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Olympics RPF Fanfiction - Sojourn (Phelps/Lochte)
Bill Nails

Title: Sojourn
Rating: NC17
Genre and/or Pairing: PWP - Phelps/Lochte
Warnings: None
Kinks: Blowjobs, Fisting
Word Count: 1,586
Notes: A few days ago I didn't know anything about these people and now I'm writing porn about them. PHLOCHTE FEELS ALL OVER THE PLACE. I'm supposed to be team GB but they're just too cute together. I know, I know, I'm supposed to be writing my Dean/Cas Big Bang right now, but writer's block hit and I was struggling with it. Hopefully this has refreshed my mind and rejuvenated my porn mojo :)
Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction and clearly the result of too much time spent watching men getting wet and touching each other on my TV this week.
Written for the XXX Olympics RPF ficathon for a prompt that simply said 'Lochte/Phelps, fisting.' So that's exactly what this is!


The thing about Ryan is that he certainly isn’t small by anyone’s standards: there’s over six foot of him, and he’s fucking built, like all of them are.

He sure as hell feels fucking tiny when he’s moving under the broad span of Michael’s hands though.

They feel massive where they corset the tapered nip of Ryan’s waist, holding him down while he pleads for it; goading Michael on and telling him how bad he wants it like the restless twitch of his abdominal muscles don’t give him away anyway, desperation written in every tremor. Like Michael needs any convincing at all.

Michael’s already come once, Ryan scraping fingers and teeth lightly over the curlicue pattern of the rings tattooed on his hip before swallowing him down with more than adequate enthusiasm now matched (surpassed, even) by his gold star technique, because if Ryan Lochte wants to be good at something, he’ll practise ‘til he gets that shit right, yeah? And, Michael thinks, he gives head like a pro, lips spit-slick and tongue rubbing maddeningly under the head of his cock as he moves head and hand in an easy rhythm until Michael can’t do anything but give in to it and ride it out.

Ryan has this easy confidence in himself, always, and it’s fascinatingly addictive to soak it up and watch him. Earlier, Michael had barely warned him he was about to come, but Ryan had swallowed it down and licked a drop from the corner of his mouth with a smirk anyway, serene, like it’s something sacred and something he needs.

Michael’s already half-hard again, because fuck, but it’s Ryan’s turn now and he’s nothing if not gracious. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love doing this anyway, Ryan spread out underneath him and begging for a fist in him.

“You gonna do it?” Ryan asks him, his usual drawl gone crushed-glass coarse like someone’s just pushed their cock into the tight grip of his throat and fucked him breathless and raw, which– right.

Michael doesn’t say anything, thumbs rubbing teasing circles over the jut of Ryan’s hipbones whisper-soft; just raises a superior eyebrow and Ryan laughs and throws his head back against the pillow in response. He keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling when Michael slips a lube-slicked finger into him, but he relaxes onto the bed with a sigh and Michael knows almost every gasp, breath and movement by now and knows he’s doing it right.

He slips a second finger straight in alongside the second just to hear him groan as he rides the edge between pleasure and pain, Ryan’s fingers gripping the sheets as he presses against Michael’s knuckles to feel the slight ache as he’s stretched open.

“Oh man, that’s – fuck,” Ryan says, thighs flexing as he shifts his position slightly, spreads his legs further and digs his heels into the mattress, knees bent and bracketing Michael where he’s kneeling between them.

He takes his time, like always, despite Ryan’s constant protests, because despite everything Ryan is, strength and power,  and everything Michael thinks – knows – he will one day be (they ain’t seen nothing yet), he’s fragile like this, letting Michael in to make a space for himself inside his body. He looks deceptively small and Michael’s hands look stupidly large, like they could never fit, but they’ve managed it before and it inexorably takes Michael’s breath away.

Besides, there’s an art to taking it slow, and something oddly calming about it while they spend so much of their lives working towards accomplishing things as quickly as the human body will allow. Here they have all the time they want and it’s all about control, the sheer lack of speed resulting in something beautiful.

It’s surprising how much concentration this takes, Michael’s focus purely and solely on Ryan and his every reaction, and it could be seconds or minutes or hours by the time he’s almost in, Ryan pliant and prepared. The tight grip of his body is hot around his fingers, figuratively and literally, and Michael’s skin is buzzing with the anticipation.

“You ready?” Michael asks him, which is ridiculous, because Ryan’s told him to hurry up and get on with it a dozen times by now, but still. “I’m just going to try…” and he pushes in gently with his knuckles, bumping up against the stretched rim and testing the give to see if he can press inside. Ryan gasps and arches just a little, and Michael can’t tell if it’s positive.

“Okay?” he asks him, hand on his leg stroking soothingly up and down the inside of one thigh.

“Just…” Ryan breathes, and doesn’t have to finish because Michael knows without asking. Just take it back, give it a second, try again. Michael draws his fingers halfway out, biting back a groan at the way they look with Ryan stretched around them, and flicks the lid off the lube bottle one-handed so that he can slick his hand up further.

When he slides his fingers back in, there’s little resistance, Ryan zoned out and focused on relaxing his body to let him in, and when the widest part of his hand just keeps on going until it’s entirely sheathed inside him Michael releases a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as Ryan bites his lip on a moan and closes his eyes.

He gives him a minute or so to adjust, his other hand drawing languid patterns over bare skin, and waits for him to get restless and eager again. It’s easier to get inside with his fingers straightened out and tucked together, but now that Ryan’s open enough to take him, Michael pulls out carefully in order to curl his fingers into a fist properly.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ryan groans as Michael starts a careful rhythm, one of Ryan’s hands moving to his cock to give himself a few lazy strokes. It’s not like Michael wouldn’t help the guy out, but Ryan prefers to take control and do it himself; Michael is more than happy to sit back and enjoy the show.

It’s harder to find his prostate when he doesn’t have his fingertips to guide him, but when he does it’s spectacular, Ryan letting out a string of curses and tightening his grip on his cock, a long slow squeeze that has a pulse of precome slicking out over his abs in wet little streams. Michael’s cock twitches, hard, and god he needs to focus.

Once Michael’s found where he needs to be it’s easy to keep the pressure there, a thrust and toe-curling rub that has Ryan getting more vocal by the minute, mostly incoherent words and bitten off sounds that Michael’s pretty sure he’s not even aware that he’s making.

He lets it build naturally, a little faster, a little rougher until Ryan’s telling him he’s so fucking close, he’s gonna come, don’t stop, oh-

And he comes as Michael runs a finger down the crease between thigh and body, Ryan’s head thrown back as he spills all over himself in a series of bursts, white-slicked all over his hand and stomach and it’s ridiculously hot to watch.

Ryan throws an arm over his face, breathing hard, and Michael carefully pulls out, grabbing a towel and wiping his hands off; there’s lube everywhere and it’s sort of hilarious. It’s only once he’s less focused on Ryan and more focused on himself that he realises how much he’s aching for release too.

“Hey, need some help with that?” Ryan asks him with a grin, and doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s pulling Michael down beside him, twisting onto his side and kissing him, hard. God, he kisses like they’re drowning, fingers in Michael’s hair as he turns it open-mouthed and filthy, breathless and the intensity is dizzying. One of Ryan’s hands finds Michael’s cock and it only takes a couple of minutes for him to get off, coming with a quiet sigh breathed against the corner of Ryan’s mouth, dripping over Ryan’s fingers and the curve of his thigh.

They roll onto their backs and lie side by side for a moment, letting their breathing slow, and Michael’s pretty sure there are about five different wet patches on the sheets he doesn’t want to lie in and feels the stupid urge to laugh about nothing in particular.

“Fuck, I think I lost the feeling in my legs, that was awesome,” Ryan grins, eyes creasing at the corners as he unashamedly folds his arms behind his head and makes no move to cover up. “Alright if I, like, chill in here a while?”

“Sure,” Michael tells him, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m going to shower, but stay as long as you want.”

Ryan smiles and stretches his arms out languidly, looking thoroughly wrecked and well-fucked, and when he closes his eyes Michael can’t exactly help it if he falters on his way out of the room, pausing for a second to look at the lazy, gorgeous sprawl of him across the rumpled sheets.

Evening sunlight streams in through a gap under the blinds casting a rich, burnished glow onto the smooth expanse of Ryan’s skin, striking and wholly flawless in the half-light as Michael lingers longer than he needs to just to look his fill.

He’d never tell him this, but of all the colours you could decorate him in, it could never look quite as right as when it’s gold.


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Beautifully done! Love the imagery of the last and the sex was.. guh.. just perfect. :D

Also... JOIN US!!! http://olympic-slash.livejournal.com/

Thank you so much, I'm glad you thought so! ♥

And I will ABSOLUTELY join right now, I need an Olympics slash comm in my life!

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Yay! I'm really happy you liked it, and thanks! :D

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