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When Alysa Liu announced her return to skating, it felt like the world’s axis had tilted for Amber. Could such a thing be done? Did a book always have to stay shut once you’ve closed it? And a question that haunted her at night – did we have more of a say about the end of our careers than we think?
Her confusion deepened watching Alysa reunite with her skates, almost like she never stopped, that the break did more for her than years of training ever could. She initially balks at the slew of interviews from the younger girl, who insists she wants to have fun and doesn’t care about the results, but then – along with the entire skating world – comes to realize that Alysa isn’t joking. She’s… actually free. Weightless. How is it possible?
The road to the Milano Cortina 2026 Olympics reminds Amber that she can’t dwell too long on this mystery. She has milestones to hit, results to secure, and there is so little room for error. She can’t think about the path of others while hers is still unsure.
The Nationals. Then the Worlds. Then the Grand Prix. Rinse and repeat to the Nationals, and the moment she’s been dreaming of for nearly three excruciating years is back within her reach.
Missing Beijing weighed heavily – still weighs heavily – on Amber every time she touches the ice. She knows that the opportunity to prove herself on the world stage was ripped from her fingers at the last second with one positive test, and that history will look back and sigh over the situation just as she has for the past three years.
She’s 24 and can’t confidently say if she’s approaching, at, or past a prime that is discussed endlessly in figure skating. She thinks of Eteri and her “expired” skaters at 17. She ruminates on the pain that persists from the moment she opens her eyes in the morning until she closes them at night. The injuries, the breaks from ice that she could’ve extended permanently, the late-night questions of what skate may – or should – be her last. But the thought of the Olympics keeps her going. It’s an unresolved angst that sits squarely on her chest at her lowest moments.
“Amber,” a voice shouts on her left. She’s snapped out of her moment of absence and blinks, reorienting herself. Her head swivels to her coach, who is staring at her expectantly. “It’s your practice slot,” he reminds her softly, knowing that she had drifted somewhere else.
“Oh,” she says softly, inhaling to collect herself from wherever she went. She grips the walls of the rink and steps towards the opening.
A noise of alert stops her again. “Skate guards,” Her coach chides, lowering his eyes to her feet. She was about to step onto the ice with her guards on. She rolls her eyes with a half–hearted smile.
“Sorry,” Amber replies while reaching to pull off her guards and places them on the wall. Now, feeling like she’s in the right state to skate – and won’t fall on her ass thanks to skate guards – she grips the door again and stretches a leg out over the divider.
“Wait!”
“Wha –”
A rush of wind startles her as something flies past at the same time that she’s turned her head to see what her coach needs now, and she gasps, stumbling backwards. She catches herself on the wall again, whipping her head forwards to a blur of staggered brown and blonde skating past.
“Sorry!” Alysa’s light voice calls out as she gains distance, having been going quite fast on her pass. She was just wrapping up her practice. The smile on the younger girl’s lips is one of a truce – no ill will behind the near–collision. Not that there should be, anyways. Amber was the one stepping onto an active rink without her head clean on her shoulders.
Amber inhales again, and takes the ice.
+++
The Nationals this year are in Wichita. Amber has her programs down pat – knows every twist, curve, and lean she needs to secure a podium position.
It goes smoothly – smoother than she expected – but Alysa is tight on her heels. Just barely a point away from taking the title.
The thought of it strikes a new stress on Amber’s ledger. She’s always watched Alysa from a distance, even as a younger skater. She knew the stories, knew the fame, the records that the young girl had beaten back then. And now, it seemed she was back and ready to add to her list of accolades.
It’s not something Amber spends much more time thinking about as she carefully steps up onto the first position podium, skates pressing softly into the mat. A medal is draped around her neck and she smiles, knowing she’s one step closer to the Olympics.
The plane crash brings the world to a startling halt. Young faces – faces she had just skated with, coaches she had spoken to and met, parents she had seen in passing as they huddled in cold rinks day in and day out. The next generation of figure skaters, cut at the knee – lives taken so, so far before their prime.
She grieves, and she grieves.
In her, a small voice reminds her that she needs to take advantage of every day she has on the ice. A voice that shouldn’t be speaking up so soon after such a tragedy, but it’s often these moments of despair that remind us what we’re here for. What we’re working towards. What matters.
Headed into Worlds, Amber knows her time is precious.
+++
Media days aren’t her favorite. Never were, never will be. It’s a constant manufactured positioning of women against women. Thankfully, years of media training and a mental breakdown that showed her what rock bottom could be like have her primed for the worst. She knows how to navigate questions that pit her against the latest prospect.
However, the universe seems to want to emphasize a recurring theme lately. Remind her of its makings.
Amber finds her interviews often scheduled near Alysa on media days since the girl returned to the sport to great fanfare. They often sit in the same green rooms, poked and prodded with makeup for broadcast and talking points from the US Figure Skating body. Again, she witnesses how frictionless Alysa’s return is – her aptitude to head into an interview smiling, as if skating as light as a feather on top of questions that would trip any lesser skater up.
Amber’s zoning out, scrolling on her phone just off camera in a makeup chair while she waits for Alysa’s interview to end, when the interviewer catches her attention.
“So, the Nationals. You came just one point behind Amber Glenn. How did that feel and how are you headed into these next few days off the back of such a close result?”
Amber freezes. It’s a run of the mill question, and it’s valid. A one point difference can and will haunt a skater for as long as they live, and this interview was clearly trying to get a soundbite to leverage that could make Alysa seem scared, frustrated, or messy headed into the programs.
“Honestly, I haven’t thought about the Nationals at all since they ended. I was happy with my results and I had a fun time. I think that’s what matters most to me, and that’s the mindset I’ll have here.”
She has to hold back a scoff. Hadn’t thought about the Nationals? It’s such a foreign concept, to be so aloof about something people work for all year, but Amber stops herself and continues to listen.
“And on Amber Glenn – she’s a favorite here, and many believe she may take the title. There hasn’t been a US woman to take this title in nearly two decades. Do you think you have a shot, too?”
Amber looks at Alysa, who is remaining cool, collected, and keeping her eye contact with the reporter. The younger girl smiles broadly and gives a shrug.
“I’d be really happy to achieve that, for any of our skaters to achieve that. But I just want to go out there, do what I love, and have a good time.”
God, how does she do this? Amber wonders. How did that not get under her skin? Give her pause?
Now, Amber wonders if she’s assigned the role of the competitor too broadly, too rashly to Alysa. The feeling of envy settles in her chest. She wishes she could approach something like Worlds with such – such – apathy? No… trust? Confidence? But the prospect isn’t even something Amber can imagine.
She wishes she were more open – could just ask Alysa how she does it – but she’s taken out of her thoughts again as the interview wraps and her team moves to get her out of the chair and into the exact spot Alysa had just been sitting. She had daydreamed for long enough for the younger girl to have disappeared, freed herself from this media circus.
She puts on her best shining smile at the camera.
+++
Though her coaches advise against it, sometimes the best practices Amber has are ones that last all day. Beyond the rink’s scheduled hours, when slots are no longer maintained and policed, and the ice is just open to those who need to ground themselves.
She’s drenched in sweat, gulping down water as she stares at the ice. Running through her program, she knows where she’s faltering – where her feet are ahead of her mind, or where her mind is behind her feet, and what she needs to fix.
Frustration racks her body. There’s no reason that she should be feeling any lack of faith in her program at this point. She’s done it hundreds of times, but the realization that an audience will fill the seats in less than 24 hours to watch her perform it is different.
She places her water down and glides forward, breathing slow and softly to set herself into her start. She executes her triple axel, but as she comes out of the spin and lands, she knows it still isn’t right. A growl rips out of her throat as she spins aimlessly, rifling through her brain for a solution to this mental block between her and perfection.
“You’re skating angry,” someone calls from across the rink.
No, she was not alone. Someone else had the same itch that she did to keep practicing. Maybe it was the prospect of laying in bed, knowing that when you woke up it’d be time to prove yourself again, that they wanted to avoid.
Amber wipes the sweat from her forehead and angles her skates gently to turn around. Alysa is gliding to her carefully, a neutral but careful smile on her face.
“I am angry,” Amber admits petulantly, sighing. “There’s no reason for me to feel this way about my triple axel. I’ve landed it hundreds of times. But it just doesn’t feel right.”
Alysa nods wordlessly. Amber eyes her, figuring that the girl is opting to listen in place of advising.
“It’s just…” the older skater trails off, shaking her head. “I don’t know.” She looks back up to Alysa and almost is startled with the realization that they’re speaking. It’s not that they haven’t spoken before – they’re cordial and kind in events, but there’s no one here. No one watching, no one drafting a headline Amber Glenn snubs Alysa Liu off the ice in their notes. “I’m sorry, I’m completely standing in the middle of the rink here. Did you want to do your runthrough? I think I’m going to leave anyway,” Amber mutters.
“Oh, no!” Alysa reassures, smiling kindly. “You’re fine, I was just getting some extra time in. Not often you get the rink so empty,” she says matter-of-factly, knowing that Amber will appreciate the sentiment all the same.
“Yeah,” Amber replies quietly, glancing away. “Well… good luck tomorrow,” she finishes.
Alysa looks at her for a beat and grins bigger. “You too,” she says, and Amber knows she means it.
The older skater glides off the ice, and almost all at once, she becomes aware of how sore her body is from the exertion of twice as much practice. Her eyebrows furrow and guilt blooms in her chest. The fixation to cure her triple axel hesitation may result in her body feeling weak tomorrow, which could cost her her entire program.
As she’s tucking all of her belongings into her bag, she hears the tell–tale acceleration of skates behind her that means someone is preparing a jump. She turns and watches Alysa flawlessly execute a triple toe loop, landing with such softness and confidence.
Amber stares for almost too long before looking at the time on her phone – 11:43 PM. She had to be awake in just over 6 hours. She glances back to Alysa and wonders whether the other girl feels the same threat of time. Something tells her no, as Alysa flies about the rink peacefully. Any other skater would be begging to be off the ice by now, but instead, this comeback anomaly couldn’t get enough. Like a kid asking for five more minutes in bed.
The older skater looks away finally, knowing she can’t afford to find her own pillow any later than she already is.
+++
The second Amber’s blades hit the ice the next day, with the heat of the overhead spotlights shining on her, she knows she’s off balance.
The extra practice did fuck all, she realizes dreadfully. As she skates into position, she thinks of Alysa – something she should know better as to not do right now – but can’t stop herself. The younger girl’s program was flawless, and the crowd ate it right out of her hands.
She shakes her head, trying to dust off the nerves and comparison, but still nothing feels right. It’s like she can feel her blade splitting the ice, the sensation of her dress on her thigh, the curious murmuring of the crowd. As the opening beat of her track booms through the speakers, she sees Alysa standing off near the kiss and cry.
Why is she still out here? Amber thinks. Most skaters leave to the green rooms the second their programs end, either to change, or get away from the scrutiny and reality of the skate. Plus, the girl had the highest points thus far as the rest of the lineup queued to skate – she was the score to beat.
She has no time to think about it as the beat that serves as her cue to move plays.
Amber knows before she even begins to position her body for the triple axel that it isn’t right. That it won’t be right. Later, she thinks her brain protected itself as best it could, as she doesn’t even remember the fall. Just the heat of shame and burning desire to get up and finish her routine.
Ninth place. Not even in the top five. The free skate goes no smoother, her body rattled, but she pulls off fourth place, ending fifth overall.
She feels tears prickling behind her eyes as she watches the ceremony from inside the green room. Alysa steps to the first position podium, leaping into the air with unbridled joy, and Amber has to look away.
+++
Japan comes and goes. The Grand Prix arrives before Amber knows it, and she’s starting to feel like she’s trudging along.
Essentially, she knows the US Figure Skating body and ISU are looking at her as someone who can pull it off 50% of the time, having taken the title at Nationals and slipped down in rankings at Worlds. An abysmal ratio that could see her losing out once again at the Olympics if she wasn’t careful. And she wouldn’t blame them – Team USA is supposed to be the best of the best, not the barely good enough.
This time, during media day, all of her interviews are scheduled before Alysa. The younger girl, somehow, has taken the world even further by storm.
This time, Amber is bombarded with pointed questions about her fall at Worlds. Did she think she had it in her to do a triple axel in her program? Was she pushing herself too soon, putting her at risk of losing points she couldn’t afford?
Even worse, the clip of her stumble plays constantly in recaps and B-roll footage ahead of her interviews. It’s actually the first time she really experiences the incident, having felt it almost out of body as if through a camera anyways. She knows she should look away, but something about the sting of shame soothes her. That she deserves to look at the failure, needs to. She finally breaks free of the replay, knowing what her therapist would say about that line of self-flagellation.
Alysa takes first in both short program and free skate, and the title, and the sinking feeling in Amber’s gut deepens.
+++
Somehow, the Nationals come back around. Amber had skated through the interim of the season safely, but she wouldn’t dare say in any regard that she felt confident about making Team USA.
Two weeks at the training facility remind her that she needs to get out of her own head. Though it went against everything she stood for in interviews, about accessibility, kindness, opening the field to the younger generation, she knew she had to embody the ice princess mentality over the next few weeks or she risked losing it all.
She kept pleasantries with fellow skaters brief, and everyone quickly picked up on her outwards broadcast to leave her be. She practiced for hours and hours on the ice, begged for additional time spent coaching, scheduled additional massages and therapeutics for her screaming muscles.
Out of the corner of her eye sometimes, she sees a halo of brown and blonde watching her from a distance. If she looks too close, she can see a worried visage. But still, she skates on.
The pre-event dinner finds Amber seated right next to Alysa. There’s no reason to be, but her body is stiff and she’s almost afraid to breathe too loud, as though any acknowledgment of the other girl could shatter the walls she’d built carefully over the past two weeks.
The older skater pushes around pieces of broccoli on her plate. It’s not that she’s displeased with the meal, or limiting her food like she had in the past, but rather that there were too many people in this room. Too many that know her, too many that don’t, too many that claim to, too many that want to. Suddenly, the weight of the environment is too much and she shoots up out of her chair to curious stares.
“Sorry,” she says quickly. “Just need some air,” she explains politely with a convivial smile, quickly scooting out of the table and out to the cold, St. Louis night air.
Before she can even collect herself, she hears the door behind her open. Instinctively, she goes to move further away, expecting another patron to just be trying to exit. Instead, an air of familiarity surrounds her.
“Hey,” Alysa calls softly, burrowing her hands into her team jacket. “Um, are you okay?” the younger girl asks earnestly with no prelude, as if it was obvious that Amber’s exit wasn’t the norm.
Amber looks at her with wide eyes, startled to be met with such direct concern. “Y–Yeah,” she stutters, cringing internally at her lack of composure. “Just… too stuffy in there.”
“For sure,” Alysa agrees, nodding enthusiastically. A moment pauses between them. “I really hate these white tablecloth type restaurants. Really boring conversations in there,” she continues, almost as if oblivious to the circumstances of why they’re out there. Like it’s commonplace.
Amber nods slowly, unsure of what else to say.
“Hey, are you still hungry?” asks Alysa. “I could eat, and I know a hella good place near here actually. I really just want some greasy french fries.”
“Um… sure,” the older skater agrees awkwardly, glancing back at the restaurant. Could they just leave? Surely an official or coach would notice?
“I think we’re fine,” the other girl chirps, sensing Amber’s hesitation. “I snuck away from so many of those even when I was a kid, when someone definitely should’ve had a special eye on me. C’mon, follow me.”
Amber frowns at that, but wipes it off her face quickly, as she could tell easily that the weight of that statement weighed heavier on her than it did on Alysa. The two walk in an undefined silence for a few minutes, until Amber is pleasantly surprised to be turning into a bar – first, that Alysa actually knew a place, and second, a bar?!
“Aren’t you not –” Amber begins.
“Twenty one? Pssh,” Alysa laughs, waving her off. “I’m not here to drink. It’s not like it’s illegal to order some french fries. Well, maybe being here, but… whatever!” The two take a seat in a booth with crusting vinyl surfacing and a sticky wooden tabletop. It’s awful, but it’s just the right amount of absurd that she doesn’t mind.
The older skater is quiet and awkward at first – almost embarrassingly so, given that she should be able to conversate more comfortably given their age difference. However, as they chat about inconsequential topics, she begins to warm up a bit and even cracks a smile at Alysa’s seemingly endless nonchalance.
“And yeah, I mean, being back has been interesting but it is annoying as hell that so much hasn’t changed, like these stupid dinners when we all just want to rest,” Alysa groans, biting into a fry.
Amber nods sadly. “It’s a lot of bureaucracy. I think it’s so that they can take pictures with us to show people one day if we go on to be anything,” she whispers bitterly. Alysa laughs.
“Damn, that’s dark,” she replies. Amber gives a shy smile and shrugs.
“Yeah, well…” the thought trails off naturally, but Amber shakes her head out of the line of thinking. “Do you feel… more in it, now? Since this is your second Nationals back?”
Alysa chews pensively, and even reaches for another fry. Even now, Amber envies the way the world just doesn’t sit on the younger girl’s shoulders like it does for her, that even in these tiny moments she’s not in a rush nor burdened.
“I guess so. When I first came back, it was hard, because a lot of people I knew weren’t skating anymore. It was pretty lonely at first,” Alysa recalls, pursing her lips for a brief second of pensiveness before she resumed her usual, cheery air. “But you’re here,” she says casually.
Amber laughs. “Yeah, I guess I am. Gosh, you were so young when we first met. Did you ever see that photo of you sitting on my lap when you were what, 10? Eating goldfish?”
The younger girl shakes her head. “No, man. I actually… I actually don’t remember a lot from before I retired,” she admits. Now, Amber can’t keep the frown off her face. She’s silent, giving Alysa the space to continue. “And what I do remember, I’m kind of trying to forget. It doesn’t do me any good.”
“I’m sorry that it was like that.”
“Yeah…” Alysa says, dragging out the h as if it were something inconsequential. “Actually, you were part of the reason why I came back.”
“What?” Amber says, feeling her heart catch a second.
“No, yeah, I’m serious. You’re so… open, and real. About skaters like me, you know, the next generation. What needs to change in the skating world. I really didn’t keep up with anything while I was retired, but I remember I saw a clip of one of your programs… you were wearing pants!”
“... pants?”
“Yeah man, pants. So cool. I don’t even think I considered pants to be an option when I was younger, but that just showed how different you are. And then when you came out, I mean…” Alysa’s hands fly up, adding a boom effect for emphasis near her head. “Just so cool.”
The older skater blushes, ducking her chin down. She’s not sure what to say. She knows how much she’s done for skating – is still trying to do for skating – but to be met with such open acknowledgment is a lot, especially with how down she’s felt lately.
“The world needs more people like us,” Alysa says with a conspiratorial smile, staring straight through Amber’s soul. The older girl blinks and pauses in her response. Us? But media training and pleasantries kick in.
“Yeah, it is important for you younger skaters to understand things don’t need to be the same… the expiration dates, pushing your body to its breaking point, y’know…”
Alysa just looks at her, almost as if searching for something in her response, before nodding softly. “Yeah.”
Amber licks her lips nervously and reaches for another fry.
+++
The medal around her neck feels like it weighs a thousand tons. She feels like she should be crying, or showing some more outward display of shock and emotions, but a content smile is all she needs.
She’s secured the title, becoming the Nationals Champion for the third year in a row.
Now, now she knew – that Team USA spot had to be hers. The Nationals were a tried-and-true indicator of who should get a slot, and in a moment of rare cockiness, she knew it was just a matter of time now.
And time it was – weeks later, Amber, Alysa, and Isabeau were announced as the women’s single skaters for Team USA. They all grasp hands on the stage with a synchronized bow and locked fists pumping into the air.
This was it. She waited years for this. Long gone were the feelings of misery and despair as she sat on her couch in Texas in 2022, watching people step into the rink as skaters and exiting as Olympians, figuring it would never be her. Her age and her body weren’t on her side, but she fought – and damn fucking hard – to be standing here today.
Amber is comforted by the fact that Isabeau made the cut. The young girl is an up-and-coming skater that she always felt closer to, protective over, maternal even. They often spent time in and outside of the rink together despite their age difference, and the older skater considered Isabeau one of her genuine friends in the skating world.
However, as the cameras flash and snap the trio, a sad, evil, mangled part of her realizes two things at once.
One: Isabeau is a comfort because she isn’t a threat. The girl was improving year over year, but Amber was at the top of her game.
And two: A real threat stood beside her, fingers tucked between her own, grinning a shiny smile. If she wanted to medal in these Olympics, Alysa could very well stand between her and lifetime recognition.
She knew that wasn’t in the Olympic spirit, but damn the Olympic spirit for now. Still, she swallows down the thought shamefully, and puts on her best smile for the cameras.
+++
The Olympics training camp is a masterclass in team bonding. The US – as a country and as a body of best-in-class athletes – could not afford to show up on the world stage without seeming cohesive, not now, not these days.
The three spend a lot of time together in the lead-up, even as far as to be rooming together for “maximum compatibility,” per the IOC’s pre-Olympics recommendations.
It’s a fun period that Amber felt most fond about, especially as she had started to feel her self-imposed isolation had taken the community and joy out of her season. She had sacrificed connection for concentration.
In this close environment, Alysa pushes even further into Amber’s orbit. The two are often the first into the rink and last ones out and share conversations on just about everything and anything in that time. They come to realize how many hobbies they have in common, and Amber realizes that Alysa’s mentality is quite close to her own – just without the pesky voice in her head, clearly.
One night, the three are in their room, sitting on the floor passing Uno cards around. Alysa, in all of her interesting facets, thought that Uno and several other decks of cards were essential for an Olympics training camp. To her credit, that was accurate, even if it meant finding out Isabeau was a sadist who loved to stack plus fours.
“Really, Iz, stop,” Alysa pleads, picking up the three plus fours with dramatic effect. “I’m about to just eat these cards.”
“Soooorry,” the youngest singsongs, doing a little dance as she takes into account that she’s closest to Uno. “Take it up with the Uno powers that be.”
“Right…” Alysa mutters halfheartedly, frowning at the state of her hand.
Isabeau tuts, thinking about what card to put down next. “I really can’t believe we’re headed to Milan in two weeks.” The topic was something that the girls could discuss endlessly, and smiles grew on everyone’s faces at the repeated realization. “What was it like when you were there last?”
“Chaotic,” Alysa admits, putting her cards face down – nary a moment to allow cheating. “But amazing. Everyone is just super friendly and you meet so many people.”
“Ugh, I can’t wait. But… hey,” Isabeau starts, leaning into Alysa. “What ever happened to that girl you were talking to?”
Amber pauses at this, eyes flickering between the two. She knew that Isabeau and Alysa were slightly friendlier than she was with either, being closer in age and personality, but she didn’t expect the two to discuss love and dating so openly. While Isabeau could be so composed – almost as elegant as a princess on the ice – she was very much the playful type that loved Alysa’s free spirit.
Alysa frowns. “It fizzled out,” she states plainly. “Since I had to focus on the Olympics, we agreed the timing just wasn’t right. But who knows, maybe when I get back I’ll reach out to her again,” she says with a shrug.
Amber flashes back to their secret sneaking away back in St. Louis for the Nationals. That moment, amid their conversation, where Amber had felt as though Alysa wanted to say – meant to say – did say – more than she had caught on. Maybe she had misread the conversation entirely… Alysa likes women? She wonders. Just women? Or…? She blinks, wiping the unnecessary question out of her mind.
Later, Amber, feeling like she is not eight years older than Isabeau but in that moment younger, carefully catches the youngest girl in a moment alone.
“Hey,” Amber starts softly. Isabeau looks over. “Is Alysa… um, gay?”
“Are you serious?” Isabeau says flatly.
“No, like, bisexual or?” Deep down, a ping of concern hits. She knows she shouldn’t assume this – especially from someone as open and smoothgoing as Alysa – but the fear of biphobia was deep in her. Quickly, she realizes maybe this conversation was a stupid idea, but it’s too late to roll it back.
Isabeau looks at her with a glint in her eyes. “I don’t think she’s labeling it, but she likes girls, if that’s what you’re asking…”
Amber’s brows furrow at the implication of Isabeau’s look, before nodding in satisfaction with the conversation ending there.
+++
Their flight to, and arrival in, Milan sneaks up. Suddenly, she’s fitted entirely in Team USA gear and assigned a single room. Some athletes lament at the privilege, but Amber isn’t sure if she’s happy or terrified. The past two weeks have been a lot of human contact and bonding. If she spirals for any reason, she knows she’ll want privacy, but her brain has gotten a bit addicted to always having someone near. In this case, the privacy may make her spiral more, but she doesn’t want to think about that any further.
She brushes off the fear anyways, as the Olympics has her spending more time with Isabeau and Alysa than ever before – even than at the training camp. Day in and day out, the three are almost connected at the hip, shuffled from photoshoot to media interview to athlete briefing to ceremony to brand event.
Here, Alysa’s ease in navigating the world shines. Her charm pulls cameras, and already she’s had several viral moments as the world eats up life in the Olympic Village.
Since they had arrived before the Opening Ceremony, with an event scheduled that would cause Amber and Alysa to miss the Ceremony anyways, the three girls got quite familiar with the neighborhood quickly. Most athletes were taking advantage of the early arrival to enjoy Milan and all the city had to offer before having to lock in for the performance of their lives.
That is how Amber finds herself opening her door at 10PM to urgent, excited knocks, to find Isabeau and Alysa on the other side of her room, dressed up and grinning.
“Amber,” Isabeau starts, fidgeting happily. “Alysa and I realized something most important.”
“... What?”
“We’re legally allowed to drink here!” the youngest cheers, clapping her hands gently. Amber’s face is slightly horrified. The thought of drinking was so ingrained in her as something to avoid, for diet implications, performance implications, everything… but at the same time, she’s worked hard to get to a point where a drink won’t – shouldn’t – throw her off mentally or physically. The two young girls are looking at her with so much hope that she just can’t say no.
“Alright,” the oldest barely manages to reply before the other two squeal and start hopping about.
The trio finds themselves in a small piazza, packed with people – truly normal people, Italians, young people full of excitement and life, everyone – while sipping on Aperol spritzes.
Isabeau, however, gags at her first sip. “Oh, this is gross,” she mutters, smacking her lips in distaste. Amber barks out a laugh.
“Aperol spritzes are a pretty wild drink to try for the first time,” she explains. “You should just order something else?”
“What else should I get?” Isabeau asks, the face of innocence. Amber feels a warmth of adoration blooming in her chest, and somehow, such a simple question triggers her sentimentality.
Instead of answering, Amber purses her lips and stares out into the piazza. This exact amalgamation of moments – Isabeau and Alysa drinking illegally, happy Italian chatter occurring around them, beautiful architecture walling them in – it all suddenly hits that Amber really made it to the Olympics.
Isabeau, not realizing that this had turned into a moment, was flipping through the menu for her options while Alysa advised. It’s not until the oldest lets out a sniffle that both heads whip up in shock to see a tear tracking down her face.
“Whoa, you good?” inquires Alysa, concern writ on her face.
Amber gives a wet, honest laugh, nodding with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, really good,” she says simply. She’s about to elaborate when a soft hand stretches out, wiping the tear from her face. Alysa looks at her with admiration, smiling softly to diffuse any sadness she thinks is within Amber. “I never thought I’d get here.”
The two look at Amber, letting her soak in the moment.
The oldest continues. “When I missed out on Beijing… I didn’t think I would come back for another season, let alone several more. I’m just… really glad to be here,” she says simply.
“You deserve to be here,” Alysa adds, smiling again before raising her drink towards Amber. “We all do,” she says with finality, urging for a cheers. Amber laughs another half-cry and raises her glass, as does Isabeau.
As the two younger girls finalize Isabeau’s new order, Amber sneaks a glance at Alysa. Had she kept the girl at arm’s length all this time for no real reason? In fear of pursuing her own goals, did she withhold herself from enjoying the company of someone with truly no ulterior motives or notions of competition?
It’s a thought she’ll have to wonder on her own, or resolve, now that the obstacles on the path to her dream have cleared.
Despite urging herself to stay in the moment, Amber finds herself in her head. She was happy – there was no denying that – but she just couldn’t get a hold on her head, sometimes.
The oldest gets uncharacteristically quiet. Alysa and Isabeau leave her in peace, figuring it’s just Olympics jitters. The silence gives Amber more time to consider whether she should say something to Alysa. Have I come off as standoffish? Or am I even further in my head than I think, and I’m getting offended on her behalf for no reason?
Ultimately, she opts to not say anything at all, figuring she is indeed overthinking it. She stands up to excuse herself to the bathroom and to pay the check quietly, as she didn’t want her juniors to open their pockets here. When she finally returns to the table, Isabeau and Alysa are whispering to each other closely and softly. She can barely hear, but she pauses in her return to the table, for whatever reason.
“No, I don’t think she sees it like that,” Alysa says, sounding frustrated.
“But I see it,” Isabeau whines back, bumping Alysa’s shoulder. “I don’t think Amber…” the youngest girl starts, which spurs Amber to walk up as to stop hearing anything about herself that would be damaging to her psyche and to spare an awkward moment. She clears her throat for extra good measure on her approach, and tries not to overthink the heavy shared glance Alysa and Isabeau share.
“Finish your drinks girls, we ought to head back,” she reminds, knowing she must take the responsible role. The other two groan, pulling a smile onto her lips.
+++
Everything between the Opening Ceremony and this exact moment was a blur. So much so that Amber feels like she blinked and suddenly she’s clutching her coach’s hands, tight enough to hurt, and he’s reminding her to breathe and just be Amber.
Her team skate portion is about to begin, and fuck, she is so in her own head she thinks bitterly, punishing herself mentally for punishing herself mentally – an endless feedback loop.
She’s taken out of the moment by something, and stumbles landing her triple axel. She doesn’t fall, but she knows her GOE won’t be worth shit. She grimaces into the remainder of her program, but it doesn’t get much better. Her triple flip falters, and she omits the inclusion of a toe loop. She feels like she’s stumbling down a steep mountain, with no end in sight, but then her program comes to an end with her best pose possible.
She glides off the ice, dejected. The situation here was worse, as she wasn’t just responsible for her own score but a part of Team USA’s chances. Someone hugs her and polite pats are made on her back. If the team doesn’t place, or places below silver, it’s all on me, she thinks.
She sinks to the floor next to everyone seated and zones out of the nervous but pleasant chatter. She pulls her knees close to her chest and stares forward, lost in thought.
She once read a study that silver medalists are often the most depressed athletes. To know that they came so close to the sun and fell at the final moment. To know you missed out legacy and fame from one mistake.
All of a sudden, Amber is pulled from her spiral by bursts of cheers and the ground shakes with movement of her team members jumping. Then, Alysa is pulling her to stand up – and hugging her, warm and jumpy, bursting full of energy with a grin. Oh god, what did we get? Amber wonders, eyes trying to find the nearest scoreboard. Then she sees it – gold.
She lets herself be pulled into a group jump with a half-hearted smile, but the first thought in her mind is – how much did I really do here?
Her coach speaks with her after the event, cheering her on for powering through her rough skate. He’s not wrong. There were several elements where the execution really could’ve been a true failure. Nonetheless, she takes the feedback and returns to her room, somehow feeling empty and full at the same time. She knows she shouldn’t be alone in this headspace and promises to herself solemnly to fight whatever spiral was around the corner.
And so, she is surprised when a knock comes at the door, and that it’s Alysa.
“Hi!” The younger one says cheerfully, unaware of the maelstrom brewing within Amber. “Do you want to come out with the team? We want to celebrate!”
Something claws at the inside of Amber’s chest. If she goes out again… no, she can’t. She can’t take pleasures and liberties like that, not with how she’s performing. She can’t borrow more than she’s allowed from this all.
Alysa waits for her reply patiently, but looks at the older skater closely. Somehow, she can tell that Amber is starting to drown and the water is coming up above her head. Softly, she reaches out to grab her hand.
“We’re just going to hang out in Ilia’s room,” Alysa clarifies. “Come for a little bit?” She asks, hand warm in Amber’s. The warmth is intoxicating to her mindset.
“Okay,” Amber acquiesces.
Alysa sticks by her side for the rest of that night, almost as if she knows, as if she could sense that Amber just needed it. The older skater is quiet, enjoying how loud and rambunctious Team USA is quietly, but she’s anchored in the moment by Alysa’s thumb rubbing softly over her hand as they sit.
+++
Later in the week, while hanging out in Alysa’s room while her roommate Ellie was gone, the newly coined Blade Girls are relaxing and scrolling social media. In the background, Alysa and Isabeau are taking funny TikToks. Amber is sat pensively, reading comments about her team skate. They’re not kind, and she shouldn’t be reading them, but she’s addicted to the numb feeling they give her. She’s mid-comment when her phone is pulled from her hand.
“I think we should go without screentime for a bit,” Alysa declares casually, holding Amber’s phone gently. Isabeau glances between the two, trying her best to read the room, before pouting and agreeing. The three come to a circle on the floor, with Amber picking at her nails quietly. She misses the glance shared between the other two.
A silent moment passes. Isabeau inhales, gearing up to speak. “Did you hook up with anybody last time you came to the Games?” she inquires, smirking.
Alysa, shellshocked for a rare moment, blushes with a laugh. “Yes,” she says so casually. Amber stops her picking. “A skier. From our northern sisters.”
“What?” Isabeau asks.
“... Canada.”
“Oh,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Yep,” Alysa says, popping the p. “Completely by chance. And um… she was my first,” she admits, looking down, the vision of demure.
Isabeau, as headstrong as can be, latches on to the concept. “The thought of losing your virginity at your first Olympics. What a story…” she says dreamily, staring off, which allows Alysa to whack her with a pillow. As the two bicker, Alysa glances sidelong at Amber. The look is so brief you could miss it if you blink. “Are you looking for anyone this time?” the youngest asks.
Alysa purses her lips and digs into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled note. “Some blonde girl from Sweden gave me her digits,” she says, tossing the urgently scribbled numerals in the middle of the trio. “Not sure though.”
At this, Amber stews inside. Though it’s been a while, the envy bubbles up within her again about Alysa. The difference in the generations… to walk the Olympic grounds so free, so sure of yourself, so unafraid. That even the thought of being perceived as queer wasn’t something to fear, but rather an expectation. A want, even. She knows Alysa isn’t officially out – not like she is – and yet somehow, the younger girl feels more secure in her identity than Amber in this moment.
Worse, her mind takes her next to places she shouldn’t go. Not while sat on the floor, inches away from her friends. Images of Alysa flushed, hands twisted into the blonde locks of some woman, lips locked, panting – it draws a blush out of Amber herself. It brings the perfect excuse to call it a night and head back to her room, so she begins to stand up.
“I’m going to hit the hay,” she says awkwardly. “Our short program is tomorrow. You should all sleep soon, too.”
Alysa gives her a heavy look, one that Amber thinks briefly even makes her look like a kicked puppy. The older realizes sickly that this is the second time that she’s pivoting – disregarding – how open Alysa is, how willing to share about herself, but it’s too late to stop her momentum to leave now. She quickly says her goodbyes, avoiding Alysa’s eyes, before slipping out of the room.
+++
“I had it,” Amber whimpers, fingers digging into her coach’s back as sobs rack her body. Everything is on fire – her head, her brain, her body, her legs, her feet. She knows a camera is on her, much too close, but she can’t even bring herself to do anything but mourn.
She knows she’ll regret this for the rest of her life, but all she can think about is getting back to her room. Hiding from the lights, the cameras. Burrowing into misery. She barely registers her score and dodges media interviews beyond the mandatory, fleeing to her dorm.
She leaves the lights off and sits on the floor, back to her bed, knees pulled to her chin with tears streaming from her eyes. Her fingernails dig into her skin to feel something – anything – besides what she’s feeling now.
Amber had seen Alysa’s position before disappearing. Third. Nestled between the Japanese, doing her best to represent all Team USA had to offer, while Amber floundered and shows its shortcomings.
Somehow, she knows this is it. Her last and only Olympics. To try to endure more seasons, to come back to this, she knows it isn’t possible. She’s signed on to the Worlds and those are only just a few weeks away, but this… this was supposed to be her swan song. Her true global stage that stretched beyond peers, to the whole world.
She thinks of the endless body pains. The injuries. The criticisms online. The life milestones she’s missed from friends and family. The stunted maturation from being in a bubble of performing for nearly all her life. She thinks of her age – and her thoughts drift to Alysa.
The next generation. So hopeful and promising and so unburdened by what came before them. I mean hell, even Isabeau placed above me, Amber realizes miserably. She should be happy for Isabeau – she is – but it’s another proofpoint in her death spiral.
Hours pass in this way, of Amber digging her hole deeper and deeper, until a knock comes. She wipes her tears and rises up, absently registering that she’s still in her program outfit. And of course, it’s Alysa.
For once, the girl on the other side of the door shows uncharacteristic despondence at the sign of Amber.
“Hi…” Alysa starts, unsure. Amber just silently moves aside, allowing her into the room as she knows there’s no point fighting the entry. The two stand silently for a moment before Amber sinks into the bed, curling up tightly.
Alysa braves herself. “You skated well,” she tries, sounding unsure of her words for the first time in a while. Amber laughs a dejected, broken laugh.
“You don’t need to do that,” she hedges, staring at the younger girl. Alysa frowns.
“But I’m serious, you did. I really –”
“Please, stop,” Amber pleads weakly. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand,” she warns sharply, fresh tears coming to her eyes. She’s harsher than she wants to be, but words just come to her thoughtlessly at this point.
Alysa is quiet and clearly trying to be understanding. “I do understand,” she reminds Amber. “My… agreement with this sport, my negotiation, it’s all loose. It’s subject to tomorrow. If something were to ever happen again, like how it was, I’d be out of here.”
Amber says nothing at that. The younger takes it as a chance to sit at the end of the bed. She’s so close, so close that Amber feels a bit stifled.
The proximity quickly becomes too much – Amber needs space, no, she needs, Alysa, she needs, she needs, she –
“Amber?” Alysa questions softly, concern deep in her voice. The older starts breathing heavily, eyes flying wildly about the room, as if the weight of today came back all at once and was crushing.
Amber sits up, clutching at her chest, moving to push Alysa away but the younger grabs her wrists carefully. “Amber, breathe,” Alysa pleads.
The older girl’s eyes flit to Alysa, taking in her voice, her face. Somehow, the sensation of weight on her chest – god, it’s like an elephant is sitting on me – gets worse.
“Breathe, please Amber,” the younger tries again, stroking Amber’s hair. She leans in to try to center the panicked skater, but Amber continues to pant, and Alysa panics “Amber, I –” she starts, voice pitching in fear, before she presses forward on instinct and presses a soft kiss to Amber’s lips, wanting to try something, anything, to calm her down.
It’s a silent, breathless kiss. One that Amber freezes on, doesn’t move – and fuck, Alysa’s done it now. She completely misread this, she thinks, before pulling away with a guttural sob churned up by the electricity of the moment. She leans back from Amber with a shame, burn fresh in her heart.
“I’m – I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that,” Alysa says quickly, words falling over one another. She’s underrotated here, misread her entry, and is falling on her exit.
But then Amber grabs her and pulls her back, returning the softest kiss known to mankind. Like magic – only magic Alysa possessed – her mind had gone quiet the second Alysa had kissed her. She focused solely on how plush and gentle Alysa’s lips felt on her own, warm and wet. Her body is stiff at first, but as she reaches up to clasp the other girl’s neck, it breaks both of them out of the moment.
“I –” Alysa starts again, speechless. Her pupils are blown – out of fear, or something else, and her lips glisten.
“Are you… do you…” Amber stutters, blinking, unsure how to voice what she wants. What she needs to know.
“I like you,” Alysa confesses simply.
“Oh.”
“I… I always have, I think,” the younger girl says quietly. “For a long time.”
“... Why?” Amber sniffs, sitting up slightly. Nothing makes sense right now, but she must see this through. An undercurrent of understanding ran through her.
“You’re so strong. So, so strong. And powerful,” Alysa starts. “Everything I’m not.”
The thought sends Amber for a loop. How could she possess any characteristics that Alysa could want or didn’t already have? “What do you mean?” Amber presses, lost. “You’re the strongest person I know,” she murmurs.
“I’m not. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. I just try to keep going one step at a time but I’m so scared all the time that I’ll hate this all again,” the younger says, pain in her voice. “You always know what you want. And how to get it. If I hate skating again, I won’t know how to fix myself again.”
“I didn’t even… I thought you…” Amber rambles, not sure what she was even trying to say. Everything about this is a surprise, but heat burns in her stomach over the kiss. She had a feeling, a feeling she buried deep down because there was no way this could be. Alysa was so young, so open, and Amber was…
“Hey,” Alysa whispers, reaching to hold Amber’s. “I’m serious, though. I do like you. I’ve… I’ve thought about this a lot, ever since Worlds last year, in St. Louis,” she explains.
Amber reorients her mental timeline, but then it clicks. “The bar,” she starts. “With the french fries?”
Alysa nods.
“But… why?”
“I told you there,” the younger says. “I came back because of people like you. People who could be open and brave. And I also had a huge crush on you, too, but I figured you weren’t… interested.”
Amber blinks. “How come?”
Alysa seems pained to elaborate. “When I said that, you kind of just… brushed over that I implied I was gay. And the other night, when I was talking about hook ups, you seemed like you wanted to leave as fast as possible.”
Amber frowns, correcting her urgently. “No, I’m just – I’m so in my own damn head. I’m stuck there. I wasn’t thinking anything about you… just about myself, and… and protecting my headspace.”
“I understand. I came back from nothing – with nothing to aim for – for nothing,” Alysa says. “I don’t want to think about results and positions. But I see how you get when things go wrong, how you can’t get out of it…”
Amber sniffles, nodding. She inhales softly to gather herself and wipes at her face, slowly coming back to reality. A pregnant pause settles between them, which reminds Amber that she is fully in dress regalia.
“C-can you give me a minute?” She asks, separating her hand from Alysa. The girl looks dejected immediately. “No,” she rushes to explain. “I just want to get into pajamas… this dress is really…” she gestures wildly out of annoyance and Alysa laughs, the first trace of joy in the room in a while.
“Ok, yeah.”
A few minutes later, Amber returns looking comfier, having changed and washed her face. Alysa stares at her, fidgeting nervously – and Amber realizes she’s really staring with something heavier than adoration now – and pats the bed for her to sit again.
“I-I just,” Alysa stutters. “I don’t know what to say now. I’m usually not… like this,” she explains. “But you have me second guessing what to do next. And I… I want to do this right.”
Amber is silent for a moment. “Can I kiss you again?” the older asks.
Alysa’s eyes widen, a small smile blooming on her face. “Yeah,” she says goofily, leaning in with a blush, almost kicking her feet giddily.
Their lips connect again, this time with determination and assurance – and it’s electric. Amber gasps at the sensation, craving more and more, now, and pulls Alysa in closer. The younger brings her hand up and combs her fingers through Amber’s hair, drawing a low moan out of the blonde. That draws another giggle out of Alysa, and Amber pulls back in confusion.
“What?” Amber asks.
“Nothing!” Alysa reassures. “I just never thought this would happen. You’re so hot,” she says, unaware of the fire that’s lit within Amber. As if she’s a blessing sent by the divines to Alysa.
However, the kiss loses momentum. “You… you don’t think I’m too old for you?” Amber asks suddenly. She asks it so direct as to not misconstrue anything here, otherwise she may go crazy.
Alysa giggles at the question at first, a sound that’s music to Amber’s ears normally, but it sinks like a stone in her stomach. “Oh, you’re serious?”
Amber frowns, wordless. Why would I not be? I’m near-expired goods. My time left in this world – our world – your world, is so limited. But she doesn’t speak those thoughts aloud.
Alyssa mulls on the question. She weighs what to say, whether to get on her soapbox about the industry's standards, whatever other fears stirring in Amber’s mind.
She settles simply on: “No.”
There’s nothing else to it, really.
The answer is enough – Amber nods and pulls the junior in fervently now, hard enough that they fall back onto the mattress with a soft thud into the plush. Their lips crash together and Amber’s hand sneaks into Alysa’s sweatshirt, nails dragging softly across the skin, drawing a delicious whimper out of the younger girl.
“Y’know, you’re lucky you have a single room,” Alysa lifts up to remark before diving back in, daring to tug on Amber’s bottom lip with her teeth. Amber chuckles into the kiss before lifting her leg to slot between Alysa’s thighs and applying pressure.
“Fuck,” the younger pants, body jolting into the sensation. Amber steadies her hands on Alysa’s hips, measuring her next move, when the younger grips her wrists with urgency. “I – I want,” she breathes. “I want to fuck you first,” she admits meekly.
Amber is speechless at first – so used to giving, so used to leading, so used to it all being on her, but she acquiesces with a soft, speechless nod, releasing her grip on Alysa and lying still to let the younger take the lead. Suddenly, the transfer of power ignites a fire in Alysa, bringing an expression to her face akin to the one Amber sees just before the younger girl gets on the ice. Sheer determination and confidence.
Alysa pulls on Amber’s shoulders, signaling for her to sit up so she could pull the shirt over her head. Amber is self conscious for a moment, but she’s broken out of her own spell when Alysa whistles. The older raises an eyebrow.
“God, you are so fucking hot,” Alysa whispers, entranced. She drags a hand over Amber’s abs, reveling in the trail of goosebumps she leaves in her wake. “I rewatched that TikTok of you flexing and pulling up your shirt so many times,” she confesses, and Amber gasps, overwhelmed with the heat building in her core.
Straddling Amber’s hips, Alysa curls down to press a kiss to the older girl’s collarbones, and drifts softly down to a nipple that pebbles under the admiration. “Your abs, your arms, your everything, you’re just so… so… perfect.”
The words are foreign to Amber – she feels like she should reciprocate, redirect the praise, but she’s too lost in the sensation of Alysa’s kisses on her naked skin. The younger girl is looking at her like she’s a statue – a goddess, born from the original Olympians, carved to immaculate perfection.
Eyes hooded and pupils blown, Alysa takes account of what’s underneath her – hers to play with. Curiously, she brings her fingers to Amber’s nipple and pinches softly, grinning as the girl arches off the mattress slightly with a gasp, lips parted in ecstasy.
“Sensitive?” Alysa questions. Amber bites her lip with a nod, not trusting herself to speak coherently anymore. With the response, she circles the nipple briefly before leaning down to suck it into her mouth happily.
“Ah,” Amber cries, hand flying to the back of Alysa’s head. There, she buries her hand in Alysa’s hair, urging her closer. She takes a moment to breathe Alysa in – eyes roaming over the beautiful haloed rings of brown and brunette, something she always thought so cool, now here – in this context – and moans again.
Alysa releases the nipple with a pop and moves to love on the other, drawing a whimper out of Amber.
“Please,” the older skater begs, the heat in her core starting to be unbearable, like she could explode.
The younger girl sits up, licking her lips. “Hm?”
Amber blushes, looking away in shame.
“What do you want, pretty girl?” Alysa questions, pushing the hair out of Amber’s face.
“More –” Amber huffs out, shifting her hips to send the message. Alysa hums and moves off her hips to allow the older girl to get her sweatpants off. Then, she crawls between her legs and lays down flat, pressing gentle kisses over the blonde’s hips. The skin is soft there, flawless, and so sensitive. Amber is about to complain before the younger girl ghosts kiss further south, over the pretty pink panties that Amber thanks her lucky stars she randomly decided to wear today.
“Look at me,” Amber hears as a command, eyes flickering down. There, Alysa slips fingers delicately beneath the waistband of her underwear and begins to pull down softly. “You’re so beautiful,” she reminds.
Amber trembles, from both the cold of the room and vulnerability of baring herself before a girl – her junior, her colleague, her friend, and more – and Alysa hushes her softly.
“Relax, I want to take care of you,” she reassures. “You deserve this,” she says softly, knowing what’s stirring in Amber’s head. At this, Amber sits up and pulls Alysa in for another heated kiss, whining as the younger separates herself once again. She trails a path between her breasts, over the stiff nipples, giggling to herself as she places a kiss to each ab.
“If you don’t –” Amber warns between a moan.
Alysa just laughs, and Amber moves to protest, before a tongue finds her wet heat and laps a broad, confident trail through her folds. The older skater lets a cry out almost immediately – she’s been wound so tight the sensation feels nuclear.
From there, Alysa digs in in earnest, lapping away, paying due attention to Amber’s clit but not enough to overstimulate. She hooks a toned, trembling thigh over her shoulder for better access. The younger girl alternates her movements, drawing loose, loving lines followed by precise circles around her clit, like an elegant routine. Amber grips the bedsheets, knuckles going white, before releasing one hand to cover her mouth. The media had enough headlines about the sex fests going on in the Village – she didn’t want to get caught up in that, too.
However, Alysa pulls her hand away and pins it down, lacing her fingers through. “I want to hear you,” she says after lifting her head, grinning like a Cheshire cat with glistening lips. The sight is downright sinful, and Amber collapses back into the pillow with an exasperated cry.
She thinks it can’t get better, but then Alysa introduces a finger, prodding her hole softly before entering it and pumping gently, working her open. Amber clenches around her, and lets out another sob of ecstasy as a second finger enters. There, the younger curls them gently, working Amber’s body like an instrument fine tuned to her liking, and the older thrashes from the feeling of it all.
Her hips begin to twitch more violently and Alysa struggles to keep her still, tongue working feverishly, as if this was the last meal she may ever have on this earth. Amber’s hand scrabbles, trying to grip anything, and ends up holding Alysa’s hand tighter. Her face was furrowed in sheer pleasure, eyes closed tight except for the occasional peak at the visage that was Alysa’s head bobbing with devotion between her thighs.
The older girl gasps as her core starts to flicker and burst, “I’m close –” she warns.
At this, Alysa gives her all, working through pain that was starting to bloom in her jaw. Amber is the best thing she’s ever tasted – all she’s wanted to taste over the past two years – and she’s damn well going to worship her while she’s here.
The pitch of Amber’s cries escalates as her junior works her to an orgasm relentlessly - that tight, curled ball of fire in her belly grows and rages, feeling like it’s ready to snap, when one final firm suck on her clit pushes her over the edge.
She falls apart so beautifully, blonde hair splayed like an angel, chest heaving, back arched off the bed, skin flushed and mouth parted in speechless awe. Alysa doesn’t let off, lapping her through the climax. It’s almost a touch too much until Amber grips her by the roots of her hair and pulls her up with a plea to stop, earning a heavy whimper out of the younger girl.
“God,” Amber exhales, chest heaving with the exertion of her climax.
Alysa sits up happily and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, almost like she’s ready for more. “What can I say,” she says with a grin. “I’m an eater.” That earns her a lighthearted smack. “Sorry, sorry, tough crowd!”
“Stop,” Amber laughs, covering her face. She sighs in pure content and puts her hands down, looking at Alysa. She’s flush and fucked out – the most relaxed Alysa has ever seen her – but she can tell that she wants to say something.
Alysa grins, taking in Amber’s expression. “It’s okay,” she says, crawling up Amber’s body to be flush against her.
“Do you – are you – can I return the favor?” Amber asks anyway, knowing she’s in a losing game.
“No, it’s okay,” Alysa repeats. “I wanted to do this for you – you deserve this. To relax,” she clarifies.
Amber’s brows furrow, but a smile peaks through her lips. “Did you seriously just fuck me out of a mental spiral?”
“Yup,” Alysa says, popping on the p and looking quite pleased with herself.
Amber laughs, curling her arms around Alysa. “What now?”
“Now, we relax. And we enjoy where we are,” she says simply. “And then we skate.”
Amber inhales sharply at the thought, but with the weight of Alysa on her – and a happy buzz throughout her body – she realizes she isn’t actually scared. That it’s just another thing she’ll have to get through. She made it this far – that she’s an Olympic Champion no matter what.
+++
During her free skate, not even a slight stumble can take the grin off her face, or the satisfaction as she skates to a stop at the end of her program, pumping a resilient fist in the air.
She’s done it – she’s made the Olympics, skated on ice that thousands dream of, that she dreamed of for years.
In her suitcase, a gold medal sits, nestled there after hundreds of programs, skates, falls, injuries, broken hearts, mental spirals and all. No one can take it from her, and it’s her legacy.
She’s not surprised when Alysa takes the ice and steals the world’s heart. She’s not surprised, because she knows her heart’s already been taken, too. As Alysa’s program comes to a stop and she shoots a pointing hand into the air, Amber grins as the stadium comes to an ovation for the girl that shines like gold.