: HOUSE RULES : Skate Slash : Ohno/Celski

[caelumi]

House Rules
:: Ohno/Celski, Skate Slash, nc17



03.05.2010 House Rules

"That is putrid."

It is the only coherent thought that JR has about it. He is sitting in Apolo's kitchen at the island, his left leg out to the side and his chin resting in his palm. "Just. Really foul. Like, I can't believe you're actually considering--" his eyes follow the drink as it's raised, "--ah, ugh. You did. You drank it."

Apolo backhands a disturbingly dark-green mustache away from his upper lip and then itches his soul patch with the heel of his hand. JR hates thinking of it as a soul patch but it isn't rightly a beard or a goatee or even actual facial hair. It's more like the landing strip patterns made popular by strippers, or, at least, by his older brothers when they talk about strippers. And JR doesn't love thinking about Apolo's facial hair as...

Right. So. Soul patch it is.

The scum around the inside of the empty glass that Apolo puts down on the counter is disgusting. JR bends down to examine it at eye-level. "Orange juice isn't supposed to be green."

"The orange juice isn't green, it's the algae." Apolo chews on his bottom lip and says it, his eyes out the big kitchen windows where huge, fluffy snowflakes are swirling every which way instead of just coming down. JR thinks that Apolo's house is pretty much an extension of his self. Everything's wood and metal and a little Japanese in a way that's well... zen. And streamlined. And flashy without really flashing.

JR pushes his bangs to the side as he leans up to put his chin back in his palm. "Sure looks like algae."

"Damn," Apolo says, shifting his gaze back, "you are too fuckin' funny."

The weird diffuse light of the afternoon and the snow makes Apolo's eyes the color of the toffee that JR's Lola keeps in circus-glass bowls all around her house. He pushes his bangs to the side again and looks down, laughing. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Apolo give a thin-lipped smile. He's glad that he does, even though JR would have just laughed for the both of them if he'd needed to; wouldn't have been the first time. "David tells me I should do stand-up," he says.

"I wouldn't quit your day job," Apolo snorts, stepping forward and making a long line over the island to snatch JR's backpack off of the stool next to him, apropos of nothing. JR doesn't know how Apolo knows what's in there (and he's sure he does, maybe all that meditation has given him a sixth-sense) but if he can keep the backpack he keeps the proof.

Too bad the material slides through his fingertips as he grabs for it. Sometimes it's not fair that Apolo's always faster than he is.

"I don't have a day job," JR says, changing tactics and stretching a hand out, smiling like he doesn't have illegal contraband stuck in there. His palms are a little sweaty. "Give it back."

Apolo narrows already lidded eyes. He shakes the bag and something inside rustles with a guilty loudness. "You gonna chase me down for it?" Jerk, JR thinks as Apolo continues. "And you do have a day job. This isn't gonna get you promoted." He shakes the bag again to hear it rustle.

Honestly, JR doesn't know where Apolo gets some of his motivational material. Sometimes he suspects that it's badly translated Yuki, yet Apolo still manages to make it work. "Okay, the metaphor has gone too far, Po. It's not a day job, it's like, a..." Well, it was a little like a job. He clears his throat. "And that is mine." JR wiggles his fingers, still smiling. "Give it."

"Burger King or McDonald's?"

JR sighs and drops his hands. How does he know? It's creepy. It's unjust. Apolo can eat whatever he wants but that doesn't mean the rest of the world needs to eat the same. Or even just the part of the world that speed skates. A sudden mutinous thought makes JR wonder what the Koreans eat. Probably little children. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have ham and cheese. And a hard-boiled egg." Like the egg will make it more believable. He rubs the curve of his ear.

One hand on each side of the backpack, Apolo tugs and the sound of the peeling zipper is momentarily louder than the bad music pulsing softly from the bedroom. JR is standing before he thinks about it, stool scraping against the floor. "Apolo--"

"I told you no McDonald's in my house." The bag that he's extracted from JR's backpack is really crumpled and kind of greasy gross in one corner but JR is not thinking about how his suit is going to smell like a Big Mac for late practice, he's thinking about his growling stomach and how much he wants those french fries. "McDonald's," Apolo says, tapping the golden arches on the bag.

"I'm glad to see that your lack of college didn't affect your comprehension skills." It just slips out, under his breath, and JR knows as soon as it's off his tongue and hanging between them that it's mean as hell. Apolo's face tightens, the corners of his mouth turning down in that way they have.

JR sits down too hard and slides his fingers over the denim of his left thigh. "I'm sorry," he says to his jeans. And he is. He hates getting into this with Apolo, and not just because he never manages to feel like he's made Apolo hear a word he's said. "I didn't mean--"

The apology is cut off by the sound of the garbage disposal. JR looks up just in time to see one of his burgers get dropped in, the carton overturned far too high up to be anything but showboating. The sink makes a terrible noise and Apolo slaps the water on so casually that all JR can do for a moment is stare. He just... that was... "Not the fries!" is what comes out of all his building indignity as Apolo reaches back into the bag.

Apolo pauses at the squeaky demand; raises an eyebrow.

JR realizes that he's holding both arms out over the counter, fingers spread and palms forward like he's a cop trying to keep a suspect from shooting a hostage. He clears his throat. "Please. Please." As in, please do not be the jerk that we both know you have no problem being. Apolo's house, Apolo's rules. It's the fundamentals that keep things running smoothly and he's just bunked the system. Apolo isn't very forgiving and it's going to be JR's stomach that pays the price because he refuses to eat any of the parrot food that graces these cupboards since John's moved in. Algae. As if.

"This is for your own good, JR." Apolo doesn't take his hand out of the bag, just leans an elbow on the counter next to the still running sink. JR wants to hit him for looking so stupidly right about it.

Damn it all.

Dropping his arms to the island, JR slumps back onto the stool and lays his head down, cheek against the cool counter top, and closes his eyes. He doesn't ever win when it comes to Apolo. Someday, he's sure, it'll get tiring--he just hasn't reached that day yet. It only sucks that Apolo's got money to throw down the garbage disposal--JR's on a living allowance. Can't trade Oakleys for McDonald's; the barter system's gone the way of the dodo. "You're paying me for that," he says, drooling slightly onto the counter as he speaks because of how his face is mashed against it. "And the bank of Celski does not accept pond scum as currency." He's just waiting for the next terrible gurgle of the disposal that will mean he has to deal with starvation versus going back out to get more food.

"The bank of Celski could accept vegetables."

JR's eyes are still closed. "The bank of Celski is not a rabbit."

"The bank of Celski could accept fruit."

Still closed, but the disposal hasn't sung its siren-song yet. "The bank of Celski is not a monkey."

Apolo's snort is sharp. "The bank of Celski could accept rice."

This time JR actually smiles against the counter top. "The bank of Celski is not headquartered in Japan or China." The water is turned off. For some reason the fact that the garbage disposal hasn't been fed his remaining fast food makes JR's heart slap weirdly loud against his ears. He lies on the counter and plays dead. With Apolo it's always better to play dead.

There is the crunch of brown paper to JR's right but he doesn't dare open his eyes because he knows it's not that easy. It couldn't be. His pulse gets a little stupid when Apolo's voice comes from behind him and JR reminds himself that this is Apolo's house and Apolo's rules.

"So what made you think you could get away with it?"

JR can feel the heat of Apolo behind him. He must be close. "I was going to eat it in the bathroom," he murmurs. It's the unfortunate truth. There hadn't been anything in the fridge at his apartment except for baking soda, MGD, and a box of Pop Secret popcorn. Which, yeah. JR doesn't understand but Niels and Atze are Dutch so he tends not to question their methods--they do disturbing things with mayonnaise.

The touch is so light that JR hardly feels it, a brush of fingers across the back waistband of his jeans. It startles him out of thoughts of sitting in Apolo's dry tub sneaking Big Macs and he closes his eyes tighter. The counter is starting to get uncomfortable against his face and JR's pretty sure that he'll have drool all on his cheek when he finally gets up and his shoulders might eventually pop out of their sockets but right now Apolo's touching him and God, he knows how stupid it is but his muscles actually tense a little trying to keep him as still as possible despite the discomforts. Play dead and maybe he'll keep touching you, sure, or maybe you should struggle if there's truth to the whole dumb cat thing and he likes to play with his food before he eats it and--

--and that is definitely the wrong thing to think because there's mental images of Apolo's thin lips in places where lips normally aren't and two things happen simultaneously: JR blushes and gets a hard-on. From Apolo brushing the back of his waistband. JR kind of wants to move just so he can beat his head against the counter a few times. It's a little pathetic.

He tries not to be that kid, you know, that kid, the one who's perpetually tagging along with his older brother's friends, the one who's always underfoot, the one who's stupid star struck by the oh-so-awesome Apolo Anton Ohno. JR's pretty sure that he and Apolo are friends in their own right, with David serving and Chris living in another state Apolo just isn't the kind of guy who'd let JR hang around if he didn't like him.

Not like him like that. That isn't what he meant. Not like like. Just like. Just two guys who practice together and sometimes carpool and every once in a while catch a movie or whatever. Friends.

Friends who occasionally touch each other in non friend-type ways. When Apolo wants to. Because it's kind of obvious to JR that the only decision that was ever really his was to say no.

"You're frowning. Are you really thinking about your fries so hard?"

The question, the voice, (the word hard), and the fact that Apolo does it all against JR's ear is a little like getting caught half-asleep by the starting gun and he jerks slightly against his will, his eyes opening. Apolo obviously showered while JR was off purchasing contraband fast food; he smells like the ginger shampoo he uses. "Salt," he agrees belatedly, forcing himself slowly into an upright position while thanking god that he is in jeans and not sweats, surreptitiously wiping his cheek dry with his sleeve and clearing his throat. He glances at the bag on the counter and then back over his shoulder at Apolo.

Apolo's eyes--they are now mostly green somehow (JR's just stay brown. Just brown, all the time. Hanging around Apolo is going to give him a complex.)--are a little less open than normal.

JR isn't a big fan of violence, he'd love to go back to the days of dance-offs, but whoever termed the phrase 'sex eyes' should be shot; he's just saying.

The whole heavy-lidded deal, JR's seen it before. At one time or another they've all skated off the ice looking like they want to curl into a ball under the bench mid-way between skate removal and take a quick nap before hitting the showers. Simon's actually done it. (Jordan drew a penis on his face with a red sharpie; JR has the picture on his phone for proof but couldn't make himself tweet it.) But not Apolo. Apolo's never tired. Apolo looking like he's tired is, JR is pretty positive, his version of sex-eyes. That sleepy intense thing that JR himself would never be able to pull off, but his mouth dries and his knees water when Apolo does it.

That's about when he realizes that Apolo has actually slipped a finger through the back belt loop of his jeans because he yanks on it. "I said," Apolo says, again, apparently, "they're sitting right there. What are you waiting for?"

This is a trick. JR frowns and doesn't like the fact that Apolo smiles. "You're not going to go get more and make me eat them until I throw up, are you?" He probably would. JR likes Yuki a lot but he doesn't think that Apolo's dad was the best role model when it came to discipline. 'Positive reinforcement' doesn't translate into Japanese as well as 'you'll be left in a shack for a week' does, maybe.

"I would rather you not throw up around me," Apolo says. His finger slips out of JR's belt loop and as it does all JR can think is that it was stupid to bring it up--vomit is not sexy talk. He pushes his bangs to the side and turns on the stool so he can face Apolo.

"It's not a trick?"

Apolo covers his heart and doesn't look at all insulted. "Would I trick you?"

JR rolls his eyes. "Yes." Of course Apolo wouldn't call it a trick. He'd call it motivation or a life lesson. "You absolutely would. And it would be for my own good or something."

The bag is taken off the counter. "You said it," Apolo says, "not me." There's nothing in the bag but his food; JR peers into it as Apolo holds it open towards him. When he hesitates to stick his hand in and pull out his fries Apolo says, "I'm insulted. What kind of person do you think I am?" Of course he still doesn't look insulted. He looks like JR's gonna take a bite of fries that will magically turn into algae because the amazing Apolo Anton Ohno told them to--it's a look that JR's mom would call the cat that got the canary.

Sighing, because JR knows this has got to be reverse psychology or something, he sticks his new handful of fries into his mouth. They're warm, crunchy and salty, but it's hard to even enjoy the taste with Apolo watching him like that.

It belatedly dawns on JR that he's the canary. He coughs, covering his mouth and leaning over. Apolo tosses the bag onto the counter and thumps him on the back.

"That might be karma, Jay."

Eyes watering, still coughing a little, JR shakes his head. Your mom's karma is the only come-back he can think of but his brain's not so addled from the temporary lack of oxygen to say it out loud. If he's gonna do that he might as well plug in a neon sign that says KID. He narrows his eyes at Apolo instead.

Apolo's eyebrows raise and he laughs. "Is that a glare? Are you glaring at me? That's kinda cute, JR."

Which of course makes JR stop glaring and start blushing and he glowers at the tips of his sneakers as he coughs the leftover scratchiness from his throat. He wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger as Apolo thumps him once more between his shoulderblades. JR goes to elbow his arm away, opening his mouth to tell Apolo that he's fine, thanks, he doesn't need the extra abuse, but Apolo's isn't deflected. Warm fingers wrap around JR's wrist and JR looks up, he can't help it. His teeth click together without saying anything.

There's a slight smile on Apolo's lips. "You don't have to worry about the salt. I've tasted your skin after practice."

It almost starts JR choking all over again.

There have been two other times when Apolo's seemed to decide out of the blue that JR's more than just some kid who happens to be around a lot, but JR's too smart to think that three makes it a trend. Apolo's just the kind of guy who bunks the whole system. If everyone were like Apolo the law of averages wouldn't exist and the world would probably be thrown into chaos.

He can feel his own pulse against the hot grip of Apolo's fingers. "Still, might make you fat," JR says with someone else's tongue. "Better not risk it." There's a challenge in his tone that he's a little amazed to hear. If Apolo has a problem doing anything it's backing down, and here JR is finding a stick to poke the lion with. He's either crazy...

Or he didn't realize how much he'd been wanting this again.

JR's eyes move to the window when Apolo laughs. Crazy, then. He's crazy. The snow is falling in huge white poofs and JR knows without needing to feel it that it's light, dry, bad snow for making snowballs. It's the type of snow that blows off roads and that doesn't need to be shoveled from your car. And just like that JR's homesick for Seattle and snow that sticks.

For anything that sticks.

He pulls against the hold on his arm and Apolo only persists for a moment before letting it go. Turning, JR opens the bag on the counter in a crinkling of paper and grabs three fries out of the soggy red and yellow cardboard. Apolo is watching him.

Crazy is right. He doesn't remember the word in Tagalog but loco pretty much sums it up just fine.

They're still warm and he can feel the grit of the salt beneath his fingers. Apolo's eyes are almost green as they follow the fries to JR's mouth; he's not smiling anymore. JR didn't really expect him to be. He just chews, watching Apolo's eyes and thinking that there must be insanity somewhere back in his own family. Probably on the Filipino side. Or both. Could be both. The crazy feels pretty strong with him at the moment.

JR sees his own hand rise and he sees it press a single finger to the middle of Apolo's bottom lip.

The only choice that has ever been his is to say no but he's raising the stakes. He can't go on just waiting for the next time and pretending to play dead. He doesn't want to.

JR watches his finger against Apolo's mouth, his heart thumping against his ears like he's just been made to sprint laps until his legs are jello and there's the taste of copper in his mouth. There is the taste of copper in his mouth. Apolo's thin lips part and teeth scrape the pad of JR's finger before the slick, warm press of tongue follows.

Apolo doesn't seem surprised at himself and JR's pretty sure that Apolo doesn't know how not to lead. Knowing Apolo is sometimes like a constant state of anticipation for JR; there's always a tingle of nerves waiting for the overturn to everything. The surprise victory, the coincidental fall; it's part of his aura. Even as JR's finger slides into Apolo's mouth he's waiting for the tables to turn.

The pressure around his finger makes JR ache right at the base of his cock with a steady throb that mostly matches the suck of Apolo's tongue against his skin. Teeth scrape against his knuckle and the sudden distinct sharpness of it makes JR groan, the sensation burying itself deep in his gut.

Apolo's hand is wrapping around his wrist again and he pulls JR's finger out of his mouth. He's in control again; he's dragging his bottom lip through his teeth. "I think I can stand the extra calories," he says. It's not fair at all that something so stupid sounds so smooth. JR shakes his head and is going to laugh except that Apolo raises the hand he's still holding and licks a slow, flat line up the inside of JR's middle finger.

The laugh never makes it out of JR's throat. He definitely whines though, a low sound that crawls up from his balls and would be mortally embarrassing were it not for the way it makes Apolo's attention focus on him. Of course, the attention also makes his mouth dry. His lips part and Apolo seems to take his sudden lack of saliva production as an invitation.

Apolo's mouth is warm, and dry, and JR always thinks that he should kiss like he does everything else--aggressively--and has been surprised each time to find that he doesn't. Of course, Apolo surprising him isn't all that surprising. He really needs to learn that lesson.

"You're thinking."

JR drags in a breath and realizes that he's closed his eyes. "I--um. About you."

The tip of Apolo's nose runs across his cheek and it is really hard to breathe correctly with him so close. "Must not be about my mouth," Apolo says close, the words tickling hair against his ear. JR's shoulder comes up instinctively and he opens his eyes when Apolo moves back into his own space. Sort of.

JR clears his throat but it doesn't make the single word any less ridiculously faint. "Why?"

"Because that kiss kind of sucked."

It's almost mean, the way Apolo says it. There's no laugh, no joke, just you suck and a side of implied I expected more. JR feels his eyebrows crawl together and the corners of his mouth turn down. What a jerk. He hadn't been prepared--

Why should he have expected--

It isn't like--

Oh, screw it.

JR stands and shoves Apolo back against the island (without letting himself think about the age difference, or the fact that Apolo's thighs are roughly the size of tree trunks; just that he has an inch in height on Apolo, he keeps repeating that to himself, an inch, a full inch) and somewhere in the single shuffled step backwards JR has raised his hands and planted them on either side of Apolo's face--maybe to keep him from bolting? retaliating?--but he can feel still-damp strands of hair brush his fingertips.

JR is staring at Apolo's nose for the second that they're standing face-to-face because he knows that Apolo is staring at him. His heart is trying to climb right up his throat because HELLO LOCO and the kiss he intends ends up being more like a weird halting dive into Apolo's face.

Their teeth clack together. JR would inhale when a shock of nerves lights up in his front tooth except that he's been holding his breath for a good fifteen seconds now. Apolo makes a little grunting noise and then laughs right against JR's mouth. The sound is a burst of air, sharp, and Apolo's nose, pressed to the side of his own, shakes. JR bumps their foreheads and grins back against Apolo's lips before exhaling and then pushing in for another kiss.

Apolo is solid and there are fingers under JR's tshirt suddenly, blunt nails scraping up his sides and pushing material up enough that JR gets goosebumps in the coolness of the kitchen. Or maybe it's just a reaction to the touch. Their tongues slide across each others and Apolo licks the top of his mouth, the back of his front teeth. JR's toes curl down against the bottoms of his sneakers and his hips jerk forward like he has no control over them. There's a muffled chuckle--muffled because Apolo is sucking softly on his bottom lip, scraping teeth over it--but JR just can't find the presence of mind to be embarrassed.

Their mouths part with a wet sound as JR's shirt gets pulled over his head and he sees Apolo's eyes for the first time; they're way green and he looks like he's just going to fall over and go to sleep his eyelids are so heavy. JR's dick notices, lurching happily against the front of his jeans and he swallows thickly. Apolo tosses JR's shirt on the counter and grabs one of his hands--both of which are still sort of up, floating--and bites the meat of the palm, looking up through his eyelashes as he does it.

JR goddamn nearly comes right in his pants. His mouth opens like a fish and his whole body does this little seizure move that starts Apolo laughing. He actually tilts his chin up to do it and JR hates that laugh because it makes Apolo look like such a cock while still managing to be so stinkin' genuine. It's the kind of laugh that makes other people jealous that they're not laughing too. And JR's not laughing. He's grabbing his dick right through his jeans with his free hand so he doesn't come all over himself like an idiot.

The fingers still in Apolo's grip curl down. JR's first thought--immediately discarded--is to shove a handful of fries into Apolo's stupid laughing mouth. The second is to let go of his own dick and grab Apolo's in order to shut him up.

Works like a charm.

Apolo stops laughing with a gulping inhale and JR slides the flat of his palm up the hard length he wasn't sure he expected--but is a little mollified--to find. Apolo's head rolls back, making his neck a long line. "Cross-tracking," he murmurs.

"Asshole," JR laughs, the sound jumping out into the space between them. "Shut up."

He loves, and yeah, he's going to use that word even though he's still absolutely sure that three times is not a trend; JR loves feeling Apolo laugh when his mouth is on Apolo's throat. It's just something that he noticed at some point, how it feels. The hum and stutter of the tactile sound against his lips. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Apolo's hands move over his back as JR drags his mouth up the man's neck and smells the skin under his jaw. Nothing about Apolo is fair, not how good he smells, not his confidence, not his ability to make three times nothing but a series of unrelated incidents with the same person.

JR breathes out a moan as strong fingers cup his ass and pull him close to the unyielding surface of the body in front of him, all lean planes and hard muscle. Apolo's breath is hot in his ear and JR can feel himself losing his lead. He makes an undignified sound and those fingers on him somehow add enough extra pressure to make the non-existent space between them even smaller. JR rolls his hips, the friction of cotton and denim sweet enough to hurt, to make his ears feel warm as his lips part to try and breathe right.

He spreads his legs and mostly just listens to the thunder of his pulse against his ears as his hips move again and Apolo's move back in sync. They make a rhythm, it's not unlike the burn and pump of limbs when JR's been skating so long that he's aware of nothing but every piece of his body as it moves, just push and lean, push and lean, it hurts but it's also the best sort of high, this place where there's nothing else but a burning rush of blood.

It's disorientating, disarming when the pressure slackens; JR sucks in a breath and opens his eyes to Apolo's shoulder, then lifts his head. "Who?" His mouth is dry and the word cracks. His cheek is hot where it was pressed against Apolo's collarbone.

"Shit, Jay," Apolo whispers--JR doesn't know why he sounds like that, a little bent out of shape, almost angry--and his mouth fits hard against JR's, hard enough to crush lips against teeth and then force them open, tongue bold enough that JR has to join in the kiss or get lost. His fingers are tangled into the front of Apolo's shirt and he doesn't know when they got there, only that the cotton feels damp against the inside of his fists. When Apolo yanks himself out of the garment JR's left holding onto it. Part of him wants to bury his face in it and breathe but that's just stupid because he's got Apolo right here.

No one will ever get JR to admit that sometimes he forgets to bring an extra shirt to practice because he knows that Apolo will offer one if the rest of the guys aren't within earshot to beat him to it. The worn-in cotton shows his stomach if he raises his hands all of the way but always smells like fabric softener and something spicy that JR can't put his finger on.

The shirt puddles on the counter when Apolo's hands turn JR to face it, slides as he tries to brace his arms against the push, and knocks into the McDonald's bag. The bag falls off the edge of the island with a rustle and crunch and JR sees the splash of yellow across the floor out of the corner of his eye. He might actually care (about his fries, not the mess) if Apolo seemed to (about the mess, not the fries) but Apolo's fingers are tugging at the fly on JR's pants and his nose is in JR's hair. At this point JR's pretty much forgotten all about eating.

He slips again, trying to lean on Apolo's shirt, and tosses it somewhere so that he can plant one hand down on the counter and lean back. Teeth find his ear through his hair and one cool hand slips down into the front of his briefs and JR hears himself make a noise that sounds a lot like a hurt animal. Back arching, he turns his face into Apolo's neck to muffle the noises.

His whole body feels like it is buzzing, a sweet hum of nerves and blood that gets louder when fingers brush and then wrap around his dick. Apolo gives the flesh in his hand one long pull toward the head and JR has to moan again, he can't not make a sound. His lips find skin but he can't make them do much except to part so that he can pant and breathe in the way Apolo smells.

There's a knee against the back of his leg and JR stumbles two steps forward until the counter makes a cold line across his stomach, his head coming forward and hands slapping down. "Po--?"

But Apolo isn't stopping and JR swallows the question as the hand around him squeezes and reroutes his thoughts. His hips jerk shallowly, forward and then--and his whole body seems to light up like an overhung Christmas tree--back, to rock against Apolo and suddenly there's a mouth on his ear moaning his name.

His actual first name.

"John," Apolo says, hot and low against the shell of his ear. "John," as he tugs up on JR's dick and rubs against him with a slow roll of strong hips. "John--"

And JR comes with a gasp and a shudder, his entire body jerking gently as he does, uncontrollably, his mouth open and his eyes closed tight, fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter.

The first thing JR hears once he can hear at all over the pound of blood against his eardrums is, "Are you serious?" It takes a moment of breathing and swallowing to realize that his underwear is damp, Apolo's hand is missing, and the question was intended for him. Sort of. It's hard to think past the way his legs want to buckle. JR rubs his bangs to the side and looks over his shoulder, jumping when Apolo's face is right there and banging his knee on the island base hard enough to feel it all the way up his thigh.

Groaning, JR grabs his knee one handed and curls over to put his head on the counter. It's as good excuse as any to not look at Apolo as the embarrassment of the situation finally begins to dawn on him. He just... Man, he hadn't even... Ugh, his shorts are gross. JR lets himself focus on that instead of on the fact that he shot his load way early and Apolo didn't get off at all. Shit, he's probably going to get thrown out. Apolo gets to come isn't one of the rules but its never not happened and JR isn't sure how to... well he's never really been the one doing...

Shit. JR bangs his forehead very lightly against the counter top.

"JR."

JR rolls his head to press his cheek to the counter and look back over his shoulder again. Apolo puts his arms on either side of him and leans down until they're almost nose to nose. JR can feel the press of the unsolved problem against his lower back and it sends a shiver up his spine. "So that's your thing, huh?" Apolo rests his mouth against the back of JR's shoulder and then bites him--it's mostly gentle but still enough to make JR inhale through his teeth.

"What?" he breathes out.

"Your name. Man, you came so fast you might have set a land speed record. All I had to do was call you John." He bites again, lightly, and JR's eyes might or might not roll up a bit under his eyelids. Apolo's teeth move to his earlobe and yeah, okay, now his eyes are definitely in the back of his head. Holy shit. "John," Apolo pushes into his ear in a laughing whisper, "who would have guessed?" And JR can feel the hum of the laugh.

There's another slow rhythm starting as Apolo talks, just the tiniest of rocking shifts like he can't even help himself. Just like the way JR can't help the way his breath speeds back up--if it had ever really gotten the chance to slow down. "Little John Celski," Apolo's murmuring like it's the dirtiest thing ever, and then it is because he adds, "bent over a kitchen counter by Apolo Ohno."

JR hates that Apolo can make him blush at the same time he turns him on. It makes him a little dizzy--maybe because his blood can't figure out which way to go. "Shut up," he says through his teeth, but there's no fight behind it. In fact it might have actually been a moan.

"Make me," says Apolo, "John." His fingers are pushing at JR's still in-place waistbands without leaning away and by the time he gets both layers of fabric down beneath the swell of JR's ass JR can hardly swallow because of how his heart is lodged into his throat, never mind telling Apolo to stop making his name sound like he's the starring character in a porno video.

Apolo doesn't really have nails but they bite into the angles of JR's hips somehow anyway and JR opens his mouth against the counter. He's not sure what happened to Apolo's pants but there is definitely nothing between them and the feel of hot skin sticking as it tries to rub against the middle of his ass makes JR's heart crash around in his chest. His rough breath is making the counter wet under his mouth and his palms are sweating, not quite able to hold him up. He can feel Apolo's forehead between his shoulderblades, feel the tickling brush of long hair on his skin, feel the damp heat of each jerking breath he takes against his spine. Apolo's still murmuring something but the words are too low for JR to hear so instead he just keeps listening to the quiet panic of his heart.

They've never done that.

JR's never done that, because that one botched experiment with a classmate when he was sixteen and living at home again does not count. Chris will never let him live it down, but at least he didn't tell mom and dad about what he walked in on. Needless to say, the actual sex never got done. Which leaves nothing else except a couple kisses that were more pressed on him than sought after, and a few weird sidelong looks from Simon that JR will deny with his dying breath, and...

And Apolo.

And Apolo rubbing himself against JR like he wants to...

And JR doesn't think he minds. He turns his forehead down against the counter as Apolo's fingers spasm and tighten and the next thrust against him, right between his butt cheeks, is a little easier, feels a little more like a slide and it’s both so weird and so good that JR can feel his dick wake back up as the hairs on his arms stand.

Apolo groans and JR gasps, fingers spread against the counter. More wet; he can feel it get slicked back downward as Apolo keeps moving, just quick little jerks of his hips and JR's body curls like it's trying to get itself into racing position which only puts Apolo down further, closer to there and its warm and slick and Apolo and it's like overload but it's not enough, either. It's not close to enough. And he can't--

He just won't--

JR doesn't even realize that he's slapped the counter until he feels the sting of his palm. Apolo's rhythm stops abruptly and for a moment it's just the sound of him breathing and the absence of JR doing the same, and teeth scrape the corner of JR's shoulderblade. The pressure of Apolo's grip lifts from his hip to settle on his forearm and slides down until fingers cover fingers. JR doesn't get why he's stopped at all, unless Apolo just suddenly up and decided that he really needed to hold hands. He doesn't understand until Apolo pulls JR's hand off the counter and folds his fingers around his own dick.

All of JR's held breath leaves his lungs in a thick rush and he's panting against the counter, holding onto his dick, as Apolo grabs his hip again. JR feels each fingertip dig in and he chokes a little on his moan, pushing his forehead down as he gives himself one halting stroke. Apolo matches it, somehow, rolling his hips up as JR brings his hand down. JR's teeth are against the counter, his eyes shut tight. Again; hand, hips.

It gets faster, easier. Apolo remembers to forget him, maybe, or JR stops caring that he's touching himself in front of Apolo. He feels flushed, too big for his tight skin, as he strokes himself. He can't pretend to be alone, home in his bunk with Atze out trying to bang a Mormon or Niels above him and snoring; JR knows that it's Apolo behind him, rubbing against him; breath hitching against the skin of his back and making him shiver. He rubs himself so roughly that it almost hurts, the slick of leaking fluid making it both better and worse.

JR gasps out loud when Apolo comes; he grunts and tugs down on JR's hips with enough force that JR nearly loses his balance. There's the splatter of wet warmth on skin and Apolo’s next thrust is a slide that makes JR want to crawl out of his skin. His hand forgets to move; instead he just feels that slick slap of hips and hears the liquid sound that’s not quite covered by the way Apolo is panting. It doesn’t last long. And when it’s over JR can feel Apolo’s heart through his back-it’s a rapid count. He finds himself counting along, fingers slack, until another pair wraps over them. A nose is pressed against the back of JR’s neck, spread lips against his back and just for a moment there’s only breath.

With JR’s hand in the way when Apolo starts stroking JR’s dick he does it without really touching it. It doesn’t matter. The slow, forced tugs make JR feel a little crazy. The pressure at the base of his dick pulses in time to each. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter. The ragged pattern of Apolo’s breathing moves from his back to his ear and causes JR’s to stop all together. He knows what’s coming.

“John.”

What JR isn’t expecting is the brush of lips on his neck just below his ear instead of the sharpness of a bite. It’s a kiss, a soft press of lips, and the next time Apolo says his name it’s a rumble of sound that crawls down his spine and makes his balls cramp up toward his body.

JR’s hand on the counter folds into a fist and his wrist pushes down hard as that tight feeling all the way down at the bottom of his gut bursts apart. He makes a low noise for the ache that accompanies each short throb that shakes his body and fills his own hand.

JR's not sure he'll ever start breathing again. He's not sure he wants to.

When Apolo lets go and leans back JR’s legs are pretty adamant that no matter how many stairs they can climb on any given day, they can’t hold him upright just now. He sinks to the floor, his sticky hand stuck out in front of him as he tries to use the other to tug up his pants. It takes a few tries and JR makes a face with the feel of what he’s pulling his pants up over. He needs a shower so bad. And his hand-

With a long exhale, JR grabs his own dropped shirt and wipes his hand clean. Figures. Shoving a stool out of the way he props himself up to sit under the counter with his arms around his knees and rubs his face.

Truth is, he just isn't sure how to feel. His heart is still beating too hard and his body feels soft and heavy but it would be impossible not to realize how gross his underwear is, which makes him think how close they actually might have been to that and does he even want that with someone who thinks the third time is just one out of a collective three, even if that person is Apolo?

JR hates being emo. He's hungry again; that doesn't help. He should just think about it like, well, it's good. And if it will or won't happen again, who cares? He doesn't. It's just a thing that sometimes happens and so what if Apolo's whispering his real first name in his ear, a name that nobody calls him except the people he cares about the very most? He doesn't.

Right. Keep telling yourself that, JR.

He shoves his bangs out of his face and looks at Apolo's legs, tracing down the thigh muscles obvious even through sweatpants, cut-away elastic because the pants were probably too long and--

Apolo's wearing tabi socks. JR blinks. He tilts his head and then suddenly he's laughing, he can't help himself. He covers his mouth but keeps laughing because it's just ridiculous, all of it's ridiculous.

There's a hand put on the edge of the counter and then Apolo's ducking down to sit next to him on the floor-tossing the soiled tshirt elsewhere with a wrinkle of his nose-and pressing up so that they're shoulder to shoulder. He's solid, and warm, and he still smells good. JR sucks at holding a grudge. "Your socks," he says, putting his head back, still smiling.

"They're dad's," says Apolo. He looks at them for a moment and then wiggles his toes, glancing over at JR and flashing a smile that's no parts dickhead. JR swallows and lets his legs straighten out. He reaches out and grabs one of his spilled fries, blowing on it before popping it in his mouth. "Man," Apolo says, his eyebrows raised. "That's off my floor."

Considering the state of my underwear, JR thinks, but doesn't say it aloud. "Fine." He leans a bit out from under the counter to try and grab the bag and feels Apolo hook a finger through his belt loop to keep him from falling over as he stretches. It turns out there's still quite a few fries left protected and JR digs some out as he settles his shoulder back against Apolo's.

"So would the bank of Celski consider giving out a loan?"

JR looks up from going over the Korean for 'I'm Lovin' It' and swallows the fries in his mouth. Apolo sticks a hand in the bag and JR shakes his head with a laugh. "The bank of Celski does not accept repayment in the form of dietary supplements." He bumps Apolo’s shoulder.

Chewing, Apolo smiles out of the corner of his mouth and bumps JR back. "How about we start with a replacement shirt? But I’ll think of something better for next time.”

JR pays attention to scraping the salt off his thumb because his ears might be getting a little hot but he can't help repeating that over in his head.

Next time.