(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 gets a call from Evan a few minutes later asking where he is. Evan Lysacek is pretty much the last person in the world he wants to see right now, but he does want to find out how Evan's practice went today, so they end up meeting in the lobby of Evan's hotel. Johnny can only hope that anyone who sees them together will find it perfectly in character for his new role as defender of Johnny Weir's reputation.
Evan, already sitting on an ornate armchair when Johnny gets there, looks just about as bad as Johnny feels, so that cheers him up a little. He slides into a chair across from him, trying to mentally work through all the layers of what he feels about Evan right now: echoes of their long-term rivalry, traces of the weird kind of peace that came from having to work together yesterday, and the fresh anger that's still making his chest kind of hurt.
Evan, for one, brightens at the sight of him. "Hey," he says. "That phrase sheet was really handy."
He wouldn't look like that if he knew about the mini press conference, so he doesn't know, so Johnny should be acting normal. Except he can't remember anymore what "normal" is supposed to be in this situation, so he just asks what he wants to know.
"Did you go try and find the girl?"
Evan's face darkens. "Yeah, I tried. She wasn't there, and no one there could tell me anything about her, not even her name or anything. I'm telling you, man, it's like a classic curse situation."
"Which you would know about from all the other times you've been cursed," Johnny says. He rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Getting this fixed is clearly going to take some creative thinking.
"How was your practice, anyway?" he says, and Evan groans.
"Awful," he says. "I recognized a lot of what your coach was saying from the sheet-she said that one about embarrassment a lot. But there was a lot I didn't know, so she would just kind of yell stuff and I didn't answer and then she would give me these looks like I was being crazy, which I probably was because all the Russian stuff she was saying was probably stuff you'd be crazy not to answer. I started just making up meanings for things. 'бедствие' means 'banana'."
"That means 'disaster'," Johnny says, grimacing. "I bet she's tearing up our contract as we speak."
"I did my best," Evan says, sounding slightly uncomfortable, and Johnny figures it's because he's not used to his best not being gold-medal caliber. "How'd it go for you?"
Johnny tries to answer the way Evan did, to make it into a story where they can both laugh about how mutually awful they are at being each other, but he thinks If you skate like that in a few days you might even place below Weir and the words stick in his throat.
"About as well as you'd expect," he says tersely. There's a tall woman standing over by the front desk who's looking at them and frowning.
"We have got to get this fixed," Evan says. "Can we go to like-I don't know, a doctor? Or some kind of mystic temple?"
The woman is leaning over to talk to someone else, a man, and pointing. Johnny hopes they're Johnny Weir fans and not Evan Lysacek fans, because watching Evan try to deal with the Angels sounds like a lot more fun than him trying to deal with whatever godawful idiots Lysacek has for supporters.
"I don't know," Johnny says. "You're the one who knows all about classic curse situations. What exactly did she say to you?"
Evan's forehead creases as he tries to think. Must be hard for him. Johnny hopes he's not causing any permanent lines.
"It was definitely something about winning," he says. "Winning and, like… glory, and the difference between the two."
"So is that the lesson you're supposed to learn?" The woman is coming over now, walking smartly in professional heels, and taking out a legal pad and pen. Johnny notices that her friend has a camera slung around his neck. Shit.
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"Mr. Lysacek! Mr. Weir!" The woman comes up to them, flipping to a clean page of her legal pad. "What a treat to see you here together. I take it your newfound reconciliation has something to do with this?"
Evan frowns. "What reconciliation?"
The woman laughs brightly. "Johnny-may I call you Johnny?-how do you feel about the allegations made in your defense by Evan Lysacek, previously considered your biggest rival?"
It takes Evan a second to process the sentence, so Johnny says quickly, "I didn't make any allegations. I was merely speculating."
"Speculating," the woman repeats, scribbling on her pad furiously. "And may I ask, what inspired you to speak out on your rival's behalf?"
Johnny glances over at Evan, who is looking between Johnny and the reporter with dawning alarm.
"It wasn't on his behalf," Johnny says. "I didn't do it for him. If you'll excuse me," he says, standing up and grabbing Evan's arm. Evan lets himself be pulled up and shuffled off to the side of the lobby. Johnny finds a door handle and pulls, and ends up inside one of those fancy hotel bathrooms, with marble counters and little pink soaps and dim lighting so you'll look attractive in the mirror.
"Johnny, what the hell is going on?" Evan says, pulling his arm out of Johnny's grip.
"Um," Johnny says. "Get your phone out."
Evan takes it out slowly, looking at Johnny the whole time like Johnny might bolt if he looks away.
"You should probably, um, just Google it," Johnny says. He feels the urge to apologize preemptively, but then he thinks of Frank saying I don't think you need to worry about it and his cheeks are burning again and he's not sorry anymore.
Evan's staring at his phone, his face growing more and more impassive. After a minute, he looks up at Johnny, his eyes narrow.
"You dick," he says.
"It's not like I lied about anything," Johnny says, and damn it, this is what Evan always does to him. With someone else he might be inclined to back down, but any time Lysacek talks to him in a voice like that it just makes him want to hit back even harder.
"Except about being me," Evan says, his voice hard. "You let everyone think you're me."
The problem is that the only thing Johnny can really think of to say is You owe me, and saying that would require a lot of explanation about things like how gold medals make you feel when you're in sixth place, and coaches laughing at your chances, and some fucking jock getting adored by everyone in the skating world while they're worried that you're sending the wrong message to children, like being you is the worst thing that could happen to a kid.
He clenches one hand into a fist at his side and says, "Yeah, Evan, I let everyone think I was you. And I said stuff you should have said anyway. So, you're welcome."
"You can't just-" Evan pauses, and takes in a deep, shaky breath. "God, you are so-you have no idea about how things work in the real world, do you? You can't just pretend to be me and suggest that people are gay, there are standards you have to-fuck, Johnny, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Are people upset?" Johnny says.
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"It wasn't about making people upset," he says. "It was about evening the playing field."
"It was about that you're a vindictive little nutjob," Evan spits. "You're in my body. Do you understand how-I mean, you know the things I could do in your body?" The wording brings Johnny back with a jolt to his breathless moment in the shower, and despite himself he feels a flush creeping up his cheeks.
"I could hold a press conference too," Evan says, stepping closer. "I could say I was gay. I could say I was retiring from skating. I could say I was having a secret love affair with Tim Gunn. I could say anything."
"I can't believe you know who Tim Gunn is," Johnny blurts, and Evan shoves him, hands on his chest. Johnny stumbles, more out of surprise than anything else. Then he shoves back, because he's not sure what else to do, and Evan stumbles more and Johnny realizes that he's taller. He takes a few steps forward and tries out how that feels, his long body close to Evan's. It's weird, but being in this body kind of makes him feel manly, with Evan's stubble and height and his weird musky smell. He steps forward again and grasps Evan's shoulders, pushing him up against the wall. Evan jerks forward, Johnny pushes him back again and Evan lashes out and kicks him in the ankle. Johnny moves closer, their chests almost touching, and leans in to speak right against Evan's ear.
"I'm sorry I messed with your perfect fucking reputation," he hisses. "I hope you get dragged through the mud."
He draws back a little, and Evan says, "Fuck you." But there's something in the way he says it, a little strained, and his face is flushed and it's Johnny's body, so he knows. He's so startled he drops Evan's shoulders and takes a step back and says, "Oh my God, you get turned on by yourself? Wait, I mean, of course you do. Of course."
"I'm not-no!" Evan splutters, his face going even redder. "That's-I wouldn't-"
"You are seriously unbelievable," Johnny says. "This is really what I should be telling the press, holy shit." Evan looks so horrified Johnny almost laughs. "You get turned on by yourself. I mean, when you jerk off, are you, like, thinking about yourself? No, wait, you're thinking about your medal, right? I bet you've jerked off with it," he says, and whoa, okay, when did this turn from making fun of Evan into dirty talk, because Johnny's kind of getting turned on too from thinking about this.
"Shut the fuck up, Johnny," Evan growls. "Look, just-just stop saying provocative things as me, alright? I'm going up to my room."
"To do what?" Johnny says, half trying to get on his nerves and half seriously curious.
"Shut up," Evan says again, which is definitely an answer. Whoa. Johnny's mouth goes dry, thinking of Evan's hands working his body.
He swallows. "I could help you out with that, if you want."
Evan looks about ready to strangle him. "I really hate you," he says, and walks out, and it makes Johnny feel better than anything else that's happened all day.
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THIS FIC GETS BETTER AND BETTER!! <33333333
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Writer!anon, this is so amazing. Please continue, and don't ever EVER EVER drop this fic.
We anons love your fills. The characterization, the story flow--EVERYTHING.
HNNNNNNNNNNNNNN ♥
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