fissionmailed | BIG SWEATY GYM TIMES/TORTURE

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BIG SWEATY GYM TIMES/TORTURE

[The Nexus gym is particularly loud and noisy today, as someone is in there barking orders like a standard drill sergeant, except the said orders are in Russian. The treadmill is rattling and rolling at a high speed, and there is the sound of feet clopping along on it in their frantic rhythm.

At the back corner upon entry, there is the large, imposing figure of Volgin, still quite large and still very imposing even in casual dress. He is currently overseeing the forced fitness regimen of one of the Raikovs he had come to grow some attachment to (as he is aware of clones in this place, but still grasping the concept). Fed up with this pattern of fattening Raikovs, the Soviet giant is determined to rectify the problem. Once a GRU colonel in charge of his own unit (in this Volgin's particular case), the proper care and maintenance of his men was a high priority and body shape was among those concerns.

No man looked like Volgin at his age without proper self-discipline! Like a good commanding officer, he feels it is his proper duty to keep his men in shape if they are so foolish as to let their discipline slip. There would be consequences.

Starting with this one.

Whenever Raikov's pace slackens, Volgin coolly holds a hand out, and a good electric probe to his asscheek helps him right back along. His face is locked for the time being into a stony indifference. No matter what sounds Raikov makes or how much he complains: There is a price to pay for letting such a beautiful body grow soft, and there will be correction.]

((OOC: Open post, anyone is free to walk in and interact in any way you see fit! Sometimes they're both there, sometimes Ivan is left there and Volgin is off doing something in another room. Pretty briefly, if he's out.))

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Ahh... [Ivan's head drooped, shoulders slouching.]

I'm going to die, Yevgeny.

[Volgin dangerously narrows his eyes, readying his hand again to help wake him right back up. Put a little life in him.]

You're that out of shape?

N-no...

[Ivan straightened up the best he could.]

I just need a break...

Not yet.

[It was firm and unyielding. Raikov is not getting out of this one, alas.]

[Ivan whined, drawn out and irritating. He was slowing down again already.]

But...

[If Ivan slowed down too much, Volgin's hand is quick to rectify his insufficient speed. The older man was already in position. Maybe his younger companion could feel that large hand's presence lingering right behind him.]

No buts.

Pick up the pace, Ivan.

Gyah! [Ivan jumped forward as he received another shock to his behind. He revived and picked up the pace.]

Y-yevgeny!!

Your self-discipline has been lacking.

We would not be here if you had respected your body and properly maintained it.

I've still...[Huff]...trained, Yevgeny.

[Ivan was feeling faint, almost tripping over his own feet several times.]

[Volgin puffs, very unimpressed. A sharp headjerk of disapproval.]

I'm not seeing it.

[The electricity off, his hand finds a good place to grab at Ivan and still not impede his movement (like a good trained soldier).]

I'm not feeling it.

This should be nothing for you.

Yeah...well...

[Oh, a hand on his ass.] Mmhh...Volgi--[That brief moment of distract was all it took--Ivan's foot hit the treads at the wrong angle and he screamed, girlish and terrified as he fell forward and was rocketed off the treadmill and landed a few feet away.]

[And there Raikov went, slipping out of Volgin's grip and away to the floor. The treadmill continues to roll.]

Ivan!

[Raikov could feel Volgin over him, a knee inches away. There is a hand nearby as well.]

Are you alright?

[Ivan laboriously rolled over onto his back, red scuff marks on his previously smooth face and arms.]

...[A heavy sigh, relieved almost.]

Just...gimmie a minute. [Nap time.]

[Volgin is not going to yield, Raikov.

As a matter of fact, because he cares just that much, he is going to pull you up by your shoulders and stand you up himself. He does a single brush across the smaller Russian one time one direction, one time another. Quick. Brisk. A light patting slap on the cheek.

The hand rests on Raikov's shoulder, where the other one is.

Volgin leans in:]

We're not done yet.

Nn... ["No!" shouts the broken record inside his head, as he's propped back up, able to stand but legs aching from the abuse.

He looks Yevgeny straight in the eyes, cheek throbbing.]

But my face hurts, Zhenya...

[No, Volgin is not going to succumb to that face! lookatthemarkonititlookslikeyours

No.

There is a drawn grunt, and low swinging jerk of his head as he sneers. Stop looking at his eyes.]

You're going to let a little ... face ache get in the way?!

It really burns...

[Ivan reaches up to prod at his face, wincing as his fingers graze over sensitive skin. It was cut enough to show the red of blood, but not enough for it to bleed out. The surface has already begun to raise.]

O-oh god, it's cut...what if it scars?!

[His beautiful face!]

[The thought of that perfect face marring into something of his caliber of mutilation was a troubling thought for the older Soviet. A very troubling thought.

Raikov won out, for now: It was enough to have Volgin hesitate, before muttering something and quietly sliding over to where perhaps he could find a first aid kit.

Just to be safe.]

[Ivan followed after the larger man, figuring they were leaving the gym to return to his apartment--steamy sex would ensue as usual, but only after they patched up his face.

While shambling along he made sure to cover the offended region.]

[Oh no. Volgin snapped his large head back at Raikov when he felt the silver-haired Soviet follow him.]

Where do you think you're going?

[He stopped short.] What--I thought we were leaving?

No, I am fixing your face.

Oh...

[Ivan seemed to accept that, appreciate it even if judging by the surprised look on his face.

Or maybe that was just the surprise of realizing they weren't leaving, a look that was soon flooded with blatant angst.

More exercise.]

[Sorry, Raikov. You're stuck on the exercise train, and Volgin is the conductor.

And you're not leaving this gym until he's satisfied.

For now, there he is with the first aid kit, with that tell-tale red cross on the box. He makes a sharp gesture to one of the machines, turned off.]

Sit.

[A grumble. Ivan sits, slumped over with his elbows on his knees.]

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