Post by Kyle Shane on Jul 22, 2018 22:19:06 GMT -5
The clang of weights met him as he stepped into the gym, and as he craned his head to look around him, seeing what the converted steel mill had to offer, Zeke came up to slap him on the shoulder. The mustached little twink whispered into his ear, "It's a whole new world, isn't it, sailor?" He looked at the rows of machines that had been set up in the dusty remains of the old mill floor. This place had been ghost gentrified almost overnight. In the two weeks since he'd bumped into Zeke in Tribeca, he had come to appreciate that this was his little clique's way of doing business. They moved like gypsies in the night into a territory, squatted in derelict old buildings and converted them, either buying them and flipping them for profit so that the hipster hoi polloi could move in and snatch up trendy new real estate, or they just crashed and ran. The gang, who were now half-naked in the converted gym space, doggedly lifting weights, were a machine. But Ezekiel was it's main cog. It's maker, even.
It was a wonder to behold. And then Zeke nudged him, taking his silence and open gape for appreciation of the boys at work. Zeke clapped his hands, calling for a heavy medicine ball, and Kyle was astonished as the heavy weight was passed to him. He shoved it into Kyle's arms.
"So what's your pleasure? Hot crossfit? Salmon ladder?" Ezekiel said, turning around and spreading his arms out. "You wanted to see how we rolled here. What did you want to try?"
He pursed his lips, then shrugged. He'd never given this aspect much thought. "I guess I was just feeling experimental."
"Experimental..." Ezekiel leaned in, his breath hot against Kyle's neck, and he laughed, a freezing ghost of a chuckle that made the hair on his arms raise. "Lots of your kind want to be experimental... but you don't ever want to dive in to what that means."
Kyle squinted at him, crossing his arms over his chest. Now he was feeling vulnerable in his Armour shirt and basketball shorts, while the others worked at lifting weights with oiled chests and using high paced escrima on a dummy. He noticed that a few of them were watching. "My kind? What does that mean?" He said, pursed lips.
Zeke blew upwards a lock of hair back into place over his eyebrow, and smiled enigmatically. "Mid-life crisis. Wandering in a part of town you don't usually go into. Meet a young, spry hipster twink and ask him to show you the nightlife. Go to brunch but keep it hidden from your friends in your other life. Want to see how the other half lives." His voice was clipped, rapid, cutting, but his eyes smiled. "It's all good, daddy. You live your truth."
That rankled Kyle a little bit by the insinuation. "First of all, I'm not... mid-life." That made it sound old, and even as he winced that yeah, actually, twenty eight was... he refuted it with a shake of his head. That wasn't - That's not how it was with him. He wasn't dipping a toe into a life of kink he'd want to hide from the WGWF or any of his contacts in wrestling... (plus, anyone who'd paid attention to Kyle Shane roleplays since 2011 would know that bisexuality was sort of baked into it as a whole.)
But why couldn't he explain why he was drawn to hanging out with Ezekiel, and seeing how his crew of muscled, eager, bright hipster fun boys lived and worked?
The moment spun out, and Zeke smirked beneath his waxed mustache. "Mhm." And he turned, walking tautly, with precise purpose over to the weights. He didn't look back. Feeling stupid, Kyle followed along after, reflecting.
When he'd said experimental it was because he was trying for a new phase altogether. Something that made going to work for the WGWF and entering the never-ending grist mill of repetition against nobodies like Riggs and Holt, never-ending stable wars against fucking Lunacy and his idiots mean something again. If he wasn't going to have an exit plan, he could at least have a plan as to how to invite challenge, inject new and fresh thought, meet some other people and get outside his little bubble of the Chad-Array-maybe sometimes Downfall circle. It was, at the very bottom of it, why he'd committed to making a tag team with James Raven work... right? Experimental. And then meeting Ezekiel, who seemed so closed, so nonchalantly and ruthlessly venture cap. It niggled at his brain as he watched Zeke... and it drew him to the kid. Nineteen, and running with people that took him at his every word.
"So, wrestling, huh? That's fun." Zeke said as Kyle came around to him, "Thing is that that takes a lot of conditioning and training and you- what even is your regimen, guy? What do you do to get in fighting shape so to speak?"
He'd never thought that much about it. He was shocked. Considering that most of his life and the promos that registered as what he did for a living consisted of him smoking a bowl and playing X-Box on his couch, he had never given the training side much if any thought or lip service.
"Come on, someone doesn't get jacked just being a couch potato," one of the oiled up fun boys cajoled, and Zeke smirked. "Like tonight, we're going to group-run parkour from the buildings up by the deli on 121st until we get to the park."
He looked helplessly over at Zeke, who was just watching him. "It's a whole new world, brother. A whole new way for you to game."
"You can bring your friend James, if you want," one ventured.
He hadn't called James at all, he realized with a start. Jesus. If they were ever going to successfully make this team work they had to get on the same page.
Ezekiel came around the weight bench, standing beside Kyle. "You don't need him right now." His eyes pierced into his as they stood touching arms. At that moment, it was hard to argue.
Zeke turned his head, looking down at the fun boy lifting weights on the bench. "Oh, Matt..." he turned, placing both hands on the bar. "I'll spot you."
"Sure, Ezekiel, but you're on the wrong - " the weight lifter started, and then Zeke, before anybody could move, had lifted the bar out of his grasp and dropped it onto his chest viciously. The fun boy yelled explosively as he was crushed. The entire room stopped, and stared in shock. "You didn't give me your money from the coffee house job we did. You're -- trying -- to -- cut -- ME... OUT!" with every word, he had his hands on the bar, and pushed down on it, adding more pressure and downward force on the bar now crushing the man's splintered ribs, pushing fractured bone into skin terribly.
The other patrons watched, shocked, but not one made a move to stop Zeke. As Kyle looked around them, he saw in their eyes that they wouldn't cross Zeke even if they were inclined to help their brother.
Ezekiel, with a huff, slid from around the bench, releasing the bar and two other gym rats scurried around, taking it from off poor Matt on the bench, trying to tend to him even as he was gasping in a way that didn't sound good. Zeke just walked to Kyle, who was rooted to his spot. He smoothed his mustache, and then with a lick on the end of his thumb he smoothed down Kyle's hair in the front. "We gotta do some work on this hair, sweetie. The gelled quiff look hasn't been in since One Direction."
And Zeke sauntered off to another part of the gym, leaving Kyle cold. Completely blase about the act he had committed. And that's when the penny dropped. That was why he felt so drawn in, why Ezekiel felt so... home to him.
Fiercely competitive. Gamer who viewed people who worked for him as expendable. Caring only about himself. It was like an upgrade.
Kyle Shane 2.0.
It was a wonder to behold. And then Zeke nudged him, taking his silence and open gape for appreciation of the boys at work. Zeke clapped his hands, calling for a heavy medicine ball, and Kyle was astonished as the heavy weight was passed to him. He shoved it into Kyle's arms.
"So what's your pleasure? Hot crossfit? Salmon ladder?" Ezekiel said, turning around and spreading his arms out. "You wanted to see how we rolled here. What did you want to try?"
He pursed his lips, then shrugged. He'd never given this aspect much thought. "I guess I was just feeling experimental."
"Experimental..." Ezekiel leaned in, his breath hot against Kyle's neck, and he laughed, a freezing ghost of a chuckle that made the hair on his arms raise. "Lots of your kind want to be experimental... but you don't ever want to dive in to what that means."
Kyle squinted at him, crossing his arms over his chest. Now he was feeling vulnerable in his Armour shirt and basketball shorts, while the others worked at lifting weights with oiled chests and using high paced escrima on a dummy. He noticed that a few of them were watching. "My kind? What does that mean?" He said, pursed lips.
Zeke blew upwards a lock of hair back into place over his eyebrow, and smiled enigmatically. "Mid-life crisis. Wandering in a part of town you don't usually go into. Meet a young, spry hipster twink and ask him to show you the nightlife. Go to brunch but keep it hidden from your friends in your other life. Want to see how the other half lives." His voice was clipped, rapid, cutting, but his eyes smiled. "It's all good, daddy. You live your truth."
That rankled Kyle a little bit by the insinuation. "First of all, I'm not... mid-life." That made it sound old, and even as he winced that yeah, actually, twenty eight was... he refuted it with a shake of his head. That wasn't - That's not how it was with him. He wasn't dipping a toe into a life of kink he'd want to hide from the WGWF or any of his contacts in wrestling... (plus, anyone who'd paid attention to Kyle Shane roleplays since 2011 would know that bisexuality was sort of baked into it as a whole.)
But why couldn't he explain why he was drawn to hanging out with Ezekiel, and seeing how his crew of muscled, eager, bright hipster fun boys lived and worked?
The moment spun out, and Zeke smirked beneath his waxed mustache. "Mhm." And he turned, walking tautly, with precise purpose over to the weights. He didn't look back. Feeling stupid, Kyle followed along after, reflecting.
When he'd said experimental it was because he was trying for a new phase altogether. Something that made going to work for the WGWF and entering the never-ending grist mill of repetition against nobodies like Riggs and Holt, never-ending stable wars against fucking Lunacy and his idiots mean something again. If he wasn't going to have an exit plan, he could at least have a plan as to how to invite challenge, inject new and fresh thought, meet some other people and get outside his little bubble of the Chad-Array-maybe sometimes Downfall circle. It was, at the very bottom of it, why he'd committed to making a tag team with James Raven work... right? Experimental. And then meeting Ezekiel, who seemed so closed, so nonchalantly and ruthlessly venture cap. It niggled at his brain as he watched Zeke... and it drew him to the kid. Nineteen, and running with people that took him at his every word.
"So, wrestling, huh? That's fun." Zeke said as Kyle came around to him, "Thing is that that takes a lot of conditioning and training and you- what even is your regimen, guy? What do you do to get in fighting shape so to speak?"
He'd never thought that much about it. He was shocked. Considering that most of his life and the promos that registered as what he did for a living consisted of him smoking a bowl and playing X-Box on his couch, he had never given the training side much if any thought or lip service.
"Come on, someone doesn't get jacked just being a couch potato," one of the oiled up fun boys cajoled, and Zeke smirked. "Like tonight, we're going to group-run parkour from the buildings up by the deli on 121st until we get to the park."
He looked helplessly over at Zeke, who was just watching him. "It's a whole new world, brother. A whole new way for you to game."
"You can bring your friend James, if you want," one ventured.
He hadn't called James at all, he realized with a start. Jesus. If they were ever going to successfully make this team work they had to get on the same page.
Ezekiel came around the weight bench, standing beside Kyle. "You don't need him right now." His eyes pierced into his as they stood touching arms. At that moment, it was hard to argue.
Zeke turned his head, looking down at the fun boy lifting weights on the bench. "Oh, Matt..." he turned, placing both hands on the bar. "I'll spot you."
"Sure, Ezekiel, but you're on the wrong - " the weight lifter started, and then Zeke, before anybody could move, had lifted the bar out of his grasp and dropped it onto his chest viciously. The fun boy yelled explosively as he was crushed. The entire room stopped, and stared in shock. "You didn't give me your money from the coffee house job we did. You're -- trying -- to -- cut -- ME... OUT!" with every word, he had his hands on the bar, and pushed down on it, adding more pressure and downward force on the bar now crushing the man's splintered ribs, pushing fractured bone into skin terribly.
The other patrons watched, shocked, but not one made a move to stop Zeke. As Kyle looked around them, he saw in their eyes that they wouldn't cross Zeke even if they were inclined to help their brother.
Ezekiel, with a huff, slid from around the bench, releasing the bar and two other gym rats scurried around, taking it from off poor Matt on the bench, trying to tend to him even as he was gasping in a way that didn't sound good. Zeke just walked to Kyle, who was rooted to his spot. He smoothed his mustache, and then with a lick on the end of his thumb he smoothed down Kyle's hair in the front. "We gotta do some work on this hair, sweetie. The gelled quiff look hasn't been in since One Direction."
And Zeke sauntered off to another part of the gym, leaving Kyle cold. Completely blase about the act he had committed. And that's when the penny dropped. That was why he felt so drawn in, why Ezekiel felt so... home to him.
Fiercely competitive. Gamer who viewed people who worked for him as expendable. Caring only about himself. It was like an upgrade.
Kyle Shane 2.0.