11. Chris
Chris
January, Cardiff
The registrar’s office had already replied.
He’d barely had the weekend to consider whether this was even the right choice.
The shocking efficiency was not something he remembered from the nearly two years he’d spent at uni.
Chris twisted his left hand in his duvet as he read the email.
It was good news, but it felt like a massive leap of faith.
We are pleased to confirm that you are eligible to re-enrol to complete your BSc in Environmental Science. Prior credits will be recognised. Flexible remote study options are available…
Seeing the words in black and white made the decision feel so much more real.
Back when he’d first stepped away, it had felt like simple maths, like strategy. Training was going well, mileage climbing, long runs stacking up without his body falling apart. Carl had been there with his calm voice, talking about longevity and windows.
So, Chris had chosen running. Chosen altitude camps and double days and a life where weeks were measured in kilometres, not lectures.
He’d told himself uni would still be there when he was more settled, when he’d made a name for himself.
His body had become a project, a resource to manage, and he hadn’t managed it the way he should have.
He let his head fall back on his pillow.
Remote study.
No walking into lecture halls where someone might whisper his name. No phones out. Just modules. Deadlines. Something to fill his days that wasn’t “wait out a ban and try not to unravel.”
His chest tightened. His brain had been splits, fuelling plans, and threshold paces for so long that studying again sounded terrifying.
His eyes drifted to the other tab open on his screen. The one he never even bothered to close anymore.
Quick’s page.
LIVE IN 17 MINUTES
A small, warm pull settled low in his stomach. Quick would tell him to do it. The man loved learning, no matter how much he tried to hide it sometimes and be the flirty twink he looked like, he was clearly an academic at heart.
He shouldn’t care this much, but Quick’s approval, the thought that he might be proud of Chris—or rather, of Flash—warmed something deep inside him.
With Quick, he wasn’t a headline.
Chris dragged his focus back to the email.
To accept your place, please complete registration and module selection via the student portal.
He clicked.
The portal loaded, familiar and clunky.
A module list appeared on the screen.
His pulse started to climb. In his mind, clicking meant accepting that running might not come back the way he needed it to.
That even if it did, the sponsorships from before might not be there waiting.
He loved environmental science, had enjoyed his course the first time around.
It spoke to a part of him that longed for the outdoors.
But right now, looking at that list, all it represented was a backup plan he desperately needed.
The thought of why sent his mood spiralling.
He hovered over the first checkbox.
LIVE IN 12 MINUTES
He didn’t want to miss the start. Quick always began slow, with that quiet hello like he was talking to someone specific. Chris liked to let himself pretend it was him.
He clicked all the required classes. Didn’t check schedules. Didn’t read course outlines. Just tick, tick, tick.
Full-time or part-time?
Full-time sounded serious. Maybe too serious.
LIVE IN 7 MINUTES
His heart thudded, jittery as a start line.
“Fuck it.”
Full-time.
Submit.
The confirmation page flashed up.
Registration complete: Christopher Green.
He closed the portal quickly, then flicked over to Quick’s stream, breath catching as though he’d been running at race pace instead of clicking a few buttons. He was just in time to watch Quick make good use of a glass cock ring, which felt like an evening well spent.
“Hey, sexy.” Quick’s soft smile as he greeted Chris sent his heart rate soaring. Finally, another private show, and a chance to tell Quick his news.
“Hey, Quick,” he replied, his voice coming out softer and more tender than was appropriate for the situation, but even just hearing that posh accent roll out of those pink lips made him want to melt into a gooey little puddle on his bed.
In other words, Chris was fucked.
“Your race went well, then?” he asked.
A grin split Quick’s face that made him look radiant.
“It was so good. Fuck. Seriously, such a rush, and my friend…” Quick trailed off, a hand coming over his face as if to hide his embarrassment.
“Sorry. I keep wanting to tell you these things about my life but then it would literally take three seconds of googling for you to have my name, address, and known associates.”
“I’m not going to hunt you down, Quick,” Chris replied. “No matter how much I fantasise about meeting you in person, I’m not…” He paused. “I don’t want to ruin the illusion you have of me either.”
Quick’s smile had turned melancholy. “God, we’re pathetic, aren’t we?” He laughed. “You know it’s, like, the first rule of sex work, right?”
“What is?”
“Don’t fall for your clients.”
What was that? Had those words actually just fallen from Quick’s mouth? Chris’s heart was pounding.
“Are you saying you’ve fallen for me?” he asked, unsure what he hoped the answer would be.
Quick swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No,” he replied, and Chris’s eyes watered with disappointment. “But I could. Fuck, Flash, I really could.”
“So where do we go from here?” Chris asked after a long silence.
“You don’t have to keep watching if that makes you uncomfortable.” Quick spoke, well, quickly. “I don’t want to make you feel like I’m forcing something more that isn’t there for you—”
“Quick.” Chris interrupted the speech. “I don’t want to stop.”
They both inhaled, breathing in sync through the screen.
“Wanna try that remote vibrator again?” Quick asked, breaking the strange connection between them.
“Is it still connected?”
“I never removed your access.”
Chris’s cock was onboard even before his head caught up. “Fuck yes,” he replied. He grabbed for his phone, navigating over to the app he’d installed months ago.
Wednesday morning, Chris was awoken by a knock on his door. A brief glance at his phone told him it was well past when he should have been up, but between staying on late with Quick and then staying up even later mulling over his feelings for the man, he’d barely slept.
He rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head like a petulant teenager. “Go away.”
“Chris, there’s a call for you from Carl’s office. You need to get up!” his mum called from the other side of his door.
He grunted, pulling the pillow tighter over his ears.
“We’re coming in,” his mum shouted through the door.
Normally that wouldn’t have done much to get Chris moving, but some dim part of his brain registered, even through the haze of his exhaustion, that he hadn’t done any clean-up after his session with Quick, more focused on sorting out his roiling emotions than cleaning cum off his sheets.
His mum might not have even noticed, but Chris didn’t want anyone to comment, couldn’t stand the thought of having to cheapen what he and Quick had by explaining it.
Fuck, he’d really lost it.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Chris called, rolling himself out of bed and hastily balling up his sheets and shoving his tablet in a drawer.
He checked his phone and saw the three missed calls from Carl’s office.
Looked like they’d lost patience with him and rung his parents.
A smirk tugged at Chris’s lips. Only one person at the office would have the gall to do that.
They hadn’t interacted at all since those last awful emails, but Chris knew without a doubt it would be Isaiah Owens ringing.
His mum burst into the room, waving her phone at him. He took it from her hand as his dad followed behind at a more measured pace
“Hello.” His voice came out rough with sleep.
“Green.” The posh, clipped voice on the other end of the line made a tingle of electricity run through Chris’s body, jerking him into alertness.
“Owens, I presume,” he replied. “Figured it would be you ringing at this ungodly hour.”
“It’s eleven in the morning, Green.”
“Yes.” Chris rolled his eyes.
“Well, look, I was ringing because I have news, but if you’d rather go back to bed…”
“Out with it, Owens.”
A soft laugh came from the other end of the line. “Decision came through this morning. Reduced your competition ban to two years, with six months already complete due to lack of intent.”
Chris breathed out, something heavy falling away from him. “Are you serious? You’re not fucking with me? They’re really reducing it? No tribunal, nothing?”
“They are, Green. Carl and Anders fucking went to bat for you. You owe them.”
Chris swallowed. Isaiah was right.
His dad cut in, taking the phone from his hand and putting it on speaker. Chris had almost forgotten his parents were even in the room. “Will there be any publication of this, something to retract all those things said about him?” he asked.
“Dad.” Chris held up a hand. “I don’t need that.”
“You shouldn’t have to have your name dragged through the mud over this. Those bloody tabloids, sensationalising things.”
Chris smiled. “It’s fine. The athletics world will forget once I’ve served my ban. I don’t need anything more than that.”
“Thank you,” his mum said into the phone, looking like she might sob.
Isaiah’s tone completely changed from the snarky one he used with Chris. “Of course. Glad we could help. It’s important to ensure our athletes get the opportunities they deserve.”
The air seemed to still. Chris knew Isaiah didn’t think he deserved this. Hell, Chris didn’t think he deserved it.
Still.
Chris let his eyes fall shut. “Thank you.”
“You’ll need you to come to London, sign some documents, make some statements.” Isaiah was all business now. “And think about signing with Carl again; he’s a good man. Just keep your nose clean, alright?”