It's like clockwork, everyday it's the same routine for him: Wake up, eat some breakfast, grab some water and a towel and head toward the weight room. You know this because every morning around 10:30 you are awaken by the eclectic sounds of his iPod on random. And usually after your wake up call, you head down to the kitchen yourself, seeing that he has left your favorite box of cereal out, along with a bowl and spoon. What kills you though is that although he does this everyday, you never get to see the aftermath. You know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the sweat that clings to his hard earned, chiseled abs like a second skin, the biceps that look like they are having a fight with his t-shirts whenever he puts them on because they are so huge, or those pecs that press up against your back when you're in the shower, or up against the wall when you both can't make it to the bed room. Damn, you think every time you see him after his morning workout with his shirt or beater back on. But on one of these mornings, you're going to arrange a workout session for two-and he won't be the only one covered in sweat.



On this particular morning, "Technologic" by Daft Punk blares through the speakers. But you've been awake since he placed a kiss on your temple and made his way downstairs. Little did he know that you were about two steps behind him, watching him complete his morning routine. But one thing you didn't count on was him not grabbing his bottle of Fiji water or a towel on his way to the weight room. All the more reason to "interrupt" his workout right? You wait outside the weight room, waiting for him to get settled as you hear the first few notes of one your favorite Daft Punk songs. You smile at the thought of the selection because you remember telling him how much the song turns you on. Whether it's the bass, the beat, or even the computerized voice listing off commands, something about that song makes the inner freak in you come out and ready to grind on anything with two legs and a dick. Luckily, he's always around when you feel that way. And as that feeling comes over you as you get ready to "surprise" him with his two necessities, your breathing stops.



Working with two dumbbells that look larger than your head, biceps pumping to the beat of the song and his delicious pout slightly agape, there he is in all his Adonis-like glory, multiplied by the other numerous mirrors in the room. Your eyes travel down his tall, lean frame-starting with the sexy freckles that dust his shoulders; his arms, specifically your favorite one with the cross tattoo (a.k.a. the one you love to run your tongue across and nibble on as he works you hard and deep between the sheets). You finally reach his chest, already coated with a light sheen of sweat and that's when you begin wishing you were that single bead of sweat traveling from the hallow part in his neck, between his pecs, down his abs and into the waistband of his shorts. And that's when you hear it; his soft, labored breathing and suddenly you can't distinguish the sound from when he's working out to when he's working you out. That's when you fight the urge to let out that repressed moan you've been holding in and put your hand in between your thighs in order to create some friction against your panties that are now wet and clinging to your body. You finally remember the song that's playing and the feeling you get every time you hear it, which by now, has you ready to pounce. But before you can devour your prey, he stops his motions, and meets your lust filled gaze.



"It's about time you came down here, I've been waiting for my towel and water forever."



What? You eye him strangely after his comment, when you realize that he hadn't forgotten about his towel or water. In fact, judging from the look of desire mixed with lust in his eyes, and the now growing bulge in his shorts, you had been sneaking around for nothing. He set you up.



"I know you know my routine, why the hell would I forget water and a towel now?"



You can't even find your voice in order to answer him because he has now confirmed that he wants what you've been wanting: The Aftermath. Sweaty, skin on skin, slow, hard, and deep in every position possible, hair pulling, ass grabbing, cursing so loud that the neighbors hear you right before you come like you never have before. Yeah, he wants that aftermath too. And as he places the now forgotten about dumbbells back in their appropriate place, he asks you one more question that cements the deal:



"So what are you waiting for?"