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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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"You'll never guess who just flashed up on TMZ. Perez hasn't got it yet, but I'd give it maybe ten more minutes."
"Who is it this time," Johnny asks not bothering to hide his distraction. The car ahead moves forward two feet. If the baristas don't hurry up, he's going to be late to the rink. Mrs Cohen's going to have his balls for earrings. He inches forward, almost kissing bumpers.
"Lysacek."
Johnny very nearly steps on the gas, ending up leaning on the horn instead. The guy in front of him leans out the window and flips up his middle finger. Johnny ignores him. "What? What is he--"
"Screaming match on the front lawn, cops called, the whole nine yards, it's fucking spectacular. You barely have to read between the lines."
"Wait--" Someone honked behind him.
"Him and--" The glee in Paris's voice nearly broke into a laugh. "I quote, an as yet unidentified man."
Whoever it was honked again, but Johnny kept his foot on the brake. "Holy shit."
"You should send him a bouquet of rainbow balloons, welcome him out of the closet."
Johnny closes his eyes for a second, then opens them again to ease the car carefully forward, two away from the window now. "I'll call you back, I have to hold coffee and drive."
"You're no fun," he hears Paris complain in the time it takes him to hang up. He takes the cigarettes out of his open bag, opening the pack and tipping one into his palm, lighter in the other hand. He flicks at the flint, again and again, finally getting a flame only to have it wink out before the tobacco catches. He slaps the lighter, his hand, down against his thigh. It doesn't tremble nearly as much on the second try.
He takes a deep breath, pulling the smoke down, down, until his vision swims between one blink and the next. He takes another drag before he's even done exhaling, and when the car behind him honks again, he exhales and takes another.
His hand barely shakes by the third.
Once he's through the line, pulled over across two parking spaces, he types TMZ into his phone and confirms everything.
*
Truth be told, Johnny hasn't thought about Evan in years. Okay, months. Well--definitely weeks. He probably tripped across his name in some magazine sometime between the end of the season and now. But, really. He doesn't waste any time thinking about Evan.
The asshole.
*
January 2009
His phone started ringing even before the door had fully shut behind him. He shoved one suitcase into the bathroom, digging into his pocket to pull it out.
"Hello?"
"Hey." Evan. Obviously.
"You know, you could have just said that in the hallway." It was meant to come out bitchy, but Johnny couldn't keep the smile off his face, so it probably didn't sound anywhere close.
"I have practice in half an hour. Do you want--"
Johnny waited, leaning his hip against the wall, pressing his lips together to try to suppress the smile. "Do I want what?"
"You know."
"Evan, no one else is listening." The smile was starting to fade without his intervention. There was another pause, where Johnny could almost hear Evan swallowing.
"Do you want to come to my room, or do you want me to--"
"708, right?" Johnny interrupted.
There was another pause, and a click like Evan had opened the door to read the number on it. Johnny closed his eyes and shook his head once. "Yeah."
"Right. Give me five to get freshened up." He hung up without waiting for a reply.
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