7. Chris #3
His brother had only been home for four days, it wasn’t even Christmas yet, and in that time he’d managed to not only completely take over the living space that Chris had really been getting used to calling his own, but he was also treating Chris like he was a pariah, going quiet whenever he entered a room as though it weren’t obvious he’d been talking about him, and making little digs at everything he did, both in front of their parents and when they were alone.
“You going out again?” Nick asked as Chris pulled a windbreaker out of their shared closet.
“Yep.”
“Running?”
Chris arched a brow at his brother. That should have been obvious from what he was wearing alone.
“Fair. Just Mum made it sound like you never left the house but I’ve barely seen you since I’ve been here… You’re not like going out to meet your dealer or anything right? Cause that would break her heart.”
Chris turned. “My dealer? What, like I’m some kind of junkie now?”
Nick stared him down, chin jutted out as if daring him to disagree.
“First of all, that’s not how performance enhancing drugs work, like, at all. It’s not heroin; you don’t have some shady back-alley dealer. It isn’t illegal to take PEDs, it’s just against competition bylaws.”
“You seem to know a lot about it for someone Mum and Dad insist didn’t do it.”
Chris’s vision blurred. “You’d know more about it if you were even close to being professional calibre at anything.”
“Fuck you, Chris.”
“Why are you even here, Nick? You made it pretty clear you weren’t interested in supporting me. Things were fine, nobody needed you swanning in to tell us how to live our lives.”
“I’m allowed to come home. It’s Christmas; I don’t need your permission.”
“And I’m allowed to put myself as far away from you as possible when you do,” Chris replied with finality, leaving the room. He laced his trainers quickly and got out the door into the brisk December air.
He started a slow jog down the street, still thinking up new comebacks that he wished he’d used in the moment, trying to figure out how they’d become such strangers to each other.
He started a workout on his watch and picked up his pace, letting the familiar feel of the pavement under his feet take over his thoughts.
Running had always been his bliss. The special place where nothing could reach him.
Every significant moment in his life could be traced back to a decision made on a long run.
Coming out to his parents, his first breakup, choosing his course, and then later dropping out of uni.
Sure, not all of them had been good decisions, but they’d been measured, thought out so completely that he’d been certain of his choices.
Maybe that was what had been missing these past few months.
He’d been flailing, drowning himself in Quick and the easy endorphin rush he brought instead of thinking things through.
Even before though, trusting Carl Owens, trusting the team of people dedicated to making him an Olympian.
Somewhere along the way he’d lost his agency, let people make decisions for him.
Yet here he was, putting his career in Carl’s hands again.
Well, Carl’s and his obnoxiously attractive nephew’s hands.
It still didn’t feel right, but what was the alternative? Four years out of action?
Chris slowed to a walk, the enthusiasm from the start of his run completely gone.
In the past, this never would have happened to him.
Since he was a child, he’d been able to run for hours on end, only willing to stop and go inside when his muscles protested and his lungs failed him.
Now though, it was tainted. Everything was tainted, and nothing excited him anymore. Well, almost nothing.
Chris pulled his phone out of the pocket of his windbreaker and swiped away from the embarrassing evidence of his earlier email to Isaiah Owens going unread.
He opened the cam app. He only subscribed to one profile, though he bypassed the most recent upload, wanting to save it for when he had some private time, and went straight to his messages.
With Nick constantly in his face, he hadn’t had even a moment to quietly check his DMs, and now he saw three messages from Quick waiting for him.
Anger bubbled up in his chest at his brother for making him miss them.
It was nothing life-changing, just a simple question of whether he’d be interested in another private show.
Which, of fucking course he was. He replied affirmatively and the little icon next to Quick’s name showed he came online.
The idea that he was there, on the other end of the screen, seeing Chris’s message was enticing and strangely grounding.
Like after months of watching him, speaking to him one-on-one had solidified Quick as more than just a picture or a video—he was a real person.
One who was smart and funny and sexy as hell.
One Chris wished he could know for real.
Despite everything screaming at him that it was stupid, for some reason Quick felt like someone he could trust, someone who would understand him without judgement. And god knew he needed that these days.
Flash23
Hey, sorry. I’d love another show if you’re available.
Quick
Flash! Thought you’d ghosted me
Flash23
Never
Quick
Missed you on my live yesterday
Flash23
You noticed?
Quick
Of course I did
Chris stopped walking, sitting on a park bench in the freezing cold and grinning at his phone like a fucking idiot.
Flash23
My brother’s visiting, we’re sharing a room.
Quick
Ah, not the right atmosphere to watch your favourite cam show?
Not that I’m saying I’m your favourite. Sorry, that sounded so cocky.
Chris grinned at the screen.
Flash23
Hey Quick
You’re my favourite.
The emoji Chris got in return did more for his heart rate than his pathetic attempt at a run had.
Flash23
Fuck I want to see you.
Quick
I’ve got another live tomorrow. Christmas special.
Flash23
No, I mean like, just us. And my brother’ll still be around tomorrow. He’s here until Boxing Day.
Quick
Tuesday? For a private?
Flash23
Yes
Fuck yes, can’t wait.
Quick
Something to tide you over…
A message came through, a photo that Chris quickly opened.
In it, Quick was biting his lip. He wasn’t wearing a mask but had a cap pulled down over his eyes and long strands of his now-fading pink hair drifting across his nose.
He was shirtless, with one hand resting gently on his collarbone and the other palming the outline of his hard cock over a pair of low-slung white joggers.
Chris felt himself chubbing up almost immediately. There was no way he was going to be running back if he kept looking at that picture, because he knew exactly what was underneath, and he wanted it so much it almost hurt.
This wasn’t normal. He wasn’t even thinking of finding someone to hook up with, or worrying about his future, or thinking of anything beyond how much he wanted to see more of Quick.
Flash23
You’re killing me
Quick
Ah what a way to go though, right?
Tuesday couldn’t come soon enough.