by Joe Satoria
I couldn’t tell her—don’t do it, don’t do it. “They’re just an old pair.”
I walked off before she could ask anything else—I knew I was a bad liar, and I was even worse at covering up for a lie. Over text, sure, I was an excellent liar, but so was everyone.
Stepping into the wet sand. It wasn’t ice cold.
“Warm?” Jordan appeared behind me with a smirk on the side of his face. “What happened to your back?” He stretched, leaning side-to-side.
“Thought you were too cool for us.”
He snickered, staring at me, he untied his shorts with one hand. “I’ll go in if you do.” His shorts dropped to his ankles, revealing the tie-dye Speedos and a healthy bulge.
I choked, looking away. “It’s—” Colder than I thought, “—ok.”
He ran on ahead into the water, jumping once the water hit his thighs.
I looked back, nobody was watching—everyone else was occupied with the sand football game going on and complaining about all the dust.
“You coming in?” he combed a hand through his wet hair.
At my waist, the water was a little more bearable. The shorts inflated with air pockets, thankfully I was still wearing underwear, otherwise I’d have been on full show.
He appeared to swim further out. “Come on.”
“Thought you couldn’t swim,” I called back.
“I can—I—” his arms splashed around.
I forced myself forward to him.
“Kidding,” he said, settling. “My feet are still on the sand.”
I didn’t just—panic. I continued forward slowly, dipping myself into the water until my back was fully submerged.
He swam closer. “It’s nice, right?”
Rolling at my shoulders, I was trying my best to get the sand off. “Yeah.”
“What are you doing?”
“Help me get this sand off.” I turned in the water on one foot, like doing a pirouette.
He moved closer, his hands and fingers wiping away the congealed layer of sand. “I know they don’t want me here,” he said, his voice in a whisper by ear.
“They do.”
His hands reached at my waist—there was no sand there. “I thought you wanted me here.”
“I do,” I said, turning. “They do too.”
“Right.” He splashed water at me.
I splashed back. “Some people might not like you, but everyone deserves to be here for beach day.” I did—want him here, it was nice for everyone to be together. “You just have to learn to get along with people.”
“You’re playing the long con.”
“The what?”
“Get everyone on your side, be friendly, and then beast mode them in the competition,” he let out a snort as he chuckled. “By the way, how are my shorts?”
“Big.”
He chuckled. “I knew they would be.”
“You really can’t swim?”
His head flinched from side-to-side. “You won’t let it go, will you?”
Our feet were still in the sand as the water reached out shoulders. I tried swimming a little further out, but the shorts weren’t helping—a handicap when swimming. I watched as Jordan tried, his arms in a doggy paddle by his side.
“We should—go back,” he said, grabbing at my arm.
There was a level of fear in his eyes. “Sure.”
His arm wrapped at my waist, tugging tighter. “I tried—think I felt something on me feet.”
He let go once we were standing again. “There’s probably sharks.”
“The fuck—what?” his arm swiped at my bad, pulling me to his chest like I was a shield.
I was easily manhandled. “Get off.” I splashed him—looking out to everyone in the beach, and still nobody was watching us.
“What?” he chuckled, releasing me. “You’re so fragile.” His upper lip curled.
That wasn’t it—that wasn’t it at all. Every time he touched me, I liked it. “Says the man who can’t swim.” I turned on a foot in the sand, trying to tread water fast before he could chase after me.
“I can!” he reached out, pulling me back against his chest as the tide pushed us closer to the shore.
“No you can’t.” I wiggled in his arms—my ass pressing against his hips. His dick was hard—or at least firm and I allowed myself for a moment to stay there as he wrapped me closer in his arms.
His hands—down my chest—touched at my hips and waist.
“Ok, ok,” I said, “I—I—”
He pulled away. “What?”
Tension thrilled through me—throbbing at my cock. I wasn’t, excited, it was just touch—I turned my head to see him suppressing his smile, pushed back like he knew what he was doing.
“I—I—I should eat, Sasha said something about low blood sugar.” My throat clasping at excuses.
He let go. “Yeah, sure.”
Tugging the loose shorts out of the water. I was out of breath. I fell into the space beside Sasha, fast enough to hide the erection.
“How’s the water?” she asked.
My face pressed into the towel as I ground my hips; trying to push away the hard-on—that had never worked in the past. “It was ok, cold, but ok.”
I let my eyes rest for what seemed like a moment before I heard her again.
“Where’s he going?”
“Who?”
Scoffing. “Who else?”
I looked to see Jordan, clutching his belongings at the chest as he stormed off with a towel wrapped at his waist.
“No idea.”
Was it something I did?
12. JORDAN
Gabriel drove me back to the academy. I sat in silence near the back of the coach—my thoughts were too chaotic. I couldn’t believe I’d got hard then pulled him to it like he might be impressed. Well done, I could get my dick hard—round of applause.
I thought he might. He smiled at me. The way he looked through the seats, I really thought—
No. I liked it. I liked the way his skin felt against me.
I was fucking solid.
Then he looked at me in disgust.
I had to leave.
I had to get everything and go.
I’d never done anything like that.
Not fully, not unless it was a dare.
I’d never gone out of my way to be close to someone like that, then to have them look at me like that—I felt wrong, bad, I thought he liked me, and I didn’t want to say I liked him back—I mean, he was different to be around, he wasn’t intimidating, and he calmed me, which—
“Everything ok?” Gabriel broke my panicked thoughts.
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Ok, we’re here.”
I hadn’t noticed he’d stopped. My hand clutched at the bag and the towel wrapped at my waist. I’d soaked the seat. I hadn’t even dried myself or dressed—just snapped at him, told him I wanted to go back.
“Thank you,” I let out, my face pinched in a scowl.
The engine gurned as I stepped off, the door shutting.
I stood in the driveway, my bag across one shoulder and my towel across the other as I walked in my Speedos.
Pedro was stood at the doors of the reception area. Frowning, he shook his head. “It’s barely been an hour,” he said, stubbing a finger on his watch.
“I know, I know,” I grumbled, teasing a hand through my hair to see if it had dried.
“Had a falling out, already,” he sucked back, now grinning. “I cannot say I am surprised.”
“No,” I snapped. “Just wanted to come back.”
His eyes widened. “Well, I haven’t had any complaints.”
And why would he? I hadn’t done anything but train. “Probably because this is the last time I’ll be coming back.” He knew and I knew it was true—once I turned twenty-two, it was like I didn’t exist anymore.
“Ok, don’t work too hard,” he said, “you should have a rest day, but if you don’t, David or Joachim should be
around.”
I couldn’t say I wasn’t going to work hard—there was something in me and it needed to be exorcised, it needed to be released, and the only way I knew how to do that was through exercise.
I headed back to the room, of course, Harvey had left his side a mess, clothes on the floor like he’d been in a losing fight with his holdall. His bed hadn’t been made. His bed—how could he keep it a mess.
“Fucking hell,” I let out in a mumble, dropping my things by the door. “How can you—” I grabbed at the end of his duvet. “Pig.” My fingers tensed around the material.
I sat at the end of his bed, looking to my side of the room. This is what he saw—nice and clean. Everything was organised on my side—the bed made, and my pillow plumped.
Leaning to the side, I laid across his duvet, placing my head on his pillow.
He saw me from here too—and it smelled of him.
I hated knowing what he smelled like. And yet, I turned my head into the pillow, stuffing my nose deep, scooping at the sides with my hands, wrapping it around my head.
Perfumed by sweat and hair product; a precarious mix of his shampoo and texture putty styling gel. I inhaled it—without an end in sight for my lung capacity.
I groaned out into a muffle. “Fuck.”
My body relaxed across the duvet as a tightness gripped at my wet Speedos. It tugged at the waistband—throbbing.
“Fu—” My leg climbed the duvet, hooked around it.
In a mound, I thrust my hips against the duvet.
The tip of my cock poked out of the waistband, rubbing against the elastic ridge. The sensation tingled in my inner thigh. I thrust, harder, harder, forcing myself down. Squeezing my thighs together I dropped to the bed harder—harder—harder—
Fuck.
Oh.
Fuuuuuck.
Warm cum shot up across the bed.
My stomach dropped to it once again, laying in the mess.
Face flat on his pillow, I laid there, reeling in the sensation. I didn’t want to move, and any attempt sent my muscles into spasm.
I didn’t know what happened—I’d just fucked a bed.
“Oh.” I let out through a breath, pulling away.
My damp body had left more than just the translucent white cum across the sheets. It had travelled. Seeing it, I looked to find residue on my upper chest, above my nipple. I’d never came that far before.
What had I done?
Thinking of him.
What had I done?
I didn’t—right.
I slipped out of my Speedos and wrapped a towel at my waist.
“Laundry,” I said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I’d have to strip his bed of all the evidence.
Grabbing at his sheets, his covers, his pillowcase—I stripped it. A pair of his underwear dropped by my feet.
A shiver knocked my knees to see them.
Picking them up, I sat on my bed. His side of the room was even messier now. I looked back to the underwear in my hand. A size small, blue briefs. I scrunched them up and pressed them to my face—mhmm.
Not again.
I threw them to the end of my bed by my suitcase.
Another shudder ran through me, telling me to shower—clean away what I done before it happened again.
Bundling the sheets I’d soiled with cum, I threw them into the laundry chute by the linen cupboard. I continued on into the bathroom, taking my first clean breath without the anxiety of being caught.
I don’t know what I’d done or why I’d done it—but it felt good, and I wanted to do it again.
The shower didn’t help.
The warm water splashing my body, it reminded me of the sea, it reminded me of being against him, touching him, squeezing.
My hands were already at my cock, scrubbing myself with shower gel. It made me hard—I tugged, slick with soap suds. Closing my eyes as the warmth pattered out across, tingling up my back and spine.
His face. The Smile. The Smell.
“Fuuuck.” Another deep moan. It echoed out through the shower room.
I came—shot at the tiles.
With a closed fist, I pounded the tile and wiped it across the cum, sending it down to the drain. I didn’t have the energy for rage—I didn’t know if I wanted to be enraged. I leaned on open palms, facing the shower—I’d never wanted this before.
The sting of tears touched the corners of my eyes.
I felt sucker punched.
Hurt. I wondered if I’d done it to myself.
I let my emotions out in the shower. Everything came to the surface and down the drain. I left it there, I told myself that’s where it ended, giving myself a minute under the scolding hot water.
I didn’t look back into the cubical as I wrapped my towel at my waist.
“In there a while,” Pedro said, catching me in the doorway.
“Heat helps the muscles,” I answered immediately, tugging the towel tighter.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“What about?” I wanted to tell him to make it quick, but I didn’t have the energy to snap.
“All good,” he offered back, grinning. “Still no complaints.” He swotted his hand against my shoulder. “You’ve been showing some huge improvements, I mean, you’ve been listening to my advice, and that’s—”
I knew where he was going with this—I was stubborn. “I’ve been putting in the work.”
“I know, I know,” he continued. “And your mood has been tamer too. I’m surprised.”
I’d been avoiding people—mostly, with the exception, but I was starting to wonder whether or not I needed to start avoiding everyone. “Focus, just been focusing on my goal.”
Pedro flashed his porcelain toilet teeth smile. “Yes, but I want you to know, if you’re trying to prove a point to someone.”
Who would I be proving a point to? Harvey? I’d basically forced him to train with me, but I wasn’t doing it for him—no, I can’t have been doing it for him. But he was helping.
“You know,” Pedro continued. “Like your parents, I know they can be hard on you, like we were to Nico, he was quite sick after we pushed him, and I don’t want you to end up like that, it was an awful time.”
“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” I said. “It’s ok—I’m ok.”
“Promise if you feel too pressured, you will say.” He reached out to my shoulder, pressing his thumb and fingers in.
I shrugged away his touch. “Sure.”
It was awkward enough to see him when I got off the coach—now for him to be stalking the showers. I left and went back to the room.
The entire compound was empty, with the exception of trainers and other staff. I felt free, but all I really wanted was to be back in my room, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and imaging I was—
No.
Back in the room I was confronted by Harvey’s stripped bed and the rest of his mess.
BUZZ. BUZZ.
My phone? I grabbed at my bag, rummaging through it.
It wasn’t mine. I looked at the screen. No notifications, except a couple news articles under the ‘you might like’ alerts, mostly tennis related, and another about a sale.
BUZZ. BUZZ.
It was coming from his side. His mess.
On the floor, in a pile of clothes. Inside the pocket of a pair of shorts, his phone.
Several missed calls. A couple of texts. All from dad.
BUZZ. BUZZ.
It vibrated in my hand.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi—Harv—wait—” a female voice answered.
“Hi, I’m Jordan.”
“Oh, is Harvey there?”
“No, sorry, he’s at the beach,” I said. “I can take a message if you like?”
“Aw, no, that’s ok, sweetheart, tell him his auntie called,” she said. “I’m glad he’s having a good time and making friends.”
“Ok, I’ll tell him.”
She hung up, taking me back to the
notifications on his screen. His dad had text a lot, and as I clicked the first, they appeared, previews of each message came from a drop-down menu. I didn’t mean to look—but my eyes continued.
In order of most recently sent.
—Everything is ok, just waiting on test results. Your dad told me to stop texting y...
—Had a tough time finding a vein. Drawn some blood. Your dad said you’d tell h...
—Fast-tracked, your dad says he’s already feeling much better, please don’t wor...
—We hope you’re having fun, don’t want to spoil your day, we’re at the hospit...
—Harv, we’re heading to the hospital with your dad, think it might be his chest...
No. I pressed the button at the side of the phone, turning the screen black. Shit, I didn’t see that—god, no—what the hell. I’d invaded his privacy and now I knew too much. My chest shivered, travelled down my arms as I threw his phone across to his bed.
Biting at my bottom lip, I realised I didn’t know him at all.
His dad was sick? I knew he was always checking his phone—so was everyone. He’s never mentioned it—no, why would he?
My wrists stiffened as I held them to my chest.
Fuck. How could I keep that to myself? Not that I had anyone to tell what I’d seen—except Harvey.
13. HARVEY
We got back around six that afternoon, I swore I’d lost my phone—I searched the beach, my bag, even the coach. Sasha talked me off the ledge; it was just a phone and I knew I should’ve laid back and enjoyed myself, but as soon as did, I pictured Jordan’s smiling face after I’d felt his cock—like some impressed puppy.
Even now, back in the room—his face, smiling as he looked back at me. What did he want? And why was he always topless. I got that it was summer in Spain and clothes were really optional, but—damn, seeing it made me wonder.
No—no.
“How’s the beach?” he asked.
I dropped the bag to the ground.
My underwear slightly damp because I’d forgot to take a second pair—one of the many things I’d forgotten. It had soaked into my clothes. Not to mention it had taken five minutes of finicky finger fumbling to undo the knot I’d made in his expensive shorts.
