the stepping stones into being 'more than friends'
But today had been a bit odd, to say the least. Skaters were acting a bit out of character, like something in their life had shifted and thrown them completely off balance - personality wise, anyways.
For one, Stéphane was being a bit too friendly - the touchy-feely kind, to be exact - and Johnny would know this, for the brunette couldn’t, didn’t, want to keep his hands off him. Constantly lacing fingers, tickling, surprise hug attacks, sneaky arms snaking around waists - Yes, Sir Prince Charming Lambiel was doing all of that and more to zhalkiy Johnnik, who was loving and hating the attention at the same time. He really needed to listen to Evgeni explain the footwork sequence for a certain part, but Stéphane’s hands were really distracting.
And that was where Johnny began to notice more weird things.
“When Stéphane is done, you will come from left and, in serpentine pattern, start the footwork,” Plushenko was saying, doing a nearly standstill run through of the footwork Johnny was expected to follow. Mohawk, power pull, bracket, change foot, bracket… Blue eyes may have been trained on the Russian’s boots and ears enjoying listening to his adorable accent, but his mind was elsewhere. He was trying to figure out why Evgeni seemed so damn tired; there were no bags under his eyes to suggest such exhaustion, but it was evident in his voice.
After he was done going through this quite unneeded explanation (Johnny had the footwork down already, so why would Plushenko need to clarify anything?), the blonde skated off towards one of the pairs couples. Yet the American kept watching, stare sticking around long enough to witness a rare sight.
Brian Joubert had been sort of leaning against the boards with a bored look, one leg outstretched in front of him. And as Evgeni skated past him, apparently not paying attention to much of anything, managed to actually trip over the other’s skate.
He must’ve been pretty out of it to do that, but then again, even the littlest things get the best of people--
Disregard that. Nothing was ‘normal’ today (whatever normal was, anyways); besides Stéphane practically molesting Johnny more than usual, or Evgeni being drained of energy, other things were out of place. Brian was being relaxed, as opposed to sort of having this invisible shield around him when one approached.
Johnny sighed, and just brushed it off. Things would fall back into place sooner or later.
---
The practice program was almost over; they were just going over one last group number, and then they would be allowed to leave until the evening show.
“Johnny~!” The singsong voice of Stéphane managed to reach his ears, even over the blasting techno music. Johnny’s head was in the middle of turning to look over at the brunette, but instead ended up bumping foreheads with him.
The Russophile frowned and tried to untangle the man’s arms from around his stomach. “Stéph, why do you have to be right there?”
“What? It bothers you?” He was sincerely inquisitive about that, and tightened his grip around Johnny, pulling him very close against him.
“Yes,” He half lied, squirming in the other’s embrace.
“Oh...” There was a pause from Stéphane, and then, “…Too bad.”
All of a sudden, Johnny felt fingers crawling up his neck, effectively tickling him. He keeled over somewhat, breaking out of Stéphane’s arms and trying to escape being tickled. “Stop! Shtop!” He found himself giggling as the Swiss man continued, and then pushed off away from the other, playing a game of tag through the maze of skaters.
Stéphane managed to get him though from the front, gloved hands grabbing either of Johnny’s forearms. That awkward hold melted into one of the brunette’s famous, loving hugs, and even though the dark haired American felt himself giving into it, he didn’t keep still.
“Off,” Johnny said it twice, making sure Stéphane heard him over the music. From the looks of it, it was almost their turn to do their part of the number, and he wasn’t fancying the idea of the director giving them a huge pissyfit lecture later.
The brunette pouted and pulled away a bit, instead opting to rest his forehead against the American's again. “Do not worry, I will get you later,” He quickly leaned in and gave Johnny a light peck on the lips, unfazed by being seen by anyone else.
Johnny could feel the other grinning against his mouth.
Playfully pushing the Swiss skater away, the Russophile couldn’t help but feel the corners of his own lips turn upwards. And before Stéphane launched into some powerful back crossovers, Johnny stuck his tongue out at him with all the maturity of a man his age.
He saw the brunette throw his head back and laugh, and then skate off into the seizure-inducing lights in the center of the rink.
And meanwhile, the American found himself thinking about what Lambiel meant by ‘getting him later’. He had a pretty good idea, though.
Johnny swore loudly when he messed up the bracket sequence when it was his turn.
---
There was only three hours before Kings on Ice started, so Johnny took his time resting on one of the locker room benches reserved for the men skaters. Sighing contently and eyes closed, he concentrated on the music filling his own little world, his foot pulsing to a bad romance and scandalous love games.
When he opened his eyes again, deep pools of warm chocolate were staring right at him.
“Holy shit!” He jumped, ungracefully flipping over and catching himself from completely falling on the rubber floor. One of his earphones had fallen out of his ear, and suddenly the American went from being content to being slightly annoyed.
Putting Gaga aside ("Listen to Britney! She is better~!"), he sat back down on the bench with a bit more grace, and glared at Stéphane from the corner of his eye. Said skater was kneeling on the bench, smiling like an idiot, looking like he wanted to tell the Russophile something.
Johnny frowned. “What?” The other shrugged. “…should I be running or something? Are you going to like… seek your revenge now?” Ah, yes; Weir had been turning that promise over in his mind since that early afternoon.
It looked like something clicked inside Stéph’s head. “Oh, yes,” It seems he had forgotten about that, and a pleased look flashed across his facial features.
The atmosphere between them felt like it was on pause, as both just looked at each other. It wasn’t a surprise when Stéphane leaned in, that he was breaking into his trademark grin, and it was even a less of a surprise when Johnny couldn’t resist smiling himself.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before; a few years ago, when they actually did get chummy, they had ended up smooching at a party after some competition or the other - both had admittedly forgotten which one.
Unlike Johnny when it happened, it had been Stéphane’s first time kissing a guy, or anyone else besides his mom, for that matter.
From then on, the Swiss skater was always thrilled when he saw the pretty-faced American; after all, he was his favorite competitor, friend, and love interest.
It was something like a cute love story from the 90s, except a little cornier, especially when it involved Stéphane.
“Mon cheri,” He was whispering against Johnny‘s neck, who was straddling the brunette’s lap. Johnny was doing some grindy thing with his slight hips that was making the other purr into his collarbone, and like a dom, further turning the Russophile on.
Lambiel’s hands were gently placed on Johnny’s rocking hips, keeping him anchored so, if by chance, he happened to fall over again.
Lips moved from neck to mouth, tongues probing each other; in terms of ever experimenting with each other, this was the furthest they had gone... sort of. Maybe it was because they were older now and, having grown out of th-scratch that. With Stéphane, things like this were always stuck in a limbo between childhood sweethearts and passionate lovers.
He was just that good, Johnny assumed.
But that was all they did that night;and even if there wasn’t a show to be skating for, they probably would have kept it at that. (Plus, they didn’t get that far - apparently there was an ‘emergency’, and that the director wanted to make a quick, last minute change to the finale. Joubert was the one to relay the message to them, after walking in on them during their personal moment. He never said anything about the two to anyone else, thankfully.)
And unlike with anyone else Johnny had ever done anything with, he seemed to only take it slowly with the brunette; whatever was between them was indeed something precious, an intangible feeling that hovered in his palms. It made his stomach coil with excitement, giddiness, and the bubbly inner diva within; it was truly a wave of emotions that was too good for words, and it was all for him and the Swiss man to have to themselves.
And when he was back in America, Johnny did think about his Swiss ‘boyfriend’, although he never spoke of him like that, even to his close friends (of course, Patti and Tara were exceptions). Sometimes, he even did try to place his finger on what he felt with Stéphane; all his conclusions always ended up more or less the same in the end. 'It won't last long. It won't. Maybe.'
It was funny how Johnny always tried to brush off the idea of ‘love’, having the notion stuck in his head that he was a ‘free bitch’ and all that, courtesy of one certain idol
But in the end, that was probably the case with him. He was almost definitely in love, but it was a pity he had nothing to reference such a feeling to actually know what
The American had no reasons to object it, though. As long as, if they ever settled down together in the future, Johnny was the one who was going to pick out the decorative theme for their house. Because if he left it up to Stéphane, their walls would be orange, blue, and zebra-themed.
For one, Stéphane was being a bit too friendly - the touchy-feely kind, to be exact - and Johnny would know this, for the brunette couldn’t, didn’t, want to keep his hands off him. Constantly lacing fingers, tickling, surprise hug attacks, sneaky arms snaking around waists - Yes, Sir Prince Charming Lambiel was doing all of that and more to zhalkiy Johnnik, who was loving and hating the attention at the same time. He really needed to listen to Evgeni explain the footwork sequence for a certain part, but Stéphane’s hands were really distracting.
And that was where Johnny began to notice more weird things.
“When Stéphane is done, you will come from left and, in serpentine pattern, start the footwork,” Plushenko was saying, doing a nearly standstill run through of the footwork Johnny was expected to follow. Mohawk, power pull, bracket, change foot, bracket… Blue eyes may have been trained on the Russian’s boots and ears enjoying listening to his adorable accent, but his mind was elsewhere. He was trying to figure out why Evgeni seemed so damn tired; there were no bags under his eyes to suggest such exhaustion, but it was evident in his voice.
After he was done going through this quite unneeded explanation (Johnny had the footwork down already, so why would Plushenko need to clarify anything?), the blonde skated off towards one of the pairs couples. Yet the American kept watching, stare sticking around long enough to witness a rare sight.
Brian Joubert had been sort of leaning against the boards with a bored look, one leg outstretched in front of him. And as Evgeni skated past him, apparently not paying attention to much of anything, managed to actually trip over the other’s skate.
He must’ve been pretty out of it to do that, but then again, even the littlest things get the best of people--
Disregard that. Nothing was ‘normal’ today (whatever normal was, anyways); besides Stéphane practically molesting Johnny more than usual, or Evgeni being drained of energy, other things were out of place. Brian was being relaxed, as opposed to sort of having this invisible shield around him when one approached.
Johnny sighed, and just brushed it off. Things would fall back into place sooner or later.
---
The practice program was almost over; they were just going over one last group number, and then they would be allowed to leave until the evening show.
“Johnny~!” The singsong voice of Stéphane managed to reach his ears, even over the blasting techno music. Johnny’s head was in the middle of turning to look over at the brunette, but instead ended up bumping foreheads with him.
The Russophile frowned and tried to untangle the man’s arms from around his stomach. “Stéph, why do you have to be right there?”
“What? It bothers you?” He was sincerely inquisitive about that, and tightened his grip around Johnny, pulling him very close against him.
“Yes,” He half lied, squirming in the other’s embrace.
“Oh...” There was a pause from Stéphane, and then, “…Too bad.”
All of a sudden, Johnny felt fingers crawling up his neck, effectively tickling him. He keeled over somewhat, breaking out of Stéphane’s arms and trying to escape being tickled. “Stop! Shtop!” He found himself giggling as the Swiss man continued, and then pushed off away from the other, playing a game of tag through the maze of skaters.
Stéphane managed to get him though from the front, gloved hands grabbing either of Johnny’s forearms. That awkward hold melted into one of the brunette’s famous, loving hugs, and even though the dark haired American felt himself giving into it, he didn’t keep still.
“Off,” Johnny said it twice, making sure Stéphane heard him over the music. From the looks of it, it was almost their turn to do their part of the number, and he wasn’t fancying the idea of the director giving them a huge pissyfit lecture later.
The brunette pouted and pulled away a bit, instead opting to rest his forehead against the American's again. “Do not worry, I will get you later,” He quickly leaned in and gave Johnny a light peck on the lips, unfazed by being seen by anyone else.
Johnny could feel the other grinning against his mouth.
Playfully pushing the Swiss skater away, the Russophile couldn’t help but feel the corners of his own lips turn upwards. And before Stéphane launched into some powerful back crossovers, Johnny stuck his tongue out at him with all the maturity of a man his age.
He saw the brunette throw his head back and laugh, and then skate off into the seizure-inducing lights in the center of the rink.
And meanwhile, the American found himself thinking about what Lambiel meant by ‘getting him later’. He had a pretty good idea, though.
Johnny swore loudly when he messed up the bracket sequence when it was his turn.
---
There was only three hours before Kings on Ice started, so Johnny took his time resting on one of the locker room benches reserved for the men skaters. Sighing contently and eyes closed, he concentrated on the music filling his own little world, his foot pulsing to a bad romance and scandalous love games.
When he opened his eyes again, deep pools of warm chocolate were staring right at him.
“Holy shit!” He jumped, ungracefully flipping over and catching himself from completely falling on the rubber floor. One of his earphones had fallen out of his ear, and suddenly the American went from being content to being slightly annoyed.
Putting Gaga aside ("Listen to Britney! She is better~!"), he sat back down on the bench with a bit more grace, and glared at Stéphane from the corner of his eye. Said skater was kneeling on the bench, smiling like an idiot, looking like he wanted to tell the Russophile something.
Johnny frowned. “What?” The other shrugged. “…should I be running or something? Are you going to like… seek your revenge now?” Ah, yes; Weir had been turning that promise over in his mind since that early afternoon.
It looked like something clicked inside Stéph’s head. “Oh, yes,” It seems he had forgotten about that, and a pleased look flashed across his facial features.
The atmosphere between them felt like it was on pause, as both just looked at each other. It wasn’t a surprise when Stéphane leaned in, that he was breaking into his trademark grin, and it was even a less of a surprise when Johnny couldn’t resist smiling himself.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before; a few years ago, when they actually did get chummy, they had ended up smooching at a party after some competition or the other - both had admittedly forgotten which one.
Unlike Johnny when it happened, it had been Stéphane’s first time kissing a guy, or anyone else besides his mom, for that matter.
From then on, the Swiss skater was always thrilled when he saw the pretty-faced American; after all, he was his favorite competitor, friend, and love interest.
It was something like a cute love story from the 90s, except a little cornier, especially when it involved Stéphane.
“Mon cheri,” He was whispering against Johnny‘s neck, who was straddling the brunette’s lap. Johnny was doing some grindy thing with his slight hips that was making the other purr into his collarbone, and like a dom, further turning the Russophile on.
Lambiel’s hands were gently placed on Johnny’s rocking hips, keeping him anchored so, if by chance, he happened to fall over again.
Lips moved from neck to mouth, tongues probing each other; in terms of ever experimenting with each other, this was the furthest they had gone... sort of. Maybe it was because they were older now and, having grown out of th-scratch that. With Stéphane, things like this were always stuck in a limbo between childhood sweethearts and passionate lovers.
He was just that good, Johnny assumed.
But that was all they did that night;and even if there wasn’t a show to be skating for, they probably would have kept it at that. (Plus, they didn’t get that far - apparently there was an ‘emergency’, and that the director wanted to make a quick, last minute change to the finale. Joubert was the one to relay the message to them, after walking in on them during their personal moment. He never said anything about the two to anyone else, thankfully.)
And unlike with anyone else Johnny had ever done anything with, he seemed to only take it slowly with the brunette; whatever was between them was indeed something precious, an intangible feeling that hovered in his palms. It made his stomach coil with excitement, giddiness, and the bubbly inner diva within; it was truly a wave of emotions that was too good for words, and it was all for him and the Swiss man to have to themselves.
And when he was back in America, Johnny did think about his Swiss ‘boyfriend’, although he never spoke of him like that, even to his close friends (of course, Patti and Tara were exceptions). Sometimes, he even did try to place his finger on what he felt with Stéphane; all his conclusions always ended up more or less the same in the end. 'It won't last long. It won't. Maybe.'
It was funny how Johnny always tried to brush off the idea of ‘love’, having the notion stuck in his head that he was a ‘free bitch’ and all that, courtesy of one certain idol
But in the end, that was probably the case with him. He was almost definitely in love, but it was a pity he had nothing to reference such a feeling to actually know what
The American had no reasons to object it, though. As long as, if they ever settled down together in the future, Johnny was the one who was going to pick out the decorative theme for their house. Because if he left it up to Stéphane, their walls would be orange, blue, and zebra-themed.