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William was seven years old the first time he tried skiing. His brother's best friend’s cousin’s sister-in-law’s grandpa had gifted away his rickety pair of skis in hopes of continuing his passion without dislocating an eighty year old knee in the process. The skis were passed down from sister-in-law to best friend, to eventually Will. Attached to the faded black case they came in was a note listing best places to go, and who to ask for in order to witness the beauty of northern Maine.
Their town is a small one, everyone knows everyone, but each and every year, tourists stop in for a resort trip to hit the slopes, as many unironically say. All this to say, Will is familiar with this grandpa. His name is Gregory and he’s the owner of a cross country skiing course on the edge of town. That's where William goes on his free weekend, and proudly stomps up to the check-in desk and says he wants to learn how to ski and see the beauty of northern Maine.
Gregory laughed at the time, mumbled something about how William got the skis, and made sure to explain kindly that that pair was too big for him.
That first day out on the course was practically disastrous, but his heart was instantly taken.
Over the years, he gets lessons and skis from Gregory, or acquaintances of his, and in turn, William sweeps around the shop or restocks supplies. At some point, maybe a handful of years later, Gregory introduces Will to the biathlon. This part came naturally to him, breathing and aiming strikingly still. With his rifle and his skis, William knew then and there that this is all he wanted to do in life.
So here he is, bent over struggling for breath, sweaty and cold, witnessing the final results of his Olympic Trial Biathlon declare that he’s going to be a Team USA Olympian, and nearly every dream since seven years old is coming true.
Uncaring of the tear tracks marking his face, William bows his head to accept his medal before being swept into the whirlwind of media obligations. It’s all a blur, a hazy, beautiful, dream-like state but one thing pings clearly during his final interview. With a lump in his throat, and more tears threatening to spill over, William thanks his hometown, his first rackety pair of skis, and Gregory, who always knew William was born to do this sport.
“He’s watching down on you today with a smile, that’s for sure.” The reporter pleasantly hums, and William is cleared to pack up and back out to the hotel.
There’s a celebration in the bar tucked away in the bowels of the hotel, but William needs to be alone at the moment. His excitement isn’t outwardly, it’s crackling between his veins, it’s making his brain float in a near drunken-like state. He cannot believe this is real. In just one month, he’s going to live out the dreams of millions, but the truth of only a few thousands.
Nothing is going to ruin this for him.
_____________________________
William is on the verge of exploding. This one loud-mouth, faux-chill, poking and proding, gorgeous man just bumped into William as he was carrying his very full, completely loaded lunch tray away from the service line and now he’s covered in a horrible mix of salad dressing, food grease, juice, and rice. No part of Will’s shirt has been spared. No part of Will’s lunch has been spared.
It’s taking everything within himself to not cuss him out for a simple human mistake, but then the bastard turns around to take in the disheveled mess of William James Poindexter’s lunch and fucking laughs. Not a chuckle, no apology, but a wheezing, snorting laugh that’s got this fellow Olympian seemingly trying not to piss his pants.
Fuck trying not to cuss him out.
“Dude, watch where you’re fucking going! It isn’t hard to use your eyes” Will waves his hand in front of his own face in mockery.
The man makes eye contact, then doubles over all over again.
He catches sight of the name stitched into the front of his Team USA jacket– specifically Team USA Curling, of fucking course– and his mood sours even more.
“Nurse… either clean this up and get yourself together, or I make your life a living hell.”
“I’ll choose hell if it’s with a beaut’ like you.” Nurse still chuckling, is wiping a tear from his eye, “Seriously, sorry for ruining your shirt uh…. Poindexter…”
William mumbles under his breath about how he’s not surprised a curler finds this whole situation so amusing, such entertainment that, even though Nurse is hot, it isn’t an excuse to laugh at someone’s misfortune like that.
“Ah, yes, curlers are quite beautiful indeed, thanks for noticing.”
Apparently, said athletes also have wizard hearing. Great.
Face flushing scarlet, Will stomps off without another word, cowering in his embarrassment and frustration. There’s a fear bubbling inside that this one man just ruined this experience for him.
_____________________________
As tradition goes, the Olympics pride itself on its value to connect. This is a wonderful concept, in theory, that hundreds of athletes across the globe gather together in the name of fair sport, international glory, and passion for athletics. But the Olympics don’t stop with showcasing their values in words, it’s also done through action. Naturally, Team USA holds similar beliefs, and strongly encourages– as is told to the public– to interact with athletes in differing specialties. Strongly encourages is not how William would define a randomized, yet mandatory, buddy system. If anything, he’d define this as torture.
Because not only does he despise interacting with strangers–he feels too awkward, okay?– but he despises that for the next two weeks, said stranger attached to his hip is none other than Nurse. Derek Nurse, as he regrettably learns, is the same age as William, it’s also his first Olympics, he’s from NYC, has four moms (how???), and didn’t start curling until he turned eighteen. That’s the age many athletes are forced to retire, let alone begin learning an entire new one. Begrudgingly, Will admits that that’s an impressive feat.
With every nugget of personal information shared, which by the way, is never ending, Nurse tries to ask the same of William. With a huff or a murmured whatever he’ll reluctantly give a response because he’s not that big of an asshole.
(And for what it’s worth, Nurse came up to him later that day with a more genuine apology, offered to help him find drycleaning, and a coffee the following morning. William wasn’t going to say no. Yeah, he’s petty and kind of holding a grudge, but c’mon, of course Will wants to spend time with a sexy professional athlete who has an ounce of social decorum.)
So maybe William is being a tad dramatic when he says that he despises the fact that his partner ends up being Nurse, but it still isn’t an ideal scenario. Another aspect of the buddy system shindig is showing face at fellow athletes competitions so with only a tiny bit of stubbornness, William and Nurse decide on going to watch the morning alpine skiing. There’s a guy who Will has interacted with professionally on rare occasions, so it isn’t like he’s going to watch some rando, plus any form of skiing is awesome, so in the end he wins the argument.
They only stay for just over an hour, because as one would have it, Nurse’s first day of competition is in a few hours, and he has to go meet with his curling partner and coaches. Will promises to come watch under the excuse that his own first day not until after curling ends anyway. Yeah, Will is only going because he’s showing Team USA unity, and social media exposure, and only like one percent because he can’t get the image of tight pants stretching over the swell of Nurse’s ass as he guides the stone down the runway.
Fine! Yes, William is unfortunately attracted to the exact type of man he normally never goes for. Loud, flirty, heart-on-the-sleeve, smiley, prodding is distinctly the kind of man he tries to avoid. Maybe he’s a fucking masochist. Only two days of stilted conversation, hidden laughs, and rude bantering, and William is attracted to Derek Nurse. Yeah, he’s definitely a masochist.
While Will is the only Team USA Biathlete, he isn’t the only one from his country showing up for opening night of curling. Many wouldn’t think so, but many fellow Olympians crowd into the chilled stadium to watch the sport with undivided attention. All of them are weirdly into it.
A man several inches shorter than William takes the seat to his left, with a bright smile, golden hair, and a southern accent so thick, it’s like listening to honey. On the left of this man, who introduces himself as Eric (Figure skater), sits The Jack Zimmermann, legendary hockey player and Will’s gay awakening.
Apparently, he’s openly gaping at Jack, and Eric explains that’s his own randomly selected buddy and it’s also their first time meeting. With a noticeable blush, he exchanges greetings with Jack, who at first seems standoffish and cold, but is really just extremely awkward. In turn, William explains that he’s here watching his own buddy, Derek Nurse, and apparently Jack knows the guy because his best friend is on the same squad. What a small world.
Warmups have ended, and as introductions are made, William can see Nurse scanning the athlete section of the crowd, seemingly spots Jack first (and then calls to a long haired man behind him who then slings an arm across Nurse’s shoulders) before his face lights up upon making eye contact with Will. This damn blush is not going away, dammit. With a forced scowl, Will waves back and mouths good luck before breaking his gaze away to stare at Eric’s shoes (they’re cool!).
Eric on the other hand chuckles behind his hand because he witnessed that entire interaction.
“You two were the ones from the Lunch Incident, yeah?” Eric asks.
“Oh, yes, I did hear about that,” Jack decides now is prime time to hop in on the conversation, “I was with Shitty, and Derek was leaving our table, actually. He then got scolded by Shitty for his behavior– that was more funny in my opinion.”
Covering his pinched expression with his hands and a dramatic groan, William is taking back any positive words or thoughts he’s had about the buddy system so far.
“He is a good man, though. You’re lucky he’s your buddy, some of the hockey players and snow boarders are proper assholes.”
In just the two and a half days he’s been here, William has heard faggot tossed around more times than he’s probably ever heard combined, and not only does his buddy have lesbian mothers– four of them to be exact– but he’s definitely not been subtle about his attraction towards anyone or any gender. As a gay man, granted, one who is only out to one person and that person is now in a cemetery, William can appreciate that he’s in safe (for the most part, he’s seen Nurse walking) hands.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “I guess he is.”
The rest of the competition passes in a blur of tangled thoughts, and he’s only pulled out of it when Eric claps his shoulder sweetly, excitedly saying Team USA is moving on to the next round.
The three of them wait in the athlete lobby for Nurse and Shitty (the long haired man he assumes from context clues). Congratulations are traded before they finally split off for the night. He and Nurse are on the same floor of the dormitory they’re in, so together, they walk side by side, letting the late night’s crisp air hold the conversation.
“Yo, you alright there, Dexy?”
“What kind of name is ‘Dexy’?”
“Fine, what about just Dex?”
“I’ll accept that if I never have to hear Dexy again.” the air puffs around his face, half laugh crystalizing in the night.
Silence carries on for a few minutes before Nurse speaks again, “Thanks for coming to opening night, especially ‘cause you’re a bit off it seems.”
“Sorry about that…” he scowls towards his scuffed sneakers. He’s off, that’s for sure, but he didn’t mean for it to show or make him poor company.
“Hey, Derek,” William is sure his words are quieter than the space around them, “I, uh, am sorry for my reaction, too, from lunch.”
Instead of a reply, he takes a half step closer to Will, knocking their shoulders together in a whispered thanks.
They arrive at the dorms, look across the hall at one another, and exchange sleepy smiles and mumbled good nights.
For having to sleep on a cardboard bed, it’s the best sleep he’s gotten in a while.
_____________________________
On day three of the Games, William wakes with what he’d likely deny to anyone, a giddy racing around his chest.
He and Derek are getting breakfast together before the afternoon quarterfinals for men's squad curling commence, but obviously, it’s just the Olympic spirit hitting, and he’s excited to get his day started so that he can go watch the highest level of sports.
They meet at the dining hall closest to where quarterfinals are, rather than the one across from the dorm, where they figured it would be less crowded. Not only was their assumption correct, but there’s a cozy little breakfast nook in the back of the cafeteria, so after filling up coffee mugs, they claim the table using their USA jackets and their caffeine.
William is a simple man. He likes his eggs sunny side up, his bacon floppy, and pancakes with butter and a dash of syrup. Nurse, however, has a large stack of sticky-sweet french toast loaded with fresh berries, confection sugar, and chocolate sauce, and on the side of his plate is a chocolate donut and his nearly white coffee (dear god, there’s so much french vanilla creamer in there).
“Dude, you’re literally a professional athlete, how can you survive game day like this?” William sweeps his hand in the air, gesturing to the abomination before him.
“If anything, Dexarina–”
“What did you call m–”
“If anything, it puts me into the perfect mood to slide stones and sweep ice!”
The look on Nurse’s face alludes to him telling the truth, which William stares at him agape.
“Shits and I always load up like this on match days!”
“You curlers are all so fuckin’ weird…” Will whispers, his brain to mouth filter not working entirely.
Breakfast from then on is filled with bickering remarks, loose plans for the upcoming days, and bantering that makes William red in the face (Is the dining hall is disgustingly warm or is it just him?)
By late morning, they’ve gone their separate ways, Nurse warming up for his match, and William snaking through the guts of the arena to claim a spot in athlete seating. He spots a familiar chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes, so he wades through the prong of fellow athletes to sit with a familiar face.
“Oh, hello William.” Jack says with a barely noticeable smile.
“Hey to you too, Captain. I’m assuming you’re here to cheer on Shitty?”
“Yes.” He says, eyes still trained on the rows of ice sheets.
The man is watching Team USA warmup as if his own team’s medal placement hinges on today's match. William finds he quite enjoys Jack’s quiet, focused disposition, and that he isn’t pressured into maintaining what society likes to deem polite conversation. They sit in companionable silence as the competition starts.
It’s a tough game– USA is playing against South Korea (Apparently their curling scene is pretty intense), and the winner of this match gets to go into group A of semifinals and are afforded the chance to fight for gold medals. All that to say, the energy in the building is palpable, excited murmuring backtracking the game before them. Despite the crowd's growing noise, Nurse’s voice rings loud across the crisp air as he shouts commands towards Shitty and another sweeper with “Johnson” written across his back.
“That’s not where they wanted that stone…” Jack mumbles.
His heart sinks, that was the last stone for Team USA, and South Korea basically has free reign with their last stone because of the mistake. In less than a minute, the final score is set, and Team USA will have to fight for bronze if they want to medal in Men’s Quads.
Wordlessly, William follows Jack to meet up with Shitty and Nurse, unsure of what to say. Even people he’s close with would easily admit he’s not the best at emotional comfort, so he doubts three days of a forced, tentative relationship will be little help.
Before he’s able to see Nurse and Shitty, a blaring alarm sounds from his pocket. His heart rate shoots through the roof as he’s pulled out of his head.
30 min til practice bus his alarm reads.
“Shit! I have my first practice, I gotta go!” William is already running off with a wave, excited to get on the course for the first time.
By the hair on someone's chinny, chin, chin, cause he’s lucky if he sprouts a single beard hair, Will makes the bus and spends the next two hours skiing in the snow and adjusting his rifle. Everything is game day ready by the time the horn blares, declaring official practice time over.
There’s a swoop in his belly knowing he’s one day away from debuting at the Olympics. He’s against contenders that have been Olympians longer than he’s been alive, but it only adds to his adrenaline and deep desire for that gold medal. He’s not going in blind, he knows the best times of everyone on the field, who tends to miss a shot in prone or standing, and he knows his own weaknesses well. It’ll be hard to take gold, but he is by no means an underdog.
Finally back at the dorms, he readies for dinner. Originally, he planned on going alone, but he’d like to hear a rundown of Nurse’s match earlier that day, so he crosses the hall, and knocks against the door. Fuck, he doesn’t know what to say. Is it normal to ask fellow Olympians to dinner? What if Nurse has other plans? Will he have to make small talk until The Proper Time to ask about the match?
Thankfully, the door swings open and his own thoughts get cut off.
Oh, Derek looks pissed.
“What do you want, William?” He asks, a small scowl crossing his lips. Will can tell that he’s trying really hard to look and sound unfazed, and it inexplicably makes William mad.
And because his brain to mouth filter is still not working he says exactly what he just thought.
Instead of reacting further, Derek lets his face fall completely behind a mask.
“If that’s all, I’d like to go back to reading my coaches notes.” And the man has the audacity to roll his eyes and lift his chin in the direction of William's room! Okay, now he’s the one who’s pissed.
“Look, Nurse, I’m so sorry I am trying to ask for company for dinner, and ruined your whole mood, but there’s no need to be such a dick.” He scoffs.
“I am not the one insulting my fellow countrymen. I think you’re the dick in this case, buddy.” He’s still speaking with that fake fucking nonchalance or apathy or whatever one wants to call it, and William is getting more and more frustrated by the minute. Mainly because this dude he’s known for less than a week is making him frustrated by cowering away from what’s actually bothering him. Nothing gets William’s panties in a twist quite like hidden meanings and unspoken issues– if you feel something, fucking say it!
They stare each other down for a moment, neither willing to be the one to lose in the battle of stubbornness. The only reason they break eye contact is because William’s coach calls him for last minute reminders. Derek’s eyes flitter away before Will can reestablish his stance.
“Fine– whatever. I don’t have time for this, I’ve got a medal to win tomorrow.” It’s said lightly under his breath, more so to himself than any potential listeners, as he turns away and marches off to the dining hall.
A heavy look follows him all the way down the hall, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that Nurse’s eyes trail after him the whole time.
It only lights William’s nerves on fire.
_____________________________
There’s a soft snow coating the sky the next day as he steps into the queue. The first Biathlete is set to launch in five minutes, and though unlikely, he’s hoping the men racing today don’t handle fresh snow well. As each minute to the horn passes, his stomach is taught with adrenaline, and his heart rate struggles to maintain an appropriate pace.
The weight of being the only USA Biathlete competing, the only one who has even qualified in over a decade, is making his mouth run dry. He’s used to being an athlete that participates in sport as an individual, but other than his coach, no one in the stands will have his back today– this is all on him. It isn’t the most popular sport to spectate, plus today’s weather isn’t inviting many, so the crowd will likely be dedicated fans to those of legendary status in the sport.
Piercing the air, the first horn shouts into the cold, and the day’s competition is underway. One more steady breath, a shake of his legs, a clap to the face. Settle. Routine. Training. He can do this.
Only five people are queued before him, putting him smack dab in the middle of the pack, and in just over two minutes, William steps onto the course and begins the biggest race of his life.
Wind scratches at his cheeks and sweeps away his clouded exhales. Immediately, he falls into decades of muscle memory and desire to be the best. Unless his coach says something, William is going to stay to himself, and ignore every other man on the field. It’s just him, his skis, and his rifle against the elements. Ten kilometers await him, and he’s hungry for every single meter.
The first loop is coming to a close, so he checks his breathing so that he’s as steady as possible lining up his rifle's sight for his standing shooting stage. Standing position shooting is his lesser skill of the two, so he and his coach agreed to get the nerves out of the way. Plus, if he does end up collecting a penalty lap, he’s early in the race to pace through it better.
One, two, three, four, and then all five shots flip the target as his magazine hits bullseye.
Before the rifle is secured around him again, he’s already skiing off to conquer mid-race.
There’s been no calls from his coach so he tucks into the rhythm of each step and in a blink, he’s pulling into the second shooting stage. His belly presses heavy against the frozen ground beneath him as he gets his breath reigned in; the first shot lines up and he misses. How could he miss? It’s shot one in prone he’s fucking better than this. Thankfully, the following four shots are clean.
As he’s rising to his feet there’s cheering from the stands by the penalty loop, and at first he assumes it's jeering from other countries, but then he catches sight of a huge chunk of red, white, and blue Team USA coats. With a quick glance, he thinks most of the men’s hockey team is there with a few snowboarders, and best of all, the entire curling team. Derek is there.
Fuck, okay, if William podiums he’s getting to the bottom of whatever last night was. It’ll be his faux liquid courage or something.
Somewhere in Will's chest, warmth blossoms alongside invigorated competitive drive. Now, he isn’t alone all the way up in these frozen mountains, he isn’t skiing by himself in the secluded woods of Maine, running away from the grief of losing his mentor and friend, he isn’t the seven year old boy who is the town's last thought to gift a pair of skis to.
The finish line is literally in sight so with every swirling feeling inside of him, William gives every last ounce of himself throwing himself over that line, smile beaming and arms pumped up into the sky.
The results are still unknown, the final racers fighting to get their clock stopped, but despite the unknown, he feels on top of the world. Collapsed on the snow, chest heaving as the athletes before him come over with claps on the shoulder and congratulations, William sends his thanks and honors to Gregory, the northern trails of Maine, an old, creaky cabin simply named XC Skiing Course.
A stupid smile is still holding his face hostage because he just completed the best ski of his life, completed his first Olympics, and knows he won’t ever ski alone again.
It might have been fifteen minutes or an entire hour, but the last athlete crosses the line as the crowd shouts and claps, anticipating the officials' finalized results.
Now clad in a fresh set of sweats adorned with Team USA colors, Will stands under the cover of the athlete tent shaking with anxiety– or is it excitement? He can’t really tell at this point, numbed out from the physical exertion and adrenaline crash. The stands fill with his fellow countrymen but the moment Will’s honey eyes catch Derek's across the field, some of those jittery nerves flicker. William knows the looks on their faces is a silent challenge, a dare, and a hope for an I’m sorry.
Over the loud speakers, the announcer begins listing everyone's times from slowest to fastest. Will thinks his heart is a rock in his ass as realizes his name hasn’t yet been called five results in.
Nurse raises an eyebrow by a millimeter, they still haven’t looked away from one another. Weight of the fourth place finisher hangs heavy against William’s ribs, but he refuses to lose to Derek this time, to run away from the raw magnetism begging William’s heart to try staying on the sleeve for once.
“In fourth place…” He swallows thickly, “Rodney Fossi of Canada!”
Okay someone needs to pinch him and like, force his jaw off the ground. The other two podium placements are jumping around him and shoving him around in glee, laughing not only in joy, but in amusement of his newbie reaction.
Waking a little from (what he really, really hopes is not a dream) his daze, Will joins the two other men in a huddle as the podium placements are announced.
“Our bronze medalist…” How many thick swallows will William have today? “Aaron Zawalski of Poland!”
Holy shit, holy shit, holy– William's mind is running wild, unable to understand the magnitude of what’s happening.
“And now, our gold medalist,” Is life real? He kind of thinks he might vomit.
“William Poindexter of The United States!”
So much, too much, courses through him as he collapses to his knees, crying into his hands. Somewhere in the background he can hear, what was likely coined by the hockey bros, “Dex” chanted on repeat but at this very moment, it’s just him. It’s him and his tear stained face, his cracked hands, his tired body. It’s his entire life’s dedication and grit displayed for the world to see.
Grabbed by the shoulders, William is led by his coach towards the ruckus that is the Americans where he’s manhandled, shoved, slapped, shouted at in the most celebratory way. Jack fucking Zimmermann has him in a headlock, and Eric places a laughing kiss to the crown of his head, and Nurse, god, Nurse and his stupid green eyes, stupid boyish smile, stupid challenge written across his features. Jesus christ, William is having very homosexual thoughts over whatever petty competition they’re in at the moment.
William told himself that if he podiumed (holy shit, gold?!), he’d apologize and reorganize so that he can hopefully continue a connection with Derek– not just for the rest of the Games, but maybe back home too.
Whatever happens in the subsequent hours, Will may never know. Between awards, interviews, and a shit ton of champagne, William is swept into the chaos of Olympic glory. By the time he finally makes it to the dorm, his skin buzzes with quieting energy, and his mind floats clearly over any and every moment that has led to today.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, hands cradling an Olympic gold medal, William realizes that part of what made this victory so special was all because of the cringy buddy system and a curler with a temper much like his own. Having people around made Will truly see all the work that’s gone into this historic win, all the work that’s gone into William.
Despite the moon high overhead and snoring heard through the neighboring hall, a soft knock pulls him out of fantasy and back into, what he hopes will be the reward for his win– Derek Nurse.
Swinging the door open almost gets Will punched in the face, Nurse building up for another knock against the door.
Derek stands there in old, worn out sweats with an embarrassed blush creeping up his neck.
Derek clears his throat before stammering over his own words asking if he could come in and talk. Without another word, William steps back, a silent but welcome invitation, and then reclaims the spot on the edge of the bed he’d been sitting in. A small pat to the bed next to him, Nurse knows to sit.
The only sounds are the muffled snoring and shared breaths. Where their shoulders touch, William’s skin feels electric, his own body getting ahead of the conversation yet to happen. Guess that’s signal enough to bite the bullet.
“I, uh, owe you an apology. For last night.” Wow, is Willam bad at this or what?
Derek unhelpfully stares at him, clearly unsure of what will happen next– who the next move goes to. Fuck, okay, William can lead a normal, healthy apology like every other functioning adult.
“I shouldn’t have been a dick. I knew you were probably in a bad mood, especially given your match results earlier that day, not that I–”
“William,” Derek sighs, runs his palms over his face, “You are not the one who should be apologizing.”
Like a dumb goldfish, Will’s mouth falls open, dumbfounded. Anxiety had pretty much convinced him over the course of twenty-four hours that this would likely be a fruitless conversation and he was fighting for something the other didn’t want.
“I’m not… Fuck I am so bad at this,” An amused scoff punctuates Derek's words “You weren’t being a dick, I mean I was absolutely poking buttons on purpose. This is so petulant of me, but I felt like shit and thought about not being alone in that feeling. Over something that doesn’t even warrant such a reaction. Then, as I watched you go, I knew I fucked shit up– and before your race day? Yeah, I’m the dick here, Will.”
Hey William? Now would be a good time to stop gaping and say something, he thinks.
“Well then, you better get that medal tomorrow, huh?” He blurts, thanks to his continuous lack of brain to mouth filtering.
He holds his breath, body tense while waiting for the other shoe to drop. He really is dumb. There go any and all chances of rekindling their delicate companionship.
Surprising both of them, Nurse busts out laughing, bent over clutching at his stomach.
Picture Here! More of William Gaping!
Nurse is doing a horrible job getting the rest of his words out, wheezing laughs between snorts and cackles. “Dude, Tha- HAH- is liter-hAHlly the plaHN.”
Now it's William's turn to laugh, and shortly his face is red from lack of oxygen (and totally not because he likes it when Derek accidentally snorts– ew, yuck). Oh boy, his sides are cramping now.
Their rambunctious noise spittles out into small chuckles and deep breaths.
“You coming to the match?”
“Only if you win bronze.”
“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, William.” Derek stood with a gentle pat to Will’s knee.
Whatever shit got stirred yesterday night has fallen back to a sedimentary life of witty jokes and insults. Each worry dissipates as his nightly routine carries him all the way to a dreamless slumber
_____________________________
Post by urfavcurler.dn:
[photo of mens four’s, Team USA huddled together on the podium, bronze medals slung around each members necks and an American flag hanging off their shoulders]
urfavcurler.dn @TeamUSA @USACurling @Olympics Normally bronze isn’t my jewelry of choice, but this looks p good if you ask me ;)
Comments:
@dereknursesteeth: JKDFGHKJFBA;KEFJB
@urknightinshittyarmor: Proud to call you a teammate and best bro *wipes away tear*
… 242 comments
@wjpoindexterskis: you did indeed, get that medal (hottest jewelry if you ask me)
_____________________________
The remaining week of the Winter Olympic Games flies by in what William could only describe as bafflement as he lives through his lifelong dream.
There’s more pictures taken over the week than he’s ever had on his phone– he even has a few with other athletes (and yes, more athletes than just Derek)! Event after event is one of a kind. He and Nurse are found attached at the hip at every event they view. From watching Eric snatch silver, Jack gold, and Team USA break the country record for Olympic medals, William takes snapshots of the action.
What stayed hidden away from it all, behind the scenes, was William admitting to himself that he’s definitely got a huge, fat, homosexual crush on Curler, Derek Nurse. And from the subtle hand brushes, late night ramblings, heavy glances, and an almost kiss, William feels confident it’s mutual.
(Curse Jack Zimmermann for knocking on Nurse’s door trying to find Shitty just as they’re about to suck face)
Mutuality is great and all, but the closing ceremony ended a couple of hours ago, and Will flies back home on a flight leaving in six hours. It’s scary now, scary that this is out of the little Olympic Village bubble they’ve built, scary that this isn’t a moment that naturally builds palpable tension. If William wants this, whatever it may be, he’s got to act before Derek wishes him goodnight.
Jesus, he feels dizzy with the anxiety of this. He’s face to face with the most gorgeous, smile-line-sunshine, idiot he’s ever had the reluctance of liking romantically, and William doesn’t really date. Would this be dating? Fuck it, he’s going for it.
“Derek–” He starts, it’s embarrassingly pitchy, so he clears his throat and tries to ignore the blush warming his cheeks, “Can I– uh, fuck. I want to kissyouandmaybealsodateyou.” William spits the last bit out and drags his hands over his face with a frustrated groan.
Derek, the most charming motherfucker he knows, chuckles as he gently grasps Will’s wrists to peel them away from his overheated face. William offers little resistance but looks aside anyway. This is probably the definition of mortification.
Oh boy, he said that aloud because now Derek is turning his head to make eye contact and drops a cheesy-ass “Well then let me make it more mortifying.” Before aligning his soft lips against Will’s winter-chapped ones (Yes, he’s indeed more mortified, but like, for other reasons).
The blush has now spread to the back of William’s neck and all the way across his chest. Just underneath his hoodie and thin layer of skin, his heart is beating worryingly fast. This becomes known, not just because William can feel it, but because his athletic watch pings an alert to let him– and his crush, whom he just kissed! – know that it’s time to take a break.
Will the mortification ever end?
“I maybe also want to date you, hmm?” Derek chirps.
“Ayuh…” God his brain is useless, so he answers with his own kiss, cupping his cold hands on Derek’s stubbly jaw. Their mouths shift smoothly across one another as heavy exhales from their noses tickle William’s eyelashes. Together, they stumble into William's room, still attached at the lips, the hands, the hips.
In the six hours before William’s flight home, most of it was spent using his mouth to explore the plains and valleys of a certain curler. He didn’t get much sleep.
“Olympic power couple, huh? The world is gonna lose its mind when it finds out one day.” Whispered against William’s sweaty neck. He smiles as he brushes the pad of his thumb against Derek’s brow.
“First Olympics and we’re walking out a power couple? I like the sound of that.”
_____________________________
FOUR YEARS LATER
Post by wjpoindexterskis:
[photo of he and Derek’s laced hands, gold bands around their ring finger, the background showing an unfocused Olympic sign]
Wjpoindexterskis @TeamUSA @USACurling @Olympics @BiathlonUSA Normally bronze isn’t @urfavcurler.dn ‘s jewelry of choice, so this Olympics I gave him gold ;)
Comments:
@couplegoals: this is disgustingly cute
@thejlz: The both of you deserve so much happiness :)
… 1,543 comments
@urfavcurler.dn: engagement ring aside, gold looks p good on us (holy shit babe we both have olympic gold medals)