Rating: PG, barely.
Pairing: Sasha Artemev/Jonathan Horton (Gymnastics)
Disclaimer: Own nothing, wish I did. Not real, but they'd be a freaking adorable couple if it was.
Notes: One sentence structured fic, centered on the song "The Winner Takes It All" by ABBA. Italic lyrics are Sasha's POV, Underline is Jon's.
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I don’t wanna talk
“Shut up, Jonny,” I growl as I shove you against the wall and press my lips firmly against your’s, ceasing your babble for the first time in 3 hours.
About the things we’ve gone through
I smile as I watch your performance on the pommel horse one more time; I smirk as I turn to praise you about it one more time, but find myself greeted by your hand in my face.
Though it’s hurting me
I watch you on high bar without taking a breath, my bottom lip bitten between my teeth; it’s not until you hit your dismount that I taste the blood on my lip.
Now it’s history
“The team stuff was yesterday, TODAY I will kick your ass on my own,” I growl playfully against your ear, then bite the lobe as you giggle in response.
I’ve played all my cards
I lay down the straight with a smirk, then hear the groans from around us; your jock lands on my shoulder quicker than the rest of our teammates can leave the room.
And that’s what you’ve done too
“Uno.”
Nothing more to say
“I love you, too,” I gasp as I spill into you, shivering against your chest and squeezing your hands in mine.
No more ace to play
I stick the landing on floor, then glance to my left to see you watching; your smile is as faint as mine, and I nod, mouthing “Too little, too late” as I trot back to the sidelines.
The winner takes it all
I glance over to you as the Chinese anthem starts and see you shrug; I smile curiously in response, and you mumble “good for them.”
The loser standing small
I stand next to you, staring up at the podium as the medals are handed out; I’ve never felt so small in my life.
Beside the victory
“No one thought we’d get ANYTHING here, and we DID,” You speak fiery, your face full of emotion; your eyes settle on me as you finish your speech, and you show a small hint of a smile “We’re not going home empty handed.”
That’s his destiny
In the afterglow, I feel your nose nuzzling my neck, and I turn instinctively into your touch; as your nose grazes my earlobe, I turn to kiss your temple, smiling against it and whispering “Bronze or not, we still leave here as winners.”
END
© 2008 Triple X
