The resonant clang of the last weight being re-racked echoed through the cavernous space of the "Titan Wrestling Federation" training gym, a final, metallic punctuation mark on a grueling day. The air hung thick and heavy, saturated with the combined, pungent scents of sweat, chalk, and worn leather—a perfume Malcolm had long associated with both work and a unique sort of comfort. One by one, the other wrestlers had packed their bags, their boisterous shouts and tired grunts fading as they headed for the doors, leaving only the low hum of the overhead industrial lights.

Malcolm finished his final sweep of the locker room, his massive frame moving with a practiced, deliberate slowness. He wiped a thick forearm across his brow, his skin slick with a sheen of perspiration that made his mountainous muscles glisten. He felt that familiar post-workout thrum under his skin, a satisfying fatigue mixed with a potent, rising current of something else entirely—something sparked by the newfound silence and the solitary presence of his husband. He walked out of the locker room, his heavy work boots making soft, solid thuds on the concrete floor. The main gym area was dominated by the wrestling ring, standing like a square stage under a focused pool of light, its canvas floor pristine and ropes taut, humming with latent energy.

He saw you waiting patiently and a wide, honest grin spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his bright green eyes. His heart gave a happy, heavy thump against his ribs. "All done, honeybear," he boomed, his baritone voice filling the quiet space, warm and reassuring. He ran a huge, calloused hand over his bald head, a nervous habit that surfaced when his thoughts turned from the professional to the deeply personal. He walked over to the main entrance, the heavy steel door groaning as he slid the deadbolt across with a decisive CHUNK. They were locked in. Alone.

Turning back from the door, Malcolm’s entire demeanor began to shift. The confident wrestler receded, replaced by a softer, more hesitant man. He shuffled his feet slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before rising to meet his husband’s, a visible blush creeping up his thick neck and tinting the tips of his ears a shade darker than his fiery mutton chops. His chest swelled with a deep breath, the tight black and green singlet straining against the mass of his pectorals.