Chapter 24

Sasha arrives at Danny's room that night looking tired but content. He only grumbles a little when Danny greets him at the door, balancing on one leg instead of his crutches; and as soon as they're on the bed, he climbs on top of Danny without any prompting, leaning in for a kiss.

"You did the triple," Danny says when they separate, guessing the reason for his good mood.

He's right: Sasha smiles, though he tries to downplay it with a shrug. "Not best triple."

"Still. I thought you were gonna beat Isaiah for a second."

"I wanted to beat him," Sasha replies, not even bothering to sugarcoat it, and Danny laughs—he's not sure how much of that bluntness is Sasha being Russian or Sasha being Sasha, but either way, he loves it.

"Well, maybe next year," he says, and Sasha's eyes lock on his, both of them thinking the same thing: next year, it's the Olympics.

After a few seconds, Sasha clears his throat. "But Kirill won silver. I am happy for him."

Yeah, about that,Danny wants to say, but he restrains himself. Sasha just got here, and he's not going to ambush him like a jealous boyfriend, especially since he's not, in fact, Sasha's boyfriend.

"Hey, how long can you stay?" he asks casually, trying to figure out his next move. He'd rather save this conversation for pillow talk, but he's not going to make the same mistake twice and have Sasha rush out on him again. It's their last night in Glasgow—he won't get any more chances.

"I think two hours." Sasha checks the time on his phone, then places it on the nightstand next to Danny's. "How long for you?"

"We're good," Danny assures him. "Matt's gonna text me when he's coming back." The coaches had taken them all out to dinner to celebrate Isaiah's bronze, and now the afterparty in Isaiah and Yulien's room is just getting started. Danny had stayed for about twenty minutes and then pretended to feel sick from something he'd eaten, slipping out the door while Matt winked at him.

He'll make it up to Isaiah tomorrow, buy him a breakfast burrito or one of those tiny pies they keep seeing everywhere. Tonight, though, he has Sasha, and two whole hours, which is more than enough for all the items on his agenda. Like kissing Sasha, which he does first, and removing his shirt, which he does next, and complimenting his vault, which he does the entire time.

"Did you watch a replay?" he asks, his voice muffled against Sasha's neck, his hands gliding down Sasha's ribcage. "You have to see it."

"Uh… yes?" Sasha's trying to take off Danny's shirt, but he keeps getting distracted. "Ilya took… video…"

"Your Tsuk was so good." Danny finally helps him out, chucking his shirt somewhere off the bed. "So fucking good," he repeats, going back to Sasha's mouth, his dimpled chin, his jaw, Sasha already hard, his fingers trembling as he pulls Danny closer. "A nine five, like how…"

He sees it again, Sasha spinning through the air, everything so beautiful and so perfect, and suddenly kissing is nowhere near enough. He flips Sasha onto his back, pausing only to lift up the ankle and make sure Sasha's okay with where this is headed, hand hovering on the elastic of Sasha's sweatpants until Sasha gives him a shaky nod.

This time, now that he actually knows what he's doing, he enjoys the blowjob even more—figuring out exactly which sounds he can get Sasha to make, whether it's a sharp breath or a gasp or nails scratching against the comforter as Sasha bunches it into his fists, thigh muscles twitching while he tries to hold himself still.

"And the Yurchenko was awesome, too," Danny continues after a moment, looking up, because he hadn't meant to forget about that. "Like right up until the—"

Since everything Sasha growls just then is in Russian, Danny doesn't know the exact translation, but he has a pretty good guess.

"Sorry," he says, trying not to laugh, and then he apologizes with his mouth, too, sucking and licking and humming until Sasha's legs are thrashing against the mattress. It's not long before he taps Danny's shoulder, and Danny nods, has just enough time to remember what he'd googled right before Sasha got here, and—okay, yeah, swallowing is a lot easier when he does it during instead of after.

Sasha takes a minute to recover, and then Danny's the one on his back, ankle propped up on the pillow Sasha insists on putting there, swearing as Sasha does some serious tongue magic. He's not really keeping track of what he's saying, but he thinks he tells Sasha that he's amazing, and incredible, and this is so good, because holy fuck it's so good, soft curls brushing his stomach, Sasha's hand wrapped around him, rough callouses alternating with the slick wet heat of his mouth.

Sasha still seems uncomfortable with eye contact, so he doesn't look up until Danny announces that he's died and gone to sex heaven. Then he raises his eyebrows, giving Danny an incredulous stare—lips wrapped around Danny's cock, hair a mess from Danny running his fingers through it. The sight makes Danny's brain short-circuit, and he frantically tells Sasha to stop, to get up here and kiss him, please, yes, fuck, right there, fuck he's so close…

"I never met anyone who talks this much," Sasha says afterwards.

Danny just smiles. Sasha might be complaining, but he's also letting Danny use him as a foot rest for his ankle, so he's clearly not that annoyed.

"Even Ilya talks less than you," Sasha adds, his fingers drifting into the hair at the back of Danny's neck.

"Yeah, yeah." Danny gives him a sleepy, satisfied kiss. "You know you like it."

Sasha rolls his eyes, but he doesn't actually deny it, so Danny grins and lays his head back down on Sasha's chest. Whatever Sasha's doing with his hair, it feels really nice; he could take the world's best nap right now, easy, his eyelids starting to get heavy, the rest of the room slipping away, only Sasha warm and steady beneath him. Five more minutes… then they can have that conversation…

No. Fuck. He forces his eyes open, panicking when he sees Sasha watching him. "Did I just fall asleep? What time is it?"

He fumbles for his phone, Sasha looking on in amusement. "No? You are—what is the word? Winking?"

The numbers on the screen slowly come into focus, and Danny relaxes, realizing there's still plenty of time. "Uh, blinking," he replies as he scans through his notifications, making sure Matt hasn't texted yet. "Winking's the one you suck at."

He dodges a glare from Sasha and grins. So far, there's nothing from Matt—just his mom, who's sent him a picture of the dessert she and his dad are sharing at a restaurant near the hotel. Which reminds him…

"Oh, by the way, my parents really liked your vaults," he says, tossing his phone back onto the nightstand. "My mom thought you were going to win the whole thing."

Sasha's lips press together, like he's fighting the urge to laugh. "What?"

"Yeah, she doesn't really know any of the D scores. She also called your Tsuk a Kas and I was like, you know what, close enough."

Sasha does laugh then, a sound Danny wishes he heard more often. "Please tell her thank you."

"Yeah, of course."

There's a lull after that, and Danny swallows. No more stalling—this is it.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" he starts, trying to sound casual, chill, and not at all concerned. When Sasha nods, he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever answer he gets. "Have you and Kirill ever, you know…"

Sasha keeps waiting for him to finish the sentence, like he actually doesn't know. Unable to find the right words, Danny gives up and gestures between them, hoping the whole naked cuddling thing is clear enough.

"What?" Sasha's eyes widen, and he immediately pulls away, leaving only his legs under Danny's ankle. "You think—you think I… and Kirill? Are you joking?"

Danny's too relieved to feel stupid, the horror in Sasha's voice making it crystal clear he had nothing to worry about—although now he has some explaining to do.

"Well, you guys were looking kind of… um, close? On vault," he says, and Sasha just stares at him, like he has no idea what Danny's talking about. Which, come on, seriously? "I mean, you were giving him this really intense massage, like… I don't know, aren't the trainers supposed to do that?"

"Kirill does not like trainers," Sasha says stiffly.

As if that's that, only now Danny's even more confused. "What do you mean, he doesn't like them?"

Sasha shrugs. He's keeping his upper body away from Danny, holding himself up on his elbows, although he still hasn't moved his legs. "They are always fighting. He does not let them touch him during competition. He asks me if he needs help."

"And they let him get away with that?" Danny asks, stupefied. He's trained with some difficult personalities over the years, that's for sure… but damn, Kirill's on a completely different level.

"Competition, yes, because of cameras. Practice, no."

Danny waits, but Sasha doesn't volunteer any more information, and he decides to chalk this one up to weird team dynamics. "So, you and him aren't…"

And, like, yeah, he's pretty sure now that they aren't, but still. He wants to be sure sure.

"No," Sasha says vehemently, looking revolted at the thought. "Kirill is my brother. Like my brother. I never—" He breaks off, staring at Danny as if his eyes alone can convey just how little he wants to go there.

"Okay. Sorry. I just—"

"I told you," Sasha interrupts, flushing. "At American Cup. I never—this is first time…"

"I know," Danny says softly—Sasha's starting to sound upset, like he thinks Danny had forgotten. "It's just… we never really talked about if we were going to see other people…"

Sasha sits up so fast, Danny gets a crick in his neck watching him. "You see other people?"

"No." Danny sits up, too, trying to move closer, but Sasha pulls away again. The only place where they're touching now is their feet, Sasha keeping his legs motionless under Danny's ankle. Hoping that's a sign, Danny says, "Sash, I swear, I'm not seeing anyone. Just you."

For a moment, there's only silence between them, and something Danny can't quite read in Sasha's expression.

"You can have girlfriend," Sasha finally says. "At home."

It's unclear if he's suggesting an arrangement, or telling Danny how much easier his life could be if he only dated women—but either way, Danny's not interested. "Yeah, well, I don't want that. I want you. If that's what you want."

Sasha goes still when Danny says I want you, and not for the first time, Danny wishes he knew even half of what was going on behind those eyes. It's another second or two before Sasha nods, drawing in a shaky breath. "Yes. I… I want that."

Danny could take his answer and run with it, but he forces himself to slow down, to remind Sasha of the same choice he'd given Danny. "Are you sure? Cause you could have someone at home, too, it'd be a lot easier—"

"No. I can't."

Danny hesitates. He's had a feeling that Sasha only likes men, but Sasha's never said one way or the other; this is as close as he's come to acknowledging it. "Not even in secret?"

If he'd thought Sasha was hard to read before, now the book's slamming shut, Sasha's eyes flat and empty. "No," he says, as if there's nothing to consider.

Danny can't imagine how lonely that is, not being able to date anyone in your entire country. "Sasha, I'm really sorry," he says, and Sasha just shrugs, the way he had when he'd told Danny about his father's death. Like it's okay, even though it's obviously not.

Danny doesn't push the subject, because Sasha clearly isn't interested in dwelling on it, but for a moment he can't help wondering… would Sasha would still be here if he had any other option?

He tries not to let the thought take hold, reminds himself that the Russians travel around Europe every year for clinics and competitions. If Sasha really wanted to, he could find someone a lot closer to home—someone he could call whenever he felt like it, not just at odd hours between polar opposite time zones.

Besides, Danny had seen the hurt flashing across his face when he'd asked if Danny was dating other people. In his own quiet way, Sasha cares—even if he doesn't say it, even though he won't hug Danny back. And that's who he is, and that's who Danny wants, which means they're just going to have to work a little harder on those hugs.

"So…" He looks at Sasha, who looks steadily back at him, his eyes never wavering. It's like they've done all the drills, and now they're pulling away the extra safety mats and the spotter's stepping back, nothing left to stop them from a crash landing. "We're doing this, right?"

Sasha nods.

"You and me? No one else?"

Sasha nods again, but Danny needs one last clarification.

"Like… a relationship?"

"Yes," Sasha says, smiling at all the questions. "Like a relationship."

So it's a secret relationship, and insanely long-distance, and he doesn't actually know if they'll ever see each other again—so what? Right now, all Danny cares about is the fact that Sasha said yes. That this is happening, for real. That he can finally call Sasha his boyfriend, even if only to himself and, like, Matt.

"Okay. Awesome," he replies, grinning from ear to ear as he leans over for their first kiss as a couple.

And maybe he's imagining things—or maybe Sasha's just changed up his toothpaste—but somehow, it tastes better than ever.