(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!
The rules have been re-vamped for this. Please be sure to read them.
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1. We are all here to have a little fun. Am I right?
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Johnny is about to leave, Evan's skates under his arm, when Evan grabs his wrist. "Hang on."
Johnny instinctively recoils, and Evan drops him. His hands really are soft.
"What do you want?"
"Just... your coach. Um. I don't speak Russian." He says it in his stupid Evan way, the tone of voice that would make even the theory of relativity sound idiotic, so it takes Johnny a second to realize that it's a fair point.
"Oh," he says. "You're right. Okay, well... she doesn't really mind if I respond in English, so you won't have to speak it or anything. You just, um..." For a second he thinks: Evan must be as hungry as he is, and maybe they should go get some food and Johnny can give him a crash course. But the idea of sitting down and eating dinner with Evan Lysacek, particularly when he has to listen to stupid Evanisms coming from his own mouth (which Evan is almost certainly not using enough lip balm on), is too much.
"Okay, let's do this," he says. "It's still possible that we'll wake up tomorrow morning and everything will be back to normal. If it's not, I'll come over to your room again in the morning and I can just... You only really need to know the names of the jumps and ‘Johnny, I am very disappointed'. I'll just come and, um, bring you some clothes."
"...Right, clothes," Evan says. "Yes. Please don't wear that shirt again."
Johnny feels the same stab of irritation that he feels ninety percent of the time when sounds are coming out of Evan's mouth. "What's wrong with my shirt?" he says.
"Nothing's wrong with it," Evan says unconvincingly. "It's very you."
"Aren't those two statements contradictory for you?" Johnny says, but Evan just looks confused. Johnny tries something easier. "I'll see you tomorrow."
This, Evan understands. "Okay," he says. "Except, hopefully not."
"Right," Johnny says.
"Right."
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He doesn't remember what he dreamed-there are vague flashes in his mind of Lady Gaga and an electric foot massager-but it must have been pretty exciting. He slides out of bed and pads into the bathroom to brush his teeth, carefully weighing his options.
For one thing, Frank probably doesn't have a rule against… relieving tension. Priscilla never did, it's only Galina who thinks that sexual urges are linked to some mysterious part of your body that drains skating talent. On the other hand, he did promise Evan that he wouldn't use his body for sexual depravity. But this isn't the same thing as actually sleeping with someone, it's not like he's going to get any gay germs on him. Evan would probably understand. He might have even done it himself-and suddenly that image pops into Johnny's mind, Evan jerking off in Johnny's body, eyes squeezed shut, close to the edge, and Johnny feels a little weak. He spits out the toothpaste and turns on the shower, because this is getting to be a serious problem.
He steps into the shower and closes his eyes for a moment, letting the water stream down his-Evan's-naked body. Then he reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock.
Evan must have tried this. Johnny moves his hand slowly and thinks about him undressing, looking at Johnny's body, running his fingers over Johnny's thighs to feel the muscle. Maybe he would be lying on his hotel bed, trying to figure out Johnny's body from the perspective of a skating rival, assessing its strength. He would run his hands over Johnny's chest, down to his hips, across his stomach and then finally reach down and touch his cock, tentatively at first, then more boldly, his erection growing. Johnny groans, leaning back on the tiled shower wall.
Of course, Evan would have done this in his real body as well, the one Johnny is in right now. Maybe he would stand in the shower like this, after a competition when his adrenaline would be pumping, feeling his cock slide in and out of his hand just like Johnny's feeling it now. His thumb would play with the head like this, sensation building in his abdomen. Maybe he would be breathing like Johnny is now, his chest heaving with little gasps, like he was breathing earlier when they were skating. Johnny wonders what Evan looks like when he comes, the sound he would make. Would he cry out, or would he just groan, his hips jerking forward? Johnny gasps a little at the thought, working his hand harder, close to coming himself, and then he looks out the glass wall of the shower and sees Evan's face in the mirror, flushed from hot water and exertion, and it sends him over the edge. He rides out the orgasm, pressing himself against the shower wall and watching Evan's face as he tries to catch his breath.
Evan must have tried this too. He must have. Or at least Johnny hopes so, because otherwise he is going to feel kind of weird about this, like masturbating in someone else's bed. But he's stuck in someone else's body, it's not like he had a choice.
Evan probably wouldn't even mind, he thinks as he cleans himself off.
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Johnny tries not to think, I know what your orgasms feel like.
"Thanks," he says. "And by the way, you could at least look through the peephole before you open the door. What if it was someone else, and they saw me walking out of your room and you not there? They'd think I killed you and hid the body."
"We could have swapped rooms, but you wanted to keep yours," Evan says.
"It's much nicer," Johnny says, stepping into the room. Evan closes the door behind him.
"I made you a guide," he says, fishing in his pocket. "It's in Cyrillic and transliterated." He remembers who he's talking to. "The Russian alphabet and our alphabet," he amends.
"Awesome, thanks," Evan says, grabbing the paper. Johnny put plenty of helpful phrases on it for him, from "Think that you are a big strong man" to "Why can't you do this?" to "pomegranate juice". Evan skims it, lips moving silently, and Johnny can't help but think that he seems anxious somehow. His shoulders are all tensed up.
"Are you okay?" he says.
Evan looks up. "It's three days before Worlds," he says, "and I'm stuck as my rival."
"We're gonna fix it before Worlds," Johnny says.
"How do you know that? We don't even know how to fix it."
"Because I am not going to let Worlds happen with me still in your body," Johnny says. "That is not a world I'm willing to live in. Come on, on your lunch break today you can go back and try to find that girl who had such a healthy attitude towards your medal."
"She's not going to be there," Evan says, shaking his head. "They're never there. When you get cursed, and you go back and try to fix it, the person who cursed you doesn't just hang around waiting for you to come ask for help. You always have to learn a lesson or something first."
"How are you such an expert on this all of a sudden?" Johnny asks, frowning. He's annoyed, but it's only partly the usual being annoyed at Lysacek and partly something in his chest seizing up at the thought of anything messing up his last Worlds.
"I'm just saying," Evan says. "Did you bring me some clothes?"
Johnny reaches into his bag and hands them over. He hopes Evan appreciates his restraint here. It's just a T-shirt, jeans and a hoodie, and not even a Russia hoodie.
"Great," Evan says. "Thanks. Um. I hope you do okay today."
Johnny gives him a weird look. "Because I'm representing you?"
Evan shrugs. "I mean, yeah, but also, you know, good luck."
"Okay," Johnny says slowly. "Thanks. You too." He pauses. "If I get a chance, if we break at the same time, I'll come with you to find the girl. Otherwise… just try, okay?"
"I will," Evan promises.
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Frank beckons him over. As Johnny tried running through Evan's short program a few times, his expression had gone from surprise to confusion, and then his mouth settled into a hard line. Johnny skates over and feels the familiar dread of knowing you're about to feel seriously bad about yourself.
"Evan, what's going on?" Frank says in a low voice.
Okay, that's not so bad. Galina probably would have opened with "Everything you are doing is shit, what is happening to you?" And yet, Frank is looking at him all sincere and worried, and it's making his stomach twist.
"It's just nerves," Johnny says. It's a stupid excuse, but there's no real good excuse for suddenly skating terribly three days before the most important figure skating competition of the season.
Frank's brow furrows. "I was worried yesterday," he says. "But I trusted that you knew what you were doing."
"It would have been worse if I hadn't taken yesterday off," Johnny says before he can think through it. "Trust me."
Frank considers this for a moment, the lines in his forehead creasing. "Evan, is there something wrong? Because if there is, I need to know about it. I know you can do this and you know you can this, but if your head's not there your talent won't be either."
Johnny almost snorts, because Lysacek doesn't have talent. All he has obstinate single-track stubbornness. But this would probably not be the best time to say it.
He shakes his head. "I'm fine," he says. Well. "I'm going to be fine. I'm just... I just got spooked about living up to expectations. I'll get over it."
Frank studies him for a long moment, and Johnny tries to keep his face as blank of any emotion or thought as possible so that he looks authentic. Finally, Frank says, "Alright, get out there and try again."
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The worst part comes at the end of practice. Frank takes him aside by the elbow and tells him quietly that if he skates like that at Worlds, he’s going to be letting down the country. The fucking country. And the way he says it isn’t even angry, just sad and a little hurt, like Johnny-Evan-is ruining everything on purpose.
And then he says, "For heaven’s sake, if you skate like that in a few days you might even place below Weir."
Johnny startles, and the back of his neck starts to prickle.
"Excuse me?"
"I’m just saying, you need to pull it together," Frank says.
"No, but what do you mean I could place below Weir?"
Frank raises his eyebrows a little and shrugs. "I know it’s hard to hear, but I’m just telling it to you straight."
"You don’t think..." Johnny clears his throat and tries again, working hard to keep his voice under control. "You don’t think Weir has a chance at the podium? It’s been a good season for him."
And Frank laughs. Just a little, but still, he actually laughs. Johnny can feel the tips of his ears going red, from a combination of embarrassment and anger.
"I don’t think you need to worry about that," Frank says. "You just focus on what’s happening with you." He gives him an encouraging arm pat. "I expect to see better tomorrow, Evan."
"Yeah, sure," Johnny says, hardly listening anymore. He retreats to the locker room to get back into Evan’s casual clothes, his blood pounding in his ears.
Sometimes it annoys him the way the press plays up his rivalry with Evan, but it’s still a rivalry. And the thing about rivalries is that the other person needs to consider you a rival too. A threat. Competition. Johnny used to fucking wipe the floor with Evan Lysacek every year, does he remember that? And now, sure, Evan has a stupid gold medal to impress women and all Johnny got was a crown of roses, but he’s still one of the top-ranked skaters in the world and one of the top three in the country, and Evan’s coach laughed.
His fingers are shaking on his skate laces. Actually laughed, like the idea of Johnny doing well was ridiculous.
He can’t help but imagine what else has been said about him at past training sessions. "Bad day today, Evan, looking a little like Weir out there." He yanks one skate off and thinks about all the times he’s been doing badly in training and pulled it together thinking of what Evan’s face will look like when he loses, and it makes him so furious he nearly throws the skate against the wall. Instead he takes a deep breath and focuses on the hope that Evan managed to go back to the girl on his lunch break. Maybe this can all be over soon, and Johnny can go back to training on his own rink with his own people and not ever think about how Evan Lysacek sees him again.
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Johnny’s always loved the media. Sure, they can take quotes out of context and no one’s managed to write an article about him in the last five years without including the word "flamboyant", but despite that, Johnny likes talking to the press. He wanders over, and sure enough the reporters stick their microphones in his face excitedly.
"Mr. Lysacek, do you think you’re ready for the Worlds competition?"
Boring. "Yeah," Johnny says. "I mean, I’ve been training really hard." He can’t help but remember all the nights he’s spent with Tara doing Evan Lysacek impressions until they were both laughing too hard to breathe.
"How has your stay in Tokyo been so far?"
"It’s been great. I love Japan." Incredibly boring. Viacheslav Romanov would do much better than this. Still, the question’s bound to come up eventually. It always does for him.
"Are you at all worried about facing your rival, Johnny Weir?"
And there it is. Johnny doesn’t smirk, because it would be out of character. But he feels like smirking.
"I don’t know if I’d really call him my rival at this point," he says. "We compete a lot but we actually get along pretty well off the ice. He’s not a bad guy."
Someone snaps a picture right in his face, and he blinks at the afterimage. The woman who’d asked about Johnny shoves her microphone closer.
"In the past, Johnny Weir has been very critical of you."
"Yeah, I know," Johnny says, "but everyone’s pretty critical of him, aren’t they? Here’s the thing about Johnny Weir. He’s just this guy who skates, like we’re all guys who skate, but for some reason everyone acts like when he does it, it’s like extra girly or something. It’s equally girly for everyone. Which is to say," Johnny adds, for authenticity, "that it’s equally not girly, because it’s not. It’s about strength. And muscles. And stuff like that."
Everyone’s interested now, cameras flashing and questions overlapping. Johnny ignores the questions and plows on.
"I mean, you have to wonder," he says, "about these guys, these old figure skating guys who hate him so much. Because it’s not like he’s doing something that affects them, you know, he’s just doing his thing. You have to wonder why these guys find it so threatening." He pauses for effect. "All I’m saying is, it seems like some of these guys protest a little too much."
Now there’s a definite buzz of chatter, small though the group of reporters is.
"Excuse me, Mr. Lysacek," says one of them. "Are you implying-"
"I’m not implying anything," Johnny says. "I respect Weir as a competitor and as a teammate, and I’m looking forward to representing America with him and Adam Rippon at the World Championships. That’s all." He smiles, and walks away.
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LOL!
And wow, mass update! Pot stirring! You rock. :D
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