Warning: Written for a challenge/fest over on InsaneJournal. I am so sorry.
Disclaimer: After a story like this? There's a good reason I don't own anything but school books and a faded pair of Converse with holes in the heels and broken laces.
A/N: Uh. Not much to say, actually. Except that two men straddling the same torpedo looks far more amusing and dirty than it should. (No, this doesn't actually have anything to do with the story - there just happens to be an old B&W war film on TV. And where the hell did the word "Leftenant" come from? NOTE TO THE ARMED FORCES OF THE WORLD: THIS IS NOT A WORD). In relation to the story, I think I made Roman seem like a bit of a slut. Oops. *is totally unremorseful* Also, I'm not entirely sure what I've done emotionally in this story, because there was never really supposed to be emotion in the first place. It just kind of ended up there of its own accord. Stupid emotion.
This shouldn't have happened, Richard thought. Not only because Roman was a boy, but because he shouldn't have been so stupid, so careless in the first place. This wasn't like him, to be so reckless and impulsive. Although, if he were honest with himself, it hadn't been entirely impulsive. This hadn't been the first time he'd thought about it. The boy was always around – at the rink, at competitions, at their house, always hanging of Jennifer's arm, or she off his. And he had been glad for the size of the Villa, the distance that separated Jenny's bedroom from his own, and glad for the fact that Roman slept half-curled around Jenny, because otherwise, it would have happened before now.
It made him feel slightly dirty, slightly perverted, like a predator stalking innocent pray. Only Roman wasn't innocent. Roman wasn't innocent when he sent Richard sly smirks that should have melted the ice he skated on; wasn't innocent in the way he slid elegantly out of the pool; wasn't innocent when he brushed his leg against Richard's under the dinner table.
No, he wasn't innocent, but until tonight Richard had just thought that they were games, played for Roman's amusement. How much can I get away with? I can see you want me. How far do I have to push?
It hadn't been far. Had, in fact, been embarrassingly not-far.
As he extricated himself slightly from the figure sleeping next to him, he tried to piece together the haze of the past hour.
It was after midnight when he'd heard soft footsteps on the stairs, and Richard looked up from his paperwork, fully prepared to tell Renate that the washing could be done tomorrow, only to see someone else entirely. Roman was leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs casually, hair tousled, pyjama pants slung far too low and wearing a tee-shirt that was tight enough to be Jenny's. Richard cleared his throat. Roman just smirked at him, eyes shining under long lashes. Richard opened his mouth, intending on saying something, but at the same time, Roman pushed off the wall, flicking overgrown locks of hair out of his face as he did, and sauntered towards the couch.
Richard huffed a nervous laugh and turned pointlessly back to his paperwork, hoping Roman would get the point. He didn't. Or if he did, he chose to ignore it, because Richard felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing him until he was leaning against the back of the couch. And then, suddenly, Roman was in his lap.
The rest of the night came to him mostly in flashes and impressions.
He remembered finding himself straddled on a bed in one of the guest bedrooms, without knowing how they'd gotten there. He remembered that Roman oozed with the grace of a figure skater, and that he lost any semblance of that grace the moment Richard entered him. He remembered the look on his face in that moment - wide-eyed, shocked, but with the hint of a grin. He remembered fingernails digging into his back; smug look that said, "I knew I'd break you"; a ridiculous grin afterwards that made him look both much older and much younger than his eighteen years.
He remembered the moans, Roman's bloody incessant laughter, and the faint combined scents of chlorine, soap and shampoo on Roman's skin. The way Roman arched his back, trusting and teasing at the same time, the way he reacted to Richard's every touch and movement.
This boy had had him enthralled and helpless since he'd come down those stairs in the dead of night, and he was only marginally less enthralled now, as he moved carefully off the bed and out of the room.
Two hours and one-and-a-half Scotches later, he still wasn't sure whether to feel elated or horrified. He didn't love Roman, no, but he felt something for him. Something akin to affection, only more wanting, more selfish. No, this definitely shouldn't have happened, but the most frustrating part was that there was no doubt that he wanted it to happen again.
It was one month later, while Richard was watching Jenny and Roman train, that something changed. He and Roman had developed a sort of easy cameraderie in the past weeks, and what had happened that night, wonderful though it may have been, hadn't been repeated.
The change came in the introduction of Marc Hagendorf.
Richard watched as Jenny and Roman stopped skating in favour of staring at the new recruit - Roman in open curiosity and Jenny in curiosity disguised as irritated contempt. Marc glided across the ice with their trainer, self-confident and unfairly pretty, and Richard didn't miss the sheepish smile he earned from Roman. Nor did he miss the glint in Marc's eye, even from half the rink's distance, the open, easy grin as he introduced himself. Even through the cold, Roman blushed.
And then the moment was broken as Jenny's toe-pick hit the ice petulantly before she took off again, ignoring the newcomer entirely. He saw Roman smirk at that and poke his tongue out at Jenny, making Marc laugh as their trainer rolled his eyes. Already an interesting dynamic, Richard thought. This Marc Hagendorf could be good for the boy, and it surprised him just how easily that thought came to him, how that thought felt like a weight off his mind. A weight he hadn't been aware he'd been carrying.
Richard watched as Roman moved to catch up with Jenny, casting one last look over his shoulder at Marc - Marc just grinned back before turning to their trainer. Roman, in turn, was so flustered that he nearly ran right into Jenny, who proceeded to glare and then say something apparently funny. They grinned at each other childishly before taking off in perfect unison.
It was in that moment, somehow, that Richard felt happier, lighter than he had in months. He felt, stupidly, like everything was alright, like everything would work out, in the long-run. Chuckling at his own strange and unexpected optimism, he shook his head and stood up. He left the rink with a smile on his face.