Page 15 of Full Split
Staring at the adjoining wall and remembering how the space between us crackled with energy, the way his eyes bore into mine, I slip my hand down to cup the front of my pants. I bite back a groan, pressing into my palm. I've been aching since the elevator, and I can't ignore it any longer. I'm wound so tight. If he'd so much as pressed himself against me, I probably would have detonated.
Weston is still in the bath. I'll know if he's getting out from the sound of the tub draining, but just in case, I turn off the light and slip under the covers once I've stripped down to my underwear. With one hand rubbing my crotch through the cotton, I suck the fingers on my free hand into my mouth, pressing on the back of my tongue until I feel like I'm close to gagging. My mouth fills with saliva, imagining what it would be like to take Wyatt's cock in my mouth. He looked big. Could I take him to the back of my throat like this? Would he like making me gag and spit all over him? Would he like seeing my eyes water, tears streaming down my face as I let him fuck my throat?
I'd be so good for you.
Pushing my hand into my briefs, I run my spit-slick fingers up and down my shaft, slow and firm the way I like. I'm buzzing and on the edge already. Usually, I'm only like this the second or third time I come, almost painfully hypersensitive. My hips rock, my strokes getting faster. It takes focus to keep my sounds to myself, especially when I close my eyes and let myself picture Wyatt above me, working my cock with his fingers and telling me how much he wants to see me come for him. My breaths get heavy, skin flushing hot as the orgasm rolls through me. I keep stroking myself, letting my fingers close over the sensitive head, rubbing over the bit of flesh that covers the gland, extending the orgasm until I'm gasping. I roll sideways, hands tucked between my legs and trembling, Wyatt's name on my lips.
CHAPTER 6
WYATT
The night before podium training is a sleepless one, just like the night before. Every time I close my eyes, I see Niles—cheeks flushed, breath unsteady, eyes full of want. I can still feel the weight of his hand on my chest, the way his fingers curled into the light smattering of hair.
I'm still reeling from the way his sweet, lilting voice bent his salacious offer into something so casual, like it was nothing. Like it didn't make my vision white or my body ache in ways I'm unable to process. Like it wasn't damn near impossible for me to calmly escort him from my room before shutting the door and immediately pulling out my dick, stroking myself so hard and fast I was painting the inside of the door before I even heard the door to their room shut. Just knowing that he was so close, just on the other side of the door, made my orgasm come fast and intense.
I'm still ashamed of it. And I know looking him in the eye is going to be excruciating after what I did.
I wake up exhausted, already sweating like I ran ten miles in my sleep. Avoiding him the way I did yesterday isn't going to be possible today.
Yesterday I was able to keep myself locked in my hotel room, using work as an excuse. I buried myself in code and test reports that barely kept me distracted, while Weston and Niles spent the day doing light workouts and swimming in the pool. It might have been the longest day of my life, trying to force myself to concentrate while my traitorous eyes keep traveling back over to the door. Where I hovered over him, barely holding myself back from pressing him against the wall and sucking the breath from his lips.
Every time I look over, it's like he's still there, standing barefoot in that stupidly thin tank top, holding a goddamn sandwich like it's a key to my unraveling. A sandwich that is still sitting in the mini-fridge, uneaten. It's not safe.It's a gateway sandwich.
Fucking hell, I need to quit thinking about it. My body hurts from holding this much tension. I overheard them in the hall talking about a hot tub, which sounds amazing. I could use a nice soak with the way I've been tensed up the past couple of days. No amount of naps and jerk-off sessions could make me relax. Maybe I'll try to sneak down later today and have a soak.
For now though, I need to get my shit together. I don't want my nerves rubbing off on Niles or Weston.
This morning is worse than I thought it would be. Being near him again, brushing past him in that god-forsaken elevator, sitting too close at the small table in the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Someone's foot is touching mine, and I have no doubt it's his. He's clearly trying to get my attention, to pull my focus to him. As much as I want to look into those gorgeous, stormy blue eyes, they're more dangerous than the sandwich. I'll get lost in the hurricane that is my inner turmoil over these completely inappropriate feelings for my son's best friend.
I pretend to read while they eat, using my phone's news app as a shield.
What do either of them see when they look at me? Can Weston tell that I'm not myself today? Is Niles amused by my discomfort? Is he put off by it? As much as I don't want him to feel rejected, that would probably be for the best. I'm certainly not doing us any favors by playing right into his hand.
Ugh. Bad metaphor.
I'm completely at a loss as to how I'm supposed to navigate this situation. I need to let him down lightly, but I also don't want to hurt him or put him in a bad headspace.
This would probably be easier to figure out if I weren't so tempted by him. Or if he weren't as goal-oriented as he is. Because Niles is single-minded in his dedication to achieve everything he wants in life. He's worked his way through milestones with a level of focus that does not allow for failure. It's how he's gotten to this elite level in his career. But now, on the precipice of his biggest milestone yet, he's chosen to redirect even a fraction of that single-minded attention on me.
What if I'm not strong enough to resist? He doesn't need me distracting him.
And I don't need to be entertaining this on any level!Pull your shit together, Wyatt!
After breakfast, Niles and Weston grab their bags. We check and double-check that we have everything we need, like a ritual. It grounds us, giving us a steady level of normalcy in the wake of excitement and nerves. Once we've loaded into the car and hit the road, I can tell both boys are in focus mode. It'd be silent in the car if not for Weston's terrible hype playlist. Have I failedas a father if my twenty-one-year-old son is this obsessed with terrible 80s power ballads? It's part of his charm, I guess. Niles doesn't complain about it, and neither do I. We simply tune out Weston's terrible singing and focus on the day ahead of us. I keep my eyes on the road and pretend I can't feel Niles’ eyes boring into the side of my head.
There's almost no traffic this morning, making our drive last barely over ten minutes. We end up making it to the NOW Arena almost too early to get in. The building is technically still closed, but I've been in contact with one of the event organizers, who is expecting us, and they meet us at the back door to let us in. I'd made some calls last week to make sure we could arrive discreetly and avoid any media presence. There will be press and cameras here during the events, but most of them will be well behaved and not try to make a spectacle. There aren't any guarantees outside of the controlled conditions inside, though.
Since we're here earlier than the other competitors, we hang out around the locker rooms. Niles and Weston stretch and do some foam rolling while we wait. Although they are quieter than usual, both of them seem to be in good spirits and not at all nervous. This isn't their first rodeo, of course. It's just all the added media pressure that's been making me worry. Niles, on the other hand, has been handling it all with a professional grace I could only aspire to.
The excitement in the air is palpable. The other gymnasts begin to trickle in and the men greet each other happily. At this level of competition, it's pretty common to see a lot of familiar faces. Most of the men get to know each other and are great about being professional, kind, and supportive. Of course, there are always a couple that are more concerned with competition and sizing each other up. In my experience, those are the men whoare the least likely to excel. Maybe because they're more likely to get in their heads and make stupid mistakes because they're too busy competing instead of focusing on their skill.
There's a lot of waiting around while the athletes go through registration and get their credentials checked. While Niles and Weston are in line, I walk around the equipment with the other coaches and officials. I tend to be a lot less involved than the other parents and coaches, especially considering Weston and Niles are pros at this point. Mostly, I keep a close eye on Niles and a familiar face two bodies behind him in line. A sour-faced guy with beady eyes, thin lips caught in a perpetual sneer, and a long, straight nose he likes to look down at people over. Peter Trenton is one of the men who has been the most outspoken about his disapproval of the USA Gymnastics policies on allowing all eligible athletes to compete in men's division gymnastics without checks or verifications based on assigned birth status, testosterone, or puberty history. Since the women's division has started reevaluating their policies and coming out with rules regarding gender in women's gymnastics, Peter has been vocal about the unfairness of the policy discrepancies. Only, his concerns aren't for the athletes who earn their place as competitors at this elite level. He simply doesn't believe that transgender athletes should be allowed to compete. Funny how he didn't have an opinion until it came out that Niles would be affected by these policies. A competitor that has bested him at every level.
That guy pisses me off the most. He has publicly proclaimed himself as a proud gay man and has spoken out for gay and lesbian rights in professional athletics. But how the actual fuck can someone consider themselves a true ally of the rainbow community without fully supporting the rights of transgender people? This guy gets named the grand marshal of his statecapital's pride parade, but he doesn’t understand that there is no LGBTQ+ community without the T. What a fucking joke.
Eventually, registration is complete, and the floor is open to the athletes. They start with some warm-up circuits, stretching, and light cardio to get loose. Most of the men catch up while they work and walk around the podium to check out the equipment setup and get a feel for the space. Weston and Niles are deep in conversation with a couple of guys they competed with at Nationals last year. While he's being friendly, offering polite nods and smiles, I can tell that he's observing more than engaging. It's one small tell that he's more nervous than he looks. Weston confided that he's a lot more concerned with how he presents himself this year, which makes sense due to all the extra pressure. No doubt he notices Peter's staring, and the way he's standing apart from the rest of the group, whispering and shooting looks at Niles all the while.
Eventually, the real podium training begins, and the athletes are sorted into groups for rotations on each apparatus. Niles and Weston are lucky enough to get put into a group together, with a guy whose name I can't remember and, of course, our good friend Peter. Peter looks about as thrilled as I feel, and I keep a close eye on him as they go through the sections. They start with the floor. Niles goes first, breezing through a series of powerful tumbling passes with smooth landings and a deceptively easy grace. He makes good use of the space available, and I can tell by the calculating look in his eye that he's already clocked any potential improvements that need to be made. I doubt I even need to mention he needs to tighten up his double tuck. His routine is impeccable, today is just about getting a feel for the space. Peter goes after him, and it's obvious he isn't happy about having to follow Niles in these rotations. He trips mid-pass and doesn't finish very cleanly. Weston crushes his routineright after that, loud and sharp as ever, going full showman. He flashes me a peace sign from the mat, and I shake my head, grinning.
