Spencer swallowed. Flynn’s naked torso showed up in the mags regularly enough—and Spencer absolutely did not use the climbing mags as porn, except sometimes he did—but the last time he’d seen Flynn without a shirt on in person, he’d still had something of a teenager’s physique.
There was no teenager left to him now. He didn’t bulge with muscle. He rippled with it. There seemed to be nothing to him except muscle topped by a thin layer of skin that slid along the curves and valleys of his body at rest. His harness circled his lean hips, and his shorts dipped almost as low, so that the taut concavity of his navel beckoned. A tendril of sweat rolled between his pecs through the groove separating his six pack, and his package was framed by the leg loops of his harness, pressing it forward in an enticing bulge.
“You ready?” Flynn asked with a curious tilt of his head. Spencer sucked his tongue back into his mouth and closed his jaw with a snap.
“I’m ready.” He watched Flynn climb up to the first bolt, focusing on his ass instead of his back because it wasn’t as distracting, being on the flat side. Then Flynn stepped higher and his calves came into view, and holy fuck they were toned, every muscle and tendon so perfectly delineated he could be an anatomy lesson.
“Can I get a little slack?” Flynn asked, glancing down between those gorgeous legs.
Fuck. Spencer was totally failing Belaying 101. He rifled some rope through his belay device and re-focused on his duty instead of his dick. Dicks didn’t enjoy being hard in a harness—there wasn’t enough room for those kind of shenanigans, and there was a definite risk of sudden and painful pinching—but he couldn’t stop thinking about what Flynn had said about being gay. And wanting him. And oh yeah, that was going to happen.
But later, Spencer told his misbehaving dick. Much later.
10. Flynn
The bastard actually made him do it. Clipping drills. Flynn hadn’t practiced clipping since the first year he’d learned to climb. Not to say he was great at it, but come on. He was at the Olympics. He could clip a fucking rope into a fucking carabiner.
“Now the other hand,” Spencer said. He was crashed out on the tarp they’d brought to keep the rope clean with his shirt off. He had his head propped up just enough to supervise, the arm behind it stretched taut, his bicep forming a firm pillow.
Flynn wanted to be down there with him, not clipping and reclipping the rope.
“It has to be muscle memory,” Spencer said.
“I know. It is.”
“You don’t climb with a rope often enough to keep in practice, and anyway, you don’t think I ever have to do clipping drills?”
“No, seriously?” He turned around just in time to catch Spencer try to take a drink while lying down and nearly drown himself.
“Seriously.” Spencer sat up to wipe his face dry. “Pierre has a drill for everything. If I so much as bobble a single clip, I’ll doing drills for the next three weeks.”
“No wonder you climb so cautiously.”
“No wonder I’m a better lead climber than you are, you mean?”
Flynn scrunched his nose, but he didn’t really mind the teasing. Spencer looked so loose and happy this afternoon, sunbaked and sweat-slick and gorgeous. And he had every right to be proud of his lead climbing skills. The only thing Flynn was disgruntled about was being on his feet instead of next to him.
“Energy spent clipping is wasted,” Spencer proclaimed officiously as he lay back down.
“Energy spent practicing clipping is wasted.” He executed three perfect clips with his left hand, then three more with his right hand, and silently declared himself done. “Are we going to climb anymore?” He levered himself over Spencer’s body, hovering above him in plank position.
“We’ve already climbed everything here,” Spencer said “And it’s hot.”
“Too hot. We should take a break.” He dipped down to give Spencer a kiss. It was too hot for making out too, but he was willing to suffer.
“A break, huh?” Spencer looped his arms around his neck. “What exactly would this break entail?”
“Taking our harnesses off for starters.” Their harnesses were a definite impediment to frotting, and Flynn’s was starting to get uncomfortable.
“Is that a belay loop on your harness or are you just happy to see me?”
“Both.” He scrambled to his feet and unbuckled his harness so he could shimmy it off. His cock immediately swelled up to distend the front of his shorts. It liked watching Spencer trying to squirm out of his own harness without getting up in a fascinating display of acrobatic laziness.
“You look good on your back,” Flynn told him.
“You look good cocky,” Spencer said in return. “Good thing.”
“Yeah.” Flynn sighed with appreciation because Spencer really did look good right now with his hair damp and his eyes laughing.
There hadn’t been another climber at the cliff all day. Earlier, they’d heard voices passing on the trail, heading for the viewpoint at the top of the ridge from which Mount Fuji could be seen, but since then they’d worked their way far enough from the trail that no one was likely to notice two climbers doing something that wasn’t climbing.
He slid back over Spencer, gliding easily now without their harnesses in the way. He could feel Spencer’s cock against his own, the hard length of it protruding higher than the points of his hips. He aligned himself so their erections lay side by side and rocked his hips into Spencer’s.
“This is okay, right?”
“Shut up.” Spencer’s eyes were closed, his face twisted into something like ecstasy already. “Fuck, it’s been too long.”
Flynn wanted to ask more about that, but his job now was to keep Spencer looking like he might pop, so he dipped his head while keeping his lower back arched and managed to catch Spencer’s lips with his own.
“Flynn,” Spencer mumbled. “Too fucking good.” He rubbed against Flynn’s groin, bucking up into him so that the friction of nylon over nylon was almost more than Flynn could take. He wanted nakedness and privacy and Spencer’s cock in his mouth, and all he could do was hang on and keep rutting.
Spencer moaned and Flynn moaned back at him, needing more of that, more of Spencer’s joy. Sloppy tongues and slick chests and rough hands stuffed down each other’s shorts—he was so close to coming. Spencer must be too, the way he thrashed and panted, but it would be such a mess and the friction was getting to be too much. Like rug burn.
Flynn pulled back to sit on his heels.
“Nooo,” Spencer said in a definite whine. “Whyyyy?”
“We were about to start a forest fire. I don’t suppose you keep lube in your chalk bag.”
“Chalk is pretty much the opposite of lube.” Spencer playfully jabbed at Flynn’s thigh with his foot, coming dangerously close to damaging the goods.
Flynn caught his ankle and brought it to his mouth for a quick kiss. It tasted like skin but smelled like rock shoes after a long day climbing and he dropped it again to consider their options. “I’m thinking blowjobs are the way to go.”
“Mm.” Spencer got up onto his elbows and cranked his head around to look at the woods behind them. “Maybe we should wait until we get back.”