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Mickey steps off the ice after his exhibition skate panting hard, feeling sweat running down his face and neck and trapped between his skin and costume. He'd put more technically into the performance than was strictly necessary for a show skate, but he'd wanted to challenge himself this year, and now, at the program's debut after getting silver at Skate Canada, he's performed it flawlessly.

The crowd is cheering loudly, Sara is there wrapping him in a hug, but there's only one person whos reaction he really wants to see, and that person has suddenly vanished. Mickey steps away from his sister, hiding his frown so as not to worry her, and heads toward the locker room, trying not to let it weigh on him.

But as soon as he rounds to corner to the more secluded hall between the rink and the changing room, someone slams into him bodily and he's pushed against the wall.

Mickey blinks at the headful of messy brown hair suddenly in his face. “Emil?” he asks breathlessly.

“Stow the long face, Crispino,” Emil says with a huge grin. “Did you think I was going to miss your performance?” He gives a long whistle, looking Mickey up and down in a way that makes him blush. “You didn't tell me you were going to do that.”

“I told you I was doing something impressive,” Mickey counters mildly.

“You didn't say you were going to be so impressive I'd want to take you right on the ice.”

Mickey's heart skips a beat. “Quiet! Someone could hear you!”

“And so what if they do.” Emil is still looking at him, and Mickey tries to blame his shortness of breath on not having quite come down from the exertion of the performance yet. “And you didn't tell me about this costume...” His hands land on Mickey's chest, golden sequins sparkling from between his fingers. Mickey can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric, and he shivers as his lover's hands drag down his body to frame his hips. “You're beautiful, Mickey.”

He can almost believe Emil sounds short of breath now, too. Mickey mutters something self-deprecating, cheeks burning, and then Emil's fingers are on his chin, tilting his face upwards. “You are,” he insists, sincerity in his blue eyes, and he leans in to kiss Mickey soundly.

Mickey melts into it, every inhibition fluttering away like feathers on the wind in the wake of Emil's touch. Yeah, he'd perform a thousand harder-than-normal exhibition programs if it meant he got to have this after every one.

After long, long moments, Emil pulls back, and Mickey chases him longingly. The Czech skaters giggles, giving him one more quick peck before tugging him forward from where he's still leaning against the wall for support. “Come on, Crispino,” he says lightly. “Let's get you changed out of these sweaty clothes.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Then let's get you back to the hotel and out of everything else.”

Heat flushes through Mickey once again. He's definitely game for that.