Funny Business, VII
Funny Business, VII
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel
PG, 781 words. Movies and popcorn.
“I can’t believe you haven’t watched this movie.”
Stephane shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”
“No you’re not, you’re just as busy as I am.”
“Which is busy. Are you sure we’re allowed to eat this stuff?” Stephane asks Johnny, shaking the bowl of buttered popcorn in Johnny’s face.
“I won’t tell Galina if you won’t tell Galina. We only eat it once in forever, anyway.”
Stephane pauses, then shrugs again. “Fair enough.”
“But stop me from eating too much, okay, my ass will get big.”
Stephane snorts. “What about my ass?”
“What about it? Not anywhere as big as mine.”
“Alright, alright, I can’t hear the movie.”
Johnny grabs another handful of popcorn from Stephane’s bowl.
“This is cheesy.”
Johnny looks at Stephane curiously. “No it isn’t, it’s buttered.”
“Not the popcorn,” Stephane replies, “the movie. This is A Cheesy Movie.”
“What’s wrong with cheesy movies???”
“Nothing.”
“Then shut-up and keep watching.”
Stephane shrugs, licking butter off his fingers distractedly, falling silent again. The light from the TV highlights the fuzz in Stephane’s hair. Johnny blinks and shakes his head, focusing his attention back to the television screen.
(This was hard, considering it was probably the tenth time Johnny had seen Love Actually).
“That guy there,” Stephane says, “he’s Snape, right?”
“What?”
“You know,” Stephane pops some popcorn into his mouth, “in Harry Potter.”
“Oh. Yeah, he is,”
“And that, isn’t that the Divination Teacher?”
“What???”
“Madame, what’s her name again? Trelawney or something?”
“I guess so.”
“Why are they married?”
“Why not? They’re not in Harry Potter in this movie.”
“Oh.”
Johnny laughs. “You’re cute.”
Stephane grins sheepishly at the television screen. Oh God, Johnny thinks, please don’t let me like this guy.
Johnny watches Stephane when the credits start rolling. The Swiss blinks, twice, popcorn-holding fingers suspended between the (now almost empty) bowl and his mouth. Then Stephane turns to Johnny, almost incredulously, and says:
“I liked it.”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Of course you would. It’s awesome. Plus I like it, so obviously it’s brilliant.”
“Yes, well. It was a good movie.”
“Not too cheesy, then?”
“No, no,” Stephane replies, half-serious, “just the right amount of cheese.”
“Favourite bit?”
“Oh,” Stephane looks sombre again, “I’m not sure. Maybe the bit with the Titanic and Claudia Schiffer, maybe the Colin Firth one, maybe the to me you are perfect-"
“I said favourite bit, as in pick one!”
Stephane shrugs. “I can’t pick.”
Johnny sighs. “My favourite is Hugh Grant, you know, when he does the hip-shake dance move thing…”
He stands up to imitate the actor and Stephane bursts out laughing, dragging him back to the couch. Johnny collapses into Stephane and he thinks Shit, suddenly needs to straighten himself back up, sit upright, get distance between them because Johnny has the feeling he’ll do something stupid, and crazy, and he doesn’t want it but somehow he does want it, this is not right but somehow it is, Johnny cannot think properly but they’re not even drunk, for fuck’s sake-
“Johnny, if you keep squishing my arm it’s going to lose circulation and you’ll be left with a guest with only one working arm-“
“Oh, sorry,” Johnny replies quickly, leaning away immediately to free Stephane’s arm, “we don’t want a Magical Zebra that can’t fly.”
“What?? Johnny! Where do you get all this - clever words - from?” Stephane’s voice ripples with laughter and his hair dances as he shakes his head incredulously; (Johnny cannot quit staring-)
“Don’t know. Hey, what hair product do you use? It’s so, like, fluffy-“
“But I normally don’t use anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Shampoo and conditioner?”
“That’s it? No magical sexy fluffy hair spray?”
Stephane laughs. “No, but I think you might be using some.” The Swiss leans over to ruffle Johnny’s hair.
Johnny intakes a sharp breath and swats Stephane’s fingers away. “Oh my God, Lambiel, those fingers are not clean, they have butter all over them and you just put them in my nice clean hair, I’m not Evan Lysacek you know, I don’t like greasy crap in there-“
“Sorry,” Stephane says quickly, popping the fingers into his mouth in a quick attempt to clean them, and Johnny is speechless once again, watching the way Stephane is intently sucking on his fingers, oblivious to anyone else, oblivious to the fact that there are tissues on the coffee table in front of them.
“Hey, Stephane,” Johnny says, finally, stilling Stephane, hands wrapped around wrists. Stephane looks at him then, distracted away from his fingers, looks at Johnny with those ridiculously gorgeous brown eyes (and Johnny has never noticed just how long Stephane's eyelashes were), waits for Johnny to continue, Johnny whose voice has suddenly disappeared.
“I, um. Look, I. Excuse me.”
Johnny leans in then, captures Stephane’s mouth with his.
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel
PG, 781 words. Movies and popcorn.
“I can’t believe you haven’t watched this movie.”
Stephane shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”
“No you’re not, you’re just as busy as I am.”
“Which is busy. Are you sure we’re allowed to eat this stuff?” Stephane asks Johnny, shaking the bowl of buttered popcorn in Johnny’s face.
“I won’t tell Galina if you won’t tell Galina. We only eat it once in forever, anyway.”
Stephane pauses, then shrugs again. “Fair enough.”
“But stop me from eating too much, okay, my ass will get big.”
Stephane snorts. “What about my ass?”
“What about it? Not anywhere as big as mine.”
“Alright, alright, I can’t hear the movie.”
Johnny grabs another handful of popcorn from Stephane’s bowl.
“This is cheesy.”
Johnny looks at Stephane curiously. “No it isn’t, it’s buttered.”
“Not the popcorn,” Stephane replies, “the movie. This is A Cheesy Movie.”
“What’s wrong with cheesy movies???”
“Nothing.”
“Then shut-up and keep watching.”
Stephane shrugs, licking butter off his fingers distractedly, falling silent again. The light from the TV highlights the fuzz in Stephane’s hair. Johnny blinks and shakes his head, focusing his attention back to the television screen.
(This was hard, considering it was probably the tenth time Johnny had seen Love Actually).
“That guy there,” Stephane says, “he’s Snape, right?”
“What?”
“You know,” Stephane pops some popcorn into his mouth, “in Harry Potter.”
“Oh. Yeah, he is,”
“And that, isn’t that the Divination Teacher?”
“What???”
“Madame, what’s her name again? Trelawney or something?”
“I guess so.”
“Why are they married?”
“Why not? They’re not in Harry Potter in this movie.”
“Oh.”
Johnny laughs. “You’re cute.”
Stephane grins sheepishly at the television screen. Oh God, Johnny thinks, please don’t let me like this guy.
Johnny watches Stephane when the credits start rolling. The Swiss blinks, twice, popcorn-holding fingers suspended between the (now almost empty) bowl and his mouth. Then Stephane turns to Johnny, almost incredulously, and says:
“I liked it.”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Of course you would. It’s awesome. Plus I like it, so obviously it’s brilliant.”
“Yes, well. It was a good movie.”
“Not too cheesy, then?”
“No, no,” Stephane replies, half-serious, “just the right amount of cheese.”
“Favourite bit?”
“Oh,” Stephane looks sombre again, “I’m not sure. Maybe the bit with the Titanic and Claudia Schiffer, maybe the Colin Firth one, maybe the to me you are perfect-"
“I said favourite bit, as in pick one!”
Stephane shrugs. “I can’t pick.”
Johnny sighs. “My favourite is Hugh Grant, you know, when he does the hip-shake dance move thing…”
He stands up to imitate the actor and Stephane bursts out laughing, dragging him back to the couch. Johnny collapses into Stephane and he thinks Shit, suddenly needs to straighten himself back up, sit upright, get distance between them because Johnny has the feeling he’ll do something stupid, and crazy, and he doesn’t want it but somehow he does want it, this is not right but somehow it is, Johnny cannot think properly but they’re not even drunk, for fuck’s sake-
“Johnny, if you keep squishing my arm it’s going to lose circulation and you’ll be left with a guest with only one working arm-“
“Oh, sorry,” Johnny replies quickly, leaning away immediately to free Stephane’s arm, “we don’t want a Magical Zebra that can’t fly.”
“What?? Johnny! Where do you get all this - clever words - from?” Stephane’s voice ripples with laughter and his hair dances as he shakes his head incredulously; (Johnny cannot quit staring-)
“Don’t know. Hey, what hair product do you use? It’s so, like, fluffy-“
“But I normally don’t use anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Shampoo and conditioner?”
“That’s it? No magical sexy fluffy hair spray?”
Stephane laughs. “No, but I think you might be using some.” The Swiss leans over to ruffle Johnny’s hair.
Johnny intakes a sharp breath and swats Stephane’s fingers away. “Oh my God, Lambiel, those fingers are not clean, they have butter all over them and you just put them in my nice clean hair, I’m not Evan Lysacek you know, I don’t like greasy crap in there-“
“Sorry,” Stephane says quickly, popping the fingers into his mouth in a quick attempt to clean them, and Johnny is speechless once again, watching the way Stephane is intently sucking on his fingers, oblivious to anyone else, oblivious to the fact that there are tissues on the coffee table in front of them.
“Hey, Stephane,” Johnny says, finally, stilling Stephane, hands wrapped around wrists. Stephane looks at him then, distracted away from his fingers, looks at Johnny with those ridiculously gorgeous brown eyes (and Johnny has never noticed just how long Stephane's eyelashes were), waits for Johnny to continue, Johnny whose voice has suddenly disappeared.
“I, um. Look, I. Excuse me.”
Johnny leans in then, captures Stephane’s mouth with his.