Fic: Paparazzi
Title: Paparazzi
Author: louie x
Rating: R/NC-17
Series: Olympic Skating RPS
Pairing: Johnny Weir/Evan Lysacek
Word Count: 2905
Disclaimer: Ahhh... it's RPS. Tin hats all around?
Summary: There's a very good reason why they can't look at each other during interviews.
Notes: I fully intend to blame the wonderful people at ontd_skating for their epic spams of awesomeness leading me to this interview vid from the 2008 nationals. The muses ran with it from there :D
Even killer shark movies can be educational and applicable to your daily life.'>
There's a very good reason why they can't look at each other in interviews. The same reason that makes those rare occasions where they actually need to touch one another so awkward. It's that whole lesson in relativity that only makes sense when LL Cool J is explaining it, via the metaphor of how burning your hand on a stove can feel like a century while a hot babe beneath your fingers can feel so painfully fleeting.
Even killer shark movies can be educational and applicable to your daily life.
The point is that Evan is torn over whether or not Johnny would be the hot chick or the stove in this scenario. Would it be the moment when all the cameras flash, that split second of fire scalding his skin frozen forever on film where he lets it slip how he loves that burn? Or would it be that bare moment that no one sees, that soft brush of skin upon skin in an errant touch of their hands that would keep him up because it just wasn't long enough?
He thinks any rational person would hate Johnny for that. Conflicting emotions warring whenever his name comes up; especially since, given their history, his name almost always comes up in interviews, with their careers seemingly taking off without their feet even being on the ice and the only back story is their supposed rivalry. The rivalry that Johnny admits was created and pumped up by the media -oh they get along just fine- while Evan basically disavows any knowledge of Johnny off the ice -two conversations without prompting by interviewers, at most- and it creates this vacuum that people fall into without either skater realizing. They want the two to hate one another. They want the verbal battle, the catfights, the sniping; the Swan VS the Mongoose title fight.
Evan thinks Johnny's too strong to be so childish -riding a yak, aside- and he'd like to think better of himself as well.
They will find excuses to mingle should they be in the same place at the same time. Off the ice, of course. Reasons to 'accidentally' bump into one another to pose for a fan picture or the media ('rivals on the red carpet?' the headlines will boast, surely) while they barely exchange a word past civil smiles.
Course if anyone really, really looked they'd see so much more. They'd see the fumble to put an arm around one another -seemingly to placate the photographers- might be one sneaking a hotel keycard into the other's pocket. Or absent shots of the two 'tweeting' are really them sending text messages about bad tans and hemlines that make the two howl from opposite sides of the party.
Evan rather likes Johnny, too much probably. He's funny and surprisingly smart, graceful, and determined when he puts his mind to something. An athlete needs all of those things to get anywhere and Evan's not so dumb that he thinks Johnny just got all those medals dropped into his lap. So they don't talk during interviews or in public because Evan wants to tell Johnny he's kind of in love with everything that he is and Frank would probably shake him senseless for that kind of admission.
He sneaks into Johnny's hotel rooms when no one can spot him -his height as much a handicap when it came to attempted ninja sneaking as it was on the ice- and is more often than not met with too much skin on display. Johnny's delightfully shameless and proud of every scar and bruise he's acquired in a way that heats up Evan's stomach in a mingled pride and arousal. That someone can crest and fall like Johnny seemingly has, but still be an impossibly popular skater isn't something that just anyone can do. There's talent there, something like a pure, white-hot spark that Evan wants to both devour and study, so when it comes to a Johnny he can truly watch and see? No, no he won't ever look away.
Evan's eyes are glued to that narrow body and tight little ass as Johnny -a few cocktails into the night- is dancing around shirtless on the hotel bed to the Lady Gaga video on the television. He grins, hands out and beckons Evan over to join him. A few lessons into the waltz and Evan is depressingly clumsy, but bed dancing to a crazy woman wearing telephones shouldn't be impossible.
Well, it wouldn't have been if Johnny didn't flail so damn much and the two ended up falling off the bed. Evan's got his arms full of a giggling Johnny Weir and thinks there are far, far worse places to be in the world. He just smiles at the worries that come later, the bruises that will make his back ache in the morning, waving the concern off even though Johnny's brows are knit together in a way Evan's seen his mom do.
Johnny sits up, looking at Evan still on the carpeted floor and shakes his head a bit. Evan doesn't get a chance to ask what's on his mind as a kiss that is both unexpected and yet so keenly needed is pressed firmly to his lips. That streak of naivety showing again, and Evan thinks that Johnny never got a Tanith to strut around with, to kiss for the cameras and to savor the warmth of someone against his hip. His brain, stupid thing, won't shut up, won't stop wondering how many people Johnny's kissed and meant it. If Stephane knew his mouth the way he knew his hips from throwing Johnny in pairs maneuvers. If Plushenko and his hot wife ever convinced Johnny into a decadent Russian threesome while they all wore furs and pretended to be royalty.
Not that Evan's thought about it too much or anything. Nope.
He gets his lower lip bitten for his mind wandering and a look from Johnny that at once pleads for his attention and gives him an out, to forget it ever happened. Evan just tugs on Johnny's hair, calls him moody, and kisses him again. It's easier than kissing Tanith -even though she didn't have the rough feel of shadow on her cheeks like Johnny does- but it's mostly due to Evan having watched that mouth talk for so many years that he knows every inch of it. He knows that if he bites the left corner it makes Johnny shiver, since the right is where he chews on it when he's stressed out. He knows that if he slides a hand down to cup Johnny's ass, to drag him forward that spine of his can take the awkward bend because Evan's been jealous of that flexibility for some time.
Even in the awkward sprawl upon the floor at the foot of the bed, the tangle of Johnny half on top of him with his elbows taking his weight by Evan's shoulders...it's kind of wonderful.
Johnny's got his hands up under Evan's shirt in no time. Tracing a lightning bolt or nipple until Evan has to pull away to breathe and curse those long, lovely fingers. They make out on the floor, almost lazily, until Evan remembers he's got an early wake up and if he's late Anna or Frank or someone else steering his life for him will be pissed off. He helps Johnny into the bed, tugging off expensive trousers and tosses them over his shoulder onto the floor just to spite the other man.
The startled protest of the mistreatment of name brands is worth the frown. Evan grins, laughing softly as he wrestles Johnny into the hold of the blankets. A soft kiss shuts Johnny up. It's the kind that's more about the lack of contact than a sloppy, messy one. The kind that makes you wonder if it's better to just ignore a burnt hand and hold onto that hot stove for as long as you can. Johnny cups his face, humming gently a deep rumble of contentment and reminds Evan not to trip over his own feet during his dance practices.
It's a comfortable teasing jab that makes it easier for Evan to let go and Johnny to roll over to get some rest. Neither really wants to get back to their lives; that burning hot moment of skin so tempting but time seems to never be on Evan's side.
It was easier sneaking about during competitions as the skaters were usually roomed near one another. Easier to mingle and less suspicious should a gaggle of them pass by. Now though, now Evan's lucky enough to sleep in the same bed for more than four days in a row. Stars On Ice has publicly shunned Johnny while opening their arms for him. Begging him despite his schedule and because Evan's a workaholic, he agrees with a nagging twist in his gut.
Evan sleeps on a plane, flying in a direction he can't really remember, and dreams about him and Johnny living together. In between roaring arguments they have sex like they're getting paid to do it, in every sparsely decorated room. Somewhere time passes, an apartment turns into a house and bachelorhood turns into a family with little adopted kids running around their feet. These imaginary kids are all smiles, all lighting up like fireworks when they enter the room. He wakes up from giving piggy-back rides to his hypothetical daughter while Johnny helps teach their son how to set up for an axel jump in their socks on the slippery wooden floor of their den.
Later, when Anna accuses him of being grumpy, he lets her blame it on lost sleep. Better that than to admit a lack of understanding about just what it means to be 'family friendly' distracting his focus.
He calls Johnny from his hotel room, breaking a sort of unspoken rule about reaching out first, while his legs hate him after a full day of practice. They hate the jive almost as much as the waltz, but at least it's faster and a bit more what he's used to… sort of.
Johnny's vacuuming, making lines in his carpet and is upset that he can't figure out who tracked shoe prints along the plush. It's a little OCD and sometimes Evan considers voicing some concern, though Johnny carries on in a simple monologue of what he's been up to since they last saw one another. If a normal person would be upset at only getting the occasional word in edgewise, Evan doesn't really care as Johnny gleefully recounts actually getting to get his wish of riding a real, live yak.
The next time he sees him in person, Evan finds himself having to avert his eyes even more sharply than usual. It's probably because he's horny as fuck and been too busy for any quick hook ups and the lack of any one he could trust to keep quiet about it. He touches the small of Johnny's back, giving him a smile he hopes is tinged with enough PR encouraged disdain to not draw more attention than the few popping flashbulbs already aimed at them. Thanks to the lack of a jacket over Johnny's form, he can slip the hotel card just under the hem of the man's tee to rest pinned between his back and his belt.
Johnny covers placing the card into his pocket with the ease of a pro, laughing at something the luxurious woman on his arm is saying as he hides his true motions.
He's in Evan's room before the party is really over. The two of them practically ripping each other's clothing just to get them off. Evan ignores his tired muscles and the slight hint of softness that Johnny's developed from being off the ice. He knows Johnny's body too well, nearly memorized every dip and line after being told to do so by coaches and judges for his own benefit. How Johnny works and moves -that was what so many told him to fold into his own years of honed skill.
Hell, in a lot of ways it's thanks to Johnny that Evan won gold… he can be a big man and admit that, sure. Maybe not out loud, but Evan can give credit where it's due.
They argue playfully over the sex -who’d be doing exactly what to whom- until hormones and need overrides reason. Johnny slides down over Evan's slick cock, using the broad hands on his hips for support in order to roll his hips in tight circles as he rides the other man. As he thought, the fire that races through his veins is too much while being not enough at the same time. Evan watches, unable to tear his eyes away now given the chance, as Johnny's back bends and arches as his legs take up the curving pattern of his hips easily enough.
Feeling too much like a spectator, Evan gives a squeeze of warning to Johnny's hip before shifting them in a quick tumble. He's above Johnny now, sliding into him just a bit deeper in a way that makes Johnny's throat choke around his sharply drawn breath. Nails dig into Evan's shoulders, dragging red lines down his back but oh fuck, he could care less as he starts to thrust into Johnny's tight, definitely impossible body. Impossible in that he knew how to hook his legs to make the angle best for both of them, while he moaned this wonderful noise against Evan's temple that sent shockwaves right into his brain. Bolts of electricity that jumped around in his skull until they leapt in eager lines down his spine, forcing his hips to move faster as he fucks Johnny into the messed bedding.
Johnny's loud in bed. It's kind of beyond awesome but at the same moment it makes that last half a brain cell he has left paranoid about getting caught. Johnny pretty much screams when he comes, body shaking and tensing in delicious spasms. He cries out again when Evan tilts his head, biting Johnny's bicep just because it was the closest bit of creamy white skin he could reach, as he shudders through his own orgasm.
The ugly mar of his teeth makes Evan feel bad. Red dents that will turn purple and brown while making it so Johnny would need long sleeves for a while.
He almost apologizes for it while they lay together afterward. Side-by-side, his hand accidentally comes across the mark and his thumb brushing it makes Johnny hiss. After Johnny opts to return the gesture with a jocular open-handed slap to his back, palm landing firmly over the deeper scratches left upon his skin, Evan figures no apologies are necessary since they were seemingly even. Especially after Johnny laughs at his whimpered response to the swat. No way he's gonna apologize now.
Johnny runs a hand through Evan's hair, his smile softening in its sharpness but not entirely fading from his face. The smooth feel of manicured nails gliding over his scalp brings Evan to a crossroad of either sleep or round two and he can't help but grin in return.
"I missed you," he confesses to Johnny. Well, confesses to Johnny's charm necklace, as his head had found it's way to a strong shoulder from the petting earlier. Unsurprisingly, the necklace was easier to talk to than the man's face. It doesn't hurt him that he doesn't hear anything in return. Evan swallows any reaction down and closes his eyes, focusing on those nails in his hair and Johnny's heart echoing into his ear instead.
Johnny shifts to drape an arm around Evan's waist, pulling him closer and accepts the cuddle Evan provides in return. His cheek is on Evan's hair, the breath from his nose brushing along the peak of Evan's brow. "When I make my own ice show," Johnny starts, voice muffled as if far away but Evan just knows Johnny is keeping himself quiet to keep himself steady. "When I do that, will you consider joining it?"
He might have as well asked Evan to go steady. The delightful whispering on the Internet caused by Plushenko inviting Johnny to skate at his shows in Russia spoke volumes of their friendship. Now, here is the show Johnny has been mentioning as being an artistic extension of himself, and he wants Evan to be one of the handful of skaters in his vision.
Evan tilts his head back until he can look at Johnny's face. They both seem so suddenly uncomfortable that the thought of that awkwardness is almost laughably relaxing. He'd actually have to be around Johnny with people looking at them; he'd have to touch that fire and pray for eternity while holding on for a bare moment. Every inch of him says he'd be insane to associate himself with what on paper sounds like some giant sparkly circus on ice. It's one of those things that people with a reputation for being 'flamboyant' would do, just to thumb their nose at the others who shamed them.
"If you get Beyonce to duet with Gaga, then we'll talk."
Johnny's face leaps from bracing for a let down, to shock, then finally to a wide, unguarded grin. Which results in a tumble that -again- knocks them both from the bed to the floor, Evan's arms full of an over-excited Johnny Weir.
Author: louie x
Rating: R/NC-17
Series: Olympic Skating RPS
Pairing: Johnny Weir/Evan Lysacek
Word Count: 2905
Disclaimer: Ahhh... it's RPS. Tin hats all around?
Summary: There's a very good reason why they can't look at each other during interviews.
Notes: I fully intend to blame the wonderful people at ontd_skating for their epic spams of awesomeness leading me to this interview vid from the 2008 nationals. The muses ran with it from there :D
Even killer shark movies can be educational and applicable to your daily life.'>
There's a very good reason why they can't look at each other in interviews. The same reason that makes those rare occasions where they actually need to touch one another so awkward. It's that whole lesson in relativity that only makes sense when LL Cool J is explaining it, via the metaphor of how burning your hand on a stove can feel like a century while a hot babe beneath your fingers can feel so painfully fleeting.
Even killer shark movies can be educational and applicable to your daily life.
The point is that Evan is torn over whether or not Johnny would be the hot chick or the stove in this scenario. Would it be the moment when all the cameras flash, that split second of fire scalding his skin frozen forever on film where he lets it slip how he loves that burn? Or would it be that bare moment that no one sees, that soft brush of skin upon skin in an errant touch of their hands that would keep him up because it just wasn't long enough?
He thinks any rational person would hate Johnny for that. Conflicting emotions warring whenever his name comes up; especially since, given their history, his name almost always comes up in interviews, with their careers seemingly taking off without their feet even being on the ice and the only back story is their supposed rivalry. The rivalry that Johnny admits was created and pumped up by the media -oh they get along just fine- while Evan basically disavows any knowledge of Johnny off the ice -two conversations without prompting by interviewers, at most- and it creates this vacuum that people fall into without either skater realizing. They want the two to hate one another. They want the verbal battle, the catfights, the sniping; the Swan VS the Mongoose title fight.
Evan thinks Johnny's too strong to be so childish -riding a yak, aside- and he'd like to think better of himself as well.
They will find excuses to mingle should they be in the same place at the same time. Off the ice, of course. Reasons to 'accidentally' bump into one another to pose for a fan picture or the media ('rivals on the red carpet?' the headlines will boast, surely) while they barely exchange a word past civil smiles.
Course if anyone really, really looked they'd see so much more. They'd see the fumble to put an arm around one another -seemingly to placate the photographers- might be one sneaking a hotel keycard into the other's pocket. Or absent shots of the two 'tweeting' are really them sending text messages about bad tans and hemlines that make the two howl from opposite sides of the party.
Evan rather likes Johnny, too much probably. He's funny and surprisingly smart, graceful, and determined when he puts his mind to something. An athlete needs all of those things to get anywhere and Evan's not so dumb that he thinks Johnny just got all those medals dropped into his lap. So they don't talk during interviews or in public because Evan wants to tell Johnny he's kind of in love with everything that he is and Frank would probably shake him senseless for that kind of admission.
He sneaks into Johnny's hotel rooms when no one can spot him -his height as much a handicap when it came to attempted ninja sneaking as it was on the ice- and is more often than not met with too much skin on display. Johnny's delightfully shameless and proud of every scar and bruise he's acquired in a way that heats up Evan's stomach in a mingled pride and arousal. That someone can crest and fall like Johnny seemingly has, but still be an impossibly popular skater isn't something that just anyone can do. There's talent there, something like a pure, white-hot spark that Evan wants to both devour and study, so when it comes to a Johnny he can truly watch and see? No, no he won't ever look away.
Evan's eyes are glued to that narrow body and tight little ass as Johnny -a few cocktails into the night- is dancing around shirtless on the hotel bed to the Lady Gaga video on the television. He grins, hands out and beckons Evan over to join him. A few lessons into the waltz and Evan is depressingly clumsy, but bed dancing to a crazy woman wearing telephones shouldn't be impossible.
Well, it wouldn't have been if Johnny didn't flail so damn much and the two ended up falling off the bed. Evan's got his arms full of a giggling Johnny Weir and thinks there are far, far worse places to be in the world. He just smiles at the worries that come later, the bruises that will make his back ache in the morning, waving the concern off even though Johnny's brows are knit together in a way Evan's seen his mom do.
Johnny sits up, looking at Evan still on the carpeted floor and shakes his head a bit. Evan doesn't get a chance to ask what's on his mind as a kiss that is both unexpected and yet so keenly needed is pressed firmly to his lips. That streak of naivety showing again, and Evan thinks that Johnny never got a Tanith to strut around with, to kiss for the cameras and to savor the warmth of someone against his hip. His brain, stupid thing, won't shut up, won't stop wondering how many people Johnny's kissed and meant it. If Stephane knew his mouth the way he knew his hips from throwing Johnny in pairs maneuvers. If Plushenko and his hot wife ever convinced Johnny into a decadent Russian threesome while they all wore furs and pretended to be royalty.
Not that Evan's thought about it too much or anything. Nope.
He gets his lower lip bitten for his mind wandering and a look from Johnny that at once pleads for his attention and gives him an out, to forget it ever happened. Evan just tugs on Johnny's hair, calls him moody, and kisses him again. It's easier than kissing Tanith -even though she didn't have the rough feel of shadow on her cheeks like Johnny does- but it's mostly due to Evan having watched that mouth talk for so many years that he knows every inch of it. He knows that if he bites the left corner it makes Johnny shiver, since the right is where he chews on it when he's stressed out. He knows that if he slides a hand down to cup Johnny's ass, to drag him forward that spine of his can take the awkward bend because Evan's been jealous of that flexibility for some time.
Even in the awkward sprawl upon the floor at the foot of the bed, the tangle of Johnny half on top of him with his elbows taking his weight by Evan's shoulders...it's kind of wonderful.
Johnny's got his hands up under Evan's shirt in no time. Tracing a lightning bolt or nipple until Evan has to pull away to breathe and curse those long, lovely fingers. They make out on the floor, almost lazily, until Evan remembers he's got an early wake up and if he's late Anna or Frank or someone else steering his life for him will be pissed off. He helps Johnny into the bed, tugging off expensive trousers and tosses them over his shoulder onto the floor just to spite the other man.
The startled protest of the mistreatment of name brands is worth the frown. Evan grins, laughing softly as he wrestles Johnny into the hold of the blankets. A soft kiss shuts Johnny up. It's the kind that's more about the lack of contact than a sloppy, messy one. The kind that makes you wonder if it's better to just ignore a burnt hand and hold onto that hot stove for as long as you can. Johnny cups his face, humming gently a deep rumble of contentment and reminds Evan not to trip over his own feet during his dance practices.
It's a comfortable teasing jab that makes it easier for Evan to let go and Johnny to roll over to get some rest. Neither really wants to get back to their lives; that burning hot moment of skin so tempting but time seems to never be on Evan's side.
It was easier sneaking about during competitions as the skaters were usually roomed near one another. Easier to mingle and less suspicious should a gaggle of them pass by. Now though, now Evan's lucky enough to sleep in the same bed for more than four days in a row. Stars On Ice has publicly shunned Johnny while opening their arms for him. Begging him despite his schedule and because Evan's a workaholic, he agrees with a nagging twist in his gut.
Evan sleeps on a plane, flying in a direction he can't really remember, and dreams about him and Johnny living together. In between roaring arguments they have sex like they're getting paid to do it, in every sparsely decorated room. Somewhere time passes, an apartment turns into a house and bachelorhood turns into a family with little adopted kids running around their feet. These imaginary kids are all smiles, all lighting up like fireworks when they enter the room. He wakes up from giving piggy-back rides to his hypothetical daughter while Johnny helps teach their son how to set up for an axel jump in their socks on the slippery wooden floor of their den.
Later, when Anna accuses him of being grumpy, he lets her blame it on lost sleep. Better that than to admit a lack of understanding about just what it means to be 'family friendly' distracting his focus.
He calls Johnny from his hotel room, breaking a sort of unspoken rule about reaching out first, while his legs hate him after a full day of practice. They hate the jive almost as much as the waltz, but at least it's faster and a bit more what he's used to… sort of.
Johnny's vacuuming, making lines in his carpet and is upset that he can't figure out who tracked shoe prints along the plush. It's a little OCD and sometimes Evan considers voicing some concern, though Johnny carries on in a simple monologue of what he's been up to since they last saw one another. If a normal person would be upset at only getting the occasional word in edgewise, Evan doesn't really care as Johnny gleefully recounts actually getting to get his wish of riding a real, live yak.
The next time he sees him in person, Evan finds himself having to avert his eyes even more sharply than usual. It's probably because he's horny as fuck and been too busy for any quick hook ups and the lack of any one he could trust to keep quiet about it. He touches the small of Johnny's back, giving him a smile he hopes is tinged with enough PR encouraged disdain to not draw more attention than the few popping flashbulbs already aimed at them. Thanks to the lack of a jacket over Johnny's form, he can slip the hotel card just under the hem of the man's tee to rest pinned between his back and his belt.
Johnny covers placing the card into his pocket with the ease of a pro, laughing at something the luxurious woman on his arm is saying as he hides his true motions.
He's in Evan's room before the party is really over. The two of them practically ripping each other's clothing just to get them off. Evan ignores his tired muscles and the slight hint of softness that Johnny's developed from being off the ice. He knows Johnny's body too well, nearly memorized every dip and line after being told to do so by coaches and judges for his own benefit. How Johnny works and moves -that was what so many told him to fold into his own years of honed skill.
Hell, in a lot of ways it's thanks to Johnny that Evan won gold… he can be a big man and admit that, sure. Maybe not out loud, but Evan can give credit where it's due.
They argue playfully over the sex -who’d be doing exactly what to whom- until hormones and need overrides reason. Johnny slides down over Evan's slick cock, using the broad hands on his hips for support in order to roll his hips in tight circles as he rides the other man. As he thought, the fire that races through his veins is too much while being not enough at the same time. Evan watches, unable to tear his eyes away now given the chance, as Johnny's back bends and arches as his legs take up the curving pattern of his hips easily enough.
Feeling too much like a spectator, Evan gives a squeeze of warning to Johnny's hip before shifting them in a quick tumble. He's above Johnny now, sliding into him just a bit deeper in a way that makes Johnny's throat choke around his sharply drawn breath. Nails dig into Evan's shoulders, dragging red lines down his back but oh fuck, he could care less as he starts to thrust into Johnny's tight, definitely impossible body. Impossible in that he knew how to hook his legs to make the angle best for both of them, while he moaned this wonderful noise against Evan's temple that sent shockwaves right into his brain. Bolts of electricity that jumped around in his skull until they leapt in eager lines down his spine, forcing his hips to move faster as he fucks Johnny into the messed bedding.
Johnny's loud in bed. It's kind of beyond awesome but at the same moment it makes that last half a brain cell he has left paranoid about getting caught. Johnny pretty much screams when he comes, body shaking and tensing in delicious spasms. He cries out again when Evan tilts his head, biting Johnny's bicep just because it was the closest bit of creamy white skin he could reach, as he shudders through his own orgasm.
The ugly mar of his teeth makes Evan feel bad. Red dents that will turn purple and brown while making it so Johnny would need long sleeves for a while.
He almost apologizes for it while they lay together afterward. Side-by-side, his hand accidentally comes across the mark and his thumb brushing it makes Johnny hiss. After Johnny opts to return the gesture with a jocular open-handed slap to his back, palm landing firmly over the deeper scratches left upon his skin, Evan figures no apologies are necessary since they were seemingly even. Especially after Johnny laughs at his whimpered response to the swat. No way he's gonna apologize now.
Johnny runs a hand through Evan's hair, his smile softening in its sharpness but not entirely fading from his face. The smooth feel of manicured nails gliding over his scalp brings Evan to a crossroad of either sleep or round two and he can't help but grin in return.
"I missed you," he confesses to Johnny. Well, confesses to Johnny's charm necklace, as his head had found it's way to a strong shoulder from the petting earlier. Unsurprisingly, the necklace was easier to talk to than the man's face. It doesn't hurt him that he doesn't hear anything in return. Evan swallows any reaction down and closes his eyes, focusing on those nails in his hair and Johnny's heart echoing into his ear instead.
Johnny shifts to drape an arm around Evan's waist, pulling him closer and accepts the cuddle Evan provides in return. His cheek is on Evan's hair, the breath from his nose brushing along the peak of Evan's brow. "When I make my own ice show," Johnny starts, voice muffled as if far away but Evan just knows Johnny is keeping himself quiet to keep himself steady. "When I do that, will you consider joining it?"
He might have as well asked Evan to go steady. The delightful whispering on the Internet caused by Plushenko inviting Johnny to skate at his shows in Russia spoke volumes of their friendship. Now, here is the show Johnny has been mentioning as being an artistic extension of himself, and he wants Evan to be one of the handful of skaters in his vision.
Evan tilts his head back until he can look at Johnny's face. They both seem so suddenly uncomfortable that the thought of that awkwardness is almost laughably relaxing. He'd actually have to be around Johnny with people looking at them; he'd have to touch that fire and pray for eternity while holding on for a bare moment. Every inch of him says he'd be insane to associate himself with what on paper sounds like some giant sparkly circus on ice. It's one of those things that people with a reputation for being 'flamboyant' would do, just to thumb their nose at the others who shamed them.
"If you get Beyonce to duet with Gaga, then we'll talk."
Johnny's face leaps from bracing for a let down, to shock, then finally to a wide, unguarded grin. Which results in a tumble that -again- knocks them both from the bed to the floor, Evan's arms full of an over-excited Johnny Weir.