Synchronised Motion (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 16

"Beau? What are doing here? You're not allowed to be here." His voice is more concerned than disciplinary.

I scoff, "Really?" the sarcasm is dripping from my voice.

God I'm a dick.

He grimaces when I push him further into the wall, but he doesn't stop me. "Okay," he says, his voice measured. "Is there something you want from me?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "Want from you? I think you know what I want.."

He listens patiently, eyebrow arched in waiting, head tilted slightly to the side as he looks down at me.

"I want to fucking swim, Oliver. Tell coach to let me come back already—he listens to you!"

He sighs, a short release of annoyed air like he's talking to a child. "You have three more days, Beau."

"I want to swim. Now." I know I sound like a child, a child demanding they get a toy they want. But his proximity is fucking with my brain and I can't find it in me to care.

"Suck it up," he bites back angrily.

I narrow my eyes and he sighs, running a hand down his face.

"Look," he says more gently. "Not everything in life has to be about swimming, alright. There's more to life than winning medals—" he rambles on, but I'm not really listening.

I mean, I'm looking at his lips—but I'm not interested in what words they are saying. It's probably some motivational inspiring shit that he's spewing, the team loves that crap. And I have no doubt it's good... it just, I got my eyes on something better.
My mind on something better.

My hand holding his collar drags down his chest.

He pauses, cutting his speech off abruptly.

My hand drag down his chest slowing at the rim of his shorts. He catches my wrist before it can go any further.

"What are you.." He clears his throat. "What are doing?" There's a warning to his voice, an edge to it.

"I'm convincing the captain that it's in his best interest to let me swim.." My voice is more breathy than I'd like.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. "No, you're not. You're not fucking doing that because you want to fucking swim again."

There's a flare in his—and not in the way I'd like—but in anger.

I've never heard Oliver swear so much, it's jarring, surprising, hot.

Except he doesn't put up much resistance when I pull my hand from his grasp, or when I slip my hand under his shorts. His hands fist my shirt, but not to push me away, but to stabilise himself.

He lets me...

In fact, when my hand wraps around his member, he slumps into the wall squeezing his eyes shut, leaning his head back on the wall. He says fuck under his breath.

I lean further into him. "Aren't you going to stop me?"

He makes an intelligible sound at the back of his throat. "Fuck you." he manages to grunt, his breathing uneven.

I grin, biting down on my bottom lip harshly.

He is putty beneath my hand, his breathing heavy and eyes lidded as he watches me stroke him. I grip him tighter. He moans, his head falling to my shoulder, his breathing rough.

His lips sloppily graze along my neck, and his hot breath brushing my skin makes me shiver. He feels hot and heavy. His uneven breaths sending pelts of hot heat through me.