For the first time after the beginning of this year's Tour de France, Olav felt satisfied. It had been two days since Nobuhiko had shown him his respect after the sprint finish in Liège and three days since Punyaa had euphorically greeted him.

Olav had not been able to finish the last two stages in the top five, but he had finally managed to win the intermediate sprints. So tomorrow, when they were going to ride the 160 kilometres from Vittel up to La Planche des belles filles, he was finally allowed to wear the green jersey.

When he thought about the strategy Max and the Bismarck Bells would use to pull their sprint star in the final climb, he became really excited.

Would the team's climbers prove themselves this time, or would Dracula bite his way through the top again tomorrow?

At a mountain stage, Olav knew, especially Morten and Ebbe were to shine. After his performance of the last few days Olav could feel at ease. Tomorrow his only goal was to keep things light. He had to prepare mentally for the day after tomorrow, when the sixth stage from Vesoul to Troyes was mostly on flat terrain.

A part of his mental preparation was to allow himself to get something good once in a while. It was already late and most of the cyclists, who were also accommodated in the large spa hotel in Vittel, were already dreaming sweet dreams.

But his sweet dream was still awake. In the dim light of the street lamps shining through the windows, he could hardly see the piercing gaze of the other one, but he knew that it was fixing him. Olav's gaze also rested on him and inspected every detail of his well-trained body.

Olav came one step closer. The other one dropped his towel and pressed himself on him. Bare skin met each other. Their wet tongues united in a hot game. While Olav stroked the shaved hair and sucked and bit at the other one's lower lip, he could feel his arousal. It rubbed hard against him. When he pressed his thigh between the other one's legs, a stifled moan escaped.

Olav released the kiss and looked into the other one's glassy eyes. The long strands of sweaty hair fell into his face, and the open mouth, breathing moist and hot air, gave the otherwise so daring Japanese a sensual expression.

Nobuhiko raised his trembling hands and traced the outlines of Olav's face. Olav didn't have a beard, but at some point he had decided to grow sideburns so he wouldn't look as naive as the boy who could never get enough of his mother's cinnamon rolls anymore.

A shiver ran through Nobuhiko's body as Olav pressed his thigh against his dick again. He was as excited as his rival, but he did not want to give in first.

He wanted to hear it. Wanted Nobuhiko to defiantly push his lip out and look to the side as he did two days ago. He wanted to see his forehead curl as he finally squeezed out a soft "fuck me" with reddened cheeks. 

He should say it.

Again he sank his tongue into the wet mouth of the other one while his hand slowly moved down and grabbed his dick without hesitation.

Just say it already.

Nobuhiko's cheeks turned a dark red colour. Even if he wanted to say it, he couldn't. Olav's touch only made him moan. His hands let loose of Olav's face, and he let them wander down as well. He gently stroked his shoulders, his neck, his upper arms, until finally...