5. Chris
Chris
November, Cardiff
The first time he’d seen it, he’d clicked over to the man’s wish list and ordered half the things off it, having them sent directly to his post box.
The inheritance he’d received from his grandpa last summer was doing the heavy lifting since he’d burned through the remnants of his sponsorship money.
Pathetic? Maybe. But it had been worth it for the unboxing video where he’d tried on the silky lingerie and simped over the weighted blanket, saying he’d never expected anyone to actually send him any of the non-sexual items from his list. The next week, Chris had logged back on and sent the oversized pink fleece hoodie, almost identical to Quick’s new hair colour, that had appeared on the list in the intervening days.
Tonight, Chris’s parents were out for the evening; an all-too-rare date night, according to his mum.
With an hour to go until his big plans for the night, Quick’s live, he pulled together all the motivation the anticipation of seeing Quick gave him and opened his emails just like he’d said he would.
There at the top of the inbox was the name he’d both expected and dreaded.
He clicked. It was long, flowery, pretentious.
To: c_green_run@
From: isaiah.owens@
Subject: As per our discussion
My uncle has requested that I extend my sincerest apologies for the disagreement when you visited our offices. I assure you that any personal opinions formed due to your behaviour will not impact the level of attention and rigour that I continue to apply to your case.
In pursuit of a reduced ban, please do provide any information that may be pertinent regarding who may have been involved in the anonymous flagging of your sample to the testing authorities.
Though we understand you are not officially a client of our agency, we hope you will continue to see the value in our support with this matter.
Warmest Regards,
Isaiah J. Owens, BA (Oxon), BPhil (Candidate), Assistant to Carl Owens, Owens Group Sports Agency
P.S. Honestly, Green, Carl has a fucking weird soft spot for you and you should sign with him again because who the fuck else would have you? Let me know if you have any info on the tip-off.
He snorted at the postscript, obviously snuck in after Carl had stopped hovering over his nephew’s shoulder. Then, because he’d said he would, he replied.
To: isaiah.owens@
From: c_green_run@
Subject: Re:
No idea who did it. Cheers mate.
Feeling accomplished and a little smug, he grabbed a protein bar and went down to his room. He had the set-up down to a tee now. Lights dimmed, heating on, cloth on the nightstand, plenty of lube at the ready, no shirt, and loose joggers.
The site buffered, and he cursed at the Wi-Fi, waving his tablet around impatiently for a moment, then he was in.
Quick was already live, his pink hair a sharp contrast against his pale skin.
It wasn’t quite as ethereal as the soft blue had been, but it suited him.
Or it suited the new emotion Chris always felt was simmering just below the flirty, filthy surface.
The slight edge he could see burning in his eyes even now.
A stupid part of Chris lit up at the imagined quirk of Quick’s lips when he joined the chat, as though he was happy to see him there.
“You will not believe the fun things I got this week,” Quick said. The curve of his mouth was teasing. Chris was hanging on every word. “There are, well, a lot more of you now than I ever expected, and to show my gratitude, I put in a special order.”
He waved a toy at the screen, but Chris wasn’t sure what it was, clearly not as up on his sex toy knowledge as some of the others in the chat. A quick scroll through the rapidly moving comments told him it was an anal vibrator—a remote-controlled anal vibrator.
“Some of you are getting the idea already.” Quick laughed. “We’re going to play a little game. The top ten tippers in the next five minutes are all getting entered in a draw to control my pleasure for the night…or at least for the next hour.”
Chris choked on his tongue. What? How? Actually, that didn’t fucking matter. He needed to win. He sent a tip, looked at the swiftly climbing total, and then sent another.
Five minutes had passed, and the chat was exploding as Quick let his long fingers trace his body nonchalantly on the screen. Then he grinned. “Check your messages, Flash23. You’re a winner.” He winked.
It took more than a minute for Chris to recognise his own screenname.
If it hadn’t been for the blinking red dot on his DMs, he may have missed it completely.
He clicked it open, anticipation thrumming in his veins.
There were instructions. A QR code to download an app and login details.
Chris scanned the code with his phone, unthinking.
It may have been idiotic, but he trusted Quick.
He kept one eye on the show continuing on screen as he entered the details.
Quick pushed the vibe in slowly, teasing his viewers as he did. “You ready there, Flash?”
Chris looked down at the app, tapping the on button to send a gentle vibration through the toy that was miles away, wherever Quick was filming.
“Mmmm,” Quick hummed. “That’s so nice. You’re being so gentle with me, baby.”
Chris got the message and increased the speed of the vibration.
“There we go, knew you had it in you.” Quick laughed as his body arched elegantly, cock leaking as Chris fiddled with the different settings.
It was strange, because not only was it so insanely hot that he was sure he was going to come untouched any minute just from watching what he was doing to Quick, but it was also…
fun. Toying with him, surprising him. At one point, Chris stopped the toy outright, and a desperate whine erupted from Quick’s perfect pink lips that made his cock pulse.
Fuck, he wanted to kiss him. Wanted to bite down on that plump bottom lip as he brought him over the edge. The thought alone had him switching the toy back on. Higher and higher he ramped it up, until Quick was keening and reaching for his weeping cock.
Chris shoved his free hand into his joggers, wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking himself in time with Quick.
He matched his movements to the settings he flicked through as best he could, letting his mind run wild imagining he was really there.
As his orgasm crested and cum shot over his stomach, he had a brief, unwelcome flashback.
More of a feeling than a vision, of Isaiah Owens and the heat of his body, the fire in his eyes as he’d talked to Chris like he was scum on the bottom of his shoe.
Which he probably was, but he still didn’t want to be thinking of him of all people right now.
It was probably that fucking email that had lodged in his brain.
He managed to shake the unwelcome thoughts away just in time to watch Quick’s end come over him. His perfect mouth was thrown open, almost as if he was surprised it felt so good, like the pleasure had crept up on him out of nowhere. Chris fumbled for his phone, switching off the vibe.
“That was epic,” Quick said to the camera.
“Thank you for your services, Flash.” He grinned.
“I was going to disconnect you from the link after the show, but I might just let you keep it a little longer.” He winked.
Chris’s cock gave a valiant twitch at the thought, even though he was sure it wasn’t true.
The chat started to empty, people leaving once they’d got what they came for, but Chris stayed, watching as Quick breathed deep, still steadying himself.
Then he smiled at the camera, gentle and a little shaky.
“I needed that,” he said. Then he hummed, staring straight down the camera lens.
“There’s this concept called ‘unselfing’ that Iris Murdoch talked about.
It’s like, trying harder isn’t always the best call; sometimes you just need to get out of your own way and let people help you.
I’m not sure I really understood it properly until now.
Though admittedly, this was likely not the context she intended it in.
” He laughed. “There’s a power in letting go, in letting someone help.
It doesn’t erase your agency, it just loosens the reins. ”
Chris was transfixed. The chat was nearly empty.
Quick laughed. “Sorry.” His smile was wry. “Come for the orgasms, stay for the weird two a.m. philosophy takes, right?” He tilted his head. “See you next time,” he said as he closed the stream, and Chris was certain this time that Quick really had been speaking directly to him.
The words stuck with him long after the stream ended.
It was the talk about control, about choice, as well as something about the way Quick carried on his streams, professional and flirty despite the obvious pain behind his eyes, that inspired Chris.
It inspired him so much that the next morning, he rolled out of bed and did the one thing he’d honestly thought he might never do again. He went for a run.
Chris ran through the streets of his hometown, leaving the city limits behind as he passed his old high school and the rugby club he’d spent every Sunday at watching his dad, then later his brother play.
He even ran through the field where he’d had his first kiss with Seren Davies in year eight.
The run let him sort his thoughts out, as it always did.
The truth was that Carl had been right. He never would have fought this on his own.
He was still angry about the subterfuge, still felt like a fraud who didn’t deserve the reprieve he’d been handed. But a tiny part of him was grateful.
The months leading up to the Olympics had been chaotic. Everything had been since the day he’d dropped out of uni to pursue running. He’d been stressed, desperate to make it work. He’d been a fucking mess, if he was honest. Still was, maybe, just in a different way.
Chris let himself back into the house through the side door, unwilling to face his parents and get their hopes up too much.
It was one run; he wasn’t miraculously back to his old self.
He showered and tossed his running gear in the hamper, then flopped down on the couch.
His fingers hovered over his messaging app, and he considered finally reaching out to his friends who had taken to checking in just once a day.
He should meet up with them, he knew that, but he navigated away.
He wasn’t ready. Instead, he clicked back into the camming site and pulled up Quick’s profile.
As a top-tier subscriber, he could send direct messages.
He was ninety per cent sure most creators just set autoresponders on them, but it was worth a shot.
Flash
Hey, what would you charge for a private show?
There was no response, so maybe not an auto responder, then. Instead of obsessing over it, Chris opened a search and looked for another gift to send him.