Fire on Ice (Olympics RPF)
I had to look up what RPF means. It stands for Real Person Fiction
I've never done this before, write a fic about a real person so I consider this my most unhinged behaviour. But it got me out of a writer's block for almost a year so, I am grateful for my odd but wonderful taste in what I find physically attractive in a man. Unlike most Olympic RPFs, this one is about a referee and not a young athlete. Specifically, the head referee for men's short track speed skating, Balazs Kover of Hungary.
The attraction was INSTANT.
Excerpt of my fic below with link (account with AO3 needed for access).
The smell of arena ice, unlike the tender snowfall of Budapest, there is a stab of aggression, a pulse of sweat, in a relay of screams of cheer and winning. It is this smell, familiar and comforting, that bids the referee to stay in his tracks. After hours, the skating arena has a forlorn scent about it; empty chairs, a garden without flowers, he looks at it from the center ice, reminding him of the calls he made earlier this day.
In thought, he advances a few inches, the knives beneath him scratching lost medals into ice, a soft sentiment carving into a hard surface, he had long retired his competitive skates for judging ones. Months before, the drives on Andrassy Avenue were song-less, music had to wait. Imagining a foreign country and its skater, he used the license plate of the vehicle before his as training.
There is a new protocol for 2026. For all of his youthful competitiveness, he had not felt jitters, until it was time to broadcast his final decision in front of the camera, filmed live for the entire world to see, to cheer and to boo. There were spectators judging his judgments. Jaws stiff, he presses into the ice, it gives way to his will. A rut, a cutting reminder of what is on the line--for the athletes, and himself--reveals under the light above.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
