![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minimusesTitle: untitled ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wintergameskink fic
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Apolo Ohno/Shaun White
Prompt: Apolo/Shaun; Shaun has left the Games, but he comes back to see Apolo and to have fantastic sex. Make it sweet, but oh so hot, Anon.
Date: 2/27/10
Congratulatory phonecalls are par for the course even for the athletes who are acually living in the Village with each other. Unless they're roommates, there's no guarantee that any two people will run into each other more than once or twice in the two weeks they're in the same zip code. There are hundreds of athletes, thousands of tourists, and shit going on all the time. So even when they attend each other's events, it's just easier to text or call the winner/medalist/runner-up/disappointed DQer than try to wade through the swarm of friends, family, and media to give them a hug in person.
Apolo usually returns to his phone, tucked into a sneaker in his gym bag, to find it still buzzing frantically with the deluge of congratulatory or conciliatory messages he's receiving: philosophical-sounding backhand compliments from Shani, poorly-spelled txtspk odes to his brilliance from Simon or JR (who have way too much time on their hands, seriously), vaguely drunken voicemails from his friends watching the Games in sports bars all up and down the west coast. He thinks, sometimes, as he scrolls through his overflowing inbox, that his life is charmed not because he's an Olympic athlete, but because he has so many people proud of him for being one.
Only his dad actually gets to see all of his events, and Apolo makes sure to give him a hug and thank him and tell him good night after Apolo neatly qualifies for the quarterfinals of 500m. It wasn't a stressful set of heats - or, well, it shouldn't have been, except for how Jordan...well. Apolo isn't going to think about that right now. It's done. Otherwise, Apolo's feeling good, hyped, but not exhausted. He sees his dad off for the evening and then shoulders his duffel bag, getting ready to head back to the locker room and change, finally getting to check his messages. There they all are, the little screen crowded with exclamation points, but before he can even open the first one, he starts getting a call, "Born to be Wild" screaming cheerfully out of his phone's little speakers. Apolo grins at the pic of a tomato on the screen, flips it open. "It was sexy, right?" he says, still smirking. "Like, especially around that last turn there."
"I give you a seven-five out of ten," Shaun drawls lackadaisically, like he feels he's being generous even giving him that much. If he were right here with Apolo, he'd totally be getting punched in the arm right now.
"Jesus. No love from the American judge."
"I can afford to be picky these days," Shaun says, and Apolo realizes that not all of the crowd-noise he's hearing is on his end of the line; Shaun's somewhere loud. "What with all those hot young thangs on your team now. You've got real competition now, Ohno. Try not to let that threaten you too much."
Apolo snorts, tucking his phone in between his shoulder and his ear as he bends down to unlace his sneakers. He'd only just thrown sweatpants and a jacket on over his skinsuit to run up and say bye to his dad, and now he has to actually get out of it. In his ear, someone screams near enough to Shaun's receiver to make Apolo flinch away. "Where are you?"
"Why don't you come out here and see?"
"...What?" Shaun doesn't sound high, but with Shaun it's sometimes hard to tell. He laughs loudly, making Apolo frown.
"I said, get up and come out from back in your little hideyhole back there."
"Shaun, what the...okay. Okay, I'm out." He stands at the edge of the rink in his skinsuit and sweats and bare feet. Planting his hand on his hip, he squints out across the ice, maintenance men scurrying around on it, resurfacing it. "What am I supposed to see?"
"Top deck, end of the rink on your left." Apolo obediently starts scanning the thinning crowd across the way, not at all sure what he's supposed to be looking for. "No, farther left. That's it."
Apolo suddenly bursts out laughing. Right there, at the very top of the stands, he sees only an enormous orange piece of posterboard painted with a really crude American flag picked out in glitter and some other shapeless blobs drawn on with puffy paint. It could be any little fangirl's sign, except it reads "OMG APOLO BE MY HUNKY HALF-ASIAN LOVE GOD."
"That's stylin', White," Apolo chokes out, hiding his eyes with one hand and shaking all over with barely-suppressed laughter. "I see you're off your meds again. Tell fucking...Tyler, or whoever that is, to please put that shit away before it ends up on Perez Hilton or something."
"Dude!" Shaun says, laughing at him, and then his end of the line goes dead and the sign drops out of sight. Apolo can't believe he is really looking up at Shaun White waving at him crazily, his stupid shock of red hair pulled back and stuffed up into a toboggan which is even more luridly neon, with a big maple leaf on it. Apolo shakes his head and barely catches his phone before it slips off his shoulder, forgotten. He texts Shaun rapidly, "get ur ass down here fucker" and then scrambles into the locker room to change.
By the time he's into jeans and a t-shirt there's a commotion at the door of the locker room, a couple of the rookie Korean skaters politely hassling Shaun for an autograph. Shaun has nothing against Korea personally, but as a personal favor to Apolo, he pretends not to understand what they're saying and then begs off on the excuse that he doesn't have a pen. Once he's finally inside he affectionately climbs up on Apolo's back and fist-pumps the air, giving an Indian war-whoop and making Apolo stagger, off-balance and scrambling to grab Shaun's skinny legs. He digs his fingers in and tips his head back to grin up at Shaun's smug face.
"Aren't you supposed to be in...Colorado or somewhere?" Apolo asks him, incredulous. Shaun puts one hand out and steadies himself against the bank of lockers, leaning down a bit more to waggle his eyebrows at Apolo.
"Or somewhere," he says cryptically, grinning. He pats Apolo's cheek and slides down his back, landing light and springy on the floor in his neon red Converses. "Just couldn't stay away, man. All the action's here! Speaking of which, bummer about JR's DQ the other day. He got robbed."
"Yeah, he wasn't happy." Apolo quickly stuffs things into his duffel again, making a mental inventory of his flotsam so he won't forget anything, and won't think too much about the sharp disappointment of that disqualification, on both him and JR. "He's already determined to destroy in that event next Olympics. I think he's even started designing his training regimen. Let it never be said that my Padawan is not dedicated." He smirks at Shaun and says, "So if you came all the way back here for good times, what the hell are you doing here with me for?"
Shaun punches him lightly, following him out the back athletes' entrance to the Coliseum. "Shut up, Ohno. Like you don't know you're where the party's at."
Apolo grins at him, quick and bright, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Wanna take the party back to my dorm, then? We can go out after I get a shower and a change of clothes, if you want."
Shaun's answering smile is just as happy, and he bounces on his toes. "House parties are my favorite kind!"
---
They don't manage to make it out of Apolo's dorm room once they get in. When Apolo emerges from the shower, it's to find Shaun sprawled over every inch of his cot, red hair released from its confines and exploded outward under his head on Apolo's pillow, the television remote in his hand. He's frowning at the TV as he surfs, and Apolo doesn't know why he bothers. The channels are the same crap selection they were a week ago, when Shaun was still in the Village.
Apolo puts on a DVD, barely looking at the title just to determine it won't be horribly embarrassing (he still hasn't quite lived down Shaun discovering his DVDs of Gilmore Girls back in '06). They talk through most of it, anyway. Apolo hasn't missed this, an any specific sense, except that now that he has it again - just lying here shooting the shit with Shaun, like it's four years ago and they both have the whole world at their fingertips, still - he realizes he's missed it a whole hell of a lot. Shaun and he aren't best friends, don't really keep tabs outside of the Games. Just a stray text every now and again, maybe; an email, a friendly mention in some media outlet. But here at the Games, Shaun is maybe the easiest person to fall into a friendship with. He listens with almost superhuman patience, never brags but always has a story. He's a talented fucking athlete who also happens to be kind of super nerdy, and Apolo can appreciate that in another person. In Turin they'd hung out as near-constantly as their schedules would allow, spending night after night just like they're spending this one now, ignoring a movie and talking about whatever comes to their brains first.
It inevitably dissolves to this. Their shoulders are tucked together tight - the bed is not all that big - and even though they're the same height when standing, Apolo's mostly legs and Shaun's mostly...well, not, so Shaun sits higher in the bed, smiling down at him and gesticulating out his plans for the next year or so, drawing pictures in the air with his hands. Apolo listens and envies Shaun the time he has left, the plans he has for Russia.
"Can't believe you're talking about retiring, man," Shaun finally says, shaking his head. "It won't be the Olympics without you winning medals."
"You mean it won't be the Olympics without my incredible good looks and sexy ass in a skinsuit." Apolo grins, slapping at his own thigh in demonstration. Shaun laughs and tucks a hand up into the warm hair at the nape of Apolo's neck, scratching at his scalp the way Apolo loves.
"Well that goes without saying," Shaun replies, nodding. "I mean, I know that's why I watch speed skating."
"That's why everybody watches it, White," Apolo mutters, turning his head and speaking into Shaun's jaw. Shaun shivers and doesn't even pretend to fight when Apolo flings a leg over him and settles across his hips. "After I'm gone viewership is going to plummet."
"JR's ass has a lot of potential, though," Shaun says, smirking, his long white fingers curling into the top of Apolo's sweatpants, cool against Apolo's warm skin. "The fans shouldn't be too heartbroken."
Apolo raises his head and glares through his bangs, opening his mouth to be righteously offended when Shaun pulls him in by the hand in his hair and slips his tongue into Apolo's mouth, Apolo's complaint turning to a low, soft groan.
"Your roommate--" Shaun pulls back just enough to say, but Apolo is already shaking his head.
"Got eliminated first day in, went home in a snit." Apolo grins, twirling a shaggy strip of Shaun's violent red hair around one fingertip. "There will be no repeats of Turin Day 13."
"Good," Shaun murmurs, and reels Apolo back in.
This is something they do, something they've done since Day Three in Italy four years ago. Then it was a little easier; they were roomed closer together, somehow had more time. Or maybe they were just more reckless. Here in Vancouver it hasn't happened at all. Shaun's events ended early and then he left, went back to California, and anyway Apolo's been so focused, trying so hard. This is his last Olympics (probably his last Olympics, the stubborn little voice in the back of his head can't help clarifying) and he wants to go out with a bang. It wasn't, like, a thing, that this hadn't happened, but it's still somehow really comforting, that it's happening now. It feels like maybe the past four years have just been a really amazing dream and he still has that time to do over, do better. That's kind of a stupid wish, because of course the last four years have been incredible and he wouldn't want them to just disappear. But this whole time in Vancouver has felt different, like he's not really a part of it anymore, like he's grown out of it. With Shaun here, talking and laughing and...this, he doesn't feel like the odd man - the old man - out anymore.
Shaun sighs heavily when Apolo kisses his neck, gets a hand in his baggy jeans. "Yeah," he whispers, encouraging, and tightens his fingers in Apolo's hair, tugging just a little to make Apolo shudder and bite down a little in the meat of Shaun's skinny shoulder. Shaun is already hard when Apolo curls his fingers around him, maybe the most telling age difference between them, but Apolo knows Shaun has staying power when he wants to make it last. He fists Shaun lazy and slow, Shaun's body starting to rock with the rhythm of it. He's all lanky grace under Apolo's heavier, more solid weight, and Apolo pulls his knees under him, leans up to give himself room. Shaun pushes at Apolo's sweats, lets Apolo work his jeans open, just enough to get their cocks lined up. Shaun arches up immediately, gasping and pulling Apolo's head up again to kiss him, and after that everything's a scramble. They can't get their clothes off fast enough, although to be honest part of that may be because Apolo keeps biting at every new piece of freckled skin he sees, liking the way toothmarks and bruises look against Shaun's pale chest. Shaun finally flips him, pins him down and strips his pants off him, since it's clearly not going to get done any other way, and then he slides down, hair trailing vibrant over Apolo's belly, to take his hardening cock in his mouth and suck.
Apolo buries his fingers in Shaun's hair and groans, deep and quiet; he may have no roommate but the dorm walls might as well be nonexistent. The redness of that hair is almost cartoonish against Apolo's skin, like it can't even be real, clashing with the pink-red lips stretched around his swollen dick. Shaun likes doing this, maybe a little too much, but Apolo's not going to complain. He breathes unsteadily, ruts up into that hot mouth, Shaun's teeth scraping at the base and making Apolo flinch and shiver. "Fuck," he whispers, sucking on his bottom lip, and looks down to see Shaun watching him as he pulls up slowly, cheeks hollowed out.
This is good, so good, but Apolo knows what Shaun wants. He grabs a fistful of that thick red hair and gently coaxes Shaun up and off, kneeling up to lick the taste of himself out of Shaun's mouth and wrestle him back down to the bed, sucking another dark hickey around one hardened nipple, making the freckles spattered around it disappear in the flush he leaves behind. Shaun's legs fall open and Apolo settles between them. The lube is underneath the pillow, tucked into the pillowcase, and Apolo has it out and has two slick fingers in Shaun almost before Shaun's stopped gasping over the new darkening bruise on his chest. He shudders bone deep and jerks down on Apolo's fingers, and it's like they do this all the time, like there's never been a time that they haven't. Shaun's eyes slit open and he's panting, mouth looking red and too-wet, still, face flushed, hair fanned out over the pillow. He sighs out, "This is what I came back for, man," and rolls his hips, lithe and deep. Apolo barely remembers to dig out the condom he knows he'll find - and does - in the pocket of Shaun's jeans, working it on impatiently while Shaun laughs and languidly pulls at his own erection, keeping it warm, making himself wriggle under Apolo in a way one-hundred-percent calculated to make Apolo crazy.
"It's a good thing you're a hot redheaded bastard," Apolo murmurs, smiling against Shaun's mouth, and Shaun's breathless laugh splinters into a wrecked noise when Apolo pushes his cock halfway inside him without preamble. Shaun arches against him, his hands finding Apolo's sides, fingers digging in fiercely, pulling-pushing him with a hissed, "Yes."
Shaun likes it hard but first Apolo takes it slow, deep as he can make it, one hand balled in the sheets next to Shaun's shoulder, one wrapped white-knuckled around the bedstead. His head droops down, forehead almost bumping Shaun's, and he breathes hard through the initial overwhelming feeling of being inside. It's too good, and it's not like he gets this a lot. Shaun's groan rattles both their chests and he bites out, "Fucking move," and Apolo smirks and rolls his hips hard and fast, shutting him up.
Sweat gathers in the hollow of Apolo's throat, and Shaun ducks his head down to lick it out while Apolo fucks him hard enough to make the bedframe bump the wall every now and again. Fuck what his dormmates think about it. Shaun bottoms like he's running the show, fingernails scraping up Apolo's ribs and hips flexing up to meet every thrust in, throws his head back and moans behind his gritted teeth. Apolo would threaten to gag him if he had the breath to say it with; instead he pushes himself upright and grabs Shaun's skinny hips, so narrow and pale, hipbones sharp, and pulls his ass up on his own thighs. The angle change makes Shaun yell, shove the side of his hand between his teeth to stop it happening again, and Apolo fucks in quick, hard, his rhythm going short as he starts to lose it. "Christ," he says, and Shaun reaches down to jerk himself to the end of it, mouth dropping open and eyes slamming shut. It's the white spatter of come on Shaun's flushed chest that makes Apolo slam in one last time, so hard he hears Shaun's teeth clack together, and shoot off, legs and hands shaking.
They stretch out together after, on top of the blankets because they're still overheated, sweat prickling on naked skin. Apolo flops an arm over Shaun's flat waist, where four years ago he was soft and now he's defined, hard-cut, but still painted with a million cinnamon speckles. It's not so different from before. Apolo kisses his shoulder.
"Stay," he says, and then, after a long few minutes of quiet, "It's not gonna be the same after this."
"Hm-mm," Shaun agrees, but it's just amiable and worn-out, not sad. "Maybe next time it won't be in one of these hideous fucking dorms. Jesus, Ohno, you could've at least put up a flag or something. I'm leaving you the poster I made, put it up and get some cheer in here."
Apolo looks over at it, laid out on the other bed next to the pile of clothes that's been accumulating there for the last five days. He frowns.
"What are those things under the flag, anyway? They're like...deformed sheep."
Shaun punches him. "They're ICE SKATES, you fucker. Swear to god, nobody appreciates my artistic genius."
"Next time, leave the artistic genius in the halfpipe and just come straight to my room, alright?"
"Deal."
wintergameskink ficRating: NC-17
Pairing: Apolo Ohno/Shaun White
Prompt: Apolo/Shaun; Shaun has left the Games, but he comes back to see Apolo and to have fantastic sex. Make it sweet, but oh so hot, Anon.
Date: 2/27/10
Congratulatory phonecalls are par for the course even for the athletes who are acually living in the Village with each other. Unless they're roommates, there's no guarantee that any two people will run into each other more than once or twice in the two weeks they're in the same zip code. There are hundreds of athletes, thousands of tourists, and shit going on all the time. So even when they attend each other's events, it's just easier to text or call the winner/medalist/runner-up/disappointed DQer than try to wade through the swarm of friends, family, and media to give them a hug in person.
Apolo usually returns to his phone, tucked into a sneaker in his gym bag, to find it still buzzing frantically with the deluge of congratulatory or conciliatory messages he's receiving: philosophical-sounding backhand compliments from Shani, poorly-spelled txtspk odes to his brilliance from Simon or JR (who have way too much time on their hands, seriously), vaguely drunken voicemails from his friends watching the Games in sports bars all up and down the west coast. He thinks, sometimes, as he scrolls through his overflowing inbox, that his life is charmed not because he's an Olympic athlete, but because he has so many people proud of him for being one.
Only his dad actually gets to see all of his events, and Apolo makes sure to give him a hug and thank him and tell him good night after Apolo neatly qualifies for the quarterfinals of 500m. It wasn't a stressful set of heats - or, well, it shouldn't have been, except for how Jordan...well. Apolo isn't going to think about that right now. It's done. Otherwise, Apolo's feeling good, hyped, but not exhausted. He sees his dad off for the evening and then shoulders his duffel bag, getting ready to head back to the locker room and change, finally getting to check his messages. There they all are, the little screen crowded with exclamation points, but before he can even open the first one, he starts getting a call, "Born to be Wild" screaming cheerfully out of his phone's little speakers. Apolo grins at the pic of a tomato on the screen, flips it open. "It was sexy, right?" he says, still smirking. "Like, especially around that last turn there."
"I give you a seven-five out of ten," Shaun drawls lackadaisically, like he feels he's being generous even giving him that much. If he were right here with Apolo, he'd totally be getting punched in the arm right now.
"Jesus. No love from the American judge."
"I can afford to be picky these days," Shaun says, and Apolo realizes that not all of the crowd-noise he's hearing is on his end of the line; Shaun's somewhere loud. "What with all those hot young thangs on your team now. You've got real competition now, Ohno. Try not to let that threaten you too much."
Apolo snorts, tucking his phone in between his shoulder and his ear as he bends down to unlace his sneakers. He'd only just thrown sweatpants and a jacket on over his skinsuit to run up and say bye to his dad, and now he has to actually get out of it. In his ear, someone screams near enough to Shaun's receiver to make Apolo flinch away. "Where are you?"
"Why don't you come out here and see?"
"...What?" Shaun doesn't sound high, but with Shaun it's sometimes hard to tell. He laughs loudly, making Apolo frown.
"I said, get up and come out from back in your little hideyhole back there."
"Shaun, what the...okay. Okay, I'm out." He stands at the edge of the rink in his skinsuit and sweats and bare feet. Planting his hand on his hip, he squints out across the ice, maintenance men scurrying around on it, resurfacing it. "What am I supposed to see?"
"Top deck, end of the rink on your left." Apolo obediently starts scanning the thinning crowd across the way, not at all sure what he's supposed to be looking for. "No, farther left. That's it."
Apolo suddenly bursts out laughing. Right there, at the very top of the stands, he sees only an enormous orange piece of posterboard painted with a really crude American flag picked out in glitter and some other shapeless blobs drawn on with puffy paint. It could be any little fangirl's sign, except it reads "OMG APOLO BE MY HUNKY HALF-ASIAN LOVE GOD."
"That's stylin', White," Apolo chokes out, hiding his eyes with one hand and shaking all over with barely-suppressed laughter. "I see you're off your meds again. Tell fucking...Tyler, or whoever that is, to please put that shit away before it ends up on Perez Hilton or something."
"Dude!" Shaun says, laughing at him, and then his end of the line goes dead and the sign drops out of sight. Apolo can't believe he is really looking up at Shaun White waving at him crazily, his stupid shock of red hair pulled back and stuffed up into a toboggan which is even more luridly neon, with a big maple leaf on it. Apolo shakes his head and barely catches his phone before it slips off his shoulder, forgotten. He texts Shaun rapidly, "get ur ass down here fucker" and then scrambles into the locker room to change.
By the time he's into jeans and a t-shirt there's a commotion at the door of the locker room, a couple of the rookie Korean skaters politely hassling Shaun for an autograph. Shaun has nothing against Korea personally, but as a personal favor to Apolo, he pretends not to understand what they're saying and then begs off on the excuse that he doesn't have a pen. Once he's finally inside he affectionately climbs up on Apolo's back and fist-pumps the air, giving an Indian war-whoop and making Apolo stagger, off-balance and scrambling to grab Shaun's skinny legs. He digs his fingers in and tips his head back to grin up at Shaun's smug face.
"Aren't you supposed to be in...Colorado or somewhere?" Apolo asks him, incredulous. Shaun puts one hand out and steadies himself against the bank of lockers, leaning down a bit more to waggle his eyebrows at Apolo.
"Or somewhere," he says cryptically, grinning. He pats Apolo's cheek and slides down his back, landing light and springy on the floor in his neon red Converses. "Just couldn't stay away, man. All the action's here! Speaking of which, bummer about JR's DQ the other day. He got robbed."
"Yeah, he wasn't happy." Apolo quickly stuffs things into his duffel again, making a mental inventory of his flotsam so he won't forget anything, and won't think too much about the sharp disappointment of that disqualification, on both him and JR. "He's already determined to destroy in that event next Olympics. I think he's even started designing his training regimen. Let it never be said that my Padawan is not dedicated." He smirks at Shaun and says, "So if you came all the way back here for good times, what the hell are you doing here with me for?"
Shaun punches him lightly, following him out the back athletes' entrance to the Coliseum. "Shut up, Ohno. Like you don't know you're where the party's at."
Apolo grins at him, quick and bright, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Wanna take the party back to my dorm, then? We can go out after I get a shower and a change of clothes, if you want."
Shaun's answering smile is just as happy, and he bounces on his toes. "House parties are my favorite kind!"
---
They don't manage to make it out of Apolo's dorm room once they get in. When Apolo emerges from the shower, it's to find Shaun sprawled over every inch of his cot, red hair released from its confines and exploded outward under his head on Apolo's pillow, the television remote in his hand. He's frowning at the TV as he surfs, and Apolo doesn't know why he bothers. The channels are the same crap selection they were a week ago, when Shaun was still in the Village.
Apolo puts on a DVD, barely looking at the title just to determine it won't be horribly embarrassing (he still hasn't quite lived down Shaun discovering his DVDs of Gilmore Girls back in '06). They talk through most of it, anyway. Apolo hasn't missed this, an any specific sense, except that now that he has it again - just lying here shooting the shit with Shaun, like it's four years ago and they both have the whole world at their fingertips, still - he realizes he's missed it a whole hell of a lot. Shaun and he aren't best friends, don't really keep tabs outside of the Games. Just a stray text every now and again, maybe; an email, a friendly mention in some media outlet. But here at the Games, Shaun is maybe the easiest person to fall into a friendship with. He listens with almost superhuman patience, never brags but always has a story. He's a talented fucking athlete who also happens to be kind of super nerdy, and Apolo can appreciate that in another person. In Turin they'd hung out as near-constantly as their schedules would allow, spending night after night just like they're spending this one now, ignoring a movie and talking about whatever comes to their brains first.
It inevitably dissolves to this. Their shoulders are tucked together tight - the bed is not all that big - and even though they're the same height when standing, Apolo's mostly legs and Shaun's mostly...well, not, so Shaun sits higher in the bed, smiling down at him and gesticulating out his plans for the next year or so, drawing pictures in the air with his hands. Apolo listens and envies Shaun the time he has left, the plans he has for Russia.
"Can't believe you're talking about retiring, man," Shaun finally says, shaking his head. "It won't be the Olympics without you winning medals."
"You mean it won't be the Olympics without my incredible good looks and sexy ass in a skinsuit." Apolo grins, slapping at his own thigh in demonstration. Shaun laughs and tucks a hand up into the warm hair at the nape of Apolo's neck, scratching at his scalp the way Apolo loves.
"Well that goes without saying," Shaun replies, nodding. "I mean, I know that's why I watch speed skating."
"That's why everybody watches it, White," Apolo mutters, turning his head and speaking into Shaun's jaw. Shaun shivers and doesn't even pretend to fight when Apolo flings a leg over him and settles across his hips. "After I'm gone viewership is going to plummet."
"JR's ass has a lot of potential, though," Shaun says, smirking, his long white fingers curling into the top of Apolo's sweatpants, cool against Apolo's warm skin. "The fans shouldn't be too heartbroken."
Apolo raises his head and glares through his bangs, opening his mouth to be righteously offended when Shaun pulls him in by the hand in his hair and slips his tongue into Apolo's mouth, Apolo's complaint turning to a low, soft groan.
"Your roommate--" Shaun pulls back just enough to say, but Apolo is already shaking his head.
"Got eliminated first day in, went home in a snit." Apolo grins, twirling a shaggy strip of Shaun's violent red hair around one fingertip. "There will be no repeats of Turin Day 13."
"Good," Shaun murmurs, and reels Apolo back in.
This is something they do, something they've done since Day Three in Italy four years ago. Then it was a little easier; they were roomed closer together, somehow had more time. Or maybe they were just more reckless. Here in Vancouver it hasn't happened at all. Shaun's events ended early and then he left, went back to California, and anyway Apolo's been so focused, trying so hard. This is his last Olympics (probably his last Olympics, the stubborn little voice in the back of his head can't help clarifying) and he wants to go out with a bang. It wasn't, like, a thing, that this hadn't happened, but it's still somehow really comforting, that it's happening now. It feels like maybe the past four years have just been a really amazing dream and he still has that time to do over, do better. That's kind of a stupid wish, because of course the last four years have been incredible and he wouldn't want them to just disappear. But this whole time in Vancouver has felt different, like he's not really a part of it anymore, like he's grown out of it. With Shaun here, talking and laughing and...this, he doesn't feel like the odd man - the old man - out anymore.
Shaun sighs heavily when Apolo kisses his neck, gets a hand in his baggy jeans. "Yeah," he whispers, encouraging, and tightens his fingers in Apolo's hair, tugging just a little to make Apolo shudder and bite down a little in the meat of Shaun's skinny shoulder. Shaun is already hard when Apolo curls his fingers around him, maybe the most telling age difference between them, but Apolo knows Shaun has staying power when he wants to make it last. He fists Shaun lazy and slow, Shaun's body starting to rock with the rhythm of it. He's all lanky grace under Apolo's heavier, more solid weight, and Apolo pulls his knees under him, leans up to give himself room. Shaun pushes at Apolo's sweats, lets Apolo work his jeans open, just enough to get their cocks lined up. Shaun arches up immediately, gasping and pulling Apolo's head up again to kiss him, and after that everything's a scramble. They can't get their clothes off fast enough, although to be honest part of that may be because Apolo keeps biting at every new piece of freckled skin he sees, liking the way toothmarks and bruises look against Shaun's pale chest. Shaun finally flips him, pins him down and strips his pants off him, since it's clearly not going to get done any other way, and then he slides down, hair trailing vibrant over Apolo's belly, to take his hardening cock in his mouth and suck.
Apolo buries his fingers in Shaun's hair and groans, deep and quiet; he may have no roommate but the dorm walls might as well be nonexistent. The redness of that hair is almost cartoonish against Apolo's skin, like it can't even be real, clashing with the pink-red lips stretched around his swollen dick. Shaun likes doing this, maybe a little too much, but Apolo's not going to complain. He breathes unsteadily, ruts up into that hot mouth, Shaun's teeth scraping at the base and making Apolo flinch and shiver. "Fuck," he whispers, sucking on his bottom lip, and looks down to see Shaun watching him as he pulls up slowly, cheeks hollowed out.
This is good, so good, but Apolo knows what Shaun wants. He grabs a fistful of that thick red hair and gently coaxes Shaun up and off, kneeling up to lick the taste of himself out of Shaun's mouth and wrestle him back down to the bed, sucking another dark hickey around one hardened nipple, making the freckles spattered around it disappear in the flush he leaves behind. Shaun's legs fall open and Apolo settles between them. The lube is underneath the pillow, tucked into the pillowcase, and Apolo has it out and has two slick fingers in Shaun almost before Shaun's stopped gasping over the new darkening bruise on his chest. He shudders bone deep and jerks down on Apolo's fingers, and it's like they do this all the time, like there's never been a time that they haven't. Shaun's eyes slit open and he's panting, mouth looking red and too-wet, still, face flushed, hair fanned out over the pillow. He sighs out, "This is what I came back for, man," and rolls his hips, lithe and deep. Apolo barely remembers to dig out the condom he knows he'll find - and does - in the pocket of Shaun's jeans, working it on impatiently while Shaun laughs and languidly pulls at his own erection, keeping it warm, making himself wriggle under Apolo in a way one-hundred-percent calculated to make Apolo crazy.
"It's a good thing you're a hot redheaded bastard," Apolo murmurs, smiling against Shaun's mouth, and Shaun's breathless laugh splinters into a wrecked noise when Apolo pushes his cock halfway inside him without preamble. Shaun arches against him, his hands finding Apolo's sides, fingers digging in fiercely, pulling-pushing him with a hissed, "Yes."
Shaun likes it hard but first Apolo takes it slow, deep as he can make it, one hand balled in the sheets next to Shaun's shoulder, one wrapped white-knuckled around the bedstead. His head droops down, forehead almost bumping Shaun's, and he breathes hard through the initial overwhelming feeling of being inside. It's too good, and it's not like he gets this a lot. Shaun's groan rattles both their chests and he bites out, "Fucking move," and Apolo smirks and rolls his hips hard and fast, shutting him up.
Sweat gathers in the hollow of Apolo's throat, and Shaun ducks his head down to lick it out while Apolo fucks him hard enough to make the bedframe bump the wall every now and again. Fuck what his dormmates think about it. Shaun bottoms like he's running the show, fingernails scraping up Apolo's ribs and hips flexing up to meet every thrust in, throws his head back and moans behind his gritted teeth. Apolo would threaten to gag him if he had the breath to say it with; instead he pushes himself upright and grabs Shaun's skinny hips, so narrow and pale, hipbones sharp, and pulls his ass up on his own thighs. The angle change makes Shaun yell, shove the side of his hand between his teeth to stop it happening again, and Apolo fucks in quick, hard, his rhythm going short as he starts to lose it. "Christ," he says, and Shaun reaches down to jerk himself to the end of it, mouth dropping open and eyes slamming shut. It's the white spatter of come on Shaun's flushed chest that makes Apolo slam in one last time, so hard he hears Shaun's teeth clack together, and shoot off, legs and hands shaking.
They stretch out together after, on top of the blankets because they're still overheated, sweat prickling on naked skin. Apolo flops an arm over Shaun's flat waist, where four years ago he was soft and now he's defined, hard-cut, but still painted with a million cinnamon speckles. It's not so different from before. Apolo kisses his shoulder.
"Stay," he says, and then, after a long few minutes of quiet, "It's not gonna be the same after this."
"Hm-mm," Shaun agrees, but it's just amiable and worn-out, not sad. "Maybe next time it won't be in one of these hideous fucking dorms. Jesus, Ohno, you could've at least put up a flag or something. I'm leaving you the poster I made, put it up and get some cheer in here."
Apolo looks over at it, laid out on the other bed next to the pile of clothes that's been accumulating there for the last five days. He frowns.
"What are those things under the flag, anyway? They're like...deformed sheep."
Shaun punches him. "They're ICE SKATES, you fucker. Swear to god, nobody appreciates my artistic genius."
"Next time, leave the artistic genius in the halfpipe and just come straight to my room, alright?"
"Deal."
