The Silver Medalist

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Nico, naturally, has high expectations for all his skaters, and Danny has a long way to go from Juniors-ready to Seniors-ready, so he spends most of the summer training and conditioning, alternating between the gym and the rink. Nico puts him in touch with his trainer, who helps him come up with a regime that will get him in shape without overtaxing his still-growing muscles.

At the rink, he and Nico spend their time refining his elements, his triple-rotation jumps and spins and steps. Under Nico’s careful eye and a harness, Danny also starts training the quadruple toe loop, the easier of the two quad jumps that exist at the moment. He’s wanted it for ages but Coach Friedl wouldn’t let him try it, and even Nico is reluctant, Danny still being as young as he is. He lands it without the harness for the first time in late June and Nico hugs him hard in celebration and, for the first time, drops the c-word.

“I generally let my older and more experienced skaters have a sizable say in their choreographies,” he tells Danny, arms folded as Danny unlaces his boots after practice that day. “For skaters as young as you, though, I usually choreograph them myself. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Danny says, stowing his skates in his bag and tugging on his sneakers. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Nico says. “I have some ideas for your programs this season. We’ll leave the question of the quad toe loop open for now; if you’re more consistent by August, then we’ll talk about putting it in your programs. Deal?”

“Deal,” Danny says, standing and picking up his bag. “Thanks.”

“Gym tomorrow,” Nico says. “Have fun and be safe.”

Despite it being summer, he still has schoolwork to deal with, summer reading and science methodologies and math problem sets. “I feel like we never see you anymore,” Simon complains one day over ice cream, picking a sprinkle off his cone and chucking it at Danny. “You’re always busy skating.”

Danny picks the sprinkle off his cheek and eats it. “It’s my career,” he says, making Ella roll her eyes and gag. He grins at her before turning back to Simon. “But I’m sorry. I’ll try to make more time for you guys.”

“You can start by coming over and helping me with the biology reading,” Simon says, taking a bite out of his cone. “I don’t understand it at all.”

“What makes you think I do?” Danny points out. Simon just turns those bright blue eyes on him, a slight pout to his lips, and Danny sighs. “Fine. I’ll come over after skating tomorrow.”

“Can I come too?” Ella wheedles. “I’m going to fail that class, I can already tell.”

“You’ve never failed a class in your life,” Simon says. “But fine, come over too. We’ll have a study group.” He catches Danny’s eye, a conspiratorial oh well tilt to his mouth that makes Danny’s stomach squirm.

Study groups with Danny’s friends are always a riot but rarely end with actual work getting done, so he goes home the next day just as confused as he had been at the start. Pulling out his cell phone, he sends a message to Noemi for help.

Danny: Are you any good at biology?

Noemi: Ha! No

Noemi: Noah is, though

Noemi: Ask him

Danny: Okay, thanks

* * * *

Danny: I need help

Noah: With what?

Danny: The Krebs cycle

Danny: Noemi says you’re good at biology

Noah: I’m decent

Noah: Can I call you? Too long an explanation for text

Danny: Sure

Danny somehow manages to focus enough on the lesson, despite getting a little lost in Noah’s Teacher Voice, that he actually understands it. “Thank you,” he says fervently, scribbling the last notes onto his paper. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Noah laughs. “Anytime, Danny.”

“I have to go call all my friends and explain it to them now that I understand it. Thank you,” Danny repeats. “I’ll give you all the credit.”

“Don’t bother,” Noah says. “Make yourself look good, I don’t mind.”

“You’re the best,” Danny declares, and they say goodbye and hang up. Danny dials Simon next. “I understand it,” he says as soon as the other boy picks up, and launches into an explanation of the Krebs cycle.

“Crap, crap, slow down, let me get my notebook,” Simon cuts over him. Danny can hear the rustling of paper and the click of a pen. “How’d you figure it out?”

“I’m a genius.”

“Obviously,” Simon drawls. “But seriously, you were just as confused as me and Ella two hours ago.”

Danny fiddles with a loose thread on his bedspread. “I had a friend explain it to me.” He hopes it’s not too presumptuous to call Noah a friend at this point, but somehow he doesn’t think the other boy would mind.

“Another friend, huh?” Simon asks. “Are you cheating on us? Should I be jealous?”

“Absolutely be jealous,” Danny says, grinning. “Are you ready yet?”

“Yes, yes, go ahead.”

Despite all the work he’s putting in, the summer slips by, and all too soon the specter of Grand Prix assignments starts looming large. The Grand Prix of Figure Skating is a series of six competitions of skaters from all over the world; the top six skaters in each division—men’s singles, ladies singles, pair skating, and ice dancing—are selected to compete at the Grand Prix Final in early December. It’s one of the most prestigious events in the figure skating season.

Danny medaled at Junior Worlds, so he’s guaranteed one assignment in the Grand Prix series. He’d need two to get to the Final, but that’s alright; a guaranteed one is more than a lot of early-career skaters get. And it’s a lot less pressure, knowing the Final is off the table from the start this year.

Of course, there’s the added pressure of it being one of the only events he’ll be skating in this season, aside from Nationals and maybe Worlds, so it kind of cancels out.

Assignments come out in mid-August, just after Danny’s seventeenth birthday. Danny makes his mother look, his fists pressed to his mouth in stress. “It’s the Bompard,” she says finally, and Danny lets out a long breath. The Trophée Éric Bompard, the fourth event in the series. He’s going to Paris.

His other rinkmates all have events too, two each. They’re all scattered throughout the other five events, though; Danny will be going to Paris alone, just Nico by his side.

There’s a press conference after the assignments; there always is, and Danny has been before, as a Juniors skater. He’s small potatoes now that he’s in Seniors, though, and he doesn’t have to say much, just sit there in his suit and try and look impressive. Nico ruffles his hair when it’s over and tells him he did well.

Once the assignments are out, it’s the school year’s turn to loom large over Danny’s mind. There’s a party beforehand, of course; there’s always a party before school starts. Danny uses his widening shoulders to justify a shopping spree and turns up in new clothes that fit like a dream, even if it is just for the moment. Ella teases him for twenty minutes before someone breaks out the alcohol, but Simon just gives him an appreciative smile and a slug on the bicep.

The alcohol at these parties is always terrible, but Danny gamely downs two cups in pursuit of dancing. He loses Ella at some point, and Simon isn’t dancing, but there are plenty of other people on the floor, and he drifts for a long stretch of time to the throbbing beat and the heat of other people, until a hand closes around his wrist.

It’s Simon, pulling him off the combination living-room-and-dance-floor and into a quiet corner. “I’ve got to tell you something,” he shouts in Danny’s ear over the music. “Can we talk?”

“Sure!” Danny shouts back, and follows when Simon leads him out of the living room and down a hallway.

He’s a little surprised when Simon leads him to a closet, but he’s a little drunk and it’s nicely metaphorical, so he just goes in and shifts aside a bit to make room for Simon to close the door.

“So,” Danny says, their knees pressing together and Simon’s breath on his cheek. “What did you want to tell me?”

Simon sighs. “We’re moving away,” he says, all in a rush. “My family. My parents got new jobs and we’re moving away in December.”

Danny’s stomach drops to about his knees and he nods. “I see. We’ll miss you, me and Ella. The lunch table won’t be the same without you.”

“It’s not Ella I want to miss me,” Simon murmurs. Danny leans back and looks at him. “I didn’t just drag you in here to tell you that,” Simon confesses. His eyes are wide and he’s sweating a little. Danny raises an eyebrow. “Don’t kill me if I’ve got this wrong,” Simon says, and he lifts his hands and puts them on either side of Danny’s face. “I’m moving away in four months, so this is my last chance to do this,” and he pulls Danny’s face forward and presses their mouths together.

It’s Danny’s first kiss, and it confirms a number of things Danny has always known about himself but never really known, not practically. Simon tastes like the party’s terrible alcohol and also kind of like pot, and Danny licks it off his lips when his friend pulls back. “Did I get it wrong?” Simon whispers.

Eyes still shut, Danny shakes his head. “Nope, not wrong. Not wrong at all.”

“Oh, thank Christ,” and then they’re kissing again, and Danny gets the rest of his body involved, his knees pressing a little farther between Simon’s and his hands going to Simon’s waist. Simon works Danny’s mouth open, and he must have done this before, or read some very explicit books, and Danny will winkle the stories out of him later but for now he takes Simon’s nervous tongue into his mouth and lets out a sound he didn’t know he was capable of making.

He finds himself hard faster than he’s ever gotten hard in his life, and he’s a seventeen-year-old boy, so that’s saying something. “Do you wanna,” he whispers, biting Simon’s lip and letting one hand slip around to rest on his lower back.

“Christ, yeah,” Simon swears again. They fumble blindly at each other’s trousers, still kissing, and Danny lets out a hiss as Simon yanks his fly down and his fingers graze Danny’s c**k, already half-hard and growing. Simon whimpers, and Danny tears his mouth away to focus on what his fingers are doing and finally gets his friend’s zipper down, then pushes his trousers and boxers to mid-thigh.

Simon whines as Danny touches him, high-pitched drones that go straight to Danny’s balls, almost more than Simon’s reciprocating fingers do. Simon’s free hand tangles in his hair, fingers catching on a snarl and tugging, and the sharp burst of almost-pain sends Danny over the edge, spilling over Simon’s wrist and the fabric of his own briefs with a bitten-off cry.

He somehow manages to keep working Simon through it, and the other boy finishes before he’s fully come back to himself. They pant against each other for a few minutes, until Simon reaches to a shelf above Danny’s head and comes back with a washcloth to clean their hands.

“Is this how you expected this conversation to go?” Danny asks with a grin, working his trousers back up over his hips.

Simon grins back. “It was the best-case scenario.”

Danny laughs and throws his arms around Simon’s shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “We’ll do this again?” he murmurs.

Simon nods, rubbing his nose against Danny’s. “It’s only four months, but I bet we can have some fun before I have to leave.”

Danny feels himself grin, sharp as a blade. “No doubt.”

Simon leaves first, promising to knock on the door when five minutes have passed and it’s safe for Danny to come out. He spends the time with his eyes closed, thinking hard.

His parents have always taught him that s*x doesn’t change a person, that virginity is a social construct, but he does feel…different, somehow. More settled into his skin, more present in his body. He can feel long-held muscle tension loosening, as though his orgasm had wrung his whole body out and left him limp and loose. He likes it.

Ella shouts at them for running off when they make it back to the living room. “I had no one to dance with!” she scolds, one hand around each of their wrists to tow them after her. “It was horrible.”

Danny shares a laughing glance with Simon, then sweeps Ella back onto the dance floor.