Obligated to confess that it's a reference to a song about metaphorically eating pussy.
It's a chapter title in an fairly weighty Dunmeshi fic WIP that maaaaaaaaay or may not ever see the light of day.
Falin comes to Marcille for a medical examination post-resurrection. Marcille has to contend* with finding the experience arousing.
*masturbate
“But-” Marcille was at a loss. “Don’t you want it to be- well- like your old self again?”
Falin looked her in the eye again. “Marcille, I’m not my old self anymore.”
“Yes, I know, it’s just….” Marcille cast about for the right words to explain the unformed urgency she felt. “It’s so … personal,” she finished weakly.
“So are my teeth,” Falin said, and opened her mouth so Marcille could watch her draw her tongue along her newly-sharpened canines, pink muscle swiping deftly over her teeth, a sheen of wetness. Marcille drew a breath.
“Teeth- teeth are not the same as genitals,” she hissed, lowering her voice on the last word. If anyone overheard this, she’d die. Falin ignored her, doing up the buttons on her trousers. Marcille rubbed her hands together nervously.
This came from somewhere on Tumblr a million years ago, probably @shitty-check-please-aus, tbh. Jack and Bitty as rival Nascar drivers. I am not a race car driver and I don’t know Nascar well so this is probably very, ah, inaccurate? And I’m not saying I pulled any ideas from Talladega Nights, but Jack does come out of Formula One and has a reputation for being a handful. Anyway, Bitty’s racing, trying to stay under the radar, and Jack’s just trying to revive his career after a series of public missteps.
________
True to form, Jack Zimmermann does not ‘flare out’. In fact, in a matter of a season he’s crawled from 28th to 3rd, racking up points and riding up Eric’s backside like an undersized fire suit.
“This was supposed to be my season!” Eric curses, whipping his helmet to the ground and startling his crew chief. He’d lost his lead around lap 280 when Zimmermann pulled a slingshot and never got his momentum back, barely sliding into second position at the flag. He lost at home. He lost in Atlanta.
He’s never lost in Atlanta.
“What the hell happened out there? You had it!” Coach demands as Eric shoves past his crew toward the bay holding Zimmermann’s bright red #1 car.
“I didn’t have a damn thing!” Eric snaps, walking quickly. “Zimmermann skirted me! Hey!” The moment Zimmermann is in view, deep conversation with his mustachioed pit boss, Eric hollers, “I’m fixing to have a word with you about track etiquette! Didn’t they teach you any manners in Monaco?”
Zimmermann turns, eyes wide in surprise, though his expression turns sour when he realizes that Eric’s bringing righteous condemnation and not congratulations.
“I’m from Montréal.” Zimmermann corrects shortly, placing his accent as French-Canadian and leaving Eric to feel like a bumpkin until he recalls that the man did, in fact, race in Monaco and is being an ass about semantics on purpose. “And my manners are fine. You’re the one who kept drifting, I’m amazed you didn’t hit the wall.”
“You clipped me!” Eric seethes.
“Is that what happened?“ Zimmermann scoffs as his pit boss fights a laugh. “Sure you weren’t just texting while driving?”
Oh, and isn’t that just a delightful dig at Eric’s media hiccup from the previous season; Eric sees red, but before he can respond there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder, guiding him away.
“Some real fancy maneuvering out there, Son.” Coach says tightly. “But this ain’t the European circuit. You keep driving fast and loose, you’ll get docked.”
Zimmermann’s eyes go steely.
“There’s nothing wrong with how I race.”
“Well, there’s certainly something wrong with your personality.” Eric snaps, turning on his heel to show the man his back.
With Shiro confirmed gay and the deliberate aging up of Keith by 2 years while everyone else stayed the same age ... it feels to real. Just. My shopper heart can't handle this.
Same! I have never had a ship I’ve loved become canon. I’ve never even really considered it a possibility, I’m always happy to keep things fanon and enjoy shippy show moments. But after everything they’ve been through, aging Keith up, Shiro’s sexuality, the ‘I love you,’ and the entire liveblog of the first episode of season 7? Not to mention the parallels of Shiro’s ex-boyfriend abandoning him for pursuing his dream and cutting to Keith promising to always be with him?
This might actually be happening and I don’t know how to process it!
Happy Bitty’s Valentines, maramcgregor!! Your prompts were all super inspiring, but I was feeling seasonal so I went with a timely classic: Olympics AU! Please take AU seriously, though, as all sorts of stuff is shifted around, like when Jack OD’d and that Bitty is a figure skater still, and more- even the Olympic city is AU for my own storytelling purposes. Thanks to dear wrathofthestag for her beta work as well!
I hope you enjoy this!! *hugs*
___________________
TV Commentator 1: The torch has almost reached the stadium now, and we’ll finally learn who will actually bring it through the tunnel.
TV Commentator 2: I’m on pins and needles, honestly.
TVC1: I have my guesses. Don’t you?
TVC2: There has been so much speculation, especially based on Montreal’s theme of “The Olympic Family.” Canada has so many superstars who are a part of that legacy of winter sports excellence.
TVC1: Oh, and we can see a runner coming now with the torch, and the crowd is simply roaring. What a moment. It’s Team Canada’s captain, gold medalist Jack Zimmermann.
TVC2: What a perfect moment for Zimmermann. Closing the circle on his long journey back to the pinnacle of his sport. So much focus on his personal life in the past, but now he’s just here as an athlete representing his country. What a moment. Listen to that crowd.
TVC1: He’s taking this job seriously, look at that face. That’s the face of a proud Canadian and a proud Olympian.
TVC2: He’s back for his second Olympics this year, after so many said he couldn’t get back here. What a moment for him, here in his hometown...
TVC1: Oh goodness, look who is coming out now to take the torch from Jack.
TVC2: Oh wow.
TVC1: Four-time Stanley Cup champion and gold medalist Bob Zimmermann. Bad Bob, truly a legend in hockey.
TVC2: Taking the torch from his son, what an iconic moment for Canada.
TVC1: What a journey it has been for this family. So many public ups and downs, and now to be here. Truly an Olympic family and an Olympic story. My goodness.
*
The stadium was enormous and darkened, so Jack didn’t look up, just watched the few feet of space in front of him, making sure he kept his feet and stayed in the light, taking the steady pace they’d suggested during rehearsal.
He'd marched in with the team during the Parade of Nations and then been hustled out to quickly change and make his way to the tunnel for his run. There was hardly time for a breath.
He’d been here before, of course, four years ago. But he’d needed to be so stoned on benzos to make it through the Opening Ceremonies, he didn’t remember much, just an exhausted and colorful blur.
He’d come a long way since then. Far enough that he was ready to be back here, through rehab, finally on the right meds, in regular therapy, three years of progress, fully vetted by the Olympics committee. Captain.
But still, it was impossible to look up.
“I’m here, Jack.”
His father’s voice, so close. Jack looked and there he was, his hand outstretched, eyes shining.
“Here you go, Papa.”
“Run with me?”
Jack felt himself smile a little.
“Yeah. Okay.”
They took a few steps together and then a few more at a run before Jack let go and watched his father jog away from him, all of the spotlights and cameras following and leaving Jack alone in the darkness.
It had all happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what to think.
“You can go in through the athletes now and rejoin your team, Mr. Zimmermann.”
The same helpful woman who had assisted him getting into place was suddenly at his elbow, holding out his team hat and sweater so he could change. “Canada is just on the other side of the U.S. here, through Norway. Would you like me to take you?”
“No, I’m fine.”
She led him to the edge of the roped in area that was swarming with American athletes, most of whom were still watching the torch’s progress towards the cauldron on the big screen, but several of whom were ignoring that in favor of taking pictures of Jack or shouting congratulations. She held the rope up for him to join them.
Pats on the shoulder (and ass) from familiar faces and a couple of teammates who stopped him for hugs and chirps, fist bumps and high fives from random skiers and bobsledders, Jack threaded his way through the Americans. He’d almost made it to the next rope when one more voice managed to call out to him, distinct from the general din.
“Jack Zimmermann? Hey. That was amazing!”
A shorter blond man, familiar. Maybe from TV? Jack wasn’t sure.
“Thanks.” Jack stopped in his tracks. The guy’s face was framed with little curls peeking out from his under his hat, cheeks flushed and lips red. Jack felt himself staring.
“Glad we get to bump into each other again. Four years, oh lord.”
The man was having to shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd.
Jack wracked his brain trying to remember. “We met last time,” he shouted back.
“We sat together at that athlete’s breakfast thing? Remember? I think I talked you to death. Sorry we never got the chance to meet up again.”
Jack’s brain made the connection. He’d just watched an interview with the US Figure Skating Silver Medalist two days ago. “Eric Bittle.”
A smile lit up Bittle’s face. “Yep. That’s me.”
The holes in his memory from his first Olympic experience suddenly gaped open, vast chasms of people and events that Jack desperately wished he could somehow get back.
Eric Bittle was still talking, his hands rubbing together in what looked like nerves. “I just wanted a chance to tell you… how much it meant, in my sport, that you were willing to do what you did in yours. You know. Coming out. It just was a… life changer. Really.”
At that moment, the crowd around them started to roar, far louder than before. Jack swung around to look at the big screen.
Eric Bittle leaned in close. “Oh lord, we did not just miss the cauldron lighting! I’m so sorry. I’d best stop distracting you, honey.”
Jack shook his head, and shouted back, right in to Eric’s ear, “It’s fine.”
The noise started to die down.
“You get yourself back home to Canada, before I make you miss anything else.”
Eric Bittle patted him on the arm and gave him a sweet smile. Jack could feel himself still staring.
“Yeah. Okay,” he muttered.
Bittle had already turned back to a group of athletes behind him to gawk at the spectacle unfolding around them.
Jack slunk under the ropes between nations, ignoring the fireworks, and started to make his way across Norway.
*
Jack met up with his parents after the ceremony, still in the sea of bodies as it started to disperse.
“Glad I roped you into this, kiddo?” his father asked with a gentle punch to the shoulder. “That was quite a ride.”
“It was great, Papa.”
Oddly, Jack had hardly thought about his torch run since it happened.
Someone tapped Bob on the shoulder and he was cheerfully dragged aside into an interview, already offering sound bites as he turned to their camera. Jack’s mother pulled Jack into a hug then, her hands softly rubbing circles on his back.
“I’m so proud of my boys,” she murmured.
“Maman, could you see whether my schedule conflicts with men’s singles figure skating?”
She pulled back to look Jack in the eye, brush a stray hair out of his face. “Sure, honey. If it works, do you want me to get tickets?”
Jack thinks back to those little blond curls, wide brown eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”
His father turned to them at that moment and gestured for Jack to join him in the interview.
Jack took a deep breath, and went.
*
Back at his room in the gorgeous building where the team was being housed, Jack collapsed into a chair, wrung out and exhausted.
He’d had a vague memory as he’d walked back across the plaza: of four years ago, standing in the cold, freezing his ass off while someone short and blond used his phone. But he was probably remembering wrong.
Jack scrolled through his contacts anyway. He had hundreds, and he never sorted through them, even when he’d changed phones. Years of “we should get together” and “text me some time” merged into a huge list of unfamiliar names and numbers he’d never used once.
There it was, partway down the list. Eric B. Jack’s heart picked up its pace a bit. It couldn’t be him.
Jack Is this Bittle?
Jack hit send and then twitchy panic flooded his legs. It was probably someone else that he’d forgotten, some prospect named Eric he’d housed for a night or some trainer who’d hoped Jack would call him for another session.
The panic was electrical; he had to hop up and do something with the charge in his body. He did twenty push-ups and then changed into his pajama bottoms and brushed his teeth. When he came back to his phone, there was a response waiting.
Eric B It is. Who’s this?
Jack froze and read the text five times, slowly.
Jack Jack
Jack Zimmermann
Eric B Jack Zimmermann?
Jack I think you gave me your number four years ago, and I’m finally using it.
Eric B Well that’s a kick! Better late than never, as my MooMaw would say
Jack could feel his face heat at Eric’s conversational tone. Like he might be happy that Jack had gotten in touch.
Jack I didn’t get to thank you for what you said tonight. Thanks.
Eric B Oh honey. There’s so many of us this year, Jack. I can’t tell you enough how much your coming out meant to us.</I>
Eric B To me.
Jack had to stand up again for a moment. He walked in a quick circle around the room before he could answer.
Jack It was the right thing for me to do for myself. I’m glad it helped you too.
There was long pause after Jack sent this message. Maybe that was all either of them had to say?
His text alert went off again after a minute.
Eric B So, when’s your first game?
Jack settled down and leaned back in his chair, pulling his feet up to tuck under him. Was this an actual conversation?
Jack Thursday. When do you start?
*
Jack had gotten to sleep finally, way too late, after an extended text exchange with Eric in which he’d learned quite a lot about the upcoming figure skating schedule, good recipes for jam, and the story of Eric’s own tricky public coming out last year.
He grabbed his phone in the morning and looked at the last text Eric had sent, just to be sure he was remembering correctly.
Eric B Hope we can talk more soon. Anytime, okay?
Eric had to compete today, day one. Jack’s hands got clammy just thinking about it.
He stood in the hot shower for a long time, pondering his day: breakfast with his parents, team skate, interviews at one o’clock, and then, if his mother had worked it out, tickets to the figure skating venue in the afternoon.
He needed to get his head around being here, get focused the series of games in front of him, because honestly right now, his mind was full of nothing but Eric Bittle.
*
Interviewer: So Jack, you carrying the torch into the stadium was a huge moment for the LGBT community. What has it been like since you publicly revealed your sexuality last spring?
Zimmermann: Huh. Been like? Euh, the main difference is that I get asked about it in interviews all the time.
Interviewer (laughing): Fair enough.
Zimmermann: People just know a little more about me. Like knowing I’m Canadian, or six foot one.
Interviewer: But it must be interesting to be here with a larger community of athletes who are out?
Zimmermann: Yeah, sure. There are some great role models out there, like in... lots of different sports. And there are people who aren’t ready to be out, too, which is fine. The main thing is to improve the atmosphere so people can be themselves.
Interviewer: Indeed. Do you think that’s happened?
Zimmermann: It will have happened when we don’t have to talk about this in interviews anymore.
*
Eric Bittle was very flexible.
That was what Jack had noticed a few seconds into Eric’s short program. Well, flexible and fast. And strong. Also, really slender. And his hair fluttered in a interesting way.
Maybe he’d noticed a few things.
Jack’s hackles were still up from his hours with the press after lunch. It had gotten a little better once he’d been able to join a few teammates in a group interview that was almost entirely fluff about the best places to visit in Canada, but before that he’d had three interviewers in a row ask him about his sexuality, and only one of them ask him anything specific about hockey.
He’d stewed next to his mother for several skaters before Eric’s name was finally announced. He was fully aware of the cameras that were probably seeking out familiar faces in the crowd, and would no doubt find him, and then speculate.
However, Eric’s leg could (apparently) extend entirely above his head in more than one direction, and honestly, that thought alone wiped clean Jack’s entire frustrating afternoon in one stroke.
At the end of Eric’s program, as the crowd waited for the scores, a few people threw stuffed animals or flowers onto the ice. Jack watched as they got gathered up.
“I should have brought something,” Jack muttered to himself, out loud.
His mother looked at him, her brows raised. “You... wanted to… ?”
Jack felt his cheeks go hot. “Oh, no. I just… I know him. Eric. But I’ll just send him a text.”
Jack’s mother stared at him for a long moment, biting her lower lip. “Oh. Well when you do, tell him I thought it was a beautiful skate.”
Jack’s cheeks got hotter.
*
Jack My mother loved your performance.
Jack Oh and I did too. A lot.
Eric B Wait? Are you here???
Jack Yes
Eric B Come say hi!!!
“Honey?”
Jack stared at his screen and then met his mother’s curious expression. “I just… Eric is asking… if we could meet up.”
His mother’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?”
“I thought he’d be busy… so. But it’s fine, never mind.” Jack looked back at his phone and then tucked it quickly into his pocket.
“No. Go see your friend, honey. Papa and I will find you again later.” Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about the little knowing smile on his mother’s face.
*
“Jack Zimmermann, what in heck are you even doin’ here?”
Eric pulled away from a gaggle of people and came dashing over to him in the cold concrete corridor, fully decked out in a cute zippered Team USA hoodie and some extremely form-fitting leggings that Jack had to look away from quickly.
A huge set of badges were clattering against his chest as he ran over to him and pulled him into an enthusiastic hug. Jack’s body froze for a moment in surprise before his stubborn arms agreed to wrap around Eric’s back for a moment.
The official who had led Jack back to the skaters’ area looked rapidly between the two of them, gave a quick nod, and left.
“I got tickets. To…” Jack hesitated just a moment, but he’d already started the sentence so there was no going back. “... see you. Uh. Skate.”
Eric’s cheeks pinked up and he shook his head. “Well that’s just a hoot and half cause you won’t believe what I finagled this morning? Tickets to your first game!”
Jack thought his heartbeat might be visible through his skin. “Huh. Really?”
Jack’s brain was flooded with the fact that now he was gonna have to score at least one goal on Thursday.
Eric smiled then, his entire face lighting up. “Great minds, I suppose!”
Jack couldn’t stop staring at him. The silence lingered just a bit too long before Jack managed to clear his throat and say, “Congratulations, Bittle. You were really great.”
Eric shook his head, still grinning. “Lord, Jack, it went so well. I mean, I’m skatin’ in the goldarn Olympics. The team is fourth after the shorts! I cannot believe it!”
Eric’s enthusiasm was so infectious, Jack found himself laughing a little. Eric’s eyes were so deeply brown, and he could not stop looking at them. Shit.
“I should let you get back,” Jack managed.
Eric licked his lips, and then said, sort of tentatively, “Jack, uh, you must have practice and all sorts of stuff you gotta do, right? Torch-guy interviews and all?”
“Euh, when?”
“Later?”
“Today? No. I don’t have anything else today. Why?” Jack had hopes, but he didn’t want to even hint at them.
“Well, Katya will literally murder me if I do anything right now but go back to my apartment and stay there, probably to use the crappy-ass oven to bake something so I don’t pass out from stress...” Eric’s cheeks were so pink Jack wanted to touch them just to see how warm they were. “But, well. She never said I needed to be alone, if you wanna keep me company.”
Jack’s ability to communicate had been reduced to head nods and single syllables. “Huh. Sure.”
Eric smiled and rested a hand on Jack’s forearm. “I gotta warn you, though, after I’ve skated, I don’t stop talking for hours.”
Jack laughed and swallowed. “I won’t be a distraction?”
Eric leaned in conspiratorially and said under his breath, “Well shit, Jack, I was kinda hoping you would be.”
The official-looking group of people that Eric had been with were now all looking over at them with interest. A photographer down the hall had his lens pointing right at them.
Jack felt like he was on the edge of something, a steep cliff, ready to fall or fly. But this was it. He’d come out so he didn’t have to pretend anymore, so he could march into a stadium of thousands of people, into a world of millions, and not have to pretend. Seemed like Eric Bittle was done with pretending, too.
“I do like baked goods,” Jack said.
Eric waggled his eyebrows. “Match made in heaven, honey.”
Boyd/Erica in Teen Wolf. I was really interested in seeing what would happen with them and I liked their chemistry. I felt like Boyd’s level head would bring Erica back to being more of who she really was as she adjusted to being a werewolf and that she would give him the love and warmth he was so clearly lacking. :///
