A Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel ficlet - #1
This is based on this. I know it happened about 2 years ago but eh. I'm pretty sure the characterisation for Stephane is totally wrong (nastasie, I haven't watched that video yet, my internet is capped!) and I'll probably try to fix that up but this is it at the moment.
Funny Business
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel; G; 665
The phone rang incessantly and poor Johnny Weir’s head hurt. Perhaps he had a bit too much alcohol at the party last night. Texts and calls and texts and they weren’t even about him, they were about Stephane Lambiel - Stephane Lambiel this, Stephane Lambiel that, why was everyone ringing him about Lambiel? Johnny simply did not understand what was going on. Apparently he was moving here and sharing his coach? What??? Johnny Weir could NOT think this early in the morning.
The doorbell rang. Johnny looked at the clock by his bed, where 0730 flashed back at him in big, red, angry numbers. (He had to get a new clock, Johnny thought, perhaps those big yellow star ones he saw at the mall the other day…) The doorbell rang again and Johnny sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shuffled to the door in oversized fluffy slippers and pulled the door wide.
His eyes fell on the guy standing at the door, fell on the tusseled dark hair, those sweeping eyelashes, the slim waist. Johnny had to blink. It was Lambiel.
Shit.
Stephane was nervous. New ice rink. New coach. New country. New language (Well, okay, not new language, he knew English, but he was never fully comfortable with it, and spoke too quickly when he was nervous.) He switched his weight from foot to foot and his bags cut into his hands. It hurt. Galina had given him Johnny Weir’s address and Stephane had turned up there when he found nobody home at Galina’s place, where he was supposed to be staying. Stephane swept a hand over his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and knocked on the door. He found the man he was looking for still in his pyjamas.
“Well this is a surprise,” the American said, glancing up and down.
Stephane flushed and the conversation he prepared had flown out the window. “Hello,” he said, “Um, Galina gave me your address in case nobody was home at their place, and…nobody is home at their place. Did you know I was coming? I-”
“No,” Johnny Weir replied, rather flatly. “Hang on a second.” The American disappeared inside the apartment, returning draped in sequins and a grin on his face.
"I’ve been trying on new stuff to make new costumes with. What do you think of this?"
Stephane watched as he twirled, sequins flying like a sparkling cyclone. It looked horrible. "It looks great!"
Johnny let out a sigh and stopped spinning. "You suck at lying, Stephane Lambiel! Anyway, what would you know? All you do is walk into a party store and pull out anything that makes you look like a 17th century prince."
He shut the door in Stephane's face.
"Well that’s just fantastic," muttered Stephane, reaching to grab the bags he had dropped at his feet. Now where was he going to go? He was exhausted, he just arrived-
"Joking, hun," Johnny had opened the door again. "Come in!! And please explain to me why all these people are calling me about you!! It’s been so long since I had anyone over for breakfast. You must be tired. Did you want any tea? Coffee? I just made the best pot of coffee. I’m probably high on it right now. I was dead ten minutes ago. DEAD. But I can make you tea if that’s what you like! Do Swiss people drink tea or coffee? Or like…hot chocolate? I’m making pancakes!"
"Uh…coffee is great, thanks. Well I mean, at the moment I want coffee. As strong as possible, if you please." Stephane thought even then it would not be strong enough, despite Johnny's obvious hyperactiveness. (Unless he was simply like that all the time? Stephane hoped not.) He had really just expected to knock and say hello and walk in, ask for a sofa and sleep for a day or two. Maybe three. Stephane yawned loudly, dropping his bags back onto the floor once inside the American’s apartment.
Johnny Weir glanced back at Stephane and shook his head, grinning. Stephane found it rather disarming.
Haha it is short. But I will probably continue it...I've written some more already.
Funny Business
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel; G; 665
The phone rang incessantly and poor Johnny Weir’s head hurt. Perhaps he had a bit too much alcohol at the party last night. Texts and calls and texts and they weren’t even about him, they were about Stephane Lambiel - Stephane Lambiel this, Stephane Lambiel that, why was everyone ringing him about Lambiel? Johnny simply did not understand what was going on. Apparently he was moving here and sharing his coach? What??? Johnny Weir could NOT think this early in the morning.
The doorbell rang. Johnny looked at the clock by his bed, where 0730 flashed back at him in big, red, angry numbers. (He had to get a new clock, Johnny thought, perhaps those big yellow star ones he saw at the mall the other day…) The doorbell rang again and Johnny sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shuffled to the door in oversized fluffy slippers and pulled the door wide.
His eyes fell on the guy standing at the door, fell on the tusseled dark hair, those sweeping eyelashes, the slim waist. Johnny had to blink. It was Lambiel.
Shit.
Stephane was nervous. New ice rink. New coach. New country. New language (Well, okay, not new language, he knew English, but he was never fully comfortable with it, and spoke too quickly when he was nervous.) He switched his weight from foot to foot and his bags cut into his hands. It hurt. Galina had given him Johnny Weir’s address and Stephane had turned up there when he found nobody home at Galina’s place, where he was supposed to be staying. Stephane swept a hand over his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and knocked on the door. He found the man he was looking for still in his pyjamas.
“Well this is a surprise,” the American said, glancing up and down.
Stephane flushed and the conversation he prepared had flown out the window. “Hello,” he said, “Um, Galina gave me your address in case nobody was home at their place, and…nobody is home at their place. Did you know I was coming? I-”
“No,” Johnny Weir replied, rather flatly. “Hang on a second.” The American disappeared inside the apartment, returning draped in sequins and a grin on his face.
"I’ve been trying on new stuff to make new costumes with. What do you think of this?"
Stephane watched as he twirled, sequins flying like a sparkling cyclone. It looked horrible. "It looks great!"
Johnny let out a sigh and stopped spinning. "You suck at lying, Stephane Lambiel! Anyway, what would you know? All you do is walk into a party store and pull out anything that makes you look like a 17th century prince."
He shut the door in Stephane's face.
"Well that’s just fantastic," muttered Stephane, reaching to grab the bags he had dropped at his feet. Now where was he going to go? He was exhausted, he just arrived-
"Joking, hun," Johnny had opened the door again. "Come in!! And please explain to me why all these people are calling me about you!! It’s been so long since I had anyone over for breakfast. You must be tired. Did you want any tea? Coffee? I just made the best pot of coffee. I’m probably high on it right now. I was dead ten minutes ago. DEAD. But I can make you tea if that’s what you like! Do Swiss people drink tea or coffee? Or like…hot chocolate? I’m making pancakes!"
"Uh…coffee is great, thanks. Well I mean, at the moment I want coffee. As strong as possible, if you please." Stephane thought even then it would not be strong enough, despite Johnny's obvious hyperactiveness. (Unless he was simply like that all the time? Stephane hoped not.) He had really just expected to knock and say hello and walk in, ask for a sofa and sleep for a day or two. Maybe three. Stephane yawned loudly, dropping his bags back onto the floor once inside the American’s apartment.
Johnny Weir glanced back at Stephane and shook his head, grinning. Stephane found it rather disarming.
Haha it is short. But I will probably continue it...I've written some more already.