FICLET : Glory Days : Swimmer Slash : R (Lochte/??)
Glory Days
::Ryan Lochte/??, Swim Slash, ("very dirty") R, unbeta'ed
A/N: Because Valentine's Day was Saturday during the Grand Prix and obviously I'm twisted in some deep-seated, fundamental way. And, bathroom smut. Maybe I should make a freakin' tag for all my bathroom smut.
"Glory Days"
It is just a hole.
Like, not too small or anything. Not like a peephole, or a fingerhole or a keyhole. Bigger than that.
Ryan sits down on the lid of the toilet and puts his eye to it. There is nobody in the next stall so it isn’t like he’s, you know, being a perv. Not much to see when a dude’s taking a dump anyway. His cheekbone, eyebrow, and nose are pressed to the wall to look but seriously, there’s nothing going on on the other side. Just another wall, another door, and if he crams his face close enough-which kinda hurts his nose-another white toilet.
He sits back against the cold of the metal flush and looks at the hole, chewing on his bottom lip. It isn’t like it’s close enough to the toilet that you could stare at a dude’s junk while he is doing his business; it’s aimed a little too high for that. He doesn’t get why anyone would want to just stare at guy’s junk when bathroom functions are involved. Because it wouldn’t be, you know, doing anything.
Ryan’s nose wrinkles up with the thought. Missouri was just... weird.
Well he sure as hell isn’t going to cop a squat with a hole in the wall, no matter how high it is. No matter if no one is in the other stall just now or not because someone could totally come in when he was in the middle of things and that sort of thing is so not the sort of thing that you stop in the middle of. He’s pretty sure that he read something somewhere about how that’s really bad for you and can like, make your intestines explode.
So.
He gets up and reaches for the stall door, but the main door squeaks open and Ryan stops. It’s one of those things, you know. It’s just kinda weird to pass stalls with a dude. Like, yeah, I just laid one out. It was pretty good. Good luck and sorry about the smell. So he waits to see what’s up and as it turns out, the guy does go to the stall next door. There’s a movement of blue warmups through that hole and fuck, yeah so what? Ryan looks. Just glances, really. Shit. It’s like having a button and being told not to press the button. And it’s not like he can tell who it is because there’s a lot of blue pants floating around the meet, like every other dude out there.
Ryan puts his hand on the latch because he’s gonna leave. No reason to stick around.
He looks back at the hole.
It’s not like he can see anything. But there’s this little voice that’s telling him to look anyway because it’s all there and doable and seriously, how is he not supposed to look?
Ryan’s fingers slide off the latch and he backs up the two steps and sits down on the toilet again. He’s really on the wrong side of the hole to see anything but if he just like, stood in front of it things are totally gonna look suspicious. He scratches at his knee and wonders if he should wait until the guy gets situated but like, when’s that going to be? When is he gonna be suitably distracted enough not to notice a big hairy eye looking at his... big... hairy... eye.
Wow. This is possibly worst idea ever. Worse than, like, that time when he made a speedo out of Fruit Rollups-he’ll really never be same again, but as least his junk occasionally smells like cherry lemonade. Either way, what he’s gonna do now is get up, unlatch the door and...
Holy shit.
Holy, holy shit that’s a dick.
There is a dick in the hole.
Dude.
It’s just there, poked a good couple inches into Ryan’s stall like it’s just chillin’ out, happy to be hanging, got all day. He looks at the other wall (just to check he isn’t like, being flanked or some shit) but there isn’t even a hole in that side. No shoes under the partition, either. No. It’s just him and the dick. Ho boy.
He breathes out slow through his mouth so it’s not noisy and turns back. There are toes of sneakers along with the dick, edging into his stall. They’re boring grey Addias but Ryan doesn’t recognize them any more than he recognizes the blue pull-away pants. Or any more than he recognizes the dick.
Haha, right? But it’s true. It’s a perfectly nice dick, all uncut with smooth skin and a little bit of flushed tip peeking out and really it’s pretty good and thick but it’s in his stall. Ryan bites at his lower lip and leans forward a little bit. Maybe the other person... Is he supposed to...
Oh.
Dude, no way! He doesn’t know who the hell is on the other side of that stall so he’s not just gonna like drop to his knees in a public bathroom and give it the old one-two. So not gonna happen, buddy, sorry.
Ryan rubs the bottom of his shorts between a finger and thumb. He should totally swallow the spit on his tongue and leave the damn stall before he gets a mean case of herpes or shingles or whatever the hell else a strange dick in a strange Missouri bathroom can give him.
He taps fingers against his thighs. It is like, you know, a really good-looking dick. And it seems clean, anyway. Looks clean. It would be pretty mean of a swimmer to go and stick a dirty dick through a hole in the wall and ask a guy to suck it. Ryan wets his lips. It’s so like telling him not to push the button. He wants to push the button. Push it.
His fingertips settle on the wall to either side of the dick as he leans forward to check it out. When he gets close enough that he’s breathing on it it twitches a bit and there’s a loud enough breath from the other side of the wall that Ryan can hear it. It kicks his pulse up a little. And down lower, his own dick starts to pay attention, like, hey, maybe he wants to play too.
Shit. Might as well go for it.
Ryan takes a deep breath and then opens his mouth and slides it down around the dick. It’s warm and twitches against his teeth and he can feel the throb of a pulse against his tongue. It tastes like chlorine and soap and that’s cool, can’t complain about that. And really can’t complain about the broken, choke of a moan that floats under the partition as he covers his teeth with his lips and bobs up and then back down until his nose is mashed against wall and the salty tip of the dick is pushing near the back of his throat.
The wall shakes with a little rattle and what Ryan guesses is the person on the other side making a failed pass at his tonsils. Sorry, dude, that’s the price you pay for sticking your dick through a hole. He pulls back, off, and flicks the tip with his tongue. Wraps fingers around the hard heat and rolls the skin back enough to get all the whole head. There’s a quiet, breathy sound and Ryan drops his other hand down into his own pants because, shit. He’s hard and if one of them’s gonna get off, both of them are.
He’s more worried about his nose than being neat and things get a little sloppy as Ryan goes back down on the guy. Good thing they’re like, in a bathroom cause, yeah. Less clean up. He tugs at his own dick as he sucks, and the saliva makes it loud and dirty and each time he pulls his face away he’s pulling his hand up until he’s just about lost all sort of pace on both. His balls crawl up, hot and tight and he can’t breathe and so he yanks his mouth off, sucking in air and tugging himself like he’s gonna die. He might. He might die because he’s sucking some guy’s dick in a public bathroom and it’s so fucked up and so damn hot that he’s gasping and coming in his shorts like a thirteen year-old.
Air hisses out from between Ryan’s teeth and there’s a grunt from the other side of the wall; something splatters on his cheek and he jerks back but not fast enough to miss another shot across the bridge of his nose, warm and thick and sliding slowly down toward the corner of his mouth. He makes a noise that’s sorta ew and sorta fuck and drops his hand off the dick to fall back against the other wall. He hadn’t realized that he’d actually slid all the way off the toilet and into a crouch.
Anyway, bigger problems. You know. Like come on his face.
Ryan shoves out of the stall and makes for the row of sinks, flipping on the hot water and thanking God that they aren’t the stupid facuets that you have to like, push, and only get two seconds of water before having to push again. He shoves his hands under the hard, hot gush and rubs them clean before cupping water and bending down to splash it on his face. He does it a couple times until the hair around his forehead is dripping and he thinks that he’s got it all. He looks up, water running down his throat and making the collar of his tshirt wet.
Marco Loughran is standing against the wall, arms over his chest and a smile half-cocking his lips to the right. Ryan glances down even though he knows what’s what and, yup. Navy pull-aways. Grey Addias. Okay. So he just got a load of Marco in the eye. Ryan jerks his chin up in a nod. “Uh. Hey.” Because polite conversation shouldn’t be like, thrown out the window just because jizz is involved.
Marco laughs and leans off the wall. When he gets to Ryan he stops and reaches up, dragging the pad of his thumb around the corner of Ryan’s nose. “Nice shoes.” And that’s it. Marco just drops his hand, flashes a smile that kinda makes Ryan’s dick forget it’s really pretty tired, and walks away.
Ryan looks down at his shoes. They’re his Kedds with the red and blue stars.
::Ryan Lochte/??, Swim Slash, ("very dirty") R, unbeta'ed
A/N: Because Valentine's Day was Saturday during the Grand Prix and obviously I'm twisted in some deep-seated, fundamental way. And, bathroom smut. Maybe I should make a freakin' tag for all my bathroom smut.
"Glory Days"
It is just a hole.
Like, not too small or anything. Not like a peephole, or a fingerhole or a keyhole. Bigger than that.
Ryan sits down on the lid of the toilet and puts his eye to it. There is nobody in the next stall so it isn’t like he’s, you know, being a perv. Not much to see when a dude’s taking a dump anyway. His cheekbone, eyebrow, and nose are pressed to the wall to look but seriously, there’s nothing going on on the other side. Just another wall, another door, and if he crams his face close enough-which kinda hurts his nose-another white toilet.
He sits back against the cold of the metal flush and looks at the hole, chewing on his bottom lip. It isn’t like it’s close enough to the toilet that you could stare at a dude’s junk while he is doing his business; it’s aimed a little too high for that. He doesn’t get why anyone would want to just stare at guy’s junk when bathroom functions are involved. Because it wouldn’t be, you know, doing anything.
Ryan’s nose wrinkles up with the thought. Missouri was just... weird.
Well he sure as hell isn’t going to cop a squat with a hole in the wall, no matter how high it is. No matter if no one is in the other stall just now or not because someone could totally come in when he was in the middle of things and that sort of thing is so not the sort of thing that you stop in the middle of. He’s pretty sure that he read something somewhere about how that’s really bad for you and can like, make your intestines explode.
So.
He gets up and reaches for the stall door, but the main door squeaks open and Ryan stops. It’s one of those things, you know. It’s just kinda weird to pass stalls with a dude. Like, yeah, I just laid one out. It was pretty good. Good luck and sorry about the smell. So he waits to see what’s up and as it turns out, the guy does go to the stall next door. There’s a movement of blue warmups through that hole and fuck, yeah so what? Ryan looks. Just glances, really. Shit. It’s like having a button and being told not to press the button. And it’s not like he can tell who it is because there’s a lot of blue pants floating around the meet, like every other dude out there.
Ryan puts his hand on the latch because he’s gonna leave. No reason to stick around.
He looks back at the hole.
It’s not like he can see anything. But there’s this little voice that’s telling him to look anyway because it’s all there and doable and seriously, how is he not supposed to look?
Ryan’s fingers slide off the latch and he backs up the two steps and sits down on the toilet again. He’s really on the wrong side of the hole to see anything but if he just like, stood in front of it things are totally gonna look suspicious. He scratches at his knee and wonders if he should wait until the guy gets situated but like, when’s that going to be? When is he gonna be suitably distracted enough not to notice a big hairy eye looking at his... big... hairy... eye.
Wow. This is possibly worst idea ever. Worse than, like, that time when he made a speedo out of Fruit Rollups-he’ll really never be same again, but as least his junk occasionally smells like cherry lemonade. Either way, what he’s gonna do now is get up, unlatch the door and...
Holy shit.
Holy, holy shit that’s a dick.
There is a dick in the hole.
Dude.
It’s just there, poked a good couple inches into Ryan’s stall like it’s just chillin’ out, happy to be hanging, got all day. He looks at the other wall (just to check he isn’t like, being flanked or some shit) but there isn’t even a hole in that side. No shoes under the partition, either. No. It’s just him and the dick. Ho boy.
He breathes out slow through his mouth so it’s not noisy and turns back. There are toes of sneakers along with the dick, edging into his stall. They’re boring grey Addias but Ryan doesn’t recognize them any more than he recognizes the blue pull-away pants. Or any more than he recognizes the dick.
Haha, right? But it’s true. It’s a perfectly nice dick, all uncut with smooth skin and a little bit of flushed tip peeking out and really it’s pretty good and thick but it’s in his stall. Ryan bites at his lower lip and leans forward a little bit. Maybe the other person... Is he supposed to...
Oh.
Dude, no way! He doesn’t know who the hell is on the other side of that stall so he’s not just gonna like drop to his knees in a public bathroom and give it the old one-two. So not gonna happen, buddy, sorry.
Ryan rubs the bottom of his shorts between a finger and thumb. He should totally swallow the spit on his tongue and leave the damn stall before he gets a mean case of herpes or shingles or whatever the hell else a strange dick in a strange Missouri bathroom can give him.
He taps fingers against his thighs. It is like, you know, a really good-looking dick. And it seems clean, anyway. Looks clean. It would be pretty mean of a swimmer to go and stick a dirty dick through a hole in the wall and ask a guy to suck it. Ryan wets his lips. It’s so like telling him not to push the button. He wants to push the button. Push it.
His fingertips settle on the wall to either side of the dick as he leans forward to check it out. When he gets close enough that he’s breathing on it it twitches a bit and there’s a loud enough breath from the other side of the wall that Ryan can hear it. It kicks his pulse up a little. And down lower, his own dick starts to pay attention, like, hey, maybe he wants to play too.
Shit. Might as well go for it.
Ryan takes a deep breath and then opens his mouth and slides it down around the dick. It’s warm and twitches against his teeth and he can feel the throb of a pulse against his tongue. It tastes like chlorine and soap and that’s cool, can’t complain about that. And really can’t complain about the broken, choke of a moan that floats under the partition as he covers his teeth with his lips and bobs up and then back down until his nose is mashed against wall and the salty tip of the dick is pushing near the back of his throat.
The wall shakes with a little rattle and what Ryan guesses is the person on the other side making a failed pass at his tonsils. Sorry, dude, that’s the price you pay for sticking your dick through a hole. He pulls back, off, and flicks the tip with his tongue. Wraps fingers around the hard heat and rolls the skin back enough to get all the whole head. There’s a quiet, breathy sound and Ryan drops his other hand down into his own pants because, shit. He’s hard and if one of them’s gonna get off, both of them are.
He’s more worried about his nose than being neat and things get a little sloppy as Ryan goes back down on the guy. Good thing they’re like, in a bathroom cause, yeah. Less clean up. He tugs at his own dick as he sucks, and the saliva makes it loud and dirty and each time he pulls his face away he’s pulling his hand up until he’s just about lost all sort of pace on both. His balls crawl up, hot and tight and he can’t breathe and so he yanks his mouth off, sucking in air and tugging himself like he’s gonna die. He might. He might die because he’s sucking some guy’s dick in a public bathroom and it’s so fucked up and so damn hot that he’s gasping and coming in his shorts like a thirteen year-old.
Air hisses out from between Ryan’s teeth and there’s a grunt from the other side of the wall; something splatters on his cheek and he jerks back but not fast enough to miss another shot across the bridge of his nose, warm and thick and sliding slowly down toward the corner of his mouth. He makes a noise that’s sorta ew and sorta fuck and drops his hand off the dick to fall back against the other wall. He hadn’t realized that he’d actually slid all the way off the toilet and into a crouch.
Anyway, bigger problems. You know. Like come on his face.
Ryan shoves out of the stall and makes for the row of sinks, flipping on the hot water and thanking God that they aren’t the stupid facuets that you have to like, push, and only get two seconds of water before having to push again. He shoves his hands under the hard, hot gush and rubs them clean before cupping water and bending down to splash it on his face. He does it a couple times until the hair around his forehead is dripping and he thinks that he’s got it all. He looks up, water running down his throat and making the collar of his tshirt wet.
Marco Loughran is standing against the wall, arms over his chest and a smile half-cocking his lips to the right. Ryan glances down even though he knows what’s what and, yup. Navy pull-aways. Grey Addias. Okay. So he just got a load of Marco in the eye. Ryan jerks his chin up in a nod. “Uh. Hey.” Because polite conversation shouldn’t be like, thrown out the window just because jizz is involved.
Marco laughs and leans off the wall. When he gets to Ryan he stops and reaches up, dragging the pad of his thumb around the corner of Ryan’s nose. “Nice shoes.” And that’s it. Marco just drops his hand, flashes a smile that kinda makes Ryan’s dick forget it’s really pretty tired, and walks away.
Ryan looks down at his shoes. They’re his Kedds with the red and blue stars.