Ficlet: "Another Kind of Birthday" (Drew Meekins/Johnny Weir)
Title: Another Kind of Birthday
Pairing: Drew Meekins/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 564
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: Johnny celebrates Tara’s birthday in a way he’s possibly going to regret and it’s all her fault. Inspired by the J/D pics Reet posted tonight.
Tara doesn’t approve, Johnny can tell from the small hard line that appears between her eyebrows when she looks at him and Drew from the bar. Johnny turns away and keeps on dancing, ignoring her. Even though it’s her birthday. Because it’s her birthday - she is the one responsible for the guest list, after all. She brought this - Drew - upon him.
His tongue feels tingly after the slightly sour Appletini he’s finished a few minutes ago and now he wants to kiss. He hasn’t done that for way too long; he looks up into Drew’s eyes, holding the blue gaze for a moment before letting his eyes trail down, to Drew’s mouth, his full bottom lip… He wants - they could - just a little -
He quickly drops his gaze, but his fingers twitch, nails scraping across the skin on Drew’s nape. Drew’s sharp intake of breath goes straight to Johnny’s cock and he grits his teeth. He hasn’t done that for way too long, either. With Stéphane gone and back to competitor-status, he doesn’t even have the friendly make-out/jerk-off sessions that kept him… if not satisfied, then at least within normal hormone range. He’s horny. And Drew is… well. Drew is Drew. He knows exactly where to touch, how to kiss, how to fuck him to make him come apart and cry in utter bliss.
Johnny knows it’s not a good idea, in fact, it’s a very bad idea, indeed. But he’s never been one to heed his brain and his body has a mind of its own. And so he leans in closer to bury his nose in Drew’s slightly sweaty neck. It makes his stomach flip. He smells just as good as Johnny remembers, better, even.
Drew tightens his grip on Johnny’s waist, automatically pulling him a little closer. His arms are intoxicatingly familiar, the good kind of familiar. Johnny remembers the afternoons they spent goofing around, with Drew lifting and twirling him in the air in mock pair skating elements. He remembers the times when Drew carried him to the bedroom on those arms, and others when he didn’t bother, pinning him against the nearest wall and holding him steady while he fucked him.
Johnny exhales softly against Drew’s neck and rolls his hips more than is strictly necessary to follow the rhythm of the slow, r’n’b-ish tune.
“Johnny - “ he hears Drew whisper, voice tight with… Discomfort? Self-restraint? Desire? Johnny’s not sure, but he’s used to taking risks. He’s a figure skater - risking injury is part of his daily routine.
He tips his head back, piercing Drew with a lust-dazed look. “Kiss me,” he demands. His own voice sounds raucous to him. Good. He knows Drew likes that tone, his bedroom tone. Johnny hopes he still does.
Drew squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if he was in pain. When he opens them again, his expression is one of surrender.
“You’re evil,” he whispers and smashes their mouths together in a kiss that turns Johnny’s insides upside down with its intensity. The hands that creep up his back and cradle his skull, threading into his hair, are impossibly gentle, though. So gentle and arousing and so right. Johnny wants to cry in… Relief? Anxiety? Anger at his own stupidity? He’s not sure, but he doesn’t care. He’s used to falling. He just hopes this fall will be worth it.
~fin
Pairing: Drew Meekins/Johnny Weir
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 564
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: Johnny celebrates Tara’s birthday in a way he’s possibly going to regret and it’s all her fault. Inspired by the J/D pics Reet posted tonight.
Tara doesn’t approve, Johnny can tell from the small hard line that appears between her eyebrows when she looks at him and Drew from the bar. Johnny turns away and keeps on dancing, ignoring her. Even though it’s her birthday. Because it’s her birthday - she is the one responsible for the guest list, after all. She brought this - Drew - upon him.
His tongue feels tingly after the slightly sour Appletini he’s finished a few minutes ago and now he wants to kiss. He hasn’t done that for way too long; he looks up into Drew’s eyes, holding the blue gaze for a moment before letting his eyes trail down, to Drew’s mouth, his full bottom lip… He wants - they could - just a little -
He quickly drops his gaze, but his fingers twitch, nails scraping across the skin on Drew’s nape. Drew’s sharp intake of breath goes straight to Johnny’s cock and he grits his teeth. He hasn’t done that for way too long, either. With Stéphane gone and back to competitor-status, he doesn’t even have the friendly make-out/jerk-off sessions that kept him… if not satisfied, then at least within normal hormone range. He’s horny. And Drew is… well. Drew is Drew. He knows exactly where to touch, how to kiss, how to fuck him to make him come apart and cry in utter bliss.
Johnny knows it’s not a good idea, in fact, it’s a very bad idea, indeed. But he’s never been one to heed his brain and his body has a mind of its own. And so he leans in closer to bury his nose in Drew’s slightly sweaty neck. It makes his stomach flip. He smells just as good as Johnny remembers, better, even.
Drew tightens his grip on Johnny’s waist, automatically pulling him a little closer. His arms are intoxicatingly familiar, the good kind of familiar. Johnny remembers the afternoons they spent goofing around, with Drew lifting and twirling him in the air in mock pair skating elements. He remembers the times when Drew carried him to the bedroom on those arms, and others when he didn’t bother, pinning him against the nearest wall and holding him steady while he fucked him.
Johnny exhales softly against Drew’s neck and rolls his hips more than is strictly necessary to follow the rhythm of the slow, r’n’b-ish tune.
“Johnny - “ he hears Drew whisper, voice tight with… Discomfort? Self-restraint? Desire? Johnny’s not sure, but he’s used to taking risks. He’s a figure skater - risking injury is part of his daily routine.
He tips his head back, piercing Drew with a lust-dazed look. “Kiss me,” he demands. His own voice sounds raucous to him. Good. He knows Drew likes that tone, his bedroom tone. Johnny hopes he still does.
Drew squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if he was in pain. When he opens them again, his expression is one of surrender.
“You’re evil,” he whispers and smashes their mouths together in a kiss that turns Johnny’s insides upside down with its intensity. The hands that creep up his back and cradle his skull, threading into his hair, are impossibly gentle, though. So gentle and arousing and so right. Johnny wants to cry in… Relief? Anxiety? Anger at his own stupidity? He’s not sure, but he doesn’t care. He’s used to falling. He just hopes this fall will be worth it.
~fin