Page 86 of Back Outside Edge

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.