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The Olympics are fun. Obviously, Quinn knew they were going to be fun, it’s the fucking Olympics. But they were busy too. Also expected, just not something Quinn thought he’d have too much of an issue with.
Except… he hadn’t talked to Kirill in probably a week. They texted on and off when there was time but for the most part they just missed each other. Quinn got on the ice just as Kirill woke up or Kirill was getting back from a dinner with Zuccy and Quinn was already long asleep.
And that wasn’t even mentioning the added complication, Quinn was sharing a room the size of a college dorm with his younger brother.
It was nice to be able to hang out with Jack so much, don’t get him wrong it was just… he missed Kirill. A lot. But their thing was new and nobody knew about it yet, not even in Minnesota, so Quinn didn’t want to call him with Jack in the room. He didn’t want to risk Jack finding out accidentally.
Things finally worked out when Jack said he was going to grab dinner and Quinn waved him off, saying he had plans to go with Fabes later.
As soon as he heard the door click shut he was calling Kirill. It would be around noon in Minnesota, he’d be shocked if the older didn’t pick up.
“Quinny?” He hears through the receiver, and breathes out a sigh of relief he wasn’t aware he was holding in.
He stands up to pace around the room as he talks. “Kirill, hey.” He starts, a grin immediately working its way onto his face. “I miss you.”
A soft giggle can be heard from Kirill’s end. “I miss you too. How is the village?”
“It’s good.” He shrugs, “Food is okay and my roommate is annoying but y’know. It’s the Olympics.”
Kirill laughs again. “You don’t love sharing with your brother?”
Shaking his head, Quinn breathes out a laugh too. “No, it’s good. Honestly it’s kind of nice, I missed him too. Just, like, weird. I feel like I’m a kid again but I also feel like i’m back in college, hanging out in the dorms.”
Humming, Quinn can hear Kirill shuffling around vaguely. He wonders what he’s doing, if he was playing DOTA before Quinn called and had to pause to answer. Or maybe he was making lunch.
Kirill begins speaking again and shakes Quinn out of his thoughts. “Ah, yes, college. Didn’t you drop out?” He asks, teasing.
Quinn rolls his eyes and flops down onto the bed. The mattresses are weird. They’re somehow firm and soft at the same time, all in the wrong places. “Yes,” he says, dragging out the ‘y’, “but, I still went for two years! That’s two years of dorming experience you don’t have.”
He can hear Kirill shuffling again. Wonders if he’s lying down too. Maybe if he tries hard enough he can imagine Kirill is here next to him.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe? You didn’t even go to college.”
Kirill laughs, bright and contagious like always. “Did not need to. I was too busy in the Olympics and KHL.”
“It’s still crazy to me that you have a gold medal.” Quinn comments, looking around the room. There’s team america shit everywhere. He wonders if in a week or so he’ll have one to match Kirill’s.
“Is crazy to me too. Was so long ago and I was so young.” Quinn wonders what it would’ve been like if he had been there. Had met Kirill sooner. Nothing would’ve happened probably, but he can’t help the thought crossing his mind. “I wish I could go again.” Kirill says just above a whisper. Like it’s a sin to admit it.
Quinn presses his lips together into a fine line. “I wish you could be here too.” He says after a minute of contemplation.
The silence lingers for a moment until Kirill pipes back up. “Alright, no more. Tell me everything about it so far.”
Quinn starts rattling off everything that’s happened. Tells him about the flight over (even though Kirill already heard about it) and the fittings for team USA. Kirill says he saw the pictures, thought that Quinn looked very cute.
A blush spreads across Quinn’s cheeks at that and for the first time he’s grateful Kirill isn’t there. He knows he’d get teased for it.
He continues telling Kirill about the village and the city, the events he’d been to so far (not very many, too much practice to get in). He starts to complain about the conditions of the ice and the hockey when he hears Kirill’s breath hitch funnily.
Quinn pauses for a second before continuing. Maybe he stubbed his toe. Or is looking at something on his phone while listening to Quinn drone on.
When it happens again, Quinn takes a moment. “Kirill… are you…” he trails off. Kirill’s breath is heavy. It’s hard not to assume.
Kirill hums in question but it doesn’t come out low and sure like it usually does. It’s high and needy. He speaks then, a whiny “Quinny,” falling from his lips. Quinn can practically hear the pout in his voice. The unspoken request.
Shaking his head, Quinn sits up on the bed. “Kirill.” He warns. “I have no idea when Jack will be back.”
“We’ll just have to be quick then.” Kirill reasons.
Quinn exhales a low “Fuck.” and he knows Kirill is grinning on the other end of the line. “You’re a dick, you know that?”
“I think you like it.” Kirill practically purrs.
Quinn feels his mouth water, wishes Kirill was here, tangible in front of him. He tells Kirill as much while he lies back down.
“Wish you were here too, Quinny.” He can hear more shuffling on the other end of the line as he rests a hand at the hem of his shorts, not giving in just yet. “Miss your hands. Fuck, want you to touch me.”
Quinn finally palms himself at that, unable to hold back any longer. It feels so good and he arches into his own touch, pretending it’s Kirill’s hand instead. “Jesus, Kirill. What has you so worked up for me?” He asks, breathy. Wants to hear Kirill tell him all his fantasies so when he gets back they can recreate them.
Another whine resonates through the receiver. “You were talking about hockey and just so passionate.” Kirill’s breath hitches again. Quinn wishes he could see him. Wonders if he has a hand down his pants yet or if he’s just stroking himself over cloth like Quinn is. “I watched you play yesterday too, thought about that. How I miss seeing you play every day, playing next to you.” Quinn squeezes his dick through his shorts, teasing himself. The idea of Kirill watching him play does something to him.
He exhales low and wanting, encouraging Kirill to continue. “Then could not stop thinking about your hands. What they do to me. Pulling my hair while I suck your dick. Leaving bruises when you fuck me. Could not stop thinking about it. Needed to hear you say my name again.”
“Kirill.” Quinn gasps, finally shoving his hand under the hem of his shorts and boxers.
“блядь-” Kirill groans. “Just like that, Quinny.”
A low moan falls from Quinn’s lips and he has to remind himself to be quiet. These buildings are basically college dorms on steroids (for some, literally. At this point everyone had heard about the ski jumping guys) and if they’re anything like the dorms Quinn had in Michigan, the walls are extremely fucking thin.
He wraps his hand around his cock anyways, pumping slowly. The danger always did something for him and Kirill knew it. Knew he could do this and Quinn would go right along with him.
Kirill must notice Quinn is holding back because he speaks up. “Want to hear you Quinny. You are too quiet.” He huffs, breathless.
“Can’t.” Quinn chokes out as he runs his thumb over the slit of his leaking cock. “The walls are thin. Somebody would hear.”
He can almost hear Kirill roll his eyes. “But, Quinny.” He whines and Quinn can tell he’s almost there. He always gets needier when he’s about to come.
“You’re close already?” He asks, teasing. “How long did you play with yourself while we were on the phone? The whole time?”
Kirill gasps and Quinn speeds up his hand, wanting to catch up with him. It’s always hotter when they come together.
“You’re always so fucking horny. I don’t even have to do anything for you to get hard.”
A whimper rings out and then Kirill speaks again, “not really.”
Quinn huffs a laugh before smothering it with a low groan. Neither of them can seem to take dirty talk seriously. “You gonna come for me?”
Kirill sucks in a shaky breath. “So close, Quinny. Need to hear you.”
Quinn tries not to feel embarrassed as he lets himself go a little more. Convinces himself everyone is down at dinner or something as he lets another, louder groan fall from his lips.
He knows exactly what his boyfriend needs and gasps out a needy, “Kirill,” feeling the thrum of accomplishment flow through his body when he hears a few familiar Russian expletives escape Kirill’s mouth, mixed between whispers of Quinn’s own name.
Quinn is close, stroking himself, depraved and hungry as he listens to Kirill moan. He lets go of the phone and holds it between the side of his face and his shoulder to let his free hand clamp over his mouth.
Kirill’s voice comes back then, husky the way it always is after he comes. “You close, Quinny?” He asks, sweet and sultry.
“Mmhm.” Quinn half moans, smothered by his makeshift muzzle.
“You’ve been so good,” Kirill starts, laying the praise on thick. He knows how much it affects Quinn. “Such a good boy, just for me.”
Quinn gasps out a “fuck,” and wonders if Kirill could hear it through his hand.
He must be able to because he continues. “That’s my good boy, come on, Quinny, come for me.”
And that’s all Quinn needs before he’s shooting into his shorts and boxers, biting at his fingers to shut himself up.
After taking a minute to catch his breath, Quinn gets hit with an insane amount of post nut clarity. He’s in the olympic village, in a room he shares with his brother, with cum painting his shorts like he’s a fucking teenager.
“Fuck, Kirill, you asshole, what am I gonna do about this?” He asks, pulling his disgusting hand out of his shorts. Thinks about how if Kirill was here he’d probably ask to lick it off.
He shakes that thought out of his mind when he feels his dick stir again. Wipes his hand on his already destroyed boxers.
“What? Did you make a mess?” Kirill asks, teasing tone already back.
Quinn huffs, “I came in my fucking shorts, dude.”
“Fuck,” Kirill exhales, “Can you send a picture?” Because of course this fucking freak wants a picture.
“Only if you send one back.” He replies, already pulling out his phones camera and lifting up the hem of his shorts and boxers with the hand still sticky with cum. It’s gross. Quinn really needs a shower.
His phone dings before he can even open his texts with Kirill. An image fills his phone and he can see the lower half of Kirill’s face, cheeks flushed with his mouth slowly agape. His forefinger is pushed just past his lips, the pad pressed against his tongue. Quinn can see the little gap between his bottom teeth, misses running his own tongue over it when they kiss.
Trailing his eyes down he can see a few thick globs of cum on Kirill’s chest and stomach. Wonders if the finger in Kirill’s mouth had scooped one of them up. If he was tasting himself. Knowing Kirill, he probably was.
His thick cock lays heavy on his stomach, Quinn only able to make out the tip, still flushed and red. He wishes he could wrap his mouth around it. Coax out a second orgasm.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He exhales.
“You like?” Quinn can hear the smile in Kirill’s voice.
He nods even though Kirill can’t see it. “Yes, yeah, you look so good.”
Kirill hums back. “Send yours.” And that spurs Quinn back into action, tapping through and sending a picture that pales in comparison.
The angle is awkward and you can barely see anything but Kirill must like it because he gasps right away. “Fuck, Quinn. You were desperate.”
“Woah, what the fuck?” He says, laughing before he can help himself. “You were jacking off while I was talking about hockey, you’re the desperate one.”
Kirill hums like he’s working something out. “Maybe, yes. Maybe we both are.” He says eventually and Quinn can’t really argue that he’s not. His shorts are starting to stick to his thighs.
Quinn doesn’t really want to but he sits up anyways. Jack could get back any minute and he really doesn’t feel like getting caught like this. “I have to go shower.”
“Probably good idea.” Kirill says and Quinn can hear shuffling in the background. He’s probably going to do the same. “Was fun, I missed you.”
Quinn’s grin grows impossibly bigger. He doesn’t know if he’s ever smiled this much in his entire life. “I missed you too. Maybe we can do this again before I leave.”
He can hear Kirill groan as the sound of a door closing and then water turning on can be heard in the background. “Yes, please.”
Shaking his head, Quinn stands from the bed and begins searching for a fresh set of clothes. He is not excited to roam the halls of the olympic village with cum in his shorts. “Alright, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Quinny.”
Quinn bites his lip. “Bye, Kirill.” And then he can hear the call beep, disconnected.
He has to laugh to himself, in disbelief he really did that. He tosses his phone onto the bed and then grabs a random pair of sweatpants as well as a fresh shirt and boxers.
Taking a deep breath before he opens the door to the hall, Quinn hope he doesn’t run into anybody. Probably wouldn’t not be the greatest introduction.