: NATIONALS 2009; THURSDAY : Swim Slash : Phelps/Lochte
Nationals 2009; Thursday.
:: Phelps/Lochte, Swim Slash, R.
A/N: This is, in my words, why MP woke up with a stiff neck on Friday. References my post-Beijing story, Mile High Club. Prompt from darling entropygoddess stating, "I REALLY would love to see what you do with the 'stiff neck' idea! Plus you know someone tends to be a bit of a klutz on dry land. Technique fail."
Nationals 2009; Thursday.
Mike has a few ways that he likes to make a serious point. They are:
My mom says...
Bob says...
It would be really great if...
And; I don't think this is a good idea.
Sometimes he uses a combination of the four for maximum effectiveness, i.e. My mom doesn't think this is a good idea. There's a history of people respecting his wishes directly following any of these openers, which is exactly why they've become the aces up his sleeve. I'm really sorry nameless reporter number three-thousand and fifty-two, it would really be great if you would just talk to Bob, because he says...
So really it's no surprise that none of them, in any order or combination or tone of voice, ever work on Ryan. It's like talking to a wall. A handsy wall.
Mike pries Ryan's fingers off of his ear and throws his hand back at him, straightening his cap. "No," he hisses, and then makes sure that Ryan sees his frown. Look how big my frown is and pay attention: I don't think this is a good idea. And no shit; Rex is snoring softly from the side of the sofa that Ryan and Mike aren't occupying. His chin is in his hand, elbow on the armrest, and he's definitely drooling a little. Mike might have broken a World Record tonight but he just doesn't feel that lucky.
Ryan wiggles his nose back and forth to push his glasses up. "So?" Then he leans in and bites Mike's earlobe and Mike wishes that his dick wasn't in such indisputable agreement with Ryan's recklessness. It's bad for business is what it is, because it's really difficult for Mike to convince Ryan that this isn't a good idea when Ryan's fingers are wrapping around a handful of hard flesh that obviously thinks the idea is just the best ever. Ryan hums. "Pepe doesn't seem to mind..."
Mike feels his eyebrows trying to meet in the middle of his forehead. "Pepe?"
All Ryan does is shrug as he unzips Mike's fly like it's absolutely normal that he gave Mike's dick the name of a small Mexican man with a Napoleon complex. "Wanna blow me?" Ryan asks just after licking his way around the top curve of Mike's ear and just before he slips fingertips into the front of Mike's boxers--both of which are guaranteed to shorten whatever argument Mike's prepared to give.
"Shit," he breathes out, his eyes trying to close, "You know what Bob says about expending energy during meets..."
The snort of Ryan's breath is hot against Mike's neck and his fingers grip and tug once, for good measure, and then pull away as Ryan flops back down into his own seat and opens his own pants. "It's just a blowie, man. Not like you're invading Korea here." He strokes himself a few times and really, it's those stupid fucking glasses--how they lift up on his face when he grins--that seals the deal.
Not only does Mike not bother saying something like It would be really great if you stopped touching yourself because Bob and Mom say that I should be focusing on my swimming and I don't think that this is a good idea, but he doesn't even mention the fact that Korea is divided into North and South and thus not really... invadable. It so doesn't matter.
Rex's chin slips out of his hand with a jerk and his head hits his bicep and then snaps up, eyes open but unfocused. Mike grabs his fly to yank it upward and ends up punching himself in the balls in the process which is great, just great. He snaps his teeth and lips closed to keep the pained groan from being vocal and rips his cap off his head to smack it down over Ryan's dick. It's gratifying to hear the grunt that cuts off Ryan's laugh.
"Peanuts," Rex says, blinking. "Jellyfish." Mike stares at him, holding his balls with one hand, and feels the couch shake as Ryan starts to laugh again. Rex's head sinks back down onto his arm and in no time at all he's back to snoring. Mike pulls a hand over his face and Ryan tugs on the arm of his shirt.
"Come on."
"You're crazy. Did you see that? This is not a good idea." Now if Ryan only had any common sense at all--which he obviously doesn't because he's smiling again, thick black rims crawling up his forehead as his expression grows. Ryan shoves the cap off his lap, wedging it down into the cushions of the couch as he leans over toward Mike. Mike watches his dick hang up between the elastic of his baggy sweats and the hem of his bedazzled black don Ed Hardy wear and feels the scrape of words against his ear. At least the ache in his balls has subsided.
"Suck me, Mikey. I want you on your fucking knees sucking on my junk. I want you to do it while Rex is right there like, close enough to get a fucking contact high from your mouth around my dick." Fingertips pinch Mike's earlobe and it's all more than enough to force Mike to swallow a groan along with his sense of imminent disaster. Shit, shit.
A thought occurs to Mike--and really, this is still a bad idea and he knows it. But if they're gonna get caught in flagrante delecto then he'll be damned if he's gonna be the one getting a dick in the eye. He turns his head enough to look at Ryan. "I think that you owe me." Ryan stops. He sits back a little, one hand reaching down to stroke himself as he frowns. Mike wants to snap his headband against his head. "The plane?" he finally prompts. "What was that about someone sucking on someone's junk? Slurp, slurp Doggy."
It takes a minute before Ryan's eyes widen a little and the left corner of his mouth hitches up. "Aw shit, son." But there isn't a word of complaint as he swings down onto his knees, pushing Mike's legs apart to settle on the floor between them. Mike's trying to decide on whether to keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty or an eye on Ryan because Rex might or might not be a deep sleeper but with Ryan you never know. Getting head with a grill on--and Mike doesn't give a good goddamn how many diamonds are in it--is not the best thing ever. Not by a long shot.
Ryan's hands are warm as he peels back Mike's jeans and tucks his boxers down under his balls. "Shaved here too, hmm."
Mike sighs and slouches down against the back of the couch as fingertips trace across the skin behind his sac and Ryan rolls Mike's balls in his hand. "Wouldn't be able to talk so much if your mouth was being put to better use," he murmurs. His voice is near a whisper; having Rex snoring quietly about a half a cushion away is freaking him out. Okay, so it's not freaking him out enough to keep him from getting hard as Ryan sucks on the head of his dick, not freaking him out enough to keep him from moaning as a pushy tongue wiggles against the slit at the top, but it's still freaky. Because it's Rex. And Rex is kinda like Ryan's shadow these days. And he's right there. Mike could reach out and elbow him in the face without trying. Good thing he's not into throwing 'bows when he comes. Which he fully expects to get to do.
Soon.
Ryan's curls shake with a gentle back and forth as he sinks his mouth down and starts to get a rhythm and that's about the time when Mike stops caring who is on the couch with them. Ryan's making it quick and sloppy and every now and then he has to reach up to shove his glasses back up his nose but Mike doesn't care; he's not looking for a gold medal performance here--he just wants to get to the finish line. For a minute from under half-closed eyes he watches the black rims of Ryan's glasses move up and back, the lenses catching the light with a flash. Mike drops his head back and rolls his hips; his balls are starting to crawl up as Ryan gets faster, each wet suck enough to make Mike's toes curl down into the downy carpet.
When Ryan's fingers wrap around the base of Mike's dick they slide easy through spit in short, rough strokes. The grip is tight enough to make Mike sit up and pay attention--his whole body lights up like the damn Hindenburg; he can feel his neck and ears get hot and suddenly his skin is itching and he's trying to shudder up and to get himself as deep into Ryan's throat as possible. Those stupid glasses are jabbing into his hips but all he can think over and over as he curls over Ryan is fuck, fuck, fuck...
Without missing a beat Ryan reaches up and wraps his free hand around Mike's ear, palm flat and warm and fingers digging into the crease of skin between ear and skull and Mike is too far gone to stop him even though it's dragging his head to the side. He just digs his own fingers into the shoulders of Ryan's shirt and tries to breathe as everything low in his gut tightens up. Ryan's hand slips off Mike's dick and down to his own; Mike can see the way his arm jerks up and down like he's trying to tear the damn thing off. It doesn't matter now though because Ryan's sloppy mouth is enough and Mike's eyes close all the way, chest hitching. There's a thought for warning Ryan but it's vague and the impulse doesn't make it to his lips as they part when he comes.
Mike feels the recoil of Ryan's body between his knees, the constriction of Ryan's throat and then there's a sharp yank on his ear. Two sharp yanks, jerking him down almost far enough to smack his head into Ryan's.
"Fuck!"
Rex snorts at Mike's yelp and sits up straight; Ryan falls back onto his ass, dragging Mike down on top of him by the still-tight grip on his ear. Mike's chin hits Ryan's chest with a teeth-jarring impact when his feet slip on the carpet and he can't catch himself and sweet jesus he's lucky he didn't bite his tongue off. He swallows back the discomfort of the hand still around Ryan's dick jabbing into his stomach and it really just makes the entire situation somehow more awkward, though a moment ago Mike wouldn't have thought it possible.
So there's nothing to do now--his pants aren't low enough to display his ass and at least on top of Ryan they're both covered up--so Mike just closes his eyes to await the inevitable. If it were easy to punch Ryan from their current position without drawing attention, he would do it. I don't think this is a good idea doesn't mean Let's do it anyway. Ryan makes him stupid.
The pervasive silence eventually brings Mike's head up. He manages an awkward glance back over his shoulder and Rex is facedown on the couch, one arm tucked under his stomach and spreading his drool on the upholstery. Fucker. Mike turns back to find Ryan's face screwed up and he starts to open his mouth to ask what the hell is wrong when he gets a face full of come, a lukewarm and sticky spray.
For a good thirty seconds Mike just stays there, propped on one hand and one elbow and feeling the drip of it into the corners of his mouth and over the jut of his jaw. There is no way that he deserved that. Just no way. And he thinks Ryan is smiling.
Dropping his face and yanking up on Ryan's shirt, Mike starts wiping his face with his handful and gets a slap on the side of the head.
"Ow," he hisses, slapping Ryan back and knocking his glasses askew. "What the fuck." Rolling off Ryan, Mike shoves his dick back into his pants and aims a kick at Ryan's ass before falling onto his back and pulling his own shirt up to finish the job.
"There are rules for that kinda shit, man. You gotta give a brother warning." Ryan snaps his own waistband up and pushes curls off his face. He tries to flick Mike's temple and misses when Mike swats him away. "You got off."
"And you'll never get off again. I was against this from the beginning." Mike rubs fingers against the side of his forehead where he thinks he missed some. Uck. He's trying to figure out if it was even worth the getting off. Ryan rolls over onto his stomach next to Mike and pushes the top of his head up against the underside of Mike's arm.
"Get real, you're never against a beej."
If only it weren't true. Mike reaches over and snaps Ryan's headband once and gets a shouted swear that's satisfying enough for the time being. Rex snorts again and pushes himself half up, blinking and looking around, rubbing drool off the corner of his mouth a few more times than is strictly necessary. Bleary eyes fix on Mike and Ryan on the floor.
"It would be really great if you guys would get a fuckin' room," Rex mutters before turning over and putting his back to them.
Mike bursts into laughter.
:: Phelps/Lochte, Swim Slash, R.
A/N: This is, in my words, why MP woke up with a stiff neck on Friday. References my post-Beijing story, Mile High Club. Prompt from darling entropygoddess stating, "I REALLY would love to see what you do with the 'stiff neck' idea! Plus you know someone tends to be a bit of a klutz on dry land. Technique fail."
Nationals 2009; Thursday.
Mike has a few ways that he likes to make a serious point. They are:
My mom says...
Bob says...
It would be really great if...
And; I don't think this is a good idea.
Sometimes he uses a combination of the four for maximum effectiveness, i.e. My mom doesn't think this is a good idea. There's a history of people respecting his wishes directly following any of these openers, which is exactly why they've become the aces up his sleeve. I'm really sorry nameless reporter number three-thousand and fifty-two, it would really be great if you would just talk to Bob, because he says...
So really it's no surprise that none of them, in any order or combination or tone of voice, ever work on Ryan. It's like talking to a wall. A handsy wall.
Mike pries Ryan's fingers off of his ear and throws his hand back at him, straightening his cap. "No," he hisses, and then makes sure that Ryan sees his frown. Look how big my frown is and pay attention: I don't think this is a good idea. And no shit; Rex is snoring softly from the side of the sofa that Ryan and Mike aren't occupying. His chin is in his hand, elbow on the armrest, and he's definitely drooling a little. Mike might have broken a World Record tonight but he just doesn't feel that lucky.
Ryan wiggles his nose back and forth to push his glasses up. "So?" Then he leans in and bites Mike's earlobe and Mike wishes that his dick wasn't in such indisputable agreement with Ryan's recklessness. It's bad for business is what it is, because it's really difficult for Mike to convince Ryan that this isn't a good idea when Ryan's fingers are wrapping around a handful of hard flesh that obviously thinks the idea is just the best ever. Ryan hums. "Pepe doesn't seem to mind..."
Mike feels his eyebrows trying to meet in the middle of his forehead. "Pepe?"
All Ryan does is shrug as he unzips Mike's fly like it's absolutely normal that he gave Mike's dick the name of a small Mexican man with a Napoleon complex. "Wanna blow me?" Ryan asks just after licking his way around the top curve of Mike's ear and just before he slips fingertips into the front of Mike's boxers--both of which are guaranteed to shorten whatever argument Mike's prepared to give.
"Shit," he breathes out, his eyes trying to close, "You know what Bob says about expending energy during meets..."
The snort of Ryan's breath is hot against Mike's neck and his fingers grip and tug once, for good measure, and then pull away as Ryan flops back down into his own seat and opens his own pants. "It's just a blowie, man. Not like you're invading Korea here." He strokes himself a few times and really, it's those stupid fucking glasses--how they lift up on his face when he grins--that seals the deal.
Not only does Mike not bother saying something like It would be really great if you stopped touching yourself because Bob and Mom say that I should be focusing on my swimming and I don't think that this is a good idea, but he doesn't even mention the fact that Korea is divided into North and South and thus not really... invadable. It so doesn't matter.
Rex's chin slips out of his hand with a jerk and his head hits his bicep and then snaps up, eyes open but unfocused. Mike grabs his fly to yank it upward and ends up punching himself in the balls in the process which is great, just great. He snaps his teeth and lips closed to keep the pained groan from being vocal and rips his cap off his head to smack it down over Ryan's dick. It's gratifying to hear the grunt that cuts off Ryan's laugh.
"Peanuts," Rex says, blinking. "Jellyfish." Mike stares at him, holding his balls with one hand, and feels the couch shake as Ryan starts to laugh again. Rex's head sinks back down onto his arm and in no time at all he's back to snoring. Mike pulls a hand over his face and Ryan tugs on the arm of his shirt.
"Come on."
"You're crazy. Did you see that? This is not a good idea." Now if Ryan only had any common sense at all--which he obviously doesn't because he's smiling again, thick black rims crawling up his forehead as his expression grows. Ryan shoves the cap off his lap, wedging it down into the cushions of the couch as he leans over toward Mike. Mike watches his dick hang up between the elastic of his baggy sweats and the hem of his bedazzled black don Ed Hardy wear and feels the scrape of words against his ear. At least the ache in his balls has subsided.
"Suck me, Mikey. I want you on your fucking knees sucking on my junk. I want you to do it while Rex is right there like, close enough to get a fucking contact high from your mouth around my dick." Fingertips pinch Mike's earlobe and it's all more than enough to force Mike to swallow a groan along with his sense of imminent disaster. Shit, shit.
A thought occurs to Mike--and really, this is still a bad idea and he knows it. But if they're gonna get caught in flagrante delecto then he'll be damned if he's gonna be the one getting a dick in the eye. He turns his head enough to look at Ryan. "I think that you owe me." Ryan stops. He sits back a little, one hand reaching down to stroke himself as he frowns. Mike wants to snap his headband against his head. "The plane?" he finally prompts. "What was that about someone sucking on someone's junk? Slurp, slurp Doggy."
It takes a minute before Ryan's eyes widen a little and the left corner of his mouth hitches up. "Aw shit, son." But there isn't a word of complaint as he swings down onto his knees, pushing Mike's legs apart to settle on the floor between them. Mike's trying to decide on whether to keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty or an eye on Ryan because Rex might or might not be a deep sleeper but with Ryan you never know. Getting head with a grill on--and Mike doesn't give a good goddamn how many diamonds are in it--is not the best thing ever. Not by a long shot.
Ryan's hands are warm as he peels back Mike's jeans and tucks his boxers down under his balls. "Shaved here too, hmm."
Mike sighs and slouches down against the back of the couch as fingertips trace across the skin behind his sac and Ryan rolls Mike's balls in his hand. "Wouldn't be able to talk so much if your mouth was being put to better use," he murmurs. His voice is near a whisper; having Rex snoring quietly about a half a cushion away is freaking him out. Okay, so it's not freaking him out enough to keep him from getting hard as Ryan sucks on the head of his dick, not freaking him out enough to keep him from moaning as a pushy tongue wiggles against the slit at the top, but it's still freaky. Because it's Rex. And Rex is kinda like Ryan's shadow these days. And he's right there. Mike could reach out and elbow him in the face without trying. Good thing he's not into throwing 'bows when he comes. Which he fully expects to get to do.
Soon.
Ryan's curls shake with a gentle back and forth as he sinks his mouth down and starts to get a rhythm and that's about the time when Mike stops caring who is on the couch with them. Ryan's making it quick and sloppy and every now and then he has to reach up to shove his glasses back up his nose but Mike doesn't care; he's not looking for a gold medal performance here--he just wants to get to the finish line. For a minute from under half-closed eyes he watches the black rims of Ryan's glasses move up and back, the lenses catching the light with a flash. Mike drops his head back and rolls his hips; his balls are starting to crawl up as Ryan gets faster, each wet suck enough to make Mike's toes curl down into the downy carpet.
When Ryan's fingers wrap around the base of Mike's dick they slide easy through spit in short, rough strokes. The grip is tight enough to make Mike sit up and pay attention--his whole body lights up like the damn Hindenburg; he can feel his neck and ears get hot and suddenly his skin is itching and he's trying to shudder up and to get himself as deep into Ryan's throat as possible. Those stupid glasses are jabbing into his hips but all he can think over and over as he curls over Ryan is fuck, fuck, fuck...
Without missing a beat Ryan reaches up and wraps his free hand around Mike's ear, palm flat and warm and fingers digging into the crease of skin between ear and skull and Mike is too far gone to stop him even though it's dragging his head to the side. He just digs his own fingers into the shoulders of Ryan's shirt and tries to breathe as everything low in his gut tightens up. Ryan's hand slips off Mike's dick and down to his own; Mike can see the way his arm jerks up and down like he's trying to tear the damn thing off. It doesn't matter now though because Ryan's sloppy mouth is enough and Mike's eyes close all the way, chest hitching. There's a thought for warning Ryan but it's vague and the impulse doesn't make it to his lips as they part when he comes.
Mike feels the recoil of Ryan's body between his knees, the constriction of Ryan's throat and then there's a sharp yank on his ear. Two sharp yanks, jerking him down almost far enough to smack his head into Ryan's.
"Fuck!"
Rex snorts at Mike's yelp and sits up straight; Ryan falls back onto his ass, dragging Mike down on top of him by the still-tight grip on his ear. Mike's chin hits Ryan's chest with a teeth-jarring impact when his feet slip on the carpet and he can't catch himself and sweet jesus he's lucky he didn't bite his tongue off. He swallows back the discomfort of the hand still around Ryan's dick jabbing into his stomach and it really just makes the entire situation somehow more awkward, though a moment ago Mike wouldn't have thought it possible.
So there's nothing to do now--his pants aren't low enough to display his ass and at least on top of Ryan they're both covered up--so Mike just closes his eyes to await the inevitable. If it were easy to punch Ryan from their current position without drawing attention, he would do it. I don't think this is a good idea doesn't mean Let's do it anyway. Ryan makes him stupid.
The pervasive silence eventually brings Mike's head up. He manages an awkward glance back over his shoulder and Rex is facedown on the couch, one arm tucked under his stomach and spreading his drool on the upholstery. Fucker. Mike turns back to find Ryan's face screwed up and he starts to open his mouth to ask what the hell is wrong when he gets a face full of come, a lukewarm and sticky spray.
For a good thirty seconds Mike just stays there, propped on one hand and one elbow and feeling the drip of it into the corners of his mouth and over the jut of his jaw. There is no way that he deserved that. Just no way. And he thinks Ryan is smiling.
Dropping his face and yanking up on Ryan's shirt, Mike starts wiping his face with his handful and gets a slap on the side of the head.
"Ow," he hisses, slapping Ryan back and knocking his glasses askew. "What the fuck." Rolling off Ryan, Mike shoves his dick back into his pants and aims a kick at Ryan's ass before falling onto his back and pulling his own shirt up to finish the job.
"There are rules for that kinda shit, man. You gotta give a brother warning." Ryan snaps his own waistband up and pushes curls off his face. He tries to flick Mike's temple and misses when Mike swats him away. "You got off."
"And you'll never get off again. I was against this from the beginning." Mike rubs fingers against the side of his forehead where he thinks he missed some. Uck. He's trying to figure out if it was even worth the getting off. Ryan rolls over onto his stomach next to Mike and pushes the top of his head up against the underside of Mike's arm.
"Get real, you're never against a beej."
If only it weren't true. Mike reaches over and snaps Ryan's headband once and gets a shouted swear that's satisfying enough for the time being. Rex snorts again and pushes himself half up, blinking and looking around, rubbing drool off the corner of his mouth a few more times than is strictly necessary. Bleary eyes fix on Mike and Ryan on the floor.
"It would be really great if you guys would get a fuckin' room," Rex mutters before turning over and putting his back to them.
Mike bursts into laughter.