Olympics RPS -- Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir? (Sebastien Bodet/Clement Lefert, NC17)
See this? That's your set up.
For jenna_thorn and amberlynne, who put a name with a body. A really hot body.
Olympics RPS
Sebastien Bodet/Clement Lefert, NC17
Does this really need a crack! disclaimer?
Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
Sebastien didn't expect to win. Not really. Okay, maybe he did a little bit, but who doesn't come to the Olympics hoping to win? Expecting to win? Praying to -- not that God has anything to do with it.
He looks up at the boards and sighs. Italy and the Russian Federation. Again. Merde.
"It happens," a voice calls from above him. "Come, out of the water."
Sebastien glances upward at Clement and wrinkles his nose. Clement shrugs back.
Yes, exactly.
He swims over the lane markings, nodding at the swimmers from Germany and Brazil, and waiting his turn to climb out of the water.
His feet feel heavy when he stands upright on the pool area's tiling and his arms are bright pink. His circulation is close to the surface, and it always makes him look flushed after he exerts himself in any way.
There are too many people hovering by the ladder, and he's not sure what he's supposed to do now. He glances around blankly until a hand on his elbow guides him away from the side of the pool.
Clement.
Sebastien isn't sure what he would do without him.
A young Chinese woman with too many badges around her neck blocks their path. "Would you would like to speak to the press now?" she asks.
Sebastien supposes she's trying to be helpful, trying to direct them out of them mess, but Clement makes a dismissive noise, leading Sebastien away.
"No, I would not like to speak to the press," Clement complains in a low tone. "What could I have to say? We were beaten by Communists and Fascists? I think that would not be appropriate."
Sebastien makes a noncommittal noise, he's exhausted. This is the third race he's swum already. "Is it hot in here?" he asks. "I feel hot."
Clement makes a noise in the back of his throat, his fingers lightly pressing the inside of Sebastien's arm. "Of course you're hot, you're being suffocated to death in your suit."
"Get it off," Sebastien says, dislodging Clement's hand while trying to reach behind himself to unzip the top of the suit. Of course he can't reach. The suit may (theoretically) make them faster, but it is impossible to get on and off without assistance.
The first time Clement tried to put his suit on alone, he stopped after 30 minutes and declared it a worthless piece of sadomasochism. Sebastien had just stared at his suit curiously; he had sleeveless shirts with more fabric.
Tonight, Clement bats his hand away. "Stop, you'll choke yourself." They've seen this happen. After the 4X100 race, Alain was so upset at losing to the Americans that he nearly garroted himself trying to get out of his LZR.
Sebastien just takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm tired. If I have to swim another race, it will be too soon."
Clement's fingers brush over Sebastien's shoulders as he extracts him from the top of his suit. "This is the Olympics; you don’t mean that."
"I can hardly breathe; ask me again if I really mean that."
"You're upset."
"I'm upset that we lost to the Fascists and the Communists. Shocking."
Sebastien twitches when Clement leans forward and whispers in his ear. "You shouldn't say that so loud."
"But you said it," Sebastien points out.
"Do you repeat everything I say?" Clement asks with a wry smile.
"Do you repeat everything I say?" Sebastien parrots.
Clement's smile shows entirely too many teeth. "Fuck me."
Sebastien opens and closes his mouth. Clement smirks. Sebastien purses his lips. "Fuck me."
"I thought you'd never ask," Clement says, stripping the rest of Sebastien's suit to his waist with a rather loud 'snap!'
Sebastien's nostrils flare. "You're joking, right?"
It takes Sebastien a minute to realize Clement's fingers are tangled in the straps from his suit. "I don't know, am I?" he asks, while extracting himself.
Clement's face is perfectly passive and calm. He looks as though he's going out to have a drink and dinner with nuns. As though a foul word has never passed his lips. And then Sebastien gets a good look at Clement's mouth and thinks of all the other things he could be doing with that. He can't leave the pool area fast enough.
He doesn't even bother to look over his shoulder to see if Clement is following, if he's not, well, then Sebastien can happily masturbate in the bathroom. With his suit around his ankles to relieve the pressure.
Sebastien pauses by the showers, but no, everyone can see that. He ponders the common area bathrooms, but those have too many people using them.
"We could fuck in front of all these people," Clement suggest in his ear; clearly he's been thinking about the showers, too. "They would give us a gold medal for that."
Sebastien looks back over his shoulder at Clement and his smirk. "Don't give me any ideas that will get us banned."
"But it's so tempting," Clement sighs. "The first French gold medal for homosexual acts in a public venue."
Sebastien blinks. Well, that would give him the medal he promised his grandmere. But, non. He does have some manners. Somewhere.
He stumbles a bit as Clement pulls him towards the changing area.
"You want us to have sex in front of the other teams?" he asks curiously as Clement deftly steers him around all sorts of people-shaped obstacles.
"No, I want to have sex in the bathroom," Clement clarifies, leading him directly into a room of stalls. They zero in on the farthest stall at the same time.
This has to be one of the most insane --
"You're thinking too hard," Clement says, "if you think so hard, your brain will shut down and then you won't suck me off."
Sebastien protests as Clement man-handles him into the stall and locks the door. This is so obvious.
"You want me to suck you-" Sebastien's words die off as Clement kneels down, hooks his fingers into the sides of Sebastien's suit and pulls.
"Fils de pute," Clement curses, pulling again and again, trying to free Sebastien's lower half from the accursed suit. "Do these people not think of sex when they make these bondage machines?"
Sebastien laughs as Clement finally gets the suit down to his thighs. "They're for swimming, Clement, not-"
He chokes on his own laughter when Clement wraps his hand around Sebastien's cock, flicking his thumb over the head.
"You get red everywhere," Clement observes thoughtfully as he begins jacking Sebastien off. "I was curious about that."
Sebastien grips Clement on the shoulder, thrusting hard into the circle of his hand. They should've done this before the relay, and then he wouldn't have cared about who won.
He stifles another noise when Clement mouths the length of his cock, never slowing the motion of his hand. It's wet and hot, mon dieu, it's good. It's better than good, c'est manifique.
He wraps his hand over Clement's, trying to direct his cock between Clement's lips. Clement's mouth turns upward at the corners for a brief second, and then he takes the head of Sebastien's cock inside his mouth; Sebastien's head thunks against the wall.
If someone had once told Sebastien Bodet that he was going to come to the 2008 Beijing Olympics to lose the 4X200 relay to the Italians and the Russians and have sex with Clement Lefert, he would have laughed himself silly, but he has lost the race and now he's in a bathroom at the Water Cube getting a blow job from Clement.
Some things you just can't make up.
He yanks irritably at the swimming caps that Clement never took off, and the first cap and goggles go flying against the stall door. The second cap hangs on by a few hairs and Sebastien bats it away, gripping the back of Clement's head for direction.
Which is exactly when Clement pulls off with an obscene slurping noise.
"If you wanted me to suck you off, you could've just asked," Clement says with a sharp smile. Sebastien glares down for a moment, but his eyes are immediately drawn to Clement's hand working between his own legs.
He's jerking himself off while he's on his knees before Sebastien. Wow.
"If it's not too much trouble," Sebastien says haltingly. He can't stop watching Clement's hand on his own dick, but he looks back up when Clement's breath breezes against the head of his cock, and he pushes his hips forward, his cock brushing against Clement's bottom lip. "Since you're down there anyway."
Clement shakes off Sebastien's grip and stands up. "That's bad for my knees," he says over Sebastien's vocal displeasure. Instead he takes Sebastien in hand again and begins stroking slowly. Too slowly.
Sebastien presses his point by shoving Clement against the wall.
"If I don't get a gold for swimming, I plan to get one for sex," Sebastien says, spitting in his palm before taking Clement's cock in hand.
He strokes Clement the way he likes it himself: too hard and too rough, his thumb rubbing the head of Clement's cock over and over.
Sebastien's arm protests so much movement so quickly after the relay, and he stumbles slightly when Clement grabs him by the neck and pulls him forward. Clement hooks his foot around Sebastien's calf, rubbing his cock against the exposed groove of Sebastien's hip; it's no great science for Sebastien to take them both in hand. His strokes keep time with the string of muttered curses falling from Clement's lips and the thrust of his hips.
He doesn't really kiss Clement as much as he shuts him up with his mouth; the tongue is just for extra insurance. Like the way that Clement's hands are groping his ass.
Clement's invective dies off almost immediately, replaced by a familiar wetness running down the back of Sebastien's hand and Clement fingertips digging into the muscles of his lower back.
In fact, Clement's grip hits one of the overtaxed muscles in Sebastian's ass in just the right way and seconds later he's the one coming all over his fist.
When he pulls his mouth away, Clement's lips stay parted and wet. "That was unexpected," Clement says, glancing down at where Sebastien's hand is getting in a last few strokes.
"Not like losing the race, I hope," Sebastien queries.
"Nothing like it," Clement assures him.
Sebastien wipes his hand on a roll of toilet paper and tries to make himself look less like his suit is going to fall down at any minute. It doesn't seem to work for Michael Phelps either.
"We should do this in bed sometime," Clement says, nonchalantly straightening himself up.
Sebastien cracks the door of the stall and looks out. He glances back over his shoulder at Clement. "I assume that's what they order all those condoms for," he says before walking out. "It would be a shame if we didn't do our part of the Olympic effort."
Clement's smile is all teeth in the doorway. "I would hate to be seen as a bad, evil Frenchman."
Sebastien snickers. "Yes, we wouldn't want that."
-end-
Yes, I really did go back to get the details of this heat.
Yes, the Olympics are all about the safe sex, kids!!
ETA: I did not study French in school and I have not been to France in many moons (sadly), ergo, people of France, this is totally meant to be crack-fic and hopefully does not offend anybody.
For jenna_thorn and amberlynne, who put a name with a body. A really hot body.
Olympics RPS
Sebastien Bodet/Clement Lefert, NC17
Does this really need a crack! disclaimer?
Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
Sebastien didn't expect to win. Not really. Okay, maybe he did a little bit, but who doesn't come to the Olympics hoping to win? Expecting to win? Praying to -- not that God has anything to do with it.
He looks up at the boards and sighs. Italy and the Russian Federation. Again. Merde.
"It happens," a voice calls from above him. "Come, out of the water."
Sebastien glances upward at Clement and wrinkles his nose. Clement shrugs back.
Yes, exactly.
He swims over the lane markings, nodding at the swimmers from Germany and Brazil, and waiting his turn to climb out of the water.
His feet feel heavy when he stands upright on the pool area's tiling and his arms are bright pink. His circulation is close to the surface, and it always makes him look flushed after he exerts himself in any way.
There are too many people hovering by the ladder, and he's not sure what he's supposed to do now. He glances around blankly until a hand on his elbow guides him away from the side of the pool.
Clement.
Sebastien isn't sure what he would do without him.
A young Chinese woman with too many badges around her neck blocks their path. "Would you would like to speak to the press now?" she asks.
Sebastien supposes she's trying to be helpful, trying to direct them out of them mess, but Clement makes a dismissive noise, leading Sebastien away.
"No, I would not like to speak to the press," Clement complains in a low tone. "What could I have to say? We were beaten by Communists and Fascists? I think that would not be appropriate."
Sebastien makes a noncommittal noise, he's exhausted. This is the third race he's swum already. "Is it hot in here?" he asks. "I feel hot."
Clement makes a noise in the back of his throat, his fingers lightly pressing the inside of Sebastien's arm. "Of course you're hot, you're being suffocated to death in your suit."
"Get it off," Sebastien says, dislodging Clement's hand while trying to reach behind himself to unzip the top of the suit. Of course he can't reach. The suit may (theoretically) make them faster, but it is impossible to get on and off without assistance.
The first time Clement tried to put his suit on alone, he stopped after 30 minutes and declared it a worthless piece of sadomasochism. Sebastien had just stared at his suit curiously; he had sleeveless shirts with more fabric.
Tonight, Clement bats his hand away. "Stop, you'll choke yourself." They've seen this happen. After the 4X100 race, Alain was so upset at losing to the Americans that he nearly garroted himself trying to get out of his LZR.
Sebastien just takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm tired. If I have to swim another race, it will be too soon."
Clement's fingers brush over Sebastien's shoulders as he extracts him from the top of his suit. "This is the Olympics; you don’t mean that."
"I can hardly breathe; ask me again if I really mean that."
"You're upset."
"I'm upset that we lost to the Fascists and the Communists. Shocking."
Sebastien twitches when Clement leans forward and whispers in his ear. "You shouldn't say that so loud."
"But you said it," Sebastien points out.
"Do you repeat everything I say?" Clement asks with a wry smile.
"Do you repeat everything I say?" Sebastien parrots.
Clement's smile shows entirely too many teeth. "Fuck me."
Sebastien opens and closes his mouth. Clement smirks. Sebastien purses his lips. "Fuck me."
"I thought you'd never ask," Clement says, stripping the rest of Sebastien's suit to his waist with a rather loud 'snap!'
Sebastien's nostrils flare. "You're joking, right?"
It takes Sebastien a minute to realize Clement's fingers are tangled in the straps from his suit. "I don't know, am I?" he asks, while extracting himself.
Clement's face is perfectly passive and calm. He looks as though he's going out to have a drink and dinner with nuns. As though a foul word has never passed his lips. And then Sebastien gets a good look at Clement's mouth and thinks of all the other things he could be doing with that. He can't leave the pool area fast enough.
He doesn't even bother to look over his shoulder to see if Clement is following, if he's not, well, then Sebastien can happily masturbate in the bathroom. With his suit around his ankles to relieve the pressure.
Sebastien pauses by the showers, but no, everyone can see that. He ponders the common area bathrooms, but those have too many people using them.
"We could fuck in front of all these people," Clement suggest in his ear; clearly he's been thinking about the showers, too. "They would give us a gold medal for that."
Sebastien looks back over his shoulder at Clement and his smirk. "Don't give me any ideas that will get us banned."
"But it's so tempting," Clement sighs. "The first French gold medal for homosexual acts in a public venue."
Sebastien blinks. Well, that would give him the medal he promised his grandmere. But, non. He does have some manners. Somewhere.
He stumbles a bit as Clement pulls him towards the changing area.
"You want us to have sex in front of the other teams?" he asks curiously as Clement deftly steers him around all sorts of people-shaped obstacles.
"No, I want to have sex in the bathroom," Clement clarifies, leading him directly into a room of stalls. They zero in on the farthest stall at the same time.
This has to be one of the most insane --
"You're thinking too hard," Clement says, "if you think so hard, your brain will shut down and then you won't suck me off."
Sebastien protests as Clement man-handles him into the stall and locks the door. This is so obvious.
"You want me to suck you-" Sebastien's words die off as Clement kneels down, hooks his fingers into the sides of Sebastien's suit and pulls.
"Fils de pute," Clement curses, pulling again and again, trying to free Sebastien's lower half from the accursed suit. "Do these people not think of sex when they make these bondage machines?"
Sebastien laughs as Clement finally gets the suit down to his thighs. "They're for swimming, Clement, not-"
He chokes on his own laughter when Clement wraps his hand around Sebastien's cock, flicking his thumb over the head.
"You get red everywhere," Clement observes thoughtfully as he begins jacking Sebastien off. "I was curious about that."
Sebastien grips Clement on the shoulder, thrusting hard into the circle of his hand. They should've done this before the relay, and then he wouldn't have cared about who won.
He stifles another noise when Clement mouths the length of his cock, never slowing the motion of his hand. It's wet and hot, mon dieu, it's good. It's better than good, c'est manifique.
He wraps his hand over Clement's, trying to direct his cock between Clement's lips. Clement's mouth turns upward at the corners for a brief second, and then he takes the head of Sebastien's cock inside his mouth; Sebastien's head thunks against the wall.
If someone had once told Sebastien Bodet that he was going to come to the 2008 Beijing Olympics to lose the 4X200 relay to the Italians and the Russians and have sex with Clement Lefert, he would have laughed himself silly, but he has lost the race and now he's in a bathroom at the Water Cube getting a blow job from Clement.
Some things you just can't make up.
He yanks irritably at the swimming caps that Clement never took off, and the first cap and goggles go flying against the stall door. The second cap hangs on by a few hairs and Sebastien bats it away, gripping the back of Clement's head for direction.
Which is exactly when Clement pulls off with an obscene slurping noise.
"If you wanted me to suck you off, you could've just asked," Clement says with a sharp smile. Sebastien glares down for a moment, but his eyes are immediately drawn to Clement's hand working between his own legs.
He's jerking himself off while he's on his knees before Sebastien. Wow.
"If it's not too much trouble," Sebastien says haltingly. He can't stop watching Clement's hand on his own dick, but he looks back up when Clement's breath breezes against the head of his cock, and he pushes his hips forward, his cock brushing against Clement's bottom lip. "Since you're down there anyway."
Clement shakes off Sebastien's grip and stands up. "That's bad for my knees," he says over Sebastien's vocal displeasure. Instead he takes Sebastien in hand again and begins stroking slowly. Too slowly.
Sebastien presses his point by shoving Clement against the wall.
"If I don't get a gold for swimming, I plan to get one for sex," Sebastien says, spitting in his palm before taking Clement's cock in hand.
He strokes Clement the way he likes it himself: too hard and too rough, his thumb rubbing the head of Clement's cock over and over.
Sebastien's arm protests so much movement so quickly after the relay, and he stumbles slightly when Clement grabs him by the neck and pulls him forward. Clement hooks his foot around Sebastien's calf, rubbing his cock against the exposed groove of Sebastien's hip; it's no great science for Sebastien to take them both in hand. His strokes keep time with the string of muttered curses falling from Clement's lips and the thrust of his hips.
He doesn't really kiss Clement as much as he shuts him up with his mouth; the tongue is just for extra insurance. Like the way that Clement's hands are groping his ass.
Clement's invective dies off almost immediately, replaced by a familiar wetness running down the back of Sebastien's hand and Clement fingertips digging into the muscles of his lower back.
In fact, Clement's grip hits one of the overtaxed muscles in Sebastian's ass in just the right way and seconds later he's the one coming all over his fist.
When he pulls his mouth away, Clement's lips stay parted and wet. "That was unexpected," Clement says, glancing down at where Sebastien's hand is getting in a last few strokes.
"Not like losing the race, I hope," Sebastien queries.
"Nothing like it," Clement assures him.
Sebastien wipes his hand on a roll of toilet paper and tries to make himself look less like his suit is going to fall down at any minute. It doesn't seem to work for Michael Phelps either.
"We should do this in bed sometime," Clement says, nonchalantly straightening himself up.
Sebastien cracks the door of the stall and looks out. He glances back over his shoulder at Clement. "I assume that's what they order all those condoms for," he says before walking out. "It would be a shame if we didn't do our part of the Olympic effort."
Clement's smile is all teeth in the doorway. "I would hate to be seen as a bad, evil Frenchman."
Sebastien snickers. "Yes, we wouldn't want that."
-end-
Yes, I really did go back to get the details of this heat.
Yes, the Olympics are all about the safe sex, kids!!
ETA: I did not study French in school and I have not been to France in many moons (sadly), ergo, people of France, this is totally meant to be crack-fic and hopefully does not offend anybody.