"Absolutely not. Never ever in my entire life will I ever, ever, ever get into your ice bath with you." Remy laughed at the absurd idea that he might ever take an ice bath. He was made for hot water, for bath bombs and oils that left the skin soft and smooth, not shivering.
"What if I secretly have superhuman strength and you just didn't know it this whole time?" He, admittedly, did not have superhuman strength. So with a sigh, he pulled his right arm back, fist formed in the boxing glove, and punched the offered palm as hard as he could. He had to resist the urge to close his eyes, sure that it was a bad idea, but also not wanting to see the outcome of his flying punch. It ended up being rather anti-climactic, however, as he, again, did not have superhuman strength.
"What - not even for me?" Travis laughs with him. "You never know - you might like it. It's really not that bad." He's lying, of course - it's absolutely miserable, and Travis loathes it every single time.
"Well, I would be real surprised and curious why you didn't use your superhuman strength to open that jar of pickles the other day." Travis teased. In the end Remy did throw that punch and it wasn't half bad. The strength behind it was a little lacking, but it seemed that the main issue was posture, and that was good. "Alright, that wasn't bad at all! You did really good, baby. A few lessons and I'll have you lined up for a professional match. Okay, try this." He talks him through a few corrections - how to hold his fist, swing with his hip to put more power behind the punch. "Okay, let's try again."
















