Fic: "After the Spin" (Stéphane Lambiel/Johnny Weir)
Title: After the Spin
Pairing: Stéphane Lambiel/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,438
Beta: cf33
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The events described in the story are not real. Not intended as libel, no money is being made.
Summary: After his retirement, Johnny is not sure where to go next. In the end, he goes to Switzerland.
A/N: cf33 deserves cookies for all the input and advice on this fic. I wrote this story during Christmas - back then, the finished version had about 1,500 words. The Cel got her hands on it and she poked until I wrote Version 2.0 - longer, more detailed, and hopefully better. Enjoy and take a moment to comment if you like/don't like it. :)
Once he says the final words, Johnny feels as if his entire world got caught in the middle of a very fast spin; emotions swell up in him, some familiar, but some completely new, and all of them so contradictory that Johnny thinks he’s going to go mad from the constant tugging and pulling in so many different directions. It makes him slightly dizzy.
At first, he’s flooded with relief. It’s over; after almost fifteen years, he has finally cut the ties and left figure skating behind to take a step towards... something else. Johnny isn’t quite sure what yet.
And that is where the dread kicks in, the fear paralyzing him, until he can do nothing but lie in bed wrapped in three blankets to cocoon himself in and hide from the world. The sense of loss is overwhelming, like somebody has ripped out some essential piece of him, and Johnny is afraid he might never fill that gap again, never feel like he belongs. He has no clear idea where to go next.
A week after announcing his retirement, he finds himself at the rink at 8am, sharing a freestyle session with several students, all significantly younger than he is - the future of US Figure Skating. A handful of them stare at him like he's out of his mind. And maybe he is, because getting up this early to skate is one of those things any reasonable figure skater would scratch the moment they win their Olympic medal and retire.
He works himself so hard that he can barely stand afterwards, because when he’s working hard, he doesn’t notice, doesn’t care and doesn't think, too focused on his next triple lutz-triple toe to pay attention to anything else.
His whole body hurts the following day, but it’s good, it’s familiar; the pain is something he can cling to. He goes on like that for a few more days, training morning and afternoon, until Galina catches him before one session.
"What are you doing here?" she barks at him. Johnny freezes; he has almost forgotten how scary Galina can be when she wants. She grabs his upper arm to stop him from stepping onto the ice.
"Just… skating," he says, because he can't think of anything smarter to say, not face to face with Galina's glare. "To stay in shape." That is a lie, of course, and he's never been good at lying to Galina. But he's too ashamed to admit the truth and tell her that he seems to be failing at living the 'normal life' he's been looking forward to for the past two years. Saying it out loud would make it too final, too threatening. Galina sees right through him, though; she's had a lot of time to poke around and get to know his mind. She steers him to a bench by the rinkside and sits him down as if he were a stubborn little kid.
"You retired, Johnnychik. I know it is hard to let go, but you must, and the sooner you get used to it, the better." She keeps her voice low and their conversation private, for which Johnny is grateful - the last thing he needs is half the Ice Vault hearing about his issues.
He nods, because she is right, of course. Galina pats his knee. "Take a vacation, like we agreed," she says. "You deserve one. And then let me know when you come back. Then you can skate to stay in shape."
They'd agreed he would do that, take a break from skating to figure things out and give his body the much-needed rest, then return to the ice with a lighter training schedule that would keep him fit for shows and galas, while still allowing him time to have a life. It sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan back then, it still does. Johnny just didn't think leaving the ice and his old habits would be so difficult.
"I just -" he opens his mouth to explain, wishing he could make Galina understand. But it seems that she already does, or at least she thinks so.
"You think I don't know what it feels like?" she says and her lips twitch in an amused not-quite-smile. "I've been there, with Oksana, with Viktor. I know what it's like. It was hard for them, too, but they managed - and so will you."
With that, Galina stands up and motions for him to do the same, so she can start ushering him towards the lockers. "You will be fine," she repeats and gives him a final pat before pushing him into the locker room and closing the door behind him.
Johnny sits down and starts to unlace his skates. He wants to believe Galina and trust her experience; she sounds so convinced and certain that it's almost enough to convince Johnny, too. But, he thinks with a sigh, she seems to be forgetting one detail - Oksana and Viktor both had partners when they retired, someone by their sides to help them through. Johnny doesn't have anyone like that.
And that is when he calls Stéphane, because Stéphane has gone through this all and figured it out and therefore should be able to give Johnny a bit of advice. Or maybe that's not the whole reason, because when Stéphane picks up and his voice brightens when he realizes who's calling, Johnny feels a flutter inside his belly, warm and pleasant and familiar.
"Hi there, Broadway star!" he greets, equally cheerful. It's nearly impossible to be gloomy when faced with a load of Stéphane's bubbliness, even if it's just over the phone. Johnny's missed that.
"I'm not," Stéphane protests and Johnny imagines the little smile on his lips, the blush.
"But you soon will be, judging by the amount of work you have," he says and briefly wonders if it really is just the acting school that makes Stéphane so busy. He decides not to dwell too much on that; it has been partly his own fault, after all, that they haven't seen each other in a while. "I haven't seen you in ages," he says.
"I - " Stéphane starts, but stops himself. "Yes," he says instead. "Olympic medalists get busy."
"You should know," Johnny teases. "I have some free time in my busy schedule now, though." Even thinking about his Olympic medal still makes him glow inside, so much that he can't help but feel all happy and proud. "Come shopping with me?"
Stéphane laughs. "If they awarded medals for that, you'd get that one, too. With all the practice you get…" he then says. "But yeah, let's go shopping. I need a work-out, anyway."
~*~
"Eww," Stéphane scrunches up his nose when he takes a sip of his caramel hot chocolate. "This tastes nothing like chocolate."
"That's why we buy coffee at Starbucks," Johnny points out, aaah-ing in delight at the first gulp from his venti-sized cup of latte. Heavenly.
"The coffees here are too big," Stéphane sniffs and shakes his head.
"Like that's a bad thing!" Johnny rolls his eyes and heads out of the café, strolling down the street ahead of Stéphane, smiling to himself as he goes. Hanging out with Stéphane feels like good old days, almost like nothing has changed. Except everything has; everything feels lighter, less tense now. Johnny likes that and when Stéphane holds a boutique door open for him, so he can waltz through with his coffee cup in one hand and his purse in the other, Johnny gives him the brightest smile he can manage. He's been smiling way too little lately and the responding blush on Stéphane's face is more than enough reason to keep smiling.
They sift through the new arrivals and the sales and the regular collection, too; Johnny likes to be thorough when he's shopping, because he gets to do it too rarely for his liking. Though that's about to change now, he realizes; he's got the time now.
"You can't buy that!" Johnny objects some fifteen minutes later when Stéphane picks out a shirt and doesn't seem to let go of it after he's tried it on, carrying it to the cashier instead. "You're not going to wear it." That has never stopped him from buying things before, true, but he feels obliged to be a good friend and supply some rational advice.
"Why not?" Stéphane asks and stops in front of a mirror, holding the t-shirt up in front of his chest. It's blue, spelling 'Wanna play?' in sparkly letters underneath a large rainbow. "I like it."
"So do I but - "
"But what?" Stéphane challenges, raising an eyebrow and his voice, too, just a notch, but enough to invite Johnny to bicker. But then his expression softens: "You think it's too obvious, don't you?" he asks and Johnny nods, embarrassed. It was an automatic reaction, an old reflex, that made him object, he realizes that now. He also realizes that it was not his own opinion he's just defended, and that makes him feel even more ashamed. The USFSA wouldn't have approved of him wearing something as… gay as this.
"I don't care anymore," Stéphane says as if he'd been reading Johnny's thoughts. "I'm sick of hiding." He shakes his head angrily, as if he couldn't believe that he'd been putting up with all that crap in the first place, while he was still skating. "You don't need to care that much anymore, either," he then shrugs and gives Johnny a small smile, encouraging but understanding; he knows how it feels to be an involuntary role-model. "Though I just 'wanna play' in private, anyway," he adds with a wink. Then he turns around and goes to pay for the t-shirt, flirting with the cashier as he does.
~*~
"I'm exhausted," Johnny announces after they've wandered through a row of his favorite boutiques in SoHo. He's bought two new t-shirts and a pair of jeans; that's three more items than he needs, but it was fun and his ass looks great in those jeans; thank god the retirement didn't make him fat. "I need coffee."
Stéphane laughs: "Didn't you just have one half an hour ago? A second one?"
"No. That was just a frappuccino, not a real coffee," Johnny explains, making Stéphane laugh even harder.
"It still has caffeine," Stéphane points out, earning himself a glare. "Okay, okay. Let's go get another one. Wouldn't want you to collapse before we get to Louis."
They don't quite make it to the Louis Vuitton boutique in the end, though, because Stéphane insists on having an actual real coffee, not just a quick Starbucks to-go. Johnny doesn't object, because his feet do feel tired, and he's been to Vuitton two weeks ago. They don't have anything worth seeing that he doesn't own yet, anyway.
"This is good," he admits, warming his hands on the porcelain cup filled with delicious cappuccino. The portion is too small for his liking, but the taste makes up for it. "I knew there was a reason why I like Europe."
Stéphane snorts. "This is not nearly as good as what I get at home." Then he suddenly turns serious, intently stirring his own coffee with a teaspoon. "Talking about Europe… I was wondering if you'd, maybe, want to fly over with me?" He's staring into the swirling liquid. "I mean, you said you need a vacation and I want one, too. I just finished my exams and I have a few weeks…" Finally, he looks up to face Johnny. "I could show you Switzerland, the Alps…" Stéphane laughs nervously. "If you want to, of course. It would be fun."
Johnny burns his tongue on the coffee; the gulp he takes is too deep and he forgets to be careful. The gasping and coughing that ensues gives him a bit of time to think, or rather to let ideas race through his head. He doesn't want to refuse, because he really does need a proper vacation, he needs to take his mind off skating and focus on something else altogether. And he likes spending time with Stéphane. But Johnny is not sure if it's wise to say yes. They tried this before, being kind of… together, and it didn’t do them much good, just brought the constant pain of having an ocean or the battle for one medal or another between them. In the end, though, he concludes that this will be different; they are both older, more mature, and can actually afford the luxury of being close, physically and emotionally, without having to worry about it messing with their skating. And if they still don’t work as a they - Johnny’s not sure if Stéphane is still interested in more than friendship, or maybe some casual sex here and there, or if he is still interested himself; it has been several years now, after all... Well, in that case they can always fall back on the friendship they managed to build up between them, soft and comfortable.
Being with Stéphane feels safe, and so he smiles and says: "I would love to."
~*~
Spring is hanging in the New York air when they get to JFK, a fresh breeze rustling their hair when they climb the stairs to board their plane.
"I hope it's not spring in Switzerland yet," Johnny tosses over his shoulder to Stéphane. "I packed all my favorite winter coats."
"I'm sure it's still cold enough," Stéphane assures him. He's wearing just jeans, sneakers and a light jacket himself, an outfit that, along with the easy smile on his face, makes him look almost like he did when he and Johnny dated back in 2005.
Johnny's seen the boots and sweaters in his suitcase, though, when Stéphane opened it to take out a book to read on the plane. So he probably isn't lying about the weather and his light attire is misleading. And so are his looks, after all, because Johnny knows Stéphane has changed, they both have, since the time they were a couple. He hopes the changes were for the better.
"Ok, here we go," Johnny says before stepping into the plane, and takes a deep breath to calm himself. He really does hate flying.
"It's gonna be alright," Stéphane whispers behind him and reaches out to touch Johnny, the palm of his hand flat against his lower back, warm even through the fabric of Johnny's sweater. He's standing close; Johnny can nearly feel the tickle of Stéphane's breath on his nape.
"Yeah," he breathes, more to himself than to Stéphane, and stumbles inside, his stomach full of flutters that are not entirely connected to his flight fear and not exactly all unpleasant.
~*~
"People are looking at us," Johnny observes, only mildly surprised. They're strolling through the streets of Geneva, snow crunching underneath their feet.
"Shouldn't you be used to that by now?" Stéphane chuckles. "What with you being the Olympic champion…"
"Yes, but this is Switzerland, not Japan or Korea or Russia. I'm not a celebrity in your country."
"Maybe they're staring at me, then," Stéphane suggests.
"You wish," Johnny waves him off, but he's not so sure, looking at Stéphane's handsome face and the serene smile he's wearing; he would still pass for a celebrity. "It must be just my natural charm and beauty," he goes on after a while, when he receives a prolonged look from a young woman hurrying past.
"Either that," Stéphane says and glances at Johnny's face, "or it's your outfit."
"What's wrong with my outfit?" Johnny asks, looking down on his furcoat critically. There's no traces of the snack they'd had earlier on it.
"It's perfectly fine," Stéphane reassures. "People don't understand fashion?"
"Nah," Johnny shakes his head. "We're in Europe. Europeans are fashionable by nature."
"And animal friendly," Stéphane adds.
"Oh," Johnny says. "Well." What is he supposed to say to that. He eats less animals than the average person, the average European, even. Wearing more of them to compensate seems fair.
"I think your coat is lovely," Stéphane says, sensing his discomfort, and smoothes the soft fur on one of Johnny's sleeves.
Johnny decides that Stéphane is the only European whose opinion really matters right now and ignores the looks the passersby send them. The air is crispy clean and tastes fresh in Johnny's mouth and nose. For the first time, breathing feels easy, like his lungs have shed some heavy crust he's been carrying with him until now. He loves that feeling, the lightness.
"Why didn't you tell me that not skating was so..." he says after sharing his discovery with Stéphane, gesturing with his hand.
"Liberating?" Stéphane suggests. When Johnny nods, he goes on: "You didn't ask. And besides, it didn't feel very liberating for me at first," he says and Johnny realizes that, unlike himself, Stéphane didn't leave on his own terms, that his body had given up on him. His own retirement felt like losing ground underneath his feet at first; he can't imagine how much worse saying goodbye must have been for Stéphane.
"I'm sorry," he says, cheeks flushing red.
"Oh, don't be," Stéphane smiles. "I'm long past the pity. I feel great now. "
"Me, too," Johnny admits and wonders if he could possibly keep this, this sense of uncomplicatedness.
~*~
"No," Johnny shakes his head when he realizes where Stéphane is leading him. "We can't."
"Yes, we can," Stéphane insists and grabs his arm, tugging him towards the chocolatier shop.
"It's too tempting!" Johnny protests, wincing as the irresistible smell hits his nose. They're too close to the shop and it hurts, he wants to have some so badly but -
"Then give in," Stéphane says and turns to him with a grin so wicked that Johnny wonders if he's still talking about chocolate. "Come on. It's pheromones."
"I prefer to get those from other activities. Less fattening ones."
"We can work off the calories later," Stéphane winks at him. Johnny sighs and lets himself be dragged inside, because there's only so much temptation he can take.
They buy a box of sweet sin and find a bench in a park to eat the chocolates. When Johnny puts a piece into his mouth, the chocolate immediately starts melting on his tongue, soft and heavenly.
"Oh my god," he whispers and closes his eyes in bliss. He's never been able to truly appreciate the sensation before; the taint of guilt is almost gone now, he's not on a strict diet anymore, after all.
Stéphane snickers when Johnny licks his lips with an appreciative sigh after the last piece
"Yes, just laugh," Johnny glares at him. "Not all of us can eat whatever we want and stay stick thin." He grabs a fistful of snow and throws it at Stéphane; he doesn't even bother to stick it together to a snowball, showering Stéphane with a spray of flakes.
Stéphane starts after him, but Johnny darts away, picking up more snow as he goes and tossing it in Stéphane's general direction. A snowball hits him in the back just before he can duck behind a tree. Next thing he knows, Stéphane is on him, sprinkling his head with some snow and pinning him to the tree Johnny'd planned to use for a shield.
Stéphane is laughing and Johnny finds it easy to join in, his heart light in his chest; looks like snow-battles are easier than those on ice had been. "I yield," he squeaks when Stéphane sneaks his fingers inside his coat and sweater and brushes them along the waist of Johnny's jeans, icy cold on Johnny's warm skin.
"And you feel guilty about a bit of chocolate," Stéphane mumbles, hands on Johnny's jutting out hipbones.
Johnny shrugs. Old habits are hard to break.
"You're beautiful," Stéphane whispers, so quietly that Johnny's not sure if he meant to say that out loud at all, or if it was just a thought that slipped out.
He smiles all the same and when Stéphane reaches for his hands, frozen after the snow battle, he lets him warm them, enjoying the spark of heat the contact sends through him; as if he'd had a gulp of hot tea.
"Let's go back," Stéphane suggests and Johnny nods. Stéphane twines their fingers and doesn't let go of his hand until they arrive to their hotel; it makes Johnny's belly fill with bubbles and his heart with expectation.
~*~
They kiss later that night; Johnny’s tongue feels heavy and languid after the French wine they’ve been drinking and Stéphane’s slow, sensual kisses set off a purr deep inside his stomach - he can’t decide whether he wants more or if just lying there in bed with Stéphane’s body lightly rubbing up against his own through their nightclothes is enough to keep him happy for the moment. He hasn't had sex in a while and he would certainly like to; he's sure by now that friendship is not all that he wants from Stéphane. But he doesn't think it would be wise to rush into things, he's afraid that Stéphane might misinterpret… and Johnny doesn't want that, because he's also quite sure that a friendship with benefits, or an affair, neither of these will do. The thoughts swirl through his head and he should tell Stéphane this, probably, but it feels so good to just lie down and float in the sensations that Stéphane's touches set off inside him, so sweet...
In the end, Johnny doesn't have to make a conscious decision on that matter yet. He is terribly embarrassed when he wakes up in the morning and realizes that he somehow managed to fall asleep in the middle of Stéphane’s ministrations. Embarrassed and surprised, because usually, his insomia takes care of that. He blames in on the wine; he’s used to vodka, he can keep pace with most of his Russian ladies, but wine...
After a few more nights of sound sleep, no alcohol involved, Johnny admits that he probably shouldn’t blame this on the French, but rather on the Swiss, or one Swiss in particular. He likes this, being able to sleep without medication, and he loves the replacement for the sleeping pills, those light caresses on his back and nape that Stéphane bestows upon him every night now, lulling him to sleep with gentle touches.
He can't resist, though, and two nights after their first one, he stops Stéphane when he's nibbling on his neck, pulling him back up to meet his eyes.
"I want you," he whispers, combing through Stéphane's hair with one hand, thumb of the other one on Stéphane's lips. "Inside me. Please."
"Okay," Stéphane mumbles and kisses Johnny's thumb, then the other four fingertips, then his palm. "Let me get the lube," he then says and slides out of bed to rummage through his suitcase briefly. Johnny's not surprised that Stéphane has brought it; he has a tube in his own bag, too, packed almost automatically. It wasn't just a vacation he was hoping for, deep down.
~*~
"We could drop by in Lausanne," Stéphane suggests, two days later over breakfast. "Visit my family and friends. You could meet them."
Johnny nearly chokes on the piece of orange he's just put into his mouth. He didn’t even think of it this way until now, didn’t realize that Stéphane probably hasn’t been at home in months, that he has loved ones here that he might want to see. He has been so caught up with Stéphane and what they, the two of them, might be, that he just… forgot.
"O-okay," he says, because what else is he supposed to say. He can't ask Stéphane to stay away from his family and be just with him instead. And Stéphane's resulting beam almost chases away the insecurity that creeps into his heart.
It doesn't chase the worries away completely, though. The thought of meeting Stéphane’s family scares Johnny; it makes him feel extremely awkward, because he isn’t sure how to act, who he is supposed to be here. They've been sleeping together for several days now, all lover-like, but they still haven't discussed it, what it means, what they mean to each other.
"Shouldn't I better stay away? You know, to give you some time with your family. I wouldn't want to intrude," he suggests, fiddling with the red kabbalah band around his wrist. It makes him nervous that it still hasn't fallen off; meeting Stéphane's parents with such a load of bad karma on his back could be a disaster. Especially since he doesn't even know what he'll be introduced as - a boyfriend? or just a friend? He bites his lip. He doesn't think he could stomach being called the latter, not now, not anymore.
“Don’t be silly,” Stéphane tells him. “It’s just my… home,” he adds, shaking his head.
“Precisely,” Johnny sighs, looking at the landscape flying by outside the window. He thinks about his own family, his friends, all the way back in America. He nearly forgot about them, too.
“You… You could be part of that. If you wanted,” Stéphane says quietly with a hesitant touch on the side of Johnny’s neck. “Be a… a home, too.”
Johnny turns his head and sees the crimson on Stéphane’s cheeks, and the hope in his eyes, wild and intense, like he’s been waiting to offer this for quite a while already, much longer than just the week and a half they’ve spent together here.
Relief washes over him; he didn't even realize until now how long he'd been waiting for this - for Stéphane. They’d broken up, but everything has felt different ever since, mainly skating - like something temporary, fickle, and, despite all his love for the sport, something that he needed to get out of the way to move on to something even better. Now he finally feels the knots inside him come undone, loosening up, and he allows himself to admit it - he's been in love all this time, always hoping…
His throat feels tight and raw as the emotion swells up in him, making it impossible to speak, so he just nods and leans in to let Stéphane kiss away the tear that’s slipped out of his eye and down his cheek.
When he says hello after hello to Stéphane’s parents and siblings and uncle and aunt that day, Stéphane’s warm arm wrapped around his hip, Johnny finally feels like he belongs again, like he’s found his happy-place again, one that doesn’t depend on a cleanly landed quad or the level of a spin. It feels like he has found ground underneath his feet again, firm, steady and blissfully non-slippery.
~ fin
Pairing: Stéphane Lambiel/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,438
Beta: cf33
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The events described in the story are not real. Not intended as libel, no money is being made.
Summary: After his retirement, Johnny is not sure where to go next. In the end, he goes to Switzerland.
A/N: cf33 deserves cookies for all the input and advice on this fic. I wrote this story during Christmas - back then, the finished version had about 1,500 words. The Cel got her hands on it and she poked until I wrote Version 2.0 - longer, more detailed, and hopefully better. Enjoy and take a moment to comment if you like/don't like it. :)
Once he says the final words, Johnny feels as if his entire world got caught in the middle of a very fast spin; emotions swell up in him, some familiar, but some completely new, and all of them so contradictory that Johnny thinks he’s going to go mad from the constant tugging and pulling in so many different directions. It makes him slightly dizzy.
At first, he’s flooded with relief. It’s over; after almost fifteen years, he has finally cut the ties and left figure skating behind to take a step towards... something else. Johnny isn’t quite sure what yet.
And that is where the dread kicks in, the fear paralyzing him, until he can do nothing but lie in bed wrapped in three blankets to cocoon himself in and hide from the world. The sense of loss is overwhelming, like somebody has ripped out some essential piece of him, and Johnny is afraid he might never fill that gap again, never feel like he belongs. He has no clear idea where to go next.
A week after announcing his retirement, he finds himself at the rink at 8am, sharing a freestyle session with several students, all significantly younger than he is - the future of US Figure Skating. A handful of them stare at him like he's out of his mind. And maybe he is, because getting up this early to skate is one of those things any reasonable figure skater would scratch the moment they win their Olympic medal and retire.
He works himself so hard that he can barely stand afterwards, because when he’s working hard, he doesn’t notice, doesn’t care and doesn't think, too focused on his next triple lutz-triple toe to pay attention to anything else.
His whole body hurts the following day, but it’s good, it’s familiar; the pain is something he can cling to. He goes on like that for a few more days, training morning and afternoon, until Galina catches him before one session.
"What are you doing here?" she barks at him. Johnny freezes; he has almost forgotten how scary Galina can be when she wants. She grabs his upper arm to stop him from stepping onto the ice.
"Just… skating," he says, because he can't think of anything smarter to say, not face to face with Galina's glare. "To stay in shape." That is a lie, of course, and he's never been good at lying to Galina. But he's too ashamed to admit the truth and tell her that he seems to be failing at living the 'normal life' he's been looking forward to for the past two years. Saying it out loud would make it too final, too threatening. Galina sees right through him, though; she's had a lot of time to poke around and get to know his mind. She steers him to a bench by the rinkside and sits him down as if he were a stubborn little kid.
"You retired, Johnnychik. I know it is hard to let go, but you must, and the sooner you get used to it, the better." She keeps her voice low and their conversation private, for which Johnny is grateful - the last thing he needs is half the Ice Vault hearing about his issues.
He nods, because she is right, of course. Galina pats his knee. "Take a vacation, like we agreed," she says. "You deserve one. And then let me know when you come back. Then you can skate to stay in shape."
They'd agreed he would do that, take a break from skating to figure things out and give his body the much-needed rest, then return to the ice with a lighter training schedule that would keep him fit for shows and galas, while still allowing him time to have a life. It sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan back then, it still does. Johnny just didn't think leaving the ice and his old habits would be so difficult.
"I just -" he opens his mouth to explain, wishing he could make Galina understand. But it seems that she already does, or at least she thinks so.
"You think I don't know what it feels like?" she says and her lips twitch in an amused not-quite-smile. "I've been there, with Oksana, with Viktor. I know what it's like. It was hard for them, too, but they managed - and so will you."
With that, Galina stands up and motions for him to do the same, so she can start ushering him towards the lockers. "You will be fine," she repeats and gives him a final pat before pushing him into the locker room and closing the door behind him.
Johnny sits down and starts to unlace his skates. He wants to believe Galina and trust her experience; she sounds so convinced and certain that it's almost enough to convince Johnny, too. But, he thinks with a sigh, she seems to be forgetting one detail - Oksana and Viktor both had partners when they retired, someone by their sides to help them through. Johnny doesn't have anyone like that.
And that is when he calls Stéphane, because Stéphane has gone through this all and figured it out and therefore should be able to give Johnny a bit of advice. Or maybe that's not the whole reason, because when Stéphane picks up and his voice brightens when he realizes who's calling, Johnny feels a flutter inside his belly, warm and pleasant and familiar.
"Hi there, Broadway star!" he greets, equally cheerful. It's nearly impossible to be gloomy when faced with a load of Stéphane's bubbliness, even if it's just over the phone. Johnny's missed that.
"I'm not," Stéphane protests and Johnny imagines the little smile on his lips, the blush.
"But you soon will be, judging by the amount of work you have," he says and briefly wonders if it really is just the acting school that makes Stéphane so busy. He decides not to dwell too much on that; it has been partly his own fault, after all, that they haven't seen each other in a while. "I haven't seen you in ages," he says.
"I - " Stéphane starts, but stops himself. "Yes," he says instead. "Olympic medalists get busy."
"You should know," Johnny teases. "I have some free time in my busy schedule now, though." Even thinking about his Olympic medal still makes him glow inside, so much that he can't help but feel all happy and proud. "Come shopping with me?"
Stéphane laughs. "If they awarded medals for that, you'd get that one, too. With all the practice you get…" he then says. "But yeah, let's go shopping. I need a work-out, anyway."
~*~
"Eww," Stéphane scrunches up his nose when he takes a sip of his caramel hot chocolate. "This tastes nothing like chocolate."
"That's why we buy coffee at Starbucks," Johnny points out, aaah-ing in delight at the first gulp from his venti-sized cup of latte. Heavenly.
"The coffees here are too big," Stéphane sniffs and shakes his head.
"Like that's a bad thing!" Johnny rolls his eyes and heads out of the café, strolling down the street ahead of Stéphane, smiling to himself as he goes. Hanging out with Stéphane feels like good old days, almost like nothing has changed. Except everything has; everything feels lighter, less tense now. Johnny likes that and when Stéphane holds a boutique door open for him, so he can waltz through with his coffee cup in one hand and his purse in the other, Johnny gives him the brightest smile he can manage. He's been smiling way too little lately and the responding blush on Stéphane's face is more than enough reason to keep smiling.
They sift through the new arrivals and the sales and the regular collection, too; Johnny likes to be thorough when he's shopping, because he gets to do it too rarely for his liking. Though that's about to change now, he realizes; he's got the time now.
"You can't buy that!" Johnny objects some fifteen minutes later when Stéphane picks out a shirt and doesn't seem to let go of it after he's tried it on, carrying it to the cashier instead. "You're not going to wear it." That has never stopped him from buying things before, true, but he feels obliged to be a good friend and supply some rational advice.
"Why not?" Stéphane asks and stops in front of a mirror, holding the t-shirt up in front of his chest. It's blue, spelling 'Wanna play?' in sparkly letters underneath a large rainbow. "I like it."
"So do I but - "
"But what?" Stéphane challenges, raising an eyebrow and his voice, too, just a notch, but enough to invite Johnny to bicker. But then his expression softens: "You think it's too obvious, don't you?" he asks and Johnny nods, embarrassed. It was an automatic reaction, an old reflex, that made him object, he realizes that now. He also realizes that it was not his own opinion he's just defended, and that makes him feel even more ashamed. The USFSA wouldn't have approved of him wearing something as… gay as this.
"I don't care anymore," Stéphane says as if he'd been reading Johnny's thoughts. "I'm sick of hiding." He shakes his head angrily, as if he couldn't believe that he'd been putting up with all that crap in the first place, while he was still skating. "You don't need to care that much anymore, either," he then shrugs and gives Johnny a small smile, encouraging but understanding; he knows how it feels to be an involuntary role-model. "Though I just 'wanna play' in private, anyway," he adds with a wink. Then he turns around and goes to pay for the t-shirt, flirting with the cashier as he does.
~*~
"I'm exhausted," Johnny announces after they've wandered through a row of his favorite boutiques in SoHo. He's bought two new t-shirts and a pair of jeans; that's three more items than he needs, but it was fun and his ass looks great in those jeans; thank god the retirement didn't make him fat. "I need coffee."
Stéphane laughs: "Didn't you just have one half an hour ago? A second one?"
"No. That was just a frappuccino, not a real coffee," Johnny explains, making Stéphane laugh even harder.
"It still has caffeine," Stéphane points out, earning himself a glare. "Okay, okay. Let's go get another one. Wouldn't want you to collapse before we get to Louis."
They don't quite make it to the Louis Vuitton boutique in the end, though, because Stéphane insists on having an actual real coffee, not just a quick Starbucks to-go. Johnny doesn't object, because his feet do feel tired, and he's been to Vuitton two weeks ago. They don't have anything worth seeing that he doesn't own yet, anyway.
"This is good," he admits, warming his hands on the porcelain cup filled with delicious cappuccino. The portion is too small for his liking, but the taste makes up for it. "I knew there was a reason why I like Europe."
Stéphane snorts. "This is not nearly as good as what I get at home." Then he suddenly turns serious, intently stirring his own coffee with a teaspoon. "Talking about Europe… I was wondering if you'd, maybe, want to fly over with me?" He's staring into the swirling liquid. "I mean, you said you need a vacation and I want one, too. I just finished my exams and I have a few weeks…" Finally, he looks up to face Johnny. "I could show you Switzerland, the Alps…" Stéphane laughs nervously. "If you want to, of course. It would be fun."
Johnny burns his tongue on the coffee; the gulp he takes is too deep and he forgets to be careful. The gasping and coughing that ensues gives him a bit of time to think, or rather to let ideas race through his head. He doesn't want to refuse, because he really does need a proper vacation, he needs to take his mind off skating and focus on something else altogether. And he likes spending time with Stéphane. But Johnny is not sure if it's wise to say yes. They tried this before, being kind of… together, and it didn’t do them much good, just brought the constant pain of having an ocean or the battle for one medal or another between them. In the end, though, he concludes that this will be different; they are both older, more mature, and can actually afford the luxury of being close, physically and emotionally, without having to worry about it messing with their skating. And if they still don’t work as a they - Johnny’s not sure if Stéphane is still interested in more than friendship, or maybe some casual sex here and there, or if he is still interested himself; it has been several years now, after all... Well, in that case they can always fall back on the friendship they managed to build up between them, soft and comfortable.
Being with Stéphane feels safe, and so he smiles and says: "I would love to."
~*~
Spring is hanging in the New York air when they get to JFK, a fresh breeze rustling their hair when they climb the stairs to board their plane.
"I hope it's not spring in Switzerland yet," Johnny tosses over his shoulder to Stéphane. "I packed all my favorite winter coats."
"I'm sure it's still cold enough," Stéphane assures him. He's wearing just jeans, sneakers and a light jacket himself, an outfit that, along with the easy smile on his face, makes him look almost like he did when he and Johnny dated back in 2005.
Johnny's seen the boots and sweaters in his suitcase, though, when Stéphane opened it to take out a book to read on the plane. So he probably isn't lying about the weather and his light attire is misleading. And so are his looks, after all, because Johnny knows Stéphane has changed, they both have, since the time they were a couple. He hopes the changes were for the better.
"Ok, here we go," Johnny says before stepping into the plane, and takes a deep breath to calm himself. He really does hate flying.
"It's gonna be alright," Stéphane whispers behind him and reaches out to touch Johnny, the palm of his hand flat against his lower back, warm even through the fabric of Johnny's sweater. He's standing close; Johnny can nearly feel the tickle of Stéphane's breath on his nape.
"Yeah," he breathes, more to himself than to Stéphane, and stumbles inside, his stomach full of flutters that are not entirely connected to his flight fear and not exactly all unpleasant.
~*~
"People are looking at us," Johnny observes, only mildly surprised. They're strolling through the streets of Geneva, snow crunching underneath their feet.
"Shouldn't you be used to that by now?" Stéphane chuckles. "What with you being the Olympic champion…"
"Yes, but this is Switzerland, not Japan or Korea or Russia. I'm not a celebrity in your country."
"Maybe they're staring at me, then," Stéphane suggests.
"You wish," Johnny waves him off, but he's not so sure, looking at Stéphane's handsome face and the serene smile he's wearing; he would still pass for a celebrity. "It must be just my natural charm and beauty," he goes on after a while, when he receives a prolonged look from a young woman hurrying past.
"Either that," Stéphane says and glances at Johnny's face, "or it's your outfit."
"What's wrong with my outfit?" Johnny asks, looking down on his furcoat critically. There's no traces of the snack they'd had earlier on it.
"It's perfectly fine," Stéphane reassures. "People don't understand fashion?"
"Nah," Johnny shakes his head. "We're in Europe. Europeans are fashionable by nature."
"And animal friendly," Stéphane adds.
"Oh," Johnny says. "Well." What is he supposed to say to that. He eats less animals than the average person, the average European, even. Wearing more of them to compensate seems fair.
"I think your coat is lovely," Stéphane says, sensing his discomfort, and smoothes the soft fur on one of Johnny's sleeves.
Johnny decides that Stéphane is the only European whose opinion really matters right now and ignores the looks the passersby send them. The air is crispy clean and tastes fresh in Johnny's mouth and nose. For the first time, breathing feels easy, like his lungs have shed some heavy crust he's been carrying with him until now. He loves that feeling, the lightness.
"Why didn't you tell me that not skating was so..." he says after sharing his discovery with Stéphane, gesturing with his hand.
"Liberating?" Stéphane suggests. When Johnny nods, he goes on: "You didn't ask. And besides, it didn't feel very liberating for me at first," he says and Johnny realizes that, unlike himself, Stéphane didn't leave on his own terms, that his body had given up on him. His own retirement felt like losing ground underneath his feet at first; he can't imagine how much worse saying goodbye must have been for Stéphane.
"I'm sorry," he says, cheeks flushing red.
"Oh, don't be," Stéphane smiles. "I'm long past the pity. I feel great now. "
"Me, too," Johnny admits and wonders if he could possibly keep this, this sense of uncomplicatedness.
~*~
"No," Johnny shakes his head when he realizes where Stéphane is leading him. "We can't."
"Yes, we can," Stéphane insists and grabs his arm, tugging him towards the chocolatier shop.
"It's too tempting!" Johnny protests, wincing as the irresistible smell hits his nose. They're too close to the shop and it hurts, he wants to have some so badly but -
"Then give in," Stéphane says and turns to him with a grin so wicked that Johnny wonders if he's still talking about chocolate. "Come on. It's pheromones."
"I prefer to get those from other activities. Less fattening ones."
"We can work off the calories later," Stéphane winks at him. Johnny sighs and lets himself be dragged inside, because there's only so much temptation he can take.
They buy a box of sweet sin and find a bench in a park to eat the chocolates. When Johnny puts a piece into his mouth, the chocolate immediately starts melting on his tongue, soft and heavenly.
"Oh my god," he whispers and closes his eyes in bliss. He's never been able to truly appreciate the sensation before; the taint of guilt is almost gone now, he's not on a strict diet anymore, after all.
Stéphane snickers when Johnny licks his lips with an appreciative sigh after the last piece
"Yes, just laugh," Johnny glares at him. "Not all of us can eat whatever we want and stay stick thin." He grabs a fistful of snow and throws it at Stéphane; he doesn't even bother to stick it together to a snowball, showering Stéphane with a spray of flakes.
Stéphane starts after him, but Johnny darts away, picking up more snow as he goes and tossing it in Stéphane's general direction. A snowball hits him in the back just before he can duck behind a tree. Next thing he knows, Stéphane is on him, sprinkling his head with some snow and pinning him to the tree Johnny'd planned to use for a shield.
Stéphane is laughing and Johnny finds it easy to join in, his heart light in his chest; looks like snow-battles are easier than those on ice had been. "I yield," he squeaks when Stéphane sneaks his fingers inside his coat and sweater and brushes them along the waist of Johnny's jeans, icy cold on Johnny's warm skin.
"And you feel guilty about a bit of chocolate," Stéphane mumbles, hands on Johnny's jutting out hipbones.
Johnny shrugs. Old habits are hard to break.
"You're beautiful," Stéphane whispers, so quietly that Johnny's not sure if he meant to say that out loud at all, or if it was just a thought that slipped out.
He smiles all the same and when Stéphane reaches for his hands, frozen after the snow battle, he lets him warm them, enjoying the spark of heat the contact sends through him; as if he'd had a gulp of hot tea.
"Let's go back," Stéphane suggests and Johnny nods. Stéphane twines their fingers and doesn't let go of his hand until they arrive to their hotel; it makes Johnny's belly fill with bubbles and his heart with expectation.
~*~
They kiss later that night; Johnny’s tongue feels heavy and languid after the French wine they’ve been drinking and Stéphane’s slow, sensual kisses set off a purr deep inside his stomach - he can’t decide whether he wants more or if just lying there in bed with Stéphane’s body lightly rubbing up against his own through their nightclothes is enough to keep him happy for the moment. He hasn't had sex in a while and he would certainly like to; he's sure by now that friendship is not all that he wants from Stéphane. But he doesn't think it would be wise to rush into things, he's afraid that Stéphane might misinterpret… and Johnny doesn't want that, because he's also quite sure that a friendship with benefits, or an affair, neither of these will do. The thoughts swirl through his head and he should tell Stéphane this, probably, but it feels so good to just lie down and float in the sensations that Stéphane's touches set off inside him, so sweet...
In the end, Johnny doesn't have to make a conscious decision on that matter yet. He is terribly embarrassed when he wakes up in the morning and realizes that he somehow managed to fall asleep in the middle of Stéphane’s ministrations. Embarrassed and surprised, because usually, his insomia takes care of that. He blames in on the wine; he’s used to vodka, he can keep pace with most of his Russian ladies, but wine...
After a few more nights of sound sleep, no alcohol involved, Johnny admits that he probably shouldn’t blame this on the French, but rather on the Swiss, or one Swiss in particular. He likes this, being able to sleep without medication, and he loves the replacement for the sleeping pills, those light caresses on his back and nape that Stéphane bestows upon him every night now, lulling him to sleep with gentle touches.
He can't resist, though, and two nights after their first one, he stops Stéphane when he's nibbling on his neck, pulling him back up to meet his eyes.
"I want you," he whispers, combing through Stéphane's hair with one hand, thumb of the other one on Stéphane's lips. "Inside me. Please."
"Okay," Stéphane mumbles and kisses Johnny's thumb, then the other four fingertips, then his palm. "Let me get the lube," he then says and slides out of bed to rummage through his suitcase briefly. Johnny's not surprised that Stéphane has brought it; he has a tube in his own bag, too, packed almost automatically. It wasn't just a vacation he was hoping for, deep down.
~*~
"We could drop by in Lausanne," Stéphane suggests, two days later over breakfast. "Visit my family and friends. You could meet them."
Johnny nearly chokes on the piece of orange he's just put into his mouth. He didn’t even think of it this way until now, didn’t realize that Stéphane probably hasn’t been at home in months, that he has loved ones here that he might want to see. He has been so caught up with Stéphane and what they, the two of them, might be, that he just… forgot.
"O-okay," he says, because what else is he supposed to say. He can't ask Stéphane to stay away from his family and be just with him instead. And Stéphane's resulting beam almost chases away the insecurity that creeps into his heart.
It doesn't chase the worries away completely, though. The thought of meeting Stéphane’s family scares Johnny; it makes him feel extremely awkward, because he isn’t sure how to act, who he is supposed to be here. They've been sleeping together for several days now, all lover-like, but they still haven't discussed it, what it means, what they mean to each other.
"Shouldn't I better stay away? You know, to give you some time with your family. I wouldn't want to intrude," he suggests, fiddling with the red kabbalah band around his wrist. It makes him nervous that it still hasn't fallen off; meeting Stéphane's parents with such a load of bad karma on his back could be a disaster. Especially since he doesn't even know what he'll be introduced as - a boyfriend? or just a friend? He bites his lip. He doesn't think he could stomach being called the latter, not now, not anymore.
“Don’t be silly,” Stéphane tells him. “It’s just my… home,” he adds, shaking his head.
“Precisely,” Johnny sighs, looking at the landscape flying by outside the window. He thinks about his own family, his friends, all the way back in America. He nearly forgot about them, too.
“You… You could be part of that. If you wanted,” Stéphane says quietly with a hesitant touch on the side of Johnny’s neck. “Be a… a home, too.”
Johnny turns his head and sees the crimson on Stéphane’s cheeks, and the hope in his eyes, wild and intense, like he’s been waiting to offer this for quite a while already, much longer than just the week and a half they’ve spent together here.
Relief washes over him; he didn't even realize until now how long he'd been waiting for this - for Stéphane. They’d broken up, but everything has felt different ever since, mainly skating - like something temporary, fickle, and, despite all his love for the sport, something that he needed to get out of the way to move on to something even better. Now he finally feels the knots inside him come undone, loosening up, and he allows himself to admit it - he's been in love all this time, always hoping…
His throat feels tight and raw as the emotion swells up in him, making it impossible to speak, so he just nods and leans in to let Stéphane kiss away the tear that’s slipped out of his eye and down his cheek.
When he says hello after hello to Stéphane’s parents and siblings and uncle and aunt that day, Stéphane’s warm arm wrapped around his hip, Johnny finally feels like he belongs again, like he’s found his happy-place again, one that doesn’t depend on a cleanly landed quad or the level of a spin. It feels like he has found ground underneath his feet again, firm, steady and blissfully non-slippery.
~ fin