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2010 Winter Games Kink Meme
Figure Skating Post!
Only figure skating/ice dancing prompts/fills go here!
Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
Other Sports and Crossovers are here.
Speed Skating is here.
Figure Skating Part 1 is here.
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"So you're coming over to my place for dinner tonight. Like six o' clock, okay?"
Stéphane is quiet for a moment. "Forgive me," he starts awkwardly, "but I do not recall making plans."
"You didn't. This is an executive decision."
He sighs. "I am actually quite tired, Johnny. I-"
"And I'm not?" Johnny asks, interrupting him. "I'm offering dinner, not to dye your hair. Just come over, eat my food, and get out before nine o' clock because seriously, my night time regimen is a little," he purses his lips while he looks for the right word, "involved."
There's another moment of hesitation and Johnny inhales a breath to shout down the next protest, but Stéphane only says, "Okay. D'accord."
"Good. Six o' clock. I'll text you the directions."
~~~
The Swiss are supposedly known for their punctuality, what with their famous watches and their many German influences, but for as long as Johnny has known him Stéphane has never suffered from the affliction of being on time. Maybe the Portuguese in him negotiated an alliance with the Frenchier parts of his personality and they both agreed not to be bullied about by their inner Time Nazi. As it is, Stéphane shows up on Johnny's doorstep at fifteen minutes past, freshly showered and dressed well in jeans and a thin sweater, looking just as exhausted as he had sounded on the phone. He says nothing at all in greeting, just waves his hand once as Johnny steps aside to let him in.
The smell of Stéphane's wet hair as they quickly faire la bise evokes a sense memory of the 2007 Worlds so strong that Johnny almost reels back from pressing his cheek to Stéphane's. Worlds that year had been so desperate and sad after losing Drew, after Stéphane lost his title. They'd fucked once, then showered in silence and dressed to go their separate ways. Johnny had gotten only one shoe tied before Stéphane was on him again, pressing him back against the bed, covering him, hair still wet and smelling of strongly of his shampoo. He'd taken Johnny's mouth with his, not giving Johnny any chance to say, "Wait, no, I have to go." Johnny hadn't tried.
It's always been a bit odd how Stéphane is usually a friend, a friend who sometimes is one of a dozen people Johnny has to beat, to be better than. Still other times he is just a co-worker on tour and sometimes Stéphane is someone Johnny wants to tear the clothes off of and like bite. The whiplash in moments like these, when Stéphane slips between one role to another, can be killer.
Johnny tries to focus on the dark circles under Stéphane's eyes instead of the way he smells. He takes a firm step back, just to be sure.
"Go sit down on the couch, it'll be ready in a minute," he says as he retreats into the kitchen. "You can turn the TV on if you like."
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