Page 13 of Stroke Rate

River’s mouth quirked a little as he pinched that damned lip again. The two men sat, looking at each other, smiling. River broke first, letting go of his lip, running his tongue over it, pulling the abused flesh into his mouth with his teeth, nibbling the corner as if he were debating how to respond. His gaze burned with something; pupils blown wide so only a slight ring of gold circled the black pool.

“Okay, yeah, well Brooke has told me you can be a complete menace,” he huffed. “And I’m sure your stroke rate is just perfect, the right speed, a firm grip.” River licked his lips. “I’m positive you’ve had no complaints outside of the pool, but I wonder if you are as bad at taking directions inside of the pool as you are outside. Are you trainable? Can you surrender control? Can you collaborate with someone?” River cocked a brow. “Or do you disarm everyone with your smile, and always get your way?”

River had him, and he knew it. His head tilted, a small grin on his lips, eyes moving from Chris’ eyes to his mouth, up and down, up and down. His hand dropped below the table. Is he adjusting himself?

“Okay, you got me, River. I am horrible at taking any kind of criticism, and usually, I am the one in control. I am the one giving directions. I am the one training…outside of the pool, that is. But if it's stroke rate in the pool we need to work on, then I am up for the challenge.” He dropped his ‌hand under the table, giving his thickening cock a squeeze. The verbal tennis match was strangely arousing. He liked that River had pushed back a little.

A throat cleared next to them, breaking their staring contest. The waitress was waiting with their food.

“Jesus, that’s a lot of food,” River mumbled.

Chris pulled his shirt up, patting his belly. “Gotta feed a growing boy.” Smirking as he watched a slight pink rise on River’s cheeks again. God, this was going to be fun.

Chapter twelve

River

“Ipromise I'll eat all of it.” Chris laughed as their food was placed on the table. “These burgers look so good. And look at yours. Shit, does it have chicken and waffles?”

“L-loo-loo-looks good, eh? There's syrup on it-t-t too. Christ, you got mac and cheese too, Chris?” Looking at the spread brought back so many memories for River, all the shared meals with his high school team. Those kids could eat.

Coop and River had started the tradition their second year coaching. After each home meet, they took all the kids to the local diner. Everyone ordered burgers, cheese fries, shakes, and onion rings. Watching them evoked the same measure of awe and revulsion, yet it never failed to entertain the two of them. Kids stuffed their faces, constant chattering and laughs, Coop and River observed everyone around them, loving the crazy silliness that coaching teens had brought into their lives.

River hadn't realized, or hadn't let himself feel, how much he missed coaching and being around swimmers. Memories made his throat feel tight and his chest feel raw, so he kept them locked away; letting them out would have been too painful. But eating with Chris had brought it all back, a strange mix of sad and fond memories playing through his mind. Brooke, with her head back, cackling at a joke Casey had said. Pete, constantly pulling the slimy onion insides from his rings, making them look like boogers on his face. Coop, with his arms folded across his chest, a fond smile lighting his entire face. Fuck River missed all of them.

“You okay?” Chris touched his arm.

“Hmm, y-yeah, j-j-just some old memories.”

“Okay, yeah, your face. Just,” he shrugged, reaching over to cover River’s hand with his own. Fuck, River knew he should pull back, but it felt too good. The slight warmth of Chris’ hand on his touch-starved body felt like an oasis in the desert—like a cool drink of water to his parched soul. Chris pulled his hand back to eat, and River felt the loss everywhere.

“This is fucking good, dude,” Chris said, mouth stuffed with a burger. “Can I, uhhh, can I try yours? You can have a bite of mine. You want to try it?” Shoving his plate closer to River. “The sauce is so good,” he said, stopping to wipe his mouth with his hand, not bothering with a napkin.

“You have something right here,” River pointed to the side of his mouth.

“Where? Here?” Chris licked the side of his mouth, pink tongue making his lips shiny with spit. “Did I get it?”

River’s mouth filled with saliva as he watched Chris’ tongue search about his lips. He swallowed, throat clicking too loudly, as he answered, “nope still there.”

Chris' tongue darted out again, attempting to reach it. His tongue shot out so far that he almost licked that stubborn dimple on his cheek. “Did I get it? I tasted it. Is it gone?”

“No, here, just let me.” River reached over, swiping the sauce from Chris’ face. Pulling his thumb back, sucking it clean, all while Chris stared at him, licking his lips again.

“Fuuuckkk.” Chris whispered, just loud enough for River to hear. “Well, fuck me, that was sexy. Seriously, you've got to dial it back,” Chris whispered, his voice a low rumble as he invaded River’s personal space, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

River shouldn't have liked that Chris thought he was sexy, loving the way Chris leaned forward like he wished to be the one sucking his thumb clean. Clearing his throat to break the tension, River said, “Tell me a bit more about-t-t yourself. Brooke has told me some. B-But I want to know you better if we are going to do this.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Tell me what your f-f-family is like, friends, s-so-social life, what you do for fun, do you have a partner? I want to know you, Chris.” The questions sounded more like first-date questions, not questions a coach getting to know his swimmer would ask. Shit.

“You want to know me? Are we on a date, River? Gonna take me home after this?” Chris wiggled his brows. “Nah, you don’t seem like the kind of guy who hooks-up after the first date. You seem more like a hug and kiss on the cheek at the front door on a first date kind of guy.” Dark blue eyes with a disarming intensity met River's face. Though unnerved, he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away.

“Think you’ve got me p-p-pegged, Chris?”

“Oh, I’ve got you pegged and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be doing some pegging,” Chris said, winking and licking his lips. Fucking winking, and holy shit, River was a goner. The thought shook him to his core, but all he could do was throw his head back and laugh. A deep bellow of a laugh that scared him; the sound of joy so foreign to his ears. River leaned into the hilarity of it all, relished ‌the lightness laughter brought to his chest, and enjoyed the moment.

Running a hand through his hair, River looked at the glinting blue eyes that had captivated him all afternoon. Eyes that glinted with life and humor. “I fucking c-ca-can’t even handle you, Chris.” Smiling as tears streamed down his cheeks, lost in the moment's warmth, a slight snort pulling him back to the boy across the table. Chris was laughing with him, or maybe at him. He didn’t care; he wanted more, more laughs, more smiles, more banter.