Tinhat Stephane, Part 2
Stephane was rudely woken from an odd dream- bouncing around in a jeep with Zhenya and Jeremy holding an iced coffee- by the sound of his phone ringing. He groaned and groped around for it with one hand while rubbing the keyboard-shaped creases on his face with the other.
“Steph!” He barely had time to be excited at whose voice it was before Johnny started talking excitedly. “Thank God you’re there! I’m at brunch right now, and- shut up Paris, I’m asking- and there’s this guy who’s been ogling Tara but he’s just totally French, and we need to know how to say-” There was a long pause. “You’re quiet; is something wrong?”
“I am…” he struggled to find the correct words in English. “Leg hurts… painkillers.”
Johnny muttered something to his companions, and a few moments later he announced he was outside and had some privacy before launching into a much-too-fast story about his new program. Somewhere along the way it changed to shopping, and then a party, and Stephane felt himself dozing off against his will.
Suddenly though, Johnny said something that made his eyes snap open and his body jerk into a sitting position so quickly he knocked his laptop off of the bed.
“What did you say?” Stephane asked. “About the dress.”
“Oh, just that I keep seeing people in zebra print, and I got Tara to try this dress on-”
Suddenly a loud female voice interrupted: “Oh my God, Johnny! Stop trying to make zebra print happen! It’s not going to happen."
“She doesn’t even go here,” Stephane muttered, struggling to process this new information. Johnny had been trying to dress his friends in zebra print; that had to be a sign.
The call ended too soon as Johnny was pulled back inside for drinks, and Stephane was left staring at his phone (again- that was happening a lot lately) and wondering if the conversation was actually a drug-induced fantasy. More importantly if it had actually happened, what did it mean?
He thought of calling his sister, but decided against it. She’d say that he was probably imagining things, in that gentle sad voice she always used when telling him to move on. In fact, all the people he could call would do the same thing. His friends in tin hats would understand, though!
Stephane tried to find some way to ask about the zebra print issue without giving too much away, but was quickly distracted by some text with… pornographic cartoon body parts behind it.
BITCH I SHIP IT SO HARD YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. STEPH POUNDING DAT TIGHT LITTLE ASS UNTIL J IS BEGGING FOR MORE UNF UNF YES PLEASE
----GUUUUURRRRL. BRB FAPPING FOREVER
-------OH HELL NO, YOU KNOW THEY FIGHT OVER WHO GETS TO BE THE BOTTOM
-----------BRB IMMA PM YOU A LINK TO THE KM~
Suddenly Stephane wasn’t sure he liked the internet much anymore.
Okay, he’d admit- to himself- that he wouldn’t mind doing some of those things. Probably more gently, too. But ‘THAT ASS’ would definitely be involved.
And what did KM stand for? What could it stand for, besides kilometers?
What did it mean to be fapping?
And if he was going to be with Johnny someday, why did everything have to happen on a ship? His fantasies involved kissing each other senseless in an arrivals lounge, not on a dock.
If Stephane’s leg wasn’t so bad today, he’d go skating and crying.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephane took a break from technology. It started when one of his tinhat friends told him what “KM” stood for: a strange place where people wrote what he guessed they were stories- many featuring himself. At first it was flattering, because he didn’t think he could do half of those things in bed, but he’d let people think that he could.
Then it was just odd, because how was it even possible for someone to become a ham?
Then it was rage-inducing, because if Johnny was going to enter rehab, accidentally get married, be a trophy wife, and time travel to an alternate universe, it was going to be with Stephane, certainly not with Evan of all people!
Then, as if all that wasn’t enough, he discovered something called “Zebro”.
It did not end well. Silvia had rolled her eyes and called it a diva tantrum, but Stephane thought it was perfectly reasonable to curse all technology to hell, kick his laptop under the bed, and refuse to answer his phone for three days.
Briefly, he told himself it was time to move on. He even found someone- a nice guy in a coffee shop who didn’t follow figure skating. He had green eyes, thick black hair, long legs, and a bright smile; and it was over before it began when Stephane whispered the wrong name while his neck was being kissed.
He managed to settle into life after retirement from competition- his favorite part so far was making desserts and actually getting to eat them. So what if made himself sick stuffing ladybug-spotted cupcakes into his mouth while watching the latest episode of Johnny’s TV show?
Johnny’s TV show, where he paraded around in his underwear, showed off the tan lines on his ass, complained about his lack of a sex life, and made Stephane realize it was possible to be insanely jealous of a foot massager. It made him feel other things, besides just lovesickness.
Stephane decided after watching that scene- repeatedly- that if he couldn’t move on and that his only sex life was going to be his hand, at least he could fill the void with chocolate. So he spent a quiet evening learning to use his new ice cream maker while trying to make up choreography in his socks on the kitchen floor. He’d almost perfected a clockwise single-sock-axel when his phone beeped with a text message. He already knew who it was from; no one but Johnny ever texted him.
Did you say you got a Twitter? Can’t find you, but found 6 fakes. :( I’m learning twitpic!
Another text immediately followed: PS. That’s short for twitter picture.
And then a third: You skank bitch. Probably something green. Getting dressed now, it’s cold out & I’m still half naked.
The last message apparently wasn’t meant for him, but it was enough to make Stephane forget his technology boycott, dive under the bed, and scramble through mismatched socks and dust bunnies to retrieve his laptop.
He realizied he had no idea what twitter picturing even was, but when his homepage loaded someone had already found the pictures for him. Shirtless pictures. He stared at Johnny’s playful smile in the first one, clean and unmarked by makeup; and imagined messing his hair up, and kissing him, and licking his collarbones, and… well, a lot of things.
Stephane knew the picture was for him. He knew, because he remembered all the times he’d tried to distract Johnny from doing his makeup (he was usually met with eye-rolls), but all with the intent of telling Johnny he was even more beautiful without all the gunk on his face.
Okay, so they’d labeled it as a ‘before’ shot, but it’s not like the caption could be “HEY STEPHANE, PLEASE DROOL OVER THIS PICTURE OF ME”. As much as he wished that were true.
Stephane was so excited, he forgot all about “Zebro”, tapped his caps lock button, and started typing.
I MUST SAY THAT JOHNNY LOOKS VERY BEAUTIFUL ALWAYS BUT I LIKE MOST THE PICTURE WITH NO MAKEUP. AND I ALSO THINK THAT HE SHOULD BE SURROUNDED BY ZEBRAS INSTEAD OF BEARS. DO YOU THINK YES / YES / DEFINITELY YES?
The replies mostly called him a genius, but a few referred to fapping. Which Stephane didn’t even know what that was. He was almost scared to ask, but his curiosity was too strong.
Oh BB, you don’t even go here, do you? http://tinyurl.com/5aq5mj
Oh… Oh dear. YES, he typed, I DO GO HERE AND I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE EVERYONE TO A PARTY WHERE WE WEAR OUR HATS MADE OF TIN AND I WILL BAKE CAKES. BUT I THINK FOR THE FAPPING IT SHOULD BE DONE PRIVATELY.
In return, he got an “LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL” and an animation of himself blowing kisses. If only they knew.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephane decided that after reading all the fapping people seemed to be doing over him, he needed to find something that was still secret. Something he could fap to himself, without picturing people in hats made of tin eating popcorn and watching him.
Because as much as Stephane liked his tinhat friends, that was just not a sexy thought.
He read a thorough discussion of his ring, which most people seemed to agree was a gift from someone, but with disagreement over exactly who. It made him happy that people thought it was from Johnny because maybe others had seen some kind of sign he hadn’t- but the truth was that he’d noticed the ring in a shop window, liked it, and bought it for himself.
Of course it was Cartier. Stephane wasn’t about to wear some cheap thing that turned his finger green.
So that was one secret he could keep to himself- except maybe that wasn’t such a good thing, because if Johnny had actually given him a ring Stephane wouldn’t have spent the last few years pining for him.
But then he remembered something, jumped up so quickly he tripped over his laptop cord, and rushed to his bedroom. It took almost an hour as he’d accumulated more than a few decorative boxes over the years, but finally he found it. He added the pendant to the chain around his neck and re-fastened it, returning triumphantly to his computer.
The pendant actually had been a gift from Johnny, years ago when they trained together, quickly slipped into his hand between practices with a joke that it would help ward off Galina’s evil eye. He smiled and toyed with the pendant- another secret.
Except that when he scrolled further down the page, there was a picture of himself wearing it, with the pendant circled, and the people in tinhats agreeing that it clearly could only have come from one person. “Merde!” He swore out loud, more at himself than anyone else. Had he been the only one not seeing all of this over the years?
Stephane needed some time to think, so he wrapped a scarf around his neck, grabbed his gym bag, and went to the only place he knew would help clear his mind. Skating and crying seemed to be a popular response to things, so he gave it a try, and it was actually quite therapeutic.
He had the ice to himself until a group lesson started. And he didn’t feel particularly like his normal cheer-and-happiness self, so he slunk off into a row of seats and rested against his bag. Suddenly he heard a familiar beeping, and absent-mindedly pulled his phone out to half-read the text message while casting a critical eye on the spinning lesson happening in front of him.
Bitch u shld google tentacle porn. & furries. <3 u
Stephane frowned and stratched his head. Johnny wanted him to Google fewer than three furry things- he wasn’t sure what kind of animal Johnny was referring to, and was about to text back when another message popped up:
Also 2 grls 1 cup
Now he was really confused. Stephane shrugged and leaned over to unlace his skates, and was just unwrapping his toes when his phone rang properly.
“Allo?” He answered, forgetting to check the caller ID screen, holding the phone with one hand while trying to pull a sock on with the other.
“STEPH!” Johnny hollered, sounding panicked, and Stephane accidentally flung the sock into the aisle.
“Johnny? What is wrong? Are you okay? What is this about girls and a-”
“Tell me you’re not by a computer right now! Paris stole my phone and I don’t know what he texted you, but just promise you won’t google any of it.”
“But what is tentacle-” Stephane was cut off by a long-suffering sigh on the other end, and a few muffled swear words directed at whoever else was in the room.
“Just promise me you won’t google it!”
Stephane smiled wistfully at nothing in particular and felt his eyeballs forming themselves into heart shapes. “I’d do anything for you,” he replied.
It took both of them a moment to process what he’d just said, and the silence in his phone was terrifying. He mumbled something resembling “okay, talk to you later,” snapped his phone shut, and angrily tossed it back into his bag. Then he pulled his skates back on and went out for more therapy.
“Steph!” He barely had time to be excited at whose voice it was before Johnny started talking excitedly. “Thank God you’re there! I’m at brunch right now, and- shut up Paris, I’m asking- and there’s this guy who’s been ogling Tara but he’s just totally French, and we need to know how to say-” There was a long pause. “You’re quiet; is something wrong?”
“I am…” he struggled to find the correct words in English. “Leg hurts… painkillers.”
Johnny muttered something to his companions, and a few moments later he announced he was outside and had some privacy before launching into a much-too-fast story about his new program. Somewhere along the way it changed to shopping, and then a party, and Stephane felt himself dozing off against his will.
Suddenly though, Johnny said something that made his eyes snap open and his body jerk into a sitting position so quickly he knocked his laptop off of the bed.
“What did you say?” Stephane asked. “About the dress.”
“Oh, just that I keep seeing people in zebra print, and I got Tara to try this dress on-”
Suddenly a loud female voice interrupted: “Oh my God, Johnny! Stop trying to make zebra print happen! It’s not going to happen."
“She doesn’t even go here,” Stephane muttered, struggling to process this new information. Johnny had been trying to dress his friends in zebra print; that had to be a sign.
The call ended too soon as Johnny was pulled back inside for drinks, and Stephane was left staring at his phone (again- that was happening a lot lately) and wondering if the conversation was actually a drug-induced fantasy. More importantly if it had actually happened, what did it mean?
He thought of calling his sister, but decided against it. She’d say that he was probably imagining things, in that gentle sad voice she always used when telling him to move on. In fact, all the people he could call would do the same thing. His friends in tin hats would understand, though!
Stephane tried to find some way to ask about the zebra print issue without giving too much away, but was quickly distracted by some text with… pornographic cartoon body parts behind it.
BITCH I SHIP IT SO HARD YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. STEPH POUNDING DAT TIGHT LITTLE ASS UNTIL J IS BEGGING FOR MORE UNF UNF YES PLEASE
----GUUUUURRRRL. BRB FAPPING FOREVER
-------OH HELL NO, YOU KNOW THEY FIGHT OVER WHO GETS TO BE THE BOTTOM
-----------BRB IMMA PM YOU A LINK TO THE KM~
Suddenly Stephane wasn’t sure he liked the internet much anymore.
Okay, he’d admit- to himself- that he wouldn’t mind doing some of those things. Probably more gently, too. But ‘THAT ASS’ would definitely be involved.
And what did KM stand for? What could it stand for, besides kilometers?
What did it mean to be fapping?
And if he was going to be with Johnny someday, why did everything have to happen on a ship? His fantasies involved kissing each other senseless in an arrivals lounge, not on a dock.
If Stephane’s leg wasn’t so bad today, he’d go skating and crying.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephane took a break from technology. It started when one of his tinhat friends told him what “KM” stood for: a strange place where people wrote what he guessed they were stories- many featuring himself. At first it was flattering, because he didn’t think he could do half of those things in bed, but he’d let people think that he could.
Then it was just odd, because how was it even possible for someone to become a ham?
Then it was rage-inducing, because if Johnny was going to enter rehab, accidentally get married, be a trophy wife, and time travel to an alternate universe, it was going to be with Stephane, certainly not with Evan of all people!
Then, as if all that wasn’t enough, he discovered something called “Zebro”.
It did not end well. Silvia had rolled her eyes and called it a diva tantrum, but Stephane thought it was perfectly reasonable to curse all technology to hell, kick his laptop under the bed, and refuse to answer his phone for three days.
Briefly, he told himself it was time to move on. He even found someone- a nice guy in a coffee shop who didn’t follow figure skating. He had green eyes, thick black hair, long legs, and a bright smile; and it was over before it began when Stephane whispered the wrong name while his neck was being kissed.
He managed to settle into life after retirement from competition- his favorite part so far was making desserts and actually getting to eat them. So what if made himself sick stuffing ladybug-spotted cupcakes into his mouth while watching the latest episode of Johnny’s TV show?
Johnny’s TV show, where he paraded around in his underwear, showed off the tan lines on his ass, complained about his lack of a sex life, and made Stephane realize it was possible to be insanely jealous of a foot massager. It made him feel other things, besides just lovesickness.
Stephane decided after watching that scene- repeatedly- that if he couldn’t move on and that his only sex life was going to be his hand, at least he could fill the void with chocolate. So he spent a quiet evening learning to use his new ice cream maker while trying to make up choreography in his socks on the kitchen floor. He’d almost perfected a clockwise single-sock-axel when his phone beeped with a text message. He already knew who it was from; no one but Johnny ever texted him.
Did you say you got a Twitter? Can’t find you, but found 6 fakes. :( I’m learning twitpic!
Another text immediately followed: PS. That’s short for twitter picture.
And then a third: You skank bitch. Probably something green. Getting dressed now, it’s cold out & I’m still half naked.
The last message apparently wasn’t meant for him, but it was enough to make Stephane forget his technology boycott, dive under the bed, and scramble through mismatched socks and dust bunnies to retrieve his laptop.
He realizied he had no idea what twitter picturing even was, but when his homepage loaded someone had already found the pictures for him. Shirtless pictures. He stared at Johnny’s playful smile in the first one, clean and unmarked by makeup; and imagined messing his hair up, and kissing him, and licking his collarbones, and… well, a lot of things.
Stephane knew the picture was for him. He knew, because he remembered all the times he’d tried to distract Johnny from doing his makeup (he was usually met with eye-rolls), but all with the intent of telling Johnny he was even more beautiful without all the gunk on his face.
Okay, so they’d labeled it as a ‘before’ shot, but it’s not like the caption could be “HEY STEPHANE, PLEASE DROOL OVER THIS PICTURE OF ME”. As much as he wished that were true.
Stephane was so excited, he forgot all about “Zebro”, tapped his caps lock button, and started typing.
I MUST SAY THAT JOHNNY LOOKS VERY BEAUTIFUL ALWAYS BUT I LIKE MOST THE PICTURE WITH NO MAKEUP. AND I ALSO THINK THAT HE SHOULD BE SURROUNDED BY ZEBRAS INSTEAD OF BEARS. DO YOU THINK YES / YES / DEFINITELY YES?
The replies mostly called him a genius, but a few referred to fapping. Which Stephane didn’t even know what that was. He was almost scared to ask, but his curiosity was too strong.
Oh BB, you don’t even go here, do you? http://tinyurl.com/5aq5mj
Oh… Oh dear. YES, he typed, I DO GO HERE AND I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE EVERYONE TO A PARTY WHERE WE WEAR OUR HATS MADE OF TIN AND I WILL BAKE CAKES. BUT I THINK FOR THE FAPPING IT SHOULD BE DONE PRIVATELY.
In return, he got an “LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL” and an animation of himself blowing kisses. If only they knew.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephane decided that after reading all the fapping people seemed to be doing over him, he needed to find something that was still secret. Something he could fap to himself, without picturing people in hats made of tin eating popcorn and watching him.
Because as much as Stephane liked his tinhat friends, that was just not a sexy thought.
He read a thorough discussion of his ring, which most people seemed to agree was a gift from someone, but with disagreement over exactly who. It made him happy that people thought it was from Johnny because maybe others had seen some kind of sign he hadn’t- but the truth was that he’d noticed the ring in a shop window, liked it, and bought it for himself.
Of course it was Cartier. Stephane wasn’t about to wear some cheap thing that turned his finger green.
So that was one secret he could keep to himself- except maybe that wasn’t such a good thing, because if Johnny had actually given him a ring Stephane wouldn’t have spent the last few years pining for him.
But then he remembered something, jumped up so quickly he tripped over his laptop cord, and rushed to his bedroom. It took almost an hour as he’d accumulated more than a few decorative boxes over the years, but finally he found it. He added the pendant to the chain around his neck and re-fastened it, returning triumphantly to his computer.
The pendant actually had been a gift from Johnny, years ago when they trained together, quickly slipped into his hand between practices with a joke that it would help ward off Galina’s evil eye. He smiled and toyed with the pendant- another secret.
Except that when he scrolled further down the page, there was a picture of himself wearing it, with the pendant circled, and the people in tinhats agreeing that it clearly could only have come from one person. “Merde!” He swore out loud, more at himself than anyone else. Had he been the only one not seeing all of this over the years?
Stephane needed some time to think, so he wrapped a scarf around his neck, grabbed his gym bag, and went to the only place he knew would help clear his mind. Skating and crying seemed to be a popular response to things, so he gave it a try, and it was actually quite therapeutic.
He had the ice to himself until a group lesson started. And he didn’t feel particularly like his normal cheer-and-happiness self, so he slunk off into a row of seats and rested against his bag. Suddenly he heard a familiar beeping, and absent-mindedly pulled his phone out to half-read the text message while casting a critical eye on the spinning lesson happening in front of him.
Bitch u shld google tentacle porn. & furries. <3 u
Stephane frowned and stratched his head. Johnny wanted him to Google fewer than three furry things- he wasn’t sure what kind of animal Johnny was referring to, and was about to text back when another message popped up:
Also 2 grls 1 cup
Now he was really confused. Stephane shrugged and leaned over to unlace his skates, and was just unwrapping his toes when his phone rang properly.
“Allo?” He answered, forgetting to check the caller ID screen, holding the phone with one hand while trying to pull a sock on with the other.
“STEPH!” Johnny hollered, sounding panicked, and Stephane accidentally flung the sock into the aisle.
“Johnny? What is wrong? Are you okay? What is this about girls and a-”
“Tell me you’re not by a computer right now! Paris stole my phone and I don’t know what he texted you, but just promise you won’t google any of it.”
“But what is tentacle-” Stephane was cut off by a long-suffering sigh on the other end, and a few muffled swear words directed at whoever else was in the room.
“Just promise me you won’t google it!”
Stephane smiled wistfully at nothing in particular and felt his eyeballs forming themselves into heart shapes. “I’d do anything for you,” he replied.
It took both of them a moment to process what he’d just said, and the silence in his phone was terrifying. He mumbled something resembling “okay, talk to you later,” snapped his phone shut, and angrily tossed it back into his bag. Then he pulled his skates back on and went out for more therapy.