This isn’t what Jensen was looking for. Not that he’ll complain too much about the spread of dark skin laid out under his cheek, but it’s the truth. He wasn’t looking. Still, Kevin was there to be found.

--- --- ---

The gym is hot, stifling really, not anything like the cool silence of the place he’s used to up in Vancouver. There it was early mornings spent absorbing miles of chlorine into his skin as he curled into the next lap in the pool. The reverberation of his own voice as he grunted his way through the next set, metal clang as the weights settled back against each other. An empty sauna leading to an empty shower and a chance to breathe before he threw himself into another fourteen, fifteen, twenty-hour day. He got used to the quiet, the solitude of pushing his body through the motions.

This place is none of those things.

Laziness spurs Jensen into the gym in the middle of the day, lunch time rush of bodies trying to fit a two hour workout into forty-five minutes. The line of televisions above the treadmills each flash a different program, white coil of wire connecting each stationary runner to the sound. Music blares, some non-descript beat that makes his heart race almost enough that he doesn’t need the cardio, even though he hasn’t started his workout yet.

Women sweat and bounce, trying to look tiny and perfect and sexy while tucked into lycra spandex. Men grunt, spotting each other as they lift too much weight, muscles burning with the exertion. Sharp distinct curve of sweat soaked into the back of their shirts, fake California tan glistening.

Jensen moves through, anonymous among people who are more famous or just don’t care about his existence. The pool is full, grandparents strapped down with water weights walking the Olympic size lanes of blue water, chlorine hanging in the air like a mist. He keeps walking, towel slung around his shoulders even though he hasn’t paused once on his walk through the gym. He pushes through a door, bright squeak of sneakers against parquet flooring drawing his eyes up. The door closes, blocking out the pounding beat and the rustle of too many voices and then there is only the rhythm of those feet against the court, the sharp squawk of rubber on wood as a body stops and shoots, basketball swoosh through the net.

He wasn’t looking, but there is something to be found.

Jensen smiles, tight nod of his head at the stranger alone on the basketball court, loose shorts hanging low on slim hips and the harsh green of a Celtics jersey covering deep coffee colored skin.

“Up for some one on one, man?”

The question spins through his brain, short-circuited by the scent of sweat over Hugo Boss. Jensen breathes in, looks up into chocolate brown eyes flushed dark, pink mouth stretched wide into a grin.

“Yeah, sure. Hey, I’m Jensen.”

“Kevin. Ready to get your ass handed to you?” His body shifts, shoulders dipping down as he palms the ball, weaving around Jensen to shoot, arms in a sweet curve over his head.

“Hey now, a little respect for your elders there.” Jensen cracks a grin, tossing his towel onto the chairs lined up in the sidelines, quicksilver stealing the rebound off the back board before it drops back into Kevin’s hand.

“Sure thing, Gramps.” Kevin slips by, full body brush against Jensen’s side as he sets up for the game. Jensen’s eyes track down, watching the fluid motion of muscle gliding into position.

“All right. Game on.”

--- --- ---

The shower feels good, just shy of scalding over his skin, stance spread wide to brace his body, forearm against cold tile as the water pounds into his back. Cock hanging heavy and half hard between his thighs, willpower keeping his hand from wrapping around it and stripping out relief in the middle of a crowded locker room. He does not look to his left, does not watch the slip of water over coffee colored flesh, does not test his thoughts on tan lines and dark hair curling down from the lightest trail under the barrier of green shorts.

He wants to, but he doesn’t look.

--- --- ---

Fully dressed, Kevin is crisp and sharp, black suit over starched white cotton, dark hair artfully rumpled. Hugo Boss cologne turned sweeter over his skin twisting Jensen’s stomach into knots.

Jensen slips back into jeans and a t-shirt, leftover from Vancouver with a moose declaring ‘Canada, eh?’ screened across the front. The growth of stubble over his chin looks rougher compared to Kevin’s smooth cheeks and he rubs at his face thinking about running home to shave.

They end up walking together out of the gym, expensive black car beeping as Kevin pushes the button on his keys. Jensen’s riding Chris’s old Kawasaki, left behind while he’s on tour and easier to park in the overcrowded city. Kevin looks hopeful, fingers curling around Jensen’s arm to catch his attention over the rumble of the bike.

“So, Thursday, same time? And I won’t even let you win then.”

Jensen nods, moving to tug the helmet onto his head but Kevin is faster, his lips soft against Jensen’s mouth for an instant before he’s pulling away and climbing in behind tinted windows with his face lit up in a smile, bass rhythm pouring out the stuttering beat of Jensen’s pulse. .

Jensen touches his mouth, tongue across his lips tasting cinnamon before he pulls the helmet down snug over his face, tinted shield hiding his eyes from the sunlight.

--- --- ---

Thursday brings a freak storm, rain pounding down in sheets from the sky and making riding his bike treacherous at best. Jensen calls a cab to bring him to the gym, clothes soaked against his skin in the five seconds it takes to get from the cab to the glass doors of the lobby. Kevin’s standing there, still in his suit, cell phone tucked to his ear and a scowl furrowed into his brow. It makes him look old, the irritation radiating from his eyes. Jensen points toward the locker room, lifting his bag to show that he’s going to change, but Kevin shakes his head, mouthing ‘wait’ before his attention turns back to the phone call.

Jensen shrugs, pulling at the soaked cotton of the polo shirt he threw on where it’s sticking to his stomach. The fabric drops back, heavy against his skin, water dripping onto the floor at his feet. The girl at the reception desk shoots him a warning glance, lips pursed together as the carpet darkens.

Kevin growls something into his phone, snapping it shut with one hand as the other finds the collar of Jensen’s shirt. His mouth is rougher this time, tongue slicking into Jensen’s mouth as he flounders for purchase. Jensen’s fingers dig into the sides of Kevin’s jacket to keep from falling over under the push of his mouth. He tastes like cinnamon again, faint hint of coffee in the background, light and sweet. Jensen drags his mouth back for air, head swimming.

“Wait… wait. Kevin, wait.”

He wants to slam his head back into the wall, dick straining hard in his jeans from the press of hip rubbing against it. He wants, but it’s too much, too fast and he can’t breathe.

“Just wait. Okay?”

Kevin breathes, chest rising and falling against Jensen’s hand where it's pressed between them, mouth kissed red and open as he pulls in air. He looks ashamed suddenly, too forward and too impulsive in his confidence.

“I’m sorry, Jensen. I .. just. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Jensen’s floundering again, left dripping wet in the lobby of a gym he doesn’t even like with the taste of cinnamon in his mouth and his cock hard in his jeans. Kevin’s out the door, black umbrella flicked up against the pound of rain; pant legs dampened as it bounces up off the pavement around him. His lights flash once, doors unlocking before Kevin disappears behind tinted glass.

The pool is empty, water aerobics cancelled because of the rain. Jensen works his way through twenty laps before he falls into the heat of the shower, ignoring the heavy bob of his dick against his belly, subzero pool water not enough to send his blood back into circulation.

He isn’t looking for this, but now he wants, denial settling thick in his stomach.

--- --- ---

The gym feels empty without Kevin there, the solo squeak of his sneakers echoing against the wooden floor. Only his own breath and feet and heart pounding as he takes out his aggression on the court against no one.

Jensen goes every day for a week, working the girl at the front desk for information, even just a last name for the enigma that planted some desire in his brain, but she’s not talking. He rents a locker, buys a membership and new basketball sneakers, high tops that won’t leave black streaks on the floor even though that gives him a sense of accomplishment, seeing where his feet took purchase. He switches to mornings, less people crowding into his space, less offers to play that he declines. It’s quieter again, even though he straps his iPod to his arm and snakes white wires into his ears to block out the world while he works his way up and down the court.

Three weeks pass before he sees Kevin again, not in the gym but at a table at some sidewalk café, crisp suit and power tie, briefcase at his feet. He’s alone, empty chair across from him with the place setting removed, beer bottle dripping condensation onto the white tablecloth. Jensen doesn’t stop to think before he’s sliding into the chair opposite, stealing the bottle from the table and taking a long pull before he meets Kevin’s eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to run away, you know. I just needed a second to breathe.”

Kevin swallows, dark eyes tracking the curl of his fingers around cold glass. “And now?”

Jensen smiles. “Now I’m breathing fine.”

--- --- ---

Jensen shifts, stubble catching against the smooth skin of Kevin’s chest as he works his way down to follow that line of dark hair. Kevin groans, fingers curling against the back of Jensen’s head as his thighs spread to make room for Jensen’s body.

This isn’t what he was looking for, but it’s what he wants, now that he can breathe again.