Discovering Dalton(2)

“Hey.” Dalton assumed his more uptight policeman tone and stance, folding his arms over his chest, tilting his head back so he could keep eye contact with the big guy in front of him.

“Going somewhere?” Liam picked up a towel and dabbed his arms and chest down, obviously just finishing his own workout and looking bigger and buffer because of it. The guy always made Dalton feel small; being five ten, he wasn’t classed as tall, more average, but Liam was six feet three and built to go with it. “Where’s Tweedle Dee?”

Dalton managed a grin, because Liam and Milo had a thing going on between them where they bitched and bickered, giving each other shit until Dalton would stop working out to laugh. Anyone who could stand their own against Milo, and come out on top most times, deserved his attention. “I guess that makes me Tweedle Dum. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Liam smirked a little, only using half of his mouth and tilting it sarcastically. He never really smiled, just half attempted it, then gave up and got bored and slipped back into the more familiar reserved hard look he carried off. “How about I switch it around a bit. You can be Dee and he can be Dum, seen as though he’s not here to complain about it, it’s all good. So, as our Aladdin isn’t here, want me to spot you while you lift?”

Dalton sniggered. He knew that nickname would get around eventually if he just continued using it. “Sure, if you're not busy.”

Liam raised a brow at his chuckles. “I'm always busy, but I'm here to help. Sort of, occasionally, when I feel like it.”

“Well, don’t go putting yourself out on my behalf. I mean, you sound like you really, really want to do it, but I'm good on my own.”

Considering the guy owned the place, he lacked certain traits Dalton would wish for in a manager. He was good as a personal trainer, really fucking good, and Dalton had the body to prove that. They’d worked together before, a lot in the first month or so, but it slowed recently because Dalton knew what worked for him and how to use the goddamn machines, but in the beginning they’d spent hours together.

“Let’s get to it.” Liam patted the bench and watched as Dalton lay back on it. “What you been lifting?”

“About twenty kilograms a side for ten reps. I do that about three times.”

Liam shook his head, then walked around the bench, Dalton feeling a tad more uncomfortable as he lay there, running his hands over his stomach still thinking there was a mound of flab to cover up. His mind was taking some catching up to this new body; he still felt massive and slow. “You can do more. You're not pushing yourself enough. Now you’ve got down to a good weight, it’s time to build up those muscles.”

Dalton may have frowned. Okay, he frowned, and Liam spotted it, giving his thigh a slap with the back of his hand.

“Do not give me shit about this, mate. Who’s the one wearing the uniform and the one whose name is on the mortgage, huh? I know what I'm talking about. You're just pussyfooting around. You're capable of more. You're your own biggest critic, which I get, but you're also your biggest reason for not moving on. You still think you're that chubby unconfident guy who walked in my door three months ago. Well, I'm here to tell you you're not.”

Dalton watched with a heavy sigh as Liam walked around to his head, adding an extra five kilos on each side of the bar. After securing them, he lifted them up and handed them to Dalton, letting him take the weight slowly until Dalton was holding it over his chest, breathing out as he pushed up. Liam wasn’t one for shouting out words of praise or encouragement. The fact he would nod afterwards and just walk away was a sign he knew you’d done well. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t fucking leave.

“Keep going.” Liam watched as Dalton slowly lifted the weights and lowered them to his chest three more times. By that time, sweat was forming on his brow and his breath was coming faster. “I want three reps of ten.”

Dalton glared backwards at Liam. He fucking hated this prick more than anyone in the world and it must have shown on his face because Liam grinned. An actual grin.

“I know I'm doing a good job when I get that look. Don’t give me shit, Officer. Keep going.”

“You just love bossing me around, don’t you?” Dalton could guess what background Liam had. It was the type most lads around there had. Growing up on some God awful council run estate where the parents drank too much booze and didn’t give a shit about their kids skiving off school, not aspiring to anything other than getting benefits and staying home watching daytime TV.

“I gotta admit, I do love pushing coppers around.”

“Makes a change it being this way round, don’t it?” Dalton puffed out as he lifted his last set of three, only to get a stony look from Liam.

“You get six more for that.”

“Fuck!”

“Another one for swearing at me.”

Dalton gritted his teeth, biting back another bitchy response, but deciding another punishment wasn’t worth it. In the end, he always ended up doing what Liam wanted. Dalton would never tell him this, but he secretly loved how bossy Liam was with him. It was something Dalton rarely got in his life, unless it came from Milo, and now he was in a position above Dalton at work, it felt different. Liam on the other hand, well, it felt just right.





Chapter 2



Liam bounded through the door to his apartment, slinging his gym bag to the floor and kicking off his trainers as soon as he got inside. Looking around the spacious rooftop loft, he called out to Troy. “You home yet, T?”

“Yeah, back here.” Troy’s voice came from outside.

Liam made his way across the apartment, walking through the open plan sitting room slash game room. Troy was splayed out on the terrace, bottle of beer in hand, sunglasses over his eyes, wearing just shorts. It was hot. A rarity for Manchester, even in the summer, and Troy always made the most out the sun.

“How long you been lazing around up here?” Liam flung himself onto the lounger beside him, stripping off his t-shirt and grabbing a beer from the ice bucket in between them. Troy was a super star. This was just what Liam needed after spending all day cooped up and sweating it out in the gym.

“I closed early. Too hot in that small room to work. The sweat blinded me as I was bending over inking the last guy. I need air con, man. I lost a stone in weight this morning.”

“Slight exaggeration, T. You should do what I do for a living. Now that’s fucking hard, and H.O.T.” Liam failed to mention the expensive air conditioning at work, and he glanced at Troy, seeing he wouldn’t fail to bring it up at all.

“You have air con,” Troy threw back at him with a hard glare. “And what I do ain’t easy, Liam.”

“Fine. Put some of your barely there profits from Living Ink into an air con unit then. I'm sure there’s some cheap secondhand ones you can get.” Liam knew his foster brother had talent and worked hard. Not many people who worked as a tattooist had his artistic flair and eye for detail, and also owed their own business. Liam just liked giving him shit about it.

“Yeah.” Troy drained his bottle then grabbed another.

Something was up. Liam could read Troy’s moods like his own after so long together, and he guessed by the row of beer bottles on the floor and the empty pack of twenty cigarettes crushed on the table, it was something to do with the prick he’d been seeing. “So…” Liam trailed off purposely because they both knew what was coming.

Troy shook his head as he snapped the lid off his beer. “Not now.”

“Is it about what’s his name?” Liam really didn’t like saying his name. Troy thought it was because he never paid attention or took anything in when they talked, but Liam always listened. He listened to everything Troy said, he always had done. “Come on.” He kicked the lounger Troy was lying on and got a grunt back in response. Liam drank half his beer, then grabbed a handful of ice from the bucket and rubbed it all over Troy’s hot flesh, his shout of obscenities filling the terrace.

“Fuck off, Liam.”

“So, was it really the summer heat knocking it out of you, or has that two face shit fucked off?”

“I really hate you.”

“Sometimes.”

“No.” Troy sat up, brushing off the icy water and lifting his sunglasses to his forehead, green eyes weighing heavily on Liam. “I would say more than sometimes, like, possibly even all the time.” He half grinned, then, before Liam could do anything to stop it, Troy tipped the ice bucket over his head. Liam was drenched and the sound of his yelps and whines were deafening him until he shook the bucket off his head, seeing Troy running for it.

“You little shit!” Liam was up and running after him. The last thing he saw of Troy was the bathroom door slamming shut and the lock being slid shut.

“Do not kick this door down… again.” Troy yelled through the door.

“I'm gonna get you back for that. Just you wait.”

“I'm waiting.” Troy laughed hard as soon as he said it, but Liam’s foot connecting with the door made him shut up. “Do not break this door, Liam. I mean it.”

“Fine, but you need to get out, I want a shower.”