dropped one more lingering kiss on Tony’s lips, then rolled off him. He sat, smiling gently, one hand stroking Tony’s forehead before veering off to tangle in his curls. “I want you to remember something.”
“The feel of your ass in my hands? Your dick against mine? Your tongue in my mouth? Because trust me—those aren’t things I’m likely to forget.”
Sol grinned. “Good to know. But I’m not talking about us right now. I’m talking about you.” Sol sobered, his hand cupping the back of Tony’s head. “You earned your spot, Tony. If the committee didn’t think you were the best fit for the team, the best chance for a medal, they wouldn’t have called your name.”
“How—” Tony swallowed. “How did you know I needed to hear that?”
“Because I can almost hear those gears grinding away.” Sol tapped Tony’s forehead. “Give ’em a rest.”
Tony grabbed Sol’s hand and laced their fingers together. “What if I snowed them? What if the fan reaction clouded their judgment?” He grimaced. “Maybe they were just victims of the infamous Thomas flair.” Tony couldn’t keep the revulsion out of his tone.
“Gymnastics judges are notoriously resistant to snow, clouds, or flair.” Sol’s fingers tightened, almost to the point of pain. “You took first on rings, Tony. Second on p-bars. You deserve your place. You deserve this chance. Furthermore, the team needs you. Men’s gymnastics needs you, for everything you bring to the table.”
Tony couldn’t meet Sol’s dark, intense gaze. “But is that what the other guys think?”
Sol’s lips quirked, and he leaned over until Tony could feel the puff of Sol’s breath on his cheek. “That’s what I think. Do you really care about anybody else?”
Tony hooked a finger in the neck of Sol’s T-shirt. “No. Actually, everybody else in the world can take a flying fuck with a goddamn double twist.”
And he pulled Sol down into another kiss.
Man, a week with his parents had never felt this long. Normally, Sol loved visiting with them—warm, loving, funny, and his biggest supporters. But this time, he was aching to get back to the gym, back to the team, back to training.
Back to Tony.
Sol waved to his parents as they drove away from the training center. He pulled his USOPTC credentials out of his duffel and then hitched the strap onto his shoulder. The June sun was hot on his head and shoulders, and the air-conditioned coolness of the center beckoned to him, but he stood on the sidewalk looking up at the building for a moment. Once he stepped through the doors, he’d be on the path to the Olympics.
Who am I kidding? Every time I walked into the gym since I was ten has been a step on that path.
Tony had been by his side almost the whole time, except for the last few horrible years. How did I live through almost four years without seeing him, without touching him?
Well, the touching would mostly need to wait until after Tokyo, because they’d agreed—this time was for the team. They’d play out their own personal story after the Games.
Hell if I’m going to wait any longer for the seeing, though.
Sol sprinted to the doors and through check-in. He dumped his duffel in his room. Rahul’s door was partway open, so Sol knocked softly and poked his head in. “Hey. You’re here.”
Rahul looked up from a hefty textbook. Sheesh, the guy never stopped studying. Sol was serious about his biochem work, but Rahul’s dedication to engineering was off the charts. “Got in yesterday.” His gaze flickered back to the page. “Got a test coming up.”
“A test? But it’s the middle of summer.”
Rahul shrugged. “Summer term. I’m trying to get ahead on my coursework so I won’t have to do as much during the Games.”
Sol grinned. “If you manage anything during the Games… What am I saying? If anyone can do it, you can.” He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “But don’t spend all your downtime with your nose in a book. It’s the Olympics, man. Experience the dream.”
“Mmphmm.” Rahul bent his head over the book. “See you at dinner tonight.”
Sol shook his head, chuckling, and headed toward the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. He’d been running around like a maniac after sweating in the sun for longer than necessary—and the AC in his parents’ old Honda was more a suggestion of a breeze than actual cooling. I should take a shower. Tony certainly wasn’t any stranger to the smell of Sol’s sweat—and vice versa.