Drabble "But This Was Moscow" (Sergei Davydov/Johnny Weir, Johnny Weir/Stéphane Lambiel)
The random thoughts one gets in the lockers... ;)
Title: But This Was Moscow
Pairing: Sergei Davydov/Johnny Weir, Johnny Weir/Stéphane Lambiel
Rating: R
Moscow was dirty and grey at this time of the year, but Johnny didn’t care and loved it anyway - it was Moscow and he was biased.
The rink was not exactly clean, either, but the ice was bearable and that’s all he really cared about, all he really touched - and that only when he fell down, so it was okay.
Until... well. Until he let Davydov fuck him up against the wall in the lockers. It was just a tension-reliever before Worlds, quick and rough and just the way Johnny needed to get those doubts out of his head. It was dirty, but Sergei was Russian and Johnny was horny.
But there was grime on the wall that smeared all over his palms and forearms when he leaned against it for support and the air was filled with hockey-player odor; Johnny hated practicing after hockey teams.
Suddenly, it was the wrong kind of dirty, all of it - the friction of Sergei’s dick inside him, the low Russian grunts rumbling in Sergei’s throat, the cold filthy tiles under his hands.
Johnny closed his eyes and sighed, careful not to press his forehead against the wall, and thought of vanilla-scented skin, crispy clean cotton sheets, and the soft, liquid French that spilled from Stéphane’s lips when passion made him forget English.
He wished he’d waited. Göteborg was not Moscow, sure... But this was Stéphane and Johnny loved him.
~fin
PS: The schmoopy ending was not at all planned! It sneaked it! I blame Stéphane and that fan who informed us that he smells of vanilla. *headdesk*
Title: But This Was Moscow
Pairing: Sergei Davydov/Johnny Weir, Johnny Weir/Stéphane Lambiel
Rating: R
Moscow was dirty and grey at this time of the year, but Johnny didn’t care and loved it anyway - it was Moscow and he was biased.
The rink was not exactly clean, either, but the ice was bearable and that’s all he really cared about, all he really touched - and that only when he fell down, so it was okay.
Until... well. Until he let Davydov fuck him up against the wall in the lockers. It was just a tension-reliever before Worlds, quick and rough and just the way Johnny needed to get those doubts out of his head. It was dirty, but Sergei was Russian and Johnny was horny.
But there was grime on the wall that smeared all over his palms and forearms when he leaned against it for support and the air was filled with hockey-player odor; Johnny hated practicing after hockey teams.
Suddenly, it was the wrong kind of dirty, all of it - the friction of Sergei’s dick inside him, the low Russian grunts rumbling in Sergei’s throat, the cold filthy tiles under his hands.
Johnny closed his eyes and sighed, careful not to press his forehead against the wall, and thought of vanilla-scented skin, crispy clean cotton sheets, and the soft, liquid French that spilled from Stéphane’s lips when passion made him forget English.
He wished he’d waited. Göteborg was not Moscow, sure... But this was Stéphane and Johnny loved him.
~fin
PS: The schmoopy ending was not at all planned! It sneaked it! I blame Stéphane and that fan who informed us that he smells of vanilla. *headdesk*