7. Chris #2
The orgasm exploded out of him as he watched Quick’s body tense up. Chris made a mess of his hand and the front of the desk he was sitting at. Blinking away the spots from in front of his eyes, he watched in utter fascination as Quick licked his cum-coated fingers clean.
God dammit, he was definitely doing this again.
With a flirty wink and a promise to see him soon, Quick was gone from the screen. He’d massively overrun the agreed slot for a private show, and he knew it was late, but Chris was a little bit disappointed he hadn’t stuck around to chat.
A message pinged in his DMs that helped quell the weird ache that had started inside him.
Qu1ck he was lucky.
He was lucky his parents cared more about him than his sport, lucky they had put up with his moping as long as they had.
Lucky he still felt loved even though he was sure he didn’t deserve it.
He thought of the soft, dejected tone Quick’s voice had taken on when parents had come up in their conversation and knew he was really fucking lucky, and as all that luck and privilege rose up to smack him in the face, he realised he owed Isaiah Owens a fucking apology.
His fingers twitched towards the phone in his pocket, and he saw Nick track the movement.
His mum was still speaking, but Chris was spiralling over the realisation of what Owens had inadvertently revealed to him and regretting the brief, harsh response he’d sent.
Chris raced downstairs, mentally trying to compose a reasonable apology, though nothing came. He opened his tablet and stared at the screen, willing the words to come. What he ended up with was entirely inadequate, but it was the best he could do today.
To: isaiah.Owens@
From: c_green_run@
Subject: Sorry
Isaiah,
My last email was inappropriate and I apologise. I don’t have much of an excuse other than that I don’t think I really absorbed everything you said until now. I don’t know what happened with your father, but I am sorry. Regardless of what it was, nobody deserves to be treated like that.
Sorry for being a dick about it,
Chris
Disappointed in his effort, but determined to do better from now on, Chris pulled on his jacket.
It wasn’t just about Isaiah; Chris had been a fucking dick to so many people this year, every stupid fucking mistake he’d made—and the ones he didn’t seem to be able to stop making—played in his head on repeat. He needed to go out.
Despite what he’d told his mum, he hadn’t been in touch with his friends at all. But a walk might get him out of this funk, or at least get him out of the house.
Chris pulled on his coat and slid his feet into his boots.
He wrapped a scarf around his neck and let himself out.
He walked steadily until he reached the end of their road, then realised that if he was out anyway, he may as well actually message his friends and see if they were up for getting a drink.
It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
The pub was busy in that typical Saturday night way, the holidays drawing people back home and filling the local with raucous laughter and warmth you could only find in places like this.
Mila and Sam were there already. They’d commandeered a large table near the back with two other people Chris probably should have recognised, but couldn’t quite place.
“You made it!” Mila leapt up and wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek as he approached. “We’ve been so worried, Chris.”
He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair as Sam approached, slinging an arm around him.
“Good to see you, mate,” Sam said as if no time had passed. As if Chris hadn’t spent months dodging his best friend’s well-intentioned questions and offers to meet up. “You remember Charlie, my flatmate?”
Now that he’d said it, he did recognise Charlie. He nodded towards him.
“This is his boyfriend, Alex.”
Chris smiled at them all in turn. “You both Cardiff Uni, then?”
Charlie, a blonde hulk of a man in a jumper that barely contained his broad chest, said, “Yeah, engineering with Sam.”
Alex opened his mouth to say something, but Charlie spoke over him. “Alex is at Royal Welsh, doing musical theatre.” The tone of his voice sent something prickling up Chris’s neck, but he slid in next to them, ignoring it.
“Cool,” Chris replied.
“Are you studying as well?” Alex asked softly.
Chris shook his head. “I was doing environmental science, but I left partway through.”
Alex nodded. Charlie scoffed.
Mila, seeming to sense the tension, leaned against Chris, whispering in his ear. “Alright, Green?” She held him close against her for a moment.
“This is nice,” he mumbled into her hair. It was nice, even with Charlie kind of killing the vibe, but he was mortified to find that his eyes were starting to sting with unshed tears.
“Did you really do it?” Charlie asked with the tact of, well, someone with zero tact. His boyfriend nudged him. The side conversations the others had been having stopped dead.
Chris swallowed. “No. I didn’t take anything for the Olympics.”
He could tell they didn’t believe him. Why would they?
Nothing official had come of Carl’s submission yet.
He didn’t think they’d know for another few months.
It had been widely reported that he’d had an adverse finding, and that he hadn’t challenged it as far as anyone new, which was as good as an admission of guilt to most.
Mila looked at him as the others resumed their conversations around them. “For the Olympics, Chris?” she asked softly.
Ah, so she’d caught that.
He shrugged and took a big gulp of the pint Sam had placed in front of him after his brief trip to the bar.
Mila sighed. “Okay. It doesn’t matter to us.
You know that, right? We were never hanging out with you because of your running prowess.
” She smiled softly. “And if anyone gives you shit, you just send them my way.”
“Wanna take on my brother, then?”
Sam’s head snapped up. “Nick’s in town?”
“Just for Christmas break.”
“That’s what finally got you to leave the house, then?”
Chris laughed. “Obviously.”
“What have you even been doing there all this time?” Alex asked.
Chris shrugged. “You know, stuff.”
Alex chuckled. “Porn and videogames, I’d bet.”
They all laughed when Chris ducked his head, flushing red from his neck to the roots of his hair.
“Fuck.” Alex smiled. “Maybe I should become a disgraced Olympian. That’s the life.”
“That’s basically what you do anyway,” Charlie snarked at his boyfriend, whose grin fell away.
The pair fell into what seemed like an old argument about rehearsals and lines, but Chris barely registered it, he was stuck on that word. Disgraced. Because that was what he was now, what he would always be. It must have shown on his face, because Mila inched closer, protective as ever.
Alex clocked it. “Fuck, I was joking. I didn’t mean…”
“You’re fine,” Chris replied. “And you’re not wrong. It could definitely be worse.”
It could not be worse.