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Riley waits in his room because if he goes outside and wanders around Athletes' Village while everyone's still streaming in from the ceremonies he's not going to find anybody, ever. Tom may not know which room is his but the building is ridiculously easy to find and it won't be hard to find out, and if he doesn't do that he can always call.

As long as he calls before midnight on Riley's Cinderella phone before it turns into a doorstop.

It's well after twelve when he finally hears Tom knocking at his door, more of a full body slam than actual knocking. There have been several full body slams against his door throughout the evening as people arrived back from Olympic Stadium, but this one comes complete with an, "Oops, ow!" that is distinctly in Tom's voice.

Riley opens the door and lets him tumble inside.

"Oh, thank god I got the right one this time," Tom says, closing the door behind him with his foot. "Your neighbours are cranky."

"We've got to leave for a flight in about four hours and some of us are trying to get some sleep."

"Here? Tonight?" says Tom, and goes from baffled to grinning again in about three seconds flat. "I wish them luck with that and assume you aren't one, since you're the twat who missed the whole ceremony."

"I wouldn't say I missed the whole thing," says Riley, and reaches past Tom to lock the door. He is very, very conscious of that this time, even though he's never forgotten. Well, not lately. Earlier was just too close a call, and no one is being careful right now. Tom is a case in point.

He's not unlocking it again unless someone yells "Fire!", and maybe not even then.

"You look like you've got nefarious plans for me," says Tom, "but let me tell you something. It is my turn."

"You think so?"

"I had to do interviews in sticky pants." Riley did notice that he changed before coming over, just in a track suit now and he'd be very surprised if there are any pants underneath at all. "I had to pretend that I hadn't come in my trousers, for hours."

"Did you have a good night?"

"Of course I had a bloody good night!" says Tom. "But it is my turn now."

It hasn't really sunk in to Riley that he's going to be leaving soon, but he isn't wound up from the closing celebration either, so he's actually feeling pretty laid back, all things considered. Laid back enough to let Tom get this out of his system while Riley pictures again what he must've looked like as he came.

"You had me fingering myself while one of my teammates was knocking on my door, so I think you already had your turn," he says, sitting back down on the couch and putting one foot up on it, knee to his chest.

"Oh," says Tom, and pauses while that image clearly goes through his own head. He doesn't even really have to use his imagination to picture it, which is another thing that hasn't really sunk in yet, and probably won't until Riley is on the other side of an ocean. "No, I think I still win that one."

He might have a point there, although winning, in this case, is certainly a matter of perspective.

"I'm feeling much better than I was earlier, in case you were worried," says Riley. He's sure that Tom was no such thing. "Lots of energy."

"Maybe I'm the one who's knackered now," says Tom. "I've just been out celebrating, you know."

"Working," Riley corrects him.

"Sometimes they're the same thing," says Tom. He feigns swooning with exhaustion, then grins at Riley and crawls up onto the couch right overtop of him and leans in for an awkward kiss. "Four hours?"

"More or less," says Riley. Closer to less than more, and at some point he actually needs to sleep. Though it's possible that's more of a want than a need at this point. The most demanding thing he needs to do tomorrow is go through customs. "Does that mean you're going to follow through on some of those promises?"

"Only if you are," says Tom. "I'm the Olympic bronze medallist, you know. People are lining up to sleep with me."

"How long are you going to milk that?"

"About four years," says Tom, pinching the skin over Riley's collarbone with his teeth. "Then I'm going to milk the fact that I'm the Olympic gold medallist for another four."

"Not if I get there first," says Riley, pushing himself off the arm of the couch and pushing Tom back, swinging a leg over him so that he's pinned in place. "You're not the only one with goals."

"I think I'd rather hear about your goals for the next four hours than your goals for Rio," he says. "I still can't believe you did that to me."

"We did that," says Riley, because Tom did not hang up. Tom chose to be carried along on that ride right to the end of it. "You wanted to do that. You wanted to be a little bit bad."

"I think it was more embarrassing than bad," says Tom, but he doesn't look embarrassed at all. He looks like he would do the whole thing all over again. "I intend to get my pants off this time around, though."

Riley kisses him again, biting gently on his bottom lip, just to get him to stop talking. Last night hadn't been planned, but it happened, and it brought them here, to this, and he's going to keep following through as long as his body lets him.

"You always get everything you want, don't you?" says Riley, only once he has Tom squirming and flushed beneath him.

"It's not as though I get it handed to me," says Tom. "I work hard to get what I want."

Riley just grins at him. "Then I guess you won't mind working hard for this, too," he says, and—using every bit of discipline and self-control he has—pushes himself back and off Tom's body.

"I mind," says Tom, eyes going round and hand going down to either rub himself or cover himself or both. "I mind quite a bit, actually!"

"How am I going to know you really want it?" says Riley, resisting the urge to do exactly the same thing now that he's standing, but just adjusting his shorts instead. Just having Tom there in the same room is doing things to him, let alone having him hot and panting with his legs spread on his couch.

He's leaving the room in a few hours. He's fine if they leave stains.

"How do you not know I want it?" says Tom, and god, that little pout of his just makes Riley want to bite his mouth harder, to strip him down and fuck him and leave him beautifully wrecked.

We all want it, Riley wants to say then, the thought surprising him a little, but what makes you want it more? "What do you want?" he says instead. "You have to tell me what you want. You have to tell me why you want it."

Tom licks his lips and he's silent for a moment, then he strips off his top and lifts his bum so he can get out of his track pants and Riley wasn't wrong, he wasn't wearing anything underneath them. He's hard but he's not touching it now, letting it rest loosely as he puts his hand on his own abdomen, all but framing it. It's more of a challenge than an answer, and Riley responds by grapping Tom's wrist, grabbing both of his wrists, and using them to haul him to his feet.

"I promise you'll like this," he says in Tom's ear, still holding his wrists tightly, and he will, but Riley's doing it because he wants the chance to have his way with Tom's body without anyone or anything getting in his way. The next time he looks at Tom Daley standing up on the platform, still and posed, all long lines and fierce concentration and muscle, he will know exactly, exactly, what it all feels like. He won't have to imagine it anymore.

"Well, you haven't been wrong so far," says Tom, and Riley is reminded again, he didn't hang up. "Are we taking this to bed now?"

"Not quite," says Riley, and brings his wrists together and searches the room for anything he hasn't packed yet. "You still haven't told me what you want, or how much you want it."

"Riley," says Tom, as if that alone will get him whatever he wants, but Riley wants to hear it. He's getting harder just thinking about Tom saying it, the way he did before, but saying it to his face this time. Telling him what he wants. Asking him to get it. "Okay. I want to fuck."

"More," says Riley, and lets go of one wrist just to twist them around behind his back, holding them together again a moment later. He presses himself up close to his back too, so he can put his lips against Tom's ear. "Tell me everything you didn't, before."

"I told you everything," says Tom, but he's breathing harder and there's a bit of sweat, right between his shoulder blades, and Riley wasn't wrong. Tom is liking this more than he's saying. "I told you how much I want your body, I told you how much I want to touch it, touch you. How much I want to be in you. How much I want you to be in me."

He hadn't told him that part, not in so many words, and Riley feels his dick twitch where it's just shy of being pressed up against Tom's back. He doesn't have a belt or a cord or anything to tie his wrists, but Tom's medal is still right there in his pocket on the couch and Riley's already reaching for it before he can stop himself and think no, this is a terrible idea, this is so wrong because it feels very right.

He ties the ribbon in a very careful single knot. It won't stand up to a single bit of pressure, but he puts faith in the fact that Tom will let Riley go very, very far before he risks damaging the medal. It's as good as a chain around his wrists.

"Stay there."

Tom's breath hitches and his eyes close and he stays very, very still even as Riley covers them with a hastily folded flag, tying it around the back of his head and standing back to admire his work.

He looks like a statue, a vision of absolute perfection, chin tilted up and blindfolded and arms bound behind his back. Every muscle is showing up in clear relief and his lips are parted and Riley doesn't even know where to start with him. He only has a couple of hours, and he wants everything before he goes.

"Tell me," he says as he circles Tom's body and runs his fingertips down his collarbones. Tom can't see how turned on Riley is anymore, but Riley still doesn't touch himself. It turns out discipline is good for something other than impeccable diving. If he touches himself, he might not be able to stop. He might just stand there and jerk off and come all over Tom's body, and as much as that idea makes him even hotter he can only do so much in one night and he's saving it for something more.

"I want to taste you," says Tom, his voice suddenly very clear, almost overenunciated. Like he's trying to control every word, because that's the only thing he's in control of right now. "I want to lick you. I want to bite you. I want to kiss you and drag my nails across your skin and I want to finger you so hard my arm aches."

Just for a second, Riley stops breathing, he pulls his hands from Tom's body just to control himself, then once they're steady he starts tracing them over the contours of Tom's chest, his stomach, the muscles angling towards his groin. "What do you want? What do you want?"

"I want to know what everything I've ever imagined feels like," says Tom, suddenly letting go of a torrent of words, in control only by the skin of his teeth. "I want you to do everything that I always imagined people on the internet and on the television and in my maths class would do to me, if they could. I want my body to drive you crazy, all right? I want you to touch me everywhere, in every way. "

It's all Riley can do not to do that right then and there, not to drop to his knees and suck Tom off till he can't even breathe. And fuck it, his best laid plans can go to hell. His hand is wrapped around his cock now, moving steadily as he circles Tom's body, looks at him from every angle.

"Keep talking."

"I don't know what you want to hear," says Tom, a desperate edge to his voice. "What do I have to do to get you to touch me?"

"Just...keep talking," says Riley, his hand moving a little faster. "Ask for it."

In between the licks of his lips, in between the ecstatic facial expressions that Tom makes as he very carefully does not move, Riley is sure he sees the twitches of a suppressed smile. "Just touch me," he says. "You can even just touch me a little. You can even just breathe on me. Put your tongue on me. Kiss me. Just give me a little bit, Riley, just let me feel you. Please, I know you're right there, I can feel the heat off your body and I just want to feel you on me."

God, Riley's hand is working furiously now, audibly, slapping flesh and rustling clothing.

"Are you—?"

"Yes."

"Oh god," breathes Tom, and angles his head back even more so that his face is upturned to the ceiling.

Riley bites his lip and feels waves of heat all over and moves in as close as he can to Tom without actually touching him, almost there, almost there, then his orgasm rises and slams into him and he's coming all over his fingers, coming all over Tom's abs.

Tom makes a shocked sound, mouth falling open, and Riley finally leans in and kisses him, sloppy and deep, as his fingers slow on his own dick and move to Tom's body, smearing the come all over his skin. He feels absolutely filthy as he does it, filthy and wonderful and he just doesn't stop.

"Oh god, now will you touch me?" says Tom, and fuck yes, Riley will touch him everywhere. Riley will run his hands all over Tom's back and kiss his throat and lick his own spunk and bite his nipples and finger his ass and Riley will definitely suck his dick, hard and slow and thoroughly until Tom can't stand it anymore. And he will do it all while Tom is still tied up in the middle of the room and completely willing to be this thoroughly used.

Tom makes a noise that's halfway between laughing and sobbing as Riley sucks him, on his knees with one hand grabbing Tom's ass and one hand back on his own cock even though it's soft and sticky and he's pulled his boxers back up to cover it again.

He takes it slowly. Every once in a while he stops, circles Tom's body again, traces its lines and gives them both a moment to cool down, though every time he does it Tom seems to cool down less and less. Then he drops to his knees again, sucks him a little longer, a little harder, but never takes Tom as far as he clearly wants to go. He's hard again himself, hard but not needy, hard but able to ignore it in favour of memorizing every one of Tom's reactions to every single thing he does to him.

Finally, right at the point he doesn't want to stop, he finally steps back and asks again, "What do you want, Tom?"

"I want you to fuck me," he bursts out. "I want you to fuck me so much I almost want to cry. God, please, Riley, I'm going to die if you don't get me off soon."

Riley rips the blindfold off and untangles the medal with one hand and drops both on the couch before practically shoving Tom in the direction of the bed. It's moments before they're on it, barely time for a breath, and Riley is pushing Tom face-first into the pillow and spreading his thighs wide with both hands and diving in. He doesn't give himself time to think about it. Tom's still rotating his shoulders and his wrists to regain circulation and Riley is licking at his ass like he's starving for it.

"Oh god, that's a real thing," says Tom, clutching at the blanket and arching up against him, "that's actually a real thing people do, oh my god, don't you ever stop."

The only reason Riley stops it that he needs to pull away long enough to yank off his own shirt and shorts, finally, and to massage his jaw a little because he hasn't done that much cocksucking in ages and adding this on top of it, whatever he's supposed to call it, is exercising muscles he doesn't use as much as the rest of them.

He still doesn't stop and think about it, just keeps doing the thing that's making Tom go absolutely insane and then being so completely fucking grateful that he thought to leave a couple of condoms out when he packed once Tom starts begging for it.

He's so hard when he finally starts fucking him that he's dizzy with the force of it. Tom is bent almost in half, panting so hard into the pillow they can probably hear even that outside and making the loudest, most desperate, most seductive fucking sounds every time Riley manages to get deeper. Honestly, thank god he's already come once or he would've been done for long before now.

"Please," Tom says again, drawing out the word without even meaning to. Riley reaches around and wraps a hand around his dick and starts jerking him off as he fucks him, hard and fast and deep and everything that Tom asked him for, everything that he says he once imagined someone would do to him.

He comes so fast Riley's actually surprised by it, shooting over the bedspread and over Riley's hand and over himself. Riley pauses just for a moment, then brings his hand back up to his mouth and sucks off his own fingers as he fucks Tom with absolutely no finesse or rhythm until he comes, hard and fast and deep inside him. He swears, he can feel his orgasm right down to his feet.

It's almost a shocked silence when he stops. A shocked, did-that-just-happen, i-think-i-lost-my-mind kind of a silence, until Tom lets out a loud and satisfied sigh and starts sliding bonelessly down to the bed. Riley pulls out, carefully, and after tying off the condom he cups and rubs his dick for a moment not to try to get it up again—no way, not after that—but to thank it, just a little bit, and apologise for the workout. He doesn't care if it's ridiculous.

"I'm dead," mumbles Tom, spreading out over the entire surface of the bed. "You killed me."

"I might," says Riley, "if you don't give up some of that space." He sits down on the edge of the bed and gives Tom a little nudge and Tom rolls up onto his side, only to wrap himself right around Riley as soon as he stretches out.

Riley thinks they doze for a little while, but he doesn't sleep exactly, there isn't a moment where he feels like he's unaware of his surroundings, even if it's only in a vague sort of a way. It never stops being loud and it never stops being dark outside and no one ever gets up to turn off the light.

"I need to shower again," he says finally, without actually moving from the bed. "They're not going to let me on the plane like this."

"They're not going to let you in the taxi like that," says Tom, then kisses his shoulder and gives him a little nudge out of the bed. "I'll come with you."

"In the taxi?

"In the shower," says Tom. "I'm a mess."

"I actually need to get clean," says Riley. "You're kinda distracting."

"Are you kidding, mate?" says Tom. "I couldn't get it up again if you offered me a gold medal for it." He looks down at his dick as he gets out of bed too, as if it might right then and there try to prove him wrong. It does nothing. "I'll help."

Riley isn't sure how he plans to help, but he doesn't argue. It'd take too much energy, and the truth is that a few more minutes of Tom's body pressed up against his is not something he was really inclined to protest in the first place, distraction or not.

He turns the water on as hot as he can stand it, even though cold water would probably wake him up more, and hisses as he gets in but it feels good on his sore muscles too. And he absolutely has sore muscles, from using them in creative ways he never really thought about before. Not seriously, anyway.

"You want to boil us, don't you?" says Tom, but he takes to it like he seems to take to all water, without so much as a flinch.

He's not wrong, not about the water but about being a mess. They're both a disaster, and it's a wonder they're not walking around with bits of things stuck to them, to be honest. Riley thinks about what he should be doing in a shower with Tom Daley, and wishes he could, but instead he just starts soaping himself down.

He only gets about halfway down his torso before Tom takes over.

"I'm not trying to start anything," he says, before Riley can even think of a protest. "I'm just doing this because...I can. Is that weird?"

Riley doesn't even know if it's weird or not, but it's nice, and when Tom's done he returns the favour. It's probably a little weird, given what they are, but he just doesn't really care right now. He stays under the warm spray as long as he can, hands lazily moving over Tom's body long after they've finished washing, but once it starts to put him to sleep he finally has to turn it off.

They dry off quickly, years of practice, and Riley still has time before his shuttle so he lies down on the bed again, alarm set just in case, and Tom settles in next to him, quieter and stiller than before.

"I never got to give you a blowjob," says Tom after a little while. "I really wanted to do that."

Riley sort of grips his dick in one hand, squeezes a little, feels a tiny spark of life. He's good for one more, he thinks. Maybe. If Tom is really enthusiastic. And boy is he going to sleep on the plane, and the airport, and probably every stop in between.

"If we take it slow..." he says, and Tom beams at him like it's a gift or something. "I can't promise it'll work. And believe me, I've never said that before."

"It'll work," says Tom confidently. "Just you wait and see."

Riley would feel guilty for his near lack of reciprocation if it weren't for the fact that Tom doesn't seem to be expecting anything. He still touches Tom, but the touches are slow and wandering without anything near the kind of intent he'd been showing earlier. And Tom is slow about kissing down his body, putting his lips everywhere as he goes. Under other circumstances Riley might have thought he was working his way up to doing this for the first time, but right now he just thinks that Tom is feeling as unrushed about this one as he is. There is no doubt in his mind that he wants it. The look on his face, the way his lips touch, the tender touches of his hands...he wants this as much as he said he did.

When his lips finally touch Riley's half-hard dick, sucking ever so slightly at the head, the jolt of pleasure is almost a surprise.

Tom pulls his mouth off just to look up at him and smile and fuck if that doesn't actually work to get him harder, to get him nearly all the way despite any of his body's many protests. "All right?" he says, and Riley just laughs and tilts his head back against the bed and Tom gets the message.

He puts his mouth back on, taking a little more in, trying out a few things with his tongue. He can try out anything he likes, as far as Riley is concerned, and odds are good he can last long enough for Tom to try out everything he's ever thought about. Twice.

Tom sort of relaxes into it after a few moments, starts idly playing with his own dick as he tries out new positions to suck and lick at Riley's, as he tries to get more and more into his mouth. Riley never goes deep, but then he doesn't feel like he needs to. Tom's hitting all the best spots, and if he ever feels like he needs some pressure around the base of his cock to get off he can always wrap a hand around it. But he doesn't think he's going to need to do that.

At one point he wonders if he should say something, because it all seems very quiet, just his breathing and Tom's mouth and hand and the ever-more-distant sounds coming from outside. It's late for everyone now. The party is winding down. But it's all sort of nice the way it is, relaxed and comfortable and intimate in a way that Riley's not all that familiar with, and that he doesn't think about too hard.

Even now, even during this ridiculously slow build with Tom's mouth on him, warm and wet and cozy, there comes a tipping point when Riley realizes that he's gone from casually enjoying the sensation to hurtling towards orgasm.

"Hey," he says quietly, because there's still more than enough time to let him know and it's Tom's first time. Riley can be considerate. "Hey, I'm close."

Tom waves a hand to suggest he understands but he doesn't finish him off with his hand instead and Riley's a little bit grateful for that. It's just too nice to stop, and it's probably going to be just about dry anyway so spit or swallow isn't much of an issue.

Riley shudders and comes and it feels like the last of his energy is draining out of him in that moment, he is absolutely spent and even the image of Tom with his mouth still around Riley's cock, jerking himself off, is only enough to make him feel content. Tom comes in his hand, and leaves traces of it up Riley's thigh and abdomen as he moves back up his body again, angling for a kiss.

So much for the shower.

Riley kisses him, though he does it with his eyes closed and lazily, lips and tongues just brushing, just melting together. Tom seems as absolutely done as him now, and they lay there tangled for as long as they can.

He really needs to get up, to get ready to go, but he can't imagine even moving until moments before he actually has to be out of bed and downstairs and on his way to the airport. Nearly everything is packed, he just needs to throw some clothes on and go. And deal with the man currently sharing his bed.

Tom can stay here, that's not a problem. No one is going to kick him out of Riley's room before he's ready to go. But there's no doubt he has about a hundred things to do in the morning too and no one's going to be sneaking out on anyone else this time. At some point they're going to actually have to say goodbye.

"So what do I do once you're gone?" Tom asks him. A day ago, Riley wouldn't have thought that was a question that would ever be asked.

"I don't know," he says. "We'll figure out something."

It's not like they'll never see one another again. There are future competitions, future training opportunities, and phones and computers and airplanes aren't just good for taking you away. But in that moment, it feels a little bit like one thing is ending, and a big something else is getting ready to start.