Nothing Special V (Nothing Special 5)

“Thanks, Sarge,” Tech said softly, his mind reeling with the advice he’d just received.

Steele

The next four weeks flew by. He and Tech did exactly what they’d agreed to. They held back and got to know each other. It was different because Tech was the only one who knew classified information about his life, so he was able to open up to him. Tech respected that he didn’t care to talk about his life overseas and instead, they focused on what the future held for both of them. They talked on the phone, texted suggestive messages, and had lunch most days at their desks. The team noticed, but no one showed any disdain for Steele’s obvious intentions.

But damn if he wasn’t having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Tech was delicious. His look, his body, his style, his smell, and especially his genius. It all drove him crazy. That’s why he was in the precinct’s gym trying to tear a hole in the heavy bag with his fists. He’d been working out down there regularly. Eating Green’s food was going to have a negative impact on his stomach if he didn’t stay on top of his regimen. The station’s entire bottom level was designated for working out. It was, by far, the nicest precinct gym he’d ever seen. Pretty modern cardio equipment, weights, mats, and a full-sized boxing ring.

Horny didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling. Even though Tech hadn’t offered him his bed again, his body language screamed at him to take him hard against the first sturdy surface they could get to. Steele grunted and threw a four-piece combination at the bag, then stepped back to regroup. He bobbed and ducked then threw another set, snapping his fists back after each connect. The fact that Ruxs and Green engaged in some type of sexual activity daily didn’t help him either, and he was tired of blasting music in his ears every night. He would’ve come out better staying at the trailer park. I need my own place, pronto. Maybe Tech will help me look for a place in a decent neighborhood. Steele hissed with each punch he threw.

“The bag doesn’t hit back, Marine.”

Steele stopped and stood up taller, turning to give his boss a no shit look. “You’re always so insightful, God.”

God’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail and covered in a black and white bandanna. Wearing only a pair of long nylon shorts, Steele got his first good look at the huge roaring lion tattooed across the entire right side of God’s muscular back. Jesus. The guy was definitely in shape, and it was no surprise that men and women stared as he moved across the floor to the ring in the center of the gym. There were a couple of guys in there were unwrapping their kickboxing gloves and the gym managers were cleaning it for the next match.

“Come on, Marine,” God yelled, loud enough to turn heads. “Looks like you’re already warmed up, let’s go a few rounds.”

Steele turned and propped both hands on his hips. Honestly, he wasn’t in the mood for that strenuous of a workout, he was just trying to release a little excess energy. “I’m good.” Steele waved God off, who was now shadowboxing and moving around the ring gracefully. He was light on his feet and could snap his fists out faster than Steele would’ve thought.

“Come on, don’t be nervous. I’ll take it easy on you,” God taunted him. Steele was never good with being baited. He walked across the floor, pulling off his drenched tank top and tossing it beside the ring.

“That’s the spirit.” God chuckled, still bouncing.

Steele climbed inside the ring, already noticing that a few of the other officers had paused their workouts and made their way closer. He doubted they were there to watch him. He had a sinking feeling that most people enjoyed watching God destroy whoever dared step inside the ring with him. His body was like a statue, hard and chiseled to perfection. Steele had been around men like that for over twenty years. It didn’t intimidate him, and he was confident that he could give God a damn good sparring match. Steele put on his protective headgear and let one of the trainers wrap his fists up before slipping on the kickboxing gloves. He took the offered mouthpiece and met God in the center of the ring. God had at least four inches on him, and his arms were long; he’d have to adjust for that. His tactic would be to stay low and go for God’s ribs and stomach. Make him swing and hope he tired quickly.

“Alright, guys. Let’s keep it clean. No hits below the waist, high kicks, or wrestling,” one of the gym managers said, and stepped outside the ring. There was no bell, only the shrill sound of the whistle around his neck. Steele tucked his chin a bit and took a couple steps back, wanting to get a sense of God’s style. He wasn’t surprised when God moved around him, doing the same. Both of them feeling each other out.