(no subject)

[annapeace.livejournal.com]

Title: Zen (and the Art of Markus)
Rating: R
Involving: Markus Rogan/Aaron Peirsol, Michael Phelps, Cheng Fei
Summary: It's peace, it's love, it's Markus.
A/N: Another Olympic OTP, gone. :(

There's no question
The city as my witness
I am who I wanna be, but you could be anything
Just be anything here with me.
Endless quotes and with the secondhand
If you let go then that's where time will stand.

“Firefight” – Jimmy Eat World

--

Aaron is lying on the bed with his arm over his eyes. He’s not really that tired, he doesn’t have a headache and it’s certainly not sunny inside the room, but the position comes naturally to him. Too many years of lying on hot beaches, he supposes.

On the other side of the room, Michael is debating a bottle of hair gel with himself. Aaron can’t actually see the other swimmer, but he knows exactly how the scene will play out: Michael will mutter something about trying too hard, stick the bottle into his gym bag, pause, take the bottle back out and repeat the cycle. It will go on for at least ten minutes. And not that Aaron doesn’t love Michael - because he does - but eight gold medals or no, he will strangle America’s Flying Fish if he doesn’t leave right this second.

Aaron just wants to chill and get rid of that weird, hollow feeling that’s been nagging him the entire week. Except that’s clearly not going to happen with Michael’s Great Hair Crisis.

“Mikey,” Aaron calls, peeking out from under his arm just enough to see Michael fiddling with the bottle cap. “Stop stressing. Your hair never looks good anyway, so just go.”

Michael makes a face and tosses the bottle at Aaron. It hits him in the thigh and bounces to the floor.

“Ow,” Aaron says dutifully.

“Aw, fuck you,” Michael laughs. But he’s picking up his key and moving towards the door, so Aaron considers the assault well worth it. He’s about to close his eyes and sink deeper into the mattress when he hears Michael’s voice again. “You sure you don’t want to come? First one’s always the best, and we’re meeting up with the Aussies.”

For the record, Aaron does consider it. He thinks about the drinking and the dancing, the wild crush of hard bodies in the throes of celebration, Eamon’s gorgeous eyes and Stephanie’s soft hair and the stuff they could do that would never, ever be told to the press…and it would be fun, tomorrow night.

“I’m sure. I just feel like I need to decompress.”

“Why do you always have to use words like ‘decompress’?” Michael complains half-heartedly. Then he laughs again, tells Aaron he’ll be missing out, and is gone.

Aaron sighs. He understands Michael’s need to party, the younger man had been under the most pressure and constant lock and key for practically a year. Now he’s done it, he’s living the dream; he can afford to have some fun. It’s just different for Aaron. Aaron loves getting lost in the revelry, but not before he finds himself first.

Aaron’s been feeling a little bit off this whole week.

There’s a knock at the door, and Aaron’s sigh this time is one of annoyance.

“Michael’s not here!”

“Aaron?”

It’s a voice Aaron immediately recognizes and he sits up on the bed. He takes a moment to push back his hair – another force of habit, even though it’s been awhile since he started keeping it short – then slides to his feet to answer the door. Markus is standing outside with a bemused expression on his face.

Aaron feels something settle inside him and he realizes why things have been off kilter: he hasn’t spoken to Markus at all the entire time they’ve been in Beijing.

“Sorry,” he says by way of greeting. “I thought you were Ryan. He drops by like, five million times a day looking for Michael. You’d think he could keep better track of his own friend. Or they would have roomed them together, or something.”

“Organizers,” Markus agrees solemnly, nodding.

“Anyway, what’s up?” Aaron smiles. He’s going to stop babbling, really. It’s a horrible effect Markus has on him. The Austrian makes everything feel easy and free flowing, like catching the perfect swell at the beach. He’s relaxing, and Aaron finds himself being carried away.

“Not much,” Markus replies. “I wasn’t sure if you already had plans, I would have called but I lost my cell…”

“Nope, no plans,” Aaron says smoothly, and he’s proud of how nonchalant he manages to sound even as he feels absolutely lame for admitting he’s got no life.

“Um, okay, cool.” And Markus smiles, making Aaron feel a lot better. Aaron finds that things are generally better when Markus is smiling at him. “Then you wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure.”

--

Their walk lasts all of two minutes. Even though the sun has clearly gone down, the oppressive wet heat of the day remains in the air. Both of them are covered by sheens of sweat within seconds of leaving the dorms, and by unspoken agreement they have sought refuge in the cafeteria. The lighting is bad and the seats are uncomfortable, but there is air conditioning, and they huddle together under one of the vents.

“I hate Beijing,” Aaron mutters, shivering slightly as the sweat dries off his skin. “It’s supposed to cool off at night. That’s like, a rule.”

Markus snorts. “Yeah, Beijing sucks.”

There’s a bit of self-mocking in Markus’ tone and Aaron wishes there weren’t, but what can he do? The results are what they are, and anything he says now will only come off sounding trite.

“Sorry,” Markus says when Aaron fidgets awkwardly. “See, that’s why I wasn’t sure I should talk to you. Now you feel bad, and you shouldn’t. You were awesome.”

“But it was worse when you weren’t around at all,” Aaron says, meaning every word. Surely Markus feels the same way. Aaron sincerely hopes he does. “It felt really wrong because, you know, we always hang out when we compete. I kept feeling like something was missing.”

“Sorry,” Markus says again with a lopsided smile, and Aaron is content. Things between them will be just fine. He grins and kicks the Austrian under the table.

“Quit being sorry and make it up to me.”

Markus’ expression as he asks how he can do that makes Aaron’s pulse pick up. But before Aaron can answer, a tiny Chinese girl planting herself firmly in front of their table interrupts them. Aaron recognizes her as one of the gymnasts, and that’s as far as he gets.

“Excuse me,” she says in carefully pronounced English. Then she glances over her shoulder, and Aaron can see the rest of her team gathered in suspenseful silence. “Does Michael Phelps have girlfriend?”

Aaron suppresses a groan. Michael is one of his best friends, but he has a real knack for ruining Aaron’s personal moments sometimes, and now he is doing it without even being present. Next time they swim the relay together, Aaron decides, he is just going to shove the big eared bastard off the block. After the race, of course. Make it look like an excited hug gone wrong.

“No, he doesn’t,” Markus answers kindly, patting Aaron’s knee under the table in a soothing gesture that Aaron appreciates. Peace, love, zen, Aaron thinks. Markus is still here, so it’s all good.

The gymnast nods gravely. “Thank you.” She turns to go make her report and an idea strikes Aaron, one that tops his Accidentally Trying to Drown Phelps plan. He calls after her, “He likes bananas!”

“I am sorry?”

“Michael,” Aaron repeats, “likes bananas. Loves them, a lot.”

“Okay!” The girl makes the weirdest and greatest expression Aaron has ever seen, then rushes back to her team. A moment later, there is an explosion of giggles from their table.

“Does he really?” Markus asks, an amused grin on his face.

“Nah,” Aaron answers while stretching his arms over his head and a mental ‘job well done, Peirsol.’ It’s not quite like patting himself on the back, so it’s okay. “But if Michael can’t come back to China without bananas being shoved in his face at every turn, then my work is done.”

“Ingenious” Markus approves, chuckling. His fingers, still on Aaron’s knee, tap suggestively. “So what other things can that evil mind of yours come up with?”

Aaron carefully keeps his eyes on the table. If he looks at Markus, he may just dive across and tackle the man, and that would be bad. “I’ll have to show you.”

--

They stumble back to Aaron’s room because it’s closer. There’s only a moment of hesitation when Aaron can’t remember which bed is his, and then they are tumbling onto the mattress, joined at the lips and hands flying everywhere.

If Aaron loves the way Markus can unwind him, it’s nothing compared to how much he loves the way Markus winds him up. The shirts are the first to come off, and then Aaron gasps as his jeans are shoved down with his boxers; the sudden chill makes his stomach tighten. He knew he should have turned down the thermostat before leaving…but then he’s being covered by Markus, whose skin is pleasantly warm.

“You’re quick,” Aaron teases, rolling his hips the way only a backstroker can while lying flat. Markus hums low in his throat as their erections drag across each other.

“Keep that up and it’ll be over too quick,” Markus warns, but even as he speaks he’s licking two of his fingers. Aaron’s brain melts a little from the sight. There won’t be much foreplay tonight.

Aaron wonders if that’s a bad thing, or tries to. It’s really hard to think when Markus is kissing him like he’s the other man’s world, when Markus has his fingers deep inside, brushing the spot that makes Aaron’s vision white out. Screw the foreplay, Aaron manages to conclude. He sneaks in a breathless second to tell Markus where the condoms are.

“You keep condoms under your pillow?” Markus sounds amused, but he’s all business tearing open the foil packet.

“No, you just proved that we’re on Michael’s bed.” Aaron props himself up on his elbows to watch Markus roll the condom on. He absently drags his fingertips down his chest, enjoying the prickling sensation. Markus catches his hand and uses it to flip him over and pin him.

“Should we move?” Markus’ breath is hot across his back, and it’s followed with lips brushing over his shoulder blades. Aaron shifts impatiently, pushing back against the other man.

“You should.”

And Markus does. They fuck like sprinters, both of them racing towards orgasm with single-minded intensity. Markus pumps his hips without a thought to rhythm, Aaron’s rocking to meet the thrusts on elbows and knees and they come, one after the other, a split second apart.

They hold their positions for a moment, waiting for breathing to even out, and Aaron puts off collapsing until Markus has pulled out. He lands directly on the wet spot.

“Ew.”

Markus is too nice to snicker, but Aaron can tell he wants to. “You made it.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to lie in it.” Aaron slumps off the bed and feels a fleeting twinge of guilt at how messy it is, but the feeling passes. He figures Michael owes him. After all, Michael lets Ryan do things like put shaving cream in Aaron’s shoes.

He rolls onto his own bed, waiting for Markus to get rid of the condom and join him, and knows he is going to be sore tomorrow. They never did get around to finding proper lube. But it will be worth it, Aaron decides. The mattress jumps as Markus flops down next to him, and Aaron grins. Completely, totally worth it.

“Got plans tomorrow?” Aaron asks.

“I don’t think so,” Markus says around a yawn. He glances at Aaron with half-closed eyes. “Why?”

“A few of us are going sight-seeing. You should come with.”

“Why not?” Markus smiles, moves his legs until they are touching Aaron’s, and closes his eyes all the way.

Aaron takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. The sound of Markus breathing washes over him in a calming wave. He watches the steady rise and fall of Markus’ chest until he can’t keep his eyes open. It’s the best night of sleep he has all week.

The next morning, instead of his alarm clock, Aaron hears Markus saying, “Sorry about your bed.”

And Michael replying, “Eh, it’s okay. Not like I slept in it last night. But why the hell is there a pile of bananas outside the door?”

Aaron peers out from under the blankets and starts to laugh.