Page 10 of Stroke Rate

River's hand found Chris', a warm clasp in the cool air. They didn't shake, it was just a tight squeeze of fingers, as their eyes locked.

River’s lips tilted up as he cleared his throat, “R-really nice.”

Chris watched a deep crimson hue creep up River’s neck, flooding his cheeks and intensifying the pattern of his freckles as he pinched his plump bottom lip, releasing Chris’ hand. The touch had been too fleeting, and Chris ached to pull his hand back. Despite his inner voice cautioning him against it, River's captivating presence made him forget the danger of touch. A gentle heat, like liquid sunshine, radiated from Chris's hand to his toes, a comforting warmth he wanted more of.

“I-I-I’d like to talk t-t-to you. Well, well, I mean, obviously I’m here halfway across the country, of course I want to talk to you.” River pinched his bottom lip again, diverting his eyes to the side.

The visible unease and stutter made Chris feel a mix of discomfort and sadness. River looked as if he wanted to jump into the pool and disappear, unable to bear the conversation any longer. Chris felt an urge to seize his hand and put an end to the incessant lip-pinching. He stopped himself, but it was a close call.

“Hey yeah, okay, let’s talk, but first I need to hop into the shower and get dressed. Do you want to meet me at the athletic dorms in like thirty?” Chris put on his best camera-ready smile, looking up at River whose eyes had drifted to the side and gone glassy. “River?” Chris tapped his shoe with his wet foot.

“Um, oh, sorry, eh, yes, yes, I’d like to do that. Dorm in half an hour. Are you hungry? Of course you are hungry; you just swam a marathon. Ugh, ummm yes, food. Let's get the food, we can get the foods and talk?” River said it, as more of a question.

The sound of River fumbling over his words brought a suppressed giggle to Chris' lips. Add the stutter and lip pinching, and Chris was a goner.

“Yes, I’ll go shower, change, and then I need to eat. I'm starving. I’d love a burger or a sandwich, or meat. Yes, meat! All of the meat.”

“I can do meat. I mean, we can do meat. Christ, we can go and eat all the meats?” River slapped his hand over his mouth, whispering, “Eat all the meats? What the fuck?”

“Okay, River, find all the meats.” Chris snickered. “And I’ll meet you back at the athletic dorms in thirty.” Leaving River to mutter about meats and what a dumbass he was. Chris turned his head to look at River; golden speckled eyes stared back at him, his mouth still moving and agape. Chris winked and gave a cheeky finger wave before jogging to the locker room.

Chapter eight

River

“What in the ever-loving fuck just happened?” River whispered to himself, still frozen on the pool deck in the exact same spot Christopher had left him. He was still mumbling to himself, still fidgeting with his lip, and utterly confused as to how quickly that conversation had spun out of control. River had a plan. A well thought out plan he had gone over in his head so many times he had it memorized. All the diligently rehearsed conversations meant to ensure his brain and mouth would flow seamlessly, vanished as soon as Christopher’s endless blue eyes had locked with his own. River’s brain had turned to mush.

Everything that he had thought would happen didn’t. He was not cool, calm, and collected. He was a mumbling, stuttering fool, going on and on about getting meat. Not food, nope. River’s brain got stuck on meat, and he could not scramble out of that spiral, as much as he had tried. So he did what he always did: River stared off into space, forgetting that they were mid-conversation. His speech had been so muddled, unable to stop his stuttering by the time Christopher walked away.

The sight of Christopher’s bubbly ass bouncing as he walked towards the locker room jolted River out of his idiotic stupor. Still pinching his lip, his eyes zeroed in on those perfect globes encased in compression shorts. Those perfectly round cheeks with those fucking dimples right above the waistband tormenting River as they flexed with every step Christopher took. Just as River thought he had gained some kind of control of his faculties, Christopher had turned around. He turned around and caught River staring at his ass—like a cartoon character with bulging heart eyes and a tongue lolling out of his mouth. He should have checked his chin for drool, just in case. To top it all off, Christopher had waved, maybe even winked, making River want to jump into the deep end of the pool with bricks attached to his feet, drowning from the sheer embarrassment of it all. Please kill me now.

River made his way to the courtyard area; three tall dorm buildings formed a semicircle with some benches, trees, and a grassy area. People were milling about as River took a seat under the shade of a tree, feeling out of place and much too old to be on the campus alone. He waited, looking for a smiling face and a head of unruly blond hair; it was only moments before his eyes tracked the bouncing body of Christopher. Their eyes locked on one another, a bright smile lighting up Christopher’s playful face—his blue eyes twinkled, his hair still damp, dripping onto his shirt as he pushed it off his forehead.

River ran his eyes the length of Christopher’s body, getting caught on a sliver of skin right above the belt of his pants. Was he wearing a crop top? No, not a crop top, a short shirt? What kind of shirt was that? Whatever its name, it left River's mouth dry. As Christopher strode towards River, he caught a glimpse of his navel, his taut abs rippling with each movement, and those alluring v-thingies that kids had protruded at the side of his hips taking on a life of their own. River couldn’t stop staring. The heat of a deep blush bloomed across his cheeks, causing a light beading of sweat to form on his upper lip and a tight warm curl to form in his lower belly. Calm the fuck down, he thought.

His mind, it seemed, had left him as River blinked, fighting to clear the lusty fog that had seized his being. What was it about that guy? He couldn’t figure out what the pull to Christopher was. Was it just one of those rare natural connections, or was it the fact that River had been abstinent, depressed, and so fucking lonely that a kid with a gleaming smile and a short shirt had River twisted up in knots.

“Hey, River,” Christopher stuck out his hand to shake. With a swift motion, River clasped it in his own. Christopher’s hand was a perfect fit in River’s grip. Being that close felt like too much and yet not enough. River wondered if he was losing his mind as a deep, irrepressible desire to hold Christopher washed over him. To pull him close and run his hands over the golden skin of Christopher’s lower back, to bury his face in the crook of his neck and drown himself in the chlorine and citrus scent invading the space between them. He didn’t, but it was a close call.

Christopher’s hand was soft and warm, his fingers thick and calloused—all River could think of was the possibility of those fingers wrapping around his cock. For a moment they just held hands and looked at each other. River realized he was being weird again: silent and frozen in place. River’s hand was sweating, and it had a slight tremor. He let go, dropping his arms to his sides and looking away.

“Hi Christopher, it’s so nice to meet you. Well, I-I-I mmmm-mean officially? Mm-mm-meet you again?” Why the fuck is this happening again? He could barely speak a full sentence around Christopher without rambling, ‌his stuttering becoming so thick he felt like he was choking on every word. This was not going well, and it was going to be a problem. River took a deep, calming breath and tried again. He met Christopher’s eyes, sneaking a glance at his mouth, a half-smirk playing on his lips, chewing the corner of his mouth as if he was trying not to laugh. River tried to find some confidence, even if he was feeling anything but. He needed to sell himself as a confident swim coach, not an unconfident preteen with zero control over his voice or his dick, which had a mind of its own and was swelling against his thigh.

“It’s Chris.” The words broke their weird staring contest.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you preferred. The media always refers to you as Christopher, but Brooke calls you Chris?”

“Um, yeah, well, the media…well the media sucks, and I just never cared enough to correct them. Never seemed important enough.” Chris’ discomfort was obvious as his fingers tangled in his hair, a restless gesture.

“You really should correct them. If Chris is what you prefer, then they should know and adjust.” River’s steady, stutter-free voice expressed his frustration over the lack of honor for Chris’ name preference. Upset at the fact that Chris thought he wasn't important enough to demand they call him the name he favored.

“Yeah, well, it really doesn’t matter. They have called me Christopher for years. I think in the beginning I corrected it, and no one seemed to listen. I really don’t like Christopher; it’s what my mom and family insist on calling me.”

“K-k-k well, I found a place to eat. Kuma's Corner, it’s down the street so we can walk.”

“Sweet, yup! I’ve wanted to try that place, but haven’t had the time, and Rick, my other coach, did not like me eating like that before meets.”

“Alright, let’s get going.” River nudged him, leading the way.