[oneshots] speed skating
Title: i swear i didn’t mean for it to feel like this
Pairing: celski/ohno
Rating: pg
Genre: character-sketching
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: apolo always was utter shit at comforting people. contemplative drabble after poor j.r. got dq-ed in the 1000m race :( GOD STUPID HAMELIN I AM STILL SO SO MAD >:|
It’s abnormally warm outside tonight, for Canadian winters at least, and the air is taking on a strange tinge of melancholy and regret. John sits on a park bench outside the Pacific Coliseum, its bulk rising up behind him under the bright lights of street-side lamps. He’s wearing a dark jacket with the hood pulled over so that no one will recognize him; he enjoys the anonymity for once, because it lets him relax, breathe a sigh of relief and mull over the events of the day.
Groups of people are milling around the streets and the plaza, laughing and talking and taking enthusiastic pictures with the skating venue in the background. The first time someone’s flash goes off he tenses and ducks automatically, a reaction instilled in him by previous fans and photographers. But the woman he sees is just taking a picture of the building and moves on afterwards; John’s hands unclench slowly, but when he looks down he can see the little crescent marks left from bitten fingernails.
Someone plops down onto the bench next to him, wood sinking down a bit. John almost gets up to leave before he realizes that it’s Apolo behind the ridiculous shades and hideous sunhat. “I knew you’d be here,” he remarks, crossing his legs.
“God, I thought you were a journalist or something,” he exhales, and Apolo grins at him. “Don’t scare me like that.” He shuts his eyes for a moment and he swears he can see the play by play of the thousand meter race, each frame flashing in his mind’s eye; the hovering Hamelin and a brush against his thigh, trying to shake him off and skate away, the reverse DQ. He doesn’t even realize that his leg’s jittering until Apolo puts a hand on his knee, the nervous tic jostling his hold for a second until John relaxes, the tension flowing out of him in waves.
“So I watched those clips again,” Apolo mutters. John casts him a sidelong glance and nearly shits his pants when Apolo grabs him hard by the shoulders. He almost thinks he’s going to start yelling at him but he just glares into his eyes and sits there, like he can see everything whirling around in John’s head.
“What?” he says, mouth a little dry from the intense perusal. Apolo lets go a few moments later, scrubbing a hand over his face underneath the sunglasses and turning back to face the plaza.
“Nothing,” he finally replies. “I’m just angry as fuck, and you’re still beating yourself up about it, I’m sure.”
John doesn’t respond, but the grim set of his mouth and the look in his eyes probably give him away. He’s never been able to hide much from Apolo, and something like this is no different.
“Stop this. It wasn’t your fault,” Apolo says, an annoyed expression crossing his face. “Do you always get like this when you’re depressed?” He shrugs. “I can always go beat Hamelin down for you if you wanted.” And of course, of course this is Apolo’s way of trying to deal with the problem and show that he cares, even though his brow is furrowed in calculated malice.
John shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth goes up at the thought. “Thanks anyway.” Not far in front of them, a girl, probably no older than six or seven, poses for her doting father as he takes a couple of pictures of her with the Coliseum.
“Do you ever wonder,” John asks, chin in hand, “how many pictures you’ve accidentally become a part of?” He watches the little girl run back to her dad, giggling as he takes her into his arms and shows her the photo they’ve just taken.
“Are you fucking high?” Apolo returns casually, leaning back against the bench-rest, legs stretching out in front of him. John glares at him, but it doesn’t hold its customary heat; all he feels right now is tired, worn out. Disappointed.
“No, it’s just food for thought,” he snaps back. “I mean, think about it. Everyone takes pictures here, and if you happen to be in the background at the right time-”
“Boom,” Apolo interrupts quietly. “There you are, immortalized in someone else’s photograph.” John turns, surprised, and Apolo looks awkward and moody, but his concern is real, potent. “I’ve done this before, remember? Seven Olympic medals and everything.”
John sighs again (he’s doing that a lot lately) and pulls his hood down further, slouching in his seat. He’s thinking hard (thinking too fucking much) and trying to ignore Apolo’s warm presence next to him, but then his hand jerks at John’s shoulder and they’re kissing, Apolo’s tongue slipping into his mouth with the subtlety of a car wreck. It’s messy and their teeth click together more often than not, but it’s comfortable and a little like going home, makes it seem like everything that happened is just some faraway nightmare.
They surface for air, John sucking in heady gulps of oxygen. “Feel better?” Apolo grins at him again and John rolls his eyes.
“Not really, but you get an A for effort?” Apolo smacks him on the arm and he laughs, really laughs for the first time since the race. This (whatever this is) isn’t much; it doesn’t really change anything and his first shell-shocked urge to just curl up somewhere and cry it all out is still pulling at the back of his mind, but at least some sense of normalcy is returning. Things can only pick up from here.
Title: sometimes perfection can be (perfect hell)
Pairing: jungsu/ohno
Rating: nc17
Genre: character-sketching, smut (ok yes idk how these two go together but w/e)
Warnings: porn without much plot?
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: speed skater slash has become very close to my heart as of late. set after the men’s 1500m short track speed skating event (in which jungsu placed 1st, apolo 2nd, and j.r. 3rd)
Life is strange (and usually stupid), Jungsu thinks as he changes out of his skating gear. Strange because even though they've all been training for this for years, now that the gold medal is finally about to be placed around his neck it's too surreal for words; stupid because Sibak and Hosuk should've been there with him, if it wasn't for that last lap and the foul. Stupid because he should be used to this already, but he isn’t, and even if he had all the excuses in the world he knows it makes him weak.
Too caught up in the moment, he thinks, and he's alone in the locker room with no one to talk to, no one to laugh with. For a second afterward, Hosuk wore a mask of muted frustration and disappointment, but then his eyes shuttered and his features washed blank into that faintly polite expression that they know too well. He closes himself off, Jungsu thinks, and it’s not healthy at all but everyone is expecting typical South Korean serenity, and Hosuk knows the coaches expect it to, at least until they’re alone in their suite at the Olympic village. This business is too brutal for breakdowns after DQs and bawling after not qualifying for finals, and so if bottling emotions is what it takes, then it’s what they have to do.
The look on Sibak's face after the reporters left is something he never wants to see again, but he knows it's probably inevitable. There will be other days and other events, but sometimes things like this happen; shit floods and then it's so, so hard to get back on track. He pulls on a pair of snow pants and reaches inside for his shirt, a million things running through his head. There's media to dodge and coaches and trainers to talk to, and he doesn't want to dwell on the negative for too long, because God forbid he get on that stage with anything but a smile.
"Congratulations," someone says, startling him out of his reverie, so close behind him that he can feel breaths exhaled against his neck, warm and heavy.
He spins around, sweatshirt dangling off one arm, blinking at the other speed skater. "Ohno-sshi?" he says, confused, and it's not so much a question as it is a dubious remark, a curious mix of resentment and grudging admiration hidden inside. Apolo's smiling at him even though he's still grimy and sweaty from the previous race, but there's boundless energy in his expression, something Jungsu has always envied.
"Call me Apolo," he says. "I wanted to congratulate you for getting the gold, you all skated really well out there today-" Jungsu manages to keep up with the steady stream of words coming out of his mouth, nodding in uneasy agreement. He’s not sure what he wants, but the other speed skater isn’t known for being particularly nice-or, rather, being nice without reason.
And then, with no ceremony at all, Apolo's leaning over, bending down to unzip the soft material of his pants and Jungsu freezes, unable to do anything except watch. A hand slips in to pull down his boxers, and with a small oh! of thought, he realizes what Apolo wants. This he understands, even if they don't speak the same language half the time.
He’s already half-hard when Apolo’s hand circles around to palm the underside of his dick, slow and easy like when they round the smooth corners of the track at the beginning of those longer races. His cock twitches up as fingers drag firmly across its skin; Apolo hums in satisfaction and drops to his knees, smiling a benign, shit-eating grin up at him.
His thoughts are going hazy at the edges and his breath hitches when Apolo’s tongue flicks out at the head of his dick. And then something hot and wet is deep-throating his cock and Jungsu’s head snaps back, hits the row of lockers behind him with a loud clang. But there’s no pain; he can’t feel anything except a momentary, dizzying sense of vertigo before the pleasure hits him with all the force of a battering ram, throwing him off into spinning circles like when he falls on the rink.
Apolo bobs up and down and sucks in, cheeks hollowing as Jungsu holds back against thrusting too hard into his mouth. He groans at the heightened sensation, his cock rubbing against the roof of Apolo’s mouth; a hand comes up to brush against his balls and he gasps, instinctively gripping Apolo’s clothed shoulder and leaning down so that his chest is almost grazing dark brown hair, legs clenched and taut to keep him upright against the cold metal. Apolo moves forward and the head of Jungsu’s cock bumps against the back of his throat; fingers twist at his balls at the same time he scrapes his bottom teeth gently, just so against the bottom of his cock and Jungsu comes with a sigh, the unhurried lethargy of afterglow seeping down into his bones. The kneeling skater swallows for the come, wiping his hand against his mouth when Jungsu’s limp cock slips out from between his lips. He looks up with an unreadable expression, their faces inches apart as Jungsu breathes out in shallow pants, a thin sheen of sweat raised on his goose-pimpled skin.
And seconds later, Apolo’s already at the door as quickly as he came in, trademark smirk crossing over his sharp features. "Good luck on that thousand meter tomorrow night" is all he says-as cocky as you please, a not-so-subtle challenge underneath those layers of polite detachment-before he leaves, a jaunty bounce in his step.
Dazed, Jungsu sinks against the metal grooves of lockers and sits down hard on the linoleum tile, pants still unzipped and open to the cool, dry air. He feels boneless, like he’s floating, even though semen is drying on his dick where Apolo didn’t manage to swallow and he’s more than a little embarrassed, more than a little confused. Then again, in an industry like this, you learn to take what you can get, even if it is from someone who stole that silver.
He shakes the cobwebs out of his head and gets up shakily, heading back to the showers to clean up. There is, after all, a gold medal to accept.
A/N: first time writing a bj, which was an interesting exercise :) sry if it disappoints ;; dsgdfgsdf. in conclusion, apolo is a snarky bitch. LOL JK he is great ilh. and j.r., j.r. omg can you get more adorable? and he’s only one year older than me, idk that’s just not right ;; ♥ anywayyy i am still trying hard to get all the characterizations down and things, so pls2b giving me guidance :') sorry this is a day late! i was going to post it last night but fell asleep before i could totally finish. yes, i am lame and both titles are from jack mannequin’s bruised, the emo song of all emo, which, incidentally, i feel like is the ultimate jay-going-back-to-seattle song :(
anon commenting is on! :Db
Pairing: celski/ohno
Rating: pg
Genre: character-sketching
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: apolo always was utter shit at comforting people. contemplative drabble after poor j.r. got dq-ed in the 1000m race :( GOD STUPID HAMELIN I AM STILL SO SO MAD >:|
It’s abnormally warm outside tonight, for Canadian winters at least, and the air is taking on a strange tinge of melancholy and regret. John sits on a park bench outside the Pacific Coliseum, its bulk rising up behind him under the bright lights of street-side lamps. He’s wearing a dark jacket with the hood pulled over so that no one will recognize him; he enjoys the anonymity for once, because it lets him relax, breathe a sigh of relief and mull over the events of the day.
Groups of people are milling around the streets and the plaza, laughing and talking and taking enthusiastic pictures with the skating venue in the background. The first time someone’s flash goes off he tenses and ducks automatically, a reaction instilled in him by previous fans and photographers. But the woman he sees is just taking a picture of the building and moves on afterwards; John’s hands unclench slowly, but when he looks down he can see the little crescent marks left from bitten fingernails.
Someone plops down onto the bench next to him, wood sinking down a bit. John almost gets up to leave before he realizes that it’s Apolo behind the ridiculous shades and hideous sunhat. “I knew you’d be here,” he remarks, crossing his legs.
“God, I thought you were a journalist or something,” he exhales, and Apolo grins at him. “Don’t scare me like that.” He shuts his eyes for a moment and he swears he can see the play by play of the thousand meter race, each frame flashing in his mind’s eye; the hovering Hamelin and a brush against his thigh, trying to shake him off and skate away, the reverse DQ. He doesn’t even realize that his leg’s jittering until Apolo puts a hand on his knee, the nervous tic jostling his hold for a second until John relaxes, the tension flowing out of him in waves.
“So I watched those clips again,” Apolo mutters. John casts him a sidelong glance and nearly shits his pants when Apolo grabs him hard by the shoulders. He almost thinks he’s going to start yelling at him but he just glares into his eyes and sits there, like he can see everything whirling around in John’s head.
“What?” he says, mouth a little dry from the intense perusal. Apolo lets go a few moments later, scrubbing a hand over his face underneath the sunglasses and turning back to face the plaza.
“Nothing,” he finally replies. “I’m just angry as fuck, and you’re still beating yourself up about it, I’m sure.”
John doesn’t respond, but the grim set of his mouth and the look in his eyes probably give him away. He’s never been able to hide much from Apolo, and something like this is no different.
“Stop this. It wasn’t your fault,” Apolo says, an annoyed expression crossing his face. “Do you always get like this when you’re depressed?” He shrugs. “I can always go beat Hamelin down for you if you wanted.” And of course, of course this is Apolo’s way of trying to deal with the problem and show that he cares, even though his brow is furrowed in calculated malice.
John shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth goes up at the thought. “Thanks anyway.” Not far in front of them, a girl, probably no older than six or seven, poses for her doting father as he takes a couple of pictures of her with the Coliseum.
“Do you ever wonder,” John asks, chin in hand, “how many pictures you’ve accidentally become a part of?” He watches the little girl run back to her dad, giggling as he takes her into his arms and shows her the photo they’ve just taken.
“Are you fucking high?” Apolo returns casually, leaning back against the bench-rest, legs stretching out in front of him. John glares at him, but it doesn’t hold its customary heat; all he feels right now is tired, worn out. Disappointed.
“No, it’s just food for thought,” he snaps back. “I mean, think about it. Everyone takes pictures here, and if you happen to be in the background at the right time-”
“Boom,” Apolo interrupts quietly. “There you are, immortalized in someone else’s photograph.” John turns, surprised, and Apolo looks awkward and moody, but his concern is real, potent. “I’ve done this before, remember? Seven Olympic medals and everything.”
John sighs again (he’s doing that a lot lately) and pulls his hood down further, slouching in his seat. He’s thinking hard (thinking too fucking much) and trying to ignore Apolo’s warm presence next to him, but then his hand jerks at John’s shoulder and they’re kissing, Apolo’s tongue slipping into his mouth with the subtlety of a car wreck. It’s messy and their teeth click together more often than not, but it’s comfortable and a little like going home, makes it seem like everything that happened is just some faraway nightmare.
They surface for air, John sucking in heady gulps of oxygen. “Feel better?” Apolo grins at him again and John rolls his eyes.
“Not really, but you get an A for effort?” Apolo smacks him on the arm and he laughs, really laughs for the first time since the race. This (whatever this is) isn’t much; it doesn’t really change anything and his first shell-shocked urge to just curl up somewhere and cry it all out is still pulling at the back of his mind, but at least some sense of normalcy is returning. Things can only pick up from here.
Title: sometimes perfection can be (perfect hell)
Pairing: jungsu/ohno
Rating: nc17
Genre: character-sketching, smut (ok yes idk how these two go together but w/e)
Warnings: porn without much plot?
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: speed skater slash has become very close to my heart as of late. set after the men’s 1500m short track speed skating event (in which jungsu placed 1st, apolo 2nd, and j.r. 3rd)
Life is strange (and usually stupid), Jungsu thinks as he changes out of his skating gear. Strange because even though they've all been training for this for years, now that the gold medal is finally about to be placed around his neck it's too surreal for words; stupid because Sibak and Hosuk should've been there with him, if it wasn't for that last lap and the foul. Stupid because he should be used to this already, but he isn’t, and even if he had all the excuses in the world he knows it makes him weak.
Too caught up in the moment, he thinks, and he's alone in the locker room with no one to talk to, no one to laugh with. For a second afterward, Hosuk wore a mask of muted frustration and disappointment, but then his eyes shuttered and his features washed blank into that faintly polite expression that they know too well. He closes himself off, Jungsu thinks, and it’s not healthy at all but everyone is expecting typical South Korean serenity, and Hosuk knows the coaches expect it to, at least until they’re alone in their suite at the Olympic village. This business is too brutal for breakdowns after DQs and bawling after not qualifying for finals, and so if bottling emotions is what it takes, then it’s what they have to do.
The look on Sibak's face after the reporters left is something he never wants to see again, but he knows it's probably inevitable. There will be other days and other events, but sometimes things like this happen; shit floods and then it's so, so hard to get back on track. He pulls on a pair of snow pants and reaches inside for his shirt, a million things running through his head. There's media to dodge and coaches and trainers to talk to, and he doesn't want to dwell on the negative for too long, because God forbid he get on that stage with anything but a smile.
"Congratulations," someone says, startling him out of his reverie, so close behind him that he can feel breaths exhaled against his neck, warm and heavy.
He spins around, sweatshirt dangling off one arm, blinking at the other speed skater. "Ohno-sshi?" he says, confused, and it's not so much a question as it is a dubious remark, a curious mix of resentment and grudging admiration hidden inside. Apolo's smiling at him even though he's still grimy and sweaty from the previous race, but there's boundless energy in his expression, something Jungsu has always envied.
"Call me Apolo," he says. "I wanted to congratulate you for getting the gold, you all skated really well out there today-" Jungsu manages to keep up with the steady stream of words coming out of his mouth, nodding in uneasy agreement. He’s not sure what he wants, but the other speed skater isn’t known for being particularly nice-or, rather, being nice without reason.
And then, with no ceremony at all, Apolo's leaning over, bending down to unzip the soft material of his pants and Jungsu freezes, unable to do anything except watch. A hand slips in to pull down his boxers, and with a small oh! of thought, he realizes what Apolo wants. This he understands, even if they don't speak the same language half the time.
He’s already half-hard when Apolo’s hand circles around to palm the underside of his dick, slow and easy like when they round the smooth corners of the track at the beginning of those longer races. His cock twitches up as fingers drag firmly across its skin; Apolo hums in satisfaction and drops to his knees, smiling a benign, shit-eating grin up at him.
His thoughts are going hazy at the edges and his breath hitches when Apolo’s tongue flicks out at the head of his dick. And then something hot and wet is deep-throating his cock and Jungsu’s head snaps back, hits the row of lockers behind him with a loud clang. But there’s no pain; he can’t feel anything except a momentary, dizzying sense of vertigo before the pleasure hits him with all the force of a battering ram, throwing him off into spinning circles like when he falls on the rink.
Apolo bobs up and down and sucks in, cheeks hollowing as Jungsu holds back against thrusting too hard into his mouth. He groans at the heightened sensation, his cock rubbing against the roof of Apolo’s mouth; a hand comes up to brush against his balls and he gasps, instinctively gripping Apolo’s clothed shoulder and leaning down so that his chest is almost grazing dark brown hair, legs clenched and taut to keep him upright against the cold metal. Apolo moves forward and the head of Jungsu’s cock bumps against the back of his throat; fingers twist at his balls at the same time he scrapes his bottom teeth gently, just so against the bottom of his cock and Jungsu comes with a sigh, the unhurried lethargy of afterglow seeping down into his bones. The kneeling skater swallows for the come, wiping his hand against his mouth when Jungsu’s limp cock slips out from between his lips. He looks up with an unreadable expression, their faces inches apart as Jungsu breathes out in shallow pants, a thin sheen of sweat raised on his goose-pimpled skin.
And seconds later, Apolo’s already at the door as quickly as he came in, trademark smirk crossing over his sharp features. "Good luck on that thousand meter tomorrow night" is all he says-as cocky as you please, a not-so-subtle challenge underneath those layers of polite detachment-before he leaves, a jaunty bounce in his step.
Dazed, Jungsu sinks against the metal grooves of lockers and sits down hard on the linoleum tile, pants still unzipped and open to the cool, dry air. He feels boneless, like he’s floating, even though semen is drying on his dick where Apolo didn’t manage to swallow and he’s more than a little embarrassed, more than a little confused. Then again, in an industry like this, you learn to take what you can get, even if it is from someone who stole that silver.
He shakes the cobwebs out of his head and gets up shakily, heading back to the showers to clean up. There is, after all, a gold medal to accept.
A/N: first time writing a bj, which was an interesting exercise :) sry if it disappoints ;; dsgdfgsdf. in conclusion, apolo is a snarky bitch. LOL JK he is great ilh. and j.r., j.r. omg can you get more adorable? and he’s only one year older than me, idk that’s just not right ;; ♥ anywayyy i am still trying hard to get all the characterizations down and things, so pls2b giving me guidance :') sorry this is a day late! i was going to post it last night but fell asleep before i could totally finish. yes, i am lame and both titles are from jack mannequin’s bruised, the emo song of all emo, which, incidentally, i feel like is the ultimate jay-going-back-to-seattle song :(
anon commenting is on! :Db