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[wintergameskink]

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,

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FILLED part 4

[anonymous]

So here, in the shower, with nothing but his body and his soap he could think about what he, Evan, was going to do about this insane Johnny Weir obsession. He leaned his head against the shower wall. He was getting used to thinking on top of the constant barrage of Johnny in his head, but it was also wearing him down. He still couldn’t figure it out, and he had told no one. Any easy decision, he didn’t have anyone to tell. He didn’t have friends, he had a coach, handlers, a publicist, an agent, a personal trainer, a nutritionist, someone to see to every aspect of his life but no one he really talked to about his personal feelings. Usually because he kept to himself, preferring to think things over while running or doing yoga, carefully consider how to proceed in one area or another, come to decisions and then give them to people.

And now he was alone, in his shower, with some kind of strangely tainted medal in the other room and Johnny Weir in his head. Why Johnny Weir? He had never understood Johnny, even when he had watched his programs until he could see them with his eyes closed, trying to analyze Johnny’s skating. He had never really even respected Johnny, the skater with so much more natural brilliance then himself (here, in the private of his shower, he could think that) but who refused to train up to his full potential, gallivanting across magazine spreads instead of spending more time on the ice, who struggled to afford the best training and choreography because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and refrain from alienating any major corporation that might want to sponsor him. He smacked the wall before trying to shrug some of the tension out of his shoulders and turning off the water and wiping his face. Standing alone in the steam with nothing but the drip of the faucet he had to decide what to do. He pulled open the curtain and was faced with a blurry image of himself in the steamy mirror. Sometimes in the blink of an eye you see something that seems too real and detailed to be imaginary or impossible to capture in a split second, and in a moment like that Evan swore that behind his own slender body and haunted face he saw an even thinner (seriously, that guy was, like, EMACIATED) Johnny behind him, wrapping his arms around Evan’s chest with a possessive glint in his eyes. Evan shivered so hard that even in the hot bathroom he broke out in goosebumps and his nipples tightened, almost painfully considering that during the earlier part of the shower they had received some none-to-gentle attention in a fit of desperate masturbatory release. This couldn’t be real. How could this be happening? Evan had made a career out of being in absolute control, training impossibly long hours, being impossibly good natured, never breaking character from Evan Lysacek ™ but he wasn’t sure he could survive much more of this. Could he really just go back to LA and go through the motions? Watch Johnny compete at Worlds, that too-thin body spinning and jumping and just impartially critique? What if these feelings didn’t go away, and that ghostly face and touch followed him? Could he bear it? But what else was there to do? He barely had spoken more than two words to Johnny in the past few years, what was he supposed to do? Knock on his condo door (and God forbid, run into Tanith?) and fucking ask him to fuck him? How do you complain to a near stranger that you’ve been possessed by the sudden desire to have their hands all over your body, to have their mouth scraping across your own jutting clavicle and hip, that you want to leave fingerprint bruise in their hairline? If only this had happened to someone he liked….if only he knew anyone well enough to like someone. Shit. To do nothing was unbearable. To do something….might be salvific. Or humiliating. Or both. He firmly wiped the steam off the window and looked at himself, alone, naked, nothing but his soap to call his own.

Evan was fucked.
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