Ficlet: RINK RENDEZVOUS (Figure Skating RPF, Evan/Johnny)
In the interest of full disclosure, I wrote my own prompt in this case. >_> For the record, I both respect and admire Johnny Weir's disinclination to put a label on his sexuality. But I'll still write dumb shit like this for fun.
Title: RINK RENDEZVOUS (all his most scandalous secrets revealed - inside!)
Fandom: Figure Skating RPF
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,566
Summary: Johnny finally comes out and, in the process, for shits and giggles, he decides to spread some lies about Evan, including telling the press about their (imaginary) sexcapades.
Note: Badfic. Also, I don't really think Evan is a Life Ruiner, but it's so much fun to write him that way!
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RINK RENDEZVOUS (all his most scandalous secrets revealed - inside!)
I'M GAY!
Johnny stared out from the magazine's cover, wearing a filthy smile. He was no Lance Bass: there was no soft gaze or hesitant stance. Johnny looked like he was ready to tear off his clothes and fuck the reader in the ass. The strapline read: The devil in Johnny Weir: all his most scandalous secrets revealed - inside!
Evan tore open the magazine. His publicist had overnighted him a copy and she'd also 'helpfully' marked the relevant page. Inside, a yellow Post-It half-obscured another shot of Johnny, who lounged in a swimming pool, throwing a beach ball up in the air, like a fucking circus seal. Evan's hand formed a fist, crumpling the Post-It. He began to read.
RINK RENDEZVOUS
Johnny Weir may have missed the gold medal in the Vancouver Olympics, but he's certainly scored elsewhere! We sent Suzie Nicholl to find out the truth about Johnny's rivalries and romances, on and off the ice.
"I'm just tired of keeping secrets," Johnny Weir says, as he reclines poolside, basking in the sunshine of Las Vegas, where he's enjoying some R&R following his sixth place finish at the 2010 Olympics. Johnny's ready to spill the beans - not just about his sexual orientation (he's gay, but, he's quick to add, he wouldn't kick Gaga out of bed), but also about his rinkside romances.
He's initially coy about naming names. With hearts in his eyes, he talks about a friendship "with a beautiful, beautiful man" that bloomed into love, before sadly fizzling. However, he won't reveal if this "beautiful man" is…
Evan let out an irritated groan and skipped down the page.
…saves his most scandalous reveal for last. "I really shouldn't," he says, toying with the silver chain around his neck. Then he breaks into a grin. "But I will!"
"It's funny," Johnny continues, "because our rivalry got built up into this huge thing. But we really just grew up together. We were these two dumb kids from podunk towns, doing this faggy sport together. We always had that connection. So it kind of makes sense we'd hook up.
"And yeah, he drives me crazy. But that's kind of hot, you know? All those coded, asshole comments. He was just trying to get a rise out of me." Johnny giggles at the double entendre. "And he did!"
Johnny has to be prodded to clarify who he's talking about. He takes off his sunglasses and blinks in the bright sunshine. "Evan Lysacek, yeah," he says. He reveals the nature of their relationship in expletives and I ask him to rephrase. "We were romantically involved, so to speak," he says with a drawl.
Evan hurled the magazine across the room.
*
Three hours later and $300 poorer, Evan was still so angry he could barely see straight. He veered around a family with two kids, cursing them under his breath, and dropped into a seat. On his cell phone, he listened to a faraway ringing sound. He'd been trying to reach his publicist all morning. She was just marked as 'Publicist' in his phone contacts, though she probably had a name. Finally, on the sixteenth ring, she picked up.
"Evan, honey, calm down," Publicist answered the phone.
"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!"
"Honey, it's really not that bad," she said.
"It's slander! We're suing him. I want to fucking nail him to the wall."
"I already spoke to the magazine. They're gonna run an interview with you. Your side of the story."
"I want to fucking sue his ass."
"Defamation cases can take years. It would be much cheaper, much smarter-"
"Do I need to sue you for criminal incompetence, too? You're my publicist. Do your fucking job."
"Evan, as your publicist, I'm telling you you're overreacting. Have a drink. Go bench press something. Try and calm down."
Evan pulled his phone away from his ear and made a blahblahblah face. No wonder this happened, if he had such fucking retards working for him. At that moment, a stewardess appeared at his arm.
"Sir, I need to ask you to switch your cell phone to in-flight mode now," she said.
"Evan? Evan!" his publicist said, her voice rising. "Who was that? Where the hell are you?"
Evan jabbed viciously at his phone, ending the call and switching it off. He made an effort to smile at the stewardess. She was actually kind of cute. Blonde. Perky. Good teeth.
"All done," he said, trying to sound calm. "Publicists, you know."
"Yeah…" She smiled at him uncertainly. "You're that ice skating guy, aren't you?"
He grinned. She was definitely cute and he was definitely in with a shot.
"…Johnny's Weir's boyfriend," she continued.
Evan felt his anger resurface. He was going to kill Johnny Weir.
*
During his flight to New Jersey, Evan actually took his publicist's advice. There wasn't anything to bench press - though he squeezed his arm rest so hard it warped in his hand - but there was plenty to drink, and he took advantage. As a result, by the time he cabbed it to Wayne, NJ, the vodka, tonic and vitriol had formed a lethal cocktail that coursed through his veins.
It wasn't hard to get inside Johnny's apartment complex - he was Evan Lysacek, for god's sake; people loved him - though the old woman who held the outside door open for him looked more alarmed than admiring. Once inside, he hammered on Johnny's door and yelled, "Open up, you asshole!"
After several minutes, Johnny finally opened the door. "Oh, hi," he said carelessly, as if Evan were a friend who'd promised to stop by. "Come on in."
Taken aback by Johnny's hospitality, Evan could do little but step inside. He followed Johnny through to the living room area, finding himself curiously mollified by the casual sway of Johnny's hips. Johnny wore a deep red robe, patterned with gold, which, from some angles made him look like Hugh Hefner, and from other angles, made him look like one of Hugh Hefner's Playmate girlfriends. From the amount of thigh visible, Evan was fairly sure Johnny wasn't wearing anything beneath the robe.
Evan made an effort to clear his head of these thoughts and did what he came to do: yell. "YOU SPREAD LIES ABOUT ME," he shouted. "YOU DRAGGED MY NAME THROUGH THE MUD."
Johnny made a dismissive hand gesture, apparently bored by Evan's tirade. "Did you see the van outside?" he asked, seemingly at random.
Feeing knocked off course, Evan frowned and said, "What?"
"Oh, don't worry. They've probably gotten bored and left. Although… they've been there for two days. And you arriving is kind of like"-Johnny gave a coy smile-"paydirt."
"What?"
"The paparazzi, darling."
Evan froze. Johnny had to be kidding. Someone had photographed him entering Johnny Weir's apartment building? …Fuck.
"You're screwing with me," he said at last, unconvincingly.
Johnny grinned. "Maybe."
"You psychopathic asshole! I can't believe you told the press I'm your boyfriend."
"Actually, I made it clear we'd broken up," Johnny said lazily. "I thought from a narrative standpoint, it had more kick. Duelling ex-lovers clash at the Olympics. Nice, huh? Suzie Nicholl - the reporter - she said it would make a good TV movie. For Logo, maybe." He grinned evilly. "But, of course, true love conquers all. Maybe that's the headline they'll run alongside the pictures of you flying across the country just to visit me. How sweet."
Evan blinked at Johnny in disbelief. "What did I do to you? Why did you have to drag me into this warped little fantasy of yours?"
Johnny, who'd been as sardonic and serene as a Bond villain up till now, suddenly seemed to snap.
"You won!" he exploded. "You have the respect, the prestige. The federation falling all over itself for you. What do I have? Thirteen years and all I'm allowed is some aw-shucks story about how it's the taking part that matters. Well fuck that. It's the winning that matters."
They were both quiet for a moment, and the room filled with heavy breathing. Johnny hiccupped slightly as he impatiently brushed away a tear that had leaked out with the words fuck you.
"Look," Johnny said, calm again, carefully dismissive, "I'll tell the press it was all a lie. Crazy Johnny Weir starting shit just for the hell of it. Your precious masculinity will go untarnished. And now that I've retired, we'll never have to see each other. So you can-"
Before he could think about what he was doing, Evan took two steps toward Johnny and kissed him hard on the mouth.
For a few gratifying seconds, Johnny seemed stunned into submission by the turn of events. More gratifying still was the moment when his mind and body caught up. He moaned into Evan's mouth - even kissing him apparently couldn't shut him up - and his body writhed closer. As Johnny's tongue snaked inside his mouth, it became clear to Evan that he was no longer in control.
Scratch that. He'd never been in control of anything when it came to Johnny Weir.
"I can't believe you told everyone I'm a fag," Evan muttered, when they came up for air. He didn't pull away, though, because Johnny's fingers were fumbling at the buttons of his jeans.
"Uh huh," Johnny murmured, shrugging one shoulder out of his robe. "It was very wrong of me."
Title: RINK RENDEZVOUS (all his most scandalous secrets revealed - inside!)
Fandom: Figure Skating RPF
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,566
Summary: Johnny finally comes out and, in the process, for shits and giggles, he decides to spread some lies about Evan, including telling the press about their (imaginary) sexcapades.
Note: Badfic. Also, I don't really think Evan is a Life Ruiner, but it's so much fun to write him that way!
-----
RINK RENDEZVOUS (all his most scandalous secrets revealed - inside!)
I'M GAY!
Johnny stared out from the magazine's cover, wearing a filthy smile. He was no Lance Bass: there was no soft gaze or hesitant stance. Johnny looked like he was ready to tear off his clothes and fuck the reader in the ass. The strapline read: The devil in Johnny Weir: all his most scandalous secrets revealed - inside!
Evan tore open the magazine. His publicist had overnighted him a copy and she'd also 'helpfully' marked the relevant page. Inside, a yellow Post-It half-obscured another shot of Johnny, who lounged in a swimming pool, throwing a beach ball up in the air, like a fucking circus seal. Evan's hand formed a fist, crumpling the Post-It. He began to read.
RINK RENDEZVOUS
Johnny Weir may have missed the gold medal in the Vancouver Olympics, but he's certainly scored elsewhere! We sent Suzie Nicholl to find out the truth about Johnny's rivalries and romances, on and off the ice.
"I'm just tired of keeping secrets," Johnny Weir says, as he reclines poolside, basking in the sunshine of Las Vegas, where he's enjoying some R&R following his sixth place finish at the 2010 Olympics. Johnny's ready to spill the beans - not just about his sexual orientation (he's gay, but, he's quick to add, he wouldn't kick Gaga out of bed), but also about his rinkside romances.
He's initially coy about naming names. With hearts in his eyes, he talks about a friendship "with a beautiful, beautiful man" that bloomed into love, before sadly fizzling. However, he won't reveal if this "beautiful man" is…
Evan let out an irritated groan and skipped down the page.
…saves his most scandalous reveal for last. "I really shouldn't," he says, toying with the silver chain around his neck. Then he breaks into a grin. "But I will!"
"It's funny," Johnny continues, "because our rivalry got built up into this huge thing. But we really just grew up together. We were these two dumb kids from podunk towns, doing this faggy sport together. We always had that connection. So it kind of makes sense we'd hook up.
"And yeah, he drives me crazy. But that's kind of hot, you know? All those coded, asshole comments. He was just trying to get a rise out of me." Johnny giggles at the double entendre. "And he did!"
Johnny has to be prodded to clarify who he's talking about. He takes off his sunglasses and blinks in the bright sunshine. "Evan Lysacek, yeah," he says. He reveals the nature of their relationship in expletives and I ask him to rephrase. "We were romantically involved, so to speak," he says with a drawl.
Evan hurled the magazine across the room.
*
Three hours later and $300 poorer, Evan was still so angry he could barely see straight. He veered around a family with two kids, cursing them under his breath, and dropped into a seat. On his cell phone, he listened to a faraway ringing sound. He'd been trying to reach his publicist all morning. She was just marked as 'Publicist' in his phone contacts, though she probably had a name. Finally, on the sixteenth ring, she picked up.
"Evan, honey, calm down," Publicist answered the phone.
"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!"
"Honey, it's really not that bad," she said.
"It's slander! We're suing him. I want to fucking nail him to the wall."
"I already spoke to the magazine. They're gonna run an interview with you. Your side of the story."
"I want to fucking sue his ass."
"Defamation cases can take years. It would be much cheaper, much smarter-"
"Do I need to sue you for criminal incompetence, too? You're my publicist. Do your fucking job."
"Evan, as your publicist, I'm telling you you're overreacting. Have a drink. Go bench press something. Try and calm down."
Evan pulled his phone away from his ear and made a blahblahblah face. No wonder this happened, if he had such fucking retards working for him. At that moment, a stewardess appeared at his arm.
"Sir, I need to ask you to switch your cell phone to in-flight mode now," she said.
"Evan? Evan!" his publicist said, her voice rising. "Who was that? Where the hell are you?"
Evan jabbed viciously at his phone, ending the call and switching it off. He made an effort to smile at the stewardess. She was actually kind of cute. Blonde. Perky. Good teeth.
"All done," he said, trying to sound calm. "Publicists, you know."
"Yeah…" She smiled at him uncertainly. "You're that ice skating guy, aren't you?"
He grinned. She was definitely cute and he was definitely in with a shot.
"…Johnny's Weir's boyfriend," she continued.
Evan felt his anger resurface. He was going to kill Johnny Weir.
*
During his flight to New Jersey, Evan actually took his publicist's advice. There wasn't anything to bench press - though he squeezed his arm rest so hard it warped in his hand - but there was plenty to drink, and he took advantage. As a result, by the time he cabbed it to Wayne, NJ, the vodka, tonic and vitriol had formed a lethal cocktail that coursed through his veins.
It wasn't hard to get inside Johnny's apartment complex - he was Evan Lysacek, for god's sake; people loved him - though the old woman who held the outside door open for him looked more alarmed than admiring. Once inside, he hammered on Johnny's door and yelled, "Open up, you asshole!"
After several minutes, Johnny finally opened the door. "Oh, hi," he said carelessly, as if Evan were a friend who'd promised to stop by. "Come on in."
Taken aback by Johnny's hospitality, Evan could do little but step inside. He followed Johnny through to the living room area, finding himself curiously mollified by the casual sway of Johnny's hips. Johnny wore a deep red robe, patterned with gold, which, from some angles made him look like Hugh Hefner, and from other angles, made him look like one of Hugh Hefner's Playmate girlfriends. From the amount of thigh visible, Evan was fairly sure Johnny wasn't wearing anything beneath the robe.
Evan made an effort to clear his head of these thoughts and did what he came to do: yell. "YOU SPREAD LIES ABOUT ME," he shouted. "YOU DRAGGED MY NAME THROUGH THE MUD."
Johnny made a dismissive hand gesture, apparently bored by Evan's tirade. "Did you see the van outside?" he asked, seemingly at random.
Feeing knocked off course, Evan frowned and said, "What?"
"Oh, don't worry. They've probably gotten bored and left. Although… they've been there for two days. And you arriving is kind of like"-Johnny gave a coy smile-"paydirt."
"What?"
"The paparazzi, darling."
Evan froze. Johnny had to be kidding. Someone had photographed him entering Johnny Weir's apartment building? …Fuck.
"You're screwing with me," he said at last, unconvincingly.
Johnny grinned. "Maybe."
"You psychopathic asshole! I can't believe you told the press I'm your boyfriend."
"Actually, I made it clear we'd broken up," Johnny said lazily. "I thought from a narrative standpoint, it had more kick. Duelling ex-lovers clash at the Olympics. Nice, huh? Suzie Nicholl - the reporter - she said it would make a good TV movie. For Logo, maybe." He grinned evilly. "But, of course, true love conquers all. Maybe that's the headline they'll run alongside the pictures of you flying across the country just to visit me. How sweet."
Evan blinked at Johnny in disbelief. "What did I do to you? Why did you have to drag me into this warped little fantasy of yours?"
Johnny, who'd been as sardonic and serene as a Bond villain up till now, suddenly seemed to snap.
"You won!" he exploded. "You have the respect, the prestige. The federation falling all over itself for you. What do I have? Thirteen years and all I'm allowed is some aw-shucks story about how it's the taking part that matters. Well fuck that. It's the winning that matters."
They were both quiet for a moment, and the room filled with heavy breathing. Johnny hiccupped slightly as he impatiently brushed away a tear that had leaked out with the words fuck you.
"Look," Johnny said, calm again, carefully dismissive, "I'll tell the press it was all a lie. Crazy Johnny Weir starting shit just for the hell of it. Your precious masculinity will go untarnished. And now that I've retired, we'll never have to see each other. So you can-"
Before he could think about what he was doing, Evan took two steps toward Johnny and kissed him hard on the mouth.
For a few gratifying seconds, Johnny seemed stunned into submission by the turn of events. More gratifying still was the moment when his mind and body caught up. He moaned into Evan's mouth - even kissing him apparently couldn't shut him up - and his body writhed closer. As Johnny's tongue snaked inside his mouth, it became clear to Evan that he was no longer in control.
Scratch that. He'd never been in control of anything when it came to Johnny Weir.
"I can't believe you told everyone I'm a fag," Evan muttered, when they came up for air. He didn't pull away, though, because Johnny's fingers were fumbling at the buttons of his jeans.
"Uh huh," Johnny murmured, shrugging one shoulder out of his robe. "It was very wrong of me."