Fic: And That's a Promise (Olympic swimmers RPS, Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte, rating: adult)
Once again: ALL THE FAULT OF blindmadness. I think. I can't quite remember. Either I mentioned it and she said, "WRITE IT," or she mentioned it and I said, "I'LL WRITE IT." Anyway. Here be porn.
Summary: Michael's proud of Ryan for [spoiler for 200 m backstroke under cut], so he gives him a present.
Summary: Michael's proud of Ryan for winning his first individual gold, so he gives him a present.
And That's a Promise
Ryan braces his hands on the edge of a sink in the locker room, staring at his face in the mirror. That is the face of the best backstroker in the world. Pretty fucking awesome. He's grinning again even though his face already hurts from smiling.
The locker room door slams; a moment later, Michael appears behind him in the mirror. "Heard you got some new hardware," Michael says. "Good job." He's already in his suit for his next race.
"Thanks, man," says Ryan. Turning to face Michael, he touches his medal for probably the hundredth time. He might never take it off. He could sleep wearing it, maybe even swim wearing it.
Michael's moved closer to him. "Hey, remember what I said I'd do if you won gold here?"
Yeah, Ryan remembers. A guy doesn't forget that kind of thing. "I figured you were bullshitting me, doing macho posturing or something. You didn't think I'd win, right?"
Michael shrugs. "I thought you might have a chance. Anyway, I wasn't kidding you. I mean, if you're up for it."
"I might be. If you are." Ryan shoves away the faint beginnings of panic squirming in his stomach. For god's sake, this is Michael. What does Ryan have to be scared about?
"I'll have to be quick," Michael says. "I have another race."
"Gonna take gold again, I bet."
"Oh? What do you bet?" Michael's trying to hold back a smirk. He's failing miserably.
"Same thing you're gonna give me," Ryan says. "If you hurry up and do it before you have to race, anyway. You can't be late, man."
"Yeah, okay," says Michael, and Ryan hasn't blinked twice before Michael's kneeling in front of him, peeling Ryan's suit down around his thighs.
It's not the best head Ryan's ever gotten. Michael isn't particularly creative with his mouth. But it's enough, and Ryan gets to the edge--and Michael pulls back.
"Dude, you gonna finish soon?" Michael asks. "I have to leave in like two minutes."
"Fucker," Ryan gasps, trying to regain coherency. "You suck at sucking dick, man, I was just about to--"
Michael is cracking up. "Got you," he says. "Oh my god, you should see your face." Before Ryan can punch his stupid nose, Michael gets his mouth back around Ryan's dick, and Ryan's still kind of pissed off, so he pulls Michael's hair a little when he comes, and Michael makes this really hot noise in the back of his throat.
Michael spits in the sink while Ryan pulls up his suit. "I'll get you back for this, you know that, right?" Ryan tells him.
"Yeah? And just what are you gonna do to me?"
"Win your damn gold and find out."
"I'll be sure to do that," says Michael, heading for the door. "Congratulations again."
"Thanks, dude. Good luck."
Yeah, that was some okay head, Ryan guesses. He crosses his fingers. Michael had better get gold. Ryan has plans.
Summary: Michael's proud of Ryan for [spoiler for 200 m backstroke under cut], so he gives him a present.
Summary: Michael's proud of Ryan for winning his first individual gold, so he gives him a present.
And That's a Promise
Ryan braces his hands on the edge of a sink in the locker room, staring at his face in the mirror. That is the face of the best backstroker in the world. Pretty fucking awesome. He's grinning again even though his face already hurts from smiling.
The locker room door slams; a moment later, Michael appears behind him in the mirror. "Heard you got some new hardware," Michael says. "Good job." He's already in his suit for his next race.
"Thanks, man," says Ryan. Turning to face Michael, he touches his medal for probably the hundredth time. He might never take it off. He could sleep wearing it, maybe even swim wearing it.
Michael's moved closer to him. "Hey, remember what I said I'd do if you won gold here?"
Yeah, Ryan remembers. A guy doesn't forget that kind of thing. "I figured you were bullshitting me, doing macho posturing or something. You didn't think I'd win, right?"
Michael shrugs. "I thought you might have a chance. Anyway, I wasn't kidding you. I mean, if you're up for it."
"I might be. If you are." Ryan shoves away the faint beginnings of panic squirming in his stomach. For god's sake, this is Michael. What does Ryan have to be scared about?
"I'll have to be quick," Michael says. "I have another race."
"Gonna take gold again, I bet."
"Oh? What do you bet?" Michael's trying to hold back a smirk. He's failing miserably.
"Same thing you're gonna give me," Ryan says. "If you hurry up and do it before you have to race, anyway. You can't be late, man."
"Yeah, okay," says Michael, and Ryan hasn't blinked twice before Michael's kneeling in front of him, peeling Ryan's suit down around his thighs.
It's not the best head Ryan's ever gotten. Michael isn't particularly creative with his mouth. But it's enough, and Ryan gets to the edge--and Michael pulls back.
"Dude, you gonna finish soon?" Michael asks. "I have to leave in like two minutes."
"Fucker," Ryan gasps, trying to regain coherency. "You suck at sucking dick, man, I was just about to--"
Michael is cracking up. "Got you," he says. "Oh my god, you should see your face." Before Ryan can punch his stupid nose, Michael gets his mouth back around Ryan's dick, and Ryan's still kind of pissed off, so he pulls Michael's hair a little when he comes, and Michael makes this really hot noise in the back of his throat.
Michael spits in the sink while Ryan pulls up his suit. "I'll get you back for this, you know that, right?" Ryan tells him.
"Yeah? And just what are you gonna do to me?"
"Win your damn gold and find out."
"I'll be sure to do that," says Michael, heading for the door. "Congratulations again."
"Thanks, dude. Good luck."
Yeah, that was some okay head, Ryan guesses. He crosses his fingers. Michael had better get gold. Ryan has plans.