a sigh, you stopped the treadmill and get off.
After showering, you wrapped yourself in a towel and wandered down the hall toward the sauna.
The moment you open the door, a wave of heat hits you.
You step inside, close the door behind you, and sink onto one of the wooden benches.
“Hello.”
A male voice cuts through the haze of steam.
You jump out of your skin.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”
The voice is calm and gentle.
A figure emerges from the steam and takes a seat on the bench opposite yours.
The man looks younger than you - perhaps in his early twenties. Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, their exact color difficult to determine beneath the soft lighting. Blond. Or silver, maybe.
His eyes, however, are an impossibly vivid shade of blue.
His gaze remains fixed on you, steady and attentive.
Your own eyes drift downward.
Smooth skin. Lean muscles. A towel.
You immediately look away.
“I'm sorry,” you say quickly. “I didn't realize anyone was in here. I think I've accidentally wandered into the wrong sauna.”
“Why?”
“Because…” You tighten your grip on your towel. “If you're here, then this must be the men's area.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“There's only one sauna.”
Silence settled between you.
You tell yourself not to stare.
After all, he is probably a decade younger than you.
But every time you look away, your gaze seems determined to find its way back.
“I'm Xavier, by the way.”
You introduce yourself in return.
“I don't think I've seen you here before,” Xavier says.
“I recently signed up. Today's actually my first day.” You let out a self-deprecating laugh. “You know how it is. Once a woman reaches a certain age, it gets harder and harder to keep the weight off.”
Your weight has always been one of your biggest insecurities.
Xavier studied you for a moment.
“I can't really tell beneath the towel,” he said calmly. “But I'm willing to bet your body is perfect exactly the way it is.”
You are very grateful for the sauna as heat rushes to your face
You clear your throat.
“Anyway.”
An attempt at changing the subject.
“My colleagues also told me the sauna is the best part of the gym.”
“It's the easiest way to work up a sweat.” Xavier agrees.
“The easiest way, yes.”
Then, without engaging your brain first, you add,
“But I think I'd prefer a different way of working up a sweat.”
The words hang in the air.
You slap both hands over your mouth.
Unfortunately, it is far too late.
Xavier's expression looks amused.
“Do you have plans after this?” He asks.
You can only shake your head.
“Good.”
He rises from the bench.
“Then allow me to be a gentleman and take you to dinner before we engage in a more enjoyable way to work up a sweat.”
...
CALEB (word count: 658)
You glance down at the watch on your wrist yet again. You've been standing outside the gym for twenty minutes, waiting for your friend. She's late.
Pulling out your phone, you check for any missed calls or messages from her. Nothing.
With a sigh, you call her. The phone rings several times before she finally answers.
“Tara, where are you? I'm outside. Your training session started ten minutes ago!” you say, irritated.
You had recently moved to this town after receiving a promotion and being transferred to a different office. Tara was a colleague you had immediately clicked with. When she found out that you worked out regularly and had recently joined a gym, she'd signed up for personal training in the hope that it would motivate her to exercise.
“Oh, shoot. I completely forgot,” Tara says flatly.
“How do you forget something like that?” you ask in disbelief.
“I got sidetracked,” she mutters. “Anyway, it's too late to cancel or reschedule, and the sessions aren't refundable. Instead of letting it go to waste, why don't you attend in my place? Just give the trainer my name.”
Before you can protest, Tara ends the call.
You stare at the disconnected screen for a few moments before heading inside.
You have no intention of following Tara's suggestion. You'll find the trainer, explain the situation, and apologize on her behalf.
The receptionist informs you that "your" trainer, Caleb, is waiting near the treadmills.
You spot a man standing nearby.
He is, without question, the most handsome man you've ever seen.
Tall - over six feet - with an athletic build, broad shoulders, and a bulky chest that his white tank top does little to conceal. His dark brown hair is slightly tousled, and his striking violet eyes immediately draw your attention. There's an easy warmth about him, and when he notices you, a boyish smile spreads across his face as he approaches.
“Hi! I'm Caleb. You must be my nine o'clock session.”
Your brain short-circuits.
“Yes. Maybe. No.”
Caleb chuckles.
“No need to be nervous. Since it's our first session, I'll go easy on you.”
He punctuates the statement with a playful wink.
“I'm not your appointment,” you blurt out.
Caleb tilts his head slightly, confusion crossing his features.
“My colleague from work is the one who booked with you. We were supposed to come together. She would train with you while I did my own work out” You pause awkwardly. "But she forgot about the session and told me to pretend to be her. Lying doesn't really sit well with me.”
A smile tugs at Caleb's lips
“I appreciate your honesty.”
“I'm sorry on behalf of my friend, and for the inconvenience.”
You prepare to leave, but Caleb stops you.
“So, how about it?”
You raise an eyebrow.
“The session. We're both here, it's already paid for, and your friend clearly doesn't mind.”
“Wouldn't you get into trouble?” you ask hesitantly.
“I won't,” Caleb replies with an easy grin. “As long as you can keep a secret.”
You agree.
You work out regularly, but the session is still brutal.
If this is Caleb going easy on you, you'd hate to see what he considers serious.
Sweat drips down your forehead as you gulp down water, the session now over.
“Good job,” Caleb says for what feels like the hundredth time, handing you a towel.
“So, the next time I see you…” he begins.
You cut him off before he can finish.
“Don't take this the wrong way. The training was great, and I'll definitely leave you a five-star review, but honestly, I think I prefer working out on my own.”
You offer him an apologetic smile, hoping you don't sound rude.
For a brief moment, Caleb simply stares.
Then he laughs.
“Actually, I was going to say that the next time I see you, I hope it'll be on a date.”
...
RAFAYEL (word count : 532)
The gym you go to has been closed for several weeks due to renovations. You're not going to lie, it was long overdue. While the equipment was relatively modern, the building itself had definitely seen better days.
After weeks of jogging and home workouts - which are better than doing nothing but just aren't the same - you are relieved when the gym finally reopens.
As a loyal member who has been coming here for years, you're offered a complimentary one-day access to the indoor swimming facilities as compensation for the closure.
You've always known the pools were there, but you've never actually used them. Swimming has never really been your thing. Still, free access is free access, and it seems a shame to let it go to waste, even if only to satisfy your curiosity.
After changing into your swimsuit in the women's locker room, you make your way to the pool area.
There are two pools.
The first is a shallow children's pool where a group of kids, around ten years old, are splashing around under supervision. The second is much larger and deeper, intended for adults.
To your surprise, it's completely empty.
You must have come at a strange time of day.
You step into the water. The cold sends a shiver through your body, and goosebumps across your skin, but you force yourself to keep going.
After a few laps around the pool, your body adjusts to the temperature. Having the entire pool to yourself feels strangely luxurious.
You are just swimming toward the edge when a brightly colored volleyball suddenly lands in the water with a splash.
You swim over and retrieve it. Tucking the ball under your arm, you climb out and head toward the children's pool to return it.
As you approach, every head turns to look at you.
Including his.
A gorgeous young man stands at the edge of the pool, his wavy purple hair damp and sticking to his forehead. His eyes are unlike anything you've ever seen - a mesmerizing blend of blue and pink that seems to shimmer beneath the overhead lights.
“I believe this belongs to you,” you say, holding up the ball.
His lips curve into a smile.
“Care to join us?”
You glance around at the children.
“I don't think I meet the age requirement,” you joke.
The man's grin widens.
“All those in favor of this cutie joining us, raise your hand.”
Every single hand shoots into the air.
Including his.
Heat immediately rushes to your cheeks.
You join the game of pool volleyball.
The man introduces himself as Rafayel, a swimming instructor.
What begins as a simple attempt to return a stray ball quickly turns into one enjoyable afternoon you've had in a long time.
Before you know it, the lesson comes to an end.
Rafayel sends the children off to the locker rooms to get changed while you stay behind to help collect the floating equipment.
By the time everything is packed away, you've made a decision.
You're signing up for swimming lessons.
Naturally, the ones taught by Rafayel.
After all, it would be a shame not to make full use of your newly discovered interest in swimming.
...
SYLUS (word count : 445)
The moment you walk into the packed gym, heads turn in your direction.
You feel their eyes on you as they look you up and down.
By now, you're used to it.
That doesn't mean you like it.
Ignoring the stares, you head straight for the pull-up bars tucked away in the corner of the gym.
Gripping the bar, you begin your set.
Each movement is smooth, controlled, and practiced. Your form is flawless, the result of years of discipline and training. You count each repetition silently in your head.
You notice movement from the corner of your eye.
A man is lingering nearby.
Circling.
Hovering.
You keep your gaze fixed ahead and settle your features into your coldest expression.
Halfway through another set, the man casually leans against a neighboring machine.
“Impressive form. I've never seen anyone with that kind of control.”
No response.
You ignore him.
The man laughs awkwardly.
“Although I'd be happy to show you a…much more…intense workout sometime.”
The implication is obvious.
His smile is all teeth and no charm.
You drop from the bar and land lightly on your feet.
Finally, you look at him.
The warning in your eyes is enough to make him flinch.
“No.”
You say it without raising anger.
Without insults.
Just a complete and absolute dismissal.
You walk away and choose a spot on the floor and lower yourself into position for push-ups.
However, the creep follows.
He bends down, reaching toward your shoulder.
Before he can touch you, another hand closes around his wrist.
The man's expression immediately twists in pain.
“No means no.”
The voice is deep and smooth, carrying an unmistakable edge of authority.
One look at the man who stopped him is enough to convince him to leave.
You rise to your feet.
Only then do you look at your rescuer.
He looks as though he stepped straight from the pages of a dark romance novel.
Silver hair falls across his forehead, sharp, striking features. His crimson eyes gleam like polished rubies.
There is something undeniably commanding about him.
Something dangerous.
The kind of presence that naturally dominates every room it enters.
“Thank you, Mr...?”
“Sylus.”
Standing this close, you realize just how tall he is.
He practically towers over you.
Most people would probably find it intimidating.
Oddly enough, you find it endearing.
“Are you supposed to be part of the gym equipment?” You tease with a playful smile.
Sylus lets out a low laugh, the sound rich as it rumbles from deep within his chest.
Leaning down, he brushes his lips near your ear, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur.
“I'd gladly let you use me, kitten.”
...
ZAYNE (word count: 982)
You recently celebrated a birthday, and your kindhearted colleagues surprised you with a gift card for a massage treatment. After calling ahead to schedule an appointment, the day of your booking finally arrives.
Following the directions on your phone, you make your way through the city streets and stop in front of a building.
A building you know all too well.
The gym.
You stare at it in confusion.
That can't be right.
You check the address once. Then twice. Then a third time.
Nope.
According to the map, this is definitely the place.
You step inside and approach the reception desk.
“Excuse me,” you say. “Where can I find the massage clinic?”
Without looking up, the receptionist points with her nail file.
“First floor. Can't miss it.”
You follow the direction she's indicating and spot a small elevator you've somehow never noticed despite coming here several times a week.
“Thank you.”
You press the button, and the doors slide open.
A few seconds later, you're stepping out onto the first floor and approaching another reception desk.
“Hello. I have a massage scheduled.”
The receptionist offers a polite smile and types something into her computer.
“I have you booked with Mr. Zayne.”
You nod.
“Just down the hall. The door has his name on it.”
You follow the hallway, stop outside the room and knock.
“Come in,” a muffled voice replies.
You open the door and immediately forget how to breathe.
The man inside is devastatingly handsome.
Tall. Lean muscle visible beneath the sleeves of his black uniform. Short black hair and hazel-green eyes that lift to meet yours.
“Welcome. My name is Zayne. I'll be your massage therapist.”
His voice is calm and professional.
You manage a shy greeting.
“Please remove any accessories and undress to your comfort level.”
“What if my comfort level is fully dressed?” you mumble.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward.
“I'm afraid I won't be able to do my job properly. I'll give you a few minutes.”
With that, he quietly exits the room.
The moment the door closes, you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding.
After undressing, you arrange your clothes neatly on a nearby chair. At the last second, you decide to remove your bra as well, hiding it beneath the pile before climbing onto the massage table and settling on your stomach.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Come in,” you call, hoping your voice doesn't sound shaky.
Without a word, he drapes a towel over you and dims the lights until the room glows with soft, warm shadows.
“Are you okay with music?” he asks as the steady sound of white noise fills the room.
“I may fall asleep.”
“This might feel a little cold”
A moment later, oil touches your skin.
Then his hands follow.
The first contact sends a shiver through you.
His fingers are long and cool but not unpleasant as they work through the tension knotted in your shoulders and back. At first, the pressure feels uncomfortable, but gradually your muscles begin to relax beneath his practiced hands.
Then he finds a particularly stubborn knot.
A soft moan escapes you before you can stop it.
Your eyes widen in mortification.
Immediately, you bite down on your lip so hard it bleeds.
“Tell me if it hurts,” Zayne says, completely calm.
If he noticed, he gives no indication.
His hands move from your shoulders and back to your arms before continuing lower to your legs.
You keep your mouth clamped shut as tightly as possible.
Unfortunately, that does nothing to stop your thoughts from wandering into inappropriate territory.
“You can turn over now.”
You freeze.
What of the topless situation?
Thankfully, he hands you a towel before looking away.
Pressing it tightly against your chest, you somehow manage to flip over. Although you probably look like a turtle struggling onto its back.
Unfortunately, this position creates an entirely new problem.
Now you can not only feel Zayne's touch, but see him as well.
And that makes the situation ten times worse.
You tense instinctively and squeeze your eyes shut.
You attempt to mentally stabilize yourself by counting.
“Are you alright?”
Your eyes snap open.
Zayne is standing nearby, a hint of concern in his expression.
“Your face is rather flushed. Would you like some water?”
“I'm fine,” you lie.
You aren't entirely sure how you survive the rest of the appointment, but somehow you do.
Zayne hands you a towel and directs you toward a private shower area before stepping outside to give you privacy.
You turn the water as cold as possible.
When you emerge, dressed once more, Zayne is waiting.
“How do you feel?”
“Like jelly,” you admit.
Something suspiciously close to a smile appears on his lips.
You know this is the moment you're supposed to leave.
Instead, you remain rooted to the spot.
“Do you offer private sessions?” you blurt out before courage can abandon you.
“I don't make house calls, if that's what you're asking.”
Not exactly what you meant.
You force a smile.
“Thank you, Zayne. I'll be sure to leave a good review. Goodbye.”
Before you can embarrass yourself any further, you practically flee.
As you pass the reception desk, you're asked whether you'd like to schedule another appointment.
You politely decline.
What were you thinking?
A man like Zayne is probably already taken.
And even if he isn't, no doubt his profession he gets to meet plenty of beautiful women.
Why would he ever notice someone like you?
The elevator doors begin to close.
Then a hand appears between them.
The doors slide back open and Zayne steps inside.
The doors close behind him.
“This may be unprofessional of me...”
You look up.
“...Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?”
You can’t help but notice the faint pink tint coloring the tips of his ears.
