Love and Hate
Title: Love and Hate
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Content: Language, implied sex
Summary: Like dark and light, yin and yang, some opposites are just drawn to each other.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no matter how many times I wish on 11:11, and these events are, as far as I know, the work of fiction. If Google abuse brought you here, and you know and/or are those involved, please don't read.
Author's Note: My first figure skating slash, and my closeted OTP. Please read and review!
I never meant to fall in love with Johnny Weir. I never mean to shove him into a closet and fuck him senseless either, but sometimes we all do things unplanned things. I just hated everything about him. His diva persona, his fashion obsession, his confident swagger, everything. The way his routines hypnotized me, on every channel, from every angle. The way he was better than I was, and we both knew it. The way seeing him cry damn near broke my heart.
That night, something in me snapped, and before I realized what I was doing, I was standing in a closet in front of him, pushing him up against the wall. He just stared back at me, as if he'd been expecting it.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
Not a question, not even bitter. Just a statement of fact.
"I don't know. But you're everything that I despise."
He smirked, looking straight into my eyes.
"I don’t think that’s true. I think I'm everything you’ve ever wanted, but I'm real, and that's what fucks you up so much. I think you want me, but can't handle it."
He was right, but I couldn’t let him know what. He was everything I'd imagined, and more, and I couldn’t get him off of my mind.
"You can't know what I feel."
He didn't answer, but stepped forward, kissing me hard and deep and rough. I responded by grabbing his hair, tilting his head back and exposing his neck.
"I. Hate. You. So. Much." Each statement punctuated by a gasp, a kiss, a bite.
Hands moved hurriedly, urgently. Lips parted and reconnected. Doors opened and closed. Wants and needs fulfilled.
Skin and skin. Desire and lust. Fire and ice. Anger and love. Everything melding together, coming to a perfect, beautiful climax.
Later, as I lay in bed, staring at the tousled black hair and flushed skin of Johnny, my eyes tracing over his slim-but-muscled form, I thought of two more things that were purely meant to be together. Love and hate.
And the swan and the mongoose.
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Content: Language, implied sex
Summary: Like dark and light, yin and yang, some opposites are just drawn to each other.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no matter how many times I wish on 11:11, and these events are, as far as I know, the work of fiction. If Google abuse brought you here, and you know and/or are those involved, please don't read.
Author's Note: My first figure skating slash, and my closeted OTP. Please read and review!
I never meant to fall in love with Johnny Weir. I never mean to shove him into a closet and fuck him senseless either, but sometimes we all do things unplanned things. I just hated everything about him. His diva persona, his fashion obsession, his confident swagger, everything. The way his routines hypnotized me, on every channel, from every angle. The way he was better than I was, and we both knew it. The way seeing him cry damn near broke my heart.
That night, something in me snapped, and before I realized what I was doing, I was standing in a closet in front of him, pushing him up against the wall. He just stared back at me, as if he'd been expecting it.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
Not a question, not even bitter. Just a statement of fact.
"I don't know. But you're everything that I despise."
He smirked, looking straight into my eyes.
"I don’t think that’s true. I think I'm everything you’ve ever wanted, but I'm real, and that's what fucks you up so much. I think you want me, but can't handle it."
He was right, but I couldn’t let him know what. He was everything I'd imagined, and more, and I couldn’t get him off of my mind.
"You can't know what I feel."
He didn't answer, but stepped forward, kissing me hard and deep and rough. I responded by grabbing his hair, tilting his head back and exposing his neck.
"I. Hate. You. So. Much." Each statement punctuated by a gasp, a kiss, a bite.
Hands moved hurriedly, urgently. Lips parted and reconnected. Doors opened and closed. Wants and needs fulfilled.
Skin and skin. Desire and lust. Fire and ice. Anger and love. Everything melding together, coming to a perfect, beautiful climax.
Later, as I lay in bed, staring at the tousled black hair and flushed skin of Johnny, my eyes tracing over his slim-but-muscled form, I thought of two more things that were purely meant to be together. Love and hate.
And the swan and the mongoose.