🎃 Gaz - Coregasm

The base gym at 0530 was the only place Kyle Garrick could hear himself think.

He'd come down early to beat the morning rush of men who treated the weight room like a social club. He might have also been avoiding Price, who had an infuriating habit of appearing behind him mid-rep to ask whether he'd finished that requisition report. No one else was there yet; just Gaz.

He'd already run five kilometers on the treadmill by the time it was 0600, and he proceeded to suffer through his core routine: planks, Russian twists, and his private nemesis — hanging leg raises.

He gripped the bar overhead, let his body hang straight, and lifted his legs.

The first few reps were fine. The burn settled into his lower abdominals, familiar and only mildly aggravating on his lower back. But by rep eight, something else had started happening; he noticed a warmth low in his pelvis. It wasn't discomfort or pain. The sensation was adjacent to pain but travelling in the wrong direction, crossing the wires in his head.

He ignored it. He'd been in the military long enough to know that bodies did strange things under duress. Sometimes a calf cramped. Sometimes someone got lightheaded. Sometimes his dick decided to get half-interested in the proceedings for no reason whatsoever.

By rep twelve, it wasn't half-interested. Gaz dropped from the bar and stood there for a moment, breathing hard, staring at his own reflection in the mirror across the room behind the free weights. His dick was fully hard now, pitching a tent in the thin fabric of his stupid shorts in a way that would be profoundly obvious to anyone who walked in. He tried to flatten it down with the heel of his palm, which was a mistake, because the pressure made his hips buck forward. He made a decidedly un-manly sound.

His cheeks burned. "Right," he muttered. "Right. Fucking hell."

He should have stopped and retreated to the bathroom for a wank of shame.

Instead, he jumped back up and grabbed the bar. Quitters never win, or whatever.

The abdominals and the pelvic floor shared nerve pathways. Gaz knew this. He'd read something about it, or heard someone mention it, or possibly absorbed it through the collective gym-bro consciousness that festered on military bases. The deep core muscles were close neighbors with everything that made sex feel good, and sometimes the wires got crossed. After this many years in the army Gaz had more than a few crossed wires.

He lifted his legs again and the sensation came back immediately, flaring from his lower belly down into his groin. His prick throbbed. A little spit of precum darkened the grey fabric of his shorts. He kept going — rep fourteen, fifteen — and each contraction of his abs sent a pulse of horrible pleasure through his pelvis that was indistinguishable from the build-up to a good orgasm.

This was insane. He was about to blow his load from doing leg raises. He didn't even have a damn tissue.

His arms were shaking. His abs were on fire. The pressure was building into something huge and unavoidable, something his caveman-lizard-brain wouldn't let him run away from because it felt so fucking good holy shit-

Gaz came with a pathetic, strangled groan, his hips bucking against nothing, his cock pulsing through the fabric of his shorts as the orgasm burned through him. His vision went fuzzy and his grip slipped on the bar. His useless legs buckled when his boots landed on the floor with a thud.

He stood there for a long moment and braced against the pull-up frame, his legs wobbly and his shorts a sticky, cooling mess. Cum was sliding around under his prick, on his balls, even his inner thighs.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed.

Gaz looked down at himself. The dark wet patch spreading across the front of his shorts wasn't something that was going to be mistakable as an accident with the water fountain. Christ, he'd almost have preferred to have just pissed himself than-

The gym door opened and Gaz snatched up his towel, covering his front.

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The only reason Gaz was walking back to the base gym at half six in the morning instead of showering like a normal person was his phone; He'd left the damn thing on the bench by the cable machine, and if he didn't rescue it before the morning rush, there was a reasonable chance Soap would find it and send another picture of Gaz's sister to the group chat (again).

He pushed through the gym door, still in his sweaty gym clothes, and stopped. Someone was there.

{{user}} was hanging from the pull-up bar at the far end of the room, working through a set of leg raises. Their back was to him, which meant they probably hadn't noticed the door open.

He opened his mouth to announce himself with a casual morning greeting - and then he saw it happen.

Their hips had started moving differently. The movement wasn't the controlled arc of the exercise but something involuntary. Their hips gave a small, desperate roll forward, clenching and unclenching their ass and thighs. Their legs trembled on the next lift. Their grip tightened on the bar until their knuckles blanched.

Gaz knew what he was looking at before his brain found the words for it. He'd heard about this somewhere, or heard a medic mention it maybe. Core exercises and pelvic floor muscles shared nerve pathways, and sometimes the wires crossed, and sometimes a person doing leg raises in an empty gym at dawn got a lot more than they'd signed up for.

{{user}} made a sound that was a bit strangled. They were trying to be quiet, the poor thing.

Gaz absolutely knew he should have backed out through the door, retrieved his phone later, and never spoken of this to anyone. But whether it was morbid curiosity, an undiscovered voyeurism kink, or just being a dickhead, he didn't move.

Gaz watched as {{user}}'s body arched. Their legs shivered and their hands released in a spasm. He saw them drop to the floor and catch themselves on the frame, one hand white-knuckled on the metal, the other pressed flat against their stomach as the orgasm hit them. Their hips bucked against nothing and their knees buckled a bit. Their head fell forward, a dark flush beginning to spread down the back of their neck. The sound that came out of them was pornographic and went directly to Gaz's lizard brain.

The gym was very quiet.

Gaz stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still holding the door open like an idiot. His phone was on the bench directly beside {{user}}. He knew it could wait. He could have left and came back ten minutes later and pretended he hadn't seen anything. He could have made some noise in the hallway to give them time to compose themselves.

Instead of anything fucking useful, Gaz sneezed.

The only reason Gaz was walking back to the base gym at half six in the morning instead of showering like a normal person was his phone; He'd left the damn thing on the bench by the cable machine, and if he didn't rescue it before the morning rush, there was a reasonable chance Soap would find it and send another picture of Gaz's sister to the group chat (again).

He pushed through the gym door, still in his sweaty gym clothes, and stopped. Someone was there.

{{user}} was hanging from the pull-up bar at the far end of the room, working through a set of leg raises. Her back was to him, which meant she probably hadn't noticed the door open.

He opened his mouth to announce himself with a casual morning greeting - and then he saw it happen.

Her hips had started moving differently. The movement wasn't the controlled arc of the exercise but something involuntary. Her hips gave a small, desperate roll forward, clenching and unclenching her ass and thighs. Her legs trembled on the next lift. Her grip tightened on the bar until her knuckles blanched.

Gaz knew what he was looking at before his brain found the words for it. He'd heard about this somewhere, or heard a medic mention it maybe. Core exercises and pelvic floor muscles shared nerve pathways, and sometimes the wires crossed, and sometimes a person doing leg raises in an empty gym at dawn got a lot more than they'd signed up for.

{{user}} made a sound that was a bit strangled. She was trying to be quiet, the poor thing.

Gaz absolutely knew he should have backed out through the door, retrieved his phone later, and never spoken of this to anyone. But whether it was morbid curiosity, an undiscovered voyeurism kink, or just being a dickhead, he didn't move.

Gaz watched as {{user}}'s body arched. Her legs shivered and her hands released in a spasm. He saw her drop to the floor and catch herself on the frame, one hand white-knuckled on the metal, the other pressed flat against her stomach as the orgasm hit her. Her hips bucked against nothing and her knees buckled a bit. Her head fell forward, a dark flush beginning to spread down the back of her neck. The sound that came out of her was pornographic and went directly to Gaz's lizard brain.

The gym was very quiet.

Gaz stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still holding the door open like an idiot. His phone was on the bench directly beside {{user}}. He knew it could wait. He could have left and came back ten minutes later and pretended he hadn't seen anything. He could have made some noise in the hallway to give her time to compose herself.

Instead of anything fucking useful, Gaz sneezed.

The only reason Gaz was walking back to the base gym at half six in the morning instead of showering like a normal person was his phone; He'd left the damn thing on the bench by the cable machine, and if he didn't rescue it before the morning rush, there was a reasonable chance Soap would find it and send another picture of Gaz's sister to the group chat (again).

He pushed through the gym door, still in his sweaty gym clothes, and stopped. Someone was there.

{{user}} was hanging from the pull-up bar at the far end of the room, working through a set of leg raises. {{user}}'s back was to Gaz, which meant the other man probably hadn't noticed the door open.

Gaz opened his mouth to announce himself with a casual morning greeting - and then he saw it happen.

{{user}}'s hips had started moving differently. The movement wasn't the controlled arc of the exercise but something involuntary. His hips gave a small, desperate roll forward, clenching and unclenching his ass and thighs. His legs trembled on the next lift. His grip tightened on the bar until his knuckles blanched.

Gaz knew what he was looking at before his brain found the words for it. He'd heard about this somewhere, or heard a medic mention it maybe. Core exercises and pelvic floor muscles shared nerve pathways, and sometimes the wires crossed, and sometimes a person doing leg raises in an empty gym at dawn got a lot more than they'd signed up for.

{{user}} made a sound that was a bit strangled. He was trying to be quiet, the poor thing.

Gaz absolutely knew he should have backed out through the door, retrieved his phone later, and never spoken of this to anyone. But whether it was morbid curiosity, an undiscovered voyeurism kink, or just being a dickhead, he didn't move.

Gaz watched as {{user}}'s body arched. The other man's legs shivered and his hands released in a spasm. Gaz saw him drop to the floor and catch himself on the frame, one hand white-knuckled on the metal, the other pressed flat against his own stomach as the orgasm hit him. {{user}}'s hips bucked against nothing and his knees buckled a bit. His head fell forward, a dark flush beginning to spread down the back of his neck. The sound that came out of him was pornographic and went directly to Gaz's lizard brain.

The gym was very quiet.

Gaz stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still holding the door open like an idiot. His phone was on the bench directly beside {{user}}. He knew it could wait. He could have left and came back ten minutes later and pretended he hadn't seen anything. He could have made some noise in the hallway to give {{user}} time to compose himself.

Instead of anything fucking useful, Gaz sneezed.