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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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.]

[Good.

Raikov finds the giant sitting across from him, opening the kit and, finding the peroxide, staining it into a square of gauze. That done, the little chin is seized in the large rubber grip, presenting that injured cheek to him.]

This will sting.

[His voice was soft, an attempt at comfort (a rarity reserved for the younger man, really), but the only warning offered.

The gauze pressed.]

[Mm, that strong hand gripping his face. It always made him want to ravage those lips, to pull and twist at the larger man's belt until his coat fell open revealing the rubber suit underneath. A red Soviet puzzle he had to solve to reach the prize of a marvelous co--]

Ah! [Ivan hissed softly as the gauze pressed against his cheek, interrupting his thoughts.]

[Alas, Raikov had to deal with the assault of that merciless gauze pad bubbling the filth out of his wound. Volgin was hardly thinking of anything erotic right now, more interested in his purposes and ends.

And keeping Raikov's face from scarring up.

He could not stand for that, especially.

The wound cleaned, there was a fresh gauze pad with antibiotic cream smeared into it taped to Raikov's face. It was tenderly placed, or as much as Volgin could manage for what he was.]

You're done. [He was using a soft tone of voice.]

Get up.

[Ivan tenderly pressed his fingers to the newly applied gauze looking contemplative.]

Thanks... [He stood up, glanced over nervously at the treadmill.]

My legs are sore, Zhenya. [The sweetest voice he could muster would surely work.]

[Nope.

Volgin is up too. His eyes trailed suggestively from Raikov to the dreaded fitness conditioning device.]

You still haven't completed your exercise regime for today.

[You're not getting out of it, Raikov.]

[He merely groaned.]

Can I at least do something else then?

Like let you lie down and sleep on the floor?

[His tone was flat.]

Well, if you insist--[Ivan turned, knowing full well Volgin was being sarcastic.]

[Volgin hotly snapped:]

After you finish your exercise session.

[He pointed at the still rolling and rumbling treadmill, on the whole time.]

Get to it.

Yevgenyyy...[He whined.]

Can't I lift weights or something? [Siiigh.]

[Hm, Ivan had a point.

But that had Ivan getting his stomach groped again, as Yevgeny thought. His grope was harsh, as Volgin-gropes usually went.]

You are needing work on your stomach... [His tone was considering.]

[The feeling this groping gave him contrasted sharply to how he usually felt about the older Soviet's touch.

Mostly shame and embarrassment, an unwillingness to let him touch him at all. He pushed Volgin's hands away after a few seconds.]

Yeah...

Then.

Mat. Floor.

[He gestured to the stacked pile. Raikov was going to burn calories in setup; Volgin was just a guide.

A forceful one.]

Get set up.

[Another sigh, irritated and exhausted. A quick glance around the room and Ivan located a mat to drag over.

He dropped it lifelessly in front of him, kicking open either end with his sore feet.

Weights would have been better, he thought, as his tired body laid down on the blue gym mat. Hands tucked and interlocked behind his head.]

...[A glance at Volgin.]

[But Volgin had that abdominal fat on his mind.

A foot on your feet, Raikov. Not enough to cause pain but there was pressure, and the younger man would not be going anywhere else.

Down, down Volgin was looking at him. A slight smirk touched his older face. It was the physical pleasure of a controlling high slipping through.]

Alright, Ivan:

One.

[Ivan glowered back at the larger Soviet, grunting and doing a single crunch.]

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