Like Two Soviet Russian Bombs Colliding At Constant Velocity
Title: Like Two Soviet Russian Bombs Colliding At Constant Velocity
Author: a_minor_third
Pairing: Alexander Artemev/Nastia Liukin
Rating: R
Summary: They have no idea what they're doing, and that makes it twice as thrilling and three times as risky.
Disclaimer: Fake. Not real. Don't sue.
He has her body shoved against the pommel horse with his hands tangled in her hair and his mouth mashed against her lips without any semblance or thought of dignity or courtesy. Now his right hand starts to linger on the crook of her back, while his left hand's ready to tear her T-shirt off. There are definitely no hints of ceremony. She moans beneath his body, and he swears that she wants this as much as he does. Her sharp nails graze against his bare shoulders, and it pinches his skin as his hand find its way beneath her bra. He grinds his lower half against her. The moment is calling for it. His actions elicit a slight gasp from her lips, and he grunts as she reciprocates by the undulations of her body.
At exactly 6 am, when the lights suddenly turn on at 5280 Gymnastics, he jumps with a start and quickly backs a foot away. His heart is beating like a train wreck has just occurred before he realizes that the lights are on an automatic timer. Thank god that no one is walking through the doors right now. They've lost track of time ages ago, how should he have known?
"You think your dad will be here this early?"
"What?"
"Nastia, is your dad even awake yet?"
"Look, Artemev. If this situation isn't already as compromising as it is-"
"Get on the horse. We can finish this off with something special."
"Hell no! I'm not a whore. Or your plaything either."
Nastia Liukin stands her ground, the angry blaze in her eyes emulating her stubborn personality. Sasha Artemev notices the way she places her hands on her hips. They're curled into fists, and he can easily see that she must be extremely angry or else she wouldn't be baring her teeth at him like a tigress protecting her cubs. Of all the times that he's watched her during the women's artistic gymnastics competitions at Beijing and elsewhere, he's never seen her this furious before.
"Stop being so bitchy, Nasti."
"It's Miss Liukin, for your information. And what the hell is wrong with you, anyway? This is your daddy's gym and we're supposed to be your guests. He said I could come in here this morning without any interruptions. And frankly, you're being an interruption."
"Shut up. Please?"
"What did you say?"
Sasha mutters under his breath, "I said 'please.' Are you gonna gloat over me now because I'm polite for once?"
"Sasha, my dad's at your place. He's still asleep, I think."
Nastia says this in such a quiet voice that he doesn't even catch it at first. He knits his eyebrows in confusion and stares quite blatantly at her. Maybe it isn't so much that her attitude has spun 180 degrees but that she's dressed in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a flimsy, lace underwear and matching bra underneath.
"Quit looking at me with those eyes!" she snaps. "It's like you're staring into my soul and I don't like it at all."
"I'm sorry then, Ms. High and Mighty," Sasha quips. His face narrows into an angry stare.
"Artemev, let's stop fighting."
Sasha shrugs and mumbles, "Whatever," as he starts to pull himself up onto the pommel horse. Extending his hand to Nastia, he waits for her to grab ahold of it before pulling her up beside him.
They're sitting on the pommel horse now, two perfect gymnast offsprings of parents from Soviet Russia. Nastia tilts her head slightly to study the sharp cheekbones of the man seated beside her. In a hushed timbre she articulates the name, "Artemev" into his ear.
"What?" He turns to look at her.
"Shut up, Alexander. You never appreciate the subtle things I do for you," she says this with a pained frown on her face. She tries to keep her voice at a steady level, but the damage has already been done. Her voice cracks on the last word.
"We're not a couple in the first place. When did you start to think that?"
"Then I'm glad that I haven't slept with you yet. Asshole."
"God, would you please just shut up?"
"Fuck you."
Sasha sighs heavily, his shoulders rising and falling in such a dramatic gesture that it makes Nastia laugh in scrutiny.
"And would you please just call me 'Sasha'? I'm getting sick of all your 'Artemevs' and 'Alexanders'. It's Sasha, plain and simple."
"When I'm fucking you, I'll still call you Alexander Artemev. If that ever happens, that is."
"We need to consummate this obviously arranged marriage situation," Sasha states in an apathetic tone. "Our fathers would love it if I proposed to you at dinner tonight. And if you say yes, they'd probably explode like two Soviet Russian bombs or whatever stupid metaphor that I can't think of right now."
"I'd rather go to hell than-"
"-marry me? Sleep with me? Yeah, yeah. I've heard that spiel before. Your rebuttals are getting so old, Nas."
"I told you to call me 'Ms Liukin.'"
By now Sasha is already sick of her negativity. To quieten her, he grabs her hand and cups his fingers against her soft cheek, quickly kissing her fiercely before she could show any signs of protesting. Nastia is the one who pulls away after a few seconds. She takes a while to catch her breath, and this time around, she doesn't care whether he's staring at her with those large, soul-searching eyes of his.
A breathless whisper escapes her lips, "What are we doing, Sasha?"
He reaches for her hand, squeezes it, plays with her fingers, anything while he tries his best to think of a concise answer.
"I have absolutely no idea, Nas," he finally says quietly.
They have a silent moment to themselves. The hum of the artificial lights in the gym cut through their thoughts like an ever-present insect. It isn't long before Nastia speaks her mind.
"Your fiancé's coming for dinner, right?" she asks with a neutral expression on her face. Sasha's trying his best to read her, but he's never been the best at it. Especially with Nastia.
"Yeah, you finally get to meet Brianna. You guys are going to be such great friends," he utters sarcastically.
Snorting with derisive laughter, Nastia shoots back, "I'm oh so excited then!"
"Just don't mention the fact that one of her favorite gymnastics idols is sleeping with her fiancé."
"Not quite. However much you want it."
As the thought of sex with Nastia Liukin hits him, Sasha perks up and surveys the room, taking note of the lack of cameras on the walls and ceiling of the gym. Well, they could theoretically-
"Not gonna happen, buddy," Nastia cuts through his thoughts before he could even formulate his question.
"Stop being so virginal, Ave Maria."
Sasha winks at her, hinting at the Tour of Gymnastics Superstars reference. Whenever he sees Nastia performing her routine to Ave Maria, in a solid white leotard nonetheless, he always snickers and sneers at their shared inside joke. It's all done in great fun, of course.
"Oh hell. Shut it, Artemev," comes her tired response. She heaves a sigh and pushes herself off the pommel horse.
Sasha doesn't make a move to stop her, nor does he call out her name as she reaches the door to the women's locker room. He sits placidly on the pommel horse, watching the slight curve of her bottom peeking through her oversized T-shirt.
"You coming?" Nastia shouts over her shoulder as she pauses in front of the door. Twisting her head around, she eyes him with feigned disinterest as he takes his sweet time to make up his mind.
When Nastia finally sees the knowing smile curling on the edges of his lips, she already knows what his answer will be. Without a second glance, Nastia Liukin walks into the women's locker room, letting the door swing shut behind her. Her arms are pulling her T-shirt over her head before she absentmindedly discards it on the floor.
She doesn't turn around as she hears the door swing open for a second time.
Author: a_minor_third
Pairing: Alexander Artemev/Nastia Liukin
Rating: R
Summary: They have no idea what they're doing, and that makes it twice as thrilling and three times as risky.
Disclaimer: Fake. Not real. Don't sue.
He has her body shoved against the pommel horse with his hands tangled in her hair and his mouth mashed against her lips without any semblance or thought of dignity or courtesy. Now his right hand starts to linger on the crook of her back, while his left hand's ready to tear her T-shirt off. There are definitely no hints of ceremony. She moans beneath his body, and he swears that she wants this as much as he does. Her sharp nails graze against his bare shoulders, and it pinches his skin as his hand find its way beneath her bra. He grinds his lower half against her. The moment is calling for it. His actions elicit a slight gasp from her lips, and he grunts as she reciprocates by the undulations of her body.
At exactly 6 am, when the lights suddenly turn on at 5280 Gymnastics, he jumps with a start and quickly backs a foot away. His heart is beating like a train wreck has just occurred before he realizes that the lights are on an automatic timer. Thank god that no one is walking through the doors right now. They've lost track of time ages ago, how should he have known?
"You think your dad will be here this early?"
"What?"
"Nastia, is your dad even awake yet?"
"Look, Artemev. If this situation isn't already as compromising as it is-"
"Get on the horse. We can finish this off with something special."
"Hell no! I'm not a whore. Or your plaything either."
Nastia Liukin stands her ground, the angry blaze in her eyes emulating her stubborn personality. Sasha Artemev notices the way she places her hands on her hips. They're curled into fists, and he can easily see that she must be extremely angry or else she wouldn't be baring her teeth at him like a tigress protecting her cubs. Of all the times that he's watched her during the women's artistic gymnastics competitions at Beijing and elsewhere, he's never seen her this furious before.
"Stop being so bitchy, Nasti."
"It's Miss Liukin, for your information. And what the hell is wrong with you, anyway? This is your daddy's gym and we're supposed to be your guests. He said I could come in here this morning without any interruptions. And frankly, you're being an interruption."
"Shut up. Please?"
"What did you say?"
Sasha mutters under his breath, "I said 'please.' Are you gonna gloat over me now because I'm polite for once?"
"Sasha, my dad's at your place. He's still asleep, I think."
Nastia says this in such a quiet voice that he doesn't even catch it at first. He knits his eyebrows in confusion and stares quite blatantly at her. Maybe it isn't so much that her attitude has spun 180 degrees but that she's dressed in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a flimsy, lace underwear and matching bra underneath.
"Quit looking at me with those eyes!" she snaps. "It's like you're staring into my soul and I don't like it at all."
"I'm sorry then, Ms. High and Mighty," Sasha quips. His face narrows into an angry stare.
"Artemev, let's stop fighting."
Sasha shrugs and mumbles, "Whatever," as he starts to pull himself up onto the pommel horse. Extending his hand to Nastia, he waits for her to grab ahold of it before pulling her up beside him.
They're sitting on the pommel horse now, two perfect gymnast offsprings of parents from Soviet Russia. Nastia tilts her head slightly to study the sharp cheekbones of the man seated beside her. In a hushed timbre she articulates the name, "Artemev" into his ear.
"What?" He turns to look at her.
"Shut up, Alexander. You never appreciate the subtle things I do for you," she says this with a pained frown on her face. She tries to keep her voice at a steady level, but the damage has already been done. Her voice cracks on the last word.
"We're not a couple in the first place. When did you start to think that?"
"Then I'm glad that I haven't slept with you yet. Asshole."
"God, would you please just shut up?"
"Fuck you."
Sasha sighs heavily, his shoulders rising and falling in such a dramatic gesture that it makes Nastia laugh in scrutiny.
"And would you please just call me 'Sasha'? I'm getting sick of all your 'Artemevs' and 'Alexanders'. It's Sasha, plain and simple."
"When I'm fucking you, I'll still call you Alexander Artemev. If that ever happens, that is."
"We need to consummate this obviously arranged marriage situation," Sasha states in an apathetic tone. "Our fathers would love it if I proposed to you at dinner tonight. And if you say yes, they'd probably explode like two Soviet Russian bombs or whatever stupid metaphor that I can't think of right now."
"I'd rather go to hell than-"
"-marry me? Sleep with me? Yeah, yeah. I've heard that spiel before. Your rebuttals are getting so old, Nas."
"I told you to call me 'Ms Liukin.'"
By now Sasha is already sick of her negativity. To quieten her, he grabs her hand and cups his fingers against her soft cheek, quickly kissing her fiercely before she could show any signs of protesting. Nastia is the one who pulls away after a few seconds. She takes a while to catch her breath, and this time around, she doesn't care whether he's staring at her with those large, soul-searching eyes of his.
A breathless whisper escapes her lips, "What are we doing, Sasha?"
He reaches for her hand, squeezes it, plays with her fingers, anything while he tries his best to think of a concise answer.
"I have absolutely no idea, Nas," he finally says quietly.
They have a silent moment to themselves. The hum of the artificial lights in the gym cut through their thoughts like an ever-present insect. It isn't long before Nastia speaks her mind.
"Your fiancé's coming for dinner, right?" she asks with a neutral expression on her face. Sasha's trying his best to read her, but he's never been the best at it. Especially with Nastia.
"Yeah, you finally get to meet Brianna. You guys are going to be such great friends," he utters sarcastically.
Snorting with derisive laughter, Nastia shoots back, "I'm oh so excited then!"
"Just don't mention the fact that one of her favorite gymnastics idols is sleeping with her fiancé."
"Not quite. However much you want it."
As the thought of sex with Nastia Liukin hits him, Sasha perks up and surveys the room, taking note of the lack of cameras on the walls and ceiling of the gym. Well, they could theoretically-
"Not gonna happen, buddy," Nastia cuts through his thoughts before he could even formulate his question.
"Stop being so virginal, Ave Maria."
Sasha winks at her, hinting at the Tour of Gymnastics Superstars reference. Whenever he sees Nastia performing her routine to Ave Maria, in a solid white leotard nonetheless, he always snickers and sneers at their shared inside joke. It's all done in great fun, of course.
"Oh hell. Shut it, Artemev," comes her tired response. She heaves a sigh and pushes herself off the pommel horse.
Sasha doesn't make a move to stop her, nor does he call out her name as she reaches the door to the women's locker room. He sits placidly on the pommel horse, watching the slight curve of her bottom peeking through her oversized T-shirt.
"You coming?" Nastia shouts over her shoulder as she pauses in front of the door. Twisting her head around, she eyes him with feigned disinterest as he takes his sweet time to make up his mind.
When Nastia finally sees the knowing smile curling on the edges of his lips, she already knows what his answer will be. Without a second glance, Nastia Liukin walks into the women's locker room, letting the door swing shut behind her. Her arms are pulling her T-shirt over her head before she absentmindedly discards it on the floor.
She doesn't turn around as she hears the door swing open for a second time.