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cupcakegirlaTitle: Joining the Club
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Apolo Ohno/Michael Phelps/Shaun White (yes, really.)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The Gold Medal Club is very… VERY elite. But it definitely has it’s perks, and Evan is its newest initiate. He just doesn't know it yet.
Author’s Note: I admit it: my brain is a twisted but very fun place. But both C and D encouraged it. So blame them, in part, for the crazy.
Evan is inexplicably nervous when he gets to the hotel room. It’s on the far side of Vancouver, about as far away from the worst of the Olympic fever as you could get without actually leaving the city. It’s a pretty high-end hotel. From what he remembers from his last trip to the city, it had been here for a few years, and hadn’t been built specifically for the influx of people for the Games. It’s expensive without being ostentatious, but still just a little bit flashy. He’s not sure exactly why he’s been invited here for dinner, or even who he’ll be eating with and that makes him nervous. Evan likes being prepared for these types of things. He likes to know he’s dressed properly and to have talking points ready. He likes to know who he’s in a room with, so he doesn’t make a fool of himself. But this time all he knows is Apolo has invited him over for a “little get together.” Evan had agreed immediately. He’s eager to pick the other man’s brain. Apolo’s made a successful transition from solely being an Olympic Athlete to being a real Hollywood celebrity, and Evan’s hoping to get a little bit of help in that department from the older man. And if nothing else, get some tips to help him through the next few months on Dancing With the Stars. Apolo had won after all. So, yes, nervous. Evan is very nervous. He wipes his sweaty palms on the insides of his pockets, and reaches up to knock on the door.
As he waits for his knock to be answered he looks down at his navy sweater, dark jeans, and white sneakers and has a blinding moment of panic that his attire is completely wrong for the occasion. But that’s alleviated when the door opens and he finds Apolo on the other side. Apolo is dressed similarly, in faded jeans and a soft, well-loved t-shirt. He’s barefoot and smiles welcomingly.
“Evan! Come on in! You’re just in time,” Apolo says stepping back, holding the door open for him, and Evan slips past him into the hotel room’s entryway. It’s a suite, he notices, looking around the living area. It’s your standard set-up: two couches, an entertainment center, phone and desk. Off to the right is a hallway leading to what is probably at least two bedrooms, and a bathroom. But off to the left is a dining room. There’s a flash of red hair and the next thing Evan knows he’s being hugged tightly by a slim body about half a foot shorter than he is, and his face is full of orangey-red wavy hair. “Shaun White” his brain supplies, as he reaches down to return the hug awkwardly. Shaun pulls back to the sound of Apolo’s laughter.
“Dude! Gold medal! Way to represent!” Shaun says, all freckles and a big toothy smile. Evan smiles a little in stiffly, unsure how to take such a physical greeting.
“Thanks. You too. Second Olympics in a row? That’s pretty amazing!” he watches a little bit of a blush stain Shaun’s cheeks before he shakes his head, waving off the compliment.
“Nah, nothing like what you did. Come on in, we were just about to start. You hungry?” Shaun asks, turning to head back toward the dining room area. Evan sort of blinks and watches him move off, a vibrating bundle of energy and enthusiasm. Apolo steps up beside him, still chuckling.
“Shaun can be… rather excitable. You’ll get used to it,” he pats Evan on the shoulder, and steps past him. “Come on, now that we’re all here it’s time to eat.” Evan smoothes down the back of his hair, and taking a deep breath, follows. They find Shaun in the dining room, setting the table. The image is somehow amusing to Evan, as he watches Shaun White set out plates and silverware. Apolo steps over to help, taking up the stack of napkins and circling the round table to place them in just the right spot.
“Need any help?” Evan asks. Honestly, he’s a bit confused by this whole thing so far.
“Nah! We got this covered. You’re the new guy. You can help next time,” Shaun says. He pulls out a chair and motions for Evan to sit, so he does. He watches Apolo roll his eyes before taking a deep breath.
“Hey, Mikey!? What’s taking so fuckin’ long? It’s a salad not rocket science!” he calls, turning from the table and heading through the doorway opposite where they’d entered.
“Shove it, ‘Polo!” comes back through the open doorway followed by Apolo’s distinctive laughter. The voice sounds familiar, but Evan can’t quite place it. Shaun rolls his eyes.
“Don’t mind them. They’re always like this! I think it’s like an alpha male thing.” Evan sort of blinks at him in confusion. “You know! A dominance behavior. You’ve got Apolo Ohno, who has more medals than any other American in Winter Olympic History. He’s a legend among short trackers. And you’ve got Michael Phelps, who’s got more Olympic medals than anyone ever! 14 Golds alone, and another two bronze. But he’s a full three years younger than Apolo is. So they’re always sort of in a tug of war power struggle over who’s the bigger man,” Shaun shrugs as he says it, like he thinks the whole thing is silly. Evan feels like he’s having what he personally refers to as an internal blond moment.
“Well Michael is much taller than Apolo, so he is bigger,” he says quietly, he’s still trying to process that it’s Michael PHELPS in the other room. Shaun grins.
“You’d think so, but actually he’s not bigger in every wa,” he’s cut off by a dinner roll hitting him in the forehead.
“Shaun! Watch it! You’re going to scare him off!” Apolo says, coming back into the room. He’s carrying a stack of salad bowls in one hand with a basket of rolls balanced precariously on top. He sets them down. “Go help Mike finish up. Don’t let him drink all the wine.” Shaun sighs but climbs to his feet before trudging into the next room. Apolo sits down in the free seat on Evan’s other side. “So how have you been enjoying your win? We haven’t had a chance to really talk in almost a week,” he says with a grin. Evan doesn’t really have time to reply, because a second later, Michael freaking Phelps is stepping into the room carrying a big bowl of salad, and two bottles of dressing. He grins at Evan, and Evan for some reason feels himself blushing even as he’s smiling back.
“Hey, Evan. Nice to meet you. I’m Michael,” he holds out a hand and Evan takes it hesitantly.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says back. “I’m a big fan,” he adds. Michael’s smile seems to get bigger, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Likewise. I hope you like Pizza. Because it is literally the only thing these two would let me order. Apparently they’ve been watching their figures for the past year or so, go figure!” he shrugs his shoulders.
“Well excuse us! Not everyone can eat 10,000 calories a day, on average, and still lose weight because of their freakish metabolism!” Apolo says, making Michael and Evan both laugh.
“You’re just jealous that I get pizza year round and you don’t!” Mike teases back.
“Of course I am! I’ve had to account for every single calorie I’ve consumed for the last 6 months. Meanwhile you get to eat whatever you want, whenever you want, with no consequences! It’s hardly fair,” Apolo says.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” Michael says. “Be right back, I left Shaun opening the wine,” and then he’s gone again. Evan watches him go with a sort of dazed look on his face that makes Apolo laugh again.
It takes a few more trips before everything’s laid out on the table, there’s three large pizzas, rolls, a vaguely healthy looking salad, and a bottle of red wine, with another already open to breathe in the kitchen.
Dinner is much of the same. There’s drinking and eating, and teasing, and through it all Evan is poked and prodded into joining in on all three activities. Pizza is something he is strictly not allowed to have. Ever. But it’s so cheesy and it smells so wonderful, and he has just won a gold medal, after 20 years of intense dedication and hard work, it seems silly not to let himself have just one slice. One slice leads to four slices, and by the end of the meal, he feels satisfied and full, while also feeling heavy and vaguely sick with the stomach filled with the carbs and grease he’s consumed. He’d also been peer-pressured into drinking several glasses of wine, and the alcohol makes him feel fuzzy and warm and fluid, from his head to his toes. He lets himself be pulled up out of his seat and brought over to the couch, where he slumps down and goes limp. He’s so relaxed and mellow that he doesn’t even react to his shoes being tugged off his feet. He must doze off, because he wakes up briefly a little while later to a quiet conversation from the other couch.
“I told you three glasses of wine would be too much. We all know how he trains. He clearly has the alcohol tolerance of a prepubescent girl,” it’s Shaun’s voice.
“What about the plan?” that’s Michael’s voice.
“Everyone calm down. There’s no rush on anything. There’s plenty of time. Let him sleep off the buzz. He’s fine. He needed this! He looks like he hasn’t slept in ages. We’ll get everything put away while he takes his nap,” Apolo’s voice. Somehow it doesn’t surprise Evan, even while half asleep, that Apolo would be the voice of reason.
He wakes up fully an undetermined time later. The hotel room is dark, the only light cast by the flickering image on the TV, filling the room with a familiar blue glow. Evan blinks a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the low light. The TV is muted, and turned to ESPN, late night coverage of some sport he can’t identify flashing across the screen. He’s stretched out on the couch, warm and comfortable, a blanket thrown over him.
A soft panting gasp catches his attention and he tilts his head up to see the source. The sight freezes him solid. It’s Shaun and Apolo. Evan watches fascinated, taking in every detail possible as he tries to process what it is exactly that he’s seeing.
Apolo is stretched out naked across the other couch, pillows supporting his back so he’s half reclining. Shaun is straddling Apolo’s thighs, equally naked, and bending down to press his mouth to Apolo’s, his hands moving eagerly in the space between their laps. Evan blinks and stares. Apolo groans quietly, breaking the kiss and tilting his head back, in what can only be described as ecstasy. He’s flushed red, sweaty, and his hips are pushing up into Shaun’s hands with each twisting pull they make. His thighs flexing with the movement. Shaun laughs quietly sitting up and slowing his movements. He watches Apolo’s forehead crease in confusion.
“Shaun, please! Stop fucking around,” Apolo hisses quietly. He reaches up to pull Shaun’s face down to his again, the copper fall of Shaun’s hair, quickly obscuring their features from Evan’s view. The kiss is aggressive, Apolo’s hands tangling in Shaun’s hair, and tugging. Shaun’s hips rock against his, the muscles in his arm and wrist visibly flexing with each motion of his fist between them. The kiss is soon broken again, but Shaun doesn’t back away. Instead his hand speeds up, and Evan can hear the whining pants of Apolo’s breathing picking up pace in time with Shaun’s arm. Evan feels his own face flush with heat, his dick hardening in his pants with sudden painful arousal. His hand strays without his conscious control to press against the tent in his crotch. He watches open mouthed as Apolo breaks apart under Shaun’s hands, coming. He cries out quietly, letting out an almost painful sounding grunt with every twist of Shaun’s slowing fist. His hips rocking up into Shaun’s body with each pulling motion before falling still. Shaun pushes back the curtain of his hair, tucking it behind his ear, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to Apolo’s slack mouth. The older man’s eyes are closed, face still twisted in pleasure. Slowly he relaxes going limp, he hums, his eyes opening again. He wraps his arms around Shaun’s body, tugging him down to lay against him, and taking his mouth again. Shaun laughs quietly against Apolo’s lips, rocking his hips down against Apolo’s, his own dick still hard.
Quiet laughter coming from above and behind him has Evan rolling over quickly onto his back. Michael’s perched on the back of the couch, staring down at him with an amused grin. He, Evan realizes, is not naked. He tries to repress the part of him that is instantaneously disappointed by this observation.
“Um, hi?” he says quietly. Michael grins wider, looking away from him to glance at the other couch, where Shaun has stretched out on his side half on top of Apolo, and the two of them are watching them with vaguely excited expressions. Evan pointedly does not stare at Apolo’s hand wrapped around Shaun’s dick, pulling in soft even strokes. It’s meant to keep Shaun aroused, Evan thinks, but, he knows, it won’t be enough to let him come. Evan looks back up at Michael, swallowing thickly, and slowly pulling his hand away from his dick, hoping the motion isn’t too obvious under the blanket. Michael smiles again.
“Have a good nap? Enjoying the view?” he asks, he’s chewing on another slice of pizza. Evan blinks at him.
“Yes?” he asks. Mike laughs.
“Yes, you had a good nap? Or, yes, you’re enjoying the view?” he asks again, looking expectant. Evan’s eyes must go wider, because Mike grins, reaching down to pat Evan on the shoulder. “It’s not a trick question. They like being watched. I once caught them doing it on a balcony in the middle of the afternoon in downtown LA. In their defense they were on the top floor, and no one could really see them, but that still doesn’t excuse that type of recklessness. They wouldn’t have done it right there in front of you if they didn’t on some level want you to watch them.”
“They wouldn’t want you to watch them?” Evan asks. He’s confused again, and still a bit slow from the wine.
“Oh, I hardly count anymore. I watch them all the time,” Michael says leaning closer, “when I’m not joining in.” He grins again, wider than he had all night, and Evan’s breath catches in his throat.
“Mike…” it’s said in a warning tone. Mike rolls his eyes at Apolo.
“I’m not going to scare him away. He’s fascinated. He wants to know more.” Evan frowns, pushing up and away to sit up on the far end of the couch, his knees drawn up under the blanket. He keeps his eyes focused on Michael, certain parts of his anatomy entirely too interested in the goings on happening across the room.
“What is this?” he asks, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is this some sort of sick joke?”
“Of course not! It’s an invitation,” Michael says. “You’re being invited to join a… rather exclusive club of sorts.” Shaun laughs.
“We call it the Gold Medal Club. But not everyone who gets one is allowed to join,” he explains.
“And just what is the criteria for joining?” Evan asks, interested despite himself. Michael grins.
“Young,” Apolo scoffs, “young,” Michael repeats, giving Apolo a look, “male, attractive, though really that one is obviously debatable,” he motions to himself, and gets a pillow hurled at him from the other couch. He laughs and keeps talking “And of course you need to be gay, or at least bisexual, be discrete, able to keep a secret, and have at least one Olympic gold medal. Congratulations. You now fit all the criteria!”
“I think you’ve got me confused with Johnny Weir. He’s the gay one. I’m the straight one!” Evan replies. There’s a beat of silence before all three of the other athletes break out into laughter.
“Oh, Hon, really? You’re going to play that game with us?” Michael replies. Evan frowns.
“It’s not a game. I like women!” he answers.
“So do I! So does Shaun and so does Apolo. We all do to various degrees. But you can’t fool us. We see it in you as easily as we see it in each other. You like cock. And your secret is safe with us!”
“Contrary to popular belief not all figure skaters are gay!” Evan protests a bit desperately.
“Neither are all swimmers, or divers, or gymnasts. Just like not all snowboarders are straight, case in point, Mr. Tomato Head over there. We’re not stereotyping you Evan. We just have excellent gaydar,” Michael says with a smile. Evan blinks at him before relaxing back into the arm of the couch.
“What gave me away?” he asks. He’s met with laughter all around.
“Nothing in particular, Evan. We told you! We can just read it on people sometimes,” Evan turns to look at Apolo who grins at him. Evan rolls his eyes.
“So what exactly is this Gold Medal Club?” he asks. Michael stands up from his perch on the back of the couch, and comes around to sit at Evan’s feet. He lets Apolo do the explaining.
Evan sits quietly, listening intently as it’s all explained to him. They aren’t a formal club with rules and regulations, except that you don’t talk about the club. “Like Fight Club!” Michael had added. There’s no membership fees, or hierarchy. Though Shaun does interrupt to make a joke about Michael obviously being their president. It’s only the 3 of them, 4 if Evan decides to join. They’re friends first. They hang out, they have sex. They’re there for each other when the pressure of being a world renowned athlete gets to be too much, and they share professional connections where and when appropriate.
By the time they’ve gone quiet, Evan has slumped down into the corner of the couch, his head pillowed on the arm. He doesn’t know what to do. This, what they’re asking him to join, it’s completely outside the realm of his experience. He’s never been involved in something so secret, let alone so against his public image. It would be career-ending if it was found out. He’s sure of that. But he looks around at the other men, they’re all sitting motionless and silent, waiting patiently for his reaction, and he feels like he can trust them. They all would have just as much to lose as he did if this were to be made public. Besides, he really wants to get laid much more often, like ever. So he sits up a little in his spot, and looks from one to another to another, until his gaze focuses on Michael, sitting at the other end of the couch, watching him intently for a response. He smiles at the taller man.
“Looks like these two are wrapped up in each other at the moment,” he says nodding toward Shaun and Apolo, still entwined on the opposite couch. “Does that mean I’m yours for the night?” he asks, with a bravado he doesn’t really feel. Mike smiles widely and laughs in response.
“If that’s what you’d like,” he says and seeing Evan’s nod, he turns on the couch to crawl up toward Evan’s end. He settles himself in Evan’s lap, knees braced on either side of Evan’s hips. He leans down and cups the back of Evan’s neck. “Ok?” he asks. Evan nods again, swallowing nervously, and presses his face up toward Mike’s for a kiss. Mike licks his lips, suddenly feeling nervous himself, and leans down to press his mouth to Evan’s. Evan surges up against him, reacting eagerly and instantly to the press of Michael’s lips to his. Mike smiles against his mouth, tilting his head, to deepen the kiss, and grinding his hips down into Evan’s. Evan groans, breaking the kiss to gasp, and pulls back to look at Mike with wide eyes. Mike smiles, and reaching down, tugs at Evan’s sweater. Evan sits up under him, pulling the sweater off, and following it quickly with the t-shirt he wore under it. Mike pushes him back down on the couch and leans down to kiss him again.
Evan melts back against the throw-pillows, his hands sliding around Michael’s broad chest to trace the length of his disproportionally long back. He tugs the t-shirt free from Michael’s waistband, and groans at the silky skin his fingers meet when they dive under the thin cotton material. Michael laughs, pulling back from the kiss. He smiles down at Evan, who’s flushed red and panting beneath him. He looks up at Mike with wide, excited, eyes. Michael sits up stripping off the t-shirt, watching Evan’s eyes tracing down his sculpted torso. Grinning, he takes the time to study Evan too. The man is cut, with firm pecks, and strong arms. He’s lean and defined from his head to the waist of his tented jeans. Mike’s eyes zero in on a tattoo inked low on Evan’s abdomen, below his bellybutton and slightly off to the right side. The sight of it, dark and tantalizing against Evan’s tan skin, sends Mike’s blood rushing to his dick instantaneously. He reaches out with one hand to trace the lightning bolt. It makes Michael’s mouth water. He sort of wants to bite it. It takes him only a moment to realize he can. There’s nothing stopping him. He catches Evan’s eyes which are watching him intently, assessing. He smiles again, and leans down pressing his mouth to Evan’s collarbone. Evan makes a sort of startled sound, and one of his hands slides up to grip Michael’s dark hair.
“Oh,” Evan breathes, hips rocking up against Mike’s weight. Michael kisses downward, licking between Evan’s pecks, stopping to suck at one perfect tan nipple, before moving down, across the ridges of Evan’s abdomen. His tongue zeroes in on the tattoo and he traces it eagerly, enjoying the tang of Evan’s skin, and the unconscious tug of Evan’s hand pulling in his hair.
Michael’s hands slide down, pressing on the bulge of Evan’s excited dick through a thick layer of denim. Evan squirms beneath him, gasping a little at the touch. Mike smiles against his skin, nipping at the lightning bolt tattoo and enjoying the way Evan’s body surges up against his in response. Sitting up again he focuses on unbuttoning Evan’s jeans. The guy is tense, and wanting. It’s fairly obvious he’s pretty repressed. This is going to be fun.
For Evan, it seems to all happen in flashes of smooth skin, and individual moments of pleasure that zap across his synapses in little bursts or perfection. He forgets they’re in a hotel room, or that they’re being watched. That he’s been denying himself this for much too long. He even forgets that he has a whole day of interviews tomorrow, and a flight to LA the day after that. He just lets it all go. He plunges feet first into what’s been offered to him with a genuine eagerness that makes him feel young and carefree. He lets Michael freaking Phelps strip him naked on a hotel room couch, and rushes to return the favor. He takes long minutes exploring the feast of smooth skin and muscle and bone spread out before him. He touches and kisses and licks. He presses his body to Michael’s and rubs against him like a cat in heat. He ignores it later when he thinks back on it, not wanting to dwell on the more embarrassing moments of the encounter. He tells himself that it’s useless to feel ashamed by anything that happened, especially when Michael had seemed to reciprocate in each and every way, pulling him closer, moaning and groaning, and clutching back just as fiercely.
Evan is so overwhelmed that later he doesn’t remember everything. Some things are skipped right over in his memory. One minute he’s wiggling in Michael’s lap like a call girl and the next he’s spread out across the carpet with long slick fingers buried in his ass, stretching and prepping him like a pro. Then he’s bent over the arm of the couch, feet braced wide apart, and spine arched as Michael’s erection presses inside him. It’s intense, and it burns, but Michael is slow and careful. His arms pull Evan back against his chest, holding him close and whispering soothing comforting things in Evan’s ear. Then they’re in the midst of it, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s just pleasure, steady and rhythmic, and growing with each hard fast press of Michael’s hips to his, of Michael’s dick into his ass. Next he’s bent all the way over, long back exposed to the air, his face pressed into the seat cushions. He groans, turning his face to suck in quick lungs full of oxygen. He pants, body rocking with Michael’s every motion. Regaining control of his spine, he presses his hands to the cushion and pushes himself up. Long arms slide around his waist, tugging him upright, and pulling him back to press against Michael’s chest.
“Oh, Oh, God,” Evan whispers, eyes fluttering closed. He reaches back to grab at Michael’s hips. He wants it harder, faster, more. Michael complies, tugging him backward into each thrust, hitting a place inside of Evan that makes his eyes roll back in his head. Michael reaches down, wrapping one hand tightly around Evan’s dick, and Evan lets his head fall back to rest on Michael’s strong shoulder. He cries out, body tensing as the orgasm finally peaks, rushing through his system like a cleansing wave. His body goes rigid, his ass clamping down on Michael’s dick, his nails biting into Michael’s hips. He comes in thick ropey spurts into Michael’s hand, saving the couch cushions from irrevocable damage. Evan slumps against him, the release as much an emotional relief as a physical one. Michael hums in his ear, rotating his hips and causing little pinpricks of pleasure to arch through Evan’s spine. He reaches down, bracing himself on the arm of the couch, and presses his hips back against Michael’s with a little twist of his pelvis in encouragement. Michael laughs, nipping at Evan’s earlobe.
“Don’t get haughty. You’ve never had a lover like me before. I’ve never been a sprinter. Tick me off and I’ll fuck you all night long and make you wait til dawn to finally come,” he warns, voice amused. The words make pleasure bloom anew low in Evan’s belly and he gasps. Michael smirks and laughs again. “Not opposed to the idea, then?” he asks. “It can be arranged if you want to give it a go. But it’ll have to wait until next time,” he adds. Evan groans and nods, head bowing forward to hang between his shoulders. Michael nods mostly to himself, his eyes glance to his right where Apolo, and Shaun, already done, sit watching with wide hungry eyes. He smirks at them, watching Apolo rolls his eyes, and Shaun’s familiar lusty grin spread across his face before turning back to the task at hand. Tightening his grip on Evan’s hips, he pulls his own back, and thrusts back in, watching Evan’s body bow forward in shocked pleasure. Grinning to himself, he thrusts again, closing his eyes and taking Evan’s body, this time intent on his own release.
Evan wakes up with the sun in his eyes. He stretches and lets out an unintentional groan of soreness. His whole body hurts. It takes him a minute or two remember why and he starts to smile. A warm weight shifts against his right side, and he blinks his eyes open, squinting at the head of dark hair on his shoulder. Apolo, he recognizes. Apolo groans too, then hums a little, blinking open golden brown eyes and smiling slowly up at Evan.
“Morning,” he murmurs, stretching one arm up above his head. Evan smiles at him.
“Good morning,” he replies. He watches Apolo’s face slowly come awake with fascination and a little apprehension. He has no idea what to do now. This is, frankly, new territory. He’s not used to waking up in bed with another man. Especially not after a night like the one they’d just enjoyed. He doesn’t know what the protocol is. Apolo must see something his face, because he blinks at him, looking confused.
“Stop being so serious. It’s too damn early for serious,” Apolo says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Do I need to blow you again? Because I will. It helped you relax last night, after your mid-romp crisis of identity. It wouldn’t be a hardship,” Apolo offers, with another smile. He reaches for Evan under the hotel covers, his arm slipping around Evan’s waist, and tugging him closer. Evan goes willingly, sliding closer, and smiling in reply.
“I was just thinking that I want to stay here in bed with you guys all day, but unfortunately I can’t. I have a whole day of interviews planned. I have to leave soon,” he explains, his own hands tracing down Apolo’s smooth back. His hands head further south, sliding down to palm Apolo’s bare ass.
“Not without breakfast first!” a voice chimes from the doorway. Evan looks up from nuzzling Apolo’s throat to see Michael coming toward them. He’s got a large black tray in his hands. There is a huge pile of scrambled eggs on the plate, and numerous cups of coffee and glasses of juice. Apolo laughs, flopping back onto his pillow as Michael steps up to the bed and puts the tray down by their feet.
“You’ll have to at least stay through breakfast. He’ll get testy if you don’t. Michael is very big on feeding Shaun and I when we get together. It’s one way he shows us he cares!” Apolo teases. Michael shrugs, flushing a little. He leans down, bracing himself with one long arm, to kiss Apolo’s quickly offered mouth. Evan watches them with wide, interested eyes, as their faces tilt, and their kiss turns more sexual and intimate.
“Aww you guys are awake? We were going to surprise you!” Evan tears his eyes away from the way Apolo’s hips are pressing up toward Michael’s. Instead he sits up, grabbing for the tray, to pull it clear of their tangled feet.
“Sorry, sun woke us,” he says looking at Shaun with a warm smile. Shaun shrugs, coming closer and putting down a stack of buttered and perhaps slightly burned toast on the nightstand. He sits down next to Evan’s knees, and grins at him a little lasciviously.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Between Michael’s snoring, Apolo’s hogging the blankets, and your attempts at playing your part as a human furnace, quite nicely,” Evan says smiling. Shaun laughs, sliding a few inches further up the bed.
“And you have to be out of here, by when?” he asks. Evan’s eyes flick to the alarm clock.
“I have an hour before I have to leave,” he says softly. He flushes red at the groaning, coming from his right, and dares to sneak a peek. Michael’s managed to wiggle under the covers, and fold Apolo practically in half, the older man's knees shoved up practically to his ears to expose his ass to Michael’s ministrations. Evan marvels for a moment over the fact that he knows, just by the sound he’s making, that Apolo’s got fingers up his ass, and that he’s quite enjoying them. His eyes slide back to Shaun, who is suddenly much closer, and smiling knowingly.
“Well that’s plenty of time, don’t you think?” Shaun asks. Evan can only nod and accept the other man crawling up into his lap. He’s hard already and Shaun wiggles a little making Evan groan. “Perfect, it’s good to see every part of you is an early riser.” Evan’s answering laughter is cut off by the invasion of Shaun’s tongue into his mouth.
By the time Evan makes it back to his dorm room in the village he is exhausted. Running on barely any sleep he spends the whole day in the media center answering the same twenty questions over and over again, all while smiling, and trying to be gracious when facing the ugly remarks certain other skaters were making to the press. By the time his agent lets him go it’s fairly late, and Evan is ready for a good night’s sleep before his early morning flight back to the states.
When he sees Johnny, of all people, in the long hallway of the USA dorm he pauses mid-stride. It’s the hall that is housing all the figure skating team and coaches and of everyone on the team, Johnny is the last one he wants to see. He almost turns around and goes back the other way. He’s tired, and slightly cranky. He’d not had time to do any more than grab a few minutes here and there to text the guys from the night before, and he doesn’t want to face Weir’s particular brand of theatrics just now. He needs sleep, not drama. But Johnny catches sight of him, a smirk sliding onto his pretty lips. Evan forces himself not to react. He always has to force himself not to react. He’s been spotted so he fiddles with his phone, pretending to check for a text, there isn’t one, he’d just looked in the elevator, but he figures it should cover his stopping mid-hallway. He sticks the phone back in his coat pocket and starts forward again. Johnny’s standing watching his advance, his smirk bigger and wider than before, knowing, hand on his hip, and hand bag thrown over his other wrist.
“Hey, Johnny,” Evan says stepping up to his door, it’s only a couple away from Johnny and Tanith’s. He doesn’t want to know what they talk about when they’re alone in there at night. He’s sure his name, if it’s ever brought up at all, is usually the butt of a joke or the source of a viciously worded complaint. Johnny’s smirk dissolves into a smile that makes Evan uneasy.
“Hello, Superstar. Mr. Gold Medal. I didn’t get to congratulate you on your triumph,” Johnny says, and Evan can’t quite determine if he means it sincerely or not. “Congrats,” he finishes with a fake smile, before looking away to examine his cuticles. He’s upset, and trying to hide it. Evan feels a momentary pang in his chest for him. Johnny is truly a good person, even if he can be a little catty, and even if Evan disagrees with his choices in personal expression 95% of the time, he still doesn’t purposefully try and hurt him. Evan’s known him since they were still kids, and he knows him well enough to recognize when he’s trying to deflect, and this behavior is sort of typical Johnny. Evan can see the red around his eyes, the way his hair looks a little droopy and sad, even when it’s obviously been primped and molded perfectly into his currently favored style.
“Thanks, it means a lot that you say that. I appreciate the effort,” Evan says turning to his door and fumbling for the lock. He’s trying to be civil, to not make things any worse between them, but Johnny, just like usual, misunderstands.
“Effort?” he asks, looking up with a half-scowl on his face. Evan sighs.
“Let’s be honest. I know you don’t like me. And as nice as it is to congratulate me, I know you wish it was you instead. I know you think you deserved to win, and you’re upset that you didn’t. I know it probably won’t mean anything coming from me, but you deserved better than you got, and we both know part of the reason you didn’t score better was because of me. It’s not fair, but I can’t do anything about it. So yes, I appreciate your effort to be nice and to congratulate me. It means a lot,” Evan explains. Then suddenly he realizes this is pretty much the longest conversation they’ve had in several years and so far no one has gotten screamed at or smacked. It’s practically a record.
“I knew I wasn’t going to win. The judges hate me too much. I just wanted to get to skate at the gala. That’s all,” Johnny says quietly. Evan nods.
“You deserved at least that much,” Evans says just as quietly. Johnny looks away, blinking a few times. He takes a deep breath, and when he looks back it’s the usual Johnny, smiling a little cockily back at him again.
“So how does it feel, winning the big prize?” Johnny asks, and this time the question seems more genuine. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely,” Evan answers, and for a fraction of a second he wants to tell Johnny everything, like he did when they were just kids, and hadn’t yet started thinking of each other as the enemy. But he knows that would be a big mistake, and that it’s not solely Evan’s secret to tell. Besides he’d promised. “There have been a few surprises so far. But it’s been great.”
“Ohh what kind of surprises?” Johnny asks. Evan knows he’s fishing for gossip, so he smiles back widely.
“I can’t tell you. But winning the Gold… well it’s opened quite a few doors, doors I’m sure you’d have happily jumped through if you’d had the chance.” Evan watches the confusion spread across Johnny’s face. He shakes his head, “Never mind, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he turns back to his door. He gets it open before Johnny says something in reply.
“Evan?” Johnny says, and Evan turns in the doorway to look at him. “You think you’re done?” Johnny asks, his arms folding across his chest. Evan looks at the carpet, chewing on his lip as he considers.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. He leans back against the door jam, and shrugs. “What’s better than one Olympic gold medal?” he asks, starting to grin. He watches Johnny roll his eyes. “Two!” Evan finishes. He watches Johnny’s face crack into a smile, he gathers his coat around himself, and turns away. Evan catches him mumbling quietly to himself: “Overachiever.”
“Goodnight, Evan,” Johnny says, looking at him over his shoulder. Evan smiles.
“Night, Johnny,” Evan replies. Johnny starts down the hallway, but Evan calls out to him, “And, Johnny?” he says. Johnny looks back at him, face curious. “Those jeans make your ass look amazing!” Evan says. He watches Johnny’s eyes go wide and shocked, his mouth dropping open in an O of surprise, before ducking into his room and closing the door quickly between them.
He half expects Johnny to knock on the door demanding an explanation but the sound never comes. Evan takes off his shoes, setting them along the wall in their specified spot between his sneakers and his skate bag, then flops down on his bed, closing his eyes. The last 24 hours had been life changing, heck, the last week had been life changing! He wants to just lay here on his dorm room bed and process. He thinks back over what he’d said to Johnny in the hallway, about wanting to possibly stick around for another four years. He’s not sure he wants to spend another four years dieting, training, and working out constantly. He’s not sure the pain and the injuries are worth it just to try for a third time. He’s won the big prize. What would he get out of a second one? He stares up at the familiar ceiling above his bed, and suddenly laughs out loud to the empty room.
He’s remembered something Shaun had said late the night before. Michael and Apolo had been arguing about Michael’s 14 Gold Medals, and whether that made him higher ranking in the club that Apolo, who had a mere two gold medals, but 8 total. Apolo had argued that his sport was more dangerous, and much harder to win. Short track he reasoned was not just about simply being the fastest, so they should grade his performance on a curve. Besides there were way less medals to be won in short track. Then Shaun had piped up with his own credentials. He has tried for gold twice, and won gold twice. Technically he’s never lost at the Olympics, something none of the rest of them can boast. This had led to Shaun being tackled by both Apolo and Michael, while Evan sat back on the far end of the bed and laughed.
When the impromptu wrestling match had finally ended, they had spread themselves across the bed, half on top of each other in a big pile, (with Evan yanked over to lay in the middle of it all) and unanimously decided that rank was irrelevant. Obviously Michael, and Apolo were Senior members with their cases full of medals back home, and they had gleefully welcomed Shaun to their ranks with his second win. That just left Evan, the new guy, as their sole remaining junior member. Evan had possibly pouted a little, as they had teased him about it. But he’d known they were mostly just kidding around. Beside he’d been the first American man to win gold at the Olympics in like 25 years. That had to be worth bonus points.
Evan leaves Vancouver early the next morning, without getting to see any of his fellow “club members” before he goes. He tells himself not to get too attached. That the three other guys are more like bed buddies than anything like a relationship. He shouldn’t be missing them after only one night. Three days after he leaves Canada, he arrives back home in LA for a day of West Coast press. He almost forgets that the announcement for Dancing With the Stars is about to be made. It’s not until his cell phone starts ringing incessantly that he remembers. He spends all day being interviewed over and over again. First about his medal, and then also about his chances on DWTS. In between interviews, he spends his free time on the phone, returning calls to friends and family. He’s due to start serious rehearsals the next day with Anna and he collapses into bed later that night tired but excited. The call comes just as he’s meditatively visualizing his coming win on the show, and startles him out of his vision. He picks up the phone, staring down at the caller ID in confusion. It’s Apolo.
“Hello?” he asks, clearing his throat.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?!” Apolo says. Evan blinks rapidly in shock.
“Huh?” he replies, sitting up in bed, and scratching his head.
“You’re.. an.. ass.. hole,” Apolo says pausing between each word for effect. “How could you not tell me? ME! Of all people?” he asks.
“I’m totally not following you here, Apolo,” he mumbles. He suddenly feels completely exhausted. There’s an impatient sigh on the other end of the line.
“Dancing With the Stars!? I won that show, Evan. You didn’t think talking to me about it would be a good idea? You should have told me!” Apolo says. Evan blushes, pressing his free hand to his flaming cheek.
“I was going too!” he confesses. “It was one of the things I wanted to discuss with you when I came over to dinner the other night. But, I got side tracked,” he admits. He hears Apolo’s familiar laughter bubble through the cell phone and smiles in reaction.
“We are awful good at distracting people,” Apolo concedes. “Still you should have told me. It’s not like I can’t keep a secret,” Apolo says. Evan winces.
“I honestly planned too, but then there was Shaun, and then Mike, and pizza, and you know… sex. You successfully made me forget all about the show for a good 48 hours.” He hears Apolo laugh again.
“Ok, you’re forgiven, for now. But I should warn you, this is going to get you a spanking later.” Evan must gasp involuntarily, because Apolo’s voice turns amused and teasing. “I think we can both agree you’d deserve one for withholding relevant information and keeping secrets.” Evan leans back against the headboard of his bed, and tries to ignore the hardening of his dick in his boxer shorts. He licks his lips.
“Spanking?” he asks, and he tries hard to not let his voice break. Apolo’s laugh turns sinister.
“Oh this is going to be fun! I can’t wait to get out to LA,” he nearly cackles. Evan lets out a nervous laugh.
“You’re coming here?” he asks.
“I’m moving there,” the smile is clear in his voice. Evan grins.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s been planned for months. I know you’re heading out on tour and will be swamped with dancing rehearsals, but you have got to let Shaun and I distract you from time to time. Kid lives in Long Beach after all. It’s like a half hour drive South. Once things calm down and the immediate Olympic rush is over, you’ll be seeing so much of us you’ll get sick of our faces.” Evan seriously doubts that.
“What about Mike?” he asks, stretching out again across the bed. He pulls the blanket back over himself and gets comfortable.
“He gets out there more often than you’d think. Now that I’m not going to be stuck out in SLC for months on end I think it will be a lot easier for everyone to get together. You will, of course, benefit greatly from that.”
“I think I’m going to an enjoy this,” Evan says, and his mouth almost hurts from grinning so widely. Apolo laughs.
“No doubt. But, for now, down to business,” he pauses and Evan frowns in confusion. “What are you wearing?” Apolo asks, voice dropped low and seductive. Evan’s laughter rings loudly throughout his whole house.
The End.
This isn’t the end of the story. There are WAY too many possibilities with these four. So if you have an idea and want to comment or message me about it, I will add it to my list of ideas and give you credit for it if I end up writing it.
Update: Now with a sequel! Going for Gold is up now, set during the London Olympics 2012.
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Apolo Ohno/Michael Phelps/Shaun White (yes, really.)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The Gold Medal Club is very… VERY elite. But it definitely has it’s perks, and Evan is its newest initiate. He just doesn't know it yet.
Author’s Note: I admit it: my brain is a twisted but very fun place. But both C and D encouraged it. So blame them, in part, for the crazy.
Evan is inexplicably nervous when he gets to the hotel room. It’s on the far side of Vancouver, about as far away from the worst of the Olympic fever as you could get without actually leaving the city. It’s a pretty high-end hotel. From what he remembers from his last trip to the city, it had been here for a few years, and hadn’t been built specifically for the influx of people for the Games. It’s expensive without being ostentatious, but still just a little bit flashy. He’s not sure exactly why he’s been invited here for dinner, or even who he’ll be eating with and that makes him nervous. Evan likes being prepared for these types of things. He likes to know he’s dressed properly and to have talking points ready. He likes to know who he’s in a room with, so he doesn’t make a fool of himself. But this time all he knows is Apolo has invited him over for a “little get together.” Evan had agreed immediately. He’s eager to pick the other man’s brain. Apolo’s made a successful transition from solely being an Olympic Athlete to being a real Hollywood celebrity, and Evan’s hoping to get a little bit of help in that department from the older man. And if nothing else, get some tips to help him through the next few months on Dancing With the Stars. Apolo had won after all. So, yes, nervous. Evan is very nervous. He wipes his sweaty palms on the insides of his pockets, and reaches up to knock on the door.
As he waits for his knock to be answered he looks down at his navy sweater, dark jeans, and white sneakers and has a blinding moment of panic that his attire is completely wrong for the occasion. But that’s alleviated when the door opens and he finds Apolo on the other side. Apolo is dressed similarly, in faded jeans and a soft, well-loved t-shirt. He’s barefoot and smiles welcomingly.
“Evan! Come on in! You’re just in time,” Apolo says stepping back, holding the door open for him, and Evan slips past him into the hotel room’s entryway. It’s a suite, he notices, looking around the living area. It’s your standard set-up: two couches, an entertainment center, phone and desk. Off to the right is a hallway leading to what is probably at least two bedrooms, and a bathroom. But off to the left is a dining room. There’s a flash of red hair and the next thing Evan knows he’s being hugged tightly by a slim body about half a foot shorter than he is, and his face is full of orangey-red wavy hair. “Shaun White” his brain supplies, as he reaches down to return the hug awkwardly. Shaun pulls back to the sound of Apolo’s laughter.
“Dude! Gold medal! Way to represent!” Shaun says, all freckles and a big toothy smile. Evan smiles a little in stiffly, unsure how to take such a physical greeting.
“Thanks. You too. Second Olympics in a row? That’s pretty amazing!” he watches a little bit of a blush stain Shaun’s cheeks before he shakes his head, waving off the compliment.
“Nah, nothing like what you did. Come on in, we were just about to start. You hungry?” Shaun asks, turning to head back toward the dining room area. Evan sort of blinks and watches him move off, a vibrating bundle of energy and enthusiasm. Apolo steps up beside him, still chuckling.
“Shaun can be… rather excitable. You’ll get used to it,” he pats Evan on the shoulder, and steps past him. “Come on, now that we’re all here it’s time to eat.” Evan smoothes down the back of his hair, and taking a deep breath, follows. They find Shaun in the dining room, setting the table. The image is somehow amusing to Evan, as he watches Shaun White set out plates and silverware. Apolo steps over to help, taking up the stack of napkins and circling the round table to place them in just the right spot.
“Need any help?” Evan asks. Honestly, he’s a bit confused by this whole thing so far.
“Nah! We got this covered. You’re the new guy. You can help next time,” Shaun says. He pulls out a chair and motions for Evan to sit, so he does. He watches Apolo roll his eyes before taking a deep breath.
“Hey, Mikey!? What’s taking so fuckin’ long? It’s a salad not rocket science!” he calls, turning from the table and heading through the doorway opposite where they’d entered.
“Shove it, ‘Polo!” comes back through the open doorway followed by Apolo’s distinctive laughter. The voice sounds familiar, but Evan can’t quite place it. Shaun rolls his eyes.
“Don’t mind them. They’re always like this! I think it’s like an alpha male thing.” Evan sort of blinks at him in confusion. “You know! A dominance behavior. You’ve got Apolo Ohno, who has more medals than any other American in Winter Olympic History. He’s a legend among short trackers. And you’ve got Michael Phelps, who’s got more Olympic medals than anyone ever! 14 Golds alone, and another two bronze. But he’s a full three years younger than Apolo is. So they’re always sort of in a tug of war power struggle over who’s the bigger man,” Shaun shrugs as he says it, like he thinks the whole thing is silly. Evan feels like he’s having what he personally refers to as an internal blond moment.
“Well Michael is much taller than Apolo, so he is bigger,” he says quietly, he’s still trying to process that it’s Michael PHELPS in the other room. Shaun grins.
“You’d think so, but actually he’s not bigger in every wa,” he’s cut off by a dinner roll hitting him in the forehead.
“Shaun! Watch it! You’re going to scare him off!” Apolo says, coming back into the room. He’s carrying a stack of salad bowls in one hand with a basket of rolls balanced precariously on top. He sets them down. “Go help Mike finish up. Don’t let him drink all the wine.” Shaun sighs but climbs to his feet before trudging into the next room. Apolo sits down in the free seat on Evan’s other side. “So how have you been enjoying your win? We haven’t had a chance to really talk in almost a week,” he says with a grin. Evan doesn’t really have time to reply, because a second later, Michael freaking Phelps is stepping into the room carrying a big bowl of salad, and two bottles of dressing. He grins at Evan, and Evan for some reason feels himself blushing even as he’s smiling back.
“Hey, Evan. Nice to meet you. I’m Michael,” he holds out a hand and Evan takes it hesitantly.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says back. “I’m a big fan,” he adds. Michael’s smile seems to get bigger, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Likewise. I hope you like Pizza. Because it is literally the only thing these two would let me order. Apparently they’ve been watching their figures for the past year or so, go figure!” he shrugs his shoulders.
“Well excuse us! Not everyone can eat 10,000 calories a day, on average, and still lose weight because of their freakish metabolism!” Apolo says, making Michael and Evan both laugh.
“You’re just jealous that I get pizza year round and you don’t!” Mike teases back.
“Of course I am! I’ve had to account for every single calorie I’ve consumed for the last 6 months. Meanwhile you get to eat whatever you want, whenever you want, with no consequences! It’s hardly fair,” Apolo says.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” Michael says. “Be right back, I left Shaun opening the wine,” and then he’s gone again. Evan watches him go with a sort of dazed look on his face that makes Apolo laugh again.
It takes a few more trips before everything’s laid out on the table, there’s three large pizzas, rolls, a vaguely healthy looking salad, and a bottle of red wine, with another already open to breathe in the kitchen.
Dinner is much of the same. There’s drinking and eating, and teasing, and through it all Evan is poked and prodded into joining in on all three activities. Pizza is something he is strictly not allowed to have. Ever. But it’s so cheesy and it smells so wonderful, and he has just won a gold medal, after 20 years of intense dedication and hard work, it seems silly not to let himself have just one slice. One slice leads to four slices, and by the end of the meal, he feels satisfied and full, while also feeling heavy and vaguely sick with the stomach filled with the carbs and grease he’s consumed. He’d also been peer-pressured into drinking several glasses of wine, and the alcohol makes him feel fuzzy and warm and fluid, from his head to his toes. He lets himself be pulled up out of his seat and brought over to the couch, where he slumps down and goes limp. He’s so relaxed and mellow that he doesn’t even react to his shoes being tugged off his feet. He must doze off, because he wakes up briefly a little while later to a quiet conversation from the other couch.
“I told you three glasses of wine would be too much. We all know how he trains. He clearly has the alcohol tolerance of a prepubescent girl,” it’s Shaun’s voice.
“What about the plan?” that’s Michael’s voice.
“Everyone calm down. There’s no rush on anything. There’s plenty of time. Let him sleep off the buzz. He’s fine. He needed this! He looks like he hasn’t slept in ages. We’ll get everything put away while he takes his nap,” Apolo’s voice. Somehow it doesn’t surprise Evan, even while half asleep, that Apolo would be the voice of reason.
He wakes up fully an undetermined time later. The hotel room is dark, the only light cast by the flickering image on the TV, filling the room with a familiar blue glow. Evan blinks a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the low light. The TV is muted, and turned to ESPN, late night coverage of some sport he can’t identify flashing across the screen. He’s stretched out on the couch, warm and comfortable, a blanket thrown over him.
A soft panting gasp catches his attention and he tilts his head up to see the source. The sight freezes him solid. It’s Shaun and Apolo. Evan watches fascinated, taking in every detail possible as he tries to process what it is exactly that he’s seeing.
Apolo is stretched out naked across the other couch, pillows supporting his back so he’s half reclining. Shaun is straddling Apolo’s thighs, equally naked, and bending down to press his mouth to Apolo’s, his hands moving eagerly in the space between their laps. Evan blinks and stares. Apolo groans quietly, breaking the kiss and tilting his head back, in what can only be described as ecstasy. He’s flushed red, sweaty, and his hips are pushing up into Shaun’s hands with each twisting pull they make. His thighs flexing with the movement. Shaun laughs quietly sitting up and slowing his movements. He watches Apolo’s forehead crease in confusion.
“Shaun, please! Stop fucking around,” Apolo hisses quietly. He reaches up to pull Shaun’s face down to his again, the copper fall of Shaun’s hair, quickly obscuring their features from Evan’s view. The kiss is aggressive, Apolo’s hands tangling in Shaun’s hair, and tugging. Shaun’s hips rock against his, the muscles in his arm and wrist visibly flexing with each motion of his fist between them. The kiss is soon broken again, but Shaun doesn’t back away. Instead his hand speeds up, and Evan can hear the whining pants of Apolo’s breathing picking up pace in time with Shaun’s arm. Evan feels his own face flush with heat, his dick hardening in his pants with sudden painful arousal. His hand strays without his conscious control to press against the tent in his crotch. He watches open mouthed as Apolo breaks apart under Shaun’s hands, coming. He cries out quietly, letting out an almost painful sounding grunt with every twist of Shaun’s slowing fist. His hips rocking up into Shaun’s body with each pulling motion before falling still. Shaun pushes back the curtain of his hair, tucking it behind his ear, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to Apolo’s slack mouth. The older man’s eyes are closed, face still twisted in pleasure. Slowly he relaxes going limp, he hums, his eyes opening again. He wraps his arms around Shaun’s body, tugging him down to lay against him, and taking his mouth again. Shaun laughs quietly against Apolo’s lips, rocking his hips down against Apolo’s, his own dick still hard.
Quiet laughter coming from above and behind him has Evan rolling over quickly onto his back. Michael’s perched on the back of the couch, staring down at him with an amused grin. He, Evan realizes, is not naked. He tries to repress the part of him that is instantaneously disappointed by this observation.
“Um, hi?” he says quietly. Michael grins wider, looking away from him to glance at the other couch, where Shaun has stretched out on his side half on top of Apolo, and the two of them are watching them with vaguely excited expressions. Evan pointedly does not stare at Apolo’s hand wrapped around Shaun’s dick, pulling in soft even strokes. It’s meant to keep Shaun aroused, Evan thinks, but, he knows, it won’t be enough to let him come. Evan looks back up at Michael, swallowing thickly, and slowly pulling his hand away from his dick, hoping the motion isn’t too obvious under the blanket. Michael smiles again.
“Have a good nap? Enjoying the view?” he asks, he’s chewing on another slice of pizza. Evan blinks at him.
“Yes?” he asks. Mike laughs.
“Yes, you had a good nap? Or, yes, you’re enjoying the view?” he asks again, looking expectant. Evan’s eyes must go wider, because Mike grins, reaching down to pat Evan on the shoulder. “It’s not a trick question. They like being watched. I once caught them doing it on a balcony in the middle of the afternoon in downtown LA. In their defense they were on the top floor, and no one could really see them, but that still doesn’t excuse that type of recklessness. They wouldn’t have done it right there in front of you if they didn’t on some level want you to watch them.”
“They wouldn’t want you to watch them?” Evan asks. He’s confused again, and still a bit slow from the wine.
“Oh, I hardly count anymore. I watch them all the time,” Michael says leaning closer, “when I’m not joining in.” He grins again, wider than he had all night, and Evan’s breath catches in his throat.
“Mike…” it’s said in a warning tone. Mike rolls his eyes at Apolo.
“I’m not going to scare him away. He’s fascinated. He wants to know more.” Evan frowns, pushing up and away to sit up on the far end of the couch, his knees drawn up under the blanket. He keeps his eyes focused on Michael, certain parts of his anatomy entirely too interested in the goings on happening across the room.
“What is this?” he asks, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is this some sort of sick joke?”
“Of course not! It’s an invitation,” Michael says. “You’re being invited to join a… rather exclusive club of sorts.” Shaun laughs.
“We call it the Gold Medal Club. But not everyone who gets one is allowed to join,” he explains.
“And just what is the criteria for joining?” Evan asks, interested despite himself. Michael grins.
“Young,” Apolo scoffs, “young,” Michael repeats, giving Apolo a look, “male, attractive, though really that one is obviously debatable,” he motions to himself, and gets a pillow hurled at him from the other couch. He laughs and keeps talking “And of course you need to be gay, or at least bisexual, be discrete, able to keep a secret, and have at least one Olympic gold medal. Congratulations. You now fit all the criteria!”
“I think you’ve got me confused with Johnny Weir. He’s the gay one. I’m the straight one!” Evan replies. There’s a beat of silence before all three of the other athletes break out into laughter.
“Oh, Hon, really? You’re going to play that game with us?” Michael replies. Evan frowns.
“It’s not a game. I like women!” he answers.
“So do I! So does Shaun and so does Apolo. We all do to various degrees. But you can’t fool us. We see it in you as easily as we see it in each other. You like cock. And your secret is safe with us!”
“Contrary to popular belief not all figure skaters are gay!” Evan protests a bit desperately.
“Neither are all swimmers, or divers, or gymnasts. Just like not all snowboarders are straight, case in point, Mr. Tomato Head over there. We’re not stereotyping you Evan. We just have excellent gaydar,” Michael says with a smile. Evan blinks at him before relaxing back into the arm of the couch.
“What gave me away?” he asks. He’s met with laughter all around.
“Nothing in particular, Evan. We told you! We can just read it on people sometimes,” Evan turns to look at Apolo who grins at him. Evan rolls his eyes.
“So what exactly is this Gold Medal Club?” he asks. Michael stands up from his perch on the back of the couch, and comes around to sit at Evan’s feet. He lets Apolo do the explaining.
Evan sits quietly, listening intently as it’s all explained to him. They aren’t a formal club with rules and regulations, except that you don’t talk about the club. “Like Fight Club!” Michael had added. There’s no membership fees, or hierarchy. Though Shaun does interrupt to make a joke about Michael obviously being their president. It’s only the 3 of them, 4 if Evan decides to join. They’re friends first. They hang out, they have sex. They’re there for each other when the pressure of being a world renowned athlete gets to be too much, and they share professional connections where and when appropriate.
By the time they’ve gone quiet, Evan has slumped down into the corner of the couch, his head pillowed on the arm. He doesn’t know what to do. This, what they’re asking him to join, it’s completely outside the realm of his experience. He’s never been involved in something so secret, let alone so against his public image. It would be career-ending if it was found out. He’s sure of that. But he looks around at the other men, they’re all sitting motionless and silent, waiting patiently for his reaction, and he feels like he can trust them. They all would have just as much to lose as he did if this were to be made public. Besides, he really wants to get laid much more often, like ever. So he sits up a little in his spot, and looks from one to another to another, until his gaze focuses on Michael, sitting at the other end of the couch, watching him intently for a response. He smiles at the taller man.
“Looks like these two are wrapped up in each other at the moment,” he says nodding toward Shaun and Apolo, still entwined on the opposite couch. “Does that mean I’m yours for the night?” he asks, with a bravado he doesn’t really feel. Mike smiles widely and laughs in response.
“If that’s what you’d like,” he says and seeing Evan’s nod, he turns on the couch to crawl up toward Evan’s end. He settles himself in Evan’s lap, knees braced on either side of Evan’s hips. He leans down and cups the back of Evan’s neck. “Ok?” he asks. Evan nods again, swallowing nervously, and presses his face up toward Mike’s for a kiss. Mike licks his lips, suddenly feeling nervous himself, and leans down to press his mouth to Evan’s. Evan surges up against him, reacting eagerly and instantly to the press of Michael’s lips to his. Mike smiles against his mouth, tilting his head, to deepen the kiss, and grinding his hips down into Evan’s. Evan groans, breaking the kiss to gasp, and pulls back to look at Mike with wide eyes. Mike smiles, and reaching down, tugs at Evan’s sweater. Evan sits up under him, pulling the sweater off, and following it quickly with the t-shirt he wore under it. Mike pushes him back down on the couch and leans down to kiss him again.
Evan melts back against the throw-pillows, his hands sliding around Michael’s broad chest to trace the length of his disproportionally long back. He tugs the t-shirt free from Michael’s waistband, and groans at the silky skin his fingers meet when they dive under the thin cotton material. Michael laughs, pulling back from the kiss. He smiles down at Evan, who’s flushed red and panting beneath him. He looks up at Mike with wide, excited, eyes. Michael sits up stripping off the t-shirt, watching Evan’s eyes tracing down his sculpted torso. Grinning, he takes the time to study Evan too. The man is cut, with firm pecks, and strong arms. He’s lean and defined from his head to the waist of his tented jeans. Mike’s eyes zero in on a tattoo inked low on Evan’s abdomen, below his bellybutton and slightly off to the right side. The sight of it, dark and tantalizing against Evan’s tan skin, sends Mike’s blood rushing to his dick instantaneously. He reaches out with one hand to trace the lightning bolt. It makes Michael’s mouth water. He sort of wants to bite it. It takes him only a moment to realize he can. There’s nothing stopping him. He catches Evan’s eyes which are watching him intently, assessing. He smiles again, and leans down pressing his mouth to Evan’s collarbone. Evan makes a sort of startled sound, and one of his hands slides up to grip Michael’s dark hair.
“Oh,” Evan breathes, hips rocking up against Mike’s weight. Michael kisses downward, licking between Evan’s pecks, stopping to suck at one perfect tan nipple, before moving down, across the ridges of Evan’s abdomen. His tongue zeroes in on the tattoo and he traces it eagerly, enjoying the tang of Evan’s skin, and the unconscious tug of Evan’s hand pulling in his hair.
Michael’s hands slide down, pressing on the bulge of Evan’s excited dick through a thick layer of denim. Evan squirms beneath him, gasping a little at the touch. Mike smiles against his skin, nipping at the lightning bolt tattoo and enjoying the way Evan’s body surges up against his in response. Sitting up again he focuses on unbuttoning Evan’s jeans. The guy is tense, and wanting. It’s fairly obvious he’s pretty repressed. This is going to be fun.
For Evan, it seems to all happen in flashes of smooth skin, and individual moments of pleasure that zap across his synapses in little bursts or perfection. He forgets they’re in a hotel room, or that they’re being watched. That he’s been denying himself this for much too long. He even forgets that he has a whole day of interviews tomorrow, and a flight to LA the day after that. He just lets it all go. He plunges feet first into what’s been offered to him with a genuine eagerness that makes him feel young and carefree. He lets Michael freaking Phelps strip him naked on a hotel room couch, and rushes to return the favor. He takes long minutes exploring the feast of smooth skin and muscle and bone spread out before him. He touches and kisses and licks. He presses his body to Michael’s and rubs against him like a cat in heat. He ignores it later when he thinks back on it, not wanting to dwell on the more embarrassing moments of the encounter. He tells himself that it’s useless to feel ashamed by anything that happened, especially when Michael had seemed to reciprocate in each and every way, pulling him closer, moaning and groaning, and clutching back just as fiercely.
Evan is so overwhelmed that later he doesn’t remember everything. Some things are skipped right over in his memory. One minute he’s wiggling in Michael’s lap like a call girl and the next he’s spread out across the carpet with long slick fingers buried in his ass, stretching and prepping him like a pro. Then he’s bent over the arm of the couch, feet braced wide apart, and spine arched as Michael’s erection presses inside him. It’s intense, and it burns, but Michael is slow and careful. His arms pull Evan back against his chest, holding him close and whispering soothing comforting things in Evan’s ear. Then they’re in the midst of it, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s just pleasure, steady and rhythmic, and growing with each hard fast press of Michael’s hips to his, of Michael’s dick into his ass. Next he’s bent all the way over, long back exposed to the air, his face pressed into the seat cushions. He groans, turning his face to suck in quick lungs full of oxygen. He pants, body rocking with Michael’s every motion. Regaining control of his spine, he presses his hands to the cushion and pushes himself up. Long arms slide around his waist, tugging him upright, and pulling him back to press against Michael’s chest.
“Oh, Oh, God,” Evan whispers, eyes fluttering closed. He reaches back to grab at Michael’s hips. He wants it harder, faster, more. Michael complies, tugging him backward into each thrust, hitting a place inside of Evan that makes his eyes roll back in his head. Michael reaches down, wrapping one hand tightly around Evan’s dick, and Evan lets his head fall back to rest on Michael’s strong shoulder. He cries out, body tensing as the orgasm finally peaks, rushing through his system like a cleansing wave. His body goes rigid, his ass clamping down on Michael’s dick, his nails biting into Michael’s hips. He comes in thick ropey spurts into Michael’s hand, saving the couch cushions from irrevocable damage. Evan slumps against him, the release as much an emotional relief as a physical one. Michael hums in his ear, rotating his hips and causing little pinpricks of pleasure to arch through Evan’s spine. He reaches down, bracing himself on the arm of the couch, and presses his hips back against Michael’s with a little twist of his pelvis in encouragement. Michael laughs, nipping at Evan’s earlobe.
“Don’t get haughty. You’ve never had a lover like me before. I’ve never been a sprinter. Tick me off and I’ll fuck you all night long and make you wait til dawn to finally come,” he warns, voice amused. The words make pleasure bloom anew low in Evan’s belly and he gasps. Michael smirks and laughs again. “Not opposed to the idea, then?” he asks. “It can be arranged if you want to give it a go. But it’ll have to wait until next time,” he adds. Evan groans and nods, head bowing forward to hang between his shoulders. Michael nods mostly to himself, his eyes glance to his right where Apolo, and Shaun, already done, sit watching with wide hungry eyes. He smirks at them, watching Apolo rolls his eyes, and Shaun’s familiar lusty grin spread across his face before turning back to the task at hand. Tightening his grip on Evan’s hips, he pulls his own back, and thrusts back in, watching Evan’s body bow forward in shocked pleasure. Grinning to himself, he thrusts again, closing his eyes and taking Evan’s body, this time intent on his own release.
Evan wakes up with the sun in his eyes. He stretches and lets out an unintentional groan of soreness. His whole body hurts. It takes him a minute or two remember why and he starts to smile. A warm weight shifts against his right side, and he blinks his eyes open, squinting at the head of dark hair on his shoulder. Apolo, he recognizes. Apolo groans too, then hums a little, blinking open golden brown eyes and smiling slowly up at Evan.
“Morning,” he murmurs, stretching one arm up above his head. Evan smiles at him.
“Good morning,” he replies. He watches Apolo’s face slowly come awake with fascination and a little apprehension. He has no idea what to do now. This is, frankly, new territory. He’s not used to waking up in bed with another man. Especially not after a night like the one they’d just enjoyed. He doesn’t know what the protocol is. Apolo must see something his face, because he blinks at him, looking confused.
“Stop being so serious. It’s too damn early for serious,” Apolo says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Do I need to blow you again? Because I will. It helped you relax last night, after your mid-romp crisis of identity. It wouldn’t be a hardship,” Apolo offers, with another smile. He reaches for Evan under the hotel covers, his arm slipping around Evan’s waist, and tugging him closer. Evan goes willingly, sliding closer, and smiling in reply.
“I was just thinking that I want to stay here in bed with you guys all day, but unfortunately I can’t. I have a whole day of interviews planned. I have to leave soon,” he explains, his own hands tracing down Apolo’s smooth back. His hands head further south, sliding down to palm Apolo’s bare ass.
“Not without breakfast first!” a voice chimes from the doorway. Evan looks up from nuzzling Apolo’s throat to see Michael coming toward them. He’s got a large black tray in his hands. There is a huge pile of scrambled eggs on the plate, and numerous cups of coffee and glasses of juice. Apolo laughs, flopping back onto his pillow as Michael steps up to the bed and puts the tray down by their feet.
“You’ll have to at least stay through breakfast. He’ll get testy if you don’t. Michael is very big on feeding Shaun and I when we get together. It’s one way he shows us he cares!” Apolo teases. Michael shrugs, flushing a little. He leans down, bracing himself with one long arm, to kiss Apolo’s quickly offered mouth. Evan watches them with wide, interested eyes, as their faces tilt, and their kiss turns more sexual and intimate.
“Aww you guys are awake? We were going to surprise you!” Evan tears his eyes away from the way Apolo’s hips are pressing up toward Michael’s. Instead he sits up, grabbing for the tray, to pull it clear of their tangled feet.
“Sorry, sun woke us,” he says looking at Shaun with a warm smile. Shaun shrugs, coming closer and putting down a stack of buttered and perhaps slightly burned toast on the nightstand. He sits down next to Evan’s knees, and grins at him a little lasciviously.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Between Michael’s snoring, Apolo’s hogging the blankets, and your attempts at playing your part as a human furnace, quite nicely,” Evan says smiling. Shaun laughs, sliding a few inches further up the bed.
“And you have to be out of here, by when?” he asks. Evan’s eyes flick to the alarm clock.
“I have an hour before I have to leave,” he says softly. He flushes red at the groaning, coming from his right, and dares to sneak a peek. Michael’s managed to wiggle under the covers, and fold Apolo practically in half, the older man's knees shoved up practically to his ears to expose his ass to Michael’s ministrations. Evan marvels for a moment over the fact that he knows, just by the sound he’s making, that Apolo’s got fingers up his ass, and that he’s quite enjoying them. His eyes slide back to Shaun, who is suddenly much closer, and smiling knowingly.
“Well that’s plenty of time, don’t you think?” Shaun asks. Evan can only nod and accept the other man crawling up into his lap. He’s hard already and Shaun wiggles a little making Evan groan. “Perfect, it’s good to see every part of you is an early riser.” Evan’s answering laughter is cut off by the invasion of Shaun’s tongue into his mouth.
By the time Evan makes it back to his dorm room in the village he is exhausted. Running on barely any sleep he spends the whole day in the media center answering the same twenty questions over and over again, all while smiling, and trying to be gracious when facing the ugly remarks certain other skaters were making to the press. By the time his agent lets him go it’s fairly late, and Evan is ready for a good night’s sleep before his early morning flight back to the states.
When he sees Johnny, of all people, in the long hallway of the USA dorm he pauses mid-stride. It’s the hall that is housing all the figure skating team and coaches and of everyone on the team, Johnny is the last one he wants to see. He almost turns around and goes back the other way. He’s tired, and slightly cranky. He’d not had time to do any more than grab a few minutes here and there to text the guys from the night before, and he doesn’t want to face Weir’s particular brand of theatrics just now. He needs sleep, not drama. But Johnny catches sight of him, a smirk sliding onto his pretty lips. Evan forces himself not to react. He always has to force himself not to react. He’s been spotted so he fiddles with his phone, pretending to check for a text, there isn’t one, he’d just looked in the elevator, but he figures it should cover his stopping mid-hallway. He sticks the phone back in his coat pocket and starts forward again. Johnny’s standing watching his advance, his smirk bigger and wider than before, knowing, hand on his hip, and hand bag thrown over his other wrist.
“Hey, Johnny,” Evan says stepping up to his door, it’s only a couple away from Johnny and Tanith’s. He doesn’t want to know what they talk about when they’re alone in there at night. He’s sure his name, if it’s ever brought up at all, is usually the butt of a joke or the source of a viciously worded complaint. Johnny’s smirk dissolves into a smile that makes Evan uneasy.
“Hello, Superstar. Mr. Gold Medal. I didn’t get to congratulate you on your triumph,” Johnny says, and Evan can’t quite determine if he means it sincerely or not. “Congrats,” he finishes with a fake smile, before looking away to examine his cuticles. He’s upset, and trying to hide it. Evan feels a momentary pang in his chest for him. Johnny is truly a good person, even if he can be a little catty, and even if Evan disagrees with his choices in personal expression 95% of the time, he still doesn’t purposefully try and hurt him. Evan’s known him since they were still kids, and he knows him well enough to recognize when he’s trying to deflect, and this behavior is sort of typical Johnny. Evan can see the red around his eyes, the way his hair looks a little droopy and sad, even when it’s obviously been primped and molded perfectly into his currently favored style.
“Thanks, it means a lot that you say that. I appreciate the effort,” Evan says turning to his door and fumbling for the lock. He’s trying to be civil, to not make things any worse between them, but Johnny, just like usual, misunderstands.
“Effort?” he asks, looking up with a half-scowl on his face. Evan sighs.
“Let’s be honest. I know you don’t like me. And as nice as it is to congratulate me, I know you wish it was you instead. I know you think you deserved to win, and you’re upset that you didn’t. I know it probably won’t mean anything coming from me, but you deserved better than you got, and we both know part of the reason you didn’t score better was because of me. It’s not fair, but I can’t do anything about it. So yes, I appreciate your effort to be nice and to congratulate me. It means a lot,” Evan explains. Then suddenly he realizes this is pretty much the longest conversation they’ve had in several years and so far no one has gotten screamed at or smacked. It’s practically a record.
“I knew I wasn’t going to win. The judges hate me too much. I just wanted to get to skate at the gala. That’s all,” Johnny says quietly. Evan nods.
“You deserved at least that much,” Evans says just as quietly. Johnny looks away, blinking a few times. He takes a deep breath, and when he looks back it’s the usual Johnny, smiling a little cockily back at him again.
“So how does it feel, winning the big prize?” Johnny asks, and this time the question seems more genuine. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely,” Evan answers, and for a fraction of a second he wants to tell Johnny everything, like he did when they were just kids, and hadn’t yet started thinking of each other as the enemy. But he knows that would be a big mistake, and that it’s not solely Evan’s secret to tell. Besides he’d promised. “There have been a few surprises so far. But it’s been great.”
“Ohh what kind of surprises?” Johnny asks. Evan knows he’s fishing for gossip, so he smiles back widely.
“I can’t tell you. But winning the Gold… well it’s opened quite a few doors, doors I’m sure you’d have happily jumped through if you’d had the chance.” Evan watches the confusion spread across Johnny’s face. He shakes his head, “Never mind, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he turns back to his door. He gets it open before Johnny says something in reply.
“Evan?” Johnny says, and Evan turns in the doorway to look at him. “You think you’re done?” Johnny asks, his arms folding across his chest. Evan looks at the carpet, chewing on his lip as he considers.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. He leans back against the door jam, and shrugs. “What’s better than one Olympic gold medal?” he asks, starting to grin. He watches Johnny roll his eyes. “Two!” Evan finishes. He watches Johnny’s face crack into a smile, he gathers his coat around himself, and turns away. Evan catches him mumbling quietly to himself: “Overachiever.”
“Goodnight, Evan,” Johnny says, looking at him over his shoulder. Evan smiles.
“Night, Johnny,” Evan replies. Johnny starts down the hallway, but Evan calls out to him, “And, Johnny?” he says. Johnny looks back at him, face curious. “Those jeans make your ass look amazing!” Evan says. He watches Johnny’s eyes go wide and shocked, his mouth dropping open in an O of surprise, before ducking into his room and closing the door quickly between them.
He half expects Johnny to knock on the door demanding an explanation but the sound never comes. Evan takes off his shoes, setting them along the wall in their specified spot between his sneakers and his skate bag, then flops down on his bed, closing his eyes. The last 24 hours had been life changing, heck, the last week had been life changing! He wants to just lay here on his dorm room bed and process. He thinks back over what he’d said to Johnny in the hallway, about wanting to possibly stick around for another four years. He’s not sure he wants to spend another four years dieting, training, and working out constantly. He’s not sure the pain and the injuries are worth it just to try for a third time. He’s won the big prize. What would he get out of a second one? He stares up at the familiar ceiling above his bed, and suddenly laughs out loud to the empty room.
He’s remembered something Shaun had said late the night before. Michael and Apolo had been arguing about Michael’s 14 Gold Medals, and whether that made him higher ranking in the club that Apolo, who had a mere two gold medals, but 8 total. Apolo had argued that his sport was more dangerous, and much harder to win. Short track he reasoned was not just about simply being the fastest, so they should grade his performance on a curve. Besides there were way less medals to be won in short track. Then Shaun had piped up with his own credentials. He has tried for gold twice, and won gold twice. Technically he’s never lost at the Olympics, something none of the rest of them can boast. This had led to Shaun being tackled by both Apolo and Michael, while Evan sat back on the far end of the bed and laughed.
When the impromptu wrestling match had finally ended, they had spread themselves across the bed, half on top of each other in a big pile, (with Evan yanked over to lay in the middle of it all) and unanimously decided that rank was irrelevant. Obviously Michael, and Apolo were Senior members with their cases full of medals back home, and they had gleefully welcomed Shaun to their ranks with his second win. That just left Evan, the new guy, as their sole remaining junior member. Evan had possibly pouted a little, as they had teased him about it. But he’d known they were mostly just kidding around. Beside he’d been the first American man to win gold at the Olympics in like 25 years. That had to be worth bonus points.
Evan leaves Vancouver early the next morning, without getting to see any of his fellow “club members” before he goes. He tells himself not to get too attached. That the three other guys are more like bed buddies than anything like a relationship. He shouldn’t be missing them after only one night. Three days after he leaves Canada, he arrives back home in LA for a day of West Coast press. He almost forgets that the announcement for Dancing With the Stars is about to be made. It’s not until his cell phone starts ringing incessantly that he remembers. He spends all day being interviewed over and over again. First about his medal, and then also about his chances on DWTS. In between interviews, he spends his free time on the phone, returning calls to friends and family. He’s due to start serious rehearsals the next day with Anna and he collapses into bed later that night tired but excited. The call comes just as he’s meditatively visualizing his coming win on the show, and startles him out of his vision. He picks up the phone, staring down at the caller ID in confusion. It’s Apolo.
“Hello?” he asks, clearing his throat.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?!” Apolo says. Evan blinks rapidly in shock.
“Huh?” he replies, sitting up in bed, and scratching his head.
“You’re.. an.. ass.. hole,” Apolo says pausing between each word for effect. “How could you not tell me? ME! Of all people?” he asks.
“I’m totally not following you here, Apolo,” he mumbles. He suddenly feels completely exhausted. There’s an impatient sigh on the other end of the line.
“Dancing With the Stars!? I won that show, Evan. You didn’t think talking to me about it would be a good idea? You should have told me!” Apolo says. Evan blushes, pressing his free hand to his flaming cheek.
“I was going too!” he confesses. “It was one of the things I wanted to discuss with you when I came over to dinner the other night. But, I got side tracked,” he admits. He hears Apolo’s familiar laughter bubble through the cell phone and smiles in reaction.
“We are awful good at distracting people,” Apolo concedes. “Still you should have told me. It’s not like I can’t keep a secret,” Apolo says. Evan winces.
“I honestly planned too, but then there was Shaun, and then Mike, and pizza, and you know… sex. You successfully made me forget all about the show for a good 48 hours.” He hears Apolo laugh again.
“Ok, you’re forgiven, for now. But I should warn you, this is going to get you a spanking later.” Evan must gasp involuntarily, because Apolo’s voice turns amused and teasing. “I think we can both agree you’d deserve one for withholding relevant information and keeping secrets.” Evan leans back against the headboard of his bed, and tries to ignore the hardening of his dick in his boxer shorts. He licks his lips.
“Spanking?” he asks, and he tries hard to not let his voice break. Apolo’s laugh turns sinister.
“Oh this is going to be fun! I can’t wait to get out to LA,” he nearly cackles. Evan lets out a nervous laugh.
“You’re coming here?” he asks.
“I’m moving there,” the smile is clear in his voice. Evan grins.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s been planned for months. I know you’re heading out on tour and will be swamped with dancing rehearsals, but you have got to let Shaun and I distract you from time to time. Kid lives in Long Beach after all. It’s like a half hour drive South. Once things calm down and the immediate Olympic rush is over, you’ll be seeing so much of us you’ll get sick of our faces.” Evan seriously doubts that.
“What about Mike?” he asks, stretching out again across the bed. He pulls the blanket back over himself and gets comfortable.
“He gets out there more often than you’d think. Now that I’m not going to be stuck out in SLC for months on end I think it will be a lot easier for everyone to get together. You will, of course, benefit greatly from that.”
“I think I’m going to an enjoy this,” Evan says, and his mouth almost hurts from grinning so widely. Apolo laughs.
“No doubt. But, for now, down to business,” he pauses and Evan frowns in confusion. “What are you wearing?” Apolo asks, voice dropped low and seductive. Evan’s laughter rings loudly throughout his whole house.
The End.
This isn’t the end of the story. There are WAY too many possibilities with these four. So if you have an idea and want to comment or message me about it, I will add it to my list of ideas and give you credit for it if I end up writing it.
Update: Now with a sequel! Going for Gold is up now, set during the London Olympics 2012.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-03-18 01:29 am (UTC)“Oh, Hon, really? You’re going to play that game with us?” Michael replies. Evan frowns. - Oh Hon. . . :D
Bahaha. Oh gosh. I love this. I do. Really.
no subject
Date: 2013-03-18 04:45 am (UTC)I finished the sequel. Can I email it to you?
I'd just like someone to read it and tell me if it sucks so I know whether to post it or not.
Pwetty pwease?
no subject
Date: 2013-03-18 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-15 05:29 am (UTC)"“Don’t get haughty. You’ve never had a lover like me before. I’ve never been a sprinter. Tick me off and I’ll fuck you all night long and make you wait til dawn to finally come,” he warns, voice amused."
That has to be one of the best fucking things that has come out of Michael Phelps' mouth EVAR.
no subject
Date: 2013-06-25 04:42 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting!