In preparation for Help_Japan
Unfinished fic that I need to get off my chest:
I wrote this in the long period where Johnny and Stephane were not in the same place together and before Johnny was all, "I have to take care of Stephane and watch him teach baby skaters to jump, and go on walks through St. Petersburg with him and get lunch together and tell everybody about it!" and Stephane was allowing Johnny to compel him to suck his own fingers. (Nnnnngh!)
So at the time I decided to write this I was like, "HOW CAN I FIX THEIR SITUATION and make them more lovey dovey!?" (not knowing that Johnny would do it for me).
Anyway, it's awful and unbeta'ed but there's some blowjobbery! But there's also a lack of 100% emotional pay off because they were supposed to... idk have more sex and talk about how they should just be together forever. But it's out. Now I don't have to think about it. ::sticks tongue out::
I set it a few years in the future (like... 3 - 5?) and the background is they've been fooling around for years!
Sometimes Stéphane and Johnny will try to ignore each other. Though the attempt never lasts for very long, every once in a while Johnny will get an idea that Stéphane has done something that needs apologizing for, or Stéphane will decide that Johnny is not fair. It can be started by quite a little issue, something one needed to hear but the other left unsaid or worse yet something said but thoroughly misunderstood, the right circumstances magnifying it until it becomes unforgivable. Johnny says careless things, and Stéphane becomes convinced he must be better suited to someone- anyone -else and constructs in his mind the lover he should be looking for: kind, calm, committed. They turn their backs to each other.
The circumstances most recently are simply that they spent too long apart. Stéphane is wounded by the lack of contact during the winter holidays, his favorite time of year. Johnny chafes at the idea that he might be beholden to anyone's needs other than his own. A phone call turns into a fight. They hang up, each feeling sure that the other is no longer worth the trouble of dealing with.
A month later they are booked to the same show; the promoters are happy, some fans are particularly thrilled. Johnny tells his fans that he was hoping to get booked to Russia, but settled for Japan. Stéphane packs reluctantly after his sister tells him that she cannot go with him. They arrive on separate flights, check into their hotel rooms at different times and do not go to dinner together.
Jeff and Joannie are also skating in this show and their French is fine. Better than Johnny's to be sure. Stéphane goes with them for sushi. Dinner with them is quite nice but Stéphane excuses himself a little earlier than he needs to and goes to bed.
Stéphane sees him for the first time the next day when they are both on the ice. Johnny is dressed completely in black, everything tight, with legwarmers up to the thigh and leather gloves. It sets Stéphane's teeth on edge and he turns away. His fingers itch and he searches around for someone to help them settle. They land on Joannie because she will allow him to hang off of her shoulders, sighing sadly, longer than anyone else in here ever would.
"He's looking at you again," she tells him, trying to cheer him up.
"I don't care. It's not like that anymore." A spot between his shoulder blades begins to itch but he doesn't let himself start to squirm.
Rudely, Joannie doesn't seem to believe him and Stéphane skates off to an empty corner. He does some lazy footwork with lots of turns so that he can look without really looking. Johnny has skated over to the boards and gotten out his cell phone so Stéphane tries a few simple spins and jumps instead of wondering whom Johnny is calling. A better song comes pouring out of the sound system, and he grabs Joannie's hands and urges her to dance. Mostly he ends up just pulling her across the ice, but it's a pleasant distraction.
After they choreograph the opening number, Stéphane has an hour of waiting while some of the other skaters do run-throughs of their routines. He spends some of it on a corner of the ice, talking to Daisuke, their conversation slow and polite. When Daisuke gets up to skate his routine, Stéphane retreats to the silence of the men's dressing room. Jeff is lying down on a bench, head pillowed by an enormous down jacket while he reads a paperback, and a young Russian ice dancer Stéphane does not know very well is at the small table in the corner. Stéphane takes off his skates and tugs off his pullover, tossing it over his bag. He unrolls a mat on the floor and begins to stretch. He hums softly while challenges himself to reach and bend even further. He's got his hands folded over the arches of his feet, and has his nose nearly pressed to his knees, when someone opens the door and steps inside the room.
Jeff makes a faint noise in acknowledgment and the ice dancer says his greeting in Russian. The soft-spoken reply, also in Russian, is Johnny.
Stéphane's back tenses immediately and he must sit up to keep from pulling something. Johnny takes a spot directly in front of the wall of full-length mirrors between two banks of lockers. He begins assessing his hair and skin, finding the flaws before he pulls out a small bag from the massive leather purse at his feet. Johnny opens a compact and starts dabbing at his nose, and other places he imagines are shiny. He takes out a small brush and swipes a few times it under his eyes, and then again on the lid. He is delicately pulling an eyeliner pencil across his lash line when Stéphane realizes that he can see himself behind Johnny in the mirror. He's staring and Johnny knows it.
Stéphane shakes his head and starts stretching again, spreading his legs wide, and touching both toes. He closes his eyes and breathes, waits until he feels the old injury slowly relax to let go of one foot and sweep his arm over to join the other, bending until he feels the pull at his side as well as his inner thighs. He inhales and pushes the breath out as he sits up and when he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Johnny's open mouth snapping shut, his eyes returning quickly to his own reflection.
Stéphane raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. He completes the same stretch on the other side, eyes firmly closed while he weighs the risks and rewards of trying to end this stand off. On the one hand there is Johnny's mouth and hands and everything really, on the other there's the fact that if Stéphane plays his cards right he might be the one to win the stalemate for once.
He pushes out another long breath, having almost decided, but before he can open his eyes again, Johnny is speaking to the young Russian in his own language. Stéphane frowns, he hates it when he doesn't know what's being said right in front of him, and Johnny knows that. He stands up and begins to toss things back into his bag, wanting only to go back to the hotel for a nap, something small to eat, a chance to be alone and call his family.
Yet as he listens his efforts to pack begin to slow, Johnny had started the conversation with a small smile on his face, but it's fading. The Russian boy doesn't seem to be keeping up, responding with only one or two words at a time and Johnny is getting bored. The length of time between their taking turns to speak to each other grows longer. The conversation seems to have all but ended when the show manager pokes her head in.
"Sacha? Could you come out for the run-through?"
The young man nods, grabbing his gloves and leaving without saying anything more to Johnny.
"Oh and Jeff?" the manager says, catching the door and ducking her head back in. "We're going to need you in about five, okay?"
Jeff gives a thumbs-up without looking away from his book, and Stéphane deigns to keep himself busy for five minutes, rearranging the things in his bag more neatly, rolling and unrolling his mat twice. When Jeff sits up and fusses with his skate laces, Stéphane leaves the room to go to the bathroom. Peeking back before the door shuts behind him, he thinks he does not imagine the way Johnny's fingers still as they comb through his hair, the way his mouth purses ever so slightly into a frown.
Stéphane passes Jeff in the hallway on his way back. Jeff is the type of person to smile at almost anyone for almost any reason, so it's probably paranoia that makes Stéphane wonder if there is an obvious tinge of wry amusement in his grin as he passes. It doesn't matter he tells himself, even though he hates the idea that people might know his secrets.
A little spark of electricity lights in his belly as he pushes open the door and steps inside, just because they're alone. His body is so good at reminding him at what he sometimes wishes he could forget. Johnny stubbornly pays him no mind, inspecting his nails and cuticles before buffing them with a small nail file.
Stéphane pretends to fiddle with his phone before an idea strikes him. His phone plays music at a fairly good volume, and the few songs he has on it are ones that Johnny is sure to hate. He presses play. Johnny freezes at the first note of music, and he glares at Stéphane's reflection in the mirror. Stéphane pretends not to notice. Johnny huffs loudly and goes back to filing his nails.
Stéphane starts to hum. It's no more than ten seconds before Johnny turns around, and snaps, "Don't you have any headphones or something?"
"I do. But I don't want to listen to music in my headphones."
"And what you want is more important than what anyone else in the room might want?" He turns back to the mirror and begins needlessly fussing with his hair.
"You could leave," Stéphane points out.
"You could leave." Johnny says, whipping back around.
"I was here first."
"And then you left. So now I was here first and you're being rude."
Stéphane laughs. "Like a baby," he says, meaning them both, but Johnny must think he's making being made fun of because he grabs the bag at his feet and makes for the door.
"Wait," Stéphane says. Just three quick steps and he's pressed against Johnny's back, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He tugs Johnny back gently, away from the door. Johnny is strong, much stronger than he's acting, allowing himself to be pressed back against Stéphane with hardly any resistance at all.
"I could just leave, huh?" is all he says, smug.
Stéphane takes a slow breath, reminds himself of the game they're playing. "If I let you go, you'd leave?"
He gets no answer. His fingers loosen their hold to show he's not bluffing. "If that's what you really want to do, then go."
Johnny doesn't move away, doesn't turn and put his arms around Stéphane neck, doesn't even he speak. He just shrugs, tipping his head to one side as he does and exposing his neck. It's about as much surrender as Johnny ever gives, and Stéphane's fingers curl more tightly into the fabric of Johnny's jacket as he lowers his mouth to press against it. Johnny smells like cologne, expensive hair product, and a little powder but underneath there's a slight taste of salt on his skin, sweat from the rehearsal. Stéphane shuts his eyes and follows it up the line of Johnny's neck, up and up, to the sensitive shell of his ear. Johnny sways in anticipation, pressing back against Stéphane. He's tense, practically shivering, and so Stéphane hovers there, breathing hotly against his skin until Johnny gives up the soft shuddering exhale he was biting back.
Johnny's sigh is quickly interrupted by a gasp as Stéphane takes the lobe of Johnny's ear gently between his teeth. With nothing but his mouth he pulls all manner of noises out of Johnny; more sighs and gasps, a frustrated little moan, and a shivering laugh when Stéphane does something that tickles too much. Johnny reaches a hand back to grab a fistful of Stéphane's hair, tugging until Stéphane goes rigid and he has to give up Johnny's earlobe to keep from clenching it in his teeth.
"I just touched up my stupid make-up," Johnny says in the pause. "And my hair."
"Make-up?" Stéphane lifts his hand up to Johnny's throat and slides it down, pushing his fingers into the collar of Johnny's jacket. They both hold their breath to listen to the sound of zipper at it slides down.
"So you don't want me to kiss you?" Stéphane asks when the zipper finally reaches the end. He tucks his chin over Johnny's shoulder to look; the sight of his hands on Johnny's body has always been exciting to him. Stéphane pushes his hips against the solid, round curve of Johnny's backside. "Because of your make-up and your hair."
Stéphane gives him a few moments to answer, but Johnny remains stubbornly silent. Stéphane untangles his fingers from Johnny's jacket and steps away. The rush of air between them is cold, but he forces himself to keep moving. He is not left cold for long, not when Johnny immediately turns around and starts shoving at him, pushing him back towards the line of lockers behind him. The back of Stéphane's knees abruptly meet the edge of a bench and he stumbles into sitting down. Johnny doesn't apologize, just climbs into Stéphane's lap so he locks his arms around Johnny's waist to settle him and tips his face up, expectant.
Johnny's fingers grip his hair again, pulling again but only enough to make Stéphane's mouth drop open. "You are such a pain in the ass," Johnny tells him.
Stéphane is not too good at witty comebacks in any language, particularly in English. Fortunately, Johnny does not give him any time to respond, descending upon Stéphane's mouth immediately. Stéphane submits to the unkind, punishing kiss because it lets him slide his hands up from Johnny's ass to his jacket. Just two tugs at the collar and Johnny lets go of Stéphane's hair to take it off.
"I can't believe I'm doing this." Precariously balanced on Stéphane's lap, Johnny shifts back and forth to steady himself, breath puffing against Stéphane's lips as he shrugs out of his jacket like he's angry. "With your awful music is still on, too," Johnny grouses, pulling his wrist free from the cuff that got twisted.
Stéphane takes one hand out from under the back of Johnny's shirt and fumbles blindly along the space at his side before realizing that his cell phone is on the other bench clear across the room. "I'm sorry," Stéphane says returning his hand to Johnny's back and sliding it down.
Johnny makes a frustrated noise, "Just shut up." He doesn't exactly give Stéphane an option, going for yet another fierce kiss and pushing his tongue right past Stéphane's lips.
Stéphane keeps his hands soft to act as counterpoint to the viciousness of Johnny's mouth. He pets and strokes and smooths his palms down Johnny's spine until he starts to go quiet, no more brutality in his kiss, just a deep, searching insistence. His hips begin to roll against Stéphane's in a wonderfully lewd way. Stéphane's mind is already casting about for a way to make this happen, the bench, the table, the floor if they have to. The only problem is that Stéphane is relatively sure that he just heard a laugh in the hallway. He pulls away and Johnny immediately freezes, though the music is still playing there can be no mistaking the heavy trod of skate guards on linoleum.
Johnny is up and out of Stéphane's lap before Stéphane can even breathe a word of warning. He plucks his jacket from the floor and sprints to sit down again in front of the mirror, jacket draped across his lap as his fingers comb through his hair. Stéphane gets up quickly, turning his back to the door as he tugs as his clothes back in order. He's just picking up the phone to stop the music when Jeff and Daisuke came in.
"Aw," Jeff says, nearly all of his white teeth showing in his smile. "Why'd you turn it off? Sounded like there was a party going on in here."
"I got tired of it," Stéphane says. He glances at Johnny's pursed lips in the mirror's reflection.
At the very least Jeff does not dig his elbow into Daisuke's rib and wink. "Well the party's over anyway, we're doing the closing number again."
"We did it four times this morning," Johnny says.
"We did it four times really badly, apparently. She wants to see a perfect run through before we break."
Johnny rolls his eyes and bends down to grab his skates. Stéphane shoves his feet into his boots and realizes that he has not yet stopped smiling. Johnny lingers and delays in the locker room to show his displeasure, but Stéphane is too giddy to stay away from the ice. He steps out and feels the cold air touch his cheeks and wonders if maybe he was still flushed when Jeff came in. Perhaps he was, but there's nothing he can do about it now. As people file onto the ice he tries a clockwise toe loop for fun, two-footing it in his haste.
Johnny glides onto the ice with his usual haughty grace and Stéphane wastes no time. Johnny makes it no further than the first third of the rink before Stéphane catches him about the waist. He steps behind Johnny, matching his strokes but Johnny breaks away. It's only a cursory attempt at being aloof; he moves no more than a foot away, still in easy reach of Stéphane's fingers.
So he reaches.
"You want to do a spiral?" he asks, stepping behind Johnny and taking his hands. He spreads their arms wide and pushes off with the flat side of his skate into a one footed glide, but Johnny refuses to oblige him by leaning forward. He bumps his chest against Johnny's shoulders and their balance is upset.
He lets go of Johnny's hands and Johnny turns, "What I want is for this stupid rehearsal to be over with." The sharp impatience in Johnny's voice could be interpreted many ways. Stéphane decides to choose the most flattering possibility.
"Yes, it will be good to go back to the hotel," he says looking Johnny in the eye. Johnny doesn't quite blush.
"Stéphane." His name is called out loud and clear over the sound system. He looks up, the choreographer has the microphone in one hand while the other hand is perched on her hip. "We need you over here on the left, please."
As Stéphane skates over to the loose line of skaters at the end of the rink, Joannie raises her eyebrows. Her smile is not as blunt as Jeff's, certainly it's much fonder, too, but he still can't help rubbing a hand over his face, embarrassed and pleased all at once.
"Okay everybody," the choreographer says firmly as he slips in between Joannie and another skater. "Let's get this over with okay?"
They skate the closing number twice, Johnny always ending up on the opposite side of the rink. They return to the men's dressing room with six other skaters, practically bumping elbows on either side as they unlace. They are shuttled back to the hotel room by bus, Johnny takes his seat first, right next to Sasha. Stéphane sighs and takes a window seat so he can stare curiously out at Nagano yet again. At the hotel, Johnny immediately disappears into the lobby Starbuck's and Stephane is forced to find a reason for lingering while the other skaters make their way up to their rooms. He doesn't come up with any good ones, just standing there while people pass him.
Johnny finally emerges, sunglasses still on, clutching his cardboard cup. He breezes by Stéphane without glancing, but walks slowly enough that the an occupied elevator shuts its doors. He presses the button for another, and Stéphane comes up beside him, close enough that, if he tries, he can feel Johnny's body heat though they are not touching. Johnny does not move away.
It's a small boon that in such a large hotel that they manage to get the next elevator all to themselves, but when the door closes Johnny immediately puts out one hand out to hold Stéphane at bay, punching the button for his floor with the other.
"Cameras."
Stéphane looks up, "I do not see any."
Johnny gives him a gentle shove and wedges himself in the back corner as he sips his coffee, "But there could be. Like behind that grate. Remember Lady Di?"
He squints at the grate for a moment, but can see nothing behind it. He looks back down at Johnny, "You think a security person would know us and give away the tape? That seems not very likely."
"I'm saying I've made a solemn vow never to fuck on camera if I wasn't getting paid for it. So I'm not willing to take the risk."
Stéphane crosses his feet at the ankle and leans his hips back against the banister. "'Fuck on camera?' That is not even a little shy. It's been a long time, then. You always get the like this when it's been a long time."
Johnny purses his lips at the comment. "Has it been a long time?"
"Since November, yes?" November was four months ago, the longest they'd gone since they'd both stopped competing. They'd been in Lake Placid for four days, doing a show. Stéphane of course had booked a hotel, but he'd left only his carry on there and spent all three nights in a lodge Johnny had rented for himself. The quiet mornings that had happened there, the memory of waiting for coffee to brew while resting his chin on Johnny's shoulder, half asleep, had somehow slipped inside his soul and stayed there. They often floated up into his thoughts unprompted.
"Since November for you, maybe."
Stéphane blinks away the memory of slipping his hands under Johnny's shirt to warm them, the squawked protests, ensuing struggle, and the mug they'd shattered.
Johnny looks away, looks at the numbers on the elevator wall as they slowly click upwards. "Maybe."
"Who?" Stéphane demands.
Johnny smiles, just a small secret smile meant only for himself, perhaps at the memory of that someone else. "It's not like you'd know him. How many of my friends have you ever even met?"
Stéphane mouth drops at the accusation, as if he was ever the reason he never met Johnny's friends. He is nearly distracted by arguing over that fact, but the clench in his stomach has nothing to do with the same old fight. "If not who then when? When did you?" He can know that much at least. He stares at Johnny while his heart thuds in anticipation.
Johnny tilts his head to one side, reluctant. "Stéphane-"
"When?" he bursts out, interrupting. "If you are going to taunt me then why not go all the way?"
"Stéphane-" Johnny says again, frustratingly calm while Stéphane's breath is coming fast and shallow.
"Never mind." His hotel room is two floors below Johnny's and he pushes the button for it, stabbing at it angrily. He keeps his back turned towards Johnny, shoulders climbing up towards his ears as if he could hide in them. He was foolish, Johnny always makes him feel foolish for wanting things.
"There wasn't anyone."
Stéphane wants to stay angry but his shoulders immediately fall, hands opening up, limp at his sides, his diaphragm relaxes into a shaky sigh. When he turns to look back at Johnny, Johnny has turned his face so far the side that the tendon in his neck stands out, taught.
"Okay," Stéphane says.
The door to the elevator opens on Stéphane's floor and closes again.
"But there could have been," Johnny threatens, turning back to face him, defiant like he thinks Stéphane doesn't believe him.
"I know." It's one of the things that makes it so easy and so hard to stop calling when they fight. He's simultaneously tortured by the idea that Johnny will find someone else if he waits too long, and frozen by the thought that a call would not be answered because Johnny already has.
He can't stay on his designated side of the elevator any longer, and Johnny lets him comes close. He hides from Stéphane kiss though, keeping his head down so that Stéphane can only touch his nose into a wavy nest of dark hair. He has just about worked his hands around to the small of Johnny's back when the elevator dings.
Johnny shoulders him out of the way, taking off down the hall at a brisk pace. He fumbles with his door key in the lock as Stéphane jogs to catch up. They push the door open so hard it bangs against the wall, and the sound of it slamming shut, helped with a kick of Johnny's foot, echoes down the hall, gunshot loud. It's near pitch dark in Johnny's hotel room, but it doesn't matter. They follow the line of the entry way back towards the bed, kissing as they pull at each other's clothes. It's all quite frantic and wonderful and ridiculous.
They get a little lost when their naked chests touch, coming to a standstill in the middle of the room. Stéphane revels in the heat and press of Johnny's stomach as he inhales, exhales. They trade kiss after kiss until Johnny grabs Stéphane's ass and shoves their hips together. He tries to pull Stéphane back to the bed, but Stéphane shakes his head, and lowers himself down to one knee.
Even the dark can't hide the outline of Johnny's cock under the thin material of his warm up pants. Stéphane wraps an arm around Johnny's waist, kisses his stomach once above the navel, and then below, and starts slowly pulling the waistband down. Johnny's hands pet his hair almost frantically, pushing it back again and again so he can see Stéphane's face. Stéphane's mouth follows the waistband, sliding down the soft, smooth skin just to where the line of hair begins. He draws his hand down Johnny's back and slips under the fabric, cupping the full curve of Johnny's ass. Stéphane takes a breath and tugs down the final few centimeters to expose Johnny to him fully.
"Fuck," Johnny's hands clench briefly in Stéphane's hair at the touch of his mouth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Stéphane's eyes drift shut and he lets his body tell him the right angle, speed and pressure, remembered from every time they did this before. Johnny's hips drift forward periodically, never a wild thrust, but still it represents a brief, delicious loss of his control. Johnny's thighs clench again under his hands, and Stéphane sighs, almost happy. It's perfect except for the way his knee is starting to ache, the calf muscle behind it is tightening up. If this isn't over soon he might not be able to get up without asking for a hand. The thought distracts him, making him first slow and then speed up his rhythm when he realizes he has drifted out of the moment.
Johnny cups Stéphane's cheek, holds it gently and sways back until he slips from Stéphane's mouth. "Come on," Johnny says when he looks up, questioning. "I want you on the bed."
He puts its hand out like he's just being a gentleman, and Stéphane manages to stand without letting out a sound out. He tries to kiss Johnny, but Johnny shakes his head, tugging twice at the leg of Stéphane's sweats. Johnny waits until Stéphane has taken everything off, down to the watch on his left hand, before he pushes Stéphane back onto the bed, climbing up after him to straddles Stéphane's hips. He presses down two fast kisses and then moves forward, settling high enough on Stéphane's chest that Johnny can press his hands against the wall behind the bed and fuck his mouth.
Stéphane shuts his eyes again and gives himself over entirely to touch, pressure, and the wet slide of Johnny past his lips. He touches Johnny's thighs, rubbing lightly over the sparse hair, then slips them around to take firm handfuls of Johnny's ass, making Johnny shove in just a little harder. Johnny's immediate apology so breathy it's barely intelligible, but Stéphane just makes sure that his next thrust goes in exactly as deep.
Johnny makes a strangled noise and starts going at it in earnest, no hesitation, just a fast pounding drive to completion. Stéphane holds on with one hand to Johnny's hips, and drops the other to palm his cock. His own hips shift impatiently, but he only does enough to take the edge off.
Johnny starts making the plaintive noise on each exhale, and Stéphane's toes curl in anticipation while he keeps his throat relaxed. Such a raw, desperate noise, no thought or care at all for appearances, or independence. Just need, Johnny needs him badly right now, calling his name even though he's right there letting Johnny have everything he's asked for. Stéphane senses the rush of Johnny's release a second before it fills his mouth. Johnny's breaths are coming in great gasps, and his thighs are shaking with the effort of not collapsing his entire weight onto Stéphane's chest. Stéphane wants to be patient, wants to gloat over how utterly wrecked Johnny is, but it's been a long time and what he wants, he wants now.
He tries to sit up, nearly tipping Johnny over in his haste. Johnny tries to oblige and move off of him, but Stéphane locks his arm around Johnny's waist and holds him on his lap. He pulls Johnny down by his neck until their mouths meet, letting go when Johnny cups both hands over Stéphane's cheeks and pushing his tongue past his lips.
He wraps his fist around himself, working it for a fast finish. The wet tip drags along Johnny's backside, just barely slipping between the firm round cheeks and Stéphane all but mewls into Johnny's mouth. He wants to come, needs to, but now he desperately wishes for the time and patience to get them both ready and fuck Johnny properly. He's too close for that, can't even think of stopping the pump of his fist. Soon, soon, he promises himself. He only has to wait until tonight and he get deep inside again, get Johnny right to the edge and then keep him there for as long as he likes.
He breaks their kiss so he can pant in Johnny's neck, fingertips pressed so tightly against his hip that it might be bruising but Johnny only urges him on. He whispers Stéphane's name into his ear, hot puff of breath sending a shiver down Stéphane's spine, along with just the right filthy things, everything Stéphane loves to hear. Stéphane can feel it coming, he digs his heels into the bed, pushes his hips one last time to brush the soft, soft skin and firm muscle of Johnny's ass and loses it with a last shuddering gasp.
Johnny holds him through the tremors afterward, but he gets up quickly once they're over, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. He comes back before Stéphane, left alone in the cold draft he's just now noticed, can think of anything or do or say in protest. Johnny presses a warm washcloth into his hand, and Stéphane wipes his palm feebly until Johnny makes a put-out noise and scrubs at it himself.
Johnny tries to turn away but Stéphane grabs his wrist and pulls him into bed, wrapping around Johnny until he's molded to his back, warm again. For a good while they just lie there, still and quiet. There's no space between them, pressed skin-to-skin from Stéphane's chin down to his knees, but he can't see Johnny's face, can't read his body language.
He slides his hand down Johnny's stomach, and then up again, up past the navel so that Johnny will stop holding his breath and further still to cover Johnny's breast bone. Johnny doesn't make a noise, or turn his head to look back at Stéphane, but he does hook his ankle around Stéphane's, stroking a perfectly pedicured toe down the back of his calf.
Stéphane smiles secretly into Johnny's shoulder and wonders if they might sneak a short nap before they must return to the arena.
The phone rings, loud and intrusive. Johnny sighs and pushes himself up into a sitting position with an exaggerated show of effort. "Yes? Yes."
Something in the curve of his back, the position of his shoulders changes, and Stéphane lets his hand fall away from Johnny's side. This will not be just a nuisance call.
"He's here? Right now? Okay. I'm just- I'm just changing from the practice this morning. Tell him I will be down soon. Okay, yes, thank you."
Johnny covers his hands with his face and lets out a long, frustrated groan. "Fucking... shit. I booked an interview."
"Okay." Stéphane sits up and gropes around the floor for his shirt. "I have a fan meeting at four anyway."
Johnny nods, and gets up to start dressing hastily, Stéphane lingers on the bed, wearing only his t-shirt, and watches for the play of muscles on Johnny's back, the twist of his wrist as he moves. His tight, black leggings get dressed up with a light sweater and appropriately daring boots. Stéphane is slower to get up and dress, but his loose clothes go on easily. He's ready by the time Johnny goes over the mirror to fix his hair, so Stéphane steps up behind him. He wraps his arms around Johnny's waist one more time to see if he will be rebuffed, accused of wrinkling the new sweater, of wanting Johnny to be late.
Instead Johnny stops for a moment, leaning back just a little, breathing quietly. Stéphane dares to press a kiss to the side of his neck, and Johnny only pats his hand condescending and patient and fond all at the same time. Stéphane breaks away, satisfied. He shoves his feet back into his shoes while Johnny picks up the discarded keycard from floor.
He presses it into Stéphane's hand. "For later. I have the spare in my bag."
Stéphane nods, and slides it into his back pocket. They give each other a wide berth in the elevator and two floors down, Stéphane gets out to go to his room so he can shower and get his hair resembling something more along the lines of his fans' expectations of it.
His fans are simultaneously lovely and unusual, timid as deer, bold as lions. The meeting goes as they usually do and eventually a fan asks him to sign a photo of him Johnny from Korea.
"This was such a long time ago," he murmurs as he obliges her. Before that last Olympics even. Still it never fails to crop up time and again.
"You do not like?" she asks, as she takes it back. Her eyebrows are lifted in distress at the thought she has upset him.
He smiles and touches her elbow; she immediately bows her head. "No, of course I do. It only reminds me that we never did anything with it."
A titter goes through the little crowd around him. "Maybe you can do something soon?" another girl asks.
"Oh," he says shrugging. "You never know."
I wrote this in the long period where Johnny and Stephane were not in the same place together and before Johnny was all, "I have to take care of Stephane and watch him teach baby skaters to jump, and go on walks through St. Petersburg with him and get lunch together and tell everybody about it!" and Stephane was allowing Johnny to compel him to suck his own fingers. (Nnnnngh!)
So at the time I decided to write this I was like, "HOW CAN I FIX THEIR SITUATION and make them more lovey dovey!?" (not knowing that Johnny would do it for me).
Anyway, it's awful and unbeta'ed but there's some blowjobbery! But there's also a lack of 100% emotional pay off because they were supposed to... idk have more sex and talk about how they should just be together forever. But it's out. Now I don't have to think about it. ::sticks tongue out::
I set it a few years in the future (like... 3 - 5?) and the background is they've been fooling around for years!
Sometimes Stéphane and Johnny will try to ignore each other. Though the attempt never lasts for very long, every once in a while Johnny will get an idea that Stéphane has done something that needs apologizing for, or Stéphane will decide that Johnny is not fair. It can be started by quite a little issue, something one needed to hear but the other left unsaid or worse yet something said but thoroughly misunderstood, the right circumstances magnifying it until it becomes unforgivable. Johnny says careless things, and Stéphane becomes convinced he must be better suited to someone- anyone -else and constructs in his mind the lover he should be looking for: kind, calm, committed. They turn their backs to each other.
The circumstances most recently are simply that they spent too long apart. Stéphane is wounded by the lack of contact during the winter holidays, his favorite time of year. Johnny chafes at the idea that he might be beholden to anyone's needs other than his own. A phone call turns into a fight. They hang up, each feeling sure that the other is no longer worth the trouble of dealing with.
A month later they are booked to the same show; the promoters are happy, some fans are particularly thrilled. Johnny tells his fans that he was hoping to get booked to Russia, but settled for Japan. Stéphane packs reluctantly after his sister tells him that she cannot go with him. They arrive on separate flights, check into their hotel rooms at different times and do not go to dinner together.
Jeff and Joannie are also skating in this show and their French is fine. Better than Johnny's to be sure. Stéphane goes with them for sushi. Dinner with them is quite nice but Stéphane excuses himself a little earlier than he needs to and goes to bed.
Stéphane sees him for the first time the next day when they are both on the ice. Johnny is dressed completely in black, everything tight, with legwarmers up to the thigh and leather gloves. It sets Stéphane's teeth on edge and he turns away. His fingers itch and he searches around for someone to help them settle. They land on Joannie because she will allow him to hang off of her shoulders, sighing sadly, longer than anyone else in here ever would.
"He's looking at you again," she tells him, trying to cheer him up.
"I don't care. It's not like that anymore." A spot between his shoulder blades begins to itch but he doesn't let himself start to squirm.
Rudely, Joannie doesn't seem to believe him and Stéphane skates off to an empty corner. He does some lazy footwork with lots of turns so that he can look without really looking. Johnny has skated over to the boards and gotten out his cell phone so Stéphane tries a few simple spins and jumps instead of wondering whom Johnny is calling. A better song comes pouring out of the sound system, and he grabs Joannie's hands and urges her to dance. Mostly he ends up just pulling her across the ice, but it's a pleasant distraction.
After they choreograph the opening number, Stéphane has an hour of waiting while some of the other skaters do run-throughs of their routines. He spends some of it on a corner of the ice, talking to Daisuke, their conversation slow and polite. When Daisuke gets up to skate his routine, Stéphane retreats to the silence of the men's dressing room. Jeff is lying down on a bench, head pillowed by an enormous down jacket while he reads a paperback, and a young Russian ice dancer Stéphane does not know very well is at the small table in the corner. Stéphane takes off his skates and tugs off his pullover, tossing it over his bag. He unrolls a mat on the floor and begins to stretch. He hums softly while challenges himself to reach and bend even further. He's got his hands folded over the arches of his feet, and has his nose nearly pressed to his knees, when someone opens the door and steps inside the room.
Jeff makes a faint noise in acknowledgment and the ice dancer says his greeting in Russian. The soft-spoken reply, also in Russian, is Johnny.
Stéphane's back tenses immediately and he must sit up to keep from pulling something. Johnny takes a spot directly in front of the wall of full-length mirrors between two banks of lockers. He begins assessing his hair and skin, finding the flaws before he pulls out a small bag from the massive leather purse at his feet. Johnny opens a compact and starts dabbing at his nose, and other places he imagines are shiny. He takes out a small brush and swipes a few times it under his eyes, and then again on the lid. He is delicately pulling an eyeliner pencil across his lash line when Stéphane realizes that he can see himself behind Johnny in the mirror. He's staring and Johnny knows it.
Stéphane shakes his head and starts stretching again, spreading his legs wide, and touching both toes. He closes his eyes and breathes, waits until he feels the old injury slowly relax to let go of one foot and sweep his arm over to join the other, bending until he feels the pull at his side as well as his inner thighs. He inhales and pushes the breath out as he sits up and when he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Johnny's open mouth snapping shut, his eyes returning quickly to his own reflection.
Stéphane raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. He completes the same stretch on the other side, eyes firmly closed while he weighs the risks and rewards of trying to end this stand off. On the one hand there is Johnny's mouth and hands and everything really, on the other there's the fact that if Stéphane plays his cards right he might be the one to win the stalemate for once.
He pushes out another long breath, having almost decided, but before he can open his eyes again, Johnny is speaking to the young Russian in his own language. Stéphane frowns, he hates it when he doesn't know what's being said right in front of him, and Johnny knows that. He stands up and begins to toss things back into his bag, wanting only to go back to the hotel for a nap, something small to eat, a chance to be alone and call his family.
Yet as he listens his efforts to pack begin to slow, Johnny had started the conversation with a small smile on his face, but it's fading. The Russian boy doesn't seem to be keeping up, responding with only one or two words at a time and Johnny is getting bored. The length of time between their taking turns to speak to each other grows longer. The conversation seems to have all but ended when the show manager pokes her head in.
"Sacha? Could you come out for the run-through?"
The young man nods, grabbing his gloves and leaving without saying anything more to Johnny.
"Oh and Jeff?" the manager says, catching the door and ducking her head back in. "We're going to need you in about five, okay?"
Jeff gives a thumbs-up without looking away from his book, and Stéphane deigns to keep himself busy for five minutes, rearranging the things in his bag more neatly, rolling and unrolling his mat twice. When Jeff sits up and fusses with his skate laces, Stéphane leaves the room to go to the bathroom. Peeking back before the door shuts behind him, he thinks he does not imagine the way Johnny's fingers still as they comb through his hair, the way his mouth purses ever so slightly into a frown.
Stéphane passes Jeff in the hallway on his way back. Jeff is the type of person to smile at almost anyone for almost any reason, so it's probably paranoia that makes Stéphane wonder if there is an obvious tinge of wry amusement in his grin as he passes. It doesn't matter he tells himself, even though he hates the idea that people might know his secrets.
A little spark of electricity lights in his belly as he pushes open the door and steps inside, just because they're alone. His body is so good at reminding him at what he sometimes wishes he could forget. Johnny stubbornly pays him no mind, inspecting his nails and cuticles before buffing them with a small nail file.
Stéphane pretends to fiddle with his phone before an idea strikes him. His phone plays music at a fairly good volume, and the few songs he has on it are ones that Johnny is sure to hate. He presses play. Johnny freezes at the first note of music, and he glares at Stéphane's reflection in the mirror. Stéphane pretends not to notice. Johnny huffs loudly and goes back to filing his nails.
Stéphane starts to hum. It's no more than ten seconds before Johnny turns around, and snaps, "Don't you have any headphones or something?"
"I do. But I don't want to listen to music in my headphones."
"And what you want is more important than what anyone else in the room might want?" He turns back to the mirror and begins needlessly fussing with his hair.
"You could leave," Stéphane points out.
"You could leave." Johnny says, whipping back around.
"I was here first."
"And then you left. So now I was here first and you're being rude."
Stéphane laughs. "Like a baby," he says, meaning them both, but Johnny must think he's making being made fun of because he grabs the bag at his feet and makes for the door.
"Wait," Stéphane says. Just three quick steps and he's pressed against Johnny's back, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He tugs Johnny back gently, away from the door. Johnny is strong, much stronger than he's acting, allowing himself to be pressed back against Stéphane with hardly any resistance at all.
"I could just leave, huh?" is all he says, smug.
Stéphane takes a slow breath, reminds himself of the game they're playing. "If I let you go, you'd leave?"
He gets no answer. His fingers loosen their hold to show he's not bluffing. "If that's what you really want to do, then go."
Johnny doesn't move away, doesn't turn and put his arms around Stéphane neck, doesn't even he speak. He just shrugs, tipping his head to one side as he does and exposing his neck. It's about as much surrender as Johnny ever gives, and Stéphane's fingers curl more tightly into the fabric of Johnny's jacket as he lowers his mouth to press against it. Johnny smells like cologne, expensive hair product, and a little powder but underneath there's a slight taste of salt on his skin, sweat from the rehearsal. Stéphane shuts his eyes and follows it up the line of Johnny's neck, up and up, to the sensitive shell of his ear. Johnny sways in anticipation, pressing back against Stéphane. He's tense, practically shivering, and so Stéphane hovers there, breathing hotly against his skin until Johnny gives up the soft shuddering exhale he was biting back.
Johnny's sigh is quickly interrupted by a gasp as Stéphane takes the lobe of Johnny's ear gently between his teeth. With nothing but his mouth he pulls all manner of noises out of Johnny; more sighs and gasps, a frustrated little moan, and a shivering laugh when Stéphane does something that tickles too much. Johnny reaches a hand back to grab a fistful of Stéphane's hair, tugging until Stéphane goes rigid and he has to give up Johnny's earlobe to keep from clenching it in his teeth.
"I just touched up my stupid make-up," Johnny says in the pause. "And my hair."
"Make-up?" Stéphane lifts his hand up to Johnny's throat and slides it down, pushing his fingers into the collar of Johnny's jacket. They both hold their breath to listen to the sound of zipper at it slides down.
"So you don't want me to kiss you?" Stéphane asks when the zipper finally reaches the end. He tucks his chin over Johnny's shoulder to look; the sight of his hands on Johnny's body has always been exciting to him. Stéphane pushes his hips against the solid, round curve of Johnny's backside. "Because of your make-up and your hair."
Stéphane gives him a few moments to answer, but Johnny remains stubbornly silent. Stéphane untangles his fingers from Johnny's jacket and steps away. The rush of air between them is cold, but he forces himself to keep moving. He is not left cold for long, not when Johnny immediately turns around and starts shoving at him, pushing him back towards the line of lockers behind him. The back of Stéphane's knees abruptly meet the edge of a bench and he stumbles into sitting down. Johnny doesn't apologize, just climbs into Stéphane's lap so he locks his arms around Johnny's waist to settle him and tips his face up, expectant.
Johnny's fingers grip his hair again, pulling again but only enough to make Stéphane's mouth drop open. "You are such a pain in the ass," Johnny tells him.
Stéphane is not too good at witty comebacks in any language, particularly in English. Fortunately, Johnny does not give him any time to respond, descending upon Stéphane's mouth immediately. Stéphane submits to the unkind, punishing kiss because it lets him slide his hands up from Johnny's ass to his jacket. Just two tugs at the collar and Johnny lets go of Stéphane's hair to take it off.
"I can't believe I'm doing this." Precariously balanced on Stéphane's lap, Johnny shifts back and forth to steady himself, breath puffing against Stéphane's lips as he shrugs out of his jacket like he's angry. "With your awful music is still on, too," Johnny grouses, pulling his wrist free from the cuff that got twisted.
Stéphane takes one hand out from under the back of Johnny's shirt and fumbles blindly along the space at his side before realizing that his cell phone is on the other bench clear across the room. "I'm sorry," Stéphane says returning his hand to Johnny's back and sliding it down.
Johnny makes a frustrated noise, "Just shut up." He doesn't exactly give Stéphane an option, going for yet another fierce kiss and pushing his tongue right past Stéphane's lips.
Stéphane keeps his hands soft to act as counterpoint to the viciousness of Johnny's mouth. He pets and strokes and smooths his palms down Johnny's spine until he starts to go quiet, no more brutality in his kiss, just a deep, searching insistence. His hips begin to roll against Stéphane's in a wonderfully lewd way. Stéphane's mind is already casting about for a way to make this happen, the bench, the table, the floor if they have to. The only problem is that Stéphane is relatively sure that he just heard a laugh in the hallway. He pulls away and Johnny immediately freezes, though the music is still playing there can be no mistaking the heavy trod of skate guards on linoleum.
Johnny is up and out of Stéphane's lap before Stéphane can even breathe a word of warning. He plucks his jacket from the floor and sprints to sit down again in front of the mirror, jacket draped across his lap as his fingers comb through his hair. Stéphane gets up quickly, turning his back to the door as he tugs as his clothes back in order. He's just picking up the phone to stop the music when Jeff and Daisuke came in.
"Aw," Jeff says, nearly all of his white teeth showing in his smile. "Why'd you turn it off? Sounded like there was a party going on in here."
"I got tired of it," Stéphane says. He glances at Johnny's pursed lips in the mirror's reflection.
At the very least Jeff does not dig his elbow into Daisuke's rib and wink. "Well the party's over anyway, we're doing the closing number again."
"We did it four times this morning," Johnny says.
"We did it four times really badly, apparently. She wants to see a perfect run through before we break."
Johnny rolls his eyes and bends down to grab his skates. Stéphane shoves his feet into his boots and realizes that he has not yet stopped smiling. Johnny lingers and delays in the locker room to show his displeasure, but Stéphane is too giddy to stay away from the ice. He steps out and feels the cold air touch his cheeks and wonders if maybe he was still flushed when Jeff came in. Perhaps he was, but there's nothing he can do about it now. As people file onto the ice he tries a clockwise toe loop for fun, two-footing it in his haste.
Johnny glides onto the ice with his usual haughty grace and Stéphane wastes no time. Johnny makes it no further than the first third of the rink before Stéphane catches him about the waist. He steps behind Johnny, matching his strokes but Johnny breaks away. It's only a cursory attempt at being aloof; he moves no more than a foot away, still in easy reach of Stéphane's fingers.
So he reaches.
"You want to do a spiral?" he asks, stepping behind Johnny and taking his hands. He spreads their arms wide and pushes off with the flat side of his skate into a one footed glide, but Johnny refuses to oblige him by leaning forward. He bumps his chest against Johnny's shoulders and their balance is upset.
He lets go of Johnny's hands and Johnny turns, "What I want is for this stupid rehearsal to be over with." The sharp impatience in Johnny's voice could be interpreted many ways. Stéphane decides to choose the most flattering possibility.
"Yes, it will be good to go back to the hotel," he says looking Johnny in the eye. Johnny doesn't quite blush.
"Stéphane." His name is called out loud and clear over the sound system. He looks up, the choreographer has the microphone in one hand while the other hand is perched on her hip. "We need you over here on the left, please."
As Stéphane skates over to the loose line of skaters at the end of the rink, Joannie raises her eyebrows. Her smile is not as blunt as Jeff's, certainly it's much fonder, too, but he still can't help rubbing a hand over his face, embarrassed and pleased all at once.
"Okay everybody," the choreographer says firmly as he slips in between Joannie and another skater. "Let's get this over with okay?"
They skate the closing number twice, Johnny always ending up on the opposite side of the rink. They return to the men's dressing room with six other skaters, practically bumping elbows on either side as they unlace. They are shuttled back to the hotel room by bus, Johnny takes his seat first, right next to Sasha. Stéphane sighs and takes a window seat so he can stare curiously out at Nagano yet again. At the hotel, Johnny immediately disappears into the lobby Starbuck's and Stephane is forced to find a reason for lingering while the other skaters make their way up to their rooms. He doesn't come up with any good ones, just standing there while people pass him.
Johnny finally emerges, sunglasses still on, clutching his cardboard cup. He breezes by Stéphane without glancing, but walks slowly enough that the an occupied elevator shuts its doors. He presses the button for another, and Stéphane comes up beside him, close enough that, if he tries, he can feel Johnny's body heat though they are not touching. Johnny does not move away.
It's a small boon that in such a large hotel that they manage to get the next elevator all to themselves, but when the door closes Johnny immediately puts out one hand out to hold Stéphane at bay, punching the button for his floor with the other.
"Cameras."
Stéphane looks up, "I do not see any."
Johnny gives him a gentle shove and wedges himself in the back corner as he sips his coffee, "But there could be. Like behind that grate. Remember Lady Di?"
He squints at the grate for a moment, but can see nothing behind it. He looks back down at Johnny, "You think a security person would know us and give away the tape? That seems not very likely."
"I'm saying I've made a solemn vow never to fuck on camera if I wasn't getting paid for it. So I'm not willing to take the risk."
Stéphane crosses his feet at the ankle and leans his hips back against the banister. "'Fuck on camera?' That is not even a little shy. It's been a long time, then. You always get the like this when it's been a long time."
Johnny purses his lips at the comment. "Has it been a long time?"
"Since November, yes?" November was four months ago, the longest they'd gone since they'd both stopped competing. They'd been in Lake Placid for four days, doing a show. Stéphane of course had booked a hotel, but he'd left only his carry on there and spent all three nights in a lodge Johnny had rented for himself. The quiet mornings that had happened there, the memory of waiting for coffee to brew while resting his chin on Johnny's shoulder, half asleep, had somehow slipped inside his soul and stayed there. They often floated up into his thoughts unprompted.
"Since November for you, maybe."
Stéphane blinks away the memory of slipping his hands under Johnny's shirt to warm them, the squawked protests, ensuing struggle, and the mug they'd shattered.
Johnny looks away, looks at the numbers on the elevator wall as they slowly click upwards. "Maybe."
"Who?" Stéphane demands.
Johnny smiles, just a small secret smile meant only for himself, perhaps at the memory of that someone else. "It's not like you'd know him. How many of my friends have you ever even met?"
Stéphane mouth drops at the accusation, as if he was ever the reason he never met Johnny's friends. He is nearly distracted by arguing over that fact, but the clench in his stomach has nothing to do with the same old fight. "If not who then when? When did you?" He can know that much at least. He stares at Johnny while his heart thuds in anticipation.
Johnny tilts his head to one side, reluctant. "Stéphane-"
"When?" he bursts out, interrupting. "If you are going to taunt me then why not go all the way?"
"Stéphane-" Johnny says again, frustratingly calm while Stéphane's breath is coming fast and shallow.
"Never mind." His hotel room is two floors below Johnny's and he pushes the button for it, stabbing at it angrily. He keeps his back turned towards Johnny, shoulders climbing up towards his ears as if he could hide in them. He was foolish, Johnny always makes him feel foolish for wanting things.
"There wasn't anyone."
Stéphane wants to stay angry but his shoulders immediately fall, hands opening up, limp at his sides, his diaphragm relaxes into a shaky sigh. When he turns to look back at Johnny, Johnny has turned his face so far the side that the tendon in his neck stands out, taught.
"Okay," Stéphane says.
The door to the elevator opens on Stéphane's floor and closes again.
"But there could have been," Johnny threatens, turning back to face him, defiant like he thinks Stéphane doesn't believe him.
"I know." It's one of the things that makes it so easy and so hard to stop calling when they fight. He's simultaneously tortured by the idea that Johnny will find someone else if he waits too long, and frozen by the thought that a call would not be answered because Johnny already has.
He can't stay on his designated side of the elevator any longer, and Johnny lets him comes close. He hides from Stéphane kiss though, keeping his head down so that Stéphane can only touch his nose into a wavy nest of dark hair. He has just about worked his hands around to the small of Johnny's back when the elevator dings.
Johnny shoulders him out of the way, taking off down the hall at a brisk pace. He fumbles with his door key in the lock as Stéphane jogs to catch up. They push the door open so hard it bangs against the wall, and the sound of it slamming shut, helped with a kick of Johnny's foot, echoes down the hall, gunshot loud. It's near pitch dark in Johnny's hotel room, but it doesn't matter. They follow the line of the entry way back towards the bed, kissing as they pull at each other's clothes. It's all quite frantic and wonderful and ridiculous.
They get a little lost when their naked chests touch, coming to a standstill in the middle of the room. Stéphane revels in the heat and press of Johnny's stomach as he inhales, exhales. They trade kiss after kiss until Johnny grabs Stéphane's ass and shoves their hips together. He tries to pull Stéphane back to the bed, but Stéphane shakes his head, and lowers himself down to one knee.
Even the dark can't hide the outline of Johnny's cock under the thin material of his warm up pants. Stéphane wraps an arm around Johnny's waist, kisses his stomach once above the navel, and then below, and starts slowly pulling the waistband down. Johnny's hands pet his hair almost frantically, pushing it back again and again so he can see Stéphane's face. Stéphane's mouth follows the waistband, sliding down the soft, smooth skin just to where the line of hair begins. He draws his hand down Johnny's back and slips under the fabric, cupping the full curve of Johnny's ass. Stéphane takes a breath and tugs down the final few centimeters to expose Johnny to him fully.
"Fuck," Johnny's hands clench briefly in Stéphane's hair at the touch of his mouth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Stéphane's eyes drift shut and he lets his body tell him the right angle, speed and pressure, remembered from every time they did this before. Johnny's hips drift forward periodically, never a wild thrust, but still it represents a brief, delicious loss of his control. Johnny's thighs clench again under his hands, and Stéphane sighs, almost happy. It's perfect except for the way his knee is starting to ache, the calf muscle behind it is tightening up. If this isn't over soon he might not be able to get up without asking for a hand. The thought distracts him, making him first slow and then speed up his rhythm when he realizes he has drifted out of the moment.
Johnny cups Stéphane's cheek, holds it gently and sways back until he slips from Stéphane's mouth. "Come on," Johnny says when he looks up, questioning. "I want you on the bed."
He puts its hand out like he's just being a gentleman, and Stéphane manages to stand without letting out a sound out. He tries to kiss Johnny, but Johnny shakes his head, tugging twice at the leg of Stéphane's sweats. Johnny waits until Stéphane has taken everything off, down to the watch on his left hand, before he pushes Stéphane back onto the bed, climbing up after him to straddles Stéphane's hips. He presses down two fast kisses and then moves forward, settling high enough on Stéphane's chest that Johnny can press his hands against the wall behind the bed and fuck his mouth.
Stéphane shuts his eyes again and gives himself over entirely to touch, pressure, and the wet slide of Johnny past his lips. He touches Johnny's thighs, rubbing lightly over the sparse hair, then slips them around to take firm handfuls of Johnny's ass, making Johnny shove in just a little harder. Johnny's immediate apology so breathy it's barely intelligible, but Stéphane just makes sure that his next thrust goes in exactly as deep.
Johnny makes a strangled noise and starts going at it in earnest, no hesitation, just a fast pounding drive to completion. Stéphane holds on with one hand to Johnny's hips, and drops the other to palm his cock. His own hips shift impatiently, but he only does enough to take the edge off.
Johnny starts making the plaintive noise on each exhale, and Stéphane's toes curl in anticipation while he keeps his throat relaxed. Such a raw, desperate noise, no thought or care at all for appearances, or independence. Just need, Johnny needs him badly right now, calling his name even though he's right there letting Johnny have everything he's asked for. Stéphane senses the rush of Johnny's release a second before it fills his mouth. Johnny's breaths are coming in great gasps, and his thighs are shaking with the effort of not collapsing his entire weight onto Stéphane's chest. Stéphane wants to be patient, wants to gloat over how utterly wrecked Johnny is, but it's been a long time and what he wants, he wants now.
He tries to sit up, nearly tipping Johnny over in his haste. Johnny tries to oblige and move off of him, but Stéphane locks his arm around Johnny's waist and holds him on his lap. He pulls Johnny down by his neck until their mouths meet, letting go when Johnny cups both hands over Stéphane's cheeks and pushing his tongue past his lips.
He wraps his fist around himself, working it for a fast finish. The wet tip drags along Johnny's backside, just barely slipping between the firm round cheeks and Stéphane all but mewls into Johnny's mouth. He wants to come, needs to, but now he desperately wishes for the time and patience to get them both ready and fuck Johnny properly. He's too close for that, can't even think of stopping the pump of his fist. Soon, soon, he promises himself. He only has to wait until tonight and he get deep inside again, get Johnny right to the edge and then keep him there for as long as he likes.
He breaks their kiss so he can pant in Johnny's neck, fingertips pressed so tightly against his hip that it might be bruising but Johnny only urges him on. He whispers Stéphane's name into his ear, hot puff of breath sending a shiver down Stéphane's spine, along with just the right filthy things, everything Stéphane loves to hear. Stéphane can feel it coming, he digs his heels into the bed, pushes his hips one last time to brush the soft, soft skin and firm muscle of Johnny's ass and loses it with a last shuddering gasp.
Johnny holds him through the tremors afterward, but he gets up quickly once they're over, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. He comes back before Stéphane, left alone in the cold draft he's just now noticed, can think of anything or do or say in protest. Johnny presses a warm washcloth into his hand, and Stéphane wipes his palm feebly until Johnny makes a put-out noise and scrubs at it himself.
Johnny tries to turn away but Stéphane grabs his wrist and pulls him into bed, wrapping around Johnny until he's molded to his back, warm again. For a good while they just lie there, still and quiet. There's no space between them, pressed skin-to-skin from Stéphane's chin down to his knees, but he can't see Johnny's face, can't read his body language.
He slides his hand down Johnny's stomach, and then up again, up past the navel so that Johnny will stop holding his breath and further still to cover Johnny's breast bone. Johnny doesn't make a noise, or turn his head to look back at Stéphane, but he does hook his ankle around Stéphane's, stroking a perfectly pedicured toe down the back of his calf.
Stéphane smiles secretly into Johnny's shoulder and wonders if they might sneak a short nap before they must return to the arena.
The phone rings, loud and intrusive. Johnny sighs and pushes himself up into a sitting position with an exaggerated show of effort. "Yes? Yes."
Something in the curve of his back, the position of his shoulders changes, and Stéphane lets his hand fall away from Johnny's side. This will not be just a nuisance call.
"He's here? Right now? Okay. I'm just- I'm just changing from the practice this morning. Tell him I will be down soon. Okay, yes, thank you."
Johnny covers his hands with his face and lets out a long, frustrated groan. "Fucking... shit. I booked an interview."
"Okay." Stéphane sits up and gropes around the floor for his shirt. "I have a fan meeting at four anyway."
Johnny nods, and gets up to start dressing hastily, Stéphane lingers on the bed, wearing only his t-shirt, and watches for the play of muscles on Johnny's back, the twist of his wrist as he moves. His tight, black leggings get dressed up with a light sweater and appropriately daring boots. Stéphane is slower to get up and dress, but his loose clothes go on easily. He's ready by the time Johnny goes over the mirror to fix his hair, so Stéphane steps up behind him. He wraps his arms around Johnny's waist one more time to see if he will be rebuffed, accused of wrinkling the new sweater, of wanting Johnny to be late.
Instead Johnny stops for a moment, leaning back just a little, breathing quietly. Stéphane dares to press a kiss to the side of his neck, and Johnny only pats his hand condescending and patient and fond all at the same time. Stéphane breaks away, satisfied. He shoves his feet back into his shoes while Johnny picks up the discarded keycard from floor.
He presses it into Stéphane's hand. "For later. I have the spare in my bag."
Stéphane nods, and slides it into his back pocket. They give each other a wide berth in the elevator and two floors down, Stéphane gets out to go to his room so he can shower and get his hair resembling something more along the lines of his fans' expectations of it.
His fans are simultaneously lovely and unusual, timid as deer, bold as lions. The meeting goes as they usually do and eventually a fan asks him to sign a photo of him Johnny from Korea.
"This was such a long time ago," he murmurs as he obliges her. Before that last Olympics even. Still it never fails to crop up time and again.
"You do not like?" she asks, as she takes it back. Her eyebrows are lifted in distress at the thought she has upset him.
He smiles and touches her elbow; she immediately bows her head. "No, of course I do. It only reminds me that we never did anything with it."
A titter goes through the little crowd around him. "Maybe you can do something soon?" another girl asks.
"Oh," he says shrugging. "You never know."