Funny Business, IX
Funny Business, VIII
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel
PG, 717 words. A bit of angst.
Stephane pushes back, a mixture of shock and surprise. He looks at Johnny, wide-eyed, pulling a hand through his hair, strands standing on end.
"What are you doing?!"
Johnny flinches, taken aback. Kissing people generally did not bring this outcome.
"You just looked so goddamn gorgeous, and then you were licking those fingers, and I couldn't help myself, and I-"
"I thought I said I didn't want any funny stuff to happen!"
It was a half shout, half whine, and now Stephane was standing up, away from Johnny, running a hand through his hair again, other hand on his hips.
No Funny Business. Johnny forgot. Shit.
"I'm sorry. I forgot about that."
Johnny stands up as well, watches Stephane, pacing the room, not knowing what to do with his hands; he took the remaining popcorn and tosses it in the bin; he washes the bowl ("Let me do that," Johnny protests, but Stephane ignores him, scrubbing even more furiously), wipes the table clean, and when there was nothing else to do Stephane remains pacing, hands resting on his hips, then arms folded over his chest, hands moving up to his hair, moving to touch his lips where Johnny kissed him.
The silence was aching.
"I think I want to leave," Stephane says, finally; his hands on his hips again, turning his head sideways to look at Johnny with those eyes, facing Johnny but not really. Underneath Stephane's long fringe his expression is unreadable.
Johnny doesn't know what to think, other than the voice in his head screaming profanities at his own stupidity.
"Look, Stephane,-“
“I didn’t come all the way to New Jersey to be distracted by you,” Stephane interrupts him, “I didn’t drop everything back in Switzerland for this - I came here to do better at my skating. I don’t want anything else. I don’t want anything to get in the way. I-“
“Look, Stephane. I get it. I’m not going to beg you to stay, you know I’m not like that, but - I'm really sorry, okay? You- I. I kissed you because I wanted to; and. Actually, you know what? It was a great kiss. I'm not sorry for kissing you. I’m sorry I didn’t think. I'm sorry I did not respect your wishes, I'm sorry that I feel like I've fucked up our friendship- I don't mean to hurt you-"
"I don't want to get hurt." Stephane says suddenly, his jaw set; "I know you but the world knows you different and usually - well, really, I think I might be worse than you because I am, well, European, but... To me you're not anybody else. You’re different. And I think...I usually don't let people hurt me and I will try not to let you but I think you can hurt me. Does it make sense?"
Johnny is silent, walking over to face Stephane directly now.
"So you don't want this because you think I can hurt you?"
Stephane nods, says, "Everyone eventually leaves."
“But right now, you are the one that’s leaving me.”
Stephane opens his mouth to argue but closes it again, confused, unable to retaliate.
“Johnny. This can’t - this can’t fuck up my skating.”
“I can’t guarantee that. You have to decide whether or not this is worth it.”
“I don’t know.”
“I want this.”
“I don’t know.”
“Stephane,” Johnny is growing impatient; “You either want this or you don’t. You want to kiss me or you don’t. You won’t know if I’ll hurt you or you’ll hurt me, if I’ll leave or you’ll leave. You won’t know anything now. Why don’t you just kiss me and find out?”
Stephane pauses; he grabs Johnny by the waist, pushes him against the nearest wall; Johnny hits his head against it and he yelps, surprised by the sudden action. Stephane blinks then, cups Johnny's face in his hands; "Right now I want to do this, because you’re right, that kiss was very good" he breathes, and swoops in, kissing Johnny, hard.
Johnny wants to laugh and wants to breathe a sigh of relief, has to refrain from groaning aloud (because, well, fuck, Stephane was hands still can’t stop moving everywhere), uses the wall to pull himself up and hook his legs around Stephane's waist.
Stephane’s not leaving. Not tonight, anyway.
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel
PG, 717 words. A bit of angst.
Stephane pushes back, a mixture of shock and surprise. He looks at Johnny, wide-eyed, pulling a hand through his hair, strands standing on end.
"What are you doing?!"
Johnny flinches, taken aback. Kissing people generally did not bring this outcome.
"You just looked so goddamn gorgeous, and then you were licking those fingers, and I couldn't help myself, and I-"
"I thought I said I didn't want any funny stuff to happen!"
It was a half shout, half whine, and now Stephane was standing up, away from Johnny, running a hand through his hair again, other hand on his hips.
No Funny Business. Johnny forgot. Shit.
"I'm sorry. I forgot about that."
Johnny stands up as well, watches Stephane, pacing the room, not knowing what to do with his hands; he took the remaining popcorn and tosses it in the bin; he washes the bowl ("Let me do that," Johnny protests, but Stephane ignores him, scrubbing even more furiously), wipes the table clean, and when there was nothing else to do Stephane remains pacing, hands resting on his hips, then arms folded over his chest, hands moving up to his hair, moving to touch his lips where Johnny kissed him.
The silence was aching.
"I think I want to leave," Stephane says, finally; his hands on his hips again, turning his head sideways to look at Johnny with those eyes, facing Johnny but not really. Underneath Stephane's long fringe his expression is unreadable.
Johnny doesn't know what to think, other than the voice in his head screaming profanities at his own stupidity.
"Look, Stephane,-“
“I didn’t come all the way to New Jersey to be distracted by you,” Stephane interrupts him, “I didn’t drop everything back in Switzerland for this - I came here to do better at my skating. I don’t want anything else. I don’t want anything to get in the way. I-“
“Look, Stephane. I get it. I’m not going to beg you to stay, you know I’m not like that, but - I'm really sorry, okay? You- I. I kissed you because I wanted to; and. Actually, you know what? It was a great kiss. I'm not sorry for kissing you. I’m sorry I didn’t think. I'm sorry I did not respect your wishes, I'm sorry that I feel like I've fucked up our friendship- I don't mean to hurt you-"
"I don't want to get hurt." Stephane says suddenly, his jaw set; "I know you but the world knows you different and usually - well, really, I think I might be worse than you because I am, well, European, but... To me you're not anybody else. You’re different. And I think...I usually don't let people hurt me and I will try not to let you but I think you can hurt me. Does it make sense?"
Johnny is silent, walking over to face Stephane directly now.
"So you don't want this because you think I can hurt you?"
Stephane nods, says, "Everyone eventually leaves."
“But right now, you are the one that’s leaving me.”
Stephane opens his mouth to argue but closes it again, confused, unable to retaliate.
“Johnny. This can’t - this can’t fuck up my skating.”
“I can’t guarantee that. You have to decide whether or not this is worth it.”
“I don’t know.”
“I want this.”
“I don’t know.”
“Stephane,” Johnny is growing impatient; “You either want this or you don’t. You want to kiss me or you don’t. You won’t know if I’ll hurt you or you’ll hurt me, if I’ll leave or you’ll leave. You won’t know anything now. Why don’t you just kiss me and find out?”
Stephane pauses; he grabs Johnny by the waist, pushes him against the nearest wall; Johnny hits his head against it and he yelps, surprised by the sudden action. Stephane blinks then, cups Johnny's face in his hands; "Right now I want to do this, because you’re right, that kiss was very good" he breathes, and swoops in, kissing Johnny, hard.
Johnny wants to laugh and wants to breathe a sigh of relief, has to refrain from groaning aloud (because, well, fuck, Stephane was hands still can’t stop moving everywhere), uses the wall to pull himself up and hook his legs around Stephane's waist.
Stephane’s not leaving. Not tonight, anyway.