gentlemen, start your engines
gentlemen, start your engines
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel
650 words
G
Today was not a good day, and Johnny was intensely irritated with just about everything that had crossed his path. His flight had been overbooked, he'd been stuck on a crowded plane far too close to a wailing baby, airport security had thrown a hissy fit over his skates -- did he look like a crazed mass-murderer desperate to cut innocent throats with his skate blades? Okay, maybe right now, but not generally -- and he didn't like the hotel he was stuck staying in. It was poky, and cheap-looking, and just generally gross.
He was lacing up his skates with barely suppressed pissiness when Stephane came in. He saw Brian's warning headshake in his direction, which somehow annoyed him more, but Stephane ignored it.
"We are all ready to skate?"
Stephane in full pain-in-the-ass, sunshine-and-daisies mode was the last thing Johnny needed. He concentrated on his laces and kept his eyes level with the floor.
"Not yet," Brian said. "Perhaps you should go and join with Zhenya?"
"I am happier here," Stephane said brightly, ignoring him again. "Good morning, Johnny!"
"It's not a good morning," Johnny said. "I've had four hours sleep, a terrible cup of coffee, and now I get to fall on my ass in practice some more." He didn't look up to see if the annoyingly wide smile he knew Stephane was wearing had dimmed a little. He hoped it had.
"I am done," Brian said loudly. "I think I will leave."
The door closed behind him, and Stephane sat down on the bench next to Johnny. He was going to put his fingers in Johnny's hair next, like a fucking spider monkey or something, and Johnny was going to lose it. He tightened his shoulders, but it didn't happen.
"Where did you get this bad coffee?" Stephane asked. "It was the kiosk by the rink, yes? Horrible, ugh, terrible."
"Don't humour me," Johnny said, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not five, I don't need you to pretend that I'm legitimately annoyed. I hate everything, there's no good reason, and if you hang around a second longer, I will bite your head off."
"They got me too," Stephane said. "Well, they tried. I was too smart, I took a sip, and then - euhhh." He put a hand on Johnny's elbow, and when Johnny didn't shake it off, he walked his fingers slowly up his arm, his face sort of solemn but amused right underneath.
"You know that's not at all subtle," Johnny said, glancing sideways. He didn't twitch. "It's like Thing from the Adams Family, it's creepy. Get off."
Stephane reached the curve of his shoulder, and then he settled his hand around the back of Johnny's neck. It was warm. He rubbed his thumb along the tendon there, and didn't say anything, and Johnny finished tightening the laces on his other boot and carefully rolled down his pants leg over the top.
He was ready to go, and late for practice, but he sat there for another minute or two, letting Stephane stroke over his spine. It was quiet. It was nice.
"And now we skate, I think," Stephane said, and squeezed gently before letting go. He got to his feet. "And then on break, I think we steal a car and find better coffee, yes?"
"Do you even know how to hotwire an engine?"
"I have many skills," Stephane said airily. "You do not know everything about me."
"I know plenty," Johnny disagreed, giving Stephane one of his filthier looks as Stephane towed him out of the changing room. It was supposed to make him flustered, or throw him off balance just a little -- Stephane could be annoying when he got all arrogant.
Stephane just raised his eyebrows, a fraction that hinted at great mysteries beyond Johnny's grasp. "You will see," he said. "We will make a great escape."
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel
650 words
G
Today was not a good day, and Johnny was intensely irritated with just about everything that had crossed his path. His flight had been overbooked, he'd been stuck on a crowded plane far too close to a wailing baby, airport security had thrown a hissy fit over his skates -- did he look like a crazed mass-murderer desperate to cut innocent throats with his skate blades? Okay, maybe right now, but not generally -- and he didn't like the hotel he was stuck staying in. It was poky, and cheap-looking, and just generally gross.
He was lacing up his skates with barely suppressed pissiness when Stephane came in. He saw Brian's warning headshake in his direction, which somehow annoyed him more, but Stephane ignored it.
"We are all ready to skate?"
Stephane in full pain-in-the-ass, sunshine-and-daisies mode was the last thing Johnny needed. He concentrated on his laces and kept his eyes level with the floor.
"Not yet," Brian said. "Perhaps you should go and join with Zhenya?"
"I am happier here," Stephane said brightly, ignoring him again. "Good morning, Johnny!"
"It's not a good morning," Johnny said. "I've had four hours sleep, a terrible cup of coffee, and now I get to fall on my ass in practice some more." He didn't look up to see if the annoyingly wide smile he knew Stephane was wearing had dimmed a little. He hoped it had.
"I am done," Brian said loudly. "I think I will leave."
The door closed behind him, and Stephane sat down on the bench next to Johnny. He was going to put his fingers in Johnny's hair next, like a fucking spider monkey or something, and Johnny was going to lose it. He tightened his shoulders, but it didn't happen.
"Where did you get this bad coffee?" Stephane asked. "It was the kiosk by the rink, yes? Horrible, ugh, terrible."
"Don't humour me," Johnny said, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not five, I don't need you to pretend that I'm legitimately annoyed. I hate everything, there's no good reason, and if you hang around a second longer, I will bite your head off."
"They got me too," Stephane said. "Well, they tried. I was too smart, I took a sip, and then - euhhh." He put a hand on Johnny's elbow, and when Johnny didn't shake it off, he walked his fingers slowly up his arm, his face sort of solemn but amused right underneath.
"You know that's not at all subtle," Johnny said, glancing sideways. He didn't twitch. "It's like Thing from the Adams Family, it's creepy. Get off."
Stephane reached the curve of his shoulder, and then he settled his hand around the back of Johnny's neck. It was warm. He rubbed his thumb along the tendon there, and didn't say anything, and Johnny finished tightening the laces on his other boot and carefully rolled down his pants leg over the top.
He was ready to go, and late for practice, but he sat there for another minute or two, letting Stephane stroke over his spine. It was quiet. It was nice.
"And now we skate, I think," Stephane said, and squeezed gently before letting go. He got to his feet. "And then on break, I think we steal a car and find better coffee, yes?"
"Do you even know how to hotwire an engine?"
"I have many skills," Stephane said airily. "You do not know everything about me."
"I know plenty," Johnny disagreed, giving Stephane one of his filthier looks as Stephane towed him out of the changing room. It was supposed to make him flustered, or throw him off balance just a little -- Stephane could be annoying when he got all arrogant.
Stephane just raised his eyebrows, a fraction that hinted at great mysteries beyond Johnny's grasp. "You will see," he said. "We will make a great escape."