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Akaashi groans in pleasure as he stretches after a long, sweat-soaked session on the ice. Learning a quad flip isn’t the easiest thing he’s ever set out to do, and everything from his ass down is sore from spill after spill. It’s a difficult skill to master, but worth it.
After all, triples don’t cut it for Grand Prix qualifiers anymore, and Akaashi is going to make it.
He sits on the bench and takes in the smell of the ice as a zamboni smooths away the evidence of his hard work, doing his wind-down stretches away from the stale odor of the locker room down the ramp. His thoughts drift to the upcoming national tournament — the one Akaashi will have to win and then some to get his ticket to the Grand Prix. He knows every contender and their routines almost as well as they do, and he knows what it will take to rise above them all and take what he wants. All he needs is to —
The loud crack of a puck hitting the glass behind him startles Akaashi out of his reverie. He jerks his head up to spot the cause of the disturbance, only to find a man in a hockey girdle and not much else cruising around the ice in the wake of the zamboni.
Eyes wide, the man skates over to the boards next to Akaashi and leans over the rail. “Oh, shit. Sorry, man, I didn’t see you.”
“I noticed,” Akaashi says, his eyes straying to his hockey player’s well-toned arms and chest.
“You okay?” he asks, his arms crossing and creating a whole new sight for Akaashi to take in.
“Fine,” Akaashi chokes. He swallows hard and commands his gaze upward and to the surprisingly handsome face waiting with an expectant look. “I was just surprised.”
The guy smiles, showing a full set of teeth he doesn’t typically see from the hockey players usually lingering around the rink. “Good.” He holds out a hand. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”
Returning the proffered gesture of goodwill, Akaashi answers, “Akaashi. Akaashi Keiji.”
Iwaizumi nods and gives Akaashi a once-over. “You a, um, figure skater, then?”
“I am.” Akaashi crosses his arms and leans on the railing next to Iwaizumi. “So, do you always play half naked, or am I just lucky today?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi can see Iwaizumi’s face turn pink all the way to his ears as he ducks his head. “I thought I was alone. The cool air feels good, and I can think. I can sweat all I want during the game.”
Akaashi chuckles, his bravado fueled by Iwaizumi’s incongruous modesty. “Well, don’t let me stop you. And for what it’s worth, I get it.” Turning his attention to the unmarred surface of the ice, he says, “There’s something so . . . free about stepping on a fresh patch of ice. The air coming off of it smells good, it tastes good, and it’s so quiet under your skates.”
“Yeah.” Iwaizumi turns his head, and Akaashi meets his gaze. “Figure skaters and hockey players don’t agree on much as far as I can tell, but we can agree on that.”
“Definitely.” Akaashi offers a crooked smile and asks, “So you have a game tonight?”
Iwaizumi nods. “Metro championships. We have a chance to win it all, and I am nervous as hell.”
“Practice.”
“What?”
Akaashi bumps his shoulder against Iwaizumi’s and repeats the same mantra he has since he was three years old and taking his first tottering strides of the ice. “Practice never lies. You practice like a champion and it makes you a champion.” He gives Iwaizumi a pointed look. “So have you? Practiced like a champion?”
Blinking in surprise, Iwaizumi shakes his head. “You’re the weirdest damn figure skater I’ve ever met. Usually, the spandex squad doesn’t have more than six words to say to us lowly hockey jocks.”
Laugher bubbles from Akaashi until he feels a shooting pain in his side. “The spandex squad? Really?” He huffs. “You just wish your ass looked this good in lycra.” Iwaizumi’s flush flares back to life, and Akaashi can’t tear his eyes away from it. “You have really pretty eyes.”
Iwaizumi quirks a brow. “So is there anything of mine you’re not looking at?”
“I’d rather take you to dinner first before I look at the rest of it.”
There is no reply to his brazen declaration, but Akaashi can see Iwaizumi’s fingers flex in his balled-up fists. “So you’re asking me on a date?”
“I guess so.”
“What if you’re not my type?”
“That’s entirely possible.”
“What if I say no?” Iwaizumi leans toward Akaashi and murmurs, “What if I say yes?”
Rolling his head back to obscure his grin of triumph, Akaashi answers, “I’d ask if you like that yakiniku place across the street from the train station.”
“Mmm.” Iwaizumi drums his hands on the boards and pretends to think hard about it. “Now, let’s see here. Would I want to eat my weight in meat while in the company of a guy who admittedly looks better in stretch pants than me?” He plops his cheek on his palm and gives Akaashi a long, lazy look. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
Akaashi reaches up and pats Iwaizumi’s cheek. “I think you might want to keep your eyes on the puck and off my ass. You win your game, though, and then we might talk about your chances of seeing what’s underneath these tights.” He pecks a kiss on Iwaizumi’s cheek and pushes away from the boards with a little wave. “Good luck, Hajime-kun. For what it’s worth, I hope you do win.”
With a slap on his own rear and a chuckle, Akaashi saunters down the runway, thoroughly enjoying the sputter of surprise behind him.
* * *
Akaashi soaks in the roar of the crowd as the home team, his team, skates around the rink. The trophy in Iwaizumi’s hands glitters under the lights of the rinks, but nothing outshines the look of pure joy on his face as he kisses the symbol of his success and passes it on to one of his teammates.
It had been an entertaining game, as far as Akaashi could tell with his very limited knowledge of hockey, but even he could tell that Iwaizumi is good at what he does. That alone had been enough to keep Akaashi’s attention on the ice and away from the lingering memory of a broad, bare chest and arms he would happily allow to crush him at will.
Okay, so he hasn’t kept his mind on the game the whole time.
Soon, the crush of spectators files out of the rink, and Akaashi can move down to the section where the locker room ramp meets the home bench. He watches as the rest of Iwaizumi’s team boisterously files down the ramp, pushing and laughing and joking with one another. The one he is really paying attention to, however, is almost out of sight before he jogs back out to the bench and looks up at where Akaashi is leaning on the glass.
“You’re here.” Iwaizumi stuffs his gloves under his arm and mops his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. “I guess I didn’t think you were being serious.”
Akaashi crosses his arms and gives Iwaizumi a smirk. “I’m very serious about who gets into my pants. I was hoping you’d manage, but you’re actually really good at this game and I’m glad I got to watch.”
“Wow, you are shameless.” Iwaizumi harrumphs and shrugs. “So, um, yakuniku, then, or should we wait until you make the Grand Prix qualifiers?”
Brows raising in interest, Akaashi asks, “How did you know about that?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know how to Google stuff.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “I won my game. Does that mean you’re buying?”
Akaashi nods and directs his gaze at the exit. “I can handle that. Meet you outside?”
“Yeah.” He reaches up and touches his bare hand to the glass, and Akaashi bends down to press his own palm to the opposite side. “See you there.”
“As if I’d let you get away now.” But Akaashi’s words were softened with a smile. “Hockey jock.
“Spandex squad.” Iwaizumi laughs, his nose scrunching above a toothy smile, and Akaashi feels something clench in his belly as he watches the most interesting hockey player he’s ever met head down the ramp and one step closer to a most interesting rendezvous and hopefully one hell of a good luck charm.