Fic: Hung Up on You, sequel to Feel What It's Like To Be New (Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps)
Title: Hung Up on You
Series: 3rd in the Unconditional Things universe
Pairing: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps RPF
Rating: NC-17/X for sex
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and don't know them. In fact, I just really love it when they swim together and then hug.
Beta/Thanks: Thanks to waterofthemoon for the beta.
Summary: Summary: Keeping a marriage alive long-distance takes effort and plenty of anytime minutes. Follows Unconditional Things and Feel What It's Like To Be New.
Michael’s phone buzzes in his pocket during his business ethics class. He’s got it set to vibrate, and it hums low in his khakis.
He waits until his professor turns around, then pulls the phone out. The screen is glowing blue under the table. One new text message flashes, and he hits a couple buttons to open his mailbox.
i can still taste u - mine
Michael’s breath catches, and he shoves his phone back into his pocket. When the hell did he transport back to eighth grade, hiding his hard-on under the table at class?
The phone vibrates again. He looks at the clock above the whiteboard at the front of the room. There’s only twenty minutes left, and then he has the night off. It’ll wait.
He’s pretty convinced until it vibrates again. Keeping his cell in his pants pocket was a bad idea. Bad. He has the feeling that Ryan knows that, too.
It vibrates again five minutes before class lets out, and he can’t resist. He’s got years of training when it comes to working for what he wants, but when it’s right in front of him, he can’t not just take it.
i cant stop thinking about how u sound when u cum
i want u inside me full to my throat
The second one gets Michael out of his seat. There’s only about three minutes left, so he doesn’t feel too bad darting out of the lecture hall and into the nearest bathroom. He hits speed dial and backs himself into a stall at the same time.
The phone rings twice before Ryan picks up. “What took you so long?”
“You’re the devil.”
“It’s why you love me.”
“I can’t do this now,” Michael hisses. “I’m at school.”
“How long would it take you to get somewhere you can get naked?”
“You can’t even see me.”
“Yeah. But I can still tell. Your voice is hotter when you’re naked. I miss your naked voice.”
“You’re a freak.”
“Yeah, but I’m your freak. I just got home from practice. How long till you can get home?”
“Ten minutes.”
“You don’t have practice tonight, right?”
“No. I did five am and before my four o’clock class.”
“Awesome. Call me back when you get home. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
It’s getting easier to say. Practice, Michael thinks. Practice is helping. Also, the normality of it all. Sometimes, he almost forgets that things have changed.
He gets back to his house in record time and toes off his shoes and tugs off his shirt before he realizes what he’s doing. He’s fishing his phone out of his pocket before it really hits him.
He’s calling Ryan for phone sex at six in the evening. They’ve done it enough times over the years, but he usually tries to talk Ryan out of it.
Not that he doesn’t like phone sex. He does. The filth that comes out of Ryan’s mouth makes him hard enough to hammer nails. But he has to talk, too, and Michael hates the way he sounds, especially on the phone.
It’s like his own tongue is getting in the way of what he’s trying to say. Typically, it leaves him stuttering and unsexy but now-now he’s just thinking about how it’s been too damn long he was close enough to Ryan to smell him.
He flops down on his bed in nothing but his boxers and hits talk. It occurs to him, as the phone rings in his ear, to reach over to his bedside table and pick up his wedding ring. He slides it on and stares at it as he waits for Ryan to answer.
He doesn’t wear it most of the time. It gets in the way of swimming, and he can’t wear it when he’s out of the pool, either, at least not the way it’s meant to be worn. He doesn’t really feel comfortable wearing it on the wrong hand or finger.
So most of the time, it sits on his nightstand. Sometimes, he puts it on before he goes to sleep.
Ryan doesn’t pick up, so he settles the phone on his chest. Ryan’ll call him right back. In the meantime, he tries not to think. He’s not particularly good at it. Once upon a time, that over-thinking was a good thing because it centered on racing.
Right now, he can’t really stop thinking about how big his bed is. Big and empty. The other half of the equation is missing; it pretty much always has been, but before Pan Pacifics, Michael was never this aware of it.
He wants to call his mom and talk to her about it-if it was ever like this with his dad, if this is kind of how she felt when he left-but Ryan isn’t gone, he’s just far away. Michael’s the one who said no, after all. He’s said no over and over again to so many different things. He doesn’t have any place to complain.
And he’s really not complaining when his phone vibrates against his skin.
“Hey.”
“You’re mostly naked, aren’t you?”
Michael laughs. “Mostly?”
Ryan gives a little satisfied noise. “Yep. Mostly.”
“How can you tell that?”
“I’ve got your house wired for sound.”
“Damn. And I left my cone of silence at my mom’s in Baltimore.”
“That sucks. You’re gonna need it.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, Mike. I’ve been thinking about the curve of your dick for the last hour. Seriously, imagining the feel of it pressing against the inside of my cheek. Makes my face ache just thinking about it.”
Michael’s breath hitches and what the hell do you say to that? “Yes.”
“You still breathing?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, good. How’re your hands?”
“What?”
“You’re hands. In the sheets or around your dick?”
“I-” Michael has to lift his head and look because his body isn’t connected right. He can feel things that aren’t there-Ryan’s hands and breath-and he can’t feel things that are, like his own hands and feet. One hand is twisted in his comforter; the other is resting against his dick through the fabric of his boxers.
“Both.”
“Fuck. I could eat you like that. I bet you’re all open and still. I’d start in the middle and work my way out till I’ve got all of you.”
Michael’s hand rubs harder, and he groans. This is nothing; it’s just foreplay. He has to remember that, or he’s going to die before they get to the really fun part.
“I’ve been thinking about you since I climbed in the pool this morning. You taste like chlorine all over all the time. I can’t get through practice without thinking about my tongue all over you.”
Ryan always tastes a little salty. He sweats, which is something Michael only does if he’s doing weights or having sex. Ryan is out in the world in a way that Michael just isn’t, and when they’re together, Michael can taste that on his skin. He opens his mouth to say so, but all that comes out is a groan.
Ryan laughs. “Yeah, I know. I mean, I fucked up my turns all practice ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking me into the side of the pool.”
Ryan lets out a long breath that makes Michael’s skin prickle and makes him slide his hand under the waistband of his boxers to wrap around his dick.
“How would you fuck me, Mike? If I was right there with you, how would you fuck me?”
So many different answers to that, but the only one Michael can think of stutters out of his mouth like a machine gun blast. “D-deep.”
“Yeah? Deep fast or deep slow?”
“Deep and slow.”
“How would you put me to fuck me?”
“On your knees.”
“Yeah?”
Michael’s eyes are shut. Behind his eyelids, he can see Ryan on his elbows and knees, his head on his arms.
“Yeah. I’m on top of you.”
Ryan laughs. “Yeah, you are.”
“Ryan-”
“Chill. It’s good. It’s all good all the fucking time like that. How? How’re you on me?”
“Draped over your back,” Michael says. “I-I’m kissing the back of your neck.”
“Bite me.”
“What?”
“In Canada, you bit me. It was so fucking hot, Mike. Bite me. Right now.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I love it when you do that. ‘Cause it means you don’t care if people know I’m yours. So fucking bite me.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’m biting you.”
“Fuck me.” Ryan gasps, his voice changing a pitch.
“I am.”
“Fuck me hard, Michael, god. Fuck me.”
Michael opens his eyes and sits up. He didn’t catch it earlier because he was too turned on, too hot, but he can hear it now. “Ryan? What are you doing?”
“Fucking myself.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” The word stretches out of Ryan’s mouth an extra three syllables, and he hums a little. “I ordered some stuff online. It got here this morning.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not as long as you.”
“Ryan…”
“Or as thick. But if I twist it-” Ryan’s voice catches. “Fuck, Michael.”
“You’re fucking yourself with a dildo?”
“Y-y-yeah. Yeah. God, I-fuck. Talk to me.”
“What?”
“Talk to me. Fucking just… talk to me.”
“I… I… I love you.” Honestly, he can’t think of anything else. His brain’s empty of everything but the image of Ryan on his bed, knees bent, fucking himself, and the fact that Michael loves him.
“More.”
“And…” He’s still hard and turned on, but he’s not really jerking himself anymore. Somewhere in there, it shifted focus and became about Ryan trying to get to where he needs to be. Michael understands not wanting to get there alone. “And I’m wearing my ring. I’m imagining that it’s my fingers inside you. You’re hot as hell, Ryan.”
“God, Michael.”
“You’re beautiful,” Michael says. It’s a lame thing to say, something guys say to chicks they want to fuck, but in his head, Ryan is beautiful. He’s beautiful in reality, too, but somehow, it’s easier to say when he doesn’t have to look him in the face.
Ryan makes a sound like there’s broken glass in his throat. He doesn’t feel like such an idiot now. He feels almost cool, like for once, he’s said the right thing.
In between Ryan’s panting breaths, Michael hear a slick sucking sound as Ryan pumps the toy in and out of himself. It makes him ache, and he wraps his hand around himself again, stroking harder and faster, trying to match the quiet rhythm.
“You’re mine, Ryan,” Michael pants as he slides his hand up and down on his cock. It’s not hot or wet enough. He can’t convince himself that his fingers are Ryan’s ass or mouth or even his hands, but it feels good, and Ryan is whimpering in his ear and moaning like the nastiest porn star Michael’s ever seen. If he closes his eyes, he can at least pretend they’re in the same room.
“Say it,” Ryan pants. “Fucking say it, Mike.”
“What?”
“It. Fuck, say it. Jesus.”
“Which it? Ryan, I don’t-”
“Please. I need you to.”
And Michael knows. He wants it to be less hard to say. He wants it to be easy, but it’s still not. He works his right hand faster on his dick, his thumb rubbing over the head, and brings his left hand up in front of his face, pulling harder as he stares at it. “I want you to come for me, Ryan.”
“Please.”
“I want you come for me because-” Michael swallows hard around the block in his brain and the pleasure in his body. “Because… because I’m your husband, and you only get to come for me.” He licks his lips. “So fucking come, Ryan.”
“Fuck!” Ryan makes a series of keening noises that come right from his dick through the back of his throat and into Michael’s ears. He knows Ryan’s heels are probably pushed deep into the mattress, and his come is exploding out of him in a mess of creamy white onto his tan skin and blue sheets, and Michael’s coming, too.
His hips arch up, and he falls back, and god, it’s good. It’s so good. It’s the best he’s had in days. He’s got come on his chest and shoulders, but he doesn’t care because he can hear Ryan breathing in his ear, and it’s the closest he’s felt to him since they left Canada.
He’s shivering a little in the aftershocks, drifting and exhausted. He’s perfectly happy to just lie like this and listen to Ryan breathe pretty much till forever.
“I miss you, man,” Ryan says. Michael’s impressed. Seriously. He can’t really think right now, but even the lizard part of his brain agrees with that sentiment.
“Yeah.”
“How long till Thanksgiving?”
It takes Michael a little while to answer because he seems to have lost the ability to count, but he manages to figure it out. “Like, a month and a half.”
“Fuck two months. I’m coming up for, like… Halloween or something. That’s way too far away.”
The idea of Ryan at Halloween is a little scary. He’s always been more of a trick guy than a treat guy, but Michael doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that it’s irresponsible or that Ryan shouldn’t miss school or any of it. He’s smiling at the ceiling at the idea.
“It’s a date.”
“Fuck yeah, it is. So…” Ryan drawls. “You up to go again?”
Michael doesn’t answer with words. He just rubs his eyelid with the palm of his left hand and groans. Ryan laughs in his ear, and Michael can’t seem to stop the smile that spreads across his face.
Series: 3rd in the Unconditional Things universe
Pairing: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps RPF
Rating: NC-17/X for sex
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and don't know them. In fact, I just really love it when they swim together and then hug.
Beta/Thanks: Thanks to waterofthemoon for the beta.
Summary: Summary: Keeping a marriage alive long-distance takes effort and plenty of anytime minutes. Follows Unconditional Things and Feel What It's Like To Be New.
Michael’s phone buzzes in his pocket during his business ethics class. He’s got it set to vibrate, and it hums low in his khakis.
He waits until his professor turns around, then pulls the phone out. The screen is glowing blue under the table. One new text message flashes, and he hits a couple buttons to open his mailbox.
i can still taste u - mine
Michael’s breath catches, and he shoves his phone back into his pocket. When the hell did he transport back to eighth grade, hiding his hard-on under the table at class?
The phone vibrates again. He looks at the clock above the whiteboard at the front of the room. There’s only twenty minutes left, and then he has the night off. It’ll wait.
He’s pretty convinced until it vibrates again. Keeping his cell in his pants pocket was a bad idea. Bad. He has the feeling that Ryan knows that, too.
It vibrates again five minutes before class lets out, and he can’t resist. He’s got years of training when it comes to working for what he wants, but when it’s right in front of him, he can’t not just take it.
i cant stop thinking about how u sound when u cum
i want u inside me full to my throat
The second one gets Michael out of his seat. There’s only about three minutes left, so he doesn’t feel too bad darting out of the lecture hall and into the nearest bathroom. He hits speed dial and backs himself into a stall at the same time.
The phone rings twice before Ryan picks up. “What took you so long?”
“You’re the devil.”
“It’s why you love me.”
“I can’t do this now,” Michael hisses. “I’m at school.”
“How long would it take you to get somewhere you can get naked?”
“You can’t even see me.”
“Yeah. But I can still tell. Your voice is hotter when you’re naked. I miss your naked voice.”
“You’re a freak.”
“Yeah, but I’m your freak. I just got home from practice. How long till you can get home?”
“Ten minutes.”
“You don’t have practice tonight, right?”
“No. I did five am and before my four o’clock class.”
“Awesome. Call me back when you get home. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
It’s getting easier to say. Practice, Michael thinks. Practice is helping. Also, the normality of it all. Sometimes, he almost forgets that things have changed.
He gets back to his house in record time and toes off his shoes and tugs off his shirt before he realizes what he’s doing. He’s fishing his phone out of his pocket before it really hits him.
He’s calling Ryan for phone sex at six in the evening. They’ve done it enough times over the years, but he usually tries to talk Ryan out of it.
Not that he doesn’t like phone sex. He does. The filth that comes out of Ryan’s mouth makes him hard enough to hammer nails. But he has to talk, too, and Michael hates the way he sounds, especially on the phone.
It’s like his own tongue is getting in the way of what he’s trying to say. Typically, it leaves him stuttering and unsexy but now-now he’s just thinking about how it’s been too damn long he was close enough to Ryan to smell him.
He flops down on his bed in nothing but his boxers and hits talk. It occurs to him, as the phone rings in his ear, to reach over to his bedside table and pick up his wedding ring. He slides it on and stares at it as he waits for Ryan to answer.
He doesn’t wear it most of the time. It gets in the way of swimming, and he can’t wear it when he’s out of the pool, either, at least not the way it’s meant to be worn. He doesn’t really feel comfortable wearing it on the wrong hand or finger.
So most of the time, it sits on his nightstand. Sometimes, he puts it on before he goes to sleep.
Ryan doesn’t pick up, so he settles the phone on his chest. Ryan’ll call him right back. In the meantime, he tries not to think. He’s not particularly good at it. Once upon a time, that over-thinking was a good thing because it centered on racing.
Right now, he can’t really stop thinking about how big his bed is. Big and empty. The other half of the equation is missing; it pretty much always has been, but before Pan Pacifics, Michael was never this aware of it.
He wants to call his mom and talk to her about it-if it was ever like this with his dad, if this is kind of how she felt when he left-but Ryan isn’t gone, he’s just far away. Michael’s the one who said no, after all. He’s said no over and over again to so many different things. He doesn’t have any place to complain.
And he’s really not complaining when his phone vibrates against his skin.
“Hey.”
“You’re mostly naked, aren’t you?”
Michael laughs. “Mostly?”
Ryan gives a little satisfied noise. “Yep. Mostly.”
“How can you tell that?”
“I’ve got your house wired for sound.”
“Damn. And I left my cone of silence at my mom’s in Baltimore.”
“That sucks. You’re gonna need it.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, Mike. I’ve been thinking about the curve of your dick for the last hour. Seriously, imagining the feel of it pressing against the inside of my cheek. Makes my face ache just thinking about it.”
Michael’s breath hitches and what the hell do you say to that? “Yes.”
“You still breathing?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, good. How’re your hands?”
“What?”
“You’re hands. In the sheets or around your dick?”
“I-” Michael has to lift his head and look because his body isn’t connected right. He can feel things that aren’t there-Ryan’s hands and breath-and he can’t feel things that are, like his own hands and feet. One hand is twisted in his comforter; the other is resting against his dick through the fabric of his boxers.
“Both.”
“Fuck. I could eat you like that. I bet you’re all open and still. I’d start in the middle and work my way out till I’ve got all of you.”
Michael’s hand rubs harder, and he groans. This is nothing; it’s just foreplay. He has to remember that, or he’s going to die before they get to the really fun part.
“I’ve been thinking about you since I climbed in the pool this morning. You taste like chlorine all over all the time. I can’t get through practice without thinking about my tongue all over you.”
Ryan always tastes a little salty. He sweats, which is something Michael only does if he’s doing weights or having sex. Ryan is out in the world in a way that Michael just isn’t, and when they’re together, Michael can taste that on his skin. He opens his mouth to say so, but all that comes out is a groan.
Ryan laughs. “Yeah, I know. I mean, I fucked up my turns all practice ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking me into the side of the pool.”
Ryan lets out a long breath that makes Michael’s skin prickle and makes him slide his hand under the waistband of his boxers to wrap around his dick.
“How would you fuck me, Mike? If I was right there with you, how would you fuck me?”
So many different answers to that, but the only one Michael can think of stutters out of his mouth like a machine gun blast. “D-deep.”
“Yeah? Deep fast or deep slow?”
“Deep and slow.”
“How would you put me to fuck me?”
“On your knees.”
“Yeah?”
Michael’s eyes are shut. Behind his eyelids, he can see Ryan on his elbows and knees, his head on his arms.
“Yeah. I’m on top of you.”
Ryan laughs. “Yeah, you are.”
“Ryan-”
“Chill. It’s good. It’s all good all the fucking time like that. How? How’re you on me?”
“Draped over your back,” Michael says. “I-I’m kissing the back of your neck.”
“Bite me.”
“What?”
“In Canada, you bit me. It was so fucking hot, Mike. Bite me. Right now.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I love it when you do that. ‘Cause it means you don’t care if people know I’m yours. So fucking bite me.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’m biting you.”
“Fuck me.” Ryan gasps, his voice changing a pitch.
“I am.”
“Fuck me hard, Michael, god. Fuck me.”
Michael opens his eyes and sits up. He didn’t catch it earlier because he was too turned on, too hot, but he can hear it now. “Ryan? What are you doing?”
“Fucking myself.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” The word stretches out of Ryan’s mouth an extra three syllables, and he hums a little. “I ordered some stuff online. It got here this morning.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not as long as you.”
“Ryan…”
“Or as thick. But if I twist it-” Ryan’s voice catches. “Fuck, Michael.”
“You’re fucking yourself with a dildo?”
“Y-y-yeah. Yeah. God, I-fuck. Talk to me.”
“What?”
“Talk to me. Fucking just… talk to me.”
“I… I… I love you.” Honestly, he can’t think of anything else. His brain’s empty of everything but the image of Ryan on his bed, knees bent, fucking himself, and the fact that Michael loves him.
“More.”
“And…” He’s still hard and turned on, but he’s not really jerking himself anymore. Somewhere in there, it shifted focus and became about Ryan trying to get to where he needs to be. Michael understands not wanting to get there alone. “And I’m wearing my ring. I’m imagining that it’s my fingers inside you. You’re hot as hell, Ryan.”
“God, Michael.”
“You’re beautiful,” Michael says. It’s a lame thing to say, something guys say to chicks they want to fuck, but in his head, Ryan is beautiful. He’s beautiful in reality, too, but somehow, it’s easier to say when he doesn’t have to look him in the face.
Ryan makes a sound like there’s broken glass in his throat. He doesn’t feel like such an idiot now. He feels almost cool, like for once, he’s said the right thing.
In between Ryan’s panting breaths, Michael hear a slick sucking sound as Ryan pumps the toy in and out of himself. It makes him ache, and he wraps his hand around himself again, stroking harder and faster, trying to match the quiet rhythm.
“You’re mine, Ryan,” Michael pants as he slides his hand up and down on his cock. It’s not hot or wet enough. He can’t convince himself that his fingers are Ryan’s ass or mouth or even his hands, but it feels good, and Ryan is whimpering in his ear and moaning like the nastiest porn star Michael’s ever seen. If he closes his eyes, he can at least pretend they’re in the same room.
“Say it,” Ryan pants. “Fucking say it, Mike.”
“What?”
“It. Fuck, say it. Jesus.”
“Which it? Ryan, I don’t-”
“Please. I need you to.”
And Michael knows. He wants it to be less hard to say. He wants it to be easy, but it’s still not. He works his right hand faster on his dick, his thumb rubbing over the head, and brings his left hand up in front of his face, pulling harder as he stares at it. “I want you to come for me, Ryan.”
“Please.”
“I want you come for me because-” Michael swallows hard around the block in his brain and the pleasure in his body. “Because… because I’m your husband, and you only get to come for me.” He licks his lips. “So fucking come, Ryan.”
“Fuck!” Ryan makes a series of keening noises that come right from his dick through the back of his throat and into Michael’s ears. He knows Ryan’s heels are probably pushed deep into the mattress, and his come is exploding out of him in a mess of creamy white onto his tan skin and blue sheets, and Michael’s coming, too.
His hips arch up, and he falls back, and god, it’s good. It’s so good. It’s the best he’s had in days. He’s got come on his chest and shoulders, but he doesn’t care because he can hear Ryan breathing in his ear, and it’s the closest he’s felt to him since they left Canada.
He’s shivering a little in the aftershocks, drifting and exhausted. He’s perfectly happy to just lie like this and listen to Ryan breathe pretty much till forever.
“I miss you, man,” Ryan says. Michael’s impressed. Seriously. He can’t really think right now, but even the lizard part of his brain agrees with that sentiment.
“Yeah.”
“How long till Thanksgiving?”
It takes Michael a little while to answer because he seems to have lost the ability to count, but he manages to figure it out. “Like, a month and a half.”
“Fuck two months. I’m coming up for, like… Halloween or something. That’s way too far away.”
The idea of Ryan at Halloween is a little scary. He’s always been more of a trick guy than a treat guy, but Michael doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that it’s irresponsible or that Ryan shouldn’t miss school or any of it. He’s smiling at the ceiling at the idea.
“It’s a date.”
“Fuck yeah, it is. So…” Ryan drawls. “You up to go again?”
Michael doesn’t answer with words. He just rubs his eyelid with the palm of his left hand and groans. Ryan laughs in his ear, and Michael can’t seem to stop the smile that spreads across his face.