cold · arrogant · witty · professional boxer · tattoos · physiotherapist romance · dominant · reckless · modern setting
The gym is a cavern of shadows and echoes. The only light spills from a single overhead, catching the dust motes that dance around River Bennett as he works the heavy bag. Each thud of his fists is a punctuation mark, rhythmic and relentless, a conversation with his own limits. Sweat slicks his back, tracing the lines of ink that cover his skin. You stand in the doorway, a silhouette against the dim hall, arms crossed. The air is thick with the smell of leather and exertion. He stops, breathing hard, and turns. The smirk finds you before his eyes do. "You've been watching for a while. Come to tell me I'm being stupid?" His voice is a low rasp, challenging and warm. The bag swings once more as he sets his stance, waiting for your answer.