'Consolation Prize' - Elijah/Viggo NC17
I have been offline for a while, so forgive me if there's already an Olympic AU story around! This is only my second attempt at slash so I hope you enjoy - constructive criticism and any other feedback is appreciated.
Title: Consolation Prize
Pairing: Elijah/Viggo
Rating: NC 17 overall
Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, yes this is made up (I don't know much about the Olympics or gymnastics, and I have knocked about 10 years off Viggo's age for authenticity). AU.
Elijah was not a sportsman. Never had been, never would be. He was the kind of kid who took shortcuts on cross-country runs, who hovered round the edges of the pitch in football practice and who purposely forgot his gear on a once-monthly basis. Now he was the kind of adult who would rather flick idly through the channels and watch advertisements on TV than the big game.
So it was a real turn-up for the books when he was picked to go to Beijing and cover the Olympics.
"We need to send a team out," Peter, the editor of Mercury Sun Magazine, announced to the office three weeks before the games started. "Elijah, you're to go, and Billy - "
"Hold on," Elijah interrupted. "I don't know anything about -"
Peter waved a hand dismissively. "You won't need to. We'd like to focus more on the profiles of the various athletes out there - what makes them tick, really, more than the actual games. Besides," he added, "I already booked the tickets. You're going whether you want to or not."
Elijah opened his mouth to argue some more - he didn't really want to go flying halfway around the world to talk to a load of people he'd never heard of and keep track on how many medals they were winning - but he thought better of it. Nobody ever argued with Peter.
As a result, Elijah found himself sitting on a large jet to Beijing three days before the opening ceremony, with his colleagues Billy, Dom and Orlando. Orlando yawned loudly and obviously during the demonstration before the plane took off, Dom and Billy threw peanuts at each other and Elijah contemplated the fact that this may well be the longest three weeks on his life.
***
It was the day after the opening ceremony. It was a bit of a let-down, really, Elijah thought, as he wandered about the squares and streets between the stadiums idly. They have one lucky day and then it's just back to normal.
He eventually found his way to the National Indoor Stadium and entered, showing his pass at the door. It was laid out immaculately for the gymnastics. Elijah reluctantly joined the host of other journalists and camera crews at the side. He watched for a moment as journalists made their way up to the gymnasts, waiting for their turns on the apparatus, and decided he may as well go and get a few words. He glanced around and picked one at random, who was standing by himself, his back to Elijah.
"Hello," Elijah said tentatively, approaching. "I'm Elijah Wood, from Mercury Sun Magazine, London. I wonder if I could have a few words?"
The gymnast turned round. He looked a little older than most of the others. Elijah was lost for a moment in steely eyes.
"Certainly," he said, voice both impossibly smooth and gravelly at the same time.
Elijah glanced at his brochure, and read the gymnast's name. "Viggo...Mortensen? Is that how you say it?"
A small smile of amusement crossed Mr Mortensen's face. "That's it, yes."
"Ok, right." Elijah smiled too. "Wow, you're the oldest gymnast in this competition. Compared to the others....I mean, how does that make you feel? Threatened?"
Viggo shook his head. " I simply have more to prove."
Elijah scrawled that on his pad - he didn't bother recording it, as the background noise would have cause too much static. "This is your fourth Olympic, and you've never achieved a medal before. What makes you think you can succeed now, where you failed when you were at your peak, presumably?"
"An Olympic medal is an Olympic medal," Viggo said. "It would be an honour to win one. I feel I need to at least try. I couldn't bypass this chance."
Elijah smiled. "Best of luck, then. Mind if I have a few words once you've competed?"
"You can have as many words as you like," Viggo said, smiling warmly. "Now. If you'll excuse me." He shook Elijah's hand and headed over to where the other gymnasts were lining up.
Elijah found a seat and sat back to watch the proceedings. Viggo, he quickly realised, might have been older than all of his rivals, but he more than made up for it. The woman beside Elijah was commentating into a mike, so he was treated to expert analysis, which he tried to follow but ultimately lost track of. He did know, however, that Viggo was good. Very good. He finished an overall 4th and came first in the parallel bars.
Once the event was over, and the stadium began to empty, Elijah fought through the camera crews to 'have a word'.
"Hi," he said, shoving forwards. Viggo smiled at this, as the tall man holding a boom mike glared at Elijah. "Just wanted to say congratulations, you were looking really good out there."
"Thank you," Viggo said. "I simply tried my best."
"It seems to have worked," Elijah said. "How are you feeling after that performance?"
"I don't think I could have performed better."
"And we'll see you in the finals of the bars, then. That takes place on...."
"Tuesday 19th," Viggo said. He gave Elijah a close look. "I take it you aren't a sports enthusiast."
Elijah smiled, though he felt the beginnings of a blush working its way across his cheeks. "Ah. You've got me."
Viggo laughed, a low, rough chuckle. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I have a few hours off this evening. Would you like to come and have a drink somewhere with me?"
"Sure," Elijah said, with a hint of uncertainty in his voice that belied his answer. Viggo was certainly attractive, and Elijah certainly swung that way. But this was quick even by Elijah's hasty standards. And he wasn't even sure Viggo meant anything by it.
"Right," Viggo said. "I'll meet you...here? There's quite a nice bar down the road."
"Ok. Fine. I'll see you...when?"
"About 8-ish." Viggo winked and strutted off, back to his trainer and teammates, while Elijah folded up his pad and pen and left the stadium.
***
"Isn't it hot!" Elijah said by way of a greeting, joining Viggo outside the stadium at 8.03 precisely.
"It is," Viggo agreed, then took Elijah's hand. "Come on. I went to this bar the first night I was here, and you get a great view."
His hand was pleasantly cool in Elijah's, which was embarrassingly hot and sticky.
"So," he said, as they walked. "You write for a magazine? Tell me about that."
"It pays the bills," Elijah said, and laughed. Although he still wasn't entirely sure whether Viggo was just being polite to a nosy journalist or whether he actually did like Elijah, Elijah himself felt oddly at ease with Viggo. "No, I do enjoy it. You get to meet loads of interesting people, go interesting places, do interesting things."
"Like coming out here." Viggo stopped and led Elijah into the building, showing a card at the door. "That's so I can get in free," he explained, as they headed up a set of steps.
"Oh. Right."
"I hope you don't mind a bit of a walk. It's seven flights. I personally don't like elevators, but if you would like to use one..." Viggo stopped outside the lifts, and raised an eyebrow.
Elijah couldn't remember the last time he'd walked more than two flights. Seven seemed a little too much like exercise to him. But he glanced at Viggo's face, and said, "No, I don't mind walking."
Viggo smiled, and suddenly leaned forward and kissed Elijah's cheek.
Elijah stared, shell-shocked - eyes wide and lips parted. "Well," he said eventually.
"You liked that," Viggo said. It wasn't a question, but Elijah nodded anyway.
"But...are you....how did you know that I'm..."
Viggo pulled him in out of the middle of the corridor to let three women talking loudly in German walk past. "I'm quite good at guessing. And, yes. I am gay."
***
They spent the next two weeks or so getting to know each other. Viggo spent a lot of the day in training or competing, while Elijah traipsed round the stadiums, taking notes and chatting idly to people he had no interest in. It was a quiet Monday night that they got to know each other in a different sense.
Viggo accompanied Elijah back to his hotel, after a walk around the city. They shared kisses on the landing, then made their way into Elijah's 7th-storey room.
"Are you ready for this?" Viggo asked. The room was still dark - Elijah hadn't had a free hand to turn the light on when they had come in. The lights from outside reflected in their eyes, and highlighted cheekbones and jawlines.
"Yes - yes," panted Elijah, who was pulling at Viggo's shirt.
"Calm," Viggo said gently but firmly, holding Elijah's hips to keep him still. "Answer me seriously. Are you ready?"
"Yes," Elijah breathed, forcing himself to stay still.
And so it began. Not a gently breeze of a session, but a wild hurricane, resulting in cries and growls and pillows hurled across the room, in curses and sobs and unprotected cocks, in wild thrusts and grinds and willfull holding-back to make the pleasure so much more extreme.....
***
"Oh fuck fuck fuck...."
Elijah ascended slowly from a haze of heavy sleep. "Whassamatter?" He opened one eye - ouch, he'd slept with his contacts in - to see a flurry of limbs next to him throwing themselves off the bed.
"The finals - oh my God, Elijah - "
Elijah snapped awake in a sickening moment of clarity.
"The finals," he repeated, getting up and looking, horrified, across the room. Everything was in disarray - a pillow lay in the doorway leading to the bathroom, the duvet cover was bunched up next to the window. He himself was completely naked, witha dull ache in his rear that he probably shouldn't think about right now....
And Viggo was throwing on his shirt and trousers and shoes from last night, his hair sticking up and smelling of cum and sweat, eyes mad.
"I have to go," he gasped, pushing Elijah out of the way to get to the door.
"Viggo!" Elijah followed him on to the corridor, in just his borthday suit. "Oh my God, Viggo - good luck, I'll be there as soon as - " his voice trailed off as Viggo ran round the corner and down the stairs.
***
"And this is such a disappointment for Viggo Mortensen - Mr Mortensen, you must be devastated, just missing out on a medal." An American TV crew was crowding Viggo, an hour later, in the stadium. Elijah, who had arrived just in time to see Viggo fall horribly, flat on his face, during his final, stood miserably behind the crew. He had a horrible feeling in his belly that Viggo wouldn't want to see him at the moment.
"Naturally," came the reply. Viggo didn't sound upset, or angry - simply defeated. Elijah could see the depression written across his face.
And then the crew was leaving him alone to focus on the beaming smiles of the medal winners. Viggo was left facing Elijah.
"I'm sorry," Elijah said quietly. He wasn't even sure Viggo heard him, as the opening chords of the Chinese national anthem blasted out across the stadium.
And then he was enveloped in a huge hug, by strong, muscled, bronzed arms.
"An Olympic medal is an Olympic medal," Viggo murmured in his ear. "A chunk of metal. I think I won myself something much better, don't you?" He took Elijah's hand, and together they left the stadium.
***
"So you didn't actually interview the winners." Peter glanced over Elijah's article. "For God's sake, Elijah. What did you do out there?"
"I interviewed Viggo Morten-"
" I know!" Peter snapped. "Fourth-place, fell-off-his-bars, was-late-for-his-final Viggo Mortensen! Elijah, I expected more! A lot more!"
Elijah shrugged. Peter stared at this reaction for a moment, then rolled his eyes and threw the article onto the desk with the others.
"You should have told him why Viggo Mortensen was late for his final," snickered Dom, at the desk next to his, packing up his laptop.
"Yeah, right. Thanks for the advice," Elijah said wearily, glancing at the clock. Ten past five. He could legally go home now. He lifted his bag onto his back and left the office.
***
Viggo fucked Elijah into the mattress that night. Curling up together afterwards, Elijah rested his head on Viggo's muscled chest and sighed sleepily, "It bothers you, though, doesn't it? That you didn't win a medal."
Viggo ruffled his lover's hair lightly, and planted a kiss on his pale forehead. "Of course it does, a little. But I came out with a pretty good consolation prize, didn't I? Now. Go to sleep. Goodnight."