Kiss Cam for solookup
Author: scriptophile
Title: Kiss Cam
Recipient: solookup
Skaters/Pairings: Johnny Weir/Evan Lysacek
Rating: R
Wordcount: 2233
Warnings: None
Prompt: Combined two <3 A blind date and going out to a sporting event.
Disclaimer: The events portrayed in this story are fictional and do not reflect on the actual people written about.
A/N: I was really excited about the prompts I received and I hope I did them justice!
Summary: Evan and Johnny find themselves set up on a blind date-- with each other, courtesy of Tanith Belbin and Apolo Ohno.
“Does this look okay?” Evan spreads his arms wide, and turns in a slow circle as Apolo laughs him over Skype. “No, dude, c'mon, I'm serious!” His voice is fast approaching a whine, and Apolo knows how far he can push Evan's already frayed nerves.
“Evan, c'mon. It's jeans and a t-shirt, it's kind of hard to fuck that up.” Apolo adopts a more serious tone, and reminds himself to buy a fake little Oscar statuette to add to his medal collection, because he deserves an award for this performance.
“Are you sure?” he asks, fingers fiddling with the hem of the Ed Hardy monstrosity. “I want to make a good impression. You know, owning the narrative, setting the tone. Uh, stuff like that.” Apolo is able to surpress the urge to roll his eyes-- just barely.
“You should come with me on my next college pep-talk circuit,” he says instead, grinning enough to look like he's baring his teeth. “You'd be great.”
Evan pauses in picking off imaginary lint from his shirt, perking up just a bit. “You think so? That'd be pretty awesome.” He sounds genuine enough to make Apolo cringe inwardly, because there's no way he can take the offer back now, but whatever. All of this build up was going to be worth the pay off, he was sure.
“Yeah, I think so. Now get going, you're going to be late.” Which he's not, he's got an hour to get to the ballpark, but Evan hurridly signs off and stomps into his shoes anyway, because oh God, what if he does end up being late? All first impression chances would be ruined, opportunities lost, that sort of thing.
Apolo snorts out of a laugh as he sends off a text. 'Mongoose has left the building~'
***
“Ooh, who's texting you?” Johnny asks, wrinkling his nose as he leans out of his closet as a ridiculous angle-- thank you, yoga-- to try and sneak a peek at Tanith's phone, which she clutches to her chest in such an exaggerated manner that Johnny loses interest as she sticks her tongue out and says, “None of your business. Don't you have underwear to be picking out?” And she's right of course, his date is in an hour and he's still naked from his ridiculously indulgent bubble bath earlier that day.
“Ugh, God, you're right. But I mean really, what am I going to wear to a baseball game?”
“Gaga went in a jersey and some fishnets,” Tanith supplies helpfully as she taps a quick message to Apolo. 'Trying to get Johnny to put on some underwear!'
“Well, I do have the ass to pull off fishnets as pants, but I'm trying to go for low-key here.” For Johnny, low-key ends up being a pair of ridiculously skinny Seven jeans paired with the most amazing top he bought at the Good Will years and years ago. As he compared Balenciaga and Gucci sunglasses and wondered if it was worth bringing out his Alexander McQueen scarf, Tanith fired off another text. 'Hey Ev!!! All ready for your big date?'
***
If there one thing that he's learned since meeting Johnny over a decade, which was a lot longer than Evan cared to think about, it was that Johnny could not be ignored. He drew the eye wherever he went, not because he was imposing, or loud, or even particularly beautiful, but he worked with he had so well that you never noticed you weren't supposed to be attracted to him. Or, whatever, something like that.
So of course when Evan shows up at Yankee Stadium, dressed in jeans and a nice Ralph Lauren polo-- because Anna had given a very strongly accented opinion on his Ed Hardy shirt when he had called her for last-minute advice-- he spots Johnny right away.
Johnny, for his part, almost over looks Evan. Somehow vulnerable away from the ice, out of skates, he doesn't identify the awkward hand-fidgeting and stupid spider limbs as Lysacek. He huffs, a quick puff of hair blowing his bangs up off his blemish-free forehead. What the hell was he doing here? Not that it was odd to find him at a sporting event, bro that he was, but did he have to be at this sporting event? And-- oh, oh God, no. No. He was not making his way over here. Fuck. PR smile in place, he slid his sunglasses up his nose and his sights on Evan's slight yet hulking form.
“Uh, Johnny. Hey.” It was weird calling him... anything, to be honest. Johnny seemed like a nickname, and John just seemed way too personal and intimate and just. Ugh. This was so awkward, he should have just minded his own business and waited for his date to show up and just... fuck his life.
“Mm. Evan.” He doesn't know what else to say, and doesn't bother tilting his glasses down to give himself a clearer look at the orange beast. “I'm here to meet someone, so if you don't mind...?” He purses his lips and cranes his head in a very exaggerated manner, dismissing Evan from his mind, if not his line of sight.
“Oh, oh, right,” he says, ducking in his head in a way that does nothing to take away from his height but does sort of make him look like a puppy who just shat on the new carpet but feels really bad about it. “Sorry. I'm meeting someone too, so... yeah, uh. Enjoy the game.”
Johnny flashes his teeth in what is probably a smile, and wiggles his fingers in what is probably a wave, and Evan just sort of... lumbers off. Jesus, but he was awkward, wasn't he? Johnny purses his lips as he watches him walk off, wondering what had possessed him to even come over in the first place. Whatever, Lysacek was out of sight, out of mind, and that was the end of that.
***
Evan took his seat-- a good one too, not front row but he wasn't in danger of getting a nose bleed either-- Johnny took a few extra minutes to powder his nose and pose with a fan for a photograph before he entered the stadium, tipping his bug-eye sunglasses down enough to read the numbers and letters on the row. Shimmying past those who had already sat down, he finally plopped into his seat, turning to his right to meet his date.
“Evan?”
“... Johnny?”
Johnny stares at him, sunglasses dangling between his fingers as the first pitch of the game was given below them. This was... this was not funny. If this was Tanith's idea of a joke, it was-- it was--
“She's a dead woman,” Johnny says finally, while Evan still looks at him, mouth hanging a bit. Irrationally, Evan starts to laugh.
“Tanith, right? I mean, this seems like her. Her and Apolo.” He's laughing still, his teeth huge and white and his eyes bright and, oh god, of course Evan is friends with Apolo fucking Ohno.
“Yes, Tanith. She's a dead woman, six feet under.” Johnny paused, and couldn't hide the twitch of his own lips. “Sleeping with the fishes.”
“Sleeping with the fishes, really? Did you watch the Sopranos last night or something?”
“Whatever. Are you staying?” Johnny asks, arching a perfectly waxed brow.
“Uh, yes? These are really good seats.” He glances down at the filed as something happens, and pumps his fist in the air and gives a whoop loud enough to make Johnny jump in his seat. “Man, did you see that? Look, when--”
Johnny holds up a finger to get Evan to stop talking. “One, I understand how baseball works, don't worry your fat head about girly little Johnny. Two, I don't care. I don't follow baseball, so I just... don't care. Buy me a beer and a hotdog and maybe I'll keep your company while overweight men in pinstripes run around little white squares.”
***
It's a time-out, and that's when the Kiss Cam comes on. Johnny rolls his eyes and sips at his second beer of the game. He doesn't want to say that he's having a good time, but... he can't really say it's a horrible time either. It's this weird in-between where he starts to have a good time and then remembers that it's Evan Lysacek of all people, and just...
“Hey, stop making that face, you're on Candid Camera.” Johnny sighs, because in Evan's world, this is what passes for humor.
“What are you even talking about-- Oh no.” His looks flattens into one of utter lack of amusement. “Evan, that's the damn Kiss Cam. On us.”
“Oh.” Evan ducks his head in that way again, but then also leans forward, a hand sliding under Johnny's chin, grinning just before their lips press together in what is, yes, technically a kiss. It's so chaste that it's cute though, despite the fact that Evan's lips are dry-- and that they're Evan's lips, oh my God.
The camera moves on, but Evan doesn't, instead adding a little more pressure, his hand moving to cup Johnny's cheek. Between them all Johnny can taste is bad ballpark beer and mint gum but it's somehow... okay. They finally pull apart, and Evan licks his lips and looks at Johnny expectantly.
“You... you're insane, Evan Lysacek. Insane.”
“But a good kisser?” He looks hopeful and shrugs his shoulders, and... yeah, Johnny's not sure why but it's adorable, and his hotel room has a bed big enough even for Evan.
***
They're naked, and Evan doesn't even know how this is happening. Johnny is laughing at him as Evan struggles to get his shirt up over his head, the sound dying down into a low murmur of approval as the Ralph Lauren hits the hotel room floor, thin and pale fingers moving over newly exposed skin. Evan practically shivers, and gives a small yelp of surprise when Johnny tweaks one of his nipples. The laughter is back now, and it's not... condescending, or whatever. It's just laughing and it's really easy to find what everyone else sees in Johnny right at this moment.
It doesn't take long for teasing touches and clothes being stripped off when they can spare the time between kisses to get frustrating, and it's Evan that pushes first, pressing Johnny down onto the mattress and crawling on top of him, hands not quite shaking as jeans and underwear-- both his own and Johnny's-- are pushed around ankles, hardening cocks bobbing free, streaking pre-come over unexpecting skin.
Johnny has to admit, as Evan's long-fingered hands slide down his own bare chest, it's... nice. It's nice to be with someone who understands his body, understands the work put in, the sacrifices made, and if Johnny is being totally honest with himself, it's pretty fucking hot to be the object of that single-minded focus. Evan's pupils are blown wide in the low light of the hotel room, his mouth set in a determined sort of frown that would almost be cute if he wasn't touching and tugging and squeezing every part of Johnny he could get his hands on, methodically finding out what makes Johnny moan or gasp.
“Fuck, Evan,” he says finally, his tone dangerously close to a whine as he tries to wiggle out from under him, hips stuck between Evan's thighs. “Just get on with it already!” Johnny pointedly lifts his hips and bites at the pad of Evan's left index finger, which he foolishly let wander within reach of Johnny's mouth.
Evan takes the hint, and slicks his fingers up with lube in a way that suggests that this isn't the first time he's needed to slick his fingers to work them into someone's ass, and that was something that was going to be discussed later. Much, much later, because now those fingers were brushing along his ass, the lube cooling on his skin as the a/c kicks in. He makes encouraging noises, and fingers raking through Evan's blessedly gel-free hair, only to clutch as finally one of those long, well-manicured fingers works it's way inside of him.
“Evan,” he moans out, back arching, hips rolling down to bring in more, feel more, get more. By the time Evan slides his cock into Johnny's ass, they're both slicked with sweat and lube, arms shaking as they clutch and support, bodies slipping against each other as they thrust and writhe in colliding rhythms that still bring them both over the edge, gasping and grasping.
***
“Your arms go on for fucking ever, Evan, good Christ.” The tone is snappish, but lacks any sort of heat, so Evan just laughs and tries to shift around in the tiny hotel shower to give Johnny more room. It's the second day of Johnny's stay in New York, and even though he's leaving tomorrow, he's barely left his hotel room. Evan likes to order room service, and gives a very convincing argument of staying in bed all day long, so spider limbs and all, Johnny's been putting up with him.
“Just make yourself useful, Lysacek, and wash my hair.”
-END-
Title: Kiss Cam
Recipient: solookup
Skaters/Pairings: Johnny Weir/Evan Lysacek
Rating: R
Wordcount: 2233
Warnings: None
Prompt: Combined two <3 A blind date and going out to a sporting event.
Disclaimer: The events portrayed in this story are fictional and do not reflect on the actual people written about.
A/N: I was really excited about the prompts I received and I hope I did them justice!
Summary: Evan and Johnny find themselves set up on a blind date-- with each other, courtesy of Tanith Belbin and Apolo Ohno.
“Does this look okay?” Evan spreads his arms wide, and turns in a slow circle as Apolo laughs him over Skype. “No, dude, c'mon, I'm serious!” His voice is fast approaching a whine, and Apolo knows how far he can push Evan's already frayed nerves.
“Evan, c'mon. It's jeans and a t-shirt, it's kind of hard to fuck that up.” Apolo adopts a more serious tone, and reminds himself to buy a fake little Oscar statuette to add to his medal collection, because he deserves an award for this performance.
“Are you sure?” he asks, fingers fiddling with the hem of the Ed Hardy monstrosity. “I want to make a good impression. You know, owning the narrative, setting the tone. Uh, stuff like that.” Apolo is able to surpress the urge to roll his eyes-- just barely.
“You should come with me on my next college pep-talk circuit,” he says instead, grinning enough to look like he's baring his teeth. “You'd be great.”
Evan pauses in picking off imaginary lint from his shirt, perking up just a bit. “You think so? That'd be pretty awesome.” He sounds genuine enough to make Apolo cringe inwardly, because there's no way he can take the offer back now, but whatever. All of this build up was going to be worth the pay off, he was sure.
“Yeah, I think so. Now get going, you're going to be late.” Which he's not, he's got an hour to get to the ballpark, but Evan hurridly signs off and stomps into his shoes anyway, because oh God, what if he does end up being late? All first impression chances would be ruined, opportunities lost, that sort of thing.
Apolo snorts out of a laugh as he sends off a text. 'Mongoose has left the building~'
***
“Ooh, who's texting you?” Johnny asks, wrinkling his nose as he leans out of his closet as a ridiculous angle-- thank you, yoga-- to try and sneak a peek at Tanith's phone, which she clutches to her chest in such an exaggerated manner that Johnny loses interest as she sticks her tongue out and says, “None of your business. Don't you have underwear to be picking out?” And she's right of course, his date is in an hour and he's still naked from his ridiculously indulgent bubble bath earlier that day.
“Ugh, God, you're right. But I mean really, what am I going to wear to a baseball game?”
“Gaga went in a jersey and some fishnets,” Tanith supplies helpfully as she taps a quick message to Apolo. 'Trying to get Johnny to put on some underwear!'
“Well, I do have the ass to pull off fishnets as pants, but I'm trying to go for low-key here.” For Johnny, low-key ends up being a pair of ridiculously skinny Seven jeans paired with the most amazing top he bought at the Good Will years and years ago. As he compared Balenciaga and Gucci sunglasses and wondered if it was worth bringing out his Alexander McQueen scarf, Tanith fired off another text. 'Hey Ev!!! All ready for your big date?'
***
If there one thing that he's learned since meeting Johnny over a decade, which was a lot longer than Evan cared to think about, it was that Johnny could not be ignored. He drew the eye wherever he went, not because he was imposing, or loud, or even particularly beautiful, but he worked with he had so well that you never noticed you weren't supposed to be attracted to him. Or, whatever, something like that.
So of course when Evan shows up at Yankee Stadium, dressed in jeans and a nice Ralph Lauren polo-- because Anna had given a very strongly accented opinion on his Ed Hardy shirt when he had called her for last-minute advice-- he spots Johnny right away.
Johnny, for his part, almost over looks Evan. Somehow vulnerable away from the ice, out of skates, he doesn't identify the awkward hand-fidgeting and stupid spider limbs as Lysacek. He huffs, a quick puff of hair blowing his bangs up off his blemish-free forehead. What the hell was he doing here? Not that it was odd to find him at a sporting event, bro that he was, but did he have to be at this sporting event? And-- oh, oh God, no. No. He was not making his way over here. Fuck. PR smile in place, he slid his sunglasses up his nose and his sights on Evan's slight yet hulking form.
“Uh, Johnny. Hey.” It was weird calling him... anything, to be honest. Johnny seemed like a nickname, and John just seemed way too personal and intimate and just. Ugh. This was so awkward, he should have just minded his own business and waited for his date to show up and just... fuck his life.
“Mm. Evan.” He doesn't know what else to say, and doesn't bother tilting his glasses down to give himself a clearer look at the orange beast. “I'm here to meet someone, so if you don't mind...?” He purses his lips and cranes his head in a very exaggerated manner, dismissing Evan from his mind, if not his line of sight.
“Oh, oh, right,” he says, ducking in his head in a way that does nothing to take away from his height but does sort of make him look like a puppy who just shat on the new carpet but feels really bad about it. “Sorry. I'm meeting someone too, so... yeah, uh. Enjoy the game.”
Johnny flashes his teeth in what is probably a smile, and wiggles his fingers in what is probably a wave, and Evan just sort of... lumbers off. Jesus, but he was awkward, wasn't he? Johnny purses his lips as he watches him walk off, wondering what had possessed him to even come over in the first place. Whatever, Lysacek was out of sight, out of mind, and that was the end of that.
***
Evan took his seat-- a good one too, not front row but he wasn't in danger of getting a nose bleed either-- Johnny took a few extra minutes to powder his nose and pose with a fan for a photograph before he entered the stadium, tipping his bug-eye sunglasses down enough to read the numbers and letters on the row. Shimmying past those who had already sat down, he finally plopped into his seat, turning to his right to meet his date.
“Evan?”
“... Johnny?”
Johnny stares at him, sunglasses dangling between his fingers as the first pitch of the game was given below them. This was... this was not funny. If this was Tanith's idea of a joke, it was-- it was--
“She's a dead woman,” Johnny says finally, while Evan still looks at him, mouth hanging a bit. Irrationally, Evan starts to laugh.
“Tanith, right? I mean, this seems like her. Her and Apolo.” He's laughing still, his teeth huge and white and his eyes bright and, oh god, of course Evan is friends with Apolo fucking Ohno.
“Yes, Tanith. She's a dead woman, six feet under.” Johnny paused, and couldn't hide the twitch of his own lips. “Sleeping with the fishes.”
“Sleeping with the fishes, really? Did you watch the Sopranos last night or something?”
“Whatever. Are you staying?” Johnny asks, arching a perfectly waxed brow.
“Uh, yes? These are really good seats.” He glances down at the filed as something happens, and pumps his fist in the air and gives a whoop loud enough to make Johnny jump in his seat. “Man, did you see that? Look, when--”
Johnny holds up a finger to get Evan to stop talking. “One, I understand how baseball works, don't worry your fat head about girly little Johnny. Two, I don't care. I don't follow baseball, so I just... don't care. Buy me a beer and a hotdog and maybe I'll keep your company while overweight men in pinstripes run around little white squares.”
***
It's a time-out, and that's when the Kiss Cam comes on. Johnny rolls his eyes and sips at his second beer of the game. He doesn't want to say that he's having a good time, but... he can't really say it's a horrible time either. It's this weird in-between where he starts to have a good time and then remembers that it's Evan Lysacek of all people, and just...
“Hey, stop making that face, you're on Candid Camera.” Johnny sighs, because in Evan's world, this is what passes for humor.
“What are you even talking about-- Oh no.” His looks flattens into one of utter lack of amusement. “Evan, that's the damn Kiss Cam. On us.”
“Oh.” Evan ducks his head in that way again, but then also leans forward, a hand sliding under Johnny's chin, grinning just before their lips press together in what is, yes, technically a kiss. It's so chaste that it's cute though, despite the fact that Evan's lips are dry-- and that they're Evan's lips, oh my God.
The camera moves on, but Evan doesn't, instead adding a little more pressure, his hand moving to cup Johnny's cheek. Between them all Johnny can taste is bad ballpark beer and mint gum but it's somehow... okay. They finally pull apart, and Evan licks his lips and looks at Johnny expectantly.
“You... you're insane, Evan Lysacek. Insane.”
“But a good kisser?” He looks hopeful and shrugs his shoulders, and... yeah, Johnny's not sure why but it's adorable, and his hotel room has a bed big enough even for Evan.
***
They're naked, and Evan doesn't even know how this is happening. Johnny is laughing at him as Evan struggles to get his shirt up over his head, the sound dying down into a low murmur of approval as the Ralph Lauren hits the hotel room floor, thin and pale fingers moving over newly exposed skin. Evan practically shivers, and gives a small yelp of surprise when Johnny tweaks one of his nipples. The laughter is back now, and it's not... condescending, or whatever. It's just laughing and it's really easy to find what everyone else sees in Johnny right at this moment.
It doesn't take long for teasing touches and clothes being stripped off when they can spare the time between kisses to get frustrating, and it's Evan that pushes first, pressing Johnny down onto the mattress and crawling on top of him, hands not quite shaking as jeans and underwear-- both his own and Johnny's-- are pushed around ankles, hardening cocks bobbing free, streaking pre-come over unexpecting skin.
Johnny has to admit, as Evan's long-fingered hands slide down his own bare chest, it's... nice. It's nice to be with someone who understands his body, understands the work put in, the sacrifices made, and if Johnny is being totally honest with himself, it's pretty fucking hot to be the object of that single-minded focus. Evan's pupils are blown wide in the low light of the hotel room, his mouth set in a determined sort of frown that would almost be cute if he wasn't touching and tugging and squeezing every part of Johnny he could get his hands on, methodically finding out what makes Johnny moan or gasp.
“Fuck, Evan,” he says finally, his tone dangerously close to a whine as he tries to wiggle out from under him, hips stuck between Evan's thighs. “Just get on with it already!” Johnny pointedly lifts his hips and bites at the pad of Evan's left index finger, which he foolishly let wander within reach of Johnny's mouth.
Evan takes the hint, and slicks his fingers up with lube in a way that suggests that this isn't the first time he's needed to slick his fingers to work them into someone's ass, and that was something that was going to be discussed later. Much, much later, because now those fingers were brushing along his ass, the lube cooling on his skin as the a/c kicks in. He makes encouraging noises, and fingers raking through Evan's blessedly gel-free hair, only to clutch as finally one of those long, well-manicured fingers works it's way inside of him.
“Evan,” he moans out, back arching, hips rolling down to bring in more, feel more, get more. By the time Evan slides his cock into Johnny's ass, they're both slicked with sweat and lube, arms shaking as they clutch and support, bodies slipping against each other as they thrust and writhe in colliding rhythms that still bring them both over the edge, gasping and grasping.
***
“Your arms go on for fucking ever, Evan, good Christ.” The tone is snappish, but lacks any sort of heat, so Evan just laughs and tries to shift around in the tiny hotel shower to give Johnny more room. It's the second day of Johnny's stay in New York, and even though he's leaving tomorrow, he's barely left his hotel room. Evan likes to order room service, and gives a very convincing argument of staying in bed all day long, so spider limbs and all, Johnny's been putting up with him.
“Just make yourself useful, Lysacek, and wash my hair.”
-END-