Fic: Feel What It's Like To Be New, sequel to Unconditional Things(Olympics, NC-17, Lochte/Phelps)
Title: Feel What It's Like to be New
Pairing: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps RPF
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and don't know them. In fact, I just really love it when they swim together and then hug.
Beta/Thanks: Thanks to waterofthemoon for the beta.
Summary: One day and everything is suddenly new. Picks up right after Unconditional Things.
Michael’s having a really hard time accepting the fact that his husband is sucking his dick. Well, not the act itself, because Ryan has a tongue that does flipturns better than Thorpe. His entire body is bowed back against the sheets, and that he can almost deal with.
No, it’s the whole husband thing. It’s the fact that there’s a ring glinting on the hand he has tangled in Ryan’s curls, pushing his head down.
Not that he needs to. The whole thing is acting like Spanish fly on Ryan. He jumped Michael in the bathroom of the courthouse, then again on the way out to the car. Then, he pulled the car over on the empty Canadian highway halfway between the courthouse and this small inn to make out for fifteen minutes before pulling back onto the road, leaving Michael gasping and dazed.
He had to threaten violence to keep Ryan from carrying him into the room like something out of a bad cliché. Despite that, Ryan grabbed him around the waist, lifted him two inches off the ground, and dropped both of them onto the bed.
Now he’s here down Ryan’s throat, bucking between willing lips and hyperaware of the rough pad of Ryan’s thumb rubbing over the rings on his hip. Michael’s so close to coming, has been so close for what feels like forever, but it’s like he’s got a block. After a few minutes, Ryan pulls back.
“Hey.”
Michael swallows, trying to get his tongue to work. He manages a nod back.
“What’s up, man? I’m startin’ to think I’ve lost my mojo.”
Michael chokes on a laugh because it’s the exact opposite. It’s just too fucking much.
“Ryan, I-we’re married.”
“Yeah, I know. For like three hours now. Where’ve you been?”
“And that’s not huge to you?” Michael asks, trying to breathe around the too-much feeling in his chest.
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, sliding up Michael so that his body is draped over him. “But it’s good huge. Like those mega-sundaes they have at the ice cream place by campus where if you can finish the whole thing in one sitting, they take your picture and put your name on the wall. It’s like that. Only way-” He kisses Michael’s neck. “Way-” He kisses the side of his jaw. “Better.”
It makes Michael laugh, and he can breathe a little better. Ryan is lying on his chest, and that should make it harder to get air, but it doesn’t. He slides his hand’s up Ryan’s back, anchoring himself with the skin-to-skin contact.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Sure you do,” Ryan says, sliding back up Michael’s jaw towards his ear with his tongue. He sucks Michael’s earlobe into his mouth, and Michael groans.
“Jesus, Ryan.”
“See. You know how to do this. You could medal in this. I know. I’ve been there.”
“Ryan, come on.”
“No, you come on.” Ryan sighs, pushing himself up with his arms. “I want to fuck my husband.”
That word makes Michael’s entire body burn from the inside. He doesn’t really know what to do with that feeling, but he’s still hard, and Ryan knows it.
Ryan smiles at him from above, white teeth and blue eyes and suck-red lips. “You’re my husband, Michael. And I’m yours. Isn’t that awesome? Like, the coolest thing ever?”
“It’s not that simple-”
Ryan kisses him. He unlocks his elbow and drops fast into it, sucking the air out of Michael’s lungs. Ryan pushes forward with his tongue and his hips, and Michael’s knees come up on reflex.
“Awesome,” Ryan breathes against lips, and Michael follows his mouth up. “See? This is you and me. No one can see us in here, Mike. So stop whatever the hell this is and be my husband for the next three days, okay? Just let us have a honeymoon.”
He reaches up with his left hand and pushes Ryan’s bangs back off his forehead. His hand frames Ryan’s face with tan skin and silver metal, and it’s a lot to process. The silver looks really good on his hand, though. It looks better on Ryan.
“I’m your husband,” Michael says, a little stunned.
He hadn’t said it. Not when he filled out the paperwork, not when he said “I do,” not on the drive from Victoria farther out into the woods on Vancouver Island. It scared the shit out of him then.
Once it’s out, it scares him more because he likes the way it feels. Like, really likes it, and when they leave here, he’s going to have to go back to a life where he won’t be able to say it.
Ryan’s face shines like the freaking sun. He sinks even further, his whole body turning liquid. Michael feels like he’s floating in Ryan.
“Hi. Welcome to the program.” Ryan laughs.
“I’m a late bloomer.” His mom used to say that when he was thirteen and the kids on the team and at the high school used to treat him like crap.
“Yeah, but look at you now,” Ryan says, smiling at him.
Ryan’s sent him Google searches of his name a few times, and he’s come up with a lot of sites referring to him as a god or a sex symbol. Ryan’s favorite was “sex on a stick.” Michael laughed those off, slightly humiliated and incredibly awkward, convinced that they had no idea what the hell they were seeing.
But the way Ryan’s looking at him, he can believe it. More than believe, he can feel it. It feels a lot like winning.
“You said something about fucking your husband,” Michael says. The word still leaves his mouth feeling weird.
It feels good, though. It feels really good. If Ryan would just do something, anything besides hover over him all hot and not-there-enough, it would feel better.
“I did. Stay here?”
“Where would I go?”
“I don’t know, Mike. You’ve been twitchy lately. So just sit.” Ryan sits back and holds up both his hands. “Stay.”
“You want me to bark, too?”
“If it gets you there, baby, you can howl at the moon for all I care.”
Ryan grabs one of their bags and rifles through it. He comes up with a bottle of lube the size of his fist that makes Michael laugh because really, that’s typical.
He watches as Ryan pulls off the clothes he has left and leaves them in a pile on the floor before he climbs back on the bed. It hits Michael that this is how this whole thing started a few days ago-with them on a bed together.
They go too long between doing this. Months between meets, days between races. It’s the only part of Michael’s life that really wears on him, being without Ryan, but he doesn’t have to be right now.
“You’re my husband, too,” Michael says.
“You look good when you say that,” Ryan sighs. He pops open the lid of the bottle and coats his hands. “You sound fucking hot, too.”
“Come on,” Michael chokes out. He’s come so close too many times today. Ryan’s been giving him the yo-yo treatment for hours, and he’s anxious and a little bit needy. When he looks at the way Ryan’s hand is shining in the afternoon light, Michael just wants those fingers inside him.
Ryan laughs and kisses him. He wraps his fingers around Michael’s cock and jacks him just hard enough to render him totally speechless before finally sliding his fingers in.
Ryan’s good at pushing him, motivating him to where he needs to go. It’s part of what makes them a good team. When his crooked fingers scrape over his prostate, Michael is exactly where he needs to be in the universe. He’s so where he needs to be that he’s seeing silver stars blink on the room’s ceiling.
Then Michael’s moaning and trying to stop his thrashing when Ryan slides his elbow under his right knee. His fingers pull out just fast enough to bring Michael back to earth for a few seconds before Ryan lifts Michael’s leg as he pushes in, fast and smooth.
It stings some, it always does, but mostly it’s just that good, near-suffocating feeling of fullness. This time, though, Michael has this intense sensation of connection that freaks him out a little.
“What is that?” Michael pants.
“Mike, that’s us.”
“Yeah, but it’s like.” He’s having a hard time thinking and speaking and doing anything but buck into Ryan. “I don’t know. It’s unreal.”
“I-I think,” Ryan stutters as he rolls his hips. “I think this is what real’s supposed to feel like. Jesus, Mike.”
Ryan drops his head onto the mattress beside just above Michael’s, and the curve of his neck is right there, exposed and vulnerable and totally his. It’s a total impulse to lift his head and bite.
Ryan makes a sound in the back of his throat, and his hips snap forward hard and fast. It whites out Michael’s vision for a second, it rocks him so hard. His hands are leaving fingernail marks on Ryan’s back, and his teeth are probably hurting him, maybe even drawing blood, but he’s coming, and he can’t let go. He just can’t let go.
His entire body lets go all at once, his jaw and his arms and the leg that somehow managed to hike itself up around Ryan’s back. Ryan’s not far behind him. They fall into a puddle on the mattress, the purple and red shadow of teeth on Ryan’s neck resting beside Michael’s ear.
He turns his head to the side and stares at it, surprised that it’s there at all. He’s always so careful about that-hickies, scratches, finger-shaped bruises anywhere that could be exposed in a suit and lead to questions from people holding cameras. The fear’s usually enough to stop him.
He lifts a heavy hand to touch it, see if it’s still wet, if it’s raised or sunken, but he drops it onto the back of Ryan’s neck instead. He’s good to just stay like this until they can move again.
When they do, it’s to separate with careful movements. They’re a sticky mess, and Michael pads into the small, pristine bathroom while Ryan plays the responsible one for once and tugs the mostly-ruined comforter off the bed. He wants a shower so bad that he can almost feel it before he steps into the water.
The showerhead is higher in the wall than most, so he doesn’t have to bend to get his face under the direct spray. He’s got his eyes closed, little waterfalls rolling over his cheeks and lips and nose onto his chest and down his body, so he hears Ryan shut the door and feels his arms around his waist and his chest pressing against his back before he ever opens them.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Ryan replies. His hands slide over the wet skin and muscle of Michael’s stomach, and it’s a whole different kind of heat than before. “So that was different.”
Michael sighs and leans back into Ryan as Ryan leans forward. They’re holding each other up. “Everything’s different.”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Yeah, it is. And nothing’s different.”
Michael turns, finally opening his eyes and looking at Ryan. He’s dripping and still a little flushed and so good to look at that he almost can’t. Standing out like a brand is the bite mark Michael left only a few minutes ago.
He doesn’t stop himself this time. He cups the side of Ryan’s neck and runs his thumb over it. It’s hotter than the rest of Ryan’s skin, and he wants it to stay like that.
“Everything’s better.”
“So we’ll make it everything. We can do it.”
Michael has no idea which of them moves first, but they’re kissing again, careful on the slippery tile. Back in the water with Ryan, he believes they can do just about anything.
Pairing: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps RPF
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and don't know them. In fact, I just really love it when they swim together and then hug.
Beta/Thanks: Thanks to waterofthemoon for the beta.
Summary: One day and everything is suddenly new. Picks up right after Unconditional Things.
Michael’s having a really hard time accepting the fact that his husband is sucking his dick. Well, not the act itself, because Ryan has a tongue that does flipturns better than Thorpe. His entire body is bowed back against the sheets, and that he can almost deal with.
No, it’s the whole husband thing. It’s the fact that there’s a ring glinting on the hand he has tangled in Ryan’s curls, pushing his head down.
Not that he needs to. The whole thing is acting like Spanish fly on Ryan. He jumped Michael in the bathroom of the courthouse, then again on the way out to the car. Then, he pulled the car over on the empty Canadian highway halfway between the courthouse and this small inn to make out for fifteen minutes before pulling back onto the road, leaving Michael gasping and dazed.
He had to threaten violence to keep Ryan from carrying him into the room like something out of a bad cliché. Despite that, Ryan grabbed him around the waist, lifted him two inches off the ground, and dropped both of them onto the bed.
Now he’s here down Ryan’s throat, bucking between willing lips and hyperaware of the rough pad of Ryan’s thumb rubbing over the rings on his hip. Michael’s so close to coming, has been so close for what feels like forever, but it’s like he’s got a block. After a few minutes, Ryan pulls back.
“Hey.”
Michael swallows, trying to get his tongue to work. He manages a nod back.
“What’s up, man? I’m startin’ to think I’ve lost my mojo.”
Michael chokes on a laugh because it’s the exact opposite. It’s just too fucking much.
“Ryan, I-we’re married.”
“Yeah, I know. For like three hours now. Where’ve you been?”
“And that’s not huge to you?” Michael asks, trying to breathe around the too-much feeling in his chest.
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, sliding up Michael so that his body is draped over him. “But it’s good huge. Like those mega-sundaes they have at the ice cream place by campus where if you can finish the whole thing in one sitting, they take your picture and put your name on the wall. It’s like that. Only way-” He kisses Michael’s neck. “Way-” He kisses the side of his jaw. “Better.”
It makes Michael laugh, and he can breathe a little better. Ryan is lying on his chest, and that should make it harder to get air, but it doesn’t. He slides his hand’s up Ryan’s back, anchoring himself with the skin-to-skin contact.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Sure you do,” Ryan says, sliding back up Michael’s jaw towards his ear with his tongue. He sucks Michael’s earlobe into his mouth, and Michael groans.
“Jesus, Ryan.”
“See. You know how to do this. You could medal in this. I know. I’ve been there.”
“Ryan, come on.”
“No, you come on.” Ryan sighs, pushing himself up with his arms. “I want to fuck my husband.”
That word makes Michael’s entire body burn from the inside. He doesn’t really know what to do with that feeling, but he’s still hard, and Ryan knows it.
Ryan smiles at him from above, white teeth and blue eyes and suck-red lips. “You’re my husband, Michael. And I’m yours. Isn’t that awesome? Like, the coolest thing ever?”
“It’s not that simple-”
Ryan kisses him. He unlocks his elbow and drops fast into it, sucking the air out of Michael’s lungs. Ryan pushes forward with his tongue and his hips, and Michael’s knees come up on reflex.
“Awesome,” Ryan breathes against lips, and Michael follows his mouth up. “See? This is you and me. No one can see us in here, Mike. So stop whatever the hell this is and be my husband for the next three days, okay? Just let us have a honeymoon.”
He reaches up with his left hand and pushes Ryan’s bangs back off his forehead. His hand frames Ryan’s face with tan skin and silver metal, and it’s a lot to process. The silver looks really good on his hand, though. It looks better on Ryan.
“I’m your husband,” Michael says, a little stunned.
He hadn’t said it. Not when he filled out the paperwork, not when he said “I do,” not on the drive from Victoria farther out into the woods on Vancouver Island. It scared the shit out of him then.
Once it’s out, it scares him more because he likes the way it feels. Like, really likes it, and when they leave here, he’s going to have to go back to a life where he won’t be able to say it.
Ryan’s face shines like the freaking sun. He sinks even further, his whole body turning liquid. Michael feels like he’s floating in Ryan.
“Hi. Welcome to the program.” Ryan laughs.
“I’m a late bloomer.” His mom used to say that when he was thirteen and the kids on the team and at the high school used to treat him like crap.
“Yeah, but look at you now,” Ryan says, smiling at him.
Ryan’s sent him Google searches of his name a few times, and he’s come up with a lot of sites referring to him as a god or a sex symbol. Ryan’s favorite was “sex on a stick.” Michael laughed those off, slightly humiliated and incredibly awkward, convinced that they had no idea what the hell they were seeing.
But the way Ryan’s looking at him, he can believe it. More than believe, he can feel it. It feels a lot like winning.
“You said something about fucking your husband,” Michael says. The word still leaves his mouth feeling weird.
It feels good, though. It feels really good. If Ryan would just do something, anything besides hover over him all hot and not-there-enough, it would feel better.
“I did. Stay here?”
“Where would I go?”
“I don’t know, Mike. You’ve been twitchy lately. So just sit.” Ryan sits back and holds up both his hands. “Stay.”
“You want me to bark, too?”
“If it gets you there, baby, you can howl at the moon for all I care.”
Ryan grabs one of their bags and rifles through it. He comes up with a bottle of lube the size of his fist that makes Michael laugh because really, that’s typical.
He watches as Ryan pulls off the clothes he has left and leaves them in a pile on the floor before he climbs back on the bed. It hits Michael that this is how this whole thing started a few days ago-with them on a bed together.
They go too long between doing this. Months between meets, days between races. It’s the only part of Michael’s life that really wears on him, being without Ryan, but he doesn’t have to be right now.
“You’re my husband, too,” Michael says.
“You look good when you say that,” Ryan sighs. He pops open the lid of the bottle and coats his hands. “You sound fucking hot, too.”
“Come on,” Michael chokes out. He’s come so close too many times today. Ryan’s been giving him the yo-yo treatment for hours, and he’s anxious and a little bit needy. When he looks at the way Ryan’s hand is shining in the afternoon light, Michael just wants those fingers inside him.
Ryan laughs and kisses him. He wraps his fingers around Michael’s cock and jacks him just hard enough to render him totally speechless before finally sliding his fingers in.
Ryan’s good at pushing him, motivating him to where he needs to go. It’s part of what makes them a good team. When his crooked fingers scrape over his prostate, Michael is exactly where he needs to be in the universe. He’s so where he needs to be that he’s seeing silver stars blink on the room’s ceiling.
Then Michael’s moaning and trying to stop his thrashing when Ryan slides his elbow under his right knee. His fingers pull out just fast enough to bring Michael back to earth for a few seconds before Ryan lifts Michael’s leg as he pushes in, fast and smooth.
It stings some, it always does, but mostly it’s just that good, near-suffocating feeling of fullness. This time, though, Michael has this intense sensation of connection that freaks him out a little.
“What is that?” Michael pants.
“Mike, that’s us.”
“Yeah, but it’s like.” He’s having a hard time thinking and speaking and doing anything but buck into Ryan. “I don’t know. It’s unreal.”
“I-I think,” Ryan stutters as he rolls his hips. “I think this is what real’s supposed to feel like. Jesus, Mike.”
Ryan drops his head onto the mattress beside just above Michael’s, and the curve of his neck is right there, exposed and vulnerable and totally his. It’s a total impulse to lift his head and bite.
Ryan makes a sound in the back of his throat, and his hips snap forward hard and fast. It whites out Michael’s vision for a second, it rocks him so hard. His hands are leaving fingernail marks on Ryan’s back, and his teeth are probably hurting him, maybe even drawing blood, but he’s coming, and he can’t let go. He just can’t let go.
His entire body lets go all at once, his jaw and his arms and the leg that somehow managed to hike itself up around Ryan’s back. Ryan’s not far behind him. They fall into a puddle on the mattress, the purple and red shadow of teeth on Ryan’s neck resting beside Michael’s ear.
He turns his head to the side and stares at it, surprised that it’s there at all. He’s always so careful about that-hickies, scratches, finger-shaped bruises anywhere that could be exposed in a suit and lead to questions from people holding cameras. The fear’s usually enough to stop him.
He lifts a heavy hand to touch it, see if it’s still wet, if it’s raised or sunken, but he drops it onto the back of Ryan’s neck instead. He’s good to just stay like this until they can move again.
When they do, it’s to separate with careful movements. They’re a sticky mess, and Michael pads into the small, pristine bathroom while Ryan plays the responsible one for once and tugs the mostly-ruined comforter off the bed. He wants a shower so bad that he can almost feel it before he steps into the water.
The showerhead is higher in the wall than most, so he doesn’t have to bend to get his face under the direct spray. He’s got his eyes closed, little waterfalls rolling over his cheeks and lips and nose onto his chest and down his body, so he hears Ryan shut the door and feels his arms around his waist and his chest pressing against his back before he ever opens them.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Ryan replies. His hands slide over the wet skin and muscle of Michael’s stomach, and it’s a whole different kind of heat than before. “So that was different.”
Michael sighs and leans back into Ryan as Ryan leans forward. They’re holding each other up. “Everything’s different.”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Yeah, it is. And nothing’s different.”
Michael turns, finally opening his eyes and looking at Ryan. He’s dripping and still a little flushed and so good to look at that he almost can’t. Standing out like a brand is the bite mark Michael left only a few minutes ago.
He doesn’t stop himself this time. He cups the side of Ryan’s neck and runs his thumb over it. It’s hotter than the rest of Ryan’s skin, and he wants it to stay like that.
“Everything’s better.”
“So we’ll make it everything. We can do it.”
Michael has no idea which of them moves first, but they’re kissing again, careful on the slippery tile. Back in the water with Ryan, he believes they can do just about anything.