Chapter 14

Danny's American Cup starts when he puts his triple twist to his feet in front of ten thousand screaming fans, and it only gets better from there.

All afternoon, he breezes through his routines like he's on easy mode, acing his pommel horse dismount and hitting every hold on rings without breaking a sweat. He's feeling so good, he takes a risk and performs the more difficult of the two vaults he'd prepared—and then, a few seconds later, he's rewarded with the beautiful sound of his feet smacking right into the center of the mat.

It's stick after stick after stick and he loves it, everyone loves it, the entire arena is cheering him on and he's feeding off of their energy, his performances getting better and better with each rotation. On parallel bars, he gets so much height on his front salto, he hears screams from the audience—and then he sticks that dismount, too, because why not. Even before he finishes high bar, cruising through his releases and then bringing it to the mat for one last stick, he knows that trophy's got his name on it.

And he's not the only one on fire today, either. There's Noah, attacking each routine with his usual ferociousness, always looking like he's on the verge of losing control but somehow reining it in just before disaster. The crowd isn't as familiar with him as they are with Danny, but they go wild as he twists his way across the floor, a perfect storm of chaos and beauty; and by the time he finishes a dizzying flair sequence on the pommel horse, they're in love.

Best of all, there's Sasha. After an early mistake on pommels, losing his rhythm and having to muscle his way through a few elements, he starts climbing back up the rankings, one elegant routine at a time. On vault, he soars so high on his Tsuk, he's practically in the rafters; on parallel bars, it's like a ballet performance, all pirouettes and pointed toes. He wraps up with a smooth set on high bar, nudging ahead of Noah for second place, and the only thing Noah says is, "Bro, did you see that Tkatchev?"

Afterwards, they have the awards ceremony. All the athletes line up across the center of the floor, with two podiums in front of them facing the crowd—one for the men, one for the women. Starting with third place, the announcers alternate between the men and women, and Noah's the first name to be called.

"Yeah, Noah, let's go!" Danny yells, whooping. Noah grins at him and makes his way to the podium, stepping onto the lowest platform before accepting his medal and a small bouquet of flowers. A few minutes later, it's Sasha's turn, and just in time Danny remembers not to cheer quite as loudly as he did for Noah. As the women's second-place finisher is announced, he watches Sasha standing on the podium with his usual perfect posture, like he's about to recite a poem at school, and…

Danny catches a glimpse of himself on the jumbotron and does a double take. Holy shit, is that what his face looks like when he's staring at Sasha?

"And now, your American Cup champions… for the USA, Danny Hartman!"

Danny jogs forward, waving to the crowd as their applause rains down on him. He loves this—representing his country, feeling the energy of so many people happy with his performance, sharing the podium with his teammate and… and… okay, he still has no idea what to call Sasha, but he can figure that out later.

Stopping by the third-place platform, he bear-hugs Noah, almost knocking the poor kid over. "Dude, you were amazing today. I'm so proud of you."

"Aw, thanks, bro," Noah says, hugging him back once he regains his balance. "You, too."

The height of the second-place platform is a little more awkward, but there's enough room for two—so Danny just hops right on, grinning at Sasha's startled expression. "I'm hugging you," he warns as he leans in.

And even though Sasha looks at him like Do you have to?, Danny's close enough to see a fraction of a smile at the corners of his lips, too small for the cameras to catch.

It's not the best hug, but that's okay—in fact, the stiffer it looks, the better. (Man, he is so good at this whole stealth-flirting thing.) Once he lets go, he ascends to the top of the podium without a backwards glance, raising his hands and soaking it all in: the lights, the excitement of the crowd, Sasha's quiet and steady presence at his side.

Like, seriously, this is some king-of-the-world shit right here.

*

Sasha steps into the shower, the noise from the arena still ringing in his ears. Keeping the temperature lukewarm, so it won't be a shock when he switches to his ice bath, he stands under the running water and lets all the chalk and sweat from the competition wash down into the drain.

He's happy with today's results—he would have liked to win, obviously, but there was that slip on pommel horse, and placing second at an international meet should be enough to secure his petition for Euros, getting him back on track for Rio. There's even some prize money, which he'll deposit in his bank account as soon as he's home.

But when he closes his eyes, he's not thinking about the money, or the next step towards the Olympics. Instead, it's Danny: golden and unstoppable, first place from the first rotation and never once losing his lead or his smile. He'd been larger than life in that arena, soaring through each skill with breathtaking ease—even adding a few new elements seemingly just for the fun of it, like a one-armed, pirouetting giant around the high bar that had made the entire audience gasp.

(And of course he'd cheered on all the other athletes when it was their turn. Of course he'd congratulated everyone coming off the podium, or consoled them, a shoulder clap and a "that's okay, man, it happens." Sasha can't remember anymore why he'd ever found this annoying.)

He's still replaying that high bar routine as he wraps a hand around himself. This isn't the first time he's jerked off to thoughts of Danny, or even the fiftieth, and he quickly settles into a rhythm, his shallow breathing echoing off the tiles as he pictures Danny joining him in the shower, kissing him senseless before sinking to his knees…

No, wait—Danny won, so maybe Sasha should be on his knees. He's never given a blowjob before, or received one, so even in his fantasies the details are fuzzy (and he has to wonder how comfortable something like that would really be, with the hard shower floor); but as he switches back and forth in his mind, trying to decide which option he likes best, that familiar tightening at the base of his cock begins, and in the end it's a half-formed image of Danny grinning down at him that sends him over the edge.

He stands there for a moment, blinking the stars out of his eyes, and then reluctantly finishes his shower, washing away the last traces of his release. When he's in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around his waist, he checks his phone, dismissing most of the social media notifications. But there are two congratulatory texts from his mother and Kirill, who must have gotten up early to check the results, and a handful of messages from Danny.

Danny:So Noah's family is taking him to dinner

Danny:You should come over

Danny:We can talk

Danny:Or

Danny:?

Sasha looks at the timestamps and realizes Danny had texted him twenty minutes ago, right when he was getting into the shower. Fuck. He could have actually been with Danny in person this whole time.

Sasha:Yes

Sasha:Sorry, in shower

Danny:Thinking good thoughts?

Sasha's still blushing as Danny gives him the room number, but he laughs when the Russian flag emoji follows. He'll have to miss his ice bath tonight, and he doesn't care. Not one bit.

Yet while he's getting dressed, his nerves start to falter. Danny's winking emojis made it clear he wants something from Sasha, though it's less clear what, exactly, that is. And while Sasha's not sure how much Danny's done with other men, there's been at least one girlfriend, so it seems unlikely that he's a virgin. Is he expecting them to have sex tonight?

Because Sasha isn't ready for that. Which he knows—he knows—he should tell Danny, since Danny doesn't strike him as the kind of person who would be a jerk about it, but the thought of having to admit just how little experience he has is mortifying. And what if he's so bad at whatever they do, it completely turns Danny off?

Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe he should just cancel—

Before he can make a decision, his phone lights up. Sasha grabs it, expecting another message from Danny; but instead it's Kirill, who's sent him a Twitter link and a grimacing emoji. When Sasha opens the tweet, he finds a gif of himself standing on the podium, looking confused and then mildly alarmed as Danny jumps up and embraces him.

obsessed with Danny Hartman hugging literally everyone at this meet,the caption says in English.

Sasha spends several seconds scrutinizing the gif, relieved to see that he's barely returning the hug. He's still a little shocked by Danny's daring, although at least he'd hugged Noah first, and none of the comments seem to suspect anything. But still. They were in front of ten thousand people.

Adding this to the list of things he needs to talk to Danny about, Sasha goes back to Kirill's texts.

Kirill:I can't believe you had to go to America and deal with this asshole

Kirill:He's such a dick

Sasha sighs. He knows Kirill thinks Sasha agrees with him. And he knows it's his own fault for never pushing back when Kirill says these things. But he can't really undo this over text, and right now Danny's waiting for him, and if he's being honest with himself he doesn't want to cancel. At all. What he wants is to be with Danny, and to kiss him, and to maybe do some of the things he was imagining in the shower. If he can figure any of them out.

So he ignores Kirill's texts, and a few minutes later he leaves his hotel room, shutting the door quietly behind him.