Break a Sweat: MM Sports Romance

by Joe Satoria

  “Eugh.” I flinched to look at the metal fence. “Doesn’t sound good.”

  “You’re lucky you don’t know anyone.” He raised his brows and butt his lips. “It means you’re not fixed in one of those cliques. They’ll take away any talent. Trust me. And you are—you are talented, you know that.”

  “I’m just—”

  “Talented, Harvey. Take the compliment.”

  I couldn’t—heat rose in my cheeks, either embarrassment or the Spanish sun. I tugged the collar of my shirt, airing out the sticky sweat building there. “Next match,” I said, capping my water bottle. “And you’re getting really good too.”

  “We have three days to both be really good.”

  “Oh, then—”

  “You’ve got some catching up,” he chuckled.

  Oh god. Now I was smiling and blushing.

  Fuck. Was this flirting? Was he trying to put me off? His smiling face told me he knew what he was doing, and he knew what he was saying, and where the usual knot in my stomach felt like stones—there were butterflies.

  18. JORDAN

  For the last couple nights, Harvey joined me in bed. He started out in his own bed, then talk turned to practice—I told him he was good, he told me I was great—I told him I liked his form, and suddenly we were wrestling on my bed trying to out compliment each other.

  Out of breath, he sat on my abdomen—wearing my large t-shirt, it drowned out his small frame. I raised my knees behind him to lean on. Peeking through his closed eyes, he smiled at me.

  He reached back. “Oh.”

  My dick was hard—of course, we’d been wrestling, what else did he think was going to happen. I pulled at the t-shirt as he draped forward across my chest.

  “This counts as cardio,” I whispered.

  He pressed his soft lips to my ear—my dick stretching out my underwear. “You know what else counts.”

  “I—what?”

  His kissed at my neck.

  He didn’t have to say it. He was talking about sex. “I have—condoms,” I said, clearing my throat, at least, I was sure I had some floating around in my gym bag.

  Picking his head from my body, he smiled. “Ok, let me—get ready.”

  On my elbows, I propped myself as he climbed off. The t-shirt dropped below the hard bulge, teasing, it was out of view. He slipped into a pair of shorts and grabbed his washbag before leaving the room.

  Time to panic. I’d never—I didn’t know what to do. Jumping across the bed to my gym bag, growing short of breath as I routed through the side pockets to find—condoms. There they were.

  Laid back waiting—he arrived ten minutes later, kicking off his shorts and throwing what he’d been holding. He pounced on me.

  “Everything ok?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” his shallow voice in my ear. Biting at my lobe. “You want to?”

  I must’ve been petrified. I was—a little. I looked to the condoms on the bedside. “Yeah.” I did, I just didn’t know how.

  His kisses travelled from my neck to my chest, down—down—the sensation went on forever, waking my cock once again. Through the anticipation, I looked to him between my legs, pulling my underwear to free my dick.

  His lips and tongue at the tip, eyes on me while I watched him.

  My hands on the back of his head, combed through his hair, pushing as he bobbed on my cock. It was like tickling an itch I never knew I’d had before—he moved back, wiping his mouth, and smiling.

  Back on my abdomen, he leaned across to kiss me—his wet lips and warm tongue inside my mouth. I wanted to consume him from here—my hands tried to undress him, tugging at the edge of my t-shirt drowning him.

  He pulled away.

  “What? What happened?”

  “Nothing,” his shallow breath let out as he pulled away the shirt.

  It was the first time I was fully seeing him—sitting on me, he looked to his body, waiting for my comment. I didn’t have one, he was— “Perfect.” I traced his body form shoulders to stomach, slim and small, with a large erection in the throes of being concealed by a pressed hand.

  He threw himself across me, his warm chest against mine. His racing heartbeat matched mine as I wrapped my arms around his back, stroking down to the waistband.

  I was naked—now, it was his turn.

  Harvey stood on the bed, a leg at either side of me. I grabbed at the underwear by the waist band on his hips and slipped it down his legs. Solid, his cock bounced as precum dripped to my hand like spun sugar.

  Kicking the underwear across the room, he sat on my chest and look to me—wide eager eyes. He looked to the nightstand.

  We were doing this—I grabbed a condom wrapper, peeling it open.

  Hiking my knees up, I reached out to my cock. I couldn’t see a thing—pinching the tip of the condom as I rolled it down my erection. Twisting on his side, Harvey’s hand secured it in place. I didn’t know what to do next—not in this situation.

  My hands on each ass cheek, I squeezed at them.

  “Let me—” he said, raising on his knees at either side, he looked back with my cock in his hand, guiding it.

  “Is it—” I let out on the few failed attempts as the tip of my cock felt the pressure before slipping away—a blessing and a curse of pre-lubed condoms.

  Moaning together, it went in.

  Different to anything else I’d had—tight, squeezing around my cock like a hand. I kept my knees high as thrust, pushing Harvey to my chest. Fucking him, he moaned in my ear as his hands and arms cradled my head.

  “This ok?”

  “Keep—yes—”

  Three minutes in and if I continued—I’d—

  His ass became tighter, squeezing my cock.

  “Ohhhh.” He came, glossing our chests like glue.

  I couldn’t keep it—any—longer. On a final thrust, I came, my body collapsing in with his.

  * * *

  He was a happy distraction. Through the day he felt distant, focused, and competitive. Once the evening came, we spoke, and he would jump on my bed—grind into my hips and stick his tongue down my throat.

  It kept me awake as he cuddled me. Dressed in his underwear and another one of my t-shirts. He laid on my chest, the smell of his hair, and the scent of his body made my hands crazy, I wanted to be touching all of him and feeling him out again—more of him, harder, faster—my hands ached into his side, wrapped around his waist, I squeezed him a little closer as his body shuffled—I was making the most of the space in this small single bed.

  I’d never had this before—with anyone.

  Nobody had ever fallen to sleep on me.

  It kept me up on a night I should’ve been sleeping, I was wide awake in my thoughts—thinking of all the things I wanted to do once we were both out of tennis camp and in a double bed—I wasn’t sure if I wanted the space away from me, or to stay here in a single bed and have him wrap a leg around my ankle with his head on my chest. Trying not to breath too heavily so I didn’t wake him.

  Perhaps it was the tournament commencing in the morning, or having him on me, but I was becoming nervous. I never got nervous, or I had been and that’s what made me angry and stressed.

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  My body sprung as Harvey rolled out, spilling across the floor. He grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  It was 5:43 A.M.

  “What—who?” Harvey scratched his head.

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  After the third pound, I nearly found a use for one of my spare rackets.

  The handle turned. Harvey looked to me on the floor then back to the door. They didn’t have locks.

  “Jordan,” a voice screeched, “this is the smallest room I’ve seen.” My mother dressed in a grey blazer, resting on her shoulders and sitting over her turtleneck. A pair of grey pinstripe trousers up to her waist, and some black heels. It was topped nicely; her I don’t give a fuck look, with a large rimmed white hair and a massive pair of blacked out sun
glasses. And of course, a large designer handbag swinging on her elbow.

  I knew the look. She was serious.

  “Mum?”

  “Jordan—” she turned to Pedro stood behind her, “why is he in this hovel?”

  Harvey skittered from the floor, silent, he grabbed a couple things from the end of his bed. He didn’t look back, but he was still wearing my t-shirt.

  “Sorry,” he let out in a grumble, passing my mother and Pedro as their discussion grew heated.

  I caught the tail end as I pulled the duvet up my body to reclaim some of the warm comfort Harvey’s body had provided. “The en-suites are being refurbished from a leak,” Pedro said.

  My mother looked back to me, barely looking over her glasses—her face was pinched. “I hope the bed has been supporting your back.”

  “Mum, what are you doing?” I continued pulling the duvet.

  Into the room, from what I saw of her face, it winced, pinched sour. “My flight from Seoul landed,” she said, “I slept on the flight, bright and early, so I’m here now.”

  “Is dad?”

  “No, no,” she scoffed, “your father thinks this is all a fallacy, and I’m here to take you home once it’s finished.”

  “I’m—I can leave on my own.”

  “Sweetheart, we’ve spoken at length about all this. Your expense accounts will be closed, so I don’t know how you’ll be able to do that.” She sat at the end of the bed, her face, looking waxy and polished in this light. That was the reason she went to Seoul, it was strange that she wore a turtleneck in this heat, but the sunglasses made sense.

  “I’m going to win,” I told her—looking to Pedro, his face nodding back to me. “And when I win, I’ll have access to my money.”

  “Well, darling,” she said, reaching out a hand to pat my knee over the duvet. “It’s our money, and we can cut you off if you’re irresponsible, and to continue chasing this dream after what? Four-five years,” she looked to Pedro, probably for back up. “We will be within those rights to snip-snip.” She gestured with two fingers as scissors.

  It was more around seven years. “And if I win,” I continued, “you stop threatening me, right?”

  Her head tilted. She was going to take it off me anyway. Impose the rule my father had been telling me about; they wanted me to wait until I was 25, they’d been telling me I would be more responsible then. I knew that’s what they wanted me to be—responsible. Go into business, I heard it all the time. You have money, make more with it, don’t spunk it up the wall, my father’s voice of anger and disappointment travelled through me.

  Turned away to Pedro. “When’s the day of activities?” she asked.

  “Well, we have fourteen games,” he started.

  “Not—” she snapped, cutting him off, “not the answer, please, continue,” she rolled her hand over before resting them back on her lap over her handbag.

  “Nine,” he said.

  Back to me, she pulled at her sunglasses. Her eyes appeared wider, but that might’ve been a side effect of the surgery. “Three hours then,” she mumbled. “Match of five?”

  “Three,” Pedro added from the door.

  “Best of three,” she grumbled back, nodding. “Well, winning this only means getting that invite thingy, so either way, you won’t be getting the money until you win a real tournament, first place, and if you don’t, the measures your father and I spoke of will go into place.”

  “Can I wake up first?”

  “Actually, I hope you’ll join me for breakfast,” she said, gesturing with a hand in Pedro’s direction, “with Petra and Pedro.”

  “Pupils don’t eat with st—”

  “No, no,” she said, snapping him off again.

  “Mum, I need to get ready,” I said. “I won’t be eating much, plus, Pedro and Petra are too busy to be entertaining you, you’re the only parent here.”

  “I’m sure most of the other parents haven’t spent a fortune already,” she grumbled, “I want to know if you’ve made progress.”

  “Well, actually, Jordan has made a lot of—”

  She snapped her fingers, cutting him off once more. “Of course that’s what you’d say, you’re the one being paid.” She stood, dusting off her trousers. She tugged her blazer back in place. “Then I guess I’ll see you when you start playing.”

  Great. I was going to have an audience.

  My mother wanted me to fail. She wanted nothing more than to cart me off with a smile, and when I arrived home to be greeted by my father’s smiling face and a told you so. I couldn’t have that—I couldn’t have any of it.

  Throwing myself into a pair of shorts and a hoodie, I needed to go for a run. I needed to sweat through it until I wasn’t thinking about it anymore—my parents and their ties over me, if I lost this, I’d have nothing—I’d have what they gave me, and that came with its own set of conditions.

  I ran in a circle around the compound, several times. I noticed them setting up the tournament grounds across the large courts. There were two nets being assembled, presumably one for the men’s singles and the second for the women.

  Back in the room, out of breath, my body slick with sweat.

  Harvey wasn’t there.

  My t-shirt, the one he’d been wearing was folded on my pillow.

  I pulled away my hoodie and grabbed it. I pushed to my nose and I inhaled him. It was the rush I needed—but not the rush I’d need to consider him my competition. I was falling for him, falling for the touch he reached into my soul with.

  I liked who I was around him, but to continue, I’d need to beat him in a real match—the first time we’d played, he’d won—and since training with him, I’d still only won a handful.

  That wasn’t my concern—first up for me was Sandro. Third game of the day—I was ready.

  Breakfast was granola mixed in with low-fat yoghurt. I took a couple apples and a banana. Everyone seemed quiet, headphones in as they sat around the table, stewing over their breakfast.

  Harvey was sat in quiet, afraid to make eye contact while everyone else was around. It was strange for him to be this distant when he’d been wrapped around my chest hours ago, squeezed at me—and now he was the furthest away.

  It was probably for the best—we both needed to focus.

  I needed this win. I had to stop caring.

  The tennis courts had been transformed. I’d seen it like this before. It appeared more professional this way. They had seating. An umpire chair. I wondered who’d they have in, it couldn’t have been Pedro or Petra; it would need to be an official because this was a match for something more than a small trophy with a name etched on a plaque—this was for an invite to the Future Face of Tennis. That meant big screen and the possibility of winning fifty-thousand euros.

  I prepared my tennis day outfit before I even arrived. It was in the suitcase, all laid out inside a dry-cleaning bag.

  “You ready?” Harvey asked.

  I turned to him, plucking a headband on his forehead, pushing his forest of hair back on his head. “Think so,” I said, looking him over. He was dressed in clothes I hadn’t seen on him before, a red Adidas t-shirt and matching tennis shorts, they had a plastic wick to them, marketed as being breathable.

  “How do you feel?”

  He wanted to talk now. “I’m ok. I have to prove a point to my mum, but I should probably tell you I’ll be leaving tonight.”

  “Tonight?” he looked away.

  “Yeah, when are you leaving?”

  “They paid for my flights,” he answered, sitting on the end of his bed. “Pedro said something about tonight or the morning, so, I should pack when I have the time.”

  “So, this is the last day?”

  He nodded back, pulling socks up his calves. “Do you want my number or—”

  “We live so far apart,” I said, this couldn’t go on, this couldn’t go further than here—all the wishing and dreaming I’d done while he slept at my side was for nothing. “It’ll probably be
worse, long distance stuff.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.” He didn’t look back.

  I turned back to the clothes on the bed. “It’s been nice. I won’t forget it.”

  His arms pulled tight at my waist, wrapped around me from behind. His chin and head on my back. “Good luck,” he whispered.

  Frozen in his touch, I didn’t want to say anything else—I could feel tears bubbling on my eyes. I didn’t turn. He kissed my neck and pulled away. It was followed by the click of the door closing behind.

  “Good luck,” I whispered back once he was gone.

  I knew his intention wasn’t to pull me off focus or put me off my game, but the way his hold around my stomach felt like I’d lost something when he pulled away, and the pressure of his lips against my neck—I massaged it, why was it my neck and not my lips.

  I wasn’t there for the first game between Eduard and Nils. Nils won both matches, the third wasn’t necessary Eduard wasn’t going to win.

  I turned up in the swing of things to hear Sasha scream victory as she won against Amelia in the other court.

  To say no family except my mother was there, sitting amongst the players in wait for their matches, it was busy. Most, if not all of the staff were out to watch, some of the ball boys and ball girls, others I hadn’t seen before—the umpires, wearing uniformed attire; they looked official too, if they weren’t—no, my parents wouldn’t even entertain threatening a lawsuit.

  “Worried you’d gone missing,” Pedro said as I walked through the gate with my bag on a shoulder—it had my rackets, the apples, and clothes to change into.

  “Preparing,” I said. “Has she been quiet?” I nodded to my mother, sitting on the tiered seats, surrounded by the others. Only the guys—the girls were across the court as a long piece of wall had been brought in to keep the two apart.

  “Your mother has spirit,” he chuckled, patting me on the shoulder.

  Harvey was on the court, warming up with his racket in hand, swinging it, jumping left to right. He looked away as our eyes met. Cesar was still in the stands, talking to Sandro, he hadn’t even taken his racket from the bag yet.