“I want you to skate,” I said, my words quiet, but somehow demanding.
He raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening and closing almost as if he was unsure what to say, “What? I always skate?”
“Justfor me,” I repeated, stepping closer to the edge of the rink, my breath catching in my throat.
For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes searched mine, and I felt that tension, thick and heavy, winding its way between us.
“I—” he started, but stopped, as if considering something. The words seemed to hang in the air, unspoken, between us.
“Please, I’m asking ever so nicely.” I smiled circling around him brushing my fingers on his shoulder.
He glanced down at the ice, then back at me, his expression a mix of nervousness and something else, something I couldn’t name— something that mirrored desire. I skated backwards and cleared the rink for him to perform, just forme.
25
You Don't Get To Choose When
The rink waited in silence with the kind of stillness that was heavier than I thought. The lights above set the scene aglow, reflecting the smooth surface of the ice. I waited by the railing, the cold, clawing at my hands, where they gripped the metal. I watched Wyn as he fastened his skates.
I loved the expression on his focused face, head bent and a singular white streak fell over his eyes.
“You really want me to do this?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with a quiet challenge.
I nodded, trying to sound indifferent. “Of course, if you can woo the judges at the Olympics then you sure as hell can woo me.”
“The Olympics was light work compared to you.” He sighed then took is bottom lip between his teeth and sighed.
“Oh I know.” I hummed, “But I want to see, aren’t you going to give me what I want Wyn?”
A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he stood, his presence commanding even in this quiet moment. “Alright,” he said simply, stepping onto the ice. “Although this does feel oddly intimate.”
The shift in his demeanour was instant, almost as if he were possessed by a completely different entity, he skated a lazy circle at first as though testing the ice before sliding across like there was lightning bolts beneath his feet. So gracefully and intentionally it struck me to my core.
He suddenly spun around where the metal of his skate glinting in the light as he pivoted his arms gliding through the air with such precision. My breath hitched. I never thought I would ever see skating as anything more than a tedious sport, but in this moment I knew, it was a form of self-expression, and art. A performance that felt as though it were only for me just as I’d asked. There was a softness to it that I didn’t see when he was on TV.
He then began to circle me in slow, agonizing movements, and I could tell that he wanted me to stand still, if I moved in the slightest, I would injure, not only myself, but him too. His fingers then circled my middle ever so slightly. When he stopped his chest, rose and fell in deep breaths, his gaze fixed on mine he skated away and then towards me.??
“You’re staring,” he said, a flicker of amusement in his tone.
I crossed my arms, feigning composure. “You’re decent, I guess.”
He chuckled, leaning against the railing in front of me, his face suddenly close. Too close. “Just decent?”
The air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. The sheer closeness of him was dizzying.
“I’ll admit that it’s hot, but you could do better,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
“You think I’m hot?” He queried. A hint of amusement in his tone.
“Quite.” I affirmed, “But that doesn’t mean I’ll accept a mediocre performance from the people’s prince himself. Do better I know you’re holding back.
“Holding back?” he repeated, his gaze holding mine. “Am I to orchestrate a performance worthy of let’s say Tokyo circa 2019?”
My heart raced as the seconds stretched. “Show me,” I said, forcing the words out, my voice steadier now.
His lips curved into a small smile, and he held out his hand. “Come on.”
I blinked. “What?”
