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Originally written as a gift for [info]ktbob (<3333333333) during HoHoHo Fest on [info]no7_awz: http://asylums.insanejournal.com/no7_awz/tag/%5Bnews%5D+hohoho+fest+2010.

Diverges from canon sometime past episode 1020, although Jenny's disappearance still happened. For the purposes of this fic, Katja never returned from Halle, and the Frank=Franziska reveal took place earlier than in canon. All ludicrous flaws regarding descriptions of skating, localities and ice show production belong to author.


With epic thanks to Lilithilien, DG, Alsha & Kate. Can also be found w/o chapter breaks on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/150014

There were a number of ways Roman Wild enjoyed being woken up on a weekend. Kisses and blowjobs were excellent. Sunlight on his face, the smell of coffee, and anticipation of a day of absolutely blessedly zero responsibility were also more than acceptable.

The sound of shattering glass followed by a creative combination of curses in German and Turkish was decidedly less pleasant. Especially since he'd been dreaming of skating and his panicked subconscious promptly integrated the shattering sound as ice cracking beneath him, opening up into a pit that was – for reasons both mysterious and terrifying – bright pink and writhing.


Waving his arms, Roman scrambled back, trying to regain solid ground, and promptly tumbled out of bed. He knocked his elbow painfully against the bedside table as he flailed. On the upside of things, it woke him up, removing him firmly from his vision of the pink insides of hell; on the downside, his funny bone was smarting something fierce and when he blearily opened his eyes, it was to the sight of a used condom lying not two inches from his nose. At least it was tied off. Still. Not the highest of rankings on the list of Good Ways to Wake Up On A Sunday Morning.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Roman raised himself to his knees and elbows and crawled back into bed just as the door opened to admit the source of Turkish swearing and all things glass-breaking.

"What the hell are you doing out there?" Roman demanded, glaring and rubbing his still-hurting elbow. "You made me dream of a womb or something. It was awful."

Deniz had backed into the room balancing a tray; now he paused, looking bemused and a bit guilty. "Er, I broke a glass. Sorry." His mouth twitched a bit. "A womb?"

"Something pink. I fell out of bed." Roman ran a hand over his face, still not entirely awake. "I hit my elbow."

Deniz had the nerve to grin. "Poor baby. Guess all your skater grace went the way of your lost youth, huh?"

Roman gave him the icy glare that usually made his skaters scramble to do his bidding and his friends hastily find things to do elsewhere. "Fuck you."

Deniz kept grinning, unimpressed. "Again?"

Roman snorted, flopped back into the pillows, and pulled one over his face. "It's Sunday. It's eight in the morning. Why the hell are you awake? And more importantly, why are you intent on torturing me?"

"Are you talking? 'Cause all I hear is some kinda whiney noise. Anyway, I was making breakfast."

Roman risked a peek over the edge of his pillow. Deniz held up his tray in a wordless offer, but the sight of croissants and orange juice only managed to hold Roman's attention for a moment before his eyes started wandering. Deniz was wearing an exasperatedly amused expression and his washed-out grey tracksuit bottoms. They were heroically trying to cling to his hips but looked in serious danger of plummeting to a sad and puddle-y death.

Roman put the pillow aside, propped himself up on his elbow, smarting funny bone already half forgotten, and let his eyes roam further. The track pants were old, and very thin. They didn't leave much to the imagination, certainly not the fact that they were the only thing Deniz was wearing. Somehow the faded cotton made Deniz's skin glow like sun-kissed silk, his nipples like tiny dabs of melted chocolate on his chest. His hair was bed-mussed still, sticking out every which way and making him look entirely too young for the kinds of thoughts Roman was currently entertaining. He quickly distracted himself by tracing the width of Deniz's shoulders with his eyes – solid reassurance that he was in no way too young for anything – then slid them down his smooth chest, past the awkwardly held tray, and back to the grey seam of cloth riding much too low on those tantalising hip bones.

Deniz shifted from one bare foot to the other, slightly self-conscious under Roman's scrutiny. "What?"

Roman licked his lips. "Come here."

Deniz's expression went from confused to intrigued in a matter of seconds, then to comically indecisive. He raised his tray again, valiantly attempting to proceed as planned.

"But… breakfast?"

"Deniz," Roman said, and deliberately let his voice go low and husky, "come here."

He would have laughed at the speed with which Deniz whizzed across the room and all but slammed the breakfast tray down on the chair by the window, but then it was kind of difficult to laugh when looking at something that literally took your breath away.

With an expectant little smile on his face, Deniz padded across the rug to Roman's side of the bed and made to climb in, but Roman stopped him with a hand flat against his stomach. He scooted to the edge of the bed himself, sitting up with his feet on the floor. He'd slept naked, and knew that the bunched-up sheet across his lap was doing little to hide his arousal. Deniz saw it too; his grin widened and he started to lean down, but Roman halted his movement again, keeping him standing. Deniz cocked a questioning eyebrow at him that Roman answered with a slight shake of his head. He sat up straighter, reached out to grasp the loose material of Deniz's sweat pants on either side of his hips, and tugged lightly, pulling Deniz in until he stood by the very edge of the bed, between Roman's knees. The position brought his crotch on a level with Roman's face, and understanding rose with a warm flush in Deniz's face.

Roman smiled at his hopeful expression. He let go of the bunched-up material and flattened his hands over the warm flesh beneath, cupping the smooth curves of Deniz's hips and, to the front, the sharp jut of his hipbones. He ran his thumbs over them in slow circles, enjoying the feel of hot skin under worn cotton. Above him, Deniz exhaled somewhat shakily and squirmed under Roman's hands. His cock twitched in response to the touch, straining against the material. He reached for the drawstring of his pants, thumbs already hooking into the seam to pull them down.

Roman tightened his grip around Deniz's hips and shook his head. "No. Let me."

After a tiny pause, Deniz let his hands fall away to his sides, fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly. "Okay," he said, voice soft but with an undertone of urgency. Roman hid his smile by keeping his face down. He knew that given enough patience, that urgency could be coaxed into breathless pleading, and if he drew it out long enough, into a writhing mess of curses and shouting.

He had no idea if he could be patient this morning – he was achingly hard, and the feel and smell of Deniz were already making his control waver – but he was damn well going to try.

As if sensing his resolve, Deniz moved again, tilting his hips slightly forwards. "Go on, then," he urged.

Roman snorted. "Impatient much?" He kept his thumbs moving in slow concentric circles around Deniz's hipbones. They had always been a vulnerable spot, and now was no different if Deniz's restless shifting was any indication. Eye-level with his boyfriend's groin, Roman was in an excellent position to see how effective his touch was; his cock was fully hard now, the thin cloth doing nothing to hide it, and Roman hadn't even touched him yet.

"Take them off me," Deniz demanded, low and rough, and again Roman shook his head.

"Patience," he murmured, partly to himself. He spread his knees a little farther to make more room and pulled Deniz in closer; then he leaned in, opened his mouth barely an inch away from Deniz's confined erection, and simply breathed, a long, slow exhalation of warm air against the grey cloth, and through it. Deniz made a strangled noise. "That's… not… fair."

Roman grinned. And breathed again. When Deniz tried to thrust his hips forward, seeking contact, Roman tightened his grip to hold him firmly in place. He repeated the teasing breath, hot and damp, then did it again. On the third breath, Deniz cracked, his own breathing grown heavy and uneven. "Come on… please," he said, his hands coming up to rest on Roman's head. The touch was light, but Roman could sense the urgency in his shaky fingers.

"Please what?" he teased, brushing his cheek very lightly against the swelling bulge inside Deniz's pants and immediately withdrawing when Deniz tried to follow. There was no answer, so he looked up. Deniz was staring down at him with his lips parted and his eyes grown very dark and hazy. He hadn't shaved yet, the stubble a dark shadow against his pale skin.

"What do you want?" Roman asked him, keeping his voice low.

Deniz's brows drew together above the bridge of his nose. "You know what I want." His hands moved through Roman's hair, erratically stroking but never actually pulling. He was always careful about that, well aware that Roman hated having his hair pulled.

Roman tilted his head forward to playfully nuzzle his groin again, delivering more warm breath and pulling back almost immediately. "Mhmm. But I want to hear you say it."

Deniz glared at him, his blush slowly spreading down his neck and to the top of his chest. "Bastard."

Roman smiled up at him and kept waiting. Deniz was more than able – and willing – to talk dirty when in the throes of passion, but it was this, before that point, which Roman found the most endearing: this intriguing modesty, almost shyness, that even now made him flush and grimace rather than voice a specific desire bluntly. Roman wasn't sure what it said about himself that he delighted so in challenging it, in making Deniz put into words what his body expressed quite plainly.

"I want your mouth on my cock, damn you!"

Like those words.

Deniz was rigid and tense under his hands, and scowling fiercely through his blush. Roman rewarded him with a warm smile. "Okay," he said, then leaned forward and firmly placed his mouth over the jutting bulge before him. Deniz gasped and bucked, and his hands left Roman's hair to fumble with the drawstring again. Roman decisively pushed his hand away but increased the pressure, moving his open mouth up along the hidden length. When he reached the head, he wrapped his mouth around it, cloth and all. Deniz let out a long, deep groan, and his hands dropped onto Roman's bare shoulders, fingers scrabbling aimlessly. Roman tightened his mouth and sucked, tasting cotton and beneath it the rich, tangy flavour of Deniz. The fabric grew warm and wet under his tongue, and Deniz's breathing audibly irregular above him. His own cock was straining against the sheets covering it, and he resisted the urge to reach down and touch himself, instead keeping his hands cupped around the smooth lines of Deniz's hips, that intriguing contrast of soft skin stretched taut over sharp bone.

He licked his way back to the base of Deniz's cock, tipping his head sideways to get as much as possible of it between his lips despite the interfering cloth, and worked the quickly soaking cotton up and down the shaft, creating extra friction. Deniz had given up on trying to control Roman's motions; he was quivering under Roman's hands and mouth, his hips just slightly rocking back and forth, his cock hot and stiff against the wet fabric. Roman slid his hands around the curve of his hips and down, cupping the swell of his arse, and was rewarded with another breathy moan. The front of Deniz's pants was dark and wet, and Roman could taste the saltiness of pre-come when he closed his lips around the head again, sucking and sliding the soaked fabric back and forth across sensitised skin. He kneaded Deniz's buttocks through the thin material, gently at first, then harder, enjoying the feel of firm muscles contracting and releasing under his hands. His index fingers traced the worn seam along Deniz's crack, prodding gently at his cloth-covered entrance. With a ragged cry, Deniz shoved forward against Roman's mouth.

"Oh god… Roman, I'm going to… please, let me take them off."

"No," Roman murmured, lips moving against the pulsing underside of Deniz's cock. "Look how wet they are already… what does it matter?" A tight-lipped suck to the head, lashing his tongue against the slit. "Get them wetter." A broad lick, tongue rasping against the cotton. "I want you to come all over them, Deniz. Make a mess."

Deniz made a noise somewhere halfway between a moan and a sob, and his fingers tightened on Roman's shoulders, seeking support. Roman was dimly aware that his chin was wet too, saliva and pre-come having soaked not just Deniz. He could sense how close Deniz was – it was a shift in the smell and flavour of him that was hard to describe, a sudden sharper tang of need – and he picked up the pace, mouthing him through the worn, sopping cotton while kneading his buttocks roughly. Deniz's weight grew heavy on his shoulders, his entire body arching, yearning forward. He sought the back seam of the track pants again, followed it to the small, round heat of Deniz's hole, and placed his thumb over it, not breaching but circling it rhythmically, with gentle pressure. At the same time, he shoved his mouth down hard, wrapping lips and tongue and wet cloth around Deniz's straining cock, tightening his mouth and sucking it all in deep.

Deniz actually shouted, a rough, half-aborted sound, and his hips jerked without grace or control, now unrestrained by Roman's hands. Roman felt the thin fabric soak through anew, warm and creamy with the taste of come, and Deniz's cock soften under his wet lips. He kept his mouth in place a bit longer, gently working Deniz through the aftermath, until the lean body above him gave out utterly. The cotton slipped from his mouth as Deniz sank into his lap, a warm, heavy pile of boneless limbs and melted contentment.

Roman held still as long as he could, rubbing slow, soothing circles across Deniz's back, although it was getting increasingly difficult, especially with the warm, soaked front of Deniz's pants pressed up against his throbbing cock. He tried to shift to alleviate the friction a bit, but the resulting squirming didn't really help matters.

Deniz finally noticed his predicament and lifted his head off his shoulder. He reached up a hand to smooth sweat-damp hair back from Roman's temple and gave him a lazy, groggy smile. "Now can I take my pants off?" he asked laconically.

"Oh, definitely," Roman agreed, tracing a drop of sweat down Deniz's chest with his finger. Deniz didn't get all the way up, just wriggled rather gracelessly out of the pants while still on Roman's lap and dropped them to the floor in a soggy pile. Then, knees spread on either side of Roman's thighs, he leaned over to the bedside table to grab a condom and the tube of lube sitting there. Roman let him fumble with the wrapper and ignored the insistent pressure in his groin, instead running his hands appreciatively over Deniz's chest and shoulders, enjoying the shift of lean muscles underneath smooth skin. His fingers trailed over small brown nipples; even erect, they were tiny compared to his own, but Deniz did make a small sound when Roman flicked his thumb against one. Then he unceremoniously slapped Roman's hand away.

"My turn." He shifted above him, pressing closer, and reached down to cup Roman's cock between his spread legs. Roman sharply sucked in air between his teeth when Deniz gave him a few shallow strokes before rolling the condom on him and quickly slathering on the lube. Belatedly it occurred to Roman that preparations might be in order, and he slid one roaming hand to Deniz's backside while reaching for the tube with the other.

Deniz shook his head, though, grasped his wrist and pulled his hand back to his hip. "It's okay, I can take it. Just…" He spread the lube on the condom around a bit more, his palm warm and smooth through the latex, and Roman grit his teeth at even that bit of pressure. He smoothed his hands across Deniz's buttocks, stretched wide by his boyfriend's spread-legged perch on his lap, then gasped when Deniz shifted, one hand on Roman's shoulder for leverage, the other still cupped around his aching cock, and positioned the pulsing head against his entrance. He lowered himself slowly, and Roman swallowed a noise and bit his lip at the sudden sensation of clenching heat. Tight, so tight, but opening up to him easily enough, aided by the total release of orgasm and the wet slide of lube. Deniz pulled back slightly, brow furrowed in concentration, then sank back onto him, a little deeper this time. Roman bit back another moan. Deniz suddenly stopped mid-motion, hand coming up to cup and lift Roman's chin.

"Don't you dare," he said, slightly breathless. "I want to hear you."

Roman couldn't do more than nod, and when Deniz resumed his torturously slow downwards motion, he let the air trapped in his lungs escape in a deep groan. Deniz smiled at him, pupils dilated, and leaned in to capture his gasping lips with his own, his tongue warm and eager inside Roman's mouth even as he slid down the last few inches. He came to rest atop Roman's thighs, with his cock buried all the way inside. Roman kissed him hard and sloppy, feeling desperately short of breath and not caring. After a few moments Deniz started to lift himself up again, thighs tensing; Roman moaned into the kiss and let his hands fall to Deniz's hips, helping to lift him up and then pull him back down. His hips had little room to manoeuvre, pinned down as he was by Deniz's weight, but he jerked up in short, aborted stabs anyway, meeting Deniz's more measured thrusts halfway.

He knew he couldn't last for long; he'd been hard from the moment he'd spotted Deniz in those damn training pants, and the sight and feel of him like this, spread naked on his lap and riding his cock, did nothing for his self-restraint. He could feel his climax building by the instant, a full, hot pressure coiling towards release. Deniz had not relinquished his mouth and he could hear himself babble against those full, busy lips, a string of pleas, endearments and encouragement that he couldn't have held in if he'd tried. In response to his urgency, Deniz began to move faster, his arse now slamming down on him in a sweet, fast rhythm that made Roman's head spin. He dug his hands into Deniz's pumping buttocks and thrust his hips up hard. There were slick, wet noises coming from where his cock slid in and out of Deniz's eager hole, and he knew he was close, so close… but it was the kissing that tumbled him over, Deniz's lips curving against his in a smile and his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth before plunging deep and thrusting, warm and wet, somehow more intimate even than the tight heat of him squeezing Roman's cock. Roman bucked, open-mouthed and utterly defenceless, his cry caught in Deniz's mouth. The force of his orgasm shattered him, reducing him from strained tension to wobbling jelly within seconds. He sank strengthlessly back into the waiting sheets, letting Deniz deal with disentangling them and disposing of the condom.

Several endless moments later, Deniz slid up next to him and wrapped an arm around his chest from behind, spooning him tightly and snuggling into his neck.

"Good thing I didn't make a hot breakfast," he murmured.

Roman laughed, still struggling for breath. They lay quietly for several minutes, Roman's breathing slowing while Deniz idly caressed his stomach. Eventually Roman regained enough control of his muscles to squirm around in Deniz's embrace to face him. He trailed a finger across Deniz's kiss-swollen lower lip and gave him an exhausted smile. It had been a lovely way to wake up after all.

"So… shower, then breakfast?" he asked, moving in to kiss one of the freckles next to Deniz's nose.

Deniz turned his head to nuzzle him in turn, looking thoughtful.

"You shower, I'll get the paper. Then I shower, then breakfast," he said decisively, reaching up to tickle Roman's ribs. "If we shower together, we'll never get clean."


By the time Roman came out of the shower, towelling his hair dry and with another towel slung around his hips, Deniz was back and breakfast had been moved to the dining room table. The folded Ruhr Report was lying next to his plate, and Deniz was standing at the counter, making coffee.

Roman sniffed appreciatively and sat down, slinging his second towel across the back of his chair. "Shower's all yours!" he announced as he reached for a croissant and the Nutella jar.

"In a moment. I want some coffee first."

Deniz hadn't turned when Roman had come in, and Roman paused at his tone – an odd, restrained note in his voice that was reflected in the tense line of his back and shoulders under his t-shirt.

"You okay?"


Roman frowned, but when no further response was forthcoming, he shrugged and returned his attention to his croissant. It was amusing how decades of deeply ingrained athlete's diet still howled in abject terror when he sliced it in half and slathered each side thickly in Nutella, but after almost a year of treating the professional skater side of his eating habits to an extended therapy of "fuck you," they were finally beginning to dull a bit.

He opened the paper, flicking to the culture and entertainment section first, and nearly choked.

It was on the feature page, a full-page ad splashed across the cheap paper in green and gold – a dragon, wreathed in flame, the sinuous coils of its long, serpentine body spelling out a single word: SLAYER. Dark red blood dripped from the dragon's talons, and the ribbons of red ran together to form the sub-heading, "Love Hurts," and in smaller letters beneath, "A Musical on Ice." The lower third of the page, like an afterthought to the dramatic artwork of the dragon, was taken up by a shot of an ice rink, shaded white, blue and black, with the tiny silhouette of two pair-skaters entwined in the middle. On top of the page, neatly printed white letters proclaimed that this was an ice show production by "Hagendorf & Fouret."

Roman didn't recognise the French name, but his croissant was suddenly soggy and flavourless as cardboard in his mouth. He stared down at the ad without blinking. The dragon's mouth was hitched up in the corner, exposing impressive white fangs in a snarl. To Roman, it looked like a mocking sneer. In the bottom right corner, just above the ticket hotline info, was a white star announcing the musical's world premiere in Stuttgart in early December, less than two weeks away.

Roman scanned the names of the skaters automatically, recognising some up and coming talent. Three names were credited above the others, and he didn't have to wonder about their parts. He knew them intimately, having mulled over character profiles with Marc at No. 7 and at the Centre many times late at night, squabbling about ages and appearance and station. Yuri the serf. Kerrick the mercenary. Eltara the sorcerer queen. The latter caught his attention and he smiled, almost against his will. "So you did get Caroline Gülke," he murmured. "Good for you." He'd told Marc about a dozen times that his chances of getting the former bronze medallist of the German championships to sign up for an ice musical instead of trying for one last record-breaking placement in competitions were slim to non-existent. But there she was. Apparently the age bug was gripping more of his former peers these days. It filled him with an odd mixture of vindication and regret.


Roman had all but forgotten about Deniz. His head snapped up to find his boyfriend leaning against the counter facing him. He was holding a coffee cup and his pose was deliberately casual, but there was a hard glitter in his eyes, a brittle undertone to the one-word question.

"Oh, nothing. I…" The instinct to hide and dissemble kicked in before less base considerations got a word in. It was only when Deniz's eyes narrowed and his lips thinned that Roman understood. He leaned back in his chair and tried for an even tone, despite his pounding heart. "You've seen it already, I take it."

Deniz didn't say anything, just jerked his head in a sharp nod. His eyes never left Roman's. Against his better intentions, Roman felt indignation slowly unfurl inside him. "And you waited to see if… what? If I'd faint? Cry? What is this, some sort of test?"

A flicker of guilt washed across Deniz's features, but then his jaws clenched. "Would it be so surprising if it was?"

Roman swallowed. The Nutella he'd been looking forward to was suddenly sticky and too sweet, smothering his taste buds. "I guess not. And, did I pass?"

When Deniz said nothing, just kept looking at him with that level stare, Roman threw up his hands in exasperation. "What did you expect, that I wouldn't care? Of course I care. I've poured weeks into this project. Years, if you count the time back in the day. Did you honestly think I'd just shrug and skip to the movie pages when I saw it in the paper, credited to someone else?"

"No, I get that. Maybe I was just hoping your very first instinct wouldn't be to lie to me about it."

Roman stared at him, feeling mutinous and resentful and no small amount of guilty. It was, after all, true.

Deniz turned away from him to put his empty mug in the sink. "Are you going?"


"Stuttgart. The premiere." Still calm, still neutral, but Roman knew this tone. There was a subterranean lake of broiling emotion underneath the thin crust of those rational-sounding words.

He shrugged cautiously. In all honesty, he hadn't even thought that far. Still… "What if I wanted to?"

"What if I had a problem with it?" The question came shooting back as quick as a hard ping pong serve, and it hit Roman squarely in the chest.

"I don't know."

"I see." Deniz bent to dry his hands on a dish towel, and then left the room without comment, leaving Roman sitting at the table with his heart thudding and his head a whirling mess of conflicting thoughts. Next to his plate with its abandoned croissant, the green and golden dragon beckoned, beautiful, deadly and mocking. SLAYER. A Musical on Ice.

He remembered demonstrating the final battle against that dragon at the Centre, the ice smooth and sharp beneath his skates. "And then the mop goes into the dragon." Marc watching, his eyes intent and full of gleaming approval.


He still hadn't moved when ten minutes later Deniz re-emerged from their room, wearing his down jacket and a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

Deniz stopped to wriggle his feet into his sneakers. "The Centre. I'm helping Tom and Ben with their skating game, remember? They need more footage." He cast a quick glance at Roman and frowned at his blank expression. "I told you about it last week. They want to integrate some pair-skating stuff, so I'm doing a few moves with Isabelle."

"Oh. Right." He vaguely remembered Deniz and Tom rambling about it in the trainer's office sometime last week, but he'd been doing schedules at the time and only listened with half an ear. "I didn't know that was today."

"I guess you had other things on your mind." The neutral tone again, fraying Roman's already unsettled nerves.


"I gotta go. See you later."

Deniz was out the door so fast that even with the best intentions it couldn't be called anything but an escape. No glares or accusations, but no kiss either, and the door fell shut just a shade short of an actual slam. Roman pushed back his plate, avoiding the alluring coils of the dragon. Suddenly the morning's activities, rocking skin to skin while drowning in sensation, anchored only by the familiar taste of kisses, seemed very far away.

The sound of a door opening jerked Roman's head up in sudden hope, but it was only Florian, sleepy-eyed and grumpy as he peered out of his room. "Dude. What's with the domestic in the middle of the night?"

"Oh, nothing," Roman said absentmindedly, reaching out to close the paper. Local news and the sports section swallowed the mocking glow of green and gold, the white star that said Stuttgart.

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Not if there's Fluff involved. That shit is vile."

"Nope. Nutella."

Florian's face brightened. "Oooooh."

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