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The last thing Minho expected from this year’s Winter Olympics, was to match with Kibum Kim on Grindr.
Frankly, he didn’t even remember seeing the skating-legend’s profile, let alone swipe on him. Everyone and their mother knew that he would most definitely remember if he had been the one who did it. Thinking back to yesterday’s late-night dating-app swap, he concluded that it had been through the hands of one of his team members, that his fate had been sealed.
His panicked response to the suggestive “hi” that popped up on his screen shortly past lunchtime, was to instantly block the man and breathe through an almost dizzying rush of adrenaline. He absolutely wasn’t going to let a sloppy Grindr hook up with one of his greatest inspirations spoil the magic that surrounded the British ice-skating champion.
Kibum Kim was perfect. Perfect in any category, stood out significantly in technical despite being mainly known for his impeccable free programs. Minho couldn’t count the number of times his trainers have given him the two-time Olympic gold medallists videos to study from.
“Extend your arms more gracefully. Look at Kim. This is what it should look like. Fingers long and tight!! Again!”
“What the hell was this? I want you to land as if your body is made from porcelain and will shatter the moment you touch the ice. Watch this. Do it again.”
“If you don’t relax your face you’ll get nowhere. See the difference between Branko and Kim? Who looks like they know what they’re doing? Kim. Exactly. Do it again.”
Kibum Kim was perfect and Minho still had a long way to go; and these Olympics where his opportunity to prove that he, too, belonged in this sport despite his rather unconventional build. There was no reason to mess up on the tournament for a chance to see his role model naked. He had worked too hard to get here.
His original resolve disappeared quickly as realization set in that he had just messed up the one opportunity to get within a few feet of the man he had idolized for years. Yes, Grindr wasn’t the way he had wanted to get to know him, but not every match had to end in sex – right? He could have just asked him to meet up and talked to him – maybe.
The regret set in fully when Minho first saw Kim grabbing coffee at the coffee shop in the Olympic village. He was accompanied by a few other athletes, many of which Minho didn’t recognize. They were talking loudly, animatedly in English, and Minho turned his head so he wouldn’t be spotted. Hiding from Kibum Kim made him feel like a cringy teenager - not a situation he had ever wanted to be in again. Especially not here, when he was so close to realize all the dreams he had had since first putting on skates as a little boy.
He had wanted to approach Kim, and thank him for the inspiration over the years during these Olympics, but clearly, the universe had different plans for him: Hiding like a coward for the remaining week until everything was over and he returned to Korea.
But in the end, there wasn’t enough time to focus on a potentially lost friendship that he had painted out for himself in the long nights leading up to his departure for the games. There were medals to be won, and he would be going up against Kim in the upcoming days if he wanted to or not.
What a time to be alive.
His coaches noticed the shift in Minho’s attention the day after the infamous Grindr incident and were quick to beat sense back into him. The last training was intense, almost brutal but the day of his free program, he was in top form both physically and mentally – the schedule of the competitors playing a big part in his surprisingly relaxed demeanour.
He was going second and Kibum Kim as the reigning champion went last - which meant there was over an hour and a half between their turns. Chances of crossing paths on- or next to the ice therefore slim.
His free program flew by in what felt like seconds, the moves that had been drilled into him over the course of months, he executed perfectly. With the blood rushing through his body and ears, he barely heard the music, relying on the vibrations of carbon steel gliding over a perfectly imperfect surface, muscle memory and the beat of the music that electrified the surrounding air. He didn’t feel the eyes of the thousands of spectators filling the arena fixed on him. Instead he floated over the ice as if it were just him, his skates and the frozen ground.
He had tried to explain the feeling of competing to friends, but finding words to describe the way he felt as he finished his free program was close to impossible. He felt his chest heave beneath the tight black mesh top he wore, the glue of a thousand crystals on his arm digging uncomfortably into his skin. His ears were ringing, both from the thunderous applause and his raised heart rate. He felt his pulse down to his fingertips and his smile almost splitting his face in a sense of accomplishment, pride.
He was relieved, exhausted and still on high alert. He had a good feeling: Just one rough landing he could recall but other than that, it had felt completely weightless, perfect. The panel would soon publish their ratings and as every so often point out imperfections that Minho hadn’t registered himself.
He bowed down low and then added one celebratory turn before skating off the ice to meet up with his coaches. The reunion was brief because they were quickly called to the couch to receive the rating and leave a handful of comments for the media to use.
“An incredible score for a first Olympics. Did you expect anything alike?”
“I still have a long way to go and nothing guarantees that it will be the same in the technical program. If anything, that is where I will probably find more resistance. But I am happy to see that I seem to be on the right path.”
“Do you have any plans to celebrate the score for today?”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect anything alike, and we still have to wait for the other skaters to do their free program. But the current plan is to go back to my room and sleep… Sorry for disappointing you.”
“No disappointment at all. Thank you very much!” The moment they were gone, Minho couldn’t tell even anyone if the interviewer had been a woman or a man.
Minho walked off the stage on his skates and soon was guided backstage to change into his trainers, get the rhinestone top off his body to be able to breathe again normally. Or at least that had been the plan before a cold hand pulled him sideways into a small room.
“Come talk to me for a second.” A faintly familiar voice said as the door closed behind them.
The indignant sentence of “Who the fuck do you think you are” got stuck in his throat when his brain finally caught up and identified just who had pulled him aside.
“Oh lord.” Was all he managed to say, a term surprisingly accurate to describe the dazzling man in front of him.
Literally sparkling that was.
Kibum Kim was already wearing his costume, tight black leggings with a flowy light green top that looked like it was made by fairies. There was so much fabric, so many bands and beads, so much movement and so many rhinestones. Rhinestones were not just covering the shirt but also parts of Kibum’s slender neck, extending up to his face and into his hair.
Looking at this abundance of sparkling stones on this man, Minho silently decided to never complain about his costumes again.
“You blocked me.” There was a faint English accent in his Korean, as if he barely spoke it to anyone.
It was a statement rather than a question, and Minho could feel his heart sink.
“I am sorry. Please don’t take it personally, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it that way… I was surprised and I panicked and I…”
“You didn’t mean it? So… you’ll kiss me?”
“Don’t you have to get on the ice in like twenty minutes?” Minho said, trying to avoid the other’s eyes by scanning the room. There wasn’t anything in here, really. Just a few maintenance devices and an empty table that had clearly seen better days. Nothing that could get him out of the situation he had ended up in.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Minho’s next question turned into an embarrassing hiss as Kibum closed the distance between them, until his head was so close that his hair was tickling the taller’s chin.
“Can I?” Kibum asked with his head tilted up in a way that made Minho feel light-headed.
“Yes.” he said, it was barely more than a whisper and before Minho could anticipate what Kibum was going to do, the other’s lips were softly placed on his sweaty neck, hot breath tickling his earlobe.
“I saw you on the ice.” Kibum’s lips traced the words against Minho’s jaw. That damned accent. “You looked incredible.” Kibum’s lips were pressed onto his chin, trailing up to capture his bottom lip.
“mhh” A soft moan caught in the back of his throat as he exhaled right into Kibum’s face. He was going to apologize - but just like the moan and his words before, the apology never made it to Kibum’s ears because Minho’s vocal cords failed him when he felt the other’s lips pull into a smile against his mouth.
“I wouldn’t even be angry losing gold to you.”
That finally woke Minho from his trance-like state. He raised his hand up to grab onto Kibum’s jaw, his other one settling on a thin, bedazzled waist.
“Don’t you dare.” He said before pulling Kibum snug against his body, neither aware of their respective rhinestones getting caught in the other’s shirt’s mesh.
“We have five minutes.” The words were spoken by lips gracing over the soft, freshly shaven skin of Minho’s jaw and made the latter’s knees weak.
Kibum’s mouth was open when Minho bent down to kiss him, throwing any plans to ease into the kiss overboard. He was met with a wet and eager tongue that immediately licked itself into his mouth, not leaving any time for Minho to think about what they were doing.
It had been a while since he had last been kissed like Kibum was kissing him right now. The sort of kiss that took your breath away, that left you panting into your partner’s mouth.
The kind of kiss that would lead to more.
A kiss that shouldn’t be cut short because someone had to go out and win Olympic gold.
Kibum had already woven his fingers into Minho’s slicked back hair, loosening the strands just as he did to his self-control. He was unravelled from the inside, reduced to desire as he desperately tried to keep up with the smaller man’s mouth. A mission that turned out to be almost impossible as Kibum kissed him like he was dying of thirst and Minho was the last drop of water on earth.
They parted for a second, panting into each other’s mouth, but there was no time to take things slow, so just one deep exhale later, Kibum’s tongue ran over Minho’s upper lip to continue where they left off. At the soft, sensual touch of the tip of Kibum’s tongue on his sensitive, swollen lips, Minho could feel every hair on his body stand up and happily welcomed the beam of electricity that run down his spine, pulling his insides tight.
He shivered in delight and then pushed back into the kiss almost urgently. He hadn’t even noticed his right hand moving up into the short hair of Kibum’s undercut until the latter pulled back.
“Don’t mess up my hair.” Kibum said breathlessly, his glassy eyes staring into Minho’s hungrily, pupils blown wide.
“S-Sorry.” Minho stumbled over the word, but Kibum paid it no mind and took two steps forward. Immediately, Minho’s hand fell from the latter’s neck to catch himself on the table as he stumbled backwards.
The position they ended up in was so much worse. With Kibum’s knee pushed into his crotch, Minho felt himself getting hard. He had felt himself stir earlier too, but there was no holding back now.
An erection was inevitable, really, considering Kibum was one of the most attractive men in Minho’s book and was currently pressed against him.
On a whim, Minho took the smaller man’s lower lip in between his teeth, breaking the kiss to nibble on it, pull on it while Kibum rolled his hips forward and whined.
He whined.
Minho’s glutes clenched and his half hard dick twitched in the snug confinement of his tights. Kibum Kim had just fucking whined – right into his mouth, because of him.
“That was so hot.” he mumbled and immediately went back to kissing the sparkling man. Minho pressed his closed lips onto Kibum’s half-open ones before opening up just enough to mould his lips around Kibum’s bottom one and then his top, while the other’s hand had a tight grip on his hair. The pull was addicting.
The rhinestones and bands of Kibum’s top complicated touching him significantly. While running his hand over the smaller man’s strong back, his fingers repeatedly were caught in fabric bands and the countless stones scratched along his palm uncomfortably but not unfamiliarly. He soon gave up on it and instead slipped his hand underneath the mesh top by slowly running them up his thighs.
This was getting out of hand and Minho was sure that Kibum knew it too, but he already suspected that they would need an external force to break apart. Their bodies fit together so perfectly, the pull between them felt almost magnetic.
So much for not hooking-up with your idol, Minho’s mind suggested, unhelpfully, as his hand finally reached his goal, feeling up the most perfect glutes he could have ever dreamed of. It really wasn’t much of a surprise considering that Kibum Kim was a world-class athlete, but it was intoxicating nevertheless.
Minho groaned into the passionate kiss they still shared while indulging himself in Kibum’s ass. No way that he could ever dissect one of his videos again without reliving this moment.
A loud noise broke through the wet sounds of their lips and Kibum placed one last peck on Minho's half open mouth.
“And that’s my sign.” He said, making a move to take a step back when he noticed one of Minho’s rhinestones being caught in the green mesh of his top.
“Fuck” He cussed over the blaring sound of the alarm. He managed to get it untangled without ripping the delicate fabric, but to a knowing eye, the stretched fibres were obvious.
While Minho’s breathing calmed, Kibum turned around to pick up a phone from a shelf near the door.
“You set an alarm?” Minho managed to utter through the fog that still surrounded his mind.
“You don’t win gold without discipline and self-control.” The smaller man shrugged, and Minho could finally properly look at him.
Despite the fact that his face was caked with make-up, Minho could make out a faint blush underneath his foundation. His lips were much fuller than they were naturally and glistened in a healthy pink, wet from their mixed saliva.
His hair still sat perfectly, and Minho’s heart sank when realizing that he had almost messed up the hours of work that stylists had spent on this man.
For a split second, Minho cursed the length of this ethereally gorgeous top as he longed to see if the stir he had believed to feel in Kibum’s spandex tights, wasn’t a creation of his own imagination.
“Unblock me?” Kibum asked in English, his voice dropping an octave the moment he switched language. Had Minho not been hard already, this would have done it. To illustrate his words he shook his phone and then turned around forcefully enough so his top spread out it’s fabric and bands just like it would as soon as the man took over the ice.
Faintly, Minho could hear a commotion outside – most likely Kibum’s stylists and coaches giving him hell for disappearing shortly before he was supposed to present his free program and coming back with his make-up messed up.
Two days later, Kibum easily took home gold, and Minho couldn’t even be disappointed when the man stood right there next to him up on the podium. When it was time to take the photographs the latter handed over his bouquet of flowers to Minho, so he could put his bedazzled arm over his shoulders, pulling him close, flush against his side.
He had done the same to the second placed Russian skater, as Minho had later seen in the newspapers, but in the moment it couldn't have mattered less.
Finishing on the podium on your first Olympics was accomplishment enough, so Minho smiled into the camera while holding up his bronze medal.
Just as some cameras flashed, Kibum turned his head towards him, whispering into his ear with a smirk playing around his lips:
“Don't worry, there’s always a next time.”