The Mechanic’s Apprentice – Part 8

Everyone in this story is 18+

 

Hands-On Training

 

The cellar smelled slightly damp, like cellars often do. In the middle stood a large punching bag, and along the wall sat a few weights and other equipment I used on and off. “Sorry, it’s not much, but it has the basics,” I said, a little apologetically.

Connor laughed, his voice warm and easy. “Don’t worry, I’m used to practicing ballet just about anywhere. At home, I use our cellar, too—and at Dad’s, there’s this old bomb shelter that smells like a foot.”

I laughed, relaxing a bit. "Well, at least we’re not dealing with foot smell in here—though don’t hold me to that after a workout."


I took a step back, assessing Connor’s stance. “Alright,” I began, “first thing you need to know is that you’re not a big target. That’s actually a good thing—you can use that to your advantage. Turn sideways to make yourself even smaller, and keep your weight on the balls of your feet. That’ll make it easier to dodge if someone comes at you.”

Connor nodded, shifting his position as I suggested, his movements natural, like he’d been doing this forever. His balance was spot-on, his feet landing light and agile. I raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“Good,” I said, nodding. “Now, let’s work on dodging. I’m going to throw a few slow punches—nothing too crazy. Just focus on moving out of the way.”

Connor’s eyes focused on me, his expression serious yet calm. I took a slow, deliberate swing, and he sidestepped with ease, his footwork graceful and almost effortless.

“Nice,” I remarked, genuinely impressed. “You’ve got quick reflexes. Must be all that ballet training.”

He laughed, a little embarrassed but pleased. “Guess it’s finally coming in handy off the stage,” he replied, glancing up at me with a spark of confidence.

“Trust me, it’s more than handy,” I replied, meeting his gaze and letting my hand drift from his waist down along his hip, resting there for a moment longer than necessary. “You’ve got a solid base. Keep your core tight—stay grounded. It’ll help you keep control if someone tries to throw you off balance.”

He adjusted again, tightening his stance, and I could see the concentration in his expression, that determination that made him both focused and—if I admitted it to myself—just a bit magnetic.

“Alright, let’s keep going,” I said, preparing to test his reactions further.

 

“Let’s continue,” I said, moving around to stand behind Connor, “next, let’s work on defense from behind. Sometimes, someone might try to grab you when you’re not looking. The key here is to use their momentum against them. Lean into the direction of the attack, then twist out and away.” I positioned my hands lightly on his shoulders, feeling the warmth radiate through his shirt.

Connor nodded, his breathing a bit quicker now, though he kept his focus forward. “Okay,” he murmured, concentrating.

“Let’s try it slowly,” I instructed. “I’ll act like I’m grabbing you from behind, and you’ll lean back into me, then twist to break free.”

I placed my arm across his chest and one hand gently on his shoulder to simulate a hold, feeling the rise and fall of his breath under my touch. He followed my directions perfectly, leaning back just enough to use my weight to his advantage, then twisted out of my hold with a fluid grace that showed off both his strength and his control.

“Nice work,” I said, genuinely impressed, though I couldn’t help but notice the curve of his back as he reset his stance, his shoulders relaxed but steady, his frame somehow both delicate and substantial. “Now, let’s speed it up a bit.”

I adjusted my hands, this time going for a quicker grab, and Connor moved with just as much ease, slipping from my hold and stepping to the side, his body so close I could feel the subtle shift of his muscles as he moved. There was something alluring about his energy, something precise yet unguarded.

“Not bad, Connor,” I said, a hint of admiration in my voice. “You’re a natural at this.”

He turned to face me, catching his breath, and shot me a small, proud smile. “It’s definitely different from ballet, but I kind of like it. The movements feel… powerful.”

“Exactly,” I replied, letting my hand rest briefly on his shoulder. “You’ve got more strength than you think. And with reflexes like yours, you’d give most guys a run for their money.”

Connor laughed softly, glancing down, and I found myself noticing the graceful line of his neck, delicate yet firm, and that unmissable strength in his stance. He was right—there was something powerful in his presence, something that made me want to stay close, just a little longer.

“Alright, ready for the next one?” I asked, clearing my throat slightly.

He nodded, looking back at me with a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

 

“Alright,” I said, patting the punching bag as Connor stepped up beside me. “Let’s put it all together with some strikes. I’ll show you the basics of punching and kicking—just enough to get you out of a bad spot if you ever need it.”

Connor nodded, his eyes focused on the bag, but I could tell he was keyed up, the slight tremor in his hands betraying his anticipation. I moved behind him, placing my hands lightly on his wrists to guide his fists into position, my chest close to his back.

“Keep your fists tight,” I murmured, my voice low as I adjusted his hands, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Thumb outside, not tucked in. And keep your shoulders loose. Punches should be quick and sharp—like this.”

I shifted even closer, bracing his arms as I guided his first punch into the bag. He followed my lead, throwing a careful jab, his form better than most beginners, his knuckles landing solidly against the bag.

“Nice.” I didn’t let go, instead bringing one hand down to his waist, pressing slightly to show him how to shift his weight. “Now, try adding a kick. Aim low to keep it practical, and use your whole leg, not just your foot.”

Connor leaned forward, the warm scent of his skin filling the space between us. I adjusted his stance, letting my hands linger on his waist as he lifted his leg for a practice kick, the soft press of his back against my chest grounding me in the moment.

“That’s it,” I said quietly, caught up in the feeling of his body close to mine. “Now, when you kick, keep your core tight and follow through. Like a… ballet movement, right? Smooth but powerful.”

He nodded, smiling slightly, his gaze steady as he tried the kick again, this time with more confidence. I guided his movement, my hand on his hip, letting my fingers rest there. His breathing grew slower, deeper, and I couldn’t help but notice the inviting curve of his neck, just inches from my face.

Without thinking, I leaned in, my breath brushing his skin as I felt the pull to close the distance, to let my lips graze that warm spot just above his collarbone. The subtle scent of his hair hit me—a clean, fresh smell that was unexpectedly soft, inviting. Connor tensed, just slightly, tilting his head ever so subtly, as if inviting me closer, that unspoken question lingering between us.

I was just an inch away from his neck, my lips nearly brushing his skin, when I hesitated, the pounding of my own heart loud in my ears. My pulse raced as I fought the urge to close that final distance, but then, with a shaky breath, I pulled back, clearing my throat as I let my hand slip from his waist. “You’re… getting it,” I said, my voice coming out a little too quickly as I stepped back, giving him space. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Connor turned, his gaze meeting mine with a flicker of something unspoken, his expression soft but intense. “Thanks, Ryder,” he murmured, a hint of something in his eyes that made my pulse quicken all over again.

“Anytime,” I replied, managing a small smile, though my heart was still racing. “You did great. Really.”

 

As Connor grabbed his bag, I noticed a small nick on his knuckle, probably from hitting the bag a bit too hard.

“Hey, hold up,” I said, pointing to his hand.

Connor glanced down and shrugged, smiling. “Guess I got carried away.”

I nodded and went up to grab some water and a band-aid. Returning, I handed him the water and carefully applied the band-aid over his knuckle, my fingers brushing his. He watched me, still, his gaze soft.

“There you go. Good as new,” I murmured, stepping back.

“Thanks, Ryder,” he said, his voice quiet, almost shy.

We both flopped onto the old couches in the corner, the leather creaking under our weight. My shirt stuck to me a bit, and I felt the faint burn from the workout, but it was worth it. Connor glanced over, his face slightly flushed, and I noticed that even after a bit of sweat, he somehow smelled… different. Not like most guys—something fresh, a hint of clean soap. Whatever it was, it suited him.

Connor leaned back, looking relaxed as he settled in. After a moment, he turned to me, his expression open. “So… do you live with your mom?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. “She works a lot, so I’m here alone most of the time. Don’t get to see her much.” I tried not to let the guilty tone creep in, but it was hard not to feel that way sometimes.

Connor smiled sympathetically, nodding. I caught myself lifting an arm to give my pit a quick sniff, realizing I might be a little ripe from the workout. “Uh, sorry if I smell a bit,” I muttered, grinning sheepishly.

Connor smirked. “Trust me, I don’t mind,” he said, shrugging. “After spending so much time in Dad’s body shop and in ballet class, I’m pretty used to it. The girls there… well, they don’t always smell peachy either.”

We both laughed, settling back into the easy rhythm that had come out of nowhere but felt natural. I hadn’t expected to get along with Connor so easily, and it surprised me. Somehow, just talking with him, even about random stuff, felt like I’d known him forever. Conversation drifted, as it sometimes does, and before long, we were talking about dating… and, inevitably, about sex.

Connor looked down, his expression a mix of openness and hesitation. “You know… I haven’t actually… done it,” he admitted, his tone almost shy. “I’m, uh… still a virgin.”

“So…you’ve been with a few girls?” Connor asked, glancing over, his expression open and genuinely curious.

“Yeah, uh…” I hesitated, scratching the back of my neck. “I mean, not many. Just… a few. But honestly?” I could feel myself tense up, not sure why I was even admitting this. “I, um…” I trailed off, awkwardly shifting my weight on the couch.

Connor’s eyes stayed on me, calm and patient, encouraging in a way that only made it harder. But eventually, after a lot of awkward stalling, I took a breath and said it. “I never… I don’t really last long,” I admitted, laughing nervously, trying to brush it off. “It’s, you know, pretty embarrassing.”

I braced myself for the teasing. It always came. But Connor didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk. Instead, he nodded, thoughtful, and stayed quiet, his gaze steady, which somehow made it even more intense.

“Oh,” he said, his voice soft and sincere, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Have you ever tried… edging?

“Edging?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “Not really. I mean, I’ve heard of it, but… no, not something I’ve tried.”

Connor grinned, that playful glint back in his eyes. “Since you taught me something, maybe it’s my turn to teach you?”

I raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or serious. “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

Connor shrugged, his smile softening, his gaze—usually so innocent—now carrying a slightly darker edge as it held mine. “What if I just… showed you? Like you showed me earlier?”