He fumbled for the lube they’d left on Spencer’s nightstand last night and added some before inserting a second finger, never letting his mouth stray from Spencer’s sweet cock and plump balls. The bare-bones fluorescent-lit room was heaven with Spencer’s moans filling it.
“You wanna get to it?” Spencer demanded. So much for romance.
“Did I beg you to go faster when you were fucking me?”
“A lot.”
“Yeah, well, that’s me. I like things fast. You’re supposed to be the patient one, so be patient. I can’t take you apart in a minute.”
“Fuck.” Spencer let his head thump back down, apparently resigning himself to Flynn’s mercy. And Flynn gave him mercy, gave him everything: time, worship, a gradual build to a soft plateau, until Spencer hummed with satisfaction despite not having climaxed, almost as if he didn’t need to climax.
Flynn did though, so he suited up and pressed in slowly, careful not to startle or hurt. He didn’t want Spencer to feel any effects from their lovemaking tomorrow except the glow of memory, so he held himself back, gliding with excruciating slowness, smooth as satin from the lube and Spencer’s laxness. Like dancing a waltz, like climbing slab. All flow.
“More, more,” Spencer mumbled, and Flynn gave it to him in increments, ramping up his pace until it matched Spencer’s breaths, until they moved together with perfect fluidity. He was desperately close to orgasm and needed to take Spencer with him, but before he could free up a hand to get it on Spencer’s cock, Spencer came untouched, his cock spasming as it released one jet of milky fluid after another.
The pure bliss on his face sent Flynn over the edge too. He came in waves as soft as his emotions, with Spencer clutching him tight, then collapsed forward, somehow finding the energy to keep his weight off Spencer until Spencer pulled him in tighter. Their torsos smooshed together, Spencer’s come providing the creamy filling of their flesh sandwich.
“That was good.” The drowsy words were all Flynn needed to hear. He let his eyes drift shut, floating with the synchronized beating of their hearts. He should get up, move to the other bed, let Spencer get a good night’s rest. And he absolutely would do that.
In a minute.
The noise woke him. Either that or Spencer’s hasty movements in response to the noise. He was in Spencer’s bed, and his sense memory told him that a moment ago he’d been wrapped around his lover, but his lover was sitting up now, frowning at his phone.
“What?” Flynn mumbled through the thickness of morning mouth.
“Time to get up. You slept here.”
“Sorry?”
“No, not sorry.” Spencer leaned down to kiss him.
“Does that mean blowjobs?” He brushed his hand across Spencer’s abdomen to find his morning-chubby cock.
“It does not.” But Spencer gave him another quick kiss before hopping out of bed, his cock swinging in a hypnotizing way as he moved around the room jerking on clothes and snatching up toiletries. “Come on, up you go. We’ve got places to go and medals to win. I’m going to take a shower, and I’d better not find you here when I get back.”
Flynn waited until he’d left before standing up. He’d been hoping for a magical overnight healing, but he had to shuffle-hop around the room for several minutes before his ankle loosened up enough to take his full weight, then make a slow hobble back to his own residence.
It sucked pretty bad. That was the truth.
Chelsea was there, already awake. She teased him about making the walk of shame—well, the limp of shame—but it was a walk of fucking glory, and he didn’t care who knew it. Which was everyone, apparently. Chelsea had finished in third place yesterday and was riding high today, yesterday’s nerves gone completely, though Flynn assumed they’d be back tomorrow when the women had their final competition. But today was her rest day, which she was choosing to spend following the gossip about him and Spencer on Instagram where they were a hot new couple in search of a ship name.
“How about Flencer?” she suggested.
“It beats Splynn.” Splynn sounded like a body part. An unhealthy one.
“I think flensers might be those guys who carve up whales for a living, though. Blubber is Canadian, but it’s hardly sexy.”
“I don’t suppose we could just not have a name.”
“I doubt it.” Chelsea unrolled herself from the plow position she’d been in. Her hair was in Teletubby configuration, making a tall purple projection from the top of her head. “I can’t believe Ashley thought your sponsors would drop you for sleeping with the enemy. You two just became the biggest names in climbing.”
“Hardly how I wanted to do it.”
“Hey, I’d take it, assuming I was paired with the right guy. Let’s see. Chino? Chai?”
“Those are both good.”
“I know. I was born to be shipped, and I’m in a sport where the guys outnumber the girls five to one. So how come I’m single?”
“Damned if I know. If I were straight, I’d be all over you.”
She blew him a kiss, then gathered up her things to head to the shower. “Good luck if I don’t see you. Sorry about the ankle.”
“Thanks. I’m just glad I staked my career on Spencer medaling, not me. And they say I’m not a smart climber.” He tapped his temple with his finger, but she just rolled her eyes at him.
Breakfast was another somber affair. Today it was the women bringing the mood down while the men were just on edge. Spencer was at the far end of the table, consoling Liv in French. She’d been an unexpected scratch and wasn’t taking it well, tears streaming down her face whenever someone alluded to the men’s finals. But it wasn’t like there was another subject. The finalists were all decked out in their team colors, taking in enough calories to get them through what would be a long morning.
The earlier start meant the stadium was pleasantly cool with a fresh breeze blowing off the ocean when they got there. Flynn’s family had shown up while the stands were still empty enough that he was able to pick them out from his spot hiding behind the curtain. Spencer had his whole routine to do backstage, with the stretching and meditating and warming-up, but Flynn only had this: bouncing on his toes watching the crowd, wishing it would start already.
The events would go in the same order they had in the preliminaries—first speed, then bouldering, then lead. The only difference was they’d be racing each other instead of clock in the speed event, climbing against each other in an double elimination tournament that would rank them from worst to first. Flynn had been matched against Dai in the first round, and since he would have a hard time beating Dai even if his ankle wasn’t protesting every ounce of weight he put on it, he wasn’t surprised when he lost.
Not a great start to the morning for him, but Spencer won his first match handily, only to lose his second to Ashley. The win put him in third place, which was a fantastic result for him, but the only thing he seemed to care about was that he’d lost to Ashley.
As they waited out the mandatory rest period back in the holding area, all of them anxious to get going now because speed was just a tease, Spencer stopped his pacing to give Ashley another glare. “Outing people is wrong,” he muttered to Flynn, as if he were about to go over there and make Ashley pay for doing it.