terroriser / h2o delirious
There is a man standing behind the welcome desk when he walks in the door of the gym, someone new, there’s usually a girl working there, one with bright eyes and curly red hair (the reason he usually comes here to begin with) but he’s here already and who cares about who’s checking him in when there’s weights to be lifted and sweat to burn.
He spends over a hour at the racks, the gym is otherwise empty but for the two of them. The man is reading a magazine behind the counter, his feet propped up on the desk and Terroriser calls out to him, slight mocking, teasing, trying to rile him up a bit because he’s bored and why not and what’s the harm.
The guy looks up, doesn’t say anything, then drops his feet and, reluctantly, comes out from behind the desk.
He sits at the machine next to Terroriser, magazine on his lap bookmarked by his fingers that are reluctant to part with it and Terroriser takes a good look, a second glance at the magazine expecting some kind of sports digest or something but, no.
It’s a nudie mag.
“For fuck’s sake man!” He starts to say, and almost drops the weight on his chest.
And then he laughs and jokes with the guy who is very friendly and oddly familiar but he’s not really that good with names so he asks the guy if he owes him money or something and the guy says no, he’s good.
Then immediately changes his mind, asking for a 50 and they get along pretty well for another hour or so Terroriser’s pretty much given up on working out or has finished as much as he wanted to do, and the guy goes back to his nudie mag, talking as he looks at it.
And they’re having a good time, so Terroriser asks him if he wants to get some drinks or something, so they go, and the whole time he can’t figure out why the southern accent in Ireland of all places, so he finally asks, hours later.
“It felt like the things to do,” Jon replies. And shrugs, thumbing through another mag he picked up at the corner store as they walked the streets.
“And what’s with the damn nudie mag?” Brian asks, poking the thing like he’s afraid there’s something on it. “I get a healthy interest in the stuff but your face has been in that all day.”
“You don’t like ass?” Jon looks up horrified. “Boobs and ass are the best man!”
Hiding another mag inside the magazine, like a kid hiding comics at school. The sultry girl on the outside cover, smoking dude on the inside, and he flips back and forth between them as they walk.
They start talking about who has the best ass and it should be obvious, it really should, just because the guy has shady dark hair and wears sunglasses (in this weather with the constant threat of rain) looking like a man who just tumbled out of bed with the same clothes he slept in, just because some of the people they name aren’t all girls (”yeah his ass is kinda tight I guess I mean he must work out”) but he’s not really trying and he’s not really looking so it just .. passes him by.