(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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The first steps were complete: He'd told Galina, and he'd arranged to meet with Frank. And oh, what a horrible day it had been. Galina hadn't been angry, she had been hurt. There was no easy way to tell someone that they weren't good enough for you anymore. Ultimately, she'd tugged him close to her ginormous fur coat and let him go. It was awful, he felt awful. So, he'd gone home and cried on his bed, while his Mother packed a bag for him. It was a good thing he'd just bought himself some new sunglasses, because his eyes were horribly red and puffy.
After reassuring himself he'd made the right decision, he treated himself to a frap and got a plane to LAX. Frank had sprung for first class, so Johnny spent most of the flight annoying the stewardess by sitting with his feet tucked up. She'd finally recognized him, and they spent some time ragging on Evan's orangeness. It was a fabulous distraction from what he knew was waiting for him on the ground.
Once he'd landed, a taxi took him to the Toyota Sports Center. The insides to be plastered with Lysacek's giant head, and cute little Mirai. Johnny walked past the posters, his suitcase clacking against the floor as it rolled behind him. Finally, he spotted Frank standing with Lysacek. Head up, Johnny.
He hadn't counted on Evan actually being there, but he was going to have to get used it. Somehow. Maybe with strong drugs. “Sorry I'm late, storms back east.” No point telling them he'd been crying like a bitch and missed the first flight.
Frank lead them to his office, and Johnny paused to ogle the Michelle Kwan photographs. “Still the head bitch in charge in my book.” He said, folding himself into one of Frank's uncomfortable chairs.
“So, Johnny. I've been in contact with Tara, she's sent over the signed contracts. All that's left now is my assessment of your skating skills, and getting you settled somewhere. Did you have any questions?”
“Does Lysacek always look that confused?” He really, really shouldn't have. It was just a shame wasting getting in a hit on an easy target. Frank frowned, so Johnny went on. “Why now? I'm 26.”
Evan cleared his throat, startling Johnny. He tended to sit so still, that you forgot he was there. Creepy. “I'm 25, we're not that old.”
“And Gaga is a virgin. We're old enough, compared to Rippon.” Johnny fiddled with his jacket, ignoring the death glares from Evan. He was like a giant, brooding, golden retriever.
Frank sat back in his chair, wearing what looked like a really good 'I'm not in the mood for this bullshit' expression. “You're both very unique skaters. Evan, you've got raw power. Johnny, you've got--”
“Artistic expression, I know. It's all I ever hear. Evan is the athlete, I'm the showgirl.” He flipped his hair at Evan, who pouted. Honestly, just because he couldn't work it.
“You can only benefit from each other,” Frank said, leaning forward on his desk. “Let's do some warm up, and a run through your short program.”
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