Up to this point, it’d been Flynn rocketing them forward, but Spencer took the lead now, yanking Flynn’s pants and briefs over his hips in a quick movement that had Flynn’s cock springing at him like a jack-in-the-box. Spencer licked his lips. This baby was about to be his.
The briefest of warnings—just the click of the electric lock disengaging—announced Roddy’s appearance. Flynn grabbed for his pants and Spencer scrambled to sit up, but before they could do more than that, Roddy was there in the room with them.
Roddy eyed them like he could tell what’d been going on, which of course he could. Flynn was flushed, his hair a tangle of curls, the green in his eyes eclipsed by the black of his pupils. Spencer ran his fingers through his shorter hair, smoothing it down where Flynn had ruffled it up.
“I thought you’d be out until later.”
“I see that.”
“We were just, uh, watching videos from past competitions. You know. Scouting.”
“Uh huh. Scouting.”
Flynn hadn’t said a word. He was the smooth one, the one with all the charm. Why wasn’t he helping make this not awkward?
“You going to introduce me?” Roddy asked.
“I should probably go.” Flynn scrambled to his feet, his dick still plump enough to bobble under his loose pants. “Sorry about that. You know. Walking in on. Okay, see ya.”
He was gone before Spencer could introduce him, but maybe that was the point. Flynn didn’t want Roddy knowing who he was.
“Sooo,” Roddy said when the door had swung shut behind him, “now do you want to talk about how to signal when we’ve got someone in the room?”
At least Roddy wasn’t freaking out about what’d happened, even if Flynn was. Spencer didn’t know whether to freak out himself or not. It had a lot to do with how much Flynn did.
“I’m not sure what the chances are of that ever happening again.”
“Why not?”
“He’s straight.” Was he though? Just because he wasn’t out didn’t mean he wasn’t gay. There’d been hints before—his interest in spending time together, the way he’d thrown out the word hot this afternoon. Maybe there was something there.
Or maybe Flynn wasn’t going to speak to him for the rest of the Olympics.
Which was a karma-tastic turn of events. After years of avoiding Flynn, Spencer could no longer lie about how much he liked him. Not even to himself.
8. Flynn
Flynn was down the stairs and a few hundred feet away from Spencer’s residence before his dick fully deflated, his mind still in Spencer’s bed with Spencer’s cock in his hand and his cock in Spencer’s. He had to keep his feet moving firmly forward, or they’d take him back where he’d come from and he’d end up getting in a fight with Spencer’s roommate who hadn’t done anything wrong except come home.
And who was also very, very big. Much too big to tangle with.
Whatever people skills Flynn usually possessed had disappeared with Roddy’s intrusion, his caveman instinct telling him this stranger had come to take his guy just when he’d finally gotten his hands on him. That’d been the best chance he was ever going to get, so he’d taken it, and if he didn’t get another one, he was going to hunt down the thick-necked dude who lived in Spencer’s room and give him a piece of his mind.
It wasn’t quite nine o’clock, a trace of light left in the sky, and his ankle felt pretty good from all the pain-killing endorphins flooding his system, so he detoured out to the climbing arena. It was locked up now, but he could see the top of the speed wall towering over the other two walls. Spencer had looked so good up there earlier—at home in his body, his brain turned off, nothing but urgency and want. Same way he’d looked with Flynn’s cock in his hand.
Waves crashed on the nearby beach, one after the other in a rhythmic lullaby. He’d imagined spending a lot of time on that beach—swimming, lazing, socializing—but he was all about the training now. If training was the way to get into Spencer’s pants, then woot. Bring it on. Maybe they could train for a new world record in mutual orgasms.
He whistled his way back to his room and found Chelsea there. She picked up on his mood immediately.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“There wasn’t as much that as I wish there’d been. We got interrupted.”
“But you got somewhere.”
“Yeah.” He plugged his phone in to charge, then threw himself down on his bed. He would rather soak in the memory of what’d just happened than talk to Chelsea. In fact, it’d be ideal if she weren’t in the room so he could soak his hand with the memory of what’d just happened. He flexed his hand open, then closed it again, remembering the feel of Spencer’s cock, that live-wire thrum of hard flesh and soft skin.
“So what happens now?” Chelsea asked. She had her hair up in pigtails that sprouted from the sides of her head like alien antennae and was flipping through the pages of the latest issue of Climbing Magazine.
Flynn was in there somewhere. Spencer too. Flynn was mentioned in a brief item about a new boulder problem he’d climbed in Bishop. Spencer appeared in an ad, his hair so neatly arranged it could’ve been made of wax and his smile nearly as perfect, not like the mess he’d been under Flynn’s hands.
“More training, I guess.” He restrained the smirk that came from thinking about what kind of training he’d like to do and picked up his phone to shoot Spencer a text. “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
He didn’t like how long it took Spencer to compose his reply. Dots bubbled up, then disappeared again like he was typing something then deleting it, but finally a text came through. “Cross training in the morning, bouldering in the afternoon.”
“Breakfast?”
“At seven.”
Flynn groaned, and not in a good way. He set the alarm on his phone and resigned himself to another early morning. Should he text Spencer something sexy? Something sweet? Just mention how glad he was they were doing something together tomorrow even if it was something totally sucky? Phone sex?
His phone buzzed with another text. “Did you take more ibuprofen?”
It wasn’t phone sex, but it was good. Spencer cared.
“I’ll take some now,” he texted back. “Thanks for the reminder.” He added a kissy face to the end of his message and got a kissy face back. This one intentional, he hoped.
Cross training turned out to be chest and leg day in the fitness center. Spencer excused him from some of the leg exercises because of his ankle, though it didn’t feel bad. It would be fine for competition, which was still a few days away. But the injury gave him a reason to sit back and watch Spencer go through his exercises, the best of which was the leg extension. Every time Spencer’s thigh flexed, Flynn’s cock did the same.
Lunch was chicken again, with yogurt and fruit this time, and then came the fun part of the day. Bouldering. A contingent of climbers boarded the shuttle into Tokyo to climb at the gym they’d checked out a few days ago.
“We stay have dinner,” Mika suggested. “No hurry back.”
“It’s not going to be sushi, is it?” Ashley complained. “I hate sushi.”