Fic-Post: Secret Service (Swimming RPS)
The first fic I've written and published in three years.
Title: Secret Service
Pairing: Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan likes sex in unusual places
Disclaimer: Nope. Didn't happen.
Author's note: Set in the present day. As in, very present. As in, today when the US Olympic team went to the White House. And I know that Ryan wasn't there, but let's just pretend, okay.
SECRET SERVICE
Ryan liked sex in unusual places, Michael knew that already. But he somehow always assumed that Ryan had enough common sense to draw the line somewhere. Which, in hindsight, Michael realises now, was a stupid thing to think, considering Ryan Lochte and the word ‘sense’ were very rarely, if ever, put in the same sentence. That Ryan still manages to surprise Michael is actually a record of its own.
“You’re not actually serious about that!”
Ryan just grins and wriggles his eyebrows. Of course he’s serious. When it’s about swimming or his dick, Ryan doesn’t joke around.
“There is no fucking way we’re going to have sex in the White House. Are you completely insane?”
“Dude, this place is gigantic. And there’s like, hundreds of people running around and I can guarantee that all of them have other things to worry about. No one’s gonna fucking notice.”
“Ryan, we can’t.”
Michael should have known that something as trivial as ‘can’t’ would not make any impact on Ryan whatsoever. ‘Can’t’ wasn’t a part of this guy’s vocabulary. If you are physically able to do something and would not get thrown into jail for it, there is basically no reason to not do it. That’s the way Ryan sees it. But then again, maybe you actually can get arrested if you’re caught buried balls-deep in your boyfriend whilst attending an official event at the White House with none other than the President of the United States? Michael doesn’t know the rules on that particular subject, but there has to be one, right?
Of course Ryan isn’t convinced. “Who says we can’t? Come on, you’re our nations Wonder Boy, what’s the worst that can happen? Do you really think that, even if we get caught, which we won’t, it will ever leave this building?”
It almost pains him, but Michael has to admit Ryan is having a point. Being caught with your pants down in the White House is not exactly something that should get broadcasted. It’s bad press. Not just for Michael and Ryan, but for the White House as well. President Clinton probably knows a story or two about that.
Ryan knows he has Michael reeled in now. “I’ll make it worth it.” he says, leaning into Michael to whisper in his ear, the smile audible in his voice. He looks around casually, as if just taking in the scenery. They had already wandered off a little from everyone else, which is pretty much a normal thing. They‘re Michael and Ryan. When they separate themselves from a group, there is usually a reason and no one even bats an eyelash anymore when it happened. And today, everyone is just too busy worrying about getting to meet the actual real President of the United States anyway.
When he’s sure absolutely no one is paying any attention to them whatsoever, Ryan grabs the front of Michael’s jacket and walks off, dragging the other man behind. They have been told there was a bathroom available for the athletes to use, so getting inside the building is easy. But Ryan shall be damned if he has to settle for a bathroom that is basically public property anyway. That whole thing is fucking four years ago. He still enjoys it every now and then, but when you’re at the White House, you really need to aim higher.
They pass the bathroom and get to a corridor. Ryan carefully pokes his head around the corner and Michael has to hold back a giggle and a remark that Ryan has probably seen one too many spy-movies.
“Coast is clear.” Ryan whispers, rounding the corner, his hand still firmly grasping Michael’s jacket, as if he’s scared Michael will run off as soon as he lets go.
Ryan walks towards a random door and carefully opens it, holding his breath. He peeks inside. It looks like a file-room or supply closet, only that it’s almost the size of his bedroom. The shelves lining the walls are packed with boxes of all sizes and in one corner, there is a small desk.
“That’ll do.” Ryan declares, dragging Michael inside and quickly closing the door.
“And here I thought you were gonna go for the Oval Office or something.”
“Not that I wouldn’t, but they probably have cameras in there and what good does a sextape do if we can’t keep it?”
Michael just shakes his head. Why is he dating this guy again?
Michael gets pressed against the door and Ryan looks up at him with those crazy blue eyes he has, his tongue licking his lips. And there’s Michael’s answer.
“Hi.” Ryan states simply, a smile on his lips, his hands automatically holding onto Michael’s hips.
“Hey.”
And before Michael can even process what’s happening or he can do just something, Ryan’s lips are on his. Tentative at first, as if to test out the waters. Like he still needs to do this, like kissing Michael is still something he needs to make sure he’s allowed to do.
Michael’s hands go up to Ryan’s neck and his holding him in place as he deepens the kiss and Ryan moans into his mouth, the sensations of it heading straight to Michael’s crotch.
Ryan knows exactly which buttons to push at what point to make Michael practically melt in his hands. After four years, he can read every little sign he gets from Michael’s body. He knows what to do when and which reaction it will cause. And the fact that he does know all that still makes his heart grow three sizes every damn time.
He unbuckles Michael’s belt with one hand and tugs on his shirt with the other, his lips staying firmly in place, his tongue fighting Michael’s for dominance. As soon as the shirt is tugged free, his hands move to rest underneath it, his thumbs pressing lightly into the skin of Michael’s hips. Michael tries to suck in a breath, it’s like Ryan’s fingertips are on fire against his skin. He can’t help it, he breaks the kiss and his head thumps back against the door and he’s taking a lungful of air.
Ryan’s lips move lower, licking and sucking on Michael’s neck, his nose nuzzling his collar a little, hoping to somehow move both Michael’s jacket and shirt out of the way more.
“This has to come off.” he mutters, voice filled with lust, his hands leaving Michael’s hips, moving up to slide the Team USA jacket off his shoulders and working on the buttons of the shirt. Every new inch of bare skin gets greeted with a kiss and Michael is sure that there will be marks on Ryan’s neck from how hard he is digging his fingernails into the skin.
Ryan finally gets all the buttons undone and his hands continue roaming over Michael’s bare chest, his lips attaching themselves to Michael’s collarbone. Michael is reduced to a whimpering mess by now and he swears that if Ryan won’t do something and soon, he’s going to die. Right here. Michael Phelps will die in the White House with his shirt and belt undone and a hard on a pornstar could be proud of. And Ryan Lochte will have killed him.
It’s as if Ryan can read his mind, and frankly, when it comes to sex, he can, because his hands are suddenly back on his hips and they go a little lower. They move around on Michael’s ass before returning to his sides. And even in his cloudy state of awareness, Michael knows that this is not what Ryan is supposed to do right now.
“My dick is that hard thing in the middle.” he points out, jutting his hips out a little, as if to make Ryan properly acknowledge where it is.
Ryan just gives him a look. “I’m looking for lube.”
Now Michael is mirroring Ryan’s look. “We’re at the fucking White House, dude. Lube is not exactly something I put in my pocket for a day like this. Don’t you have any?”
“It fell out of my pocket on the plane. I can’t exactly bend down and get it when I’m surrounded by people, can I?”
Michael groans in frustration, his head hitting Ryan’s shoulder. This is an actual problem. They went without lube once and afterwards swore to never do it again, ever, no matter if they were going to die horny. But Michael actually is about to die horny, and that’s just no fun either.
“Screw it.” Ryan suddenly mumbles and is on his knees about two seconds later, tugging down Michael’s pants and underwear, letting them pool by his feet. And he doesn’t waste any time either when he’s grabbing Michael’s penis and sucks the head of it into his mouth.
“Shit.” Michael hisses, his head hitting the door again, harder this time.
Ryan’s blowjobs are always messy and uncoordinated. There’s licking and sucking and sometimes there’s teeth and his hand goes from pumping his dick to cupping his balls and there’s absolutely no pattern whatsoever. There are moments when Ryan is actually fucking humming around his dick, but then he just stops and Michael just doesn’t know what to do with himself. His knees buckle and his hips jerk and he has no idea what to do with his hands and just staying upright when there’s like a billion things happening just on his cock is proving to be a real challenge. There’s stars in front of his eyes and Fourth of July can’t do justice to the fireworks currently happening literally everywhere inside his body. And the worst and simultaneously best thing is that Ryan isn’t even done yet.
There is a little shuffing around and suddenly, Ryan’s forearm is pinning Michael to the door, while Ryan’s other hand is still wrapped around the base of his penis, before moving back to run just a fingertip along his balls, drawing a lazy pattern in a featherlight touch. And then Michael feels something change around his dick and before he can even bring his brain up to speed, Ryan is deep-throating him.
The concept of forming words is so far beyond Michael at this point that all he can do is shove his hand into his mouth, biting down hard to keep from screaming and letting people in the adjacent states know that he, Michael Phelps, is currently on the receiving end of a blowjob that should probably appear in history books at some point. He swallows down screams and noises and he brings his other hand up to cover his eyes because he literally has no idea what else to do. He wants to come and at the same time he doesn’t, because if he does, it will be over way too soon and that’d just be a damn shame.
His hand that had been covering his eyes falls back to his side and Michael’s head drops forward because his entire fucking body just has a mind of its own right now and he catches a glimpse of Ryan’s head, bobbing up and down and back and forth. And all of a sudden Ryan looks up at him and his eyes show a mixture of a devious glint and lust, and Michael can just tell that Ryan is so fucking pleased with himself right now for putting Michael into the state he’s in.
Right in that moment, Michael knows he’s done.
“Ry, I’m gonna … just …”
And instead of pulling away; Ryan just stays where he is and his mouth stays where it is and the arm that had pinned him to the door is moving away and his hands just settle on the back of Michael’s knees and Michael just simply can’t hold out anymore. He is coming hard, with a groan that he just knows is heard somewhere. But he is far beyond caring at this point. Let them find out. Let the world know about what exactly Ryan is doing to him right now, in every detail known to man. What-the-fuck-ever.
He feels Ryan swallowing around him and if he wasn’t so completely beside himself and spent already, he’d probably come again just from that. He sucks in a breath, feeling like he’s just spent an hour under water and his knees just totally give out on him now. He’s sliding down the door, Ryan moving backwards just in time for Michael to hit the floor.
“Shit.” Is the only word Michael is able to manage, breathing still quite a difficult thing to do.
“Says you,” Ryan says, leaning back on his elbows, his legs on either side of Michael “I was the one wanting to get some in the White House and I’m still fucking dressed.”
Michael’s eyes drift to Ryan’s crotch. “Don’t expect miracles.” he says, moving forward to lean over Ryan, their lips immediately clashing against each other.
Ryan moves to lay down on the floor before his arms give out under him, his hands cupping Michael’s face, pulling him along. The sex has always been great, but Ryan totally enjoys just making out with Michael a lot of the time. He can spend hours on just kissing him and he will still consider the time very well spent.
But apparently, Michael has other ideas right now, because his hand is quickly undoing Ryan’s belt, before he gets his hand down his pants, no warning issued whatsoever. Ryan almost bites down on the other man’s tongue in surprise.
Michael’s grip is tight and his strokes are fast, like he needs Ryan’s release as much as he needed his own. His tongue is assaulting the other man’s and all his actions seem rushed and hurried. It’s doing the trick though, Ryan’s breathing accelerates and the muscles in his abdomen start to spasm on their own account. He’s close.
What Michael’s noises and movements hadn’t done just earlier, Michael himself is now doing just fine. Familiar and yet always new sensations spread all through Ryan’s body and they center at his groin. He pulls away from Michael, tilting his head back, biting down hard on his bottom lip.
All that’s needed is a final push into the right direction, so Michael moves his lips towards Ryan’s ear, sucking on the skin behind it, breathing heavy through his nose, making sure that Ryan can feel what he’s doing to Michael yet again.
“Come on, baby. Come on.”
Ryan visibly shudders just from the sound Michael’s voice, the way he’s breathing the words onto his skin rather than saying them. He’s turning his head to the side, searching for Michael’s mouth again, needing his lips back on his own. It’s like Michael is his lifeline. He’s holding Michael’s head in place, pressing their lips onto each other so hard that he is sure blood will be drawn, but he is absolutely beyond caring at this point.
Michael picks up the pace of his strokes even more, bucking his crotch against Ryan’s leg, the sensations waking up his own dick again.
Ryan pulls away again and, with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, bites down on his lip again, comes over Michael’s hand, his whole body going limp pretty much right away, as if not being able to fight against the pressure for just one more second.
Michael’s hand stays where it is while Michael himself collapses on top of Ryan, trying his hardest to just get his breathing back under control. So much for the lung power of Olympic swimmers.
After a few minutes of just laying there, listening to each other’s breathing, feeling each other’s accelerated heartbeats coming down, Ryan is the first to return back to reality, poking Michael’s shoulder.
“Come on Wonder Boy, time to meet the President.”
“Screw the President.”
And in that moment, Michael means it. The floor is hard against his legs and he is everything but comfortable and probably completely sweaty and gross, but Michael wants to stay right where he is. Forever. He doesn’t want to leave this room and he doesn’t want to let go of Ryan. He doesn’t want to re-join the outside world, where they have to pretend that everything that just happened didn’t happen. He knows there are images to be kept up, but come on, people have been already guessing for months anyway.
“I know it sucks. But we still gotta get out there.” Ryan says, as if he had just heard what had happened inside Michael’s head. For someone who was always portrayed as dumb by the media, Ryan could be pretty smart sometimes.
Michael puts his clothes back on and Ryan adjusts his own. And then he just stands there, smiling at Michael, like he knows something and Michael doesn’t.
“What?” Michael looks down himself, checking if maybe there are some questionable stains or he has buttoned his shirt wrong.
“I love you, you know that, right?”
And Ryan smiles and Michael actually blushes a little and then they kiss again, this time almost innocent and with no hidden agenda.
They make it back outside as unnoticed as they snuck away, just in time to take their places for the president. Ryan takes his seat next to Conor, Michael sits down next to him.
“Where’ve you been?” Conor says, noticing the grin that somehow can’t be removed from Ryan’s face. He knows Ryan. He knows something’s up.
Ryan just shakes his head, not budging. “That’s between me and the Secret Service.” he replies, still grinning, his knee bumping against Michael’s ever so slightly.
Title: Secret Service
Pairing: Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan likes sex in unusual places
Disclaimer: Nope. Didn't happen.
Author's note: Set in the present day. As in, very present. As in, today when the US Olympic team went to the White House. And I know that Ryan wasn't there, but let's just pretend, okay.
SECRET SERVICE
Ryan liked sex in unusual places, Michael knew that already. But he somehow always assumed that Ryan had enough common sense to draw the line somewhere. Which, in hindsight, Michael realises now, was a stupid thing to think, considering Ryan Lochte and the word ‘sense’ were very rarely, if ever, put in the same sentence. That Ryan still manages to surprise Michael is actually a record of its own.
“You’re not actually serious about that!”
Ryan just grins and wriggles his eyebrows. Of course he’s serious. When it’s about swimming or his dick, Ryan doesn’t joke around.
“There is no fucking way we’re going to have sex in the White House. Are you completely insane?”
“Dude, this place is gigantic. And there’s like, hundreds of people running around and I can guarantee that all of them have other things to worry about. No one’s gonna fucking notice.”
“Ryan, we can’t.”
Michael should have known that something as trivial as ‘can’t’ would not make any impact on Ryan whatsoever. ‘Can’t’ wasn’t a part of this guy’s vocabulary. If you are physically able to do something and would not get thrown into jail for it, there is basically no reason to not do it. That’s the way Ryan sees it. But then again, maybe you actually can get arrested if you’re caught buried balls-deep in your boyfriend whilst attending an official event at the White House with none other than the President of the United States? Michael doesn’t know the rules on that particular subject, but there has to be one, right?
Of course Ryan isn’t convinced. “Who says we can’t? Come on, you’re our nations Wonder Boy, what’s the worst that can happen? Do you really think that, even if we get caught, which we won’t, it will ever leave this building?”
It almost pains him, but Michael has to admit Ryan is having a point. Being caught with your pants down in the White House is not exactly something that should get broadcasted. It’s bad press. Not just for Michael and Ryan, but for the White House as well. President Clinton probably knows a story or two about that.
Ryan knows he has Michael reeled in now. “I’ll make it worth it.” he says, leaning into Michael to whisper in his ear, the smile audible in his voice. He looks around casually, as if just taking in the scenery. They had already wandered off a little from everyone else, which is pretty much a normal thing. They‘re Michael and Ryan. When they separate themselves from a group, there is usually a reason and no one even bats an eyelash anymore when it happened. And today, everyone is just too busy worrying about getting to meet the actual real President of the United States anyway.
When he’s sure absolutely no one is paying any attention to them whatsoever, Ryan grabs the front of Michael’s jacket and walks off, dragging the other man behind. They have been told there was a bathroom available for the athletes to use, so getting inside the building is easy. But Ryan shall be damned if he has to settle for a bathroom that is basically public property anyway. That whole thing is fucking four years ago. He still enjoys it every now and then, but when you’re at the White House, you really need to aim higher.
They pass the bathroom and get to a corridor. Ryan carefully pokes his head around the corner and Michael has to hold back a giggle and a remark that Ryan has probably seen one too many spy-movies.
“Coast is clear.” Ryan whispers, rounding the corner, his hand still firmly grasping Michael’s jacket, as if he’s scared Michael will run off as soon as he lets go.
Ryan walks towards a random door and carefully opens it, holding his breath. He peeks inside. It looks like a file-room or supply closet, only that it’s almost the size of his bedroom. The shelves lining the walls are packed with boxes of all sizes and in one corner, there is a small desk.
“That’ll do.” Ryan declares, dragging Michael inside and quickly closing the door.
“And here I thought you were gonna go for the Oval Office or something.”
“Not that I wouldn’t, but they probably have cameras in there and what good does a sextape do if we can’t keep it?”
Michael just shakes his head. Why is he dating this guy again?
Michael gets pressed against the door and Ryan looks up at him with those crazy blue eyes he has, his tongue licking his lips. And there’s Michael’s answer.
“Hi.” Ryan states simply, a smile on his lips, his hands automatically holding onto Michael’s hips.
“Hey.”
And before Michael can even process what’s happening or he can do just something, Ryan’s lips are on his. Tentative at first, as if to test out the waters. Like he still needs to do this, like kissing Michael is still something he needs to make sure he’s allowed to do.
Michael’s hands go up to Ryan’s neck and his holding him in place as he deepens the kiss and Ryan moans into his mouth, the sensations of it heading straight to Michael’s crotch.
Ryan knows exactly which buttons to push at what point to make Michael practically melt in his hands. After four years, he can read every little sign he gets from Michael’s body. He knows what to do when and which reaction it will cause. And the fact that he does know all that still makes his heart grow three sizes every damn time.
He unbuckles Michael’s belt with one hand and tugs on his shirt with the other, his lips staying firmly in place, his tongue fighting Michael’s for dominance. As soon as the shirt is tugged free, his hands move to rest underneath it, his thumbs pressing lightly into the skin of Michael’s hips. Michael tries to suck in a breath, it’s like Ryan’s fingertips are on fire against his skin. He can’t help it, he breaks the kiss and his head thumps back against the door and he’s taking a lungful of air.
Ryan’s lips move lower, licking and sucking on Michael’s neck, his nose nuzzling his collar a little, hoping to somehow move both Michael’s jacket and shirt out of the way more.
“This has to come off.” he mutters, voice filled with lust, his hands leaving Michael’s hips, moving up to slide the Team USA jacket off his shoulders and working on the buttons of the shirt. Every new inch of bare skin gets greeted with a kiss and Michael is sure that there will be marks on Ryan’s neck from how hard he is digging his fingernails into the skin.
Ryan finally gets all the buttons undone and his hands continue roaming over Michael’s bare chest, his lips attaching themselves to Michael’s collarbone. Michael is reduced to a whimpering mess by now and he swears that if Ryan won’t do something and soon, he’s going to die. Right here. Michael Phelps will die in the White House with his shirt and belt undone and a hard on a pornstar could be proud of. And Ryan Lochte will have killed him.
It’s as if Ryan can read his mind, and frankly, when it comes to sex, he can, because his hands are suddenly back on his hips and they go a little lower. They move around on Michael’s ass before returning to his sides. And even in his cloudy state of awareness, Michael knows that this is not what Ryan is supposed to do right now.
“My dick is that hard thing in the middle.” he points out, jutting his hips out a little, as if to make Ryan properly acknowledge where it is.
Ryan just gives him a look. “I’m looking for lube.”
Now Michael is mirroring Ryan’s look. “We’re at the fucking White House, dude. Lube is not exactly something I put in my pocket for a day like this. Don’t you have any?”
“It fell out of my pocket on the plane. I can’t exactly bend down and get it when I’m surrounded by people, can I?”
Michael groans in frustration, his head hitting Ryan’s shoulder. This is an actual problem. They went without lube once and afterwards swore to never do it again, ever, no matter if they were going to die horny. But Michael actually is about to die horny, and that’s just no fun either.
“Screw it.” Ryan suddenly mumbles and is on his knees about two seconds later, tugging down Michael’s pants and underwear, letting them pool by his feet. And he doesn’t waste any time either when he’s grabbing Michael’s penis and sucks the head of it into his mouth.
“Shit.” Michael hisses, his head hitting the door again, harder this time.
Ryan’s blowjobs are always messy and uncoordinated. There’s licking and sucking and sometimes there’s teeth and his hand goes from pumping his dick to cupping his balls and there’s absolutely no pattern whatsoever. There are moments when Ryan is actually fucking humming around his dick, but then he just stops and Michael just doesn’t know what to do with himself. His knees buckle and his hips jerk and he has no idea what to do with his hands and just staying upright when there’s like a billion things happening just on his cock is proving to be a real challenge. There’s stars in front of his eyes and Fourth of July can’t do justice to the fireworks currently happening literally everywhere inside his body. And the worst and simultaneously best thing is that Ryan isn’t even done yet.
There is a little shuffing around and suddenly, Ryan’s forearm is pinning Michael to the door, while Ryan’s other hand is still wrapped around the base of his penis, before moving back to run just a fingertip along his balls, drawing a lazy pattern in a featherlight touch. And then Michael feels something change around his dick and before he can even bring his brain up to speed, Ryan is deep-throating him.
The concept of forming words is so far beyond Michael at this point that all he can do is shove his hand into his mouth, biting down hard to keep from screaming and letting people in the adjacent states know that he, Michael Phelps, is currently on the receiving end of a blowjob that should probably appear in history books at some point. He swallows down screams and noises and he brings his other hand up to cover his eyes because he literally has no idea what else to do. He wants to come and at the same time he doesn’t, because if he does, it will be over way too soon and that’d just be a damn shame.
His hand that had been covering his eyes falls back to his side and Michael’s head drops forward because his entire fucking body just has a mind of its own right now and he catches a glimpse of Ryan’s head, bobbing up and down and back and forth. And all of a sudden Ryan looks up at him and his eyes show a mixture of a devious glint and lust, and Michael can just tell that Ryan is so fucking pleased with himself right now for putting Michael into the state he’s in.
Right in that moment, Michael knows he’s done.
“Ry, I’m gonna … just …”
And instead of pulling away; Ryan just stays where he is and his mouth stays where it is and the arm that had pinned him to the door is moving away and his hands just settle on the back of Michael’s knees and Michael just simply can’t hold out anymore. He is coming hard, with a groan that he just knows is heard somewhere. But he is far beyond caring at this point. Let them find out. Let the world know about what exactly Ryan is doing to him right now, in every detail known to man. What-the-fuck-ever.
He feels Ryan swallowing around him and if he wasn’t so completely beside himself and spent already, he’d probably come again just from that. He sucks in a breath, feeling like he’s just spent an hour under water and his knees just totally give out on him now. He’s sliding down the door, Ryan moving backwards just in time for Michael to hit the floor.
“Shit.” Is the only word Michael is able to manage, breathing still quite a difficult thing to do.
“Says you,” Ryan says, leaning back on his elbows, his legs on either side of Michael “I was the one wanting to get some in the White House and I’m still fucking dressed.”
Michael’s eyes drift to Ryan’s crotch. “Don’t expect miracles.” he says, moving forward to lean over Ryan, their lips immediately clashing against each other.
Ryan moves to lay down on the floor before his arms give out under him, his hands cupping Michael’s face, pulling him along. The sex has always been great, but Ryan totally enjoys just making out with Michael a lot of the time. He can spend hours on just kissing him and he will still consider the time very well spent.
But apparently, Michael has other ideas right now, because his hand is quickly undoing Ryan’s belt, before he gets his hand down his pants, no warning issued whatsoever. Ryan almost bites down on the other man’s tongue in surprise.
Michael’s grip is tight and his strokes are fast, like he needs Ryan’s release as much as he needed his own. His tongue is assaulting the other man’s and all his actions seem rushed and hurried. It’s doing the trick though, Ryan’s breathing accelerates and the muscles in his abdomen start to spasm on their own account. He’s close.
What Michael’s noises and movements hadn’t done just earlier, Michael himself is now doing just fine. Familiar and yet always new sensations spread all through Ryan’s body and they center at his groin. He pulls away from Michael, tilting his head back, biting down hard on his bottom lip.
All that’s needed is a final push into the right direction, so Michael moves his lips towards Ryan’s ear, sucking on the skin behind it, breathing heavy through his nose, making sure that Ryan can feel what he’s doing to Michael yet again.
“Come on, baby. Come on.”
Ryan visibly shudders just from the sound Michael’s voice, the way he’s breathing the words onto his skin rather than saying them. He’s turning his head to the side, searching for Michael’s mouth again, needing his lips back on his own. It’s like Michael is his lifeline. He’s holding Michael’s head in place, pressing their lips onto each other so hard that he is sure blood will be drawn, but he is absolutely beyond caring at this point.
Michael picks up the pace of his strokes even more, bucking his crotch against Ryan’s leg, the sensations waking up his own dick again.
Ryan pulls away again and, with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, bites down on his lip again, comes over Michael’s hand, his whole body going limp pretty much right away, as if not being able to fight against the pressure for just one more second.
Michael’s hand stays where it is while Michael himself collapses on top of Ryan, trying his hardest to just get his breathing back under control. So much for the lung power of Olympic swimmers.
After a few minutes of just laying there, listening to each other’s breathing, feeling each other’s accelerated heartbeats coming down, Ryan is the first to return back to reality, poking Michael’s shoulder.
“Come on Wonder Boy, time to meet the President.”
“Screw the President.”
And in that moment, Michael means it. The floor is hard against his legs and he is everything but comfortable and probably completely sweaty and gross, but Michael wants to stay right where he is. Forever. He doesn’t want to leave this room and he doesn’t want to let go of Ryan. He doesn’t want to re-join the outside world, where they have to pretend that everything that just happened didn’t happen. He knows there are images to be kept up, but come on, people have been already guessing for months anyway.
“I know it sucks. But we still gotta get out there.” Ryan says, as if he had just heard what had happened inside Michael’s head. For someone who was always portrayed as dumb by the media, Ryan could be pretty smart sometimes.
Michael puts his clothes back on and Ryan adjusts his own. And then he just stands there, smiling at Michael, like he knows something and Michael doesn’t.
“What?” Michael looks down himself, checking if maybe there are some questionable stains or he has buttoned his shirt wrong.
“I love you, you know that, right?”
And Ryan smiles and Michael actually blushes a little and then they kiss again, this time almost innocent and with no hidden agenda.
They make it back outside as unnoticed as they snuck away, just in time to take their places for the president. Ryan takes his seat next to Conor, Michael sits down next to him.
“Where’ve you been?” Conor says, noticing the grin that somehow can’t be removed from Ryan’s face. He knows Ryan. He knows something’s up.
Ryan just shakes his head, not budging. “That’s between me and the Secret Service.” he replies, still grinning, his knee bumping against Michael’s ever so slightly.