Chapter Text
The second rest day of the Tour de France 2022 finds Tadej walking back to the team’s hotel by himself. He had slipped out for a few moments to get some peace and quiet, the constant commotion of the team and staff and reporters starting to take its toll. A short walk around the city had helped and he felt rejuvenated in a way that boded well for tomorrow’s stage. He’s feeling great, on top of the world, when he trips over a groove in the sidewalk. His ankle twists, sending him tumbling forward, and as he falls he only just catches himself with his right hand, narrowly avoiding breaking the fall with his face.
Pain shoots through his hand and he cradles it tightly as he sits on the sidewalk, stunned. The wrist hurts something awful, but he doesn't think he actually broke anything.
Still, his heart pounds in his chest from the sudden adrenaline rush. It pounds at the certainty that he’s just been very very lucky. He had almost just lost everything.
“You okay?”
Tadej looks up to see a man in a black polo leaning down over him. The sun shines straight into Tadej’s eyes so it’s hard to make out much, but he thinks the man is concerned. He squints, but can’t make out much more than that. Tadej shakes his head and gives his best smile, “Yeah I’m fine. Just a little cl—”
“Let me have a look,” the man says, crouching down next to him and holding out an expectant hand. Level and this close, Tadej can see him clearly. He’s pale. Bright blue eyes stare at him.
Tadej is so thrown off guard by the calm, confident voice that he doesn't think twice in giving the man his arm to inspect. It’s definitely not because he’s thrown by the man’s handsome face and pretty eyes. The man turns and presses at his wrist in a way that shows he definitely knows what he’s doing. “I’m sorry,” Tadej says, “But who are you?”
“Massage therapist,” the man says absentmindedly, focused on Tadej’s arm as he manipulates it this way and that.
How convenient, Tadej almost says when his eyes catch on the small embroidered logo on the collar of the man’s polo where the bright yellow letters of JUMBO-VISMA stand out.
Huh.
Tadej reassesses the man. He’s slim, his build looking more like a cyclist’s than any of the bulkier massage therapists UAE employed. His eyes travel over thin muscular arms and even though the man is wearing very unflattering jeans, he can tell his thighs are strong. Tadej’s spent his entire life carefully crafting his body and he can see it reflected back at him from this man.
“Wrist and elbow are fine,” the man finally says, interrupting Tadej’s ogling. “Let me see your ankle.”
“Thanks for the help, but I’ll have my team look at it.” If something was wrong with his ankle, Jumbo was one of the last teams he wanted to know about it.
“I need to check if you’re okay to even walk.”
Tadej purses his lips. If something was seriously wrong, it would be stupid of him if he made it worse by walking back to the hotel. “Fine,” he says begrudgingly.
As brazen as anything, the man takes Tadej’s foot and puts it in his lap. He takes Tadej’s shoe off and then his sock to reveal Tadej’s pale foot, its color almost an exact match to the natural paleness of the man’s hand. The man gently presses and rotates his foot as he tests its limits. It sort of hurts, but not at all like what he would expect if something was wrong.
“Nothing broken. Doesn’t even look like a sprain. Looks good.”
Tadej sighs in relief. He had no idea what he would’ve done if his Tour ended on a random sidewalk in Carcassonne. “I’m Tadej.”
The man gives him a small smile. “Yes, I know. I’m Jonas.”
“You don’t look like massage therapist,” Tadej says, because it’s true and he feels it needs to be said.
The man tilts his head to the side. “What does one look like?”
“Bigger,” Tadej says, holding his hands apart to illustrate his point. “They got strong hands.”
“I assure you, I’m strong enough.”
Tadej hums in exaggerated disbelief, very aware of how his foot is still in the man’s lap, his ankle cradled gently in a warm hand. “I don’t believe you,” he says.
Jonas raises an eyebrow. “Are you maybe trying to get a massage out of me?”
Tadej smiles wide, sensing a game. Jonas obviously doesn't mean anything by the question, a half-thought-out comment, a throwaway line he probably says all the time. But he’s saying it to Tadej and Tadej Pogacar loves games. And more importantly, Tadej Pogacar loves to win. He smiles wide and draws out an exaggerated “Maayybe~”
Jonas laughs. It’s a restrained noise, more a huff than a real laugh. “Not going to happen. I have my hands full enough as it is with one GC rider.”
Tadej pointedly looks at the Jumbo logo. “Primoz’s therapist?”
“Hmm. Which is also why I had to check on you. I would never hear the end of it if you were injured when he wins.” Jonas looks him over, probably as a final check but it feels anything but clinical.
“When?” Tadej asks pointedly, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach that is undeniable attraction.
“Hmm.” He gives that small smile again and there’s a spark in his eye that says he wants to play this game.
“I’m winning,” Tadej says confidently, a challenge.
“We’ll see,” Jonas says, accepting.
Tadej looks into those blue eyes and a dozen plans form on how he can keep them on him. He’s never played this particular game before but everything about the other man just feels right and his instincts have never let him down before. “Tell you what,” Tadej says. “I win, I get massage from you.”
Jonas huffs but doesn’t hesitate to hold out his hand. “Deal.”
They shake on it and Tadej lets out a yelp as Jonas tugs him upright. If he had shame he might’ve blushed at the undignified noise, but as it is he only notices how close they are standing. They were of the same height.
“Be careful walking back,” Jonas says, pressing his sock and shoe into his hands, and then he’s walking away before Tadej can tell if he’s teasing him or not.
Tadej wins and it’s just as exhilarating as it was the past two times. He stands on the podium and raises the trophy above his head, feeling invincible.
In the crowd, an area of yellow catches his eye, and Tadej sees him. He’s wearing a thin smile and clapping. Tadej smiles wider and gives a shout of victory.
After the general celebrations, and after the team party, Tadej finds himself pleasantly intoxicated at some after party. He thinks it might be a sponsor party but he’s honestly not sure; he had just followed Marc and Mikkel. What he is sure of though, is that the man sitting at one of the tables with Wout van Aert is the one he wants.
“Excuse me,” Tadej says, patting Marc’s shoulder. “That’s mine,” he declares and then very gracefully makes his way across the room over to Jonas and Wout. He bows when he reaches the table. “It’s me. Three time champion.” He points at Jonas. “You owe me massage.”
Jonas and Wout stare at him like they’ve never seen him before. And sure, he should have said hello first, but his head is fuzzy and he has firmly established himself as the best rider in the world and he really wants Jonas to touch him and honestly, he’s never been a particularly serious person.
“Wow,” Wout says. “Many questions but do not want to know.” He stands up and gives an awkward wave to Jonas. “Good luck with whatever this is.”
Tadej waves him goodbye and slides into his now-vacant seat. “Hi,” he says to Jonas.
Jonas’ face is an attractive red and he mumbles something under his breath Tadej can’t quite catch.
“I won,” he repeats.
Jonas gives him a very unimpressive glare. “Yes, Tadej. I was there.”
Tadej props his chin on his hand. “You owe me massage~” he sing-songs.
Jonas’ fake-glare crumbles into a smile as he rolls his eyes. “Yes, a deal is a deal. I do not break promises.”
“Good. I looked for you after, you know? I don’t have your number so I have to look. I didn’t see you till today, at the ceremony. You don’t go to the stages? But also I’ve never seen you before now. Like this Tour now. Where did you come from? Jumbo has been hiding you, yes? Will you be at other races?” Tadej reaches over and squeezes Jonas’ thin upper arm. “You’re built like cyclist though. Are you sure you’re not one?”
Jonas slides a glass of water to him with an amused look. “That’s a lot of questions.”
Tadej didn’t really think so. He takes a sip of the water (had it been Wouts?) and asks the most important one. “Do you ride?”
It turns out that Jonas did, in fact, cycle. Had even been going to go pro before he broke his femur which never quite healed right. The way he spoke gave Tadej the impression that he was downplaying his talents and he suddenly, very badly, wanted to ride with the man.
Jonas gives an actual laugh when he asks for a ride and the sound makes his heart do an odd flutter. “I do not think you will be riding for a few days, much less tonight with the state you are in.”
Tadej, never one to back down from a challenge, gets his hands on another flute of champagne to show he was very much still in control of his facilities. When he spills some of it, Jonas huffs, gently takes it out of his hands, and finishes it for him.
Tadej loses track of time as he rambles to Jonas about anything and everything that comes to his mind, thrilled that Jonas never loses that vague smile on his face.
“They know I have no chance yet to see it but they still text how good it is and they know I get jealous! I try to go watch it before the Tour start–” a hand on his shoulder cuts Tadej’s rant short and he looks up to see Mikkel.
“Hey, I’m headed back to our hotel. Marc left a while ago to go somewhere with Castroviejo.” He glances over Tadej’s shoulder. “You coming with me or staying here with…” he trails off.
“Staying here!” Tadej says happily.
Mikkel gives him an odd look. “Okay. Call if you need anything,” he says but he hesitates, hovering as if waiting for something.
Jonas leans across Tadej and holds out his hand. “I’m Jonas. Jonas Vingegaard. Don’t worry, I’ll watch him.”
Mikkel shakes his hand. “Vingegaard? Dansk?”
“Ja. Med Jumbo-Visma. Jeg kan give dig mit nummer, hvis du er bekymret.”
“I didn’t know you were Danish,” Tadej says, but is ignored by them both as they continue to talk across him.
He crosses his arms and leans back, about to loudly voice his displeasure of being left out, when his eyes catch on Jonas’ neck. He’s still leaned over, stretched forward so he can talk to Mikkel, and it extends his neck attractively, positions it so it’s right in front of Tadej. If Tadej leaned forward, he could press a kiss to his cheek.
Tadej licks his lips, suddenly remembering how much he wants Jonas’ hands on him. He had been so caught up in talking with the man that he had forgotten that he had other, more physical, plans for the man.
“What are you smiling at?”
Jonas' voice jolts Tadej to attention. He’s staring at him with that vague smile on his lips, amusement in his eyes, and Tadej realizes Mikkel has already left. Tadej grabs his wrist. “You owe me massage.”
Jonas shifts his hand so their fingers intertwine. “We are going back to my room. The hotel is just down the street. Do not let go of my hand. I do not need you wandering off.”
Tadej squeezes his hand. “I would never,” he promises.
Jonas doesn’t look like he believes him but they get up and Tadej dutifully follows him as he leads them down one of the streets. And while Tadej is tempted to go down a different street to see what that burst of purple and blue lights was, he doesn't. (Jonas may or may not tug on his hand to keep him from making that particular turn, but that’s neither here nor there.)
Jonas leads him through a side door of a nondescript hotel that Tadej vaguely recalls Primoz mentioning Jumbo was staying in, and Tadej laughs as they tiptoe through the hall, belatedly realizing Jonas is sneaking him in. He’s never done an explicit hookup before and the idea of being caught adds a layer of excitement he hadn’t expected to like so much.
“Quiet,” Jonas says as he unlocks a door, then tugs Tadej inside.
It’s similar to the rooms Team UAE were assigned for the duration of their stay in Paris: small, with two beds and minimal furnishings.
Tadej looks over the two beds, both prestinly made with only one of the bedside tables having a charging cord on it. At the foot of the other bed is a massage table already set up. The cool night air had sobered Tadej up enough that he could fully appreciate the implication of Jonas having prepared for this.
“Liam lives nearby so he’s not staying here tonight. I have the room to myself.”
Tadej turns around to look at him with a large smile. “I—”
“Massage only,” Jonas interrupts him sternly.
Tadej’s mouth snaps shut but he’s unable to keep his smile down. He was so winning this game. “How do you want me?” He asks cheekily.
Jonas rolls his eyes. “Get on the table.”
Tadej shivers at the blunt order and he can’t think of a single thing that would prevent him from getting on that table. He starts to get on when a hand on his shoulder makes him pause.
“Clothes off.”
Tadej’s heart skips a beat and he feels a different sort of intoxicated. He looks over his shoulder, fully prepared to make a show of it, but Jonas isn't looking, heading into the bathroom. Impatient, he quickly tugs his shirt and shoes off. He’s working his pants off when Jonas returns with a towel in hand. He tosses it to Tadej and turns away.
Tadej wants to laugh at the pretense of it all, but decides to indulge Jonas. So when he takes his drawers off, he makes sure to cover himself up with the towel before lying down on his back. He takes a moment to stare at Jonas’ back. He’d really never done something like this before, wasn’t completely sure what was driving him to do this now, but he could barely keep his excitement down. “I’m ready,” he says.
Jonas turns back around, his intense eyes focused on him as he looks him over and Tadej feels giddy, heart thumping in his chest. Jonas pours some oil into his hands and rubs them together, warming it up. It smells like mint.
Tadej gets massages just about everyday during the season, he’s seen this routine hundreds of times. But it’s so different seeing Jonas do it. Erotic.
Jonas lays a hand on his ankle. It’s warm. “You’re facing the wrong way.”
Tadej smiles but turns over, crossing his arms under his head and resting his cheek on his forearms. It’s a pity he can’t see Jonas now but it’s just as exciting. It’s more a pity that he wasn’t able to knock the towel off when he turned over.
Strong hands start kneading at his calf, thumbs pressing in deliciously. Tadej melts into the table as Jonas works his legs over. It has been a long Tour and he was sore.
The rhythmic push and pull along his legs are more gentle than the deep pressure the trainers usually apply, Jonas obviously going for feel over functionality, and it's wonderful. Tadej zones out as Jonas works his way up to his lower back and starts working out the tension that has accumulated there. He hums in contentment as slow circles are rubbed all the way to the top of his spine. Thumbs press into the base of his skull and Tadej can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. He could lie here forever.
He doesn't know when he falls asleep, but he wakes up on the bed, alone, and with a major headache. On the bedside table, the charger is gone. In its place there’s a key card and a note propped against a bottle of water.
Congrats on the win
Please return the key card to the front desk
Jonas.