Ice and Anticipation
Andrew woke to the harsh buzz of his alarm, body still humming from the night before. Sunlight slanted through the narrow window, turning the tiny home into a golden box. He stretched, muscles loose and satisfied in a way that surprised him. No hangover from the nerves, just a low thrum of excitement that had everything to do with the message still glowing on his phone.
He checked Grindr first thing. Florian had sent one more text after Andrew had crashed out.
MuscleEmoji: Sleep well. See you at 8.
No question mark. No fluff. Just command. Andrew's cock stirred lazily at the memory of those typed orders, the way they had unraveled him without a single touch. He typed back quickly.
Andrew: Can't wait. Good luck with whatever you're doing today.
No response came. Florian probably wasn't the type to chat idly. Andrew set the phone down and got moving. Shower, quick and cold to shake off the last of his drowsiness. He toweled off, catching sight of the faint red marks on his nipples from where he had pinched too hard last night. They were sensitive still, brushing against the fabric of his team polo as he dressed. A reminder that made his skin flush.
Breakfast in the communal hall was a whirlwind. Teammates bantering over oatmeal and protein shakes, the air thick with the scent of coffee and fresh bread. Andrew's skip, a burly Scot named Callum, clapped him on the back hard enough to jolt him.
"Ready for the ice, lad? You look like you got some proper rest."
Andrew grinned, forcing nonchalance. "Yeah, slept like a baby."
Inside, his mind raced. Practice started in an hour at the Cortina Curling Center, a sleek arena nestled against the mountains. He needed to focus. But every time his thoughts drifted, they snagged on Florian's photo: that broad chest, the hint of blond hair, the bulge straining those briefs. Beefy. The word echoed, making his mouth water.
The walk to the venue cleared his head a bit. Snow crunched under his boots, the village alive with athletes jogging, stretching, hauling gear. He spotted a group of bobsledders from the German team, massive guys in tight jackets, laughing in guttural bursts. One of them could be Florian. The thought sent a thrill through him. Secretive, closeted, surrounded by that macho energy. Andrew wondered what it would feel like to peel away those layers, to make a man like that beg.
Practice went better than expected. The ice was pristine, the stones gliding with that satisfying rumble. Andrew's deliveries were sharp, his sweeps precise. Callum nodded approval after a particularly tight draw.
"You're locked in today, Wright. Keep that up."
Andrew felt it too. The distraction had worked. Instead of spiraling into doubt, his mind kept returning to tonight, to the promise of hands on his skin, a mouth claiming him. It grounded him oddly, turning anxiety into fuel.
By midday, they broke for lunch. Andrew slipped away to a quiet corner of the village, phone in hand. He opened Grindr again, but Florian's profile was offline. He scrolled through others absentmindedly, but none caught his eye. Too polished, too eager. He wanted that blunt German edge.
A message popped up from someone else: a French skier with a chiseled jaw and a bio full of winks. Andrew ignored it. His thumb hovered over Florian's chat instead.
Andrew: Just finished practice. Feeling good. You?
Minutes ticked by. Then:
MuscleEmoji: Training now. Can't talk.
Andrew bit his lip, grinning.
Andrew: Tease.
MuscleEmoji: You like it.
Heat pooled low in Andrew's belly. He adjusted himself discreetly, glancing around. The village pulsed with unspoken tension, athletes stealing glances, bodies brushing in crowded paths. He had heard the stories: Olympic hookups were legendary, fueled by adrenaline and isolation. But this felt different. Personal.
The afternoon dragged. More drills, strategy sessions with the team. Andrew's focus held, but by evening, anticipation gnawed at him. He showered again, this time lingering under the hot water, soaping his body slowly. He trimmed his pubes neat, not shaved, just enough to feel clean. His cock hardened as he touched himself, remembering Florian's commands. He stroked lightly, teasing, but stopped before he got too far. Save it.
Dinner with the team was quick: pasta, salad, no alcohol. Callum raised a glass of water in toast. "To not fucking it up tomorrow."
Laughter rippled. Andrew joined in, but his eyes kept flicking to the clock. Seven thirty. He excused himself early, claiming fatigue.
The walk to tiny home 47 took him across the village, past clusters of lights and muffled music from impromptu gatherings. His heart pounded harder with each step. What if Florian was a disappointment? Too rough, or worse, boring? But the chat last night said otherwise. That control, that hunger.
He knocked softly at eight sharp. The door opened almost immediately.
Florian filled the frame, towering at six foot five, dressed in a simple gray tee that strained over his pecs and black sweatpants slung low on his hips. Dark blond hair cropped short, blue eyes sharp and assessing, a scruff of beard shadowing his jaw. His arms were massive, biceps flexing as he gripped the door. A faint scent of clean sweat and soap hit Andrew, masculine and intoxicating.
"Come in," Florian said, voice deep with a clipped German accent. No smile, but his gaze raked over Andrew like he was already undressing him.
Andrew stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. The space mirrored his own: bed, desk, minimal. But Florian made it feel smaller, his presence dominating.
"You're shorter than I thought," Florian said, turning to face him fully.
Andrew laughed, nerves bubbling out. "You're bigger than I imagined. That photo didn't do you justice."
Florian's lips twitched, almost a smirk. He stepped closer, crowding Andrew against the wall without touching. Heat radiated off him. "Strip."
Andrew's breath hitched. No preamble. Straight to it. His hands moved to his shirt, pulling it off slowly, revealing his slim chest, the still-sensitive nipples. Florian's eyes darkened, tracking every inch.
"Pants too."
Andrew kicked off his shoes, shimmied out of his jeans and briefs in one go. His cock bobbed free, already half-hard, the cool air making it twitch.
Florian looked him over, unhurried. "Turn around."
Andrew obeyed, facing the wall, ass exposed. He felt vulnerable, thrilled. A large hand settled on his hip, thumb stroking the curve.
"You're perfect," Florian murmured, breath hot against Andrew's ear. "Skinny little twink, just like I wanted."
Andrew shivered. "Touch me."
"Not yet." Florian's hand slid up his side, brushing a nipple in passing. Andrew gasped. "I want to look first."
He circled Andrew, eyes hungry. Up close, Florian's body was a masterpiece: broad shoulders tapering to a solid waist, legs like tree trunks. Blond hair dusted his arms lightly, trimmed close. When he lifted an arm to run a hand through his hair, Andrew caught the thick tuft in his pit, dark blond and untouched. It made his mouth dry.
"You like that?" Florian noticed, flexing his bicep deliberately. The muscle bulged, veins popping.
"Yeah," Andrew whispered. "Makes you look... manly."
Florian grunted approval. "Good. Now on the bed. Hands and knees."
Andrew crawled onto the narrow mattress, ass up, cock hanging heavy between his thighs. He heard Florian undress behind him: fabric rustling, a zipper. Then the bed dipped as Florian knelt behind him.
Large hands gripped his hips, pulling him back. Florian's cock pressed against his ass, thick and hot through the last layer of fabric. No, wait, he was naked now. Skin on skin. Andrew moaned, pushing back.
"Eager," Florian said, one hand sliding down to cup Andrew's balls, rolling them gently. "I like that."
"Please," Andrew begged, voice muffled against the pillow.
Florian chuckled low, the sound vibrating through them both. He leaned over, chest pressing against Andrew's back, mouth at his neck. "What do you want?"
"Your mouth. On me."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
Florian nipped his earlobe. "Specific."
Andrew flushed. "Suck my cock. Please."
"Good boy." Florian flipped him onto his back effortlessly, like he weighed nothing. He settled between Andrew's legs, broad shoulders spreading them wide. His beard scratched Andrew's inner thighs as he leaned in, breath ghosting over the hard length.
Andrew's hands fisted the sheets. "Fuck, yes."
Florian licked a stripe from base to tip, slow and flat. Andrew arched, a whine escaping. Then Florian swallowed him down, throat tight and hot, no gag. He worked him with precision: suction, tongue swirling, one hand stroking what his mouth couldn't take.
Andrew's hips bucked, but Florian pinned him down with one arm, effortless strength. The other hand drifted lower, fingers teasing his hole, circling the rim without entering.
"More," Andrew gasped.
Florian pulled off with a wet pop. "Not yet. I want you desperate."
He dove back in, alternating sucks with licks to his balls, nuzzling the sparse hair there. Andrew thrashed, close already.
"Gonna come," he warned.
Florian stopped, squeezing the base hard. "No. Not until I'm inside you."
Andrew whimpered, body trembling on the edge. Florian rose up, cock jutting out: thick, eight inches at least, uncut, the head peeking from the foreskin, slick with pre-cum. Blond pubes trimmed but full, framing it perfectly.
"Condom," Florian said, reaching for his bag.
Andrew nodded, watching as Florian rolled it on, then slicked himself with lube. He prepped Andrew quickly, one finger, then two, scissoring until Andrew was open and begging.
"Ready?"
"Yes. Fuck me."
Florian lined up and pushed in slow, inch by inch. The stretch burned sweet, filling him completely. Andrew's legs wrapped around Florian's waist, heels digging into his ass.
They moved together, Florian's thrusts deep and measured at first, building to a punishing rhythm. His biceps flexed beside Andrew's head, pits exposed, that masculine hair drawing Andrew's gaze. He leaned up, licked into one, tasting salt and musk.
Florian groaned, pounding harder. "Dirty boy."
Andrew came untouched, spilling between them, clenching around Florian. That tipped him over: Florian buried deep, shuddering, a low growl escaping as he filled the condom.
They collapsed, breathing hard. Florian pulled out gently, disposed of the condom, then lay back, pulling Andrew against his chest.
"You okay?" Florian asked, voice softer now.
Andrew nodded, tracing the blond hair on his pecs. "Better than okay. You?"
"Good." A pause. "You were nervous yesterday. How was practice?"
Andrew smiled, surprised. "Actually great. Thinking about this helped."
Florian hummed. "Focus on the moment. Not the end."
Andrew propped up on an elbow. "You sound like a coach."
"Experience." Florian's hand stroked his back. "Tell me about curling."
They talked then, easy and low, bodies tangled. Andrew shared his fears, Florian offered blunt advice. No emotions, just facts, but it felt like opening a door.
As Andrew dressed later, Florian watched from the bed, still naked, cock soft against his thigh.
"Tomorrow?" Andrew asked.
Florian nodded. "After my heat. Come back."
Andrew left with a kiss, the night air cool on his flushed skin. The nerves were gone, replaced by something warmer. Hope.
... To be continued
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
