morning after. crocker/thorpe. (pg-13)
title: morning after.
fandom: swimming
pairing: ian crocker/ian thorpe
author: sandbenders
rating: pg-13
cross-posted: sandbenders, olympic_slash, crocker_fic
notes: this follows idol worship.
disclaimer: i do not know or own these men. this is fake, fiction, not-for profit. plagiarism is theft.
he hates the morning after. hates it, and he wonders if there's a way to skip this part. to go straight from sleep to feeling normal again. but if there is a way to avoid this, he's not yet figured it out, and so here he is. awake in crocker's arms, head pressed in the crook of his neck.
he can feel crocker stir, and he knows the precious calm moments before the storm are few and fading. he lets his eyes slide shut, teeth tugging at his lower lip as he wills crocker to go back to sleep. but 'esp' was never a feature he'd been blessed with. and he silently curses that as crocker jerks slightly, making the final step to awake.
"mornin'." mumbled words, and ian wonders if crocker knows who it is he holds in his arms. he doesn't speak, for fear it will all end. end too soon. and what does this make him? what has he become? scared shitless in the arms of the man he's wanted for so long.
crocker's lips brush the top of his head, nose pushing at his too-long hair. and then, as if it was all crashing back to him, crocker pulls away.
"thorpe." crocker's tone is almost accusing and ian bites back the urge to be crass.
"what the fuck did we do last night?" scrambling from bed, leaving ian alone, curled beneath the comforter.
"you don't remember, crocker?" he looks at crocker.
crocker is pulling his clothes on, fast, and he shoves his head through the sleeve of his t-shirt. he screams in frustration, tugging the shirt off completely before staring at ian.
"did i let you fuck me?" words that seem to pierce through ian's skin and he wonders what would be so wrong about him fucking crocker. words and thoughts that sends tingling sensations to his groin and he silently wills himself to stop.
"answer me, thorpe."
"answer yourself, crocker. what did we do last night? or were you too fucked up to even process it?"
crocker blinks, and ian thinks he looks like a small child, unaware and halfway pathetic.
"i. why did i come here last night?"
"a question we'd all like answered, i'm sure."
"where's michael?" and that's all it takes for ian to throw aside the covers and climb from his bed. crossing to crocker, palm flat on crocker's chest, shoving him against the wall.
"you can come here and fuck me. you can sleep in my bed and hold me. i'll even let you say his name instead of mine when you come. but do not." [his hand shoves harder against crocker's chest] "do not ever mention his name when we're both sober. you might be ian fucking crocker. but that doesn't give you that right. if you're going to use me, at least be a little more inconspicuous about it."
crocker stares blankly at ian for a few moments before clearing his throat and pushing ian's hand from his skin. he tugs his shirt on - right way this time. walking toward the door, and ian is already battling back the tears he'd never wanted to cry over fucking crocker.
"crocker. don't-" crocker's words interrupt ian's shaky speech.
"i need to find michael."
fandom: swimming
pairing: ian crocker/ian thorpe
author: sandbenders
rating: pg-13
cross-posted: sandbenders, olympic_slash, crocker_fic
notes: this follows idol worship.
disclaimer: i do not know or own these men. this is fake, fiction, not-for profit. plagiarism is theft.
he hates the morning after. hates it, and he wonders if there's a way to skip this part. to go straight from sleep to feeling normal again. but if there is a way to avoid this, he's not yet figured it out, and so here he is. awake in crocker's arms, head pressed in the crook of his neck.
he can feel crocker stir, and he knows the precious calm moments before the storm are few and fading. he lets his eyes slide shut, teeth tugging at his lower lip as he wills crocker to go back to sleep. but 'esp' was never a feature he'd been blessed with. and he silently curses that as crocker jerks slightly, making the final step to awake.
"mornin'." mumbled words, and ian wonders if crocker knows who it is he holds in his arms. he doesn't speak, for fear it will all end. end too soon. and what does this make him? what has he become? scared shitless in the arms of the man he's wanted for so long.
crocker's lips brush the top of his head, nose pushing at his too-long hair. and then, as if it was all crashing back to him, crocker pulls away.
"thorpe." crocker's tone is almost accusing and ian bites back the urge to be crass.
"what the fuck did we do last night?" scrambling from bed, leaving ian alone, curled beneath the comforter.
"you don't remember, crocker?" he looks at crocker.
crocker is pulling his clothes on, fast, and he shoves his head through the sleeve of his t-shirt. he screams in frustration, tugging the shirt off completely before staring at ian.
"did i let you fuck me?" words that seem to pierce through ian's skin and he wonders what would be so wrong about him fucking crocker. words and thoughts that sends tingling sensations to his groin and he silently wills himself to stop.
"answer me, thorpe."
"answer yourself, crocker. what did we do last night? or were you too fucked up to even process it?"
crocker blinks, and ian thinks he looks like a small child, unaware and halfway pathetic.
"i. why did i come here last night?"
"a question we'd all like answered, i'm sure."
"where's michael?" and that's all it takes for ian to throw aside the covers and climb from his bed. crossing to crocker, palm flat on crocker's chest, shoving him against the wall.
"you can come here and fuck me. you can sleep in my bed and hold me. i'll even let you say his name instead of mine when you come. but do not." [his hand shoves harder against crocker's chest] "do not ever mention his name when we're both sober. you might be ian fucking crocker. but that doesn't give you that right. if you're going to use me, at least be a little more inconspicuous about it."
crocker stares blankly at ian for a few moments before clearing his throat and pushing ian's hand from his skin. he tugs his shirt on - right way this time. walking toward the door, and ian is already battling back the tears he'd never wanted to cry over fucking crocker.
"crocker. don't-" crocker's words interrupt ian's shaky speech.
"i need to find michael."