Fic: Call It Whatever You Want (skating, Charlie White/Trevor Young etc.)
Today in pairings nobody asked for! thistle90 said I should link to Trevor Young's bio and this video of Trevor and Charlie skating together.
Title: Call It Whatever You Want
Author: mosca
Fandom: figure skating RPF
Pairings: Charlie White/Trevor Young, Charlie/Tanith Belbin, Charlie/Trevor/Alex Shibutani/Evan Bates
Rating: NC-17 for m/m, m/f, and group sex.
Continuity: Takes place shortly after 2010 US Nationals. Part of the Team Detroit 'verse.
Summary: One of the rules of Animal House is, if a housemate wins a competition, that housemate has earned a blow job.
Word Count: about 1,700.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post.
Notes: Thanks to thistle90 for the beta read.
One of the rules of Animal House is, if a housemate wins a competition, that housemate has earned a blow job. The way they do it is, they all gather in one of the bedrooms, usually Bates's because none of his window shades are broken and he usually makes his bed. So that nobody is unfairly saddled with the responsibility of giving more head than everyone else, they take turns, two-minute increments with a stopwatch, and whoever isn't blowing is standing behind, clapping and catcalling, waiting their turn.
Shibs is the brand new 2010 Junior National Champion, and Charlie is working on him. Shibs was skeptical about all this when he moved in, but then he and Maia started cleaning up at the Junior Grand Prix and he suddenly became fine with it. You can tell how close Shibs is by how loud he gets, and Charlie has him screaming. Shibs likes it when you play with his balls. Charlie likes it when he's the one to send a guy over the edge, Shibs bucking into his mouth, losing his mind. It's mostly a matter of starting order, but it makes Charlie feel like he's the winner.
Shibs takes off his condom (another rule, less about hygiene than the fact that none of them really likes to swallow), hops down from the bed, and pulls up his shorts. He slaps Charlie on the back. "All you, man," he says, still breathless and drawly in the afterglow.
Charlie shimmies out of his jeans and underwear. He sits down on the bed with his legs over the side and his feet on the floor, spread apart, and lies back flat. He closes his eyes. In the dark, a blow job is a blow job, and the giver doesn't matter.
By now, though, Charlie can tell them apart by technique. Bates first, businesslike, patient when he's working you up from nothing, talented when you're close and he can hold his breath and take you in almost to the root. Shibs, a little overexuberant, messy and careless with his teeth, but in a good way, reckless, exciting. Trev, who actually has technique, who lowers his head into Charlie's lap like he actually wants to be there. He does things with his tongue that make Charlie grab him by the hair and beg. Last year after Four Continents, Trev found a sweet spot with the tip of his tongue and got an "Oh, yeah, right there" that Charlie barely remembers exclaiming. Trev knows right where it is, and he'll dance around it with his lips, making Charlie wait for it. Tonight, he hits it right at the end of his two minutes, and Charlie moans but digs deep and forces another rotation.
He lasts through Bates and Shibs by thinking about Tanith. Normally, the thought of her soft smile and tight little breasts would speed him up, but he and Meryl made the mistake of schooling them at Nats and all of a sudden she was worried about the press, she couldn't handle the long distance, he made her feel like he didn't want to have sex with her. Which perplexed him in the moment, because he'd thought the sex had been good, pretty good at least, fun. He loved it when she whipped off her dress and straddled him, riding him, digging her long nails into his shoulders. He loved lapping her clit while she twisted her hips up to get more of his mouth. He asked her where she'd gotten the idea he didn't want her. "I always have to start," she said. "You never just take me."
He realized on the plane ride home that the clever answer would have been, Maybe I'd rather be taken.
Trev's turn has come back around. He slaps the inside of Charlie's thigh. "Why are you taking so fucking long? Stop thinking about hockey and pay attention."
Charlie curves his back up and opens his eyes. Trev has his hand around the base of Charlie's dick and is moving his entire head in circles, pulling his tight lips around the inch or two of Charlie he's got in his mouth. He seems really focused. It feels fantastic. Charlie lies back down and enjoys it, moderating his breath, refusing to get off. He'll let Bates finish him.
Trev sticks a finger in Charlie's ass. Charlie makes a sound he hadn't realized he was capable of. He's lost his concentration, and it's all over now. Trev hits the sweet spot on Charlie's dick while he moves his finger around inside Charlie's butt, and Charlie comes, a little mad. But the point of this game is to lose eventually.
Charlie hurries up throwing out the condom and putting his pants on so he can shut himself up in his room. Maybe he could call Meryl. Maybe she's in the Tri-Delt house baking stress cupcakes. He could go for a stress cupcake. Nobody questions your sexuality when you're eating a cupcake. They just look at you and go, That is a healthy and normal individual who, like all healthy and normal individuals, likes a good cupcake.
If he wants to medal at the Olympics, he'd better not start substituting cupcakes for oral sex. Not even metaphorically.
He is using his semester off to achieve his lifelong goal of reading all the Discworld novels. Nothing like Granny Weatherwax to make him stop thinking about his dick. It works for about half an hour before Trev knocks softly on his door. It's not like Charlie can pretend he isn't in there, so he tells Trev to come in.
Trev hunches forward, hands in his pockets. "You all right? Because I know I kind of crossed a line back there."
Charlie puts his book down but doesn't get up from his bed. "It's all right. There's been stuff up there before." There's been a dick up there once. It was in Japan, a non-skater friend of someone after a show, and there were problems with the language barrier. Once he realized what was happening, he decided it was an experience he wanted to have. It kind of hurt and kind of felt great.
"Listen, maybe we should put a stop to, you know, the whole gold medal blow job thing. Maybe it's not funny anymore." Trev is so serious, and it's so strange. Charlie doesn't answer him right away, just looks into his eyes, as if he could bore past them into Trev's brain and see where this is coming from.
They all claim the ritual was Charlie's idea. He came home from Skate Canada a couple months after he and Bates and Trev had all started living together, high and arrogant on his first senior Grand Prix win, strutting around the house going, "I have a gold medal, I am the king of the house, you should all be bowing down to me, you should all be sucking my dick." He was joking, but Trev practically dared him to take his pants off and be bowed down to.
"No way," Charlie says. "Where would Shibs get his drive to compete?"
They all like girls. That's part of the deal. But Charlie likes blow jobs more than he likes girls, and maybe Trev likes girls but likes Charlie more.
He could test that. He gets out of bed. It's not a big room, and the furniture takes up most of it. Two steps, and he's inches from Trev. He kisses Trev, more than a peck but less than a dental exam. Trev opens his mouth like all this time he's been waiting for Charlie to invite him in.
Trev is taller, and Charlie has to tilt his neck back like he's catching rain. Trev's head seems huge, his face rough. But Charlie knows Trev's agile tongue, caressing his mouth instead of his dick but with the same patterns of movement, the same rhythms. Kissing a stranger is like getting head from a stranger: close your eyes and it could be anyone. But Charlie would know Trev anywhere. "So I guess you're into me," Charlie says, his lips almost still touching Trev's.
Trev's nose brushes Charlie's when he speaks. "Anyone with eyes would be into you." It appears to dawn on him that he's said something romantic, because he runs his hands nervously down Charlie's arms and then sidesteps, making some space between them. It gives Charlie time to get his knees to stop shaking.
He should have noticed when Trev came home from Sectionals. Trev and Andrea don't win a lot of competitions, and they weren't supposed to snag this one. Charlie and the other guys made a big deal out of it, pizza and cheap champagne. Maybe too big of a deal - all they seemed to do was remind Trev that he wasn't at the top of the pairs field like they all were in dance. Charlie went down on him first, after they'd drained the champagne, and he was already hard. He ran his fingers through Charlie's hair like it was the one thing he'd always dreamed of doing. Charlie should have caught that, should have stopped Trev then.
"I guess we could give it a shot," Charlie says. "I mean, we're male figure skaters, eh, nobody would be shocked."
"If you're good with that." Trev combines a smile, a shrug, and a step forward, and he pulls Charlie into him. They kiss like it's brand new and they invented it. They're brand new. They're shedding their friendship skin and becoming some other thing.
They roll back onto Charlie's bed, Charlie shifting so Trev lands on top of him. Under his weight, Charlie feels desired. He tugs Trev's belt, feeling him hard against his thigh. This is why they need the rules and the rituals: to make room for the new stuff, to make sense of it. To be national champion, world champion, Olympic champion (someday, maybe, soon), to be on top of the world but still sometimes need to be under someone.
Title: Call It Whatever You Want
Author: mosca
Fandom: figure skating RPF
Pairings: Charlie White/Trevor Young, Charlie/Tanith Belbin, Charlie/Trevor/Alex Shibutani/Evan Bates
Rating: NC-17 for m/m, m/f, and group sex.
Continuity: Takes place shortly after 2010 US Nationals. Part of the Team Detroit 'verse.
Summary: One of the rules of Animal House is, if a housemate wins a competition, that housemate has earned a blow job.
Word Count: about 1,700.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post.
Notes: Thanks to thistle90 for the beta read.
One of the rules of Animal House is, if a housemate wins a competition, that housemate has earned a blow job. The way they do it is, they all gather in one of the bedrooms, usually Bates's because none of his window shades are broken and he usually makes his bed. So that nobody is unfairly saddled with the responsibility of giving more head than everyone else, they take turns, two-minute increments with a stopwatch, and whoever isn't blowing is standing behind, clapping and catcalling, waiting their turn.
Shibs is the brand new 2010 Junior National Champion, and Charlie is working on him. Shibs was skeptical about all this when he moved in, but then he and Maia started cleaning up at the Junior Grand Prix and he suddenly became fine with it. You can tell how close Shibs is by how loud he gets, and Charlie has him screaming. Shibs likes it when you play with his balls. Charlie likes it when he's the one to send a guy over the edge, Shibs bucking into his mouth, losing his mind. It's mostly a matter of starting order, but it makes Charlie feel like he's the winner.
Shibs takes off his condom (another rule, less about hygiene than the fact that none of them really likes to swallow), hops down from the bed, and pulls up his shorts. He slaps Charlie on the back. "All you, man," he says, still breathless and drawly in the afterglow.
Charlie shimmies out of his jeans and underwear. He sits down on the bed with his legs over the side and his feet on the floor, spread apart, and lies back flat. He closes his eyes. In the dark, a blow job is a blow job, and the giver doesn't matter.
By now, though, Charlie can tell them apart by technique. Bates first, businesslike, patient when he's working you up from nothing, talented when you're close and he can hold his breath and take you in almost to the root. Shibs, a little overexuberant, messy and careless with his teeth, but in a good way, reckless, exciting. Trev, who actually has technique, who lowers his head into Charlie's lap like he actually wants to be there. He does things with his tongue that make Charlie grab him by the hair and beg. Last year after Four Continents, Trev found a sweet spot with the tip of his tongue and got an "Oh, yeah, right there" that Charlie barely remembers exclaiming. Trev knows right where it is, and he'll dance around it with his lips, making Charlie wait for it. Tonight, he hits it right at the end of his two minutes, and Charlie moans but digs deep and forces another rotation.
He lasts through Bates and Shibs by thinking about Tanith. Normally, the thought of her soft smile and tight little breasts would speed him up, but he and Meryl made the mistake of schooling them at Nats and all of a sudden she was worried about the press, she couldn't handle the long distance, he made her feel like he didn't want to have sex with her. Which perplexed him in the moment, because he'd thought the sex had been good, pretty good at least, fun. He loved it when she whipped off her dress and straddled him, riding him, digging her long nails into his shoulders. He loved lapping her clit while she twisted her hips up to get more of his mouth. He asked her where she'd gotten the idea he didn't want her. "I always have to start," she said. "You never just take me."
He realized on the plane ride home that the clever answer would have been, Maybe I'd rather be taken.
Trev's turn has come back around. He slaps the inside of Charlie's thigh. "Why are you taking so fucking long? Stop thinking about hockey and pay attention."
Charlie curves his back up and opens his eyes. Trev has his hand around the base of Charlie's dick and is moving his entire head in circles, pulling his tight lips around the inch or two of Charlie he's got in his mouth. He seems really focused. It feels fantastic. Charlie lies back down and enjoys it, moderating his breath, refusing to get off. He'll let Bates finish him.
Trev sticks a finger in Charlie's ass. Charlie makes a sound he hadn't realized he was capable of. He's lost his concentration, and it's all over now. Trev hits the sweet spot on Charlie's dick while he moves his finger around inside Charlie's butt, and Charlie comes, a little mad. But the point of this game is to lose eventually.
Charlie hurries up throwing out the condom and putting his pants on so he can shut himself up in his room. Maybe he could call Meryl. Maybe she's in the Tri-Delt house baking stress cupcakes. He could go for a stress cupcake. Nobody questions your sexuality when you're eating a cupcake. They just look at you and go, That is a healthy and normal individual who, like all healthy and normal individuals, likes a good cupcake.
If he wants to medal at the Olympics, he'd better not start substituting cupcakes for oral sex. Not even metaphorically.
He is using his semester off to achieve his lifelong goal of reading all the Discworld novels. Nothing like Granny Weatherwax to make him stop thinking about his dick. It works for about half an hour before Trev knocks softly on his door. It's not like Charlie can pretend he isn't in there, so he tells Trev to come in.
Trev hunches forward, hands in his pockets. "You all right? Because I know I kind of crossed a line back there."
Charlie puts his book down but doesn't get up from his bed. "It's all right. There's been stuff up there before." There's been a dick up there once. It was in Japan, a non-skater friend of someone after a show, and there were problems with the language barrier. Once he realized what was happening, he decided it was an experience he wanted to have. It kind of hurt and kind of felt great.
"Listen, maybe we should put a stop to, you know, the whole gold medal blow job thing. Maybe it's not funny anymore." Trev is so serious, and it's so strange. Charlie doesn't answer him right away, just looks into his eyes, as if he could bore past them into Trev's brain and see where this is coming from.
They all claim the ritual was Charlie's idea. He came home from Skate Canada a couple months after he and Bates and Trev had all started living together, high and arrogant on his first senior Grand Prix win, strutting around the house going, "I have a gold medal, I am the king of the house, you should all be bowing down to me, you should all be sucking my dick." He was joking, but Trev practically dared him to take his pants off and be bowed down to.
"No way," Charlie says. "Where would Shibs get his drive to compete?"
They all like girls. That's part of the deal. But Charlie likes blow jobs more than he likes girls, and maybe Trev likes girls but likes Charlie more.
He could test that. He gets out of bed. It's not a big room, and the furniture takes up most of it. Two steps, and he's inches from Trev. He kisses Trev, more than a peck but less than a dental exam. Trev opens his mouth like all this time he's been waiting for Charlie to invite him in.
Trev is taller, and Charlie has to tilt his neck back like he's catching rain. Trev's head seems huge, his face rough. But Charlie knows Trev's agile tongue, caressing his mouth instead of his dick but with the same patterns of movement, the same rhythms. Kissing a stranger is like getting head from a stranger: close your eyes and it could be anyone. But Charlie would know Trev anywhere. "So I guess you're into me," Charlie says, his lips almost still touching Trev's.
Trev's nose brushes Charlie's when he speaks. "Anyone with eyes would be into you." It appears to dawn on him that he's said something romantic, because he runs his hands nervously down Charlie's arms and then sidesteps, making some space between them. It gives Charlie time to get his knees to stop shaking.
He should have noticed when Trev came home from Sectionals. Trev and Andrea don't win a lot of competitions, and they weren't supposed to snag this one. Charlie and the other guys made a big deal out of it, pizza and cheap champagne. Maybe too big of a deal - all they seemed to do was remind Trev that he wasn't at the top of the pairs field like they all were in dance. Charlie went down on him first, after they'd drained the champagne, and he was already hard. He ran his fingers through Charlie's hair like it was the one thing he'd always dreamed of doing. Charlie should have caught that, should have stopped Trev then.
"I guess we could give it a shot," Charlie says. "I mean, we're male figure skaters, eh, nobody would be shocked."
"If you're good with that." Trev combines a smile, a shrug, and a step forward, and he pulls Charlie into him. They kiss like it's brand new and they invented it. They're brand new. They're shedding their friendship skin and becoming some other thing.
They roll back onto Charlie's bed, Charlie shifting so Trev lands on top of him. Under his weight, Charlie feels desired. He tugs Trev's belt, feeling him hard against his thigh. This is why they need the rules and the rituals: to make room for the new stuff, to make sense of it. To be national champion, world champion, Olympic champion (someday, maybe, soon), to be on top of the world but still sometimes need to be under someone.