Yoonjae ran on the treadmill, his black shorts left little to the imagination. His thighs were thick and fat with muscle, bouncing at every movement even though his ankle hurt bad. Real bad. He knew he shouldn't. Like his ankle would break if he jumped again. He couldn't hold back, though. The rush flooded through his veins. The attractive blonde boy would come back today. Maybe they'd talk. Maybe the blonde would flirt.
Yoonjae couldn't tell if he was scared or anticipating it with hunger. He hadn't eaten yet. Three pounds over his limit. Possibly he was just hungry. But he knew that when he'd look at the clock and see four fifteen, he'd get sweaty and burn. Not from the machine that clanked under his weight. He clicked incessantly at the button. More cardio, less thinking, less weight.
He thudded once, nodding off just slightly. Sweat coiled down his throat. They met and pooled at the gap between his collarbones as each arm swayed. Thump, thump, thumpity-thump.
Goodness! He stared at himself in the mirror. His lips were pressed thin in a line, eyes distant and dusty with confusion. His head cocked to the side. The fat of his waist showed when his band tee, too oversized and wasted on his hips, glided up. It shared the heavy and now wet parts of Yoonjae's dancer body better than you'd expect.
Andrei. Andrei Smirnov.
Yoonjae watched all of the videos. Though the idea of sex and it made his stomach clamp uncomfortably, he couldn't look away. Each film, each tape, each sound. His parts hurt. Bad. Andrei's voice in positions, whether that violet-head no good was in between his legs or in his lap, Andrei would guide him with a gentle, steady tone as sticky as what they were doing! Gross! Waaaahhhh.
Goodness, Yoonjae's stomach always clamped at thinking negatively or talking harshly about other people. That bright-haired vigilante, though. Yoonjae had the urge to tear that stupid wig off. How dare Andrei let him suck him off so much? All the videos uploaded on the SmirnovVS channel on PornHub™️ were either of Andrei and the purple-haired fiend or the boy getting railed by random men or random, gorgeous women getting...touched by men or other women.
Yoonjae couldn't watch much. It made his fists clench and stomach thick. Like something deep was forced up there. He watched Andrei do that thing. And he saw how the purple haired boy had eyes like his own and plump lips that wrapped around...that thing...perfectly. Goodness. He could see the veins of it and how the other boy gripped it. How they looked at each other. The drool. The white stuff going in the boy's pretty hair.
Yoonjae knew what it was.
Using the names and even thinking about it felt like choking the monkey on the bus. Or while walking.
Uncomfortable! Uncomfortable! Un-flower-comfortable!
Sick!
Yoonjae swallowed.
That boy was called 'Minx.' In every video title, there the name be. Proud and gloating. Andrei used it in three of ten tapes, other ones? He just called him: "babe", or, "princess," or, "Minnie." Goodness.
Yoonjae could never compete with a Minnie. Minnie. Gracious!
He pressed the hike button on the treadmill. "Test yourself, Yoonie. Test yours-aaaah!" His sentence got cut short with a small shout. A whimper escaped him. The speed had gone too much, the acceleration of it becoming a small hill, all too much! His arms flailed and his legs twisted. Not another broken ankle.
"Jesus, my lord, I've never done anything to die-"
"You aren't going to die, just don't hurt yourself." Yoonjae flinched. Instead of hitting the goofy carpet of the gym, he hit a mat. Or something dense and hard. The tiny, pink-haired prune cried out.
It was loud and screechy.
And it settled quickly. His voice box cut short.
"Oh-oh..h-hi...." He breathed. Andrei, maybe, stared down at him. The man held Yoonjae from falling. His arms felt like bricks weighing him down to the ocean floor. Yoonjae gulped. "Wh..when di-did you come-come here? A-and wh-why are you-you wearing g-glasses...?" They were straight, rectangular, and clear-lined. His suit...was gone too.
Yoonjae tried to pull away. Andrei didn't.
"I needed to read. Anyways, the fuck are you doing?"
"Working...out? Yo-you're strong and attractive, y-you understand..."
"Eh, no I don't." Andrei cleared his throat. He stepped back with a brow raised. His arms crossed his belt. "Look at your leg for a moment, princess." He took a breath. "Not sure I'll understand that. I've never broken anything on my body."
"It doesn't hurt."
"Shove that up your ass." Yoonjae stared at him.
"Okay."
"Not to be aggressive, sweetheart, but you're deranged," Andrei snickered. "Insane, almost. You should be put on suicide watch. But for your leg."
"You know so much English, hihi! I-I'm just f-fine!"
"I was fifteen when I moved here, sweetheart, not twenty. Anyways," he murmured. He always talked so softly and hushed like someone was eavesdropping. Yoonjae batted his lashes.
His throat bobbed.
"So...you're a porn star besides an artist? I always see you in-in that tiny studio with all the buildings and the Chinese joint? It's a good place... I love it. We-we ca-can go there s-sometime if your boyfriend isn't worried."
Andrei's brow grew higher. "I'm not a porn star."
"You h-have vi-videos...o-of your...can I say it?" Yoonjae gestured down.
"My dick? Yeah, you can say that. And I'm not a porn star. That was sex filmed. A porn star is a brand. I'm a sculptor who liked fucking my boyfriend on camera, sweetheart."