Prompt Post 2
Welcome to the second round of the_eagle_kink .
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
- MORE MOD NOTES: Alright guys I know this fandom is really into historical accuracy and all that jazz but here's the thing. This is a KINK MEME and therefore historical accuracy is not ( Read more... )
Marcus doesn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed when there is no one else up in the room. Now he has an angry figure skater all to himself, and frankly, he has no fucking idea how to go about this. Pep talks, Marcus can do, but he has a feeling Cunoval would actually punch him in the face if he tried to go all motivational on him.
Cunoval hangs his jacket by the door and then looks around, taking in the mess all over the floor and beds.
"Sorry about that," Marcus tells him, wincing. "I try to keep the place tidy, but it's hopeless."
"Yeah, it's alright. Look, I'm sorry for acting like that earlier," Cunoval says with a little sigh. Then he thrusts a hand out at Marcus. "I'm Esca, by the way. I know you know, but still."
"Yeah, hey," Marcus says, somewhat taken aback by this unexpected development. "Marcus Aquila."
They shake. Esca has a nice, strong grip. Despite the weather conditions outside, he's only wearing a thin black tank top, and Marcus tries hard not to stare at the ropey muscles in his arms, or the intricate Celtic designs tattooed around his right bicep.
"So," Esca says, giving Marcus a slow once-over that makes Marcus want to fidget under the scrutiny. "Shall we, then?"
"Shall we... what?" Marcus stutters, staring into those amazing grey-blue eyes because staring anywhere else would probably be a bad idea.
Esca smirks and takes a step towards Marcus, and Marcus stays where he is, but only because he is rooted to the spot by the half amused, half intent look on Esca's face.
"Now what do you think?" Esca asks wryly, placing a hand on the side of Marcus' neck.
His thumb brushes over the edge of Marcus' jaw, spelling his intentions out. His fingers are icy cold, but that isn't what makes Marcus shiver.
"Look, I didn't bring you here for that," Marcus says, and even to his own ears, he sounds unconvincing. "You are clearly not at your best, and I just thought--"
"What?" Esca laughs. "That we would have a nice little chat about my feelings?"
The last word is a sarcastic little sneer; it would look unattractive on anyone else, but Marcus just kind of wants to kiss those thin, hard lips until they lose the ability to snark at him.
Esca watches Marcus like a hawk, and he catches that one moment where Marcus wavers.
It's enough.
Before Marcus knows what's happening, Esca catches his shoulders, goes up on tip-toes and presses his mouth against Marcus', all cold lips and aggressive intent.
Marcus takes a sharp, startled breath through his nose, catching the scents of wintry air and leather and aftershave all mixed together, and he wants, he wants this, he can't remember the last time he wanted to fuck someone as much as he wants to fuck Esca right at this moment, but--
"No, wait, Esca," Marcus says, catching Esca's shoulders and pushing him at arm's length. "We can't just do that, it's not-- You are just stressed."
Esca gives him a blank look.
"You know, the Olympics? Defending your gold?" Marcus tries.
"Oh, that," Esca says, and he sounds bored. "You think I'm stressed about that?"
"Well... yes?" Marcus says incredulously. "I'm in a team and I know I am scared shitless of disappointing my guys or Coach or all the people at home cheering for us or, shit, I'm terrified of disappointing myself."
"Heh, that's sweet," Esca says. He pats Marcus' cheek. "For such a big oaf, you are a sweet guy."
Marcus is starting to understand why someone might feel like breaking the little shit in half.
Before Marcus could work himself into a proper snit, Esca says, "If we're not going to fuck, I might as well just go."
"Yeah, that might be for the best," Marcus agrees, even though a little voice in his head insists he should keep Esca around, try to talk to him and see if he's really this much of a bitch all the time or if there is something wrong, maybe something Marcus could help with.
Thanks for the comments, hope you guys are having fun. :) Sorry for all past, present and possible future inaccuracies, btw; while I do watch figure skating and occasionally hockey and I try to read up on stuff as I go, I claim to be no expert. So this is going to be less sports journalism and more boy-on-boy action.
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hahaha i love blunt figure skater!Esca hahaha OH MAN. PLS CAN YOU WRITE ANOTHER 10k OF THIS? PLS? I WILL SEND OVER WHISKY AND HUGS
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HA HA. JUST KIDDING.
Dude, this is amazing! I've been reading it on my phone all day and flailing at the updates!
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unf I'm enjoying this so much. your details and voices. lovelovelove
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There is no training today, since they are playing Sweden in the afternoon. Marcus still gets up at six like he always does, and he still goes to the rink because all sitting around does to him is make him even more nervous.
Esca is sitting on the players bench when Marcus gets there. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in a while. He doesn't even look up when Marcus sits down next to him, just keeps staring at the bottle of water he's rolling between his palms.
"Hey, you okay?" Marcus asks him, knocking their shoulders together gently.
"Not really," Esca replies. "I feel like I owe you an apology and some explanation. God knows why, don't even ask. I just don't want you to think I'm an asshole."
"I don't think you are an asshole," Marcus says automatically.
Esca turns his head to look at him, a wry little smile on his lips. "Really."
"Okay, no, you do have a tendency to come off as a dick whenever we meet," Marcus admits.
"I know," Esca says simply, without an ounce of indignation. "And I hate it because that's not really me. It's just that things kind of fell apart a few months ago, and I don't even really want to be here."
"At the Olympics?"
"Yeah, or even in just the rink."
"You want to stop skating?" Marcus asks, frowning. He can't even imagine what that must be like; he's never wanted to do anything but play, and when he has to stop, he wants to go into coaching.
"Sounds ungrateful, right?" Esca says wryly, looking out over the rink. "You keep wanting to drag me off to my coach, so I might as well just tell you. I don't really have a coach."
"What?" Marcus blinks. "But--"
"No, I mean, obviously I have a coach, there is a whole fucking team following me around," Esca cuts in. "But my real coach, Irina... " Esca's breath hitches, breaking the otherwise monotonous drone of his voice. "She died three months ago. I'd been with her for over ten years, we won that gold four years ago together, and now she's just gone."
"Shit," Marcus says quietly. This is worse than what he assumed. "I'm so sorry, man."
"Thanks," Esca murmurs. His eyes are clear, but his voice sounds hoarse. "So now you know. The only reason I'm even here is because she would kick my ass if she knew I let all our hard work go to waste."
Marcus has no idea what to say. Shit, ten years. Esca was what -- thirteen, fourteen? Marcus knows coaching is different in figure skating; it's one-on-one and personal. Esca must have spent more time with this woman than he had with his own mother.
"Well, that was depressing, eh?" Esca says, with forced cheer. "You're playing today, right?"
"Yeah, we're playing Sweden at two," Marcus replies, grateful for the change of topic.
"I might pop in to watch if I have the time, or, you know, if you even want me to," Esca says slowly, with a shy glance at Marcus' face. It should be funny considering everything that's happened last night, but Marcus finds it strangely charming instead.
"Oh, I definitely want you to," Marcus says, trying not to grin at Esca's relieved little smile.
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d'awwww he's gunna watch Marcus play~
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I haven't been able to wipe the smile off my face since I started reading. Thanks so much!
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I'm glad that he is opening up a little to Marcus though!
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Marcus gets a text a little after five. im coming up stay where u r, it says.
"Huh," Marcus says, staring at his phone.
Ten minutes later, Esca wanders in with a keycard in hand.
"Wait, what?" Marcus says. "How do you have my number, and whose keycard is that, and what?"
Esca stops at the foot of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he gives Marcus an unimpressed look.
"You are one of those people who always get hung up on the details, aren't you? It's Eric's card, and Weir gave me your number days ago."
"Weir? As in, Johnny Weir?" Marcus is trying to make sense of this conversation, he really is. "Why the fuck would Johnny Weir have my number?"
Esca shrugs. "You are a hot piece of ass, of course he has your number."
"I-- okay," Marcus says. "You know what? I don't even want to know how that conversation went down."
"Yeah, you probably don't," Esca replies cryptically, but he looks amused. "Now what did you do to yourself?"
"Oh, it's nothing," Marcus says dismissively, "but man, did you see? We wiped the rink with them!"
"Yeah, after that one guy wiped the boards with your head." Esca snorts. "Thanks for reminding me why I didn't go into hockey. You look like shit, by the way."
"And you are a sight for sore eyes," Marcus replies cheekily. "Are you going to just stand there and impersonate my mom?"
Esca sighs, like he is so very put upon with Marcus and his bullshit, but he does lose his jacket and walk over to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Seriously, are you okay?" he asks, frowning. "Eric said your knee was acting up."
"My knee is always acting up," Marcus says, shrugging. As much as he appreciates Esca caring, he doesn't really want to get into this now.
"But admit it, we were awesome today."
Esca rolls his eyes. "God, you are a fucking idiot, aren't you? When did 'awesome' come to mean 'getting concussed'?"
"I'm not concussed," Marcus protests. "I know what that feels like, and I'm nowhere near that."
Esca raises a sceptical eyebrow and reaches out to poke at the bandage over Marcus' left eyebrow.
"Ow, hey! Still not concussed, but I'd appreciate it if you stopped that."
"You should ice this," Esca murmurs, leaning in closer to examine Marcus' face. "I don't think purple is your color."
"You really do hang out with Johnny Weir, don't you?" Marcus asks somewhat distractedly. He's still just coming off the high of the game, and Esca is entirely too close, too pretty, too much for comfort. "You might want to stop that."
"See, I'm pretty sure I don't," Esca whispers, his lips brushing against Marcus'.
It's a slow, sensual kiss, nothing like their first one. Esca's fingers are gentle on Marcus' jaw, like he's trying to prove something or convince Marcus of what a good idea this is.
"Shit, you have the worst timing ever," Marcus laughs, groaning when Esca cuts him off with his mouth.
I'M SORRY FOR DRAGGING YOU INTO THIS, JOHNNY, YOU ARE MY FAVORITE ALWAYS. ♥
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AND OMG I LOVE HOW UNBELIEVABLY RESOURCEFUL ESCA IS! AND I MISS ERIC! HE WAS FUN AND CUTE AND GIGANTIC! I HOPE HE SHOWS UP AT SOME POINT HAHA
EEEEE I TOLD YOU THAT IF I RE-READ IT ENOUGH IT MIGHT UPDATE?
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"I-- okay," Marcus says. "You know what? I don't even want to know how that conversation went down."
LOL THEIR BANTER. I LOVE THIS. <3
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