Rating: NC-17, PWP to the highest level.
Pairing: Fabian Hambuechen/Jonathan Horton
Disclaimer: How freaking awesome would it be to own these guys? Sadly, I do not know, because this is all fake. Though judging by that picture up there, I wouldn't be surprised if it happened a time or twenty.
Notes: Set after the High Bar final of the 2008 Olympics.
******************
It was a hurried jog backstage for Fabian, a quick slip-away from fans and cameras clamoring around him. After a disappointing games, he had secured a bronze medal in highbar, to his muted satisfaction. But in that current moment, a medal was the last thing on his mind. The only thing that had graced his thoughts since he’d stepped from the podium was Jonathan Horton; his competitor mere minutes before, but now the reason for his backstage escape.
As he reached the USA dressing room, he saw Jon leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, but his newly won silver medal hanging over them. Fabian knew without speaking that that display was directed at him, he expected nothing less from Jon when they had agreed to meet up after the podium. But just like his own medal, he couldn’t bring himself to care about Jon’s, even if it dangled in his face; with a few quick steps, he met Jon at the door, sliding his arms around his waist and leaning down to kiss him firmly.
“Silver trumps bronze,” Jon mumbled as Fabian’s lips mashed against his own.
Fabian snickered softly, making his immediate reply more fervent kisses, and busier hands. He made quick work of Jon’s pants, shucking them to the floor, leaving him naked from the waist down; that came as no surprise, from the bulge Jon had shown through every performance. Jon’s shirt came off next, before Fabian turned his attention to his own attire, working quickly to remove his own pants, sliding them and his briefs down past his thighs. He ground his now bare hips against Jon, and Jon groaned, his head falling back from their kiss in pleasure. Fabian seized that opportunity to bury his face in Jon’s neck, sinking his teeth gently into the soft skin. That coaxed another groan from Jon, and he threaded his fingers into Fabian’s hair, trying to tug his head up. Fabian shook his head at the attempted direction, choosing instead to lick up along the curve of Jon’s neck, from shoulder to earlobe.
“Silver does trump bronze,” Fabian whispered, his accent thickened with desire. “But bronze TOPS silver...”
Before Jon could respond, Fabian gripped his hips tightly and spun him effortlessly around. His larger frame held Jon easily in check, but it became quickly evident that Jon had no objections. As Fabian pressed his hips against Jon’s ass he felt the smaller man wiggle back against him, and heard a soft moan fall from his lips. Fabian buried his face again in Jon’s neck, muffling his own moans as he lay his cock along Jon’s crack. Jon whimpered at the contact, sliding his fingers back into Fabian’s hair and thrusting his hips back against him.
That was the only encouragement Fabian needed. He leaned back from their contact just slightly, enough to spit onto his cock. He stroked the saliva quickly over himself, a soft growl escaping his lips from that minute pleasure. It was a quick glimpse of what was to come, something tight and hot squeezing his cock, but it was no comparison to the real thing; he knew from past experience that nothing compared to Jon wrapped around him. This had become a familiar habit throughout their gymnastics careers, but the anticipation for both was still just as great as the first time. Fabian’s self-preparation was quicker each time they were together, and Jon grew more silently wanton, using only his body language to tell Fabian how ready he was, how much he wanted–needed–to feel him. That was a language Fabian spoke better than English, and one he enjoyed hearing much more.
Stepping back, he teased the head of his cock along Jon’s crack, before pressing gently against his opening. Jon moaned faintly in anticipation, pushing back against him eagerly, coaxing him on. Gently, Fabian eased into him, squeezing his hands tight at Jon’s hips. As the head slid fully into him, Jon groaned, much too loudly, as he usually did in these stolen moments. Fabian paid that no heed, bringing his hand up to cup over Jon’s mouth as he rocked his hips slowly deeper. They were long, torturous seconds before he found himself at the hilt, surrounded fully by as tight a heat as he could stand. Jon clenched hard around him, rolling his hips back and forth, unable to sit still even with such an intrusion inside him. Jon was never slow to adjust, but Fabian always forced him to be, starting his movements with nothing more than inch deep thrusts, barely more than gentle wiggling. That served only to increase the desire of both men, but it wasn’t until Jon’s muffled moans became begging growls that Fabian allowed his to take over.
He slid his free hand down to grip Jon’s hip, keeping the other clamped tightly around his mouth as he began to slowly thrust. He pulled back to the head each time, rolling his hips there to a chorus of groans, before driving his cock back to the hilt in one long stroke. Jon clenched down around him each time he found the hilt, biting into Fabian’s hand to keep from crying out. His own hand slid down around his cock, and quickly he began to stroke himself, moving faster than Fabian’s measured pace. Looking over Jon’s shoulder, Fabian growled as he saw his ministrations, speeding his thrusts to match Jon’s strokes. Jon breathed a satisfied moan, pressing a kiss to Fabian’s hand as he thrust his hips back to meet him, and they settled quickly into rhythm.
Fabian buried his face in Jon’s neck, biting gently at it to stifle his moans, his thrusts quickening, hardening with each passing second. Jon’s hoarse moans only increased from that, his strokes speeding to match, his clenching going even tighter until it became an almost battle for Fabian’s shaft to move against it. That was a squeeze Fabian could hardly fight, and he allowed it to pull him into orgasm, spilling into Jon with a groan. As he felt that heat his insides, Jon too succumbed to the sensations, squeezing himself tight as he came, his head lolling back against Fabian’s shoulder on a hoarse moan.
Fabian hugged him close, supporting Jon’s smaller frame as both men trembled in the aftermath, breath coming in ragged gasps, skin still alight with sensation. It was a euphoric high for both men, one that took them to the heights of bliss and beyond, one that seemed to last forever. Both men lost themselves in that feeling each time, riding that wave of ecstacy as long as they could. It was a slow trip back to Earth in the afterward, but once they arrived, they arrived in tact; Jon’s cocky charm was quick to return, and with it came Fabian’s content satisfaction.
“Silver is SHINIER than bronze?” Jon asked with a grin, holding up his cum slicked hand.
Fabian smirked, gripping Jon’s wrist and pulling it back. “I will give you that,” He murmured low, licking over Jon’s palm, over his fingertips to lick the hand clean. “But if bronze always gets to be behind silver, that means I win,”
Jon glanced back at him and smirked. “As long as gold’s not behind me.”
END
© 2008 Triple X
