Finally some other words
But not the pr0n leidy wanted, for this I am sorry.
:: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps, US Men's Swimming, (hard)G. Unbeta'ed.
09.04.2008 (8:47 am)
"Lung Capacity"
Ryan held his breath.
Sometimes diving into the pool was like soaring off the edge of the world-for a little while he was weightless, flying, with only the touch of the wall to anchor him down to reality.
The tile was slick, and cool, and his fingers brushed and his toes pushed and then he was gone again into the wild blue. There wasn't enough gravity in a pool to make him real; he forgot who he was in the burn of his muscles.
Ryan held his breath.
Sometimes catching air on his board was like falling off the edge of the world-he knew that at the end he would hit the ground and it was up to him (and maybe Fate) to keep him from breaking into a million pieces.
The pavement was rough, and hot, and his knees bent and his arms lifted and then he was right where he should be and nowhere else. There was too much gravity on the street to let himself go; there was no way to forget that each trick might mean the end of everything.
Ryan held his breath.
Sometimes being with Michael was like jumping off the edge of the world-just the rush of it, the ease of it, was like looking at the rest of the world through glass: it was there waiting, but couldn't touch them.
The skin was smooth, and warm, and his neck arched and his hips rocked and then he was testing ever-expanding boundaries. There was just enough gravity with long arms around him to keep him steady and his name was written by fingertips through sweat so he never forgot who he was.
Ryan stopped holding his breath.
:: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps, US Men's Swimming, (hard)G. Unbeta'ed.
09.04.2008 (8:47 am)
"Lung Capacity"
Ryan held his breath.
Sometimes diving into the pool was like soaring off the edge of the world-for a little while he was weightless, flying, with only the touch of the wall to anchor him down to reality.
The tile was slick, and cool, and his fingers brushed and his toes pushed and then he was gone again into the wild blue. There wasn't enough gravity in a pool to make him real; he forgot who he was in the burn of his muscles.
Ryan held his breath.
Sometimes catching air on his board was like falling off the edge of the world-he knew that at the end he would hit the ground and it was up to him (and maybe Fate) to keep him from breaking into a million pieces.
The pavement was rough, and hot, and his knees bent and his arms lifted and then he was right where he should be and nowhere else. There was too much gravity on the street to let himself go; there was no way to forget that each trick might mean the end of everything.
Ryan held his breath.
Sometimes being with Michael was like jumping off the edge of the world-just the rush of it, the ease of it, was like looking at the rest of the world through glass: it was there waiting, but couldn't touch them.
The skin was smooth, and warm, and his neck arched and his hips rocked and then he was testing ever-expanding boundaries. There was just enough gravity with long arms around him to keep him steady and his name was written by fingertips through sweat so he never forgot who he was.
Ryan stopped holding his breath.