[fic] alles was zaehlt { boarding [deniz/roman. r. 800 words.]
.boarding
[roman.deniz. r. 800 words.]
notes; from the dero prompt table.
warnings; none.
summary; didn't think it much like you to admire a man for keeping his legs together.
Boarding: The vertical barrier between the ice and the ground at the point where the ice ends. In non-Olympic competitions, it is usually covered with advertisements for the sponsors.
Deniz stands at the side of the rink, places his hands on the perimeter boarding and watches the figures on the ice dance through their routine. Roman plasters himself to Deniz's back and tilts his head over the broad shoulder to get a better look.
"You’ve got to watch his feet, where they go, the way they move around," he says, his lips against the soft-spot beneath Deniz's ear.
Deniz leans forward a bit more to watch and Roman leans with him, laces his fingers through the belt-loops on the sides of Deniz's jeans to steady himself. The leather belt is cool against his fingers--a contrast to the rest of Deniz, which is as burning hot as ever. "Notice the way he kept his knees tight in that Lutz?"
Deniz twists his head, places his lips, in turn, against Roman's ear and murmurs, "Yes. Very impressive."
Roman nudges Deniz to face forward again, and quirks an eyebrow. "Didn‘t think it like you to admire a man for keeping his legs together." He steps away a bit, but Deniz leans back, pressing up against him and Roman inhales sharply through his nose. His hands are still resting on Deniz's belt and he itches with the desire to cup his hips, slide them up further still and around the front, under his jacket and through his shirt. He turns his head slightly and eyes the crowd to make certain no-one is watching. They've all got their eyes on the ice, of course. There's a slip of skin by Deniz’s hip-bone where his shirt is untucked. Roman strokes his thumb along it.
"Roman," Deniz whine-whispers and that makes Roman throb. Deniz is still pressed against his chest, his heart pounding as Roman's thumb dances pirouettes on his skin. Deniz's aroused face--eyebrows ridiculously high, mouth gaping open, scarlet sprinting across his cheeks--forces Roman to suppress a small smile.
"You are allowing yourself to be distracted," he says, sternly. Deniz looks ahead, determined expression focused on the figures currently performing a Love Spiral. Roman allows his smile to widen and continues his caress. Deniz's skin is soft there, tender, vulnerable. He remembers making a more thorough analysis with his lips once upon a time, causing Deniz to thrash and groan and buck and lose himself completely. He leans forward and brushes his lips against Deniz's ear to murmur, "Nothing should draw your attention away from your competition." His bottom lip drags slightly on Deniz's earlobe; he can hear Deniz's breathing speed up and become erratic, but he remains focused on the ice. Roman rewards him by dragging more of Deniz's shirt out of his trousers and sliding his hand inside. He keeps his mouth and nose by Deniz's ear, so Deniz can hear and feel his own harsh breathing. "You need to see their flaws, their weaknesses."
The temperature ratchets up several degrees and Roman suddenly hates the thick layers of fleece between them. Wishes he could feel the broad strength of Deniz's back against his chest. He strokes his hand softly in contrast with his pounding heart. If he were to close his eyes he could easily remember Deniz spread out before him on his old bed in his room at the WG, looking up with pleading eyes as Roman touched him everywhere but where they both wanted it most, hands fisted in the duvet, hips arching off the bed. He licks his lips.
"What are his hands doing, Deniz?"
"Hands?" Deniz says in a choked voice.
Roman drags his nails against tender, vulnerable skin; his other hand gripping the belt tightly for stability when he hears the hitch in Deniz's breathing. There is only so long he can continue this, he knows, before he drives them both over the edge, not to mention the fact the lights‘ll come up soon and his pokerface is awful, no matter how much strip-poker he‘s played with Ingo. Deniz, despite harsh breaths and trembling hands, has not once looked away from the pair on the ice. He rests his palm against Deniz's skin and takes in a deep breath, fights for calm.
"He...," he hears Deniz whisper. "He's got them at his sides."
Roman allows himself one more nip of Deniz's earlobe. "Exactly. At his sides." He moves his own hands, braces them on Deniz's hips, thumbs on his kidneys, fingers over the ridge of pelvic-bone. "And you know what? The next time you put your hands on the fucking ice in the middle of a triple-loop you're not going to get any mercy."
"This is mercy?" Deniz asks, breath catching as Roman digs his nails in.
"Of course." He slides his hands off Deniz and into his pockets, ignoring Deniz's groan and looking him up and down with a sardonic smile. "Next time it'll be Lars."
---
Now, plz excuse me whilst I watch today's ep. La la la la laaa.
[roman.deniz. r. 800 words.]
notes; from the dero prompt table.
warnings; none.
summary; didn't think it much like you to admire a man for keeping his legs together.
Boarding: The vertical barrier between the ice and the ground at the point where the ice ends. In non-Olympic competitions, it is usually covered with advertisements for the sponsors.
Deniz stands at the side of the rink, places his hands on the perimeter boarding and watches the figures on the ice dance through their routine. Roman plasters himself to Deniz's back and tilts his head over the broad shoulder to get a better look.
"You’ve got to watch his feet, where they go, the way they move around," he says, his lips against the soft-spot beneath Deniz's ear.
Deniz leans forward a bit more to watch and Roman leans with him, laces his fingers through the belt-loops on the sides of Deniz's jeans to steady himself. The leather belt is cool against his fingers--a contrast to the rest of Deniz, which is as burning hot as ever. "Notice the way he kept his knees tight in that Lutz?"
Deniz twists his head, places his lips, in turn, against Roman's ear and murmurs, "Yes. Very impressive."
Roman nudges Deniz to face forward again, and quirks an eyebrow. "Didn‘t think it like you to admire a man for keeping his legs together." He steps away a bit, but Deniz leans back, pressing up against him and Roman inhales sharply through his nose. His hands are still resting on Deniz's belt and he itches with the desire to cup his hips, slide them up further still and around the front, under his jacket and through his shirt. He turns his head slightly and eyes the crowd to make certain no-one is watching. They've all got their eyes on the ice, of course. There's a slip of skin by Deniz’s hip-bone where his shirt is untucked. Roman strokes his thumb along it.
"Roman," Deniz whine-whispers and that makes Roman throb. Deniz is still pressed against his chest, his heart pounding as Roman's thumb dances pirouettes on his skin. Deniz's aroused face--eyebrows ridiculously high, mouth gaping open, scarlet sprinting across his cheeks--forces Roman to suppress a small smile.
"You are allowing yourself to be distracted," he says, sternly. Deniz looks ahead, determined expression focused on the figures currently performing a Love Spiral. Roman allows his smile to widen and continues his caress. Deniz's skin is soft there, tender, vulnerable. He remembers making a more thorough analysis with his lips once upon a time, causing Deniz to thrash and groan and buck and lose himself completely. He leans forward and brushes his lips against Deniz's ear to murmur, "Nothing should draw your attention away from your competition." His bottom lip drags slightly on Deniz's earlobe; he can hear Deniz's breathing speed up and become erratic, but he remains focused on the ice. Roman rewards him by dragging more of Deniz's shirt out of his trousers and sliding his hand inside. He keeps his mouth and nose by Deniz's ear, so Deniz can hear and feel his own harsh breathing. "You need to see their flaws, their weaknesses."
The temperature ratchets up several degrees and Roman suddenly hates the thick layers of fleece between them. Wishes he could feel the broad strength of Deniz's back against his chest. He strokes his hand softly in contrast with his pounding heart. If he were to close his eyes he could easily remember Deniz spread out before him on his old bed in his room at the WG, looking up with pleading eyes as Roman touched him everywhere but where they both wanted it most, hands fisted in the duvet, hips arching off the bed. He licks his lips.
"What are his hands doing, Deniz?"
"Hands?" Deniz says in a choked voice.
Roman drags his nails against tender, vulnerable skin; his other hand gripping the belt tightly for stability when he hears the hitch in Deniz's breathing. There is only so long he can continue this, he knows, before he drives them both over the edge, not to mention the fact the lights‘ll come up soon and his pokerface is awful, no matter how much strip-poker he‘s played with Ingo. Deniz, despite harsh breaths and trembling hands, has not once looked away from the pair on the ice. He rests his palm against Deniz's skin and takes in a deep breath, fights for calm.
"He...," he hears Deniz whisper. "He's got them at his sides."
Roman allows himself one more nip of Deniz's earlobe. "Exactly. At his sides." He moves his own hands, braces them on Deniz's hips, thumbs on his kidneys, fingers over the ridge of pelvic-bone. "And you know what? The next time you put your hands on the fucking ice in the middle of a triple-loop you're not going to get any mercy."
"This is mercy?" Deniz asks, breath catching as Roman digs his nails in.
"Of course." He slides his hands off Deniz and into his pockets, ignoring Deniz's groan and looking him up and down with a sardonic smile. "Next time it'll be Lars."
---
Now, plz excuse me whilst I watch today's ep. La la la la laaa.