Just a Number
Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.
Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?
.
Just a Number – Just Say Yes
"It's you, Sasha. You inspire me."
And with that she threw caution to the wind.
And kissed him.
And he kissed back.
Because . . . because he didn't know why. All he knew was that he was kissing Payson Keeler and it was exactly where he wanted to be in that moment. Nothing had ever felt so right in his life.
Although Payson had initiated the kiss, he took control within moments, dragging her bottom lip between his own and running his tongue along the seam of her lips until they opened for him, allowing him to kiss her more deeply. He held tight to her waist as she clung to his shoulders, her hands fisting into his shirt.
And then his mind started to work all on its own accord, reminding him of all the reasons he shouldn't be kissing Payson Keeler and how it was all going to lead to one thing that he shouldn't be leading her to right now. A stronger man would have resisted right from the start, but Sasha was not that man, and he could barely summon the strength to disengage her. He was only human and Payson – beautiful, determined, witty, intelligent Payson – was irresistible.
"Payson, we can't," he said reluctantly as he pushed her away. Every inch of him longed to pull her back, but he knew it was wrong. He knew they couldn't keep going.
Her eyes widened with shock, as though she was suddenly realizing what she was doing, and then she ran right past him, leaving him calling her name behind her.
"Payson, wait!" he called, stopping only to grab his jacket as he chased her out of the gym. He found her waiting just outside of the gym doors, staring thoughtfully at the snow-covered asphalt as she seriously contemplated how far she could make it before she was forced to turn back and face him.
"Payson, please," he begged. She gave him a frightened look and her body tensed like she was getting ready to make a run for it despite the likelihood of freezing solid in her attempt to escape. He took her hand in his own, forcing her stay with him. "We need to talk about this," he told her quietly as he slung his jacket over her shoulders.
"No we don't," she protested. "We just need to forget it even happened. I've ruined everything."
"Of course you haven't," he argued against her. "And we can't just forget that it happened.
"Please can we just talk about this?" he pleaded. "We can go over to my trailer and I'll make you a hot drink to warm you up, and we can talk about this like adults."
Payson gave him a dry look, her lips quirking sarcastically. "And how do you expect to get there?" she asked with a gesture to her scant attire.
"I'll carry you," he answered. He swept her up into his arms a second later, without giving her a moment to comprehend what he meant to do. He jogged briskly across the parking lot so that she wouldn't be exposed to the cold any longer than she had to be and took the three steps up to the landing in one go. He carefully maneuverer her in his arms to get the door, and headed straight to the far end, depositing her in his unmade bed and pulling the duvet over her chilled body.
"Okay, do you want tea or coffee?" he asked, not immediately wishing to address the situation.
"Tea," she answered from her cosy position. "Milk and one sugar please." She sat up in the bed, draping the warm duvet around her shoulders and pulling all her limbs close to regain heat faster. He busied himself with their two drinks, bringing them over when he was done and sitting beside her on the end of the bed. She nervously scooted her way up towards the headboard, avoiding any form of contact.
He sighed tiredly, placing the two drinks on the nightstand. "Payson –"
"Can we please just forget about it?" she pleaded, cutting him off. "Obviously I completely misread the situation and did something really stupid. Can we just put it all down to being in the moment and forget about it?"
Sasha shook his head. "You didn't," he argued. "I mean, you didn't misread things. Believe me, this would be so much easier if you had," he added morosely.
"I really like you, Payson," he told her. He frowned, realizing immediately how the words sounded. It made it sound like he was trying to let her down gently – that was how truly inadequate the word 'like' was to describe how he was feeling about her. He cursed that English was one of the few languages in the world that didn't make a distinction between romantic liking and platonic liking.
"Christ, I don't even know how to say this," he complained to himself shaking his head. He looked up at her, noting the hurt look in her eyes and felt a surge of anger directed at himself for causing her to feel such pain. "Payson," he said gently, reaching for her hand and pulling it from under the blanket, "if I could be with you right now, I would in a heartbeat. You are honestly one of the most amazing people I have ever met."
Payson shook her head, tugging her hand from his and placing it out of his reach. "I'm not some little child with a crush, Sasha," she told him coolly. "You don't have to let me down easy."
"I'm not," he replied, a frustrated edge in his voice. "Payson, I . . ." he said, cutting his protests short as he realized there was only one thing that would convince her. He took her face roughly in her hands and pulled her lips to his in a searing kiss. She was tense at first, but eventually relaxed enough to kiss him back and lean further into his kiss. He loosened his hold on her, gently cupping her face with one hand, while the other slid down to the back of her neck and drew her closer to him.
He eventually pulled away, breathing hard to regain his breath and leaning his forehead against hers. "Do you honestly believe that I wouldn't want to be with you if I could?" he asked her sincerely, his fingers sliding against the soft skin of her cheek.
"Then what is it?" she asked quietly, biting her lip. "Don't tell me Marty and Austin have scared you off with their combined efforts," she muttered sarcastically.
"You know about that?" he asked in surprise.
She shrugged. "Austin has about as much subtlety as a flying monkey, and it doesn't take a genius to work out that Marty isn't exactly happy to have you here."
"It isn't that," he assured her quietly. "Do I really look like the kind of man that could be scared off by those two?" he asked with a smug grin.
"No," she answered, sweeping her hand through his sandy blonde hair. "So what is it?"
"It's me trying to be honourable," he answered her with a grim look. "You said it earlier, dragă. This is our last Olympic cycle and we can't let anything get in the way of that. You don't need any distractions right now, and that's what I'd be. I'm not good at relationships and I'm guaranteed to do something stupid. I don't want something I did to get in the way of your goal."
She smiled at him gently, seeming to understand exactly the point he was trying to get across. "You're a good man, Sasha Belov," she told him softly and pressed her lips lightly against his for just a moment.
"I'm not so sure," he answered. "And if you're going to keep kissing me like that, I might just have to change my mind." He smiled ruefully and pulled away, putting just enough space between them to quell the temptation to press her into the mattress and explore what little her leotard left to the imagination.
"So what does that make us?" she asked, feeling stupid and childish for having to define.
"Friends for now," he shrugged. "But I swear, Payson, as soon as the Olympics are over, you'll have to beat me off with a stick," he laughed awkwardly.
"Is that promise?" she teased with a sultry grin.
"Don't tempt me, dragă," he warned her. "I'm not sure I have enough will power left."
She smiled, taking her drink from the bedside table and quietly drinking it in a companionable silence. It was one of the many things she enjoyed about being with Sasha – he never felt the need to fill the silence, and he always had a way of making her comfortable with him no matter the situation.
"C'mon," he said, taking the empty mug from her hands, "I should get you back to gym."
"Can I have piggyback this time?" she asked sweetly, pulling his jacket on properly.
He paused to check whether she was being serious and laughingly agreed. "Your wish is my command, dragă," he told her with a smile. He walked the short distance the door, holding it open for her as she met him at the threshold.
"Rahat," he muttered upon seeing the darkened gym. "Stay here," he commanded before running across the parking lot to check the doors.
"Like I have a choice," Payson muttered to herself with a pointed eye roll.
He pulled on the doors, muttering expletives in Romanian when it wouldn't budge. "Ce pula mea," he hissed between his teeth, resisting a very strong urge to try kicking in the door. He quashed his annoyance as best he could before returning to Payson.
"Right, so the doors are locked and all our stuff's inside," he said, summing up the situation as neutrally as possible.
"What about your keys? Mobile?" she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. "They're in my gym bag, which is in The Rock."
"Crap," she hissed quietly.
"There's an extra bed in the airstream and you can borrow something to wear," he assured her, trying to make things as easy as he could. "I'm just worried about your parents. How likely are they to start freaking out when you don't come home?"
"I told them I'd probably be home pretty late, so it's not like they're waiting up. I'll just call them when I get my phone so Mom doesn't freak out when she finds my bed empty," she said with a grimace. She could foresee that explaining to her mother that she'd spent the night in Sasha's trailer was going to be a very trying conversation.
"So all we need to do is wake up early so we can sneak you back into the gym in the morning," he said. "Shouldn't be a problem." She nodded along as Sasha went to small dresser/closet and pulled out something for her to wear, carefully sniffing anything that he thought might do to see if it was fit for use. He eventually settled on a flannel pyjama set and a pair of boxer briefs. He handed her the small pile of clothes and directed her to the bathroom to change while he found himself something suitable to wear. He tried very hard not to dwell on the fact that she was wearing his underwear.
"How do I look?" she joked as she came out of the bathroom, his clothing hanging off of her tiny frame. She'd let her hair down from the tight bun, and it hung over one shoulder with a slight curl to the ends.
"Frumos," he told her gently, closing the space between them in two long strides and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She flushed, flicking her eyes up to meet his and mirroring his expression of longing. "You take the bed, dragă," he told her lowly. "I'll take the lounge seat."
"Sasha, I can't take your bed," she protested, forgetting her abashedness.
"Do you need an extra blanket?" he asked, ignoring her protests.
"Sasha, I mean it," she said adamantly as he quietly ushered her towards the queen-sized bed. "Will you even fit on the lounge?" she asked tersely.
"It's the same length as the bed," he said, finally acknowledging her argument. "Vise plăcute, dragă mea," he told her quietly, kissing her quickly on the lips before heading to the opposite end of the trailer where he made himself comfortable on the lounge seat.
Payson smiled and settled herself into his bed.
"Sweet dreams, Sasha."
North Greenwich Arena – London, 2012
The crowd was completely silent for a moment as she curled to the ground and returned to her starting position. Then suddenly there was a loud burst of applause and every member of the audience was on their feet cheering her performance.
Payson stood gracefully – elegance in every movement – and saluted the judges, smiling as she raised her arms to her audience. Her performance had been perfect, more so than it had ever felt in her life, and there was only one person to thank for it. She ran from the floor to the sideline, embracing her coach in a hug as her teammates crowded around her.
She heard Marty scoff above her and glanced up to see a frown edged on his features. "What is it?" she asked in concern, her own expression creasing in confusion.
"You might want to look at the screen, Payson," Marty answered seriously.
"But the scores won't be . . . oh," she gasped as she turned to face the large plasma screen, her hand rising automatically to her mouth and a smile pulling on her lips. She had expected to be greeted with a replay of one of her tumbling passes or of the fouetté en tournant she performed in the middle of her routine. Instead what she got was the image of Sasha Belov – a man who was more or less the love of her life – holding up a hand-made sign with the words "Payson Keeler, will you please go out with me?" in bold writing. Austin could be seen in the periphery nodding emphatically to indicate the correct response to Sasha's question.
She took a step forward, instinctively wanting to run towards him, even though she wasn't entirely sure where he was. She had to laugh a little at his pleading expression, seeing straight away that he had probably been able to get away with murder as a child.
"Payson, I thought you were smarter than that," Marty said shaking his head and feigning disappointment. "You can't be falling for that."
"Of course I'm not," Payson answered with a wave of her hand, not turning her gaze from the image of Sasha above her. "But he did say please," she argued, "and I suppose he does deserve some credit for that."
Marty shook his head, tsking disapprovingly. He laughed to himself and muttered something about how this was exactly the sort of thing he should have expected Sasha to do. He knew his former rival well enough to know that Sasha wouldn't give up when it came to Payson, and stupidly romantic, publicly humiliating, high risk – high reward gambles like this were right up Sasha's alley.
Lauren, Kaylie, and Emily crowded around her, all of them eager to know her reaction to Sasha's public display of affection. Lauren was, unsurprisingly, the first to press for a response.
"Oh my gosh, you have to say yes, Payson," the blonde insisted. "I mean, he's Sasha Belov and it's . . . he's Sasha Belov."
"Yes, Lauren, I am fully aware of who Sasha is," she said with a dry eye roll, but smiling irrepressibly.
"I don't know, Pay," Kaylie said less enthusiastically, slightly apprehensive even. "Is that what you want? You should only say yes if it's really what you want."
Emily just smiled her silent encouragement, eyes lit with excitement and approval.
The four of them nearly jumped out of their skins as the crowd let out a collective groan, which was generally a bad sign for any gymnast. However, it was quickly apparent that the crowd's response was to the cut away from Sasha to a commercial for one of the sponsors. It was the sort of groan that came when the cliff-hanger of your favourite TV show is interrupted by an urgent news flash, the crowd having forgotten that they were watching a sports competition and not a romantic drama.
At the end of the ad-spot the camera cut down to her on the arena floor, her three best friends on either side of her giving their unconditional support. The scores flashed one at a time, super-imposed over her image. Payson didn't dare look until the final score came, feeling her friends suddenly relax beside her and then hearing a loud cheer from the crowd.
And there it was – 16.75 and her name sliding up to the top of the leader table, pushing Genji Cho from the top spot and Kelly Parker into third place.
"And the gold medal for Floor Exercise goes to Payson Keeler of the United States of America," the commentators announced, "with silver to Genji Cho, and bronze to Kelly Parker."
The four girls cheered amongst themselves, embracing each other in a warm hug and bouncing excitedly up and down on the spot.
"You know they're all gonna want to know your answer," Emily reminded her as the excitement died down, directing her gaze to the waiting media.
"They can wait," Payson answered shrewdly. "Sasha included."
"But, Payson, you can't –" Lauren began to protest, but Payson was quick to cut her off.
"Men's rings finals is tomorrow night," she reminded them with a sly grin.
"Wanna help me make a sign?"
~ to be continued ~
Okay, so maybe he did still push back, but only after giving the kiss some reasonable attention and very reluctantly. If he wasn't so darn honourable, I doubt he would have stopped at a kiss.
Notes:
The italic bit is supposed to be a dream, but it's also how I pictured the ending when I first started this story - I always write endings and beginnings simultaneously like that. Now that I'm deeper into the story, I'm not picturing the ending in the same way, but it does serve as an ending of sorts. This is sort of the alternate ending of the story and if they really did leave well along for the next 8 months as they intended, then this is what would happen. Of course, everyone knows that 'wait until the Olympics' stuff never works.
The first arc finishes at chapter 17 and I will likely take a break after that so I can get through writing most of arc two before I start posting it. I guess this 'ending' becomes officially null and void once it picks up at chapter 18. This is my just-in-case ending for fear that I get some huge writers block and can't get through the rest of the story - at least this way you'll get some closure on things. I'm hoping it doesn't come to that because arc two is where all the drama happens. After all, Sasha hasn't even met Mark Keeler and I'm pretty sure he'd have some strong thoughts on his teenage daughter dating the twenty-six year old, bad boy of gymnastics. No father could stay silent on that.
Translations:
Rahat: Crap/shit. The slightly more polite form, at least relative to Căcat. Rather amusingly, it also means Turkish Delight. That made me giggle.
Ce pula mea: What the fuck (lit. what my dick). Sasha, ever the gentleman, saves the real profanity for when Payson's not around even if it is in a foreign language.
Frumos: beautiful and it's infinite range of all encompassing meanings.
Dragă: beloved, sweetheart, dear, darling.
Vise plăcute, dragă mea: Pleasant dreams, my darling