August (12 months until the Olympics)
Brandon’s words hang between us for a long second, echoing off the walls and in my skull.
His eyes are full of fire and passion . . . and truth. He clearly believes every word he says, and that conviction is written in every line of his body.
I don’t know which of us moves first, but suddenly we’re kissing in the middle of the couch, both of us on our knees. His body presses against mine, shoulders to shoulders and chest to chest, and I press back.
Brandon groans into my mouth, and the vibration echoes down my spine. I sink into it, my eyes falling shut on their own.
The realization hits me slowly, fusing with Brandon’s words and wrapping around my brain. Right now, I’m the world freakin’ champion. In a year I’m going to be at the Olympics, and I’m going to prove that I’m the best, that I’m strong.
Everything I want in life is laid out before me.
And I want Brandon laid out before me.
Suddenly I want him so badly I can taste it. Maybe I can. Just this once, I can do something that’s only for me. I pry my eyes open. This close, Brandon is a blur of blue and black and tan. Maybe I can have a bit of fun.
My hands find the front of Brandon’s hoodie and push. Not hard, but enough that he’s off-balance, sliding back against the couch as our kiss ends. He looks surprised for only a second, and then I follow, bending over him as I lay him out on the couch, and his face shifts, relaxing with a pleased smile.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.
Brandon wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me down until I cover him like a blanket. Against my lips, he says, “You do what feels right,” then kisses me again.
What feels right is this: kissing Brandon over and over, gasping as his tongue wraps around mine playfully, shuddering when his teeth scrape over my lip, when he nips at my chin and neck. His hands slip down my body to burrow under the hem of my shirt, and the teasing of his fingers along my ribs and sides makes me squirm, alternatively tickling and soothing.
And then our bodies align, and I feel him against me, hard through his sweatpants.
I freeze, because I’m hard too.
Nothing can stop the wash of shame, and I tear away from the next kiss.
“Hey.” Brandon’s hands aren’t teasing now; he brushes over my back, skin to skin, like he’s petting a large cat. “There’s nothing wrong with this. It feels good, yeah?”
It does, but that’s the problem.
“I’ve never—” Words stick in my throat.
One of Brandon’s hands vanishes from my back, and reappears on my jaw, turning my head to face him again. “Jeremy, have you ever gotten yourself off before?”
The night in Indiana comes to mind, and my blush burns down my face and chest. Before that, getting myself off was never more than a biological function, something to do when ignoring it didn’t make the problem go away.
Brandon laughs, but it’s not mocking. “And did you enjoy it?”
Is it possible for a person to spontaneously combust? Brandon’s hand is still holding me so I can’t escape, but my eyes dart to anything except his fond gaze.
“Do you trust me, Jeremy?”
Yes. I trust him to dive with me, and to make me and Val smile when we need it. And I trust him in this. I nod.
Brandon lifts his head and kisses me gently. “All right, then. I want to show you something.”
The hand on my spine slides down, down, over my ass until Brandon is cupping the top of my thigh, fingers curling in only inches from my— I blush even trying to think about the word.
“Let me do this for you.”
And then he tugs, pulling me against him, and we rub against each other. He’s still hard, and heat radiates off him through the thin cotton of our sweats and underwear. Another tug and the pressure increases.
“Mmh,” Brandon sighs against my lips, and he’s not kissing me again—not really, but every so often he nuzzles against my cheek, our lips brushing, while he finds a rhythm between our bodies, rising up to meet me every time he pulls me down.
This time when I get hard, I swallow the shame and close my eyes, letting Brandon guide my body.
“I want to lay you out on your bed and peel every layer off.” Brandon’s talking, and his voice is relaxing, a tether I can hold on to. “Every inch of skin exposed for me to explore. Then I want to find the places that make you moan, make you cry out.”
I do moan when he presses us together even harder. The shape of him through his pants is a solid line of heat against my thigh.
“And then I want to pull your underwear off. I want to wrap my hand around your cock. No one has ever touched you there before, have they?” His voice is breathy, stuttering as the rhythm speeds up. “I want to be the first. I want to show you how good it can be.”
His words send a delicious, dangerous shudder through me. They’re filthy, obscene. Cock. The word is one I’ve heard before, of course, but only in crude conversation. From Brandon, it sounds reverent.
I want his hand on my cock. The thought makes heat flood through me.
Brandon groans and his movements stutter. “God, Jeremy, say that again.”
I didn’t realize that I’d spoken aloud, but I peel my eyes open and find Brandon watching me with such desperation and awe that he definitely heard me.
“I want that,” I say. Who is this person? Where has Jeremy gone? I don’t recognize the sound of my own voice, low and shattered. “I want your hand on me. On my . . . my cock.”
Brandon kisses me. “Yeah. Yes.”
Then he pushes me back a few inches, slides out from beneath me and stands. He seems unashamed and unconcerned by the tenting in his pants, but I hesitate, the shame starting to creep back in. Brandon doesn’t let it, though. He swoops down, kissing me, pulling me to my feet, and tugs me across the apartment to my bedroom.
I don’t even get the chance to be nervous before Brandon’s pushing me to sit on the bed and tugging off his hoodie. He’s sweating a little, and his T-shirt clings to him. When he sits next to me, it’s only to kiss me again and again, until I’m warm and relaxed once more.
“Arms up,” he says.
I comply and find my T-shirt removed from the bottom up. The cool air makes me shiver, but Brandon’s hands follow behind immediately after, heat along my shoulders and arms and stomach.
His finger brushes over my nipple, and I gasp loudly.
“I knew it,” Brandon says, low like he’s talking to himself. “You’re so touch-starved, I knew you’d be sensitive.”
There’s no chance to ask what he means, because he’s bending down to lick over my pec. I want to tell him that’s gross, but then his tongue finds my nipple, and his teeth follow right behind, and my words turn into a garbled plea for more.
I had no idea that my body could do this—could feel like this. Brandon finds points on my skin that make me arch and shout, and places where I collapse boneless, moaning so deep in my chest that it sounds like purring.
Sensation overwhelms everything else, and it’s only when Brandon’s hands flirt with the hem of my sweatpants that I surface enough to realize I’m horizontal and stretched out beneath him, Brandon leaning over me.
“Can I?” His fingers slip a fraction of an inch below the waistband, but no farther.
“Yes.” I exhale the word.
Did I know that a caress down my calf could feel so good? That a nip to the tender spot behind my knee would make me twist and beg? I thought I understood my body better than most people on earth. I spend my days focusing on making it better, but I’m floored by the realization that I never knew what it was really capable of.
Brandon is smiling down at me. He’s still almost fully clothed, but he’s sweating more, light stains under his armpits and around his neck. His face is flushed, and he can’t seem to hold still. I think he’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.
“Will you take yours off too?”
That question gets me a kiss as a reward. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Brandon doesn’t make a show of it. He stands up and tugs his shirt off, revealing all of that glorious brown skin and black ink. But he hesitates before pulling his pants off.
“I’m, uh . . .”
“Are you embarrassed?” I’ve never seen Brandon blush like this.
“No.” He chews on his lower lip. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
Oh. He’s still hard, and his sweats are loose but not loose enough—I can see the outline of his cock through the thin cotton. I’ve seen almost every inch of Brandon, but this I haven’t even let myself think about.
“It’s okay.” My voice trembles.
Brandon pauses for another second, then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and tugs them down. They pool around his ankles, and he kicks them across the room, standing calmly in front of me. Waiting for my reaction.
I’ve seen other men naked before. Locker rooms, showers after a meet. I’ve never seen another man aroused before, and I’m red to the tips of my ears as I take him in. His cock is hard, jutting out from a well-groomed patch of dark hair, curving just a little to the left. The head is damp, and I can see the veins standing out.
“Can I . . .” I hold my hand out instead of finishing the sentences, fingers stretched toward him.
Brandon grins and climbs back on the bed. “Yeah. Of course, anything you want.”
He hisses when I wrap my hand around him, and his skin is soft, hot, and smooth. I keep my fist loose and study his face when I move from base to tip. The palm of my hand gets wet, sticky, and it eases the way some when I slide back down.
“More,” Brandon groans. “You can, uh, a little tighter.”
Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s following directions. And Brandon reacts like what I imagine porn would look like: he throws his head back, somehow keeping his gaze fixed on my own from beneath long, dark lashes. He isn’t quiet—he never is—but now his sounds are moans mixed with my name and begging for more.
This is also being strong, I realize. Being able to wring pleasure like this out of someone, it’s a different kind of strength.
Before long, my hand is wet and Brandon is crying out, arms braced on the bed on either side of me, hips moving involuntary as he tries to get closer.
“Wait—” He chokes off a groan around the word. “Jer, wait.”
I slow, stop. Did I do something wrong? Oh shit, what if I misread this, what if I—
Brandon kisses me. “I was going to come,” he says. “But I didn’t want to yet. I want to come with you.”
I’ve been ignoring my own arousal since Brandon pulled his shirt off. I’ve had a lot of practice at that, pretending like it doesn’t exist until it goes away. But Brandon’s words bring my attention back to my own hardness, and now it fills my entire focus. I ache, I’m so hard.
Brandon reaches for me, then pauses. “Can I?”
He always asks. He never pushes, always waits until I’m ready. My heart swells. “Yes.”
I’m shaking as he pulls my boxer briefs down, but it’s not from fear. It’s anticipation. The cool air on my cock feels amazing; Brandon’s hand on my cock feels even better.
“Oh god,” I manage. It’s the last coherent thought I have.
This is a million times better than the night in Indiana, when I brought myself off as quickly as I could while thinking about blue eyes and branches over tanned skin. Brandon touches with purpose, like he knows exactly how to wring gasps and moans from my body.
“Someday I’ll spread you out and torture you for hours, bringing you so close to the edge that you sob, then backing away, over and over.” He shifts, and our cocks rub together. It’s bliss, and when his hand wraps around both of our lengths, that changes to perfection. “But right now I think we’re both too close. And I want to see you come apart from my hand.”
I gasp and groan, call Brandon’s name over and over, begging for something I’m not sure I have a word for. There’s something building inside of me, a pressure that sits low in my stomach, a million times more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Jeremy,” Brandon breathes. He kisses me, capturing the sounds that I’m making, and his hand on our cocks slides up, catches the liquid at the tips. “I want you to come for me.”
I know the word orgasm, but I’ve never really known what one was until now. Apparently it means white light washing over me, pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever felt, muscles tensing, and my spine arching off the bed. It means heat and release coating my stomach and sparks like fireworks exploding over my entire body, tiny uncontrollable muscle twitches.
Brandon kisses me until we have to stop and suck air in greedily, until our bodies fall limply to the bed, limbs tangling together, sweat and other bodily fluids pressed between us.
Lying here right now, with Brandon wrapped around me, I’ve never been stronger.