(Untitled)
2010 Winter Games Kink Meme
Part 2
I never really expected this to take off so well, let alone end up with 4000+ comments. Now it's time for part 2!
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1. We are all here to have a little fun. Am I right?
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He was halfway to the elevator when someone hissed "Are you doing the walk of shame?" in what was probably supposed to be a whisper. Then the whisperer apparently answered their own question, because they sped up and caught hold of Evan's arm, and hustled him into the elevator.
It was Weir.
"Tell me everything," Weir said, and the doors clamped shut and Evan was trapped. "And don't even say you weren't on a booty call, because you totally reek, did you know that?" His nostrils curled, his perky little nose twitching downwards with the movement. "It's a very male smell. Eau de, I don't know. Some sort of rutting beast. You could do with a shower."
Evan nodded slowly. He felt this was true, too.
"Well?" Weir said, bouncing up and down. "Who was it, one of the ice dancers? Most of the ladies' singles are way too young, or way too good for you. Oh, come on. Hello? Anyone awake in there? Wow, she did a number on you. Evan. Evan. For a dude who just got lucky, you seem kind of -"
"Not a girl," Evan said. Admitting weakness to Weir was bad, but right now he was very tired, and there was no one else he could tell. Shit, he could just imagine Frank's face.
Weir's mouth opened and closed like a guppy. "Oh," he said. The rest of the elevator ride was only half a minute long, but they felt like very long, difficult seconds, with Weir staring at him. Evan shut his eyes, and only opened them with the doors opened with a ping.
He tried to turn left, but Weir grasped him firmly by the elbow and pulled him down the hall. "Look, I appreciate the thought," Evan said, as Weir pushed him into his room. "But I'm not going to sleep with you. I have to save my energy."
"I have a boyfriend," Weir said. "And please, I wouldn't fuck you if your dick was made of chocolate."
"How would that even," Evan started, but he just wasn't up to Weir's crazy clown logic right then. "Whatever."
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*refresh refresh refresh*
WANT MOAR.
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"The French guy."
"You didn't get his name?" Weir asked. "This is a whole new side of you, Evan. I think I like it... wait, do you mean Joubert? Brian? With the freckles?"
"The freckles, yeah."
Weir whistled silently. His mouth made an interesting shape, pursed up. "Huh," he said. "Well, well, well. How was it?"
Evan shrugged. "Sex," he said. "I don't know."
"Everything is just wasted on you, isn't it, Evan?" Weir asked, tilting his head. "Come on, you can't just say that. How was he?"
"I don't know."
Weir frowned, like he thought Evan was holding out on him. "How can you not know? You were there, right? Do you turn your brain off during sex - actually, I'd believe it, but now I'm having sex robot thoughts and they're really bad, ew. Come on, it's not like -"
"It just kind of happened," Evan said helplessly. He could feel his face heating.
Weir didn't say anything for a few moments. "Wait a second," he said finally. He got up and disappeared into his bathroom - well, Evan guessed it was his bathroom. It could have been his closet, but then it would have been a really big closet. He wasn't sure why he was thinking so hard about closets. He could feel the burn in his thighs, the faint twinge in his back. He had to skate tomorrow.
Weir came out, clutching something, and tossed it carelessly into Evan's lap carelessly, like he could pretend he wasn't doing Evan a favour. It was a little tube of something, half beige and half black and Evan stared at it, but it didn't make any sense.
"What?"
"God, don't you know anything,-" Weir started, and seemed to answer his own question. He sighed. "Here, okay," and took the tube back, unscrewing the top viciously. "Tilt your head."
Evan did, and then Weir was touching his neck, light and purposeful. "What are you doing?"
"Covering up the marks," Weir said. "You have big juicy purple love bites, all over your neck. Seriously, didn't you think about Worlds tomorrow?"
"I wasn't thinking," Evan said, and Weir made a sort of snorting noise. His thumb moved gently under Evan's jaw.
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"Yeah."
Weir nodded shortly. "Good." He hooked his fingers under Evan's chin and lifted it, turning it from side to side and examining his work critically. Evan let him. "You'll do. I should - here," he said grudgingly, taking his hand away, and shoved the tube back into Evan's hand. "Fix yourself up tomorrow."
Evan curled his fingers around it. "Thanks."
"This doesn't mean I'm not going to be praying you don't fall on your ass tomorrow," Weir said. "Don't get me wrong. I hope you pop every axel you try to throw."
"Same to you," Evan said, getting to his feet. "But thanks."
Weir watched him walk over to the door, his eyes narrowed. "Seriously," he said again, like he couldn't stop himself. "The night before Worlds? Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Don't you know that that's like, the first move in nobbling your opposition if you swing that way? Sometimes even if you don't," he added conscientiously. "It's like, remedial."
"People don't do that, do they?" Evan said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "You've never tried to sleep with me."
"I don't need to fuck you to beat you," Weir said. "And I wouldn't fuck you even if you came in showers of diamonds or spurts of Crème La Mer, which costs like, just as much. Plus, I didn't know it would work on you." He eyed Evan almost speculatively.
"I don't think it does," Evan said.
He placed third the next day. Weir placed fourth, and made faces at Evan when he was standing on the podium. The French guy with the freckles placed three points behind him, and Evan let himself be pleased about that, and then let himself forget the incident almost entirely.
Sometimes he caught Weir watching him out of the corner of his eye, though, more curious than hostile. Evan got a girlfriend when they went on tour together the next summer, and then another after Tanith was done with him, and watched the curiousness in Weir's eyes curdle into something else, something bitter and knowing that said you are just like me, but you hide it better. It flashed out every time Evan placed higher, every time the commentators praised his style and tutted over Weir's. Evan didn't like seeing it, so he let himself ignore it.
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although they both end up like assholes...
But still!! Joubert/Lysacek, my secret kink!!!
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