built a mansion in a day (1/2), swimming, michael phelps/chad le clos
--
When Chad was 12 he put up a poster of Michael Phelps on his wall, almost life-sized and muscles rippling. He used to jerk off, guilty and secretive, and pretend that Phelps was watching him. His eyes would lock onto the poster every time, onto the abs that Chad wanted so bad, and he would come and imagine coming on Phelps' chest.
Now Chad is 20 and is jerking off with a gold medal around his neck, and Michael Phelps is really watching him, encouraging him, palming his own dick like he can't help himself.
Phelps had cornered Chad after the press and the photos, when everyone was going back to their rooms or out to celebrate. His hand was still on the small of Chad's back like it had been the whole time, a light but incessant touch.
"Still high on that adrenaline?" he had whispered, so close that his teeth brushed against Chad's jugular like a promise, and Chad had nodded frantically, not sure what he was agreeing to. "So let's burn it off, yeah?"
Chad didn't have to nod again, didn't have to say anything before Phelps was grabbing his arm (not his hand) and tugging him away from everyone else, through the winding hallways that he seemed to know so well and into a room where they could lock the door on the rest of the world. And now here he is on a locker room bench, hand sliding up and down his cock languidly because he never wants this to end, and he can't seem to tear his eyes away from Phelps. He never could.
"You did good today," Phelps says, but it's low and breathless and sounds like something out of a porno. And then, cockier, "Bet you always imagined that. Always imagined this."
Chad nods again, helplessly, his hand speeding up despite himself and it's so good and Phelps is right there in front of him. He could touch if he dared, but he doesn't.
"What did you imagine? My dick inside you? Fucking you like no one else ever could?" Chad moans just thinking of it, of how full he could be.
"Tell me," Phelps urges, his eyes dark and pupils blown. Chad is doing that to him, is why he's hard, why Phelps is pushing a hand down his pants and grasping himself for the first time. He feels so powerful, even more powerful than he does in the water.
"I-- I wanted you to suck me," Chad admits, looking away from Phelps for the first time and suddenly there is a hand on his jaw, turning his head.
"Okay," Phelps breathes across his lips, darting his tongue out to lick inside of him, all of him. Chad can only kiss back, helpless, and then Phelps is pulling away, kneeling, and Chad has to screw his eyes shut to keep from coming right there.
--
When Chad was 12 he put up a poster of Michael Phelps on his wall, almost life-sized and muscles rippling. He used to jerk off, guilty and secretive, and pretend that Phelps was watching him. His eyes would lock onto the poster every time, onto the abs that Chad wanted so bad, and he would come and imagine coming on Phelps' chest.
Now Chad is 20 and is jerking off with a gold medal around his neck, and Michael Phelps is really watching him, encouraging him, palming his own dick like he can't help himself.
Phelps had cornered Chad after the press and the photos, when everyone was going back to their rooms or out to celebrate. His hand was still on the small of Chad's back like it had been the whole time, a light but incessant touch.
"Still high on that adrenaline?" he had whispered, so close that his teeth brushed against Chad's jugular like a promise, and Chad had nodded frantically, not sure what he was agreeing to. "So let's burn it off, yeah?"
Chad didn't have to nod again, didn't have to say anything before Phelps was grabbing his arm (not his hand) and tugging him away from everyone else, through the winding hallways that he seemed to know so well and into a room where they could lock the door on the rest of the world. And now here he is on a locker room bench, hand sliding up and down his cock languidly because he never wants this to end, and he can't seem to tear his eyes away from Phelps. He never could.
"You did good today," Phelps says, but it's low and breathless and sounds like something out of a porno. And then, cockier, "Bet you always imagined that. Always imagined this."
Chad nods again, helplessly, his hand speeding up despite himself and it's so good and Phelps is right there in front of him. He could touch if he dared, but he doesn't.
"What did you imagine? My dick inside you? Fucking you like no one else ever could?" Chad moans just thinking of it, of how full he could be.
"Tell me," Phelps urges, his eyes dark and pupils blown. Chad is doing that to him, is why he's hard, why Phelps is pushing a hand down his pants and grasping himself for the first time. He feels so powerful, even more powerful than he does in the water.
"I-- I wanted you to suck me," Chad admits, looking away from Phelps for the first time and suddenly there is a hand on his jaw, turning his head.
"Okay," Phelps breathes across his lips, darting his tongue out to lick inside of him, all of him. Chad can only kiss back, helpless, and then Phelps is pulling away, kneeling, and Chad has to screw his eyes shut to keep from coming right there.
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