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Nathan is barely through with his third knock on Vincent’s room in the Olympic village when said door is flying open beneath his hand.
In a whirl of action and motion, Vincent’s hand shoots forward and yanks him over the threshold, shutting the door firmly behind them. Then, Vincent’s lips are on his, warm and solid and soft, and it takes his brain a second or two to catch up. He frames Vincent’s face with his hands.
“You’re such an asshole,” Vincent pulls back to say before surging forward again.
Nathan mumbles against his lips and wrestles himself away. “What did I do?”
“Went off and won the Olympics without me, dickhead.”
Nathan scoffs in disbelief. “You’re the one who’s been leaving me on read!”
“Have not. My phone isn’t working.”
“Bullshit.” He rolls his eyes. “I know you’ve been texting Mariah, Karen and Alysa.”
“Yeah, well.” Vincent sits on the edge of his bed — hard and stiff, Nathan knows from experience — with a graceless plop. He shrugs and gestures vaguely. “I was kind of wallowing a little. Sorry.”
Yikes. Nathan flinches. He knew this would come up, but it’s awkward nonetheless. He takes a seat next to Vincent.
“Do you wanna, like,” he pauses. “Talk about it, or something?”
Vincent levels him a withering glare. “Such a way with words.”
He flops backward onto the bed, bouncing a little. “What’s there to talk about? I got COVID, had to withdraw, and missed my chance to win a medal at the fucking Olympics.”
“You still got a team medal, dude.”
“That’s different.” Vincent stares at the ceiling, his eyes opaque. “Plus Russia ruined it, so.”
Unsure how to respond, Nathan reclines on the bed, shifting onto his side to watch Vincent in silence. Vincent’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling, but loose and out of focus, as if he’s spent a lot of time looking up at it lately. It wouldn’t be surprising. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“I’m sorry. It sucks, man. You deserved to skate, and COVID is fucking trash.”
Vincent rolls his eyes and huffs as if to say, yeah, no shit.
But Nathan presses on. “But you’re all cleared to be in the gala.”
“Yeah,” Vincent concedes. He still sounds forlorn, resigned.
“You can go and win Worlds next month,” suggests Nathan, trying to be encouraging.
That only makes Vincent scoff again. “Why, because you won’t be there?”
“Dude, I’m trying to make you feel better. I know I suck at it but meet me halfway here.” Nathan huffs. “Plus, I didn’t say that. You could beat me even if I was there.”
Vincent turns and stares. His eyebrows are raised in an oh, really? formation.
Nathan holds steady. “I’m serious.”
A beat passes. Then Vincent sighs. “Sure. I guess.”
“What, you don’t believe me?” Nathan laughs. “Prove it to me. I may not be there, but I’ll be watching.”
He flips onto his back and looks around, surveying the room. It’s exactly the same as his own: bed, desk, chair, lamp, closet. The bare necessities. He can’t imagine being stuck in here for days on end. He turns back to Vincent.
“What did you even do in here for a week?” he asks.
Vincent shrugs. “I dunno. Slept. Ate. Worked out. Watched some Netflix.”
Nate quirks an eyebrow and grins devilishly. “Did you jerk off?”
Vincent shoves him on the shoulder. “God, shut up.” He’s quiet while Nathan laughs. “A few times,” he admits quietly, a few moments later.
“Ooooh.” Nathan affects a scandalized manner. “Who’d you think of?”
Vincent hums in contemplation. “Harry Styles.”
“Wow. That hurts.”
“What? He’s hot. That voice.” Vincent makes a dreamy noise. He looks at Nathan. “What? Did you want me to say I thought about you?”
Nathan shrugs. “Well, yeah.”
“Hmm. Shame.”
Vincent's feigned apathy earns a wounded look from Nathan. It makes him laugh. “Okay, okay,” he relents. “Once. Maybe twice.”
Nathan pumps his fist. “Fuck yeah.”
“God, you’re so annoying.” Vincent eyes Nathan and his goofy smile. It’s so annoying. Not just the smile, but the fact that he feels his resolve crumbling.
“Shut up,” he says flatly.
Nathan acts affronted. “I didn’t say anyth–”
He’s silenced once again by Vincent’s lips on his, pulled in by the collar of his stupid, tacky Team USA jacket. It once again takes a second or two for his brain to catch up, but he’s returning the kiss before long.
Minutes pass like that, and then Vincent pulls back to speak. “Hey,” he whispers. “Can we…”
Nathan catches on right away. “I have an interview in, like, thirty minutes,” he responds apologetically.
Vincent groans and throws his hands up in defeat. “I finally get out of quarantine and I can’t even have sex,” he bemoans. “What’s the fucking point.”
“Oh my god, you’re being so dramatic.” Nathan sits up. “I’m sorry I’m busy. Things are weird, I don’t know.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
Nathan sighs through his nose. “Later, okay? Later. After gala practice. I promise.”
Vincent meets his eyes. “Promise.”
“Dude, I just did.”
Vincent chuckles. He seems more at ease now. “Stop calling me ‘dude’ when we’re alone.”
“Okay. What should I call you then?” He gives Vincent an impish look. “Vince? Baby?”
“Oh my god, just leave.” Vincent laughs and shoves him again. Nathan laughs too.
He stands up and moves toward the door. “I’ll be back later.” He touches the knob. “Think about me and jerk off again. Baby.”
Nathan narrowly avoids the pillow flying at his head as he rushes through the door.