Help_Japan *practice* fic Round 1
The wonderful and amazing smithereen prompted "I always liked that one prompt on the kinkmeme where Stéphane starts hitting on Johnny for real, but Johnny thinks it's just Stéphane being all touchy-snuggly like always so he doesn't get that no, these are the MOVES and he is PUTTING THEM ON NOW."
What resulted was the bizarro twin of my previous unbeta'ed Johnny and Stéphane skate in a show and then kiss. Same story, twice as nice? IDK. 2.6k
Now I owe Amy Tron fic and katienyc some more J/S.
Johnny does not spend much time wondering about the mysteries of the universe. He does not care to find out why men have nipples, how cats purr, or why Stéphane Lambiel is the way he is. He's content instead to just have his nipples, to enjoy cats well enough so long as they're not shedding on his outfit, and to, from time to time, have Stéphane flit into his life and make everything crazy without bothering to try to figure them out.
They're are both skating in a show in Russia, which is nice because Johnny does not know many of the other skaters as well as he knows Stéphane. In fact he's not sure he knows very many people at all as well as he knows Stéphane, but really that's beside the point. The point is that Stéphane is feeling weirdly obsessed with hair today, or at least that's the only conclusion Johnny could come to after the third time Stéphane asked him, "Do you think my hair looks okay?"
As usual it looks lovely - thick and dark and shiny - but Johnny doesn't say that because they're both being shouted at by the show director. "It looks fine, Stéphane," he says, skating over to the boards as they've just been instructed. Stéphane follows him, dragging his toe pick across the ice practically the whole way and looking put out. Johnny does not spare a single thought to why Stéphane's hair is making him sad, but he does nudge Stéphane with his shoulder when he finally makes it over to the boards. Stéphane sighs, loudly, to let Johnny know he's still sad, but he does lean onto Johnny's shoulder while they listen to their instructions.
Later, when the show director is over in a corner terrorizing the sound technicians, Stéphane catches Johnny around the waist and pulls him into a spin. Johnny lets out a surprised laugh, grabbing two fistfuls of Stéphane's jacket to lock the spin together and keep the momentum going. He enjoys the firm press of Stéphane's hands to his lower back, the bright open way Stéphane beams at him. He doesn't think anything of it though, because there's almost no one Stéphane won't tease or cuddle with. It's practically a law of physics; the magnetic force between Stéphane and someone who will indulge his need for physical contact is probably stronger than gravity.
The toes of their boots collide, ruining the rotation, and Johnny breaks away. His cheeks feel hot and he takes a turn around the ice to cool them. He skates forward alone for only two or three pushes before Stéphane is suddenly beside him, reaching for his hand. Johnny allows it because he figures the clinginess must be a result of Stéphane being tired, bored, hungry or possibly some unholy combination of all three. If rehearsal goes on much longer, he'll end up climbing up on Johnny's back and refusing to come down until he gets a cookie.
Johnny smiles at the thought and Stéphane squeezes his hand, just enough to get his attention. He looks over, expecting Stéphane to start complaining about this really is an unprofessional show for taking so long to get settled, but Stéphane is looking down at his feet with a small smile. Briefly Johnny lets himself wonder if one of the reasons they end up booked for so many of the same shows is that he's got something of a knack for keeping Stéphane in a good mood during a long run of shows. Stéphane loves shows, but tours can exhaust him very quickly. Another little contradiction that could never be worried into making sense.
Thankfully the run-throughs don't go on too much longer and there's no meltdown. After all, there's really only so many ways you can throw together fifteen skaters on the ice without it turning into a traffic jam. Sometimes it seems the only things that change from show opener to show opener is how big you want the jazz hands, or how busy you want the feet.
Johnny is alone and unlacing his boots when Stéphane strides up to him into the locker room and says, "Johnny you're looking so good today, would you like to go to dinner?"
Johnny looks up at Stéphane, blinking once while he things about the two parts of that sentence. "Thank you," he says first, because for some reason Stéphane felt compelled to lie. Johnny is wearing his usual practice gear, his forehead is shiny, and his hair is pulled back with earmuffs. "Dinner sounds good." They usually eat together at least once during shows, he thought it was something of a given now.
Stéphane suggests a very good, rather expensive place nearby the hotel.
"You don't like the hotel restaurant?" Johnny asks. He's a little jet lagged, and it would be nice just to slouch down to the lobby in some fur lined boots and a sweater for dinner instead of actually going out.
Stéphane looks surprisingly upset. "Everyone will be eating there. It would be embarrassing."
If Johnny allowed himself to ponder the mysteries of the universe, he would wonder about that, he really would. Johnny has never seen Stéphane embarrassed about eating anything, in front of anyone, ever. Instead he just agrees in order to get that worried look on Stéphane 's face taken care of as quickly as possible. "8:30? I'll need to get ready."
"Yes," Stéphane says, beaming again. "Ce soir."
Johnny nods. "See you then."
Stéphane knocks on the door of Johnny's hotel room at 8:35, which for Stéphane is amazingly on time. Johnny opens up even though he doesn't yet have his shoes on and is surprised by a small bouquet of flowers.
"Oh," he says taking them. They're roses, lovely vivid pink roses, still fresh and velvet soft when he touches his nose to one. "Did a fan leave these?"
"I..." Stéphane looks at them as if seeing them for the first time, "perhaps."
"Well, I'll be just a moment, okay?" He sets them down on a table in the corner.
"Of course." Stéphane says, standing in the middle of the room, looking uncharacteristically uneasy.
Johnny puts his shoes on, gives himself a final once over in the mirror, fixes his hair and turns around to tell Stéphane they can go now, but he's rendered briefly speechless by how very good Stéphane can look without trying. He'd been distracted by the flowers before, but Stéphane's hair is even glossier and more perfect than it was at rehearsal; his button down shirt is just the right color to set off his rich, warm skin tone; expensive shoes, perfect belt, and all just for dinner with a friend.
Johnny sighs and runs his fingers through his hair just one more time before picking up his bag. "Shall we?"
Stéphane takes a breath as if to calm himself, "Yes."
The restaurant is truly fantastic, gilded and gorgeous, delicious food in tiny perfect portions. Stéphane gets a glass of red, and looks so upset when Johnny initially refuses the wine list that Johnny gives in and indulges. It feels like the cabernet sauvignon settles into his bones, loosening his limbs until he's draped against his chair, happy and talking about things he shouldn't.
"I'm so tired of being single," he blurts out. He is. He still hates people touching his things and getting them out of order, he's still terrified at the idea of having to put someone's needs ahead of his own even just from time to time, but when he goes to sleep at night he finds himself wishing he could know that someone was thinking of him. Even more he wishes there was someone to reach out to in the bed, someone who was there in the morning.
"I know exactly what you mean," Stéphane says softly.
Johnny smiles, takes another sip of wine and decides it's time to get bawdy instead of maudlin. "Though I might just settle for getting laid more regularly."
Stéphane actually blushes which is ridiculous, and he hides his face in his hands which is even more ridiculous considering this is a very nice restaurant and not a highway-side Denny's. It takes about a minute for Stéphane to get his composure back, before he can look at Johnny again. When he does though, it's shyly through his lashes, while his fingers brush over Johnny's. "Maybe that can be arranged."
It seems an awful lot like a proposition, and this is why Johnny never lets himself try to figure out Stéphane, because if he worries about what every little touch and smile and whimsical thing that comes out of Stéphane's mouth, Johnny ends up flustered and not knowing what to say. Thankfully the waiter chooses that very moment to bring the check and the ensuing argument about who should pay for what is enough distraction that Johnny gets away relatively scot-free.
Relatively, because as they walk back to the hotel from the restaurant Stéphane grabs Johnny's hand just as he had at the rink. They walk along the streets of St. Petersburg, soft light coming from storefronts and cafes, from traffic lights and the headlights of passing cars. The sky is clear and though the city is too bright for stars there's a sliver of moon peeking around the tops of buildings. The chill in the air, though it brushes his cheeks, can't seem to work its way into Johnny's jacket. The night feels so charmed Johnny is sure they could step right off the curb and into the busy traffic and be able to make it across all four lanes without ever changing their gaits, or giving a single car a reason to stop short.
It's miserable. Miserable because it's a taste of what Johnny's been missing so badly for too long. Miserable because his heart is beating double time and he can't catch his breath from the idea that it's not just the perfect clear, spring night in Russia to spend with someone, anyone, but Stéphane. They could be in Russia or Hackensack, New Jersey, it could be during a beautiful sunset or the middle of a snow storm, Johnny would still feel his heart skip a beat every time Stéphane squeezed their clasped fingers and smiled at him, so obviously happy.
This has always been the problem. If he thinks too much about Stéphane he stops wondering about why one sly comment can make him laugh and another can offend Stéphane so deeply that he refuses to talk to Johnny for several hours, or how someone can be so utterly ridiculous as throw a tantrum about sausages and thoughtful enough to talk for three hours about the feeling of coming home after nearly two months away. Instead he starts thinking about how Stéphane can be so arrogant and childish and kind and sexy, how much he loves the way Stéphane smells, how much Johnny wishes he could turn a thousand little hugs, and nudges, and touches into one deep, perfect, endless, amazing kiss.
It's terrifying enough to feel this way after so long, let alone for someone like Stéphane, who is as busy Johnny is, lives half way across the world, and is the very definition of mercurial. Johnny takes a deep, silent breath to calm himself. Stéphane unlaces their fingers as they near the hotel. A small group of women are huddled together just outside the lobby doing their best to look polite. Johnny breaks away from Stéphane to wallow in their uncomplicated eagerness for a few minutes. Stéphane obliges them as well and by the time they leave the girls are flushed and breathless.
Johnny walks with Stéphane through the lobby and they ride up the elevator together in silence. Outwardly, Johnny is calm, serene even, inwardly he is jumping up and down on a box labeled "Feelings for Stéphane" trying to cram everything back where it belongs.
Stéphane does him the unusual courtesy of walking him to his room. He stands outside the door and fidgets while Johnny roots around in his bag for his key. "I had a really lovely time tonight, Johnny." Stéphane's smile seems almost tentative.
His own smile must be a little strained because Stéphane's disappears the very moment Johnny responds, "Me, too. I love going out just us girlfriends."
He slides the key into the lock and opens the door, desperate to be alone, to be away from Stéphane so he can breathe and forget and definitely not spend all night clutching a pillow. "Goodnight," he says.
If Stéphane says goodnight back, it's too quiet to hear. Johnny shuts the door carefully and leans against it as if exhausted. He looks around his room, lost. Another hotel room, bland, familiar and unfamiliar at once, he suddenly hates it. He wants to go to bed but before he can do that there's his nightly regimen to follow. The prospect of staring into a mirror for twenty minutes is more than he can bear and he covers his face with his hands with a heavy sigh.
There's a knock at the door.
Johnny jumps away from it, startled. He stares at it for a second, wondering who it could be when there's another knock, even more insistent. Johnny opens it without thinking to look through the peephole. It's Stéphane standing on the other side looking very determined. So determined in fact that he pushes into Johnny's room, pushes Johnny against the wall, and then pushes his tongue in Johnny's mouth. Shock keeps Johnny rigid and unyielding, but Stéphane keeps stubbornly kissing him until Johnny's brain catches up to his body. He melts, that's the only way to put, every muscle relaxes until he's clinging to Stéphane to stay upright. Like hot wax in a mold, Johnny finds the empty spaces between them and fills them. He slips his leg between Stéphane's, wraps his arms around his waist, and slides their tongues together.
Stéphane pulls away, gasping "I'm sorry."
"Okay," Johnny discovers he is also panting. "Okay, I forgive you," he says magnanimously as he grabs Stéphane's lovely perfect hair in his hands and fits their mouths back together.
Stéphane kisses like an absolute dream, except for the nearly unforgivable habit he has of kissing Johnny senseless and then pulling away. "I don't understand you," Stéphane says, sounding almost angry.
"I don't understand you either," Johnny fires right back. Why come into his room and demand a perfect kiss only to keep stopping? He tries to tug Stéphane back to him, but Stéphane plants a hand against the wall and holds fast.
"Don't understand what? I spend all day and all night trying to show you that I want this and you shut the door in my face," Stéphane complains. "But now you want to kiss."
"I do," Johnny says, trying to make that happen again.
"Then why embarrass me like that?" Stéphane says, ignoring him. "I almost left," this is said with a subtle pout.
Johnny is pretty sure that now is not the time to talk about how he does his best to ignore Stéphane's quirks rather than interpret them. "I'm sorry. I didn't think, I didn't believe it was really happening."
That seems to have been the right thing to say, because the stubborn set to Stéphane's jaw softens a bit. "I did everything today so that it would happen. The flowers and dinner. Telling you looked good."
Johnny nods, it was obvious now. Sort of. Seen from the other side it could just be Stéphane's effusiveness, his love of big gestures, big emotions, and good food. "Okay, yes. I can see that now," he pulls at Stéphane's collar and this time Stéphane does budge, coming close. "But all I needed was the kiss."
(If I was a better writer I would pull this around to the first sentence, but feh. It's practice, right?)
(OMG, SMITHEREEN, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.)
What resulted was the bizarro twin of my previous unbeta'ed Johnny and Stéphane skate in a show and then kiss. Same story, twice as nice? IDK. 2.6k
Now I owe Amy Tron fic and katienyc some more J/S.
Johnny does not spend much time wondering about the mysteries of the universe. He does not care to find out why men have nipples, how cats purr, or why Stéphane Lambiel is the way he is. He's content instead to just have his nipples, to enjoy cats well enough so long as they're not shedding on his outfit, and to, from time to time, have Stéphane flit into his life and make everything crazy without bothering to try to figure them out.
They're are both skating in a show in Russia, which is nice because Johnny does not know many of the other skaters as well as he knows Stéphane. In fact he's not sure he knows very many people at all as well as he knows Stéphane, but really that's beside the point. The point is that Stéphane is feeling weirdly obsessed with hair today, or at least that's the only conclusion Johnny could come to after the third time Stéphane asked him, "Do you think my hair looks okay?"
As usual it looks lovely - thick and dark and shiny - but Johnny doesn't say that because they're both being shouted at by the show director. "It looks fine, Stéphane," he says, skating over to the boards as they've just been instructed. Stéphane follows him, dragging his toe pick across the ice practically the whole way and looking put out. Johnny does not spare a single thought to why Stéphane's hair is making him sad, but he does nudge Stéphane with his shoulder when he finally makes it over to the boards. Stéphane sighs, loudly, to let Johnny know he's still sad, but he does lean onto Johnny's shoulder while they listen to their instructions.
Later, when the show director is over in a corner terrorizing the sound technicians, Stéphane catches Johnny around the waist and pulls him into a spin. Johnny lets out a surprised laugh, grabbing two fistfuls of Stéphane's jacket to lock the spin together and keep the momentum going. He enjoys the firm press of Stéphane's hands to his lower back, the bright open way Stéphane beams at him. He doesn't think anything of it though, because there's almost no one Stéphane won't tease or cuddle with. It's practically a law of physics; the magnetic force between Stéphane and someone who will indulge his need for physical contact is probably stronger than gravity.
The toes of their boots collide, ruining the rotation, and Johnny breaks away. His cheeks feel hot and he takes a turn around the ice to cool them. He skates forward alone for only two or three pushes before Stéphane is suddenly beside him, reaching for his hand. Johnny allows it because he figures the clinginess must be a result of Stéphane being tired, bored, hungry or possibly some unholy combination of all three. If rehearsal goes on much longer, he'll end up climbing up on Johnny's back and refusing to come down until he gets a cookie.
Johnny smiles at the thought and Stéphane squeezes his hand, just enough to get his attention. He looks over, expecting Stéphane to start complaining about this really is an unprofessional show for taking so long to get settled, but Stéphane is looking down at his feet with a small smile. Briefly Johnny lets himself wonder if one of the reasons they end up booked for so many of the same shows is that he's got something of a knack for keeping Stéphane in a good mood during a long run of shows. Stéphane loves shows, but tours can exhaust him very quickly. Another little contradiction that could never be worried into making sense.
Thankfully the run-throughs don't go on too much longer and there's no meltdown. After all, there's really only so many ways you can throw together fifteen skaters on the ice without it turning into a traffic jam. Sometimes it seems the only things that change from show opener to show opener is how big you want the jazz hands, or how busy you want the feet.
Johnny is alone and unlacing his boots when Stéphane strides up to him into the locker room and says, "Johnny you're looking so good today, would you like to go to dinner?"
Johnny looks up at Stéphane, blinking once while he things about the two parts of that sentence. "Thank you," he says first, because for some reason Stéphane felt compelled to lie. Johnny is wearing his usual practice gear, his forehead is shiny, and his hair is pulled back with earmuffs. "Dinner sounds good." They usually eat together at least once during shows, he thought it was something of a given now.
Stéphane suggests a very good, rather expensive place nearby the hotel.
"You don't like the hotel restaurant?" Johnny asks. He's a little jet lagged, and it would be nice just to slouch down to the lobby in some fur lined boots and a sweater for dinner instead of actually going out.
Stéphane looks surprisingly upset. "Everyone will be eating there. It would be embarrassing."
If Johnny allowed himself to ponder the mysteries of the universe, he would wonder about that, he really would. Johnny has never seen Stéphane embarrassed about eating anything, in front of anyone, ever. Instead he just agrees in order to get that worried look on Stéphane 's face taken care of as quickly as possible. "8:30? I'll need to get ready."
"Yes," Stéphane says, beaming again. "Ce soir."
Johnny nods. "See you then."
Stéphane knocks on the door of Johnny's hotel room at 8:35, which for Stéphane is amazingly on time. Johnny opens up even though he doesn't yet have his shoes on and is surprised by a small bouquet of flowers.
"Oh," he says taking them. They're roses, lovely vivid pink roses, still fresh and velvet soft when he touches his nose to one. "Did a fan leave these?"
"I..." Stéphane looks at them as if seeing them for the first time, "perhaps."
"Well, I'll be just a moment, okay?" He sets them down on a table in the corner.
"Of course." Stéphane says, standing in the middle of the room, looking uncharacteristically uneasy.
Johnny puts his shoes on, gives himself a final once over in the mirror, fixes his hair and turns around to tell Stéphane they can go now, but he's rendered briefly speechless by how very good Stéphane can look without trying. He'd been distracted by the flowers before, but Stéphane's hair is even glossier and more perfect than it was at rehearsal; his button down shirt is just the right color to set off his rich, warm skin tone; expensive shoes, perfect belt, and all just for dinner with a friend.
Johnny sighs and runs his fingers through his hair just one more time before picking up his bag. "Shall we?"
Stéphane takes a breath as if to calm himself, "Yes."
The restaurant is truly fantastic, gilded and gorgeous, delicious food in tiny perfect portions. Stéphane gets a glass of red, and looks so upset when Johnny initially refuses the wine list that Johnny gives in and indulges. It feels like the cabernet sauvignon settles into his bones, loosening his limbs until he's draped against his chair, happy and talking about things he shouldn't.
"I'm so tired of being single," he blurts out. He is. He still hates people touching his things and getting them out of order, he's still terrified at the idea of having to put someone's needs ahead of his own even just from time to time, but when he goes to sleep at night he finds himself wishing he could know that someone was thinking of him. Even more he wishes there was someone to reach out to in the bed, someone who was there in the morning.
"I know exactly what you mean," Stéphane says softly.
Johnny smiles, takes another sip of wine and decides it's time to get bawdy instead of maudlin. "Though I might just settle for getting laid more regularly."
Stéphane actually blushes which is ridiculous, and he hides his face in his hands which is even more ridiculous considering this is a very nice restaurant and not a highway-side Denny's. It takes about a minute for Stéphane to get his composure back, before he can look at Johnny again. When he does though, it's shyly through his lashes, while his fingers brush over Johnny's. "Maybe that can be arranged."
It seems an awful lot like a proposition, and this is why Johnny never lets himself try to figure out Stéphane, because if he worries about what every little touch and smile and whimsical thing that comes out of Stéphane's mouth, Johnny ends up flustered and not knowing what to say. Thankfully the waiter chooses that very moment to bring the check and the ensuing argument about who should pay for what is enough distraction that Johnny gets away relatively scot-free.
Relatively, because as they walk back to the hotel from the restaurant Stéphane grabs Johnny's hand just as he had at the rink. They walk along the streets of St. Petersburg, soft light coming from storefronts and cafes, from traffic lights and the headlights of passing cars. The sky is clear and though the city is too bright for stars there's a sliver of moon peeking around the tops of buildings. The chill in the air, though it brushes his cheeks, can't seem to work its way into Johnny's jacket. The night feels so charmed Johnny is sure they could step right off the curb and into the busy traffic and be able to make it across all four lanes without ever changing their gaits, or giving a single car a reason to stop short.
It's miserable. Miserable because it's a taste of what Johnny's been missing so badly for too long. Miserable because his heart is beating double time and he can't catch his breath from the idea that it's not just the perfect clear, spring night in Russia to spend with someone, anyone, but Stéphane. They could be in Russia or Hackensack, New Jersey, it could be during a beautiful sunset or the middle of a snow storm, Johnny would still feel his heart skip a beat every time Stéphane squeezed their clasped fingers and smiled at him, so obviously happy.
This has always been the problem. If he thinks too much about Stéphane he stops wondering about why one sly comment can make him laugh and another can offend Stéphane so deeply that he refuses to talk to Johnny for several hours, or how someone can be so utterly ridiculous as throw a tantrum about sausages and thoughtful enough to talk for three hours about the feeling of coming home after nearly two months away. Instead he starts thinking about how Stéphane can be so arrogant and childish and kind and sexy, how much he loves the way Stéphane smells, how much Johnny wishes he could turn a thousand little hugs, and nudges, and touches into one deep, perfect, endless, amazing kiss.
It's terrifying enough to feel this way after so long, let alone for someone like Stéphane, who is as busy Johnny is, lives half way across the world, and is the very definition of mercurial. Johnny takes a deep, silent breath to calm himself. Stéphane unlaces their fingers as they near the hotel. A small group of women are huddled together just outside the lobby doing their best to look polite. Johnny breaks away from Stéphane to wallow in their uncomplicated eagerness for a few minutes. Stéphane obliges them as well and by the time they leave the girls are flushed and breathless.
Johnny walks with Stéphane through the lobby and they ride up the elevator together in silence. Outwardly, Johnny is calm, serene even, inwardly he is jumping up and down on a box labeled "Feelings for Stéphane" trying to cram everything back where it belongs.
Stéphane does him the unusual courtesy of walking him to his room. He stands outside the door and fidgets while Johnny roots around in his bag for his key. "I had a really lovely time tonight, Johnny." Stéphane's smile seems almost tentative.
His own smile must be a little strained because Stéphane's disappears the very moment Johnny responds, "Me, too. I love going out just us girlfriends."
He slides the key into the lock and opens the door, desperate to be alone, to be away from Stéphane so he can breathe and forget and definitely not spend all night clutching a pillow. "Goodnight," he says.
If Stéphane says goodnight back, it's too quiet to hear. Johnny shuts the door carefully and leans against it as if exhausted. He looks around his room, lost. Another hotel room, bland, familiar and unfamiliar at once, he suddenly hates it. He wants to go to bed but before he can do that there's his nightly regimen to follow. The prospect of staring into a mirror for twenty minutes is more than he can bear and he covers his face with his hands with a heavy sigh.
There's a knock at the door.
Johnny jumps away from it, startled. He stares at it for a second, wondering who it could be when there's another knock, even more insistent. Johnny opens it without thinking to look through the peephole. It's Stéphane standing on the other side looking very determined. So determined in fact that he pushes into Johnny's room, pushes Johnny against the wall, and then pushes his tongue in Johnny's mouth. Shock keeps Johnny rigid and unyielding, but Stéphane keeps stubbornly kissing him until Johnny's brain catches up to his body. He melts, that's the only way to put, every muscle relaxes until he's clinging to Stéphane to stay upright. Like hot wax in a mold, Johnny finds the empty spaces between them and fills them. He slips his leg between Stéphane's, wraps his arms around his waist, and slides their tongues together.
Stéphane pulls away, gasping "I'm sorry."
"Okay," Johnny discovers he is also panting. "Okay, I forgive you," he says magnanimously as he grabs Stéphane's lovely perfect hair in his hands and fits their mouths back together.
Stéphane kisses like an absolute dream, except for the nearly unforgivable habit he has of kissing Johnny senseless and then pulling away. "I don't understand you," Stéphane says, sounding almost angry.
"I don't understand you either," Johnny fires right back. Why come into his room and demand a perfect kiss only to keep stopping? He tries to tug Stéphane back to him, but Stéphane plants a hand against the wall and holds fast.
"Don't understand what? I spend all day and all night trying to show you that I want this and you shut the door in my face," Stéphane complains. "But now you want to kiss."
"I do," Johnny says, trying to make that happen again.
"Then why embarrass me like that?" Stéphane says, ignoring him. "I almost left," this is said with a subtle pout.
Johnny is pretty sure that now is not the time to talk about how he does his best to ignore Stéphane's quirks rather than interpret them. "I'm sorry. I didn't think, I didn't believe it was really happening."
That seems to have been the right thing to say, because the stubborn set to Stéphane's jaw softens a bit. "I did everything today so that it would happen. The flowers and dinner. Telling you looked good."
Johnny nods, it was obvious now. Sort of. Seen from the other side it could just be Stéphane's effusiveness, his love of big gestures, big emotions, and good food. "Okay, yes. I can see that now," he pulls at Stéphane's collar and this time Stéphane does budge, coming close. "But all I needed was the kiss."
(If I was a better writer I would pull this around to the first sentence, but feh. It's practice, right?)
(OMG, SMITHEREEN, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.)