Guess I should at least start titling these things correctly, since they've now obviously evolved past the "I can use the Olympics as an excuse" phase. That way everyone on my flist who isn't interested in the slightest with gay swim smut can just float on by.

Haha, get it? Float? ...*sigh*


:: Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte, US Men's Swimming, (graphic)R. Unbeta'ed.




09.15.2009

"Not Quite a Breaststroke"

Michael was slumped in the corner in a chair, one earbud in his ear—it was a policy he'd developed for off-the-deck public, one ear open for politeness' sake. Right now his hooked-in ear was the one facing the room; the place was a mess he would rather pretend not to be a part of. Even as swimmers, none of them were used to dropping trou in front of a crowd like this: there were reporters with crews, Speedo representatives, make-up and hair, managers, coaches... Not too much, he thought, for the release of something that really would change the sport. Didn't mean he wanted to wade through it.

A reporter dragging her cameraman after her headed in his direction and Michael zipped the collar of the warm-up jacket he was wearing over his Racer up to his chin and turned that white bit of plastic in his right ear toward her, hoping she'd get the point.

Not that he didn't owe Speedo a lot, and this was their gig. Hell, it was his gig, too. But he hated being knocked out of his zone; after the premiere of the suit then he'd talk to anybody who wanted a piece of him.

Luckily the reporter veered; Amanda had sprung up in the periphery, fingers lifted to untwist a strap of her suit. Michael didn't really mind tossing her to the wolves. He put his chin to his chest and pretended not to notice. He managed to sit there unmolested, the buzz of Nas in one ear and the crowd in the other, until a light hand touched his shoulder. Michael raised his eyes.

Natalie offered a smile that looked like an apology; he appreciated that even though he wasn't exactly being a team player what with sitting in the corner and all. "What's up?"

"Ryan's missing." She absently rubbed her lips together; Michael noticed a make-up lady hovering nearby, gloss at the ready like a threat. "I hope he didn't wander off after something shiny." When they all did these sort of things together, Natalie more often than not morphed into some sort of low-key Mother Hen when Dara was absent. She liked to count heads.

The corner of Michael's mouth quirked to the side. "I'll check around." He unfolded from the director's chair and Natalie shifted unconsciously to accommodate for the space that he took up. She gave him a tug on the elbow of his blue jacket and a smile even as she was turning to move onto the next thing. He was going to say that her hair looked nice but she was already gone.

His other ear was plugged in order to make rounds. Out of the water Michael would be the first to admit that he wasn't the most graceful man to ever roam the Earth, but his height and shoulders tended to keep people out of his way and toes free of his size 14's.

He found Ryan in the bathroom down the hall; his friend was standing in front of the mirrors on his tip-toes, his right arm inside his suit. Both earphones were pulled out with a single yank on the white cords. "Dude, what are you—"

Oh. Ryan turned enough that Michael could see where his right hand was. He amended his sentence with a, "well if you want to be left alone, but I wouldn't get the suit sticky before the launch."

Ryan frowned at his own reflection and ignored the joke at his expense. "No, like, seriously. I can see my balls."

Michael leaned back against the tan tiled wall and stuffed his headphones in his pocket. "You can see your balls in all your suits. Least this one covers your ass crack."

The next frown was shot at Michael. "I love that red suit. Shut the hell up."

"I know you do. It's a problem."

With a pretty serious amount of trouble Ryan got his right arm back out of the suit; Michael was impressed that he hadn't ripped anything. Not that Ryan would care, but Speedo might. Bad Ryan, no freebies for you.

The thought slipped away as Ryan turned toward Michael and pointed at his crotch—which he'd had to stand on his toes to see in the mirror. The LZR had been designed to be fast and part of that was the diamond cut of mesh that went groin-hips-neck to transfer water away from the largest area of drag.

And Ryan was right. His balls were somehow shifted enough to be seen through the mesh. Michael laughed out loud, the sound bouncing in the small bathroom. Ryan gave him the finger but let himself be pulled into a stall and unzipped. "I ride low," he complained, turning to face Michael.

"I'm sure that's the problem." With the suit loosened as much as it was going to go without stripping it off, Michael shoved his hand down into the armhole. Ryan gave him a lopsided grin and then huffed a breath as Michael's fingers wrapped around soft, pliable flesh.

The thing about Ryan was that he didn't care. He'd stand in front a mirror in a public restroom, the media down the hall and his hand down his suit. Michael didn't have much room for jealousy in the career he'd made for himself, but he was a little jealous of Ryan's ability to be completely and utterly unaware.

Fingertips pulled up on loose folds of smooth skin until he could gather up Ryan's balls, his knuckles working to keep the tight suit away. "Could always tuck," Michael said, looking up to smile. The stall was small but they were close anyway, Ryan's face inches from his.

Blue eyes crinkled with an unvoiced laugh. "Yeah, and look like I got a load in my pants."

"Your balls aren't that big." Michael rolled the objects of the discussion up and the left, slowly. They stuck and crawled across skin.

Ryan's head pushed back against the metal stall as he sighed out, "Big enough to make the magic happen, shortie."

The slick material of the suit made a soft whisper as Michael's leg slid between Ryan's. Lips found the lazy pulse under the tanned skin of his neck. This close he could smell the product in Ryan's hair, something like citrus and alcohol. On top of that was the more familiar scent of Ryan's cologne. It made Michael think of how his pillows smelled after Ryan was gone. He breathed in.

Michael squeezed the sac in his hand just until Ryan groaned and lifted a hand; fingers fluttered and caught on the arm of his warm-up. Teeth scraped lightly over skin that tasted like powder. Long fingers shifted, straining against tight fabric to wrap around a thickening dick.

Ryan's flip-flops smacked against the floor as he shifted. "Damnit, Mike. I mean, shit." The cursing sounded more like breathless mindlessness than condemnation. "Asshole. We're gonna mess up the suit—"

Leaving Ryan's neck, Michael lifted his head enough to find Ryan's eyes. "You really care?" It was an honest question. He'd back off.

A heartbeat passed between them before Ryan's full lips broke apart into a grin. "Nah."

Suddenly it was a race; there were multiple sets of fingers tugging on tight straps, fumbling and catching each other as often as they caught spandex. Ryan leaned forward, laughing at them both and as their teeth clacked together and then sucking on Michael's tongue; Michael was pulling down the suit, smoothing fingers over the red lines it left on Ryan's shoulders. But not for too long.

Bunched down under the curve of Ryan's hips, the suit only went far enough to free his dick. It was heavy and full and bent just left of center. Michael wrapped his fingers around it and gave a twisting pull; Ryan groaned into his mouth, his side of the kiss loosing focus. Michael sucked on the presented lower lip, working away the slick of for-the-runway gloss. Ryan would have just bitten it off beforehand anyway.

He loose-fisted Ryan's dick, working fast up toward the head, thumbing the slit open to feel the bubble of liquid building there spread. Ryan's hips were jerking an uneven rhythm against Michael's hand and against his lips was the quiet puff of, "shit, shit, shit..."

Michael's other hand cupped around balls that had pulled themselves upward, the sac high and hot in his palm. Fingertips stroked the skin behind them and Ryan jerked at the touch, bumping their noses together. But his hips came closer, his flops smacked against the ground again as his legs spread as far as the suit would allow. Michael reached further and felt the warm, damp pucker of skin. Ryan's fingers tightened on his shoulder.

Muscle trembled as Michael pushed his fingertips against it. His other hand kept up a quickening rhythm, his wrist starting to ache a little; Ryan was rigid against him. The kissing had been completely abandoned—Michael just listened to the sharp little jumps of Ryan's breath against his lips.

The door creaked open and Ryan jerked, his head smacking back against the wall with a loud thump. Michael moved too late; come painted the front of his warm-up in white lines and slicked his index finger and thumb. He practically shoved Ryan up onto the toilet seat as someone called out, "Michael? Ryan?"

Ryan's right shoe slid and his whole foot went into the toilet with a slosh of water. They stood there staring at each other, Michael with come splattered across his Speedo pull-over and Ryan with his leg ankle-deep in toilet water and his suit still around his thighs.

The door closed with another creak.

Ryan snorted. Michael burst into laughter. He wiped his hand on a clean section of shirt and carefully pulled the whole thing over his head, turning it wrong side out—after taking out his Ipod—and balling it up. Ryan was pulling himself out of the toilet.

"You are so damn easy, Lochte."

He got another bird flipped in his direction. "I'm not the one who'll be scraping jizz off my clothes."

Michael couldn't help but smile. "And I'm not the one trying my suit in the toilet. What's that, like the short-short-course?" He flipped the lock on the door and got punched in the side.

"Where are you going? Emptying my balls isn't going to make them fit better. I mean, I still need help here." Ryan was scowling, but like most of his other expressions it was given in a soft way that made it lazy.

Stepping back to Ryan, Michael put them nose to nose. He leaned in and dragged smiling lips across Ryan's as he reached down and gathered up those now-empty balls. He pulled them up and held them as Ryan shimmed the suit over his hips and stomach. Michael's hand was dragged out and he zipped Ryan up after the rest of the suit was climbed into. The steps that followed Michael out of the bathroom went flop-squish-flop-squish.

Natalie intercepted them first, her eyes moving back to the wet footprints that made a line between them and the bathroom door. "Testing the suit?" She looked tolerably amused.

Michael glanced over at Ryan, who gave a sloppy roll of shoulders that was probably a shrug and let the corners of his mouth crawl into an almost absent grin. "Short-short-course?"