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2010 WINTER OLYMPIC GAMES KINK MEME
Welcome to all winter athletes! This Winter Games is screaming for fic. Lots and lots of fic. So let's give them what they want! The set up is easy! Just (anonymously) post your favorite pairing, threesome, groupsome, etc., and a kink. All prompts are welcome, not just the kinky ones. If someone is interested, ( Read more... )
Welcome to all winter athletes! This Winter Games is screaming for fic. Lots and lots of fic. So let's give them what they want! The set up is easy! Just (anonymously) post your favorite pairing, threesome, groupsome, etc., and a kink. All prompts are welcome, not just the kinky ones. If someone is interested, ( Read more... )
“Oh, that’s not true,” Johnny says. “You’re an Olympic champion, for fuck’s sake, you can do anything you want now and people will fall over themselves helping you. Anything. You can- you can go to fucking Harvard, or become an assassin, or a porn star, or-”
“What?” Evan mouths, no longer following him.
“Okay,” Johnny says, stopping. “Bad examples, but it’s true. You worked your ass off so now you get to enjoy the rewards. God, if I’d won gold, I’d, I’d-- I don’t even know, but it would be awesome.”
“It doesn’t feel awesome,” he says. “It feels like a huge weight. I thought that I’d feel better, but instead I feel like… like anything I do now, it’s not about me anymore. I can’t mess up, or,” he wants to say something about ‘resting on his laurels’ but suppresses it. “Frank said I was embarrassing my country.”
“Oh, what the fuck? Seriously? That guy…” Johnny gets up and starts to pace back and forth. “You’re not a giant gold medal on legs, Evan. Taking a few days off because you’re burned out is not embarrassing anyone. Being on Dancing with the Stars? Maybe. But this country gets embarrassed way too easily. This whole fucking sport does.”
“You really think I could go to Harvard?”
“What? The MBA thing? Sure, they’ll definitely let you in.”
“But you think I could actually do it? The work, I mean. I was always good in school, but that was ages ago.”
Johnny looks pained for a second, and then says, “Look, if you put half as much effort into grad school as you do into skating, you’ll be fine. They’ll love you. And, really, you’d be great at business. Your first language is clichés, for fuck’s sake. You’ll go out in a tie and a tracksuit and investors will just throw money at you.”
“You think?” he asks. “People say that, but usually I think they’re humoring me.”
“I’m not humoring you. I am completely and entirely serious, okay?” Johnny sits down next to him on the couch. “God, how does a gold medal winner develop delusions of inadequacy? Maybe you need to see a psychologist.”
“I already have a sports psychologist.”
“I meant a person psychologist.”
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Your Johnny IS Johnny. His snark is just the right kind and the right level without feeling too forced. Evan's "ums" and doubts in his speech and his opinions are fucking AWESOME. God, and the whole thing is very well plotted, and the dialogue is brilliantXD
(and I'm so so so VERY happy that Plushenko is being set up as the next in line, what with Johnny's close visit to Russia...though I can't imagine Carroll's reaction if Evan calls and tells him he just got on a plane to Russia with Johnny Weir. I don't know if he'll be more horrified by the fact that he's with Johnny or that he's in Russia. After the Olympics. He'll be eaten by the angry scary Russian mobsXD
Meanwhile, I can already feel Johnny's perverse delight in corrupting him all over the worldXD)
Favourite lines
It’s a short conversation. Frank hangs up while Evan is still in midsentence, trying to explain, “I took a long, hard look in the mirror-” The dropped call noise beeps painfully in his ear.
LOL I could feel his exasperation
“Sorry, I meant, this… this manly assertion of your inner self.”
Great rewording, JohnnyXD
“I already have a sports psychologist.”
“I meant a person psychologist.”
LOL this, pretty much, summarizes this entire storyXD
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“-sorry, but he’s kind of fragile right now and I’m not sure how he’d deal with having other people over.”
Johnny must be in his room, Evan can hear him opening and closing drawers as he gets dressed and talks.
“Do you actually want to hang out with Lysacek? Believe me, it’s about as much fun as it sounds. Just stay in the city another night and I’ll call you tomorrow with an update.”
There’s another beat as Johnny listens to something and then, “What? No, noooooo! That’s not- We didn’t- That’s absurd and anyway I would tell you right away if- Will you shut up and listen. . .”
Johnny moves further away then and his voice gets muffled, so Evan goes back to getting ready. Johnny’s still in his room when he finishes. He goes into the kitchen and searches the cupboards for breakfast.
Evan’s working on a bowl of Cheerios when Johnny finally comes out of his room, wearing a long-sleeved green t-shirt and jeans.
“Do you have any wheat germ?” Evan asks.
Johnny blinks, but goes to the fridge and looks through the shelves until he finds a plastic jar. It’s the toasted kind, honey flavored. Evan carefully measures out two spoonfuls.
He probably shouldn’t let on that he eavesdropped, but he’s annoyed so whatever. “I’m not fragile,” he says.
Johnny sighs, “I meant emotionally, calm down.”
“Was that your roommate?” What’s his name, France? No, like the Hilton chick, Nicole?
“Yeah,” Johnny says. “He’s just mad because he thinks he’s being sexiled.”
“Being what?”
“Don’t worry about it. So-” Johnny comes over and hops up to sit on the table next to Evan’s orange juice. “What do you want to do today?”
“Um, we could go skating?”
Johnny starts to laugh, but stops quickly. “Oh. Oh, honey. No. One, it’s Saturday and, two, you’re having a nervous breakdown, remember?”
“Could you please stop calling it that?”
“Uh, sorry. That is kind of stigmatizing. You’re, um. . . you’re taking a mental health vacation. You don’t need to practice. You need to rest. Recuperate.”
Evan pulls a face, “But I feel like crap when I don’t exercise, can’t we at least do a little workout?”
“Okay, okay, but let’s go for a run or something. No skating.”
Johnny goes to change (again), while Evan digs through his suitcase for his sneakers.
They take a leisurely jog around the block and into a nearby park. It’s a nice area, suburban, but with enough meadows and trees to keep things interesting.
They stop at a spot with some benches to stretch and do some core exercises. It’s an unseasonably warm day and there are a lot of people out walking dogs or taking a run themselves. A few of them smile or say hi to Johnny, but no one seems to recognize Evan.
“Hey, how is the Dancing with the Stars thing going anyway? Have you started training for it yet?”
“A bit. I have a few weeks until filming starts, but I’m trying to prepare.”
“Are you nervous? You don’t have any dance training at all, right?”
“Yeah, it might end up being really embarrassing. I don’t think I’m very good yet, but Anna says I’m improving.”
“Hey, maybe I can help? Show me what you’ve learned, come on.” Johnny jumps up and stands with his arms out, like he expects Evan to come over and do a waltz with him in the middle of the park.
“Um,” Evan says, glancing around.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes. “Live a little, there’s no paparazzi here.”
“But there’s no music,” Evan points out.
Johnny sighs and drops his hands.
“Later?” Evan asks. “I actually could use your help.”
“Sure, sure,” Johnny says, turning and starting to jog away. “I might as well put my fabulous artistic talents to good use.”
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Evan sits down on the coach, feeling guilty even though he doesn’t know what he did exactly. He tries watching TV, but he feels too antsy to just sit on his ass. Johnny’s laptop is out on a shelf and plugged into some speakers, so he goes over to look through his music. He doesn’t recognize most of the artists or songs, but that’s not really surprising. He turns on shuffle and selects the playlist entitled “The Gaga” as a peace offering.
Johnny comes into the room while Evan is trying to follow the advice of “Just Dance.” He leans against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Wow,” he says. “That is horrific. Why would anyone think it was a good idea to put you in a dance-based reality show?”
“I don’t know,” Evan admits, relieved to have an excuse to stop. “I kind of think it’s a weird opportunity though. Maybe it will actually help my skating.”
He holds his hand out to Johnny, who looks surprised but take it anyway and steps in close to him. Evan pulls him into a basic box step, trying to hear Anna’s voice in his head reminding him where to put his feet. They maneuver around the small room successfully a few times before Johnny says, “Wait, look up. Don’t look at your feet.”
“Sorry,” Evan says.
“It’s okay. For now, don’t even try to do a real step, just listen to the music and move with the beat.” He pulls father away from Evan so their hands are held between them, like they’re dancing in a club instead of a ballroom.
“Don’t move to the faster parts, try to hear to the bass underneath and match that. Yeah, yeah, there you go.”
They work through several songs that way, Evan watching Johnny and trying to copy his movements. He suspects many of them won’t be appropriate for network TV, but he’s starting to feel less stiff and awkward as he dances. He can sort of see why people do this for fun. It’s a lot less nerve racking when it’s only the two of them and they aren’t preparing for some competition.
“I just feel so silly,” Evan admits at one point, trying to make his hips swivel like Johnny’s. “I must look like an idiot.”
“You don’t,” Johnny promises. “Well, no, actually everyone looks like an idiot when they dance, but that’s okay. You just need to work on your dance face.”
“Dance face?” Evan repeats, turning to follow Johnny as he circles around him.
“You know how dancers sometimes get this serious look and like they don’t move their face muscles at all?” he stops smiling to show Evan, focusing his eyes on a distant point and clenching his jaw.
“Like?” Evan tries copying him.
“Yeah, but pout a little more. There, yeah, you look hot.”
Evan laughs, “And this won’t make me look like an idiot?”
“I didn’t say that,” Johnny says, moving in closer to put his arms around Evan’s neck.
A new song starts up and Evan has to pause for a moment to listen to the lyrics. “Disco stick?” he repeats.
Johnny cracks up, falling backwards to land on the couch.
“I’m starting to see why you’re such a fan of hers.”
“You should try asking your dance partner to use this.” Johnny says, still laughing. “Are you allowed to have lyrics?”
“I’m. . . I’m not actually sure, probably.”
He plops down next to Johnny, out of breath.
“The thing about dancing,” Johnny says. “Is that it only looks good if you’re not self-conscious. If you’re embarrassed, it’ll look embarrassing, but if you enjoy yourself then everyone watching you will too.”
Evan nods, stretching until his back cracks. “Okay, I’ll try to have fun with it. Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Johnny says. Evan thinks he might actually mean it. He suddenly notices that he feels. . . good. It’s hard to tell when he’s still breathless and sweaty, but his heartbeat doesn’t feel quite so intense. It’s lighter somehow.
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“Sure.”
“What do you think of me?”
Johnny looks at him. “Oh, right, because I made you tell me yesterday. Uh, well.”
“Come on,” Evan says.
Johnny sighs, “Uh, Evan. You’re. . . you’re one of the most driven people I know. I mean, your work ethic is insane and kind of scary. What else, um, you’re competitive and clean-cut and, well, boring. You’re pretty boring. But mostly when I think of you, I think. . .”
“What?” Evan says, kind of annoyed but determined to hear this out. It might have been a bad idea to ask.
“Well, you’re a douche.”
Evan frowns, “What does that even mean?” He’s been called it before, of course, but he’s never really understood the insult.
“Douche? It’s. . . it’s like. . . You’re kind of clueless and ridiculous, I guess. But it’s also like. . . you’re this hyper-competitive guy who is always trying to fuck over everyone else, yet somehow you still maintain this wholesome, all-American image. I don’t know, it’s annoying.”
“I can’t control how I’m portrayed in the press, you know that,” Evan says, defensive.
“Oh, bullshit,” Johnny snaps. “Maybe it’s not completely under your control, but don’t tell me you don’t use your image and play it up to your own advantage. You’re not the last straight hope of figure skating for nothing.”
Johnny gets up and turns off the music, turning away from Evan like he can’t stand to look at him.
Yeah, he definitely should not have started this conversation. His heart feels like it’s back in a vice again.
“Listen, Johnny,” Evan says. “I know I’ve said stuff before, stupid stuff-”
“Oh, shut up,” Johnny says, and leaves.
Evan stretches out on his back, taking over the space Johnny emptied on the couch. He wants to take out his anger on something, so he kicks a pillow down onto the floor. What’s wrong with using his image to his own advantage? Yeah, the USFSA wants a certain kind of skater and he fits that profile, but that’s just luck. It’s not like he planned it that way, and if that’s how it is. . . what’s wrong with using it? His image is just another tool, like his body and his work ethic. That’s the kind of thing Frank says, anyway.
Evan lies there fuming for a while, listening to Johnny stomping around the apartment. He goes into his room, slamming the door like a teenager, but then comes back out again and crosses through the living room, pointedly ignoring Evan on the couch. He starts banging around in kitchen, apparently cooking out his anger.
Evan picks up the pillow from the floor and hugs it to his chest. Okay, so he knows the image thing kind of sucks for Johnny, but they’ve both tried to move past the idiocy of their 2D portrayals lately. And Johnny certainly gets a lot of mileage out of their ‘rivalry’ on his TV show. It’s all hype and they know it: a storyline, a game. Evan had thought that they were mostly okay with each other now, friendly, if not exactly friends. He certainly wouldn’t have come running out to New Jersey to visit Johnny five years ago. And he doubts Johnny would have let him stay over then either.
He debates whether or not to go into the kitchen. He should probably give Johnny more time to cool off, but he’s afraid to let this fester into a real fight. It would kind of suck if he got thrown out and had to go find a hotel room.
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“I’m sorry I’m a hyper-competitive douche bag,” Evan says.
Johnny stops beating the pulverized chicken and lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry I’m an over-sensitive diva.”
“No you’re not.”
Johnny shrugs.
“I am trying to be better about the image thing,” Evan says. “Like, when reporters ask me about you.”
“I know,” Johnny says. “Clean off that asparagus will you?”
They make dinner together, and if it’s not quite a comfortable silence, at least it’s not an angry one. Evan washes the asparagus in the sink and then bends the stocks until they snap, throwing away the tough ends. He finds another skillet to steam it in.
Johnny is apparently making chicken marsala, and he tosses the now thoroughly flattened chicken medallions into a skillet with mushrooms, cream, and some wine poured from his impromptu rolling pin. “Oh, calm down,” he says, seeing Evan’s disapproving face. “All of the alcohol burns off when you cook it.”
They eat at the counter, still silent. Evan leans back when he’s done and says, “I have another question.”
“Great, because that went so well last time.”
“What are you going to do after you retire?”
Johnny groans. “Don’t you have any easy questions? I don’t know; probably milk the last of my fame for as long as possible. After that I’m not sure. I might try coaching. I think I might actually be good at it. Or at least I wouldn’t give anyone an eating disorder or fuck them up too much.”
Evan nods, “I’ve thought about coaching too.”
Johnny coughs into his napkin and says, “Please, for the sake of your hypothetical future pupils, don’t.”
Evan’s about to ask what that means, when Johnny’s phone buzzes. He frowns down at the caller ID for a second and then gets up to answer it.
“Hello?” he says, sounding suspicious. “Sorry, say that again?”
Evan leans back to try and see his expression, but Johnny has his back to him.
“Oh, really, and where did you hear that? No, no comment.” He hangs up.
“What was that about?” Evan asks.
“Alright, don’t panic, there was a post on TMZ or something, I guess one of the people at the park today tweeted about you being in Jersey with me.”
Evan breathes through his nose and reminds himself that he knew this would happen eventually.
“Who was on the phone?”
“Some reporter I don’t know, that’s why I hung up.”
Evan groans and rubs his forehead. “Great.”
“Relax, your PR people are probably already doing damage control. Are you really that embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“What? No, that’s not it, I’d just prefer to have my ‘nervous breakdown’ in private.”
“No one has to know why you’re really here. Tell them- I don’t know, tell them that I’m helping you with the dancing thing. Yeah, that’ll sound cute and kind of sportsmanlike. Those Olympic athletes, they’re competitors on the ice, but off it they help each other out.”
“Yeah, that is good.” Evan goes to find his own phone and texts his publicist. He still doesn’t really want to talk to anyone in LA. They’ll call if he needs to make a statement anyway.
“‘No paparazzi,’” he quotes when he comes back, accusatory.
“Yeah, well, that’s the magic of camera phones. Fucking twitter, everyone’s a gossip reporter now.”
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