#spandexelite

“Again.”

Wells groaned, pacing in tight gold spandex, sweat streaking down his tank stamped WELLS 58. His thighs pulsed with power, but his smirk had faded.

“C’mon, Coach, you tryna kill me before Regency shows up?”

Blaze Titan folded his arms, singlet glistening under the training lights. That spiral on his chest looked like it moved the longer you stared. His cap sat low, gold COACH logo gleaming, backward and dangerous.

“No, Wells,” he said, voice slow, smooth, hypnotic, “I’m trying to unlock the Alpha I know you are.”

Wells flashed a grin, cocky but frayed. “You gonna shout at me more, or kiss me into compliance?”

Blaze stepped forward, just close enough to darken the space between them. “Neither.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small golden metronome—etched with the Army emblem. “You ever sprint under trance?”

Wells tilted his head. “Hypno-drills? Thought that was Polo Drone territory.”

Blaze clicked the metronome. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Only if they can’t handle it awake,” he whispered. “But for you, golden boy… it’s a shortcut. Let me in, and I’ll make those legs fly.”

Wells bit his lip, already leaning toward the rhythm.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “let’s get weird.”

Coach's voice dropped deeper. “Focus on the sound. Just the sound. Your breathing slows. Legs relax. Arms loose. Mind soft.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Wells blinked slowly, lips parting. His shoulders dropped.

“You’re not tired,” Blaze purred. “That’s just weakness pretending to be truth. Burn it out. Every cell listens to me now. Every muscle obeys.”

Wells nodded, dazed. “Every… muscle…”

“Good jock,” Blaze smirked. “Now wake. And run.”

Wells jolted upright, grin exploding. “Let’s make ‘em cry at Regency.”

The track shimmered under afternoon sun. Wells was a blur, tights streaking gold, tank clinging to soaked skin. Each stride hit perfect. Smooth. Explosive. Mind clean, instincts burning.

Blaze stood at the finish line, stopwatch in hand, gaze locked.

“Faster,” he shouted. “Again!”

Wells ran. Again.

Each round sharpened him. Reprogrammed him. His sprint wasn’t just speed—it was submission to a voice that rewired his limits.

By the sixth rep, Wells collapsed into the turf, grinning like a lunatic.

“Coach,” he panted, “you got more of that freaky brain magic?”

Blaze chuckled, kneeling beside him. “Only if you keep calling me daddy during cooldown.”

Wells smirked, blowing a breath across his knuckles. “Deal. But next time, you’re running with me.”

Blaze grinned wide. “Baby, I am your pace.”

Wells wasn’t subtle. Golden kit sprayed tight over his bulked-up frame, cocky smirk locked in place, loudest grunt on every rep—he was the definition of cheeky alpha jock. The Golden Army Gym echoed with the sound of plates, beats, and Wells being Wells.

He knew the eyes were on him. They always were.

What he didn’t know? One of them belonged to Coach Blaze Titan.

The man moved like a panther in command—every stride slow, wide, confident. Towering mass in glossy black singlet, feet planted like he owned the place. Golden trim wrapped around biceps the size of heads, and “COACH” glared from his cap like a dare. His stare was worse. It pinned. It owned.

Wells had just racked his last set when that voice hit.

“Form’s good. Shame you’re wasting it.”

Wells blinked. Turned. Saw him.

Blaze smirked. “You gonna flirt with those dumbbells all day, or you want a real man’s attention?”

Wells grinned wide. “Depends, does the ‘real man’ come with protein and a punishment kink?”

Blaze chuckled low, stepping closer. “Nah, but he comes with a whistle, a personal plan, and the authority to turn golden boys into gods.”

Wells licked his lips. “Oh yeah? You offering?”

Blaze tilted his head. “Blaze Titan. Coach for the elite. I don’t do basics. I train the Alphas. The top 1%—the bros who make the rest drop to their knees.”

He leaned in, voice low. “I used to be like you—wild. Fast. Cocky. Still am. But I learned control. Power with purpose. Golden Army found me, and I turned their top prospects into monsters.”

Wells’ eyes glinted. “So what—you think I’ve got potential?”

Blaze’s hand landed on Wells’ chest—slow, deliberate. “I think you’re a walking flex fantasy with no leash. And I love a challenge.”

“Cheeky,” Wells grinned, “I like that. So, Coach, what now?”

Blaze stepped back, motioned toward the private training zone. “Now you follow me. Drop the ego, keep the smirk. Let’s see what kind of Alpha you really are when someone pushes back.”

Wells looked at Coach Blaze Titan and winked. “You sure you can handle me, Coach?”

Blaze turned, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, Wells… I specialize in handling cocky golden jocks like you. Let’s make some noise.”

The gym door swung shut behind them.

And that was the beginning.