by Hacy Morris

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/93997.html)

Champagne was sloshing out of the glasses in our arms as Steven and I stumbled into the bedroom. I groped for the lights but only managed to switch on the little row of lights by the window, which were hardly bright enough to see by. Before I could find the correct switch, Steven pulled me inside, closed the door, and removed the glasses from my hands, placing them heavily on the bedside table. There was a clatter.

“They’ll break!” I said, stretching out a hand towards them.

Steven pulled me back into the circle of his arms. “No, they didn’t,” he said. “Don’t worry about them.” He had better eyesight than I did. Then again, he’d have to.

“But the champagne-”

“-is on the carpet. I know. Too late now, just let it be.” His hands were sliding under my shirt.

I gave it up. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into an embrace, and we were close enough to breathe each other’s air for a while. I’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to stand beside Steven like that. With the ‘no contact’ rule that my coach had insisted on, it had been a long time since we had been together. Even holding hands made an evil glint come into Coach’s eyes, and then it was extra training for the next three days running.

Ugh, running. I didn’t even want to think about running for the next six months. It was fine when the adrenaline high got going, but the training up to the International Games had been insane. There was a moment earlier that evening, when we showed off our medals, when I stood there smiling and thought, I’ve had enough and was surprised by a wave of anger inside me.

More than anything, I just wanted to have time with Steven.

Though, of course, the champagne at the party afterwards made everything look better. No one blinked when Steven and I fed each other finger food, though they said that they were going to get cavities and made us go back to our room.

With good reason, I suppose. The embrace was just a respite; it was all I could do not to melt when Steven began to touch me in earnest, rubbing his hand down my back and up my chest, tracing my ribs to my nipples, which he squeezed very gently. The calluses on his hands from hours of practice made me squirm, then shiver.

But it was a pleasant shiver of anticipation. I pulled his shirt out of his pants, then helped him to take it off. We undressed each other in the dim light, feeling anew the bodies we already knew so well–had he put on more muscle at the biceps?–and thrust against him when he closed his hand over my cock. I spread my feet for more stability, breathing harder, when he began a slow rhythm. But when he began to speed up, I groaned and attempted to bat his hands away. If he was going to make me come so quickly, the night was going to be too short.

“Steven,” I gasped. “Too fast.”

“Well, you do it then,” he said, sitting down on the bed.

I laughed and knelt down between his legs. “My, is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?” I asked.

Steven groaned. “That’s so cliché. You know, I really, really worry for you, running and jumping around and around on that track like a hamster- Joss!”

I slipped his cock out of my mouth for a moment to smirk, then swallowed him again before he could think of anything else to say, and began to move up and down.

Steven began to talk again. He didn’t sound like a man who was getting a blow-job. He was just lucky I knew him well enough not to be insulted by the implied slight to my skills. Then again, Steven had nerves of steel. In the time I knew him, I had only seen him get rattled once, and that was when his rival at the range got struck by lightning.

“…I think you’re getting burnt out. The signs are all there: short temper, sulking when your form is bad, unable to think of anything else but bettering your time. I think the obssession with the starter’s gun is quite unhealthy, too.”

I redoubled my efforts, glaring at him. All he did was lay a hand on my shoulder and guide my head even closer. I breathed against his groin, pushing aside the coarse hair there that was tickling my nose. I knew I was starting to get burnt out. In the last few months, I had been holding myself together, but the sight of the track was starting to get to me.

Should I quit while I was ahead? After all, I had finally won the gold medal in my event, and a silver in the men’s 1500m race as well.

Steven suddenly thrust hard – probably unable to control himself anymore, I thought with a smirk, then coughed as I gagged.

“Sorry!” Steven said, pushing me back. “You’re distracted,” he observed.

“I-” I licked my lips, then wiped them with the back of my hand. “A bit,” I admitted.

Steven slid back in bed and patted the space next to him.

I sighed and sat down.

“Do you want to sleep instead?”

I gave him an outraged look. “Of course not! You know how long I’ve been waiting for tonight?”

He was grinning. “Even more than your medal?”

“Well, no.” I gave him a playful punch at the side and lay down, stretching out. I could heard the sounds of the party just outside. “I’ve been waiting for that for eight years.”

Steven and I met when we were still trying to qualify for the national team; Steven in shooting and I in track. I thought that shooting was boring, actually, but Steven liked it. It suited him, I suppose. The sight of his slim, spare frame staring at a target, or into the sky, always reminded me of a force of nature, unaffected by distractions that easily brought down other people. It wasn’t until we got together that I realised he was human too.

I looked over at him and saw that he was stroking himself. Without thinking I reached over and grabbed his hand. “I want that,” I said.

He had given a gasp when I touched him, but he recovered almost immediately. “Ah,” he said in a voice of faked innocence. “I’ve heard of demanding prima donna track stars, but-”

“Now,” I demanded.

He glanced over to me. “You know, when I first met you, I thought, he’s such a sweet, modest kid-”

“Kid!” I moved my hand away, but he grabbed it fast.

“Kid.” He nodded to himself. “But I was wrong,” he sighed, as though more in sorrow than in anger.

“Steven-”

With one of those sudden moves that always had me shocked–how did he move so fast!–Steven pulled me towards him and flipped me over so that I lay on my stomach. “Thank goodness,” he said, and kissed the back of my neck. “Love you,” he said.

“Well, I don’t love you,” I said sarcastically. I nudged him back until he gave me space so that I was sitting up. I was getting hard again–not that the erection from earlier had really gone away–and I noticed that he was getting harder. “Not unless we get to have sex.”

“Oh, is that all?” He turned me around slightly so that we could kiss, and his hands pinched lightly at my nipples before going down to grab my cock.

“What, is that too difficult for you?” I was aiming for the same amused tone Steven always used, but it came out a pitch higher and the ‘you’ ended in a squeak.

“Not really.” He squeezed me hard.

“Steven!”

“Relax.” He let my cock go at the same time as his tongue found the crook of my shoulder. I wriggled and turned my head to one side while he kissed and sucked. I could feel his smile on my skin. Then he was sliding his hands around to circle my waist. Responding to his nudges, I rose on to my hands and knees, sighing when his hands rubbed my sides, then down to my buttocks and pulled my butt cheeks apart gently.

I knew that in another second he was going to slide a finger inside me, except- “Lube?”

He whispered, “Got it.”

I felt a cool liquid slide over my skin, and twitched as it trickled down to my entrance. The sensation was ticklish and sticky–and wet–and I pushed my hips back towards Steven, who rubbed his fingers over my ass and slowly pushed a finger inside me. The effect was, unfortunately, like hearing the starter’s gun. My senses, all geared up, immediately zeroed on the unseen finishing line. I jerked up so violently that Steven’s finger slipped out again.

“Wha- Did I hurt-”

Wait. This was sex, not a race. I groaned in embarrassment. “No-” I said, certain that I was behaving like a witless virgin. I hadn’t even been that sensitive our first time! “It’s just… been too long.” I pushed back towards him, urged by a hunger combined with the need to get past the moment of awkwardness. “Get back in there,” I ordered, “and don’t be a ninny.”

He snorted. “May I ask who was the one who had a false start?” he asked, and I could feel his body heat as he inched even closer. It was as though he was trying to surround all of me. There was soft dripping sound, like raindrops, except it fell on me again (and a bit on the bed, no doubt).

More lube, I identified. “You’re going to slide out,” I teased.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said. He rubbed the backs of my thighs, positioned my knees a little further apart, a kiss, more kisses on my butt, and then–two fingers.

I made a sound that was between a whimper and a moan.

“All right?” Steven was asking.

“No problem.” And to prove it, I bore down on his fingers, taking him more deeply.

“Oh yeah?” He pulled back and added another finger.

I bit my lip in reaction at the increasing tightness. That competitive streak was going to be the end of me, I told myself. Not that I was going to let Steven know. Besides, it would only take a moment to adjust. I rested my weight on my arms for a moment, bracing myself, and pushed back.

Steven laid a hand on the small of my back to forestall any big movements.

“I realise this is the wrong thing to say to our 800-metres hurdler, but slow down.”

“Oh, what do you know,” I retorted. From the sound of his voice, I could tell that he was trying to hold himself back too. That little hitch in his breath, the way he sounded as though he was speaking between his teeth… it was surprising in someone whose event depended on absolute control over every involuntary muscle twitch.

But then, this was not a gold medal event. This was some well-deserved fucking after three months of abstinence.

Steven sensed it too. “Ready?” he said. He pulled his fingers out.

“Yes,” I said in a tone that implied he was the sluggard here. Bastard was probably so used to taking his own sweet time on the range that he didn’t realise people were waiting.

Actually, that was not true. Shooters did have a time limit to… perform, and Steven’s success lay in his ability to ignore all distractions and focus. I could tell by the way Steven reared up behind me–his shadow fell over the headboard as he knelt up–that he was getting into that mindset. It was probably not very flattering to be thought of as a shooting target, but it was hot as hell when Steven got intense like this.

His cock slid into me, slowly but without pause. I clenched the bedsheet, my mouth falling open as I panted. Uusally, I had a resting pulse of 45, but at moments like this I could swear that I was going to get a heart attack from the way my heart was pounding in my chest. Unwillingly, I started to time myself–what would the team doctor say when I went to him with this information!–but gave up when Steven had pushed all the way in and without even a word of warning, slid back halfway and thrust in, all within the time it took for me to breathe.

My knees probably buckled at that, because the next I knew, Steven’s arm was holding me up as he set a pace in earnest. His thighs slapped against mine as I pushed back. He mumbled something that I hoped was not his training mantra. I reached down, half-dazed, to my own cock and began to stroke it.
The celebration party was still going on, I realised suddenly, hearing cheers from outside the window. There was singing and laughter–the others must have come out of the auditorium.

Steven continued to thrust, but he was even faster now. I gave up on touching myself and just held on, feeling my own edge approaching. The window rattled, I noticed. The bed creaked.

Then there was a bang and light filled my eyelids as I came. I remembered thinking that multi-coloured explosions of light weren’t in my usual style, but I was too busy getting off to be analytical.

When my thinking processes finally became coherent, Steven was still inside me, though he had stopped moving. I sensed that he was still hard and turned my head around slowly. “What?”

“Fireworks,” Steven said, looking out of the window and sure enough, blue and red catherine wheels were sparkling outside.

I remembered our teammates saying that they had bought some sparklers, but I wasn’t expecting this.

“More importantly,” Steven said, kissing my shoulder and starting to thrust once more, “You came when the first of those went up. Should I be worried?” Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the pace almost immediately while I tried to make sense of what he was asking.

“What-” I tried to ask, but Steven gave a louder gasp that rattled his entire frame, and fell over me as he reached his own edge. It was long minutes before he finally slipped out of me and rolled over, avoiding the wet spot.

In the meantime, I had figured out what he was trying to say. Crawling to lie down by his side, I gave him a not-so-friendly slap on the ass. “Are you implying that I go off at loud noises, or something?”

There was no response, then I saw his chest rise up and down in suppressed laughter. He drew in breath noisily, and intoned, “‘He who lives by the starter’s gun, dies by-‘”

I tried to kick him out of bed, but my legs were still rubbery.