Chapter 33 Stefan
Stefan
February
Stockholm, Sweden
Aday spent alternating between practice and exploring has me yawning by the time I open my room's door. It's a good tired, a worn-out tired that doesn't quite hit fatigue. Where I should be, four days before the most important skate of my life.
Well—second most important, maybe. It's the free skate I'm really concerned about. But this time, I'm going to crush it. I have to.
The Stockholm Olympic village, much like the last Olympic village I stayed in, is decidedly fine.
The rooms are far from luxurious, but they're serviceable. As before, the beds are twins, wholly unsuited for the amount of fucking happening. But that’s ok, because we've moved ours, cramming them together into one big bed that completely takes up one of the room's two sectioned-off areas.
A lump takes up one side of the combined beds when I turn the corner into it. Beautiful deep brown eyes open and look at me. "How was practice?" His voice is a little slurred. I must have woken him up.
"Good," I answer, sitting down to take off my shoes, then shrugging out of my coat. "Landed a quint clean and drove the media crazy. How are you feeling?"
His smile is dazzling, as it always is. "Did this practice have tickets?"
"Oh yeah, and the audience went feral. It was great. Took them a minute though. I don't think they realized what I was doing until later."
He yawns as he nods. "There comes a point when it's just spinning too fast."
Now my outerwear is off, I slide onto the bed next to Evan. He pushes the blanket down enough to free an arm, wrapping it around me. "Well, in about six days' time, I'm going to spin too fast again and land that one, too," I say, leaning in for a light kiss.
"You absolutely are, baby." His nose touches mine, and he's so warm. "You're cold," he murmurs. He replaces his nose with a kiss, pulling me in closer with the arm around me. After another kiss on my forehead, then both of my cheekbones, he reaches my mouth.
When he rises for air, I reach up, cupping his cheek to hold him close. "Did you have a good nap? How's your hip?"
In answer, he rolls over, tangling us both in the blankets as he straddles me. His lips meet mine again. And this time I surrender completely to him. A moment later, his tongue is deep in my mouth, and I am moaning.
That's all it takes, every fucking time. I'm so easy when it comes to Evan.
Knowing this, he takes full advantage of my condition.
His hand works its way between us, finding my already rock-hard cock through my pants.
He squeezes, and I moan again. He's not trying to get me off.
Not yet. Just driving me crazy. His strokes are rough, unevenly timed, as he kisses my brains out.
The next time he lets me up for air, I have no words. Only his name, repeating over and over and over in my head. On my lips. A desperate plea. "Evan. Evan, please."
He loves it when I beg. He won’t admit it, but Evan has gotten every bit as into power play as I am. The growl he lets out is proof of that.
“What do you want?” he breathes into my ear, making me squirm.
We're still learning each other, still finding new ways to make each other crazy, but that question is a constant.
Almost a ritual. But he's every bit as likely to ignore my answer if I ask to come. It’s just another chance to make me beg for release.
And the more I do, the less likely he is to let me.
He’s an asshole, and a sex god, that way.
“You. I want you, inside me. Pound me until I come.” Graphic is more likely to get me what I want. If I can turn him on too much to wait, I win.
But his hand keeps rubbing me through my sweatpants, enough friction to keep me desperate, but without the rhythm that would give me a chance to come. The mouth at my ear nips at my earlobe, then licks a circle around the outer edge, before he bites again. Much harder.
Hard enough that I buck up, barely able to contain the scream as a riot of conflicting, overpowering sensations overtakes me. These walls are very thin. “Are you sure?” His voice is as calm as I am suddenly out of control. “We have all night. Are you sure you want me to dive right in?”
“I don’t know.” I’m all but thrashing now, trying to be closer to him. I’d dive inside his chest, if I could. Or pull him into my own. It’s stupid how quickly he can turn me into a blubbering mess. “I want you, Evan.”
His head tilts, and he’s kissing me again.
A softer kiss, this time, easing me back from the edge.
His tongue explores my mouth leisurely, as if he hasn’t already tasted every inch of it hundreds of times.
The pressure of his hand on my cock lightens as well, so I’m arching into him more than he’s pushing back.
“Maybe you should get undressed, then.” It’s a murmur into my mouth, barely a suggestion, but I’m more than happy to comply.
“Yes. Please.” He lets go, dark eyes filled with lust. He tracks me as I roll out of the blankets, then shrug out of my Team America sweatshirt and undershirt.
A small smile curves his lips. The look of a man who’s perfectly content with his lot in life.
And in this moment, I think, despite everything, he is.
He’s back on the ice, if not pushing himself hard.
His doctors don’t think he’ll be doing anything that puts too much pressure on his pelvis for at least another six months.
No spins. No jumps. No quick turns on deep edges.
But he’s been cleared for most other activities.
As long as he pays attention to the still-healing muscles in his hips. Takes it easy.
It’s hard for any competitive athlete to "take it easy," even when they’re not planning to compete again, but he’s done his best. School helps.
He’ll graduate in a few months, and then he’ll be free to do whatever he wants. I have some ideas about that, but haven’t brought it up yet. Tonight, though, might be the night.
Evan’s still watching me, and the smile has grown a bit as his eyes rake over my chest. So I slow, pulling down my sweatpants a bit more suggestively.
When that smile grows wider, I hook a finger in my boxer briefs, but he stops me, kneeling up on the bed, blankets pooling around his own perfectly formed naked chest. Injury hasn’t softened him, not my Evan.
If anything, his muscles are harder than they used to be.
He spends a ridiculous amount of time in the gym, strengthening his body.
Growing muscles that he'd be avoiding if he were still jumping.
His own finger slides into my waistband, and he pulls me closer, until I’m inches away, our mouths almost touching again. “Let me.”
“Ok.” With anyone else, I’d be uncomfortable. Too eager, too willing. Too desperate for anything he is willing to hand out. With Evan? Nothing but loved. Accepted. Perfect.
His hands slide down my hips slowly, taking my underwear with them, bearing my body.
He pushes them down my thighs, then over my knees, until they fall the rest of the way to the ground on their own.
His hands wrap around my hips as he urges me even closer, until my legs are pressed into the mattress, body angled toward him.
One hand glides around my waist, all sensuous grace, cupping my ass. He angles his head up, and I answer his unspoken command. Our mouths meet, and he sighs into me, as happy as I am to be here.
I’m no less hard, but the brief reprieve has given me control again, so I use it to kiss him back, giving as well as taking.
My own hands track down his chest, one wrapping around his waist while the other takes hold of his cock firmly, tugging it a couple times.
I won’t do much more without lube, which I'm sure he's hidden around here somewhere.
He's too sensitive. It’s still enough to make Evan smile into my mouth, melting into me as much as I am him.
Then he’s taking control again, hands on my shoulders, pushing me down, off the edge of the mattress. “How about this?” His voice is rough, just a bit desperate. Exactly how I feel.
“Yes. Please.” I didn’t know I needed it, but I’m suddenly desperate to taste him, to take him into my mouth and make him as blissfully happy as he always makes me.
I sink the rest of the way to my knees, and he adjusts his position until he’s sitting in front of me, legs to either side, bobbing a few tantalizing inches away from my mouth.
I wait, not taking him in yet, letting him adjust himself.
It’s a combination of caution and handing him control.
Giving him time to get comfortable with a messed up hip and knee has the fortunate side effect of making me even hotter.
I’ve learned that I love to wait for him.
That nothing is better than the sound of him giving me the go ahead.
He waits longer than he needs to, and my belly clenches, my own cock jerking when I realize it. “Hands behind your back,” he murmurs, and I hasten to comply, all but panting with the desperate need to take him in my mouth. To let him fuck my mouth, the way I love.
Another agonizing wait as he regards me, his eyes hot, that little smile never leaving his lips. “Do you want this?”
“Yes!” I’ve never been more sure about anything. Every time he asks, that combination of ensuring consent and forcing me to wait even longer does ridiculous things to my insides. It’s foreplay of the most maddening kind.
His fingers touch my chin, then my cheek, before he leans forward, wincing a bit, but continues until our lips brush again.
I give him the kiss, and his lips are so soft against mine, while his hand cups the back of my head, fingers pulling in my hair.
The contrast of his soft mouth and firm hand has me squirming again, and his light chuckle into my mouth is all the reward I could ever want.
“Ok, then,” he says, lifting his head, pressing me down with the hand on my head.