Six Months Later Decker
Six months later…
Decker
The arena pulses with electric energy as thousands of fans pack the seats. One big bonus of the whole dickslip fiasco? MoM has gone from being a small, outlier federation to bursting into the mainstream.
It's gotten so big that #NaturalBodybuilding has become even hotter than Brat Summer was.
Rocky always offers me the option of watching from the VIP skybooth, but I always decline. Nothing beats being in the thick of it with the crowd. I love standing as close as I can, getting the best view of the man I am head over dumbbells in love with.
Zane returns with hotdogs and sodas. "Sorry that took forever. This place is packed."
"It sure is," I say with a smile, taking one dog and one jumbo-sized cup off his hands. "Thanks."
"I heard skybooth guests have a full buffet with oysters and everything."
I take a bite and look over at him. I should never have told him about the VIP option I keep declining. He's salty, but he'll get over it. "Yeah, well, you're abandoning me tomorrow so we both have something to gripe about."
"Gee, drama much? I'm not abandoning you. You have a fantastic boyfriend and a great group of new friends. Me? I'm not making it as an actor, so I have to accept that it's not meant for me and go where the work is."
I stuff my face to avoid having this conversation again.
He could get work in LA if he tried. I've even offered him a role in my PR firm for chrissakes. I don't understand why he has to move all the way to the other side of the country to be a professional mourner. Yep, that's his new job title.
But, hey, he's a grown man, and it's his life. I may have a fantastic boyfriend and a great group of new friends, but I'm still going to miss my bestie.
"And nowwww." The announcer's voice comes over the speakers. "Please put your hands together for the man who's on a record-breaking winning streak of nineteen rounds. Can he make it lucky number twenty tonight? Make some noise for Rockyyyyy Summerrrrrs."
Rocky emerges from the wings to massive applause and strides confidently onto the brightly lit stage, his bronzed, oil-slicked physique gleaming under the blazing stage lights. He's smiling, scanning the crowd until his eyes land on me.
His smile grows as he blows me a kiss. I blow one right back, beyond happy and excited for him that he got his career back.
And his old outfit.
They may be looser fitting and clearly display a prominent bulge, but there's zero chance of him having another dickslip in boxer briefs.
He waves at the crowd as he moves toward his position at center stage, giving the seven-judge panel a crisp nod.
Before meeting him, and with very scant knowledge of bodybuilding, I assumed the heavy lifting was in the, well, the lifting.
But being with Rocky, I now see that the gym training has got nothing on the mental fortitude and discipline needed to stick to an insanely strict diet.
The same foods on repeat, water and salt timed, constant cravings he has to ignore through sheer willpower.
I'm in awe of how he does it. You do not want to mess with me if I don't get my breakfast muffin.
The cheers die down as Rocky begins the compulsory routine. It's like watching a Greek marble sculpture come to life as he seamlessly transitions between poses I'm still learning the names of.
I know some, like the front double bicep he's doing right now, which showcases his massive arms, and the side chest pose that follows, revealing the incredible depth of his torso.
The judges study every angle intently while Rocky holds each position with rock-solid stability, his breathing controlled despite the physical strain of flexing every muscle simultaneously.
"Come on, lucky twenty. Come on, lucky twenty," I mutter under my breath as Zane laughs and loops his arm around my shoulder.
"I'm so happy to see you like this," he says warmly.
I take my eye off Rocky for one second. "Like what?"
"This. Goofy and soft and…in love."
What can I say? He's right.
Being with Rocky has changed me. Before, it felt like I was living two distinct, polar opposite existences. Personal me and professional me. Now, the two overlap a lot more. I'm still a beast when my work requires it, but I'm starting to realize there's great power in being real and vulnerable.
My family saga may have been filled with tragedy and heartache, but I don't want to be trapped by my trauma. That's not healthy. I need to heal so I can move on and be a more fully realized version of who I am. Rocky's love has helped me begin the work of unpacking and processing my childhood shit.
My eyes return to the stage. Rocky's final pose is nothing short of spectacular—every muscle fiber contracting simultaneously in a display of pure power that silences the crowd for a split second before the roar becomes deafening.
He relaxes into a satisfied smile, winks my way, takes a small bow, then exits, waving to the audience who are on their feet.
The roar is so big I almost don't feel my phone buzzing in my pocket.
Kynan: It's not too late to join us up here. They've just put out lobster.
I quickly shield my screen from Zane because if he sees that, he will drag me to the skybooth by my hair.
Me: We're all good down here. Thanks, though.
Kynan: No worries. You guys are still coming back to mine and Sawyer's after, right?
Me: Rocky and I have that thing, remember? But maybe after that?
Kynan: Of course, I forgot. No worries. Swing by whenever you want. We'll just be hanging out and chilling.
Me:
That's another great thing about being with Rocky—acquiring a built-in family.
The BBA crew have taken me in as one of their own. I love them all with their distinct personalities and unique quirks, but I think I've grown closest to Kynan, Sawyer, and of course, baby Ashton who is not in any way responsible for me suddenly following a bunch of #dadfluencers online.
Three more bodybuilders compete after Rocky, and then it's time. The whole arena is on edge as the judges deliberate over their final rankings. The competitors stand on stage, muscular bodies still and faces stoic, trying to contain their nerves as they anxiously wait.
I have my fingers crossed and am silently wishing for a twentieth win for him when the emcee's voice comes over the speakers. He drags out the placings, and with each name, I'm filled with a wave of nausea and relief that it wasn't Rocky.
There's only one placing I want him to get.
"Taking home the title tonight, please make some noise for Lucky Mr. Twenty—"
I don't hear him announce Rocky's name. I'm jumping up and down like a lunatic, screaming with the crowd until my lungs burn.
He did it! He really did it!
Rocky poses for photos with his trophy, beaming from ear to ear.
I'm still on a high as Zane and I file out of the arena. "I'm taking you to the airport tomorrow, otherwise you'll miss your flight. On second thought, maybe I won't."
"Shut up. You promised," he says, smiling as he pulls me in for a hug.
"I know, I know. I'll see you bright and early."
"Awesome. And be sure to congratulate Rocky for me."
"Oh, I will."
He makes a gagging sound he has no idea is totally on point and laughs before disappearing into the crowd.
I rush over to the backstage area, the smell of chemical tan and menthol rub strong in the air. Rocky is already showered and dressed, looking amazing in a washed-black zip hoodie, slate tech joggers, and clean black runners.
The best thing he's wearing, though? That'd be his smile.
I leap into his arms. He catches me easily because to him, I weigh next to nothing. "Congratulations."
"Thanks, baby." He holds on to me so tight, like he never wants to let me go.
We kiss, and I can feel his joy and elation humming through me.
I draw back slightly, cradling his face in my hands. "You ready to do the thing?"
He nods and lowers me onto the ground. "Sure."
He says goodbye to a few of the other competitors, bearhugs his coach, Rasmus, who is positively beaming, and then we head off.
It's fall, and even though the air is cooler, it's still a typical sunny, gorgeous day in LA as we drive down Sunset Boulevard.
There are two things I love doing at night with Rocky.
One is being his dirty little slut as he fucks me mercilessly in every room of the apartment we moved into together a few weeks ago.
The other is watching him crochet on the sofa while I read my smutty MM romances. How else do you think I come up with the filthiest ideas?
Over the past two months, Rocky has been crocheting a collection of whimsical animal beanies in soft pastels—lavender elephants with floppy ears, mint green frogs with googly eyes, and sunshine yellow ducks complete with tiny orange beaks.
Today, he's going to deliver them to the Children’s Hospital Los Angeles.
He pulls into the parking lot, does a slow loop, then slips into a free bay.
"What do you feel like doing after we're done?" Rocky asks, turning to face me. I don't have to say anything. My smirk speaks volume. Rocky reads me like a book, chuckling low and deep. "Why are you always extra horny after I compete?"
"You complaining?"
"Never."
"Good." I lift my shoulder. "What can I say? Winning turns me on."
"What about the BBA crew?"
I look at him funny. "They don't turn me on."
Rocky laughs. "No, I mean Kynan mentioned something about a group hang at his and Sawyer's place."
"I told him we'd drop by a bit later."
Rocky takes my hand in his, swiping his thumb over the top of my palm. "I don't think we'll be doing that."
"Oh?"
He sees right through my innocent act. "We're going into the vortex, baby, and we're not going to be out for hours."
Heat engulfs my chest as I stare into the eyes of the man I love more and more each day.
The man who satisfies me sexually like no one ever has.
The man who's shown me I possess more strength than I thought I was capable of.
The man who makes me feel beautiful and safe and cherished every single day.
"I love you so much, Rocky."
He smiles, pressing the tip of his nose against mine. "I love you, too, baby. Now let's go inside and drop this off so we can get home and I can ravage my dirty little slut."
I hope you enjoyed Rocky and Decker's story!