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Jon crosses his arms over his chest, narrows his eyes, and stares at Damian exercising on the bar. He bites his lower lip, literally devouring Damian's bare back with his eyes.
Damian's body is a perfect machine, moving with fluidity. His muscles work in synergy: his biceps flex almost spasmodically, pulling his body upward; his back muscles bend in on themselves, bringing his shoulder blades closer together and straightening his back. Even though Jon can't see it from this angle, he can easily imagine his abs contracting to keep his whole body stable. It's a real joy for the eyes. Jon slowly moves to see more, almost sideways, hovering to avoid making noise and distracting Damian. His face is tense; he bites his lower lip to contain the effort. The muscles in his arms are swollen, and some veins are visible. Jon can't help but admit how much he likes what Damian is unknowingly showing him.
Jon has never hidden his attraction to Damian, although he doesn't know if Damian has ever noticed. Not that he's in a hurry to tell him anyway. He can enjoy those training sessions without seeming strange—well, less strange than his alien nature makes him — and he can take his time watching every movement and, thanks to his powers, linger on the way each muscle contracts... from those in his lips when he breathes to those in his neck when he turns.
Damian is watching him. His green eyes seem to glisten beneath the edge of his sweat-dampened eyelashes. His lips are half-open, soft, full, and bright pink. He is wiping his skin with a towel, and his chest rises and falls at irregular intervals. Everything about Damian screams sensuality, and Jon knows he's fully aware of his effect on others. Because, really, how could he not be?
"Are you going to work out, too, or just stand there and watch all day?"
Damian's sarcastic and slightly annoyed question comes unexpectedly, and Jon blinks several times before understanding. He wants to say yes, that he doesn't mind the view and he's fine where he is, but dismisses the idea and shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides.
"No, I'm coming," he says, approaching Damian and clearing his throat with a cough.
Jon already knows what to do. Usually, when Damian ends up at the bar, it's time for push-ups. Sometimes they spar, other times they train with bokken — Damian insists that he must be able to rely on other skills, not just his powers, and Jon agrees — or other disciplines. But in 80% of cases, it's definitely abdominal push-ups. Jon braces himself on his heels, bends his knees, and fixes his gaze on Damian's movements. He carefully lies down on his back, puts his arms behind his head, and rests his feet on the ground. Jon places his hands on Damian's thighs to hold him steady.
When Damian does this exercise, it's always like this. His push-ups require assistance due to his titanium spine, and Jon, being a generous friend, always helps him. But the truth is that Jon can see Damian better from that position: his bare chest, his abdominal muscles contracting, the way he sucks his cheek into his mouth to contain the effort, and his furrowed brow. Jon always loses himself in that view, savoring every last image. He sees no reason why he shouldn't. They're just two friends doing a bit of training. If he happens to glance a little more than usual, what's the problem?
Everything is as usual until something in the routine suddenly changes. Damian easily frees his legs from Jon's grip — not that Jon was putting much pressure on him — and, under Jon's bewildered gaze, he hooks his legs around Jon's neck. He continues doing sit-ups as if nothing had happened. He leans so close to Jon's face that Jon breathes on him repeatedly, almost unintentionally. Jon stares at Damian with an intense, hungry look. Oh, yes. He likes that kind of exercise too much. Perhaps his body's reactions are struggling to hide it as much as he would like.
"Earth to Jon. Respond, space cadet."
"I—what?"
Jon stammers incoherently for only a moment before Damian leans forward once more, closing the distance between them with a stolen kiss. Jon can hardly believe it. One moment, he's staring at Damian with a hungry gaze, desiring everything imaginable—human and alien. The next, Damian fulfills his desire to claim his lips while Jon continues to train beneath him. Is he dreaming? Did he get hit in the head during their sparring session, causing him to hallucinate? Whatever is happening between them at that moment, he wants to enjoy it.
The kiss is fast and greedy. It's so voracious that Jon feels drunk and breathless. It lasts just a moment. Then, Damian goes back down, leaving Jon disoriented. He flexes his abs again and kisses Jon repeatedly, making that moment part of the workout itself. Jon leans forward without thinking, resting his hands on Damian's hips and holding him tight. Those kisses become more eager and less hurried. Jon can taste the minty toothpaste Damian used to brush his teeth. He runs his tongue over his lips, savoring every nook and cranny of Damian's mouth. They kiss as if they haven't wanted anything else for years, continuing until they run out of breath. They separate with a thin thread of saliva glistening in the gym light. Their faces are both red, but Jon is certain it's not because of the workout they've had so far.
"Next time you want to look at me, don't just undress me with your eyes," Damian whispers hoarsely and sensually in Jon's ear, and all of Jon's synapses disconnect at that moment.
If every session ends like this from now on, training will become his favorite time of day.