Victory Fuck

He came to me a winner.

The roar of the crowd drowned out my

thoughts as I stood on the ice with my teammates, adrenaline

rushing through my veins, basking in victory. Their shouts sang

through me like blood, like lust, validating the moment.

Amid all the flashing lights, his

eyes were all I saw.

Out of nowhere he swept me into a strong

embrace. There was only a second of shock—my heart stopped in my

chest, my breath caught in my throat, and despite the crowd, I

heard one thought clearly in my mind. Finally

He pulled me to him in a fierce, triumphant

hug, burying his face in my hair. I thought I felt his lips brush

my neck, but I might have been dreaming the sensation. Heaven knows

I fell asleep often enough these past few months wishing for this

very touch. No words of encouragement, nothing said between us,

just that maybe-there kiss and his arms tight around me, his body

flush against mine, and the crowd wild with approval.

* * * *

For months leading up to the speedskating

finals we trained side by side, but I thought my longing glances

and schoolboy stares had gone unnoticed. In the locker room I

lingered after practice, hoping to catch up with him, but he always

seemed too busy for me. He was the veteran, the big name on the

ice, the one the crowds came to see. He was the athlete with the

sponsorship deals, the guy the coach pandered to, the skater I

aspired to be.

The man I wanted. The one I loved.

To be honest, I didn’t think he knew I

existed.

Me, some upstart wannabe from nowhere in

particular, a good ten years younger than he was and not yet half

as good as he’d been at my age. Me, with my hair cut so damn short

it stuck up in all the wrong places, my gangly legs I was still

getting used to after my last growth spurt, and my newfound

attraction to boys. Me, sullen and quiet, too awed by his fame to

even speak in his presence, so enamored by him that I tripped him

up the first time we were on the ice together during practice.

Yeah, right. What would he ever see in someone like me?

Yet he was quick to laugh, to smile, to help

out rookies. Like me. He waved off my apology whenever I screwed up

in training, and once muttered to me under his breath, “Fuck the

coach. Just follow my lead out there and you’ll do fine.” With his

windswept curls and stormy eyes, his muscled arms and legs, his

plump, firm little ass so damn fine out there on the ice, how could

I not fall for the guy? Tell me that.

He joked with everyone. I couldn’t pretend

it was just me. He always had a laugh hidden in one corner of his

mouth, and his eyes danced with delight. Our other teammates

thought I was antisocial because I lingered at my locker, unwilling

to shower with them. Truth was if I went in and saw him there, wet

with spray, lathered and glistening, no little washcloth would be

enough to hide my erection. So I waited until he came out, damp

hair curling on his shoulders and nothing but a thin white towel

around his waist, before I rushed in. The other guys used all the

hot water but I didn’t care—even the cold water wasn’t enough to

will away my wood.

God, I wanted him. Bad.

* * * *

He kept an arm around my shoulders as we

left the rink. I didn’t know if it was me in particular or if he

just needed someone beside him, but my cheeks hurt from grinning, I

was so proud to be chosen. Me. My hand fisted in a fold of his

racing suit bunched at his waist, keeping him close as we breeched

the gauntlet of reporters blocking our exit to the locker room. The

coach beamed and cameras flashed, pinning the moment down as fact.

This second, right here, now, I was in his embrace.

Here…

It ended too soon.

As I ducked into the relative darkness

beneath the bleachers, I felt his touch slip away. I half-turned,

hoping to keep him with me, but my fingers closed a second too late

and the smooth material of his suit passed through them. Someone

else had snagged his attention, one of the reporters perhaps, or

the coach himself, or maybe even a fan. I tried to stop but another

teammate gave me a hard shove in the back, propelling me forward. I

stumbled, caught my footing, turned around completely to walk

backward, thinking I’d wait, but he was gone.