a kindly anon once asked what i thought George and Alex were up to in ski au, and i thought about it so much i wrote a thousand words. this probably won't make sense if you haven't read the maxiel fic!
It took Max forty-five minutes to pack the car, even though George had given him several helpful pointers about how he could improve his efficiency.
George would grant that it was a difficult job — between them, they had ten pairs of skis alone, not to mention the four pairs of boots, two separate tuning set-ups, and a seemingly endless amount of general miscellany. It was just, looking at it all spread across the parking lot, George thought that he was going about it in the stupidest way possible.
“I still say you should’ve put the suitcases on the bottom,” George couldn’t help himself from saying, once he was finally buckling himself into the passenger side. “It would’ve created a solid foundation layer for —“
“My first priority is getting your shit out of my car as quickly as possible,” Max said. “I’m not waiting around while you take everything out of the trunk, dickhead. I still don’t know why I agreed to let you in my car.”
“Because you like Alex,” George supplied, the obvious answer. George was under no delusions that Max would’ve agreed to drive him back to Montana otherwise.
“Yeah, and I don’t see why dropping you at his doorstep is doing him a favour,” Max said, contempt writ plainly in his voice. “Especially since I’m not even supposed to warn him that you’re coming.”
“Max, we’ve been over this. It’s going to be a nice surprise, I promise. You know we’re — that he likes me more than you,” George said. He had been about to say that they were together, but that wasn’t strictly true anymore, even though they still talked every day and had sex whenever they were in the same place.
“Hmmm,” Max said, like he wasn’t convinced, which was probably not that surprising given that, according to Alex, he only realised that they dated in high school about a year after they broke up, the sensible decision when they had decided on colleges on different sides of the country. “And when are you going home again?”
“None of your business,” George replied, just to be annoying. He had already rebooked his flight back to the East Coast for five days’ time, but Max didn’t need to know that. It already didn’t feel like long enough, but it was as much time as George could spare before he was missed at training.
Max made a skeptical noise again, a dark mutter under his breath as he pulled out of the parking lot. It set the scene nicely for the ten-hour drive they had ahead of them. Once they were on the road, Max put on a playlist full of swoopy, emotionally-wrought music that George wouldn’t have guessed he liked in a million years, and George looked resolutely at his phone, checking the timing splits of the guys down the field from him on the FIS website. He was exhausted, truthfully, the weariness from the race and the cold settling into his bones, but he wasn’t about to fall asleep while Max was driving.
Max had won, which rankled George more each race, the more that it began to seem inevitable. He had managed a respectable third, just getting on the podium, securing good points, but it wasn’t what he wanted the rest of his career to be: minding his own business two-tenths off the leader. When he got on the tour, he wasn’t planning on having to scrape his way into the top thirty every week. Still, it was a better position than Alex was in. He hadn’t even qualified for the NorAm this year.
It was a bad patch, that was all. George kept telling him that, it was a bad patch. Alex was going to find his form again. It was just difficult to make him accept it when they weren’t at the same races anymore, and George couldn’t convince him face-to-face. That was how he had ended up sitting in Max Verstappen’s passenger seat.
George knew something was off with Alex when he was home for the winter break. They trained a little on their old hill, and going up on the surface lift, their skis running side by side on the snow, neither of them had been able to stop grinning. George had let himself lean into Alex, their shoulders knocking together, poles tangling.
When they were still together, they used to bet blowies on who would get the fastest run of the day. It was Alex who started it, with the sly tilt to his voice that came out when he was trying to cause trouble. It was maybe supposed to be a joke, something to shock Lando into laughter, but George had never knowingly backed down from a challenge.
“Confident, are you Albono?” George had said, muttering it to Alex in the lift line after the rest of the group had peeled off.
“Maybe I just need the extra incentive,” Alex had replied, the wicked grin still on his face. “And a mouth like yours is worth being quick for.”
“Not too quick, I hope,” George had ribbed back.
They hadn’t needed to talk about it again. When George had gone into the timing hut to get their splits from the day, he could feel Alex’s eyes on him, and later, when they were alone in the locker room, it felt like the easiest thing to just get on his knees.
By the end of Alex’s trip home, though, George was starting to feel awkward about winning so many in a row. He wasn’t going to throw a run just for the sake of it — if nothing else, he knew that Alex would be able to tell — but George had been tempted to put his hands in Alex’s hair, to tug him back, to say — if he was the winner, all he wanted as a prize was to take care of Alex, to make him believe. It was what he was going to do, when they finally got to Montana.
“Did you see Lance’s crash,” Max suddenly said, breaking the silence and making George jolt guiltily in his seat, like Max would somehow be able to tell that George was thinking about Alex’s dick.
“Yeah, he absolutely stacked it,” George said, and remembering the crash smothered some of the arousal that had been starting to kindle in his stomach. “It was a hooked tip, no?”
“Yeah, a hooked tip,” Max said with relish, his hands twitching on the wheel. “I think he slid half the course, it was so funny. Make sure you tell Alex about it. Lance took his spot on the team.”
“I will,” George said, barely suppressing a grin. He didn’t want Max to get the wrong idea and think George liked him, but it was nice to know that he had Alex’s back too. And they were trapped in a car together. He weighed the options and eventually asked, “Unlucky, or do you think he’s a hack?”
“Ugh,” Max said. “Please, his run at regionals last year was a mess, truly.” And as Max launched into a turn-by-turn description, George scootched down in his seat a little further, getting comfortable. When he checked the time on his phone, Alex was smiling at him from his background. Max was still talking, steering with one hand now as the other gestured wildly around, but suddenly a ten-hour drive didn’t seem like too much to put up with at all.
Aleksandr Castro-Ivanov had made a promise to himself the last time that he was in Russia.
He would never see the snow again. It was filled with nothing but bad memories.
But, nobody wanted to hire someone who was fired for drinking on the job, besides a ski-lodge in northern New York state.
He was right back in the snow, in the cold, and in the mountains. Everything was covered in a thick layer of white, the sun was rarely ever out.
It reminded him of the times during Russian winters where the sun would never peak above the horizon.
Sasha was sitting in front of the small space heater kept in the gift shop atop the mountain, rubbing his hands together in front of it and blowing on his tingling fingers.
He looked up when the bell rang.
“Welcome to Westermost Peaks gift shop!” He said in a fakely chipper voice, his hands fidgeting still in front of the hot air.
It looked like a family of four, two parents and two children. The parents both ignored him, their hands rifling through the overpriced snow outfits with the company logo, but one of the children looked at him. The girl had dark black hair.
“You sound funny.” The daughter remarked, her mousey eyes were digging into his purple ones.
“Thank you,” Sasha replied, barely paying attention to the toddler in front of him. He was mostly concerned about the teenage boy digging through the snack area. He was wearing a white ski coat and a pair of red snowpants.
“Why don’t you talk like a normal adult?” She asked.
“Because I think it’s fun to confuse little girls about why I sound the way I do.” Sasha chuckled as the child wrinkled her nose and ran to her big brother.
“He talks weird,” The child declared,
“Who does?” The boy asked, inauspiciously sliding a bag of nacho cheese doritos into the pocket of his jacket.
“The desk man.” Her black bob bounced a little as she aggressively pointed towards Sasha.
The clerk rolled his eyes, before hearing the distinctive jingle of keys that meant his life was going to become a lot more annoying. His boss, Mario Esposito, was going to come in. Something he did every time Sasha was working.
“Aleksandr!” The Italian man greeted, his arms out stretched, his balding black hair was combed over in a style that looked more like a principal in a kid’s tv show.
“Hello, Mister Esposito,” Sasha greeted, putting on a customer service smile.
The manager began to sift through the stock of children’s ski jackets that had designs of cute cartoon characters and unrealistically proportioned animals.
“Have you been inventorying what they have been buying?” Mario asked, poking Sasha’s chest.
“Yes, I have been,” Sasha confirmed, closing his eyes, “I have been writing every single item purchased by every single client that comes into the shop.”
“Great!” Mario cheered, patting the Russian on his shoulder. “You know how much I hate it when people don’t inventory correctly.” The Italian walked off. His left knee was wobbling strangely.
Mario began talking to the family, who was still milling about. Sasha grabbed the notebook, which was filled with doodles and a basic description of everything purchased. Even though the system kept track of everything, Sasha had seen people be fired for not running the till exactly the way their boss wanted, so he figured even if he didn’t enjoy writing a bunch of words down on the pad of paper, it was better than losing a job and having to move back in with his dad.
“Make sure you pay for those snacks, young man,” Mario reminded the teenager, whose eyes shot open wide when the manager acknowledged his overflowing pockets stuffed with chips and candy bars. The boy looked up at his parents.
“Can I please get these, mom?” The boy asked, his hands fidgeting with the zipper of his fluffy jacket.
“Lenard, you can get two pieces of candy and your sister can get two.” Their mom decided, carding her hair through her son’s bowl cut.
The father sighed, tapping his foot. He had two jackets slung over his left arm, one of which appeared to be for himself and the other seemed to be for his young daughter, who was only wearing a thin hoodie.
Lenard and the sister started digging through the candy bowls, grabbing whatever their hands could gather.
“Aleksandr, reorganize the shelves, it looks like a hurricane hit it!”
“Okay, Mario. I will handle that once they’re out of here. Can’t focus with them thudding around and scratching through the bowl.” The sounds of fingernails scraping the wooden bowl was like fingernails on a chalkboard.
The kids jumped up from the floor, their boots skidding on the polished hardwood floors and dropped a Snickers bar, two reese’s and a KitKat on the desk.
The father placed the jackets down on the counter, with the candies on top.
“Can you just slip me the candies? For free? I’m a repeat customer–,” The man was interrupted by Sasha sighing.
“Nope, can’t give you multiple free products because this is your second time coming to this ski resort.” The Russian insisted, leaning onto his hands.
“But why not?” The mom asked, her hands wrapped tightly around her husband’s arm and her son’s shoulders.
“Because. Your stay here doesn’t cover the snacks your children wish to purchase.” Sasha wrote down the names of the candies, checking the size of both jackets. “Father-daughter matching jackets? Cute.” Sasha remarked, trying to steer the conversation away from the tense one about cutting prices down.
“That will be two-hundred-fifty dollars and 15 cents.” The Russian drummed his fingers along the sheet of glass. It made a hollow sound, like hitting a wooden drum.
“That is quite a steep price, especially for a child’s jacket.” The father grumbled, grabbing his wallet out.
“I know I know Mister, I don’t exactly price things, but I agree with you. Everything here is just logos, you’re paying the price of the pattern on the chest rather than the actual value of the snow jacket you’re buying. But that’s just my opinion.”
The man handed over the money, and behind them, stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
(I’m working on where you meet his girlfriend!! Rn!!! She’s so amazing ilhsm thanks my bestie for writing her :D)
Just a regular day on the slopes for Ruhn, Flynn, and Dec. Which, of course, starts off hungover all thanks to Flynn.
Warnings: Language; Referenced Sexual Encounters
Word Count: 2,011 | Mount Valbara Masterlist | Read on AO3
a/n: Written for a prompt that was sent into @sjmkinkmeme.
"Well, aren't we chipper this morning!"
Ruhn turned his head slowly and glared up at Tristan Flynn. His chestnut-haired friend was grinning widely at him and Declan, the two of them currently leaning against each other as they fought off sleep.
"Shut up and give me the coffee," Declan groaned, holding out his hand.
Flynn handed one of the travel cups to Declan, laughing as he handed a second to Ruhn. "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed…no, wait, table."
Declan's responding growl was justified. Flynn had invited a host of people to their house the night before - mostly out-of-towners traveling to the mountains for a skiing vacation - and that was all Ruhn could accurately remember. After that it was a haze of drinks, drugs, and a woman only his tongue seemed to have any recollection of.
She was gone before he woke up, his room proof of the chaos they'd wrought. Considering the crack he'd found on his chest of drawers, Ruhn really wished he could remember more of it.
At least he'd managed to make his way to his own bed. Declan found himself sprawled on the table Flynn had painted, face down right against the depiction of a "Fae" male that bore an uncanny resemblance to Flynn. Self-indulgent, as always.
Ruhn brought the coffee to his lips and managed to take in a full gulp before spitting the liquid sugar out onto the snow-covered ground.
"What the fuck is this shit?" he asked, holding the cup up.
"That would be a Cinnamon Dolce Latte. You're welcome." Flynn sipped his own happily as he started toward the office on the outskirts of the mountain resort.
Declan and Ruhn locked stares for a moment and then both rolled their eyes as they dragged behind. How Flynn managed to always be so perky in the morning was beyond Ruhn. He'd never once seen his friend hungover. Considering how heavily the three had been drinking since freshman year of high school, Ruhn couldn't understand how that was possible.
The dark wood building was designed to look like a homey cabin from the outside, welcoming to visitors who needed help or to pick up their lift tickets. Surrounded and covered by a fresh layer of sparkling snow, it would've looked quite idyllic with the rising mountain in the background, if Ruhn couldn't see the massive parking lot in his peripheral vision.
"Good morning, Lele!" Flynn flashed the older office manager a heart-stopping smile as he leaned against the counter. The woman looked up from her computer, her wild tangle of red and gold curls shimmering in the light like a flame. "How are you doing today?"
Lehabah blushed softly as she met Flynn's stare. "Oh, better now," she sighed. "How are you three?"
"Wishing I had real coffee," Ruhn groaned, stepping up next to Flynn. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in this? It's far too sweet for me. Just like you." He sent her a wink that had the older woman blushing wildly.
"Don't be too nice to me, Ruhn. You'll make me fall for you."
Flynn let out an exaggerated gasp. "What about me?!"
"My heart is already taken," she decreed, a blush spreading.
Ruhn let out a laugh, giving Flynn a shit-eating grin before he asked, "So, what's on our schedule today?"
"Ski lift duty again, boys. Bottom." They all groaned. "I know," Lele sighed. "But we're just not getting many ski lesson sign ups ever since Malakim Slopes opened up across the street."
"Fucking 'we only allow skiiers, so we're specialists' crap," Flynn grumbled. "And let me guess, the boarders are packed with lessons."
"Afraid so. I try to handle the schedule so that some boarders help with the lift, but it's a busy time of year for lessons, since most schools are out on break over the next few weeks. We do, however, have a new ski instructor starting today, and next week we are getting some calls for ski lessons, so you'll get more variety, at least."
"I'd just like to get Holstrom on the lift one time," Ruhn muttered. The idiot was one of the best snowboarders they had, and a great instructor. Since day one he hadn't once had to operate the ski lift, always being the first instructor booked for lessons, especially by teenaged and college girls.
Worst of all, he was dating Ruhn's sister.
Ruhn supposed Connor was a decent enough guy. And, yeah, he seemed to love Bryce. But, Ruhn hated Connor on principle. And he definitely didn't enjoy watching them flirt whenever Connor was on break and Ruhn went into the store.
They all thanked Lele and headed out toward the main lift. It was right in front of the main lodge where all the skiers and snowboarders would keep their stuff, eat lunch, take breaks, and so on.
A few early birds were already waiting by the lift. Tharion and Ariadne were already standing there, both holding travel mugs that were steaming from their small openings.
"They're alive!" Tharion called out, spotting Rhun, Flynn, and Declan walking across the snow.
"Barely," Declan breathed as they reached the two ski instructors. "You two at the top today?"
Before either could answer, Flynn shoved closer to Declan, resting an elbow on his shoulder as he said, "Hey, Ari! I didn't see you last night at our party."
"I didn't go." Her crimson eyes were flat and indifferent as she met Flynn's gaze.
Of course, the idiot wasn't discouraged. Never. "Well, that's quite a shame. You missed out."
Ari sighed, "I doubt it." Then she turned and walked to the lift, fastening her skis and sitting in the chair that was waiting for the lift to be started.
Flynn's eyes followed her fervidly.
"Wrong tree, my friend," Ruhn muttered with amusement. He loved watching them interact. After years of Flynn being far too smooth with every female he met, it was an enjoyable difference to see Ari constantly turning him down. Not that Ruhn wanted Flynn to be rejected, of course.
Muttering incoherently, Flynn began to set up the guides for where the line would be. Ruhn joined him as Dec started the lift to get Tharion and Ari to the top.
Soon enough everything was set up and they were letting the skiers waiting onto the lift. And then it was business as usual. The resort filled up over the first hour, until the line at the lift was averaging at least five minutes. Ruhn and Flynn did their best to organize the line and help people onto the lift as needed.
"Delay on top. Estimated ten minute solve time." Declan's voice crackled over the old walkie talkies they all held just after the lift screeched to a sudden stop.
So close. They were so close to lunch and making it through the morning without incident. Ruhn groaned internally, knowing he had to keep on a calm, composed face.
"Why'd it stop?" a teenaged boy whined from halfway down the line.
"Just a small technical issue," Ruhn explained. It was always the answer, no matter the case. Unless Dec called them in to tell them something big had happened, the answer was 'a small technical issue'. "We'll have it up and running as soon as possible. And we do have two other lifts that lead to other runs, if you'd rather not wait." He pointed behind him toward where he could just see the first of the two lifts in the distance.
The boy let out an exaggerated sigh but remained in line. There was always one.
A chorus of giggles sounded behind him and Ruhn looked back to see Flynn making good use of the delay. He stood on the other side of the guides from a group of four girls who looked to be about twenty. He watched Flynn say something he couldn't quite make out and then the group laughed again. Two blondes and two brunettes, and far too many for Flynn to handle on his own.
Ruhn sauntered over to them and slapped Flynn on the back as he gave the girls a half-smile he'd used many times when seeking out a new bedroom guest. "I do hope my friend here isn't bothering you, ladies. Blink twice if you need me to get rid of him." He threw a wink to the girl closest to him, a dirty blonde with deep, chocolate eyes that were watching his lip ring with intrigue.
The girls laughed again, Flynn joining them. It was one of the best things about his friend. He didn't take anything seriously, which included himself.
"Blink three times if you're perfectly happy chatting with me," Flynn added, nudging Ruhn out of the way.
"And four if you'd like me to stay. I'm Ruhn, by the way." He held out his hand and watched with satisfaction as the dirty blonde and chestnut brunette raced to take it.
The chestnut brown won. She slid her hand into his and said, "I'm Dahlia. These are my cousins, Chrysti, Calla, and Amber." As she spoke, she pointed to the dirty blonde who'd been staring at Ruhn first, then to the platinum blonde, and lastly the girl with dark brown hair with auburn highlights.
All four of the girls were beautiful, each with a dusting of freckles that seemed to be one of the few traits they all shared. Ruhn never would've known they were cousins without being told, and to be honest, he would've preferred they not be. It spoiled some of the plans he was starting to make in his head.
"Beautiful names for beautiful women." Flynn flashed them all a grin. "So, tell me, do you lovely ladies have plans tonight?"
"Nothing set in stone," the one named Calla replied, her bright hair shimmering in the light of the sun. Her ice-blue eyes were locked on Flynn as she gave him a feigned coy smile.
Flynn smacked Ruhn on the back just as Ruhn had him and then wrapped his arm over Ruhn's shoulder. "Great news! We're hosting a little party at our place. Some locals, some beautiful visitors. What do you all say?"
The girls all looked at one each other, their eyes flashing as if they were having an unspoken conversation.
"So long as you're both there, we're in," Dahlia replied, blatantly eyeing Ruhn. He probably should've been uncomfortable with the way she was trying to undress him with her eyes, but that wasn't his style. He'd much rather let her.
It really was the only perk of working in this place. The regular influx of snow bunnies visiting the mountain.
Well, that and the easy access to the ski slopes. And the chance to ski for work. If anyone ever started booking ski lessons at their resort again.
"I'll be sure to make you all a special drink. Maybe we c-"
"RUHN!"
The shout interrupted him, drawing his attention to a familiar colleague with waist-length, dark hair. Hypaxia was waving him toward her, which had Ruhn sighing loudly. "Pardon me, ladies. It seems I'm quite in demand." Sending one last crooked grin to them, he pivoted and jogged toward where Hypaxia was standing, a blonde beside her.
The woman, just a year or two younger than Ruhn, turned to face him, a pair of golden eyes freezing him in place and emptying his mind completely. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"Ruhn," Hypaxia started, "we've got a new ski instructor starting today. I'm on vacation starting this afternoon, so you'll be training her."
He wasn't certain whether he should be thanking whatever deity was looking over him, or cursing the demon who was likely hoping he'd make a fool of himself. What did he know of training a newbie? He knew the ropes of the place, sure, but typically they leaned on Hypaxia or Declan for this. He'd just have to rely on his charm. It had never failed him before.
