Fic: "Full City Roast" (Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir)
Same thing again - there may, or there may not be more to this. In my head, the working title of the "series" is Until The Rings Break. But for now, let's just call this a semi-sequel. (And damn, if I had posted it before midnight, it would have been exactly a month since the first part got posted.;))
Title: Full City Roast
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,886
Beta: reet
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The events described in the story are not real. Not intended as libel, no money is being made.
Summary: Johnny comes to Los Angeles for Worlds. Evan invites him over to his place. Sequel to The Definition of a Swan.
One thing at a time. That has always been Evan's motto. One element after another, you focus on one and then, once you've successfully completed it, you move on to the next. It's the most constructive approach - guys really aren't that good at multitasking.
His thing with Johnny is no exception; figuring things out one after another feels natural, and safe. It's not that Evan doesn't want more - he does. He certainly did, at Nationals, after kissing Johnny for what felt like hours, mapping his back and chest and arms with his fingertips. But they both have discipline and, well, a history. It would be easy to discard both, have fun and just fuck, but Evan suspects they're both a bit too old for that. He's noticed that the older he gets, the more he expects - on ice and off. There used to be times when landing all his triples would have satisfied him, but not anymore. He thinks Johnny's had an influence on that, too.
Johnny calls him on Valentine's Day and in that instant Evan is scared, afraid that Johnny might say something neither of them are ready for, afraid that he might not say… anything.
"How are you?" is what Johnny says, though, and Evan exhales, a little embarrassed for getting unsettled. This is Johnny. He knows Johnny.
The conversation is like any other they've had recently - training and Worlds, Evan's celebrity neighbors and Johnny's favorite new designers… But right before hanging up, Johnny smiles - Evan can hear him smiling into the phone - and says: "Happy Valentine's Day, Evan."
"Happy Valentine's Day," Evan echoes and hopes Johnny can tell he's smiling, too.
~*~
"I'm going to root for you at Worlds," Johnny tells him and Evan rolls his eyes, a retort ready on his tongue, before he realizes that Johnny means it. He's glad that they're just on the phone, and hopes that his voice doesn't betray his blush when he says:
"Thank you." He bites the insides of his cheeks. "I'll try to win. To get us the spots for Vancouver. Both of us."
"You better." Johnny laughs, the mirth tainted by a tinge of bitterness. If it wasn't for Johnny, he wouldn't even be going to Worlds, possibly. Johnny doesn't say that, though, and Evan is grateful for his tact.
"It's gonna be weird without you there," Evan admits. Like his - their - time is over, like the bubble they've lived in for the past decade is about to burst.
"Don't worry. I'll be there," Johnny interrupts his train of thought.
"What?" Evan snaps. "Did they - who are they taking off the team?" He shakes his head, confusion mingling with a faint stab of suspicion. He is the number three on the team…
"I'm coming to L.A. to watch," Johnny explains calmly. Evan bites his lip guiltily. Johnny sounds kind of… sad. Of course.
"That’s… that's cool," he mutters in reply, head swirling with a new, completely different batch of thoughts. He wonders why, what made Johnny decide that watching from his couch would not suffice. It sounds like pure masochism - being there and yet… not. Though maybe it is exactly the opposite, a reminder of how much he's still part of it, only inhibited for the moment. Evan isn't as naïve as to think that Johnny would come to see him, not as a competitor and the sole representative of the 'old school' on the US Men's team, but just him. And then, before he can think through all the implications, he blurts: "You could stay at my place."
He instantly gives himself a mental slap. He's not sure what possessed him to offer that. Possibly the image of Johnny sprawled on his bed, asleep and naked, not the tense nakedness of a locker room or a common shower, but a softer, private kind. Johnny's so much softer when he's out of the limelight, always has been - Evan remembers watching him slumber on the COI bus, and nick in on a couch at last year's Nationals, and then, finally, sleep all through the night back in Cleveland. It's almost like a whole new side of Johnny - he supposes that should be unsettling, realizing that there are things about Johnny that he's not familiar with yet, but it's not; instead, he feels anticipation.
The silence on the other end of the line makes Evan's stomach sink, anticipation evaporating as the seconds tick by. What was he thinking - or rather, why was he not thinking? Johnny does that to him, sometimes, makes him feel before he can think. Evan's not sure if he likes that; he likes to be prepared.
"I - thank you for offering, honestly," Johnny says slowly, carefully. "But no." Then his tone changes, lighter, far from serious: "You'll be competing. Didn't your coach teach you to avoid distractions during competition?" Evan doesn't mind the fakeness in his voice - it's less awkward than discussing this in all seriousness. They're not quite there yet. He wonders if one day, step by step, they will get there. He hopes so.
"What kind of distraction do you have in mind?" he asks and leans back in his chair, thinking of all the ways he'd like to be distracted.
"Win the sucker and I'll show you," Johnny laughs. "Work first, play later."
~*~
Evan has beaten Abbott now, and everybody else, so he can move on to think about other things - distractions, Frank would call them - like Johnny, and just how far they can go this time without tripping.
He doesn't go looking for Johnny, though. The Staples Center is huge and even if they got lucky and ran into each other, they wouldn't be able to share more than a couple of words - in public, they still have roles to play. They're both good at that, generally, but also kind of weary at the moment. It's probably for the better if they don't go near each other in places where they could be seen.
Johnny calls him after the gala and this time, when Evan invites him to his place, he agrees, sliding into Evan's car quickly and quietly once Evan manages to escape the throngs of fans and spectators. The kiss hello is a brief, quick one, too, because they're near the arena and you never know who might be watching. Johnny's wearing a pashmina scarf wrapped around his shoulders and a pair of bug sunglasses - he could pass for a woman from afar, slender as he is, but it's better to be safe than sorry. They haven't even managed to put a name to what they have in private; explaining themselves to a bunch of sports journalists is a task neither of them is ready to deal with. It would probably crack the fragile balance they have at the moment and Evan doesn't want to risk that. But having Johnny's hand clasped on his thigh while he drives is welcome, like a promise for times to come.
It feels strange and new, seeing Johnny Weir walk into his home, like new boots at the beginning of a season, the leather slightly stiff and abrasive before you break the skates in, but smooth and unblemished at the same time, a new beginning.
Evan didn't want to throw a post-Worlds party at his house; it's his place and the idea of people - many of them only a step from being strangers - filling it rubbed Evan the wrong way. Inviting Johnny over is different, though; Johnny's not a stranger, now even less than ever before.
Johnny does look a little bit out of place, at first, as he runs his fingers over the surface of Evan's kitchen counter, smiling when no crumbs or dirt stick to his fingertips. He takes in the furnishings of Evan's living room, moving from one corner to another to look at the pictures, Evan's DVD collection, the few magazines stacked on the coffee table. Finally, he cracks up at the signed photo of Michelle Kwan on the trophy shelf.
"What? She is an icon!" Evan protests and joins in on the laughter. He leans closer to wipe the dust off the frame with a fingertip.
"I know," Johnny says. "I have all her old programs on tape." He walks over to sit down on the couch, taking off his scarf. When Evan sits down beside him, he asks: "So where will the new Worlds medal go?"
Evan shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know." He's elated about his win, as he should be, but it seems unfair to be discussing it with Johnny, cruel almost. It still irks him that Johnny didn't get to compete, though at the same time, maybe it's easier this way - maybe they wouldn't even be here like this if Johnny had skated. That's the one thing he has wondered about - just how long they can go on, how long the temporary break from their rivalry could possibly last. They both want to win too much.
"I'm glad that you did so well." Johnny's voice is quiet and he's looking at his feet, but he reaches for Evan's bicep and keeps his hand there, firm and warm. It means a lot - even more because Johnny means it - and Evan knows how hard this must have been to say.
"Thanks," he nods and covers Johnny's hand with his, then pulls him closer and kisses him. It's a brief peck at first, then another, until he pulls Johnny's lower lip between his teeth, sucking at it. Johnny lets out a desperate little sound and grabs a fistful of Evan's hair to pull him deeper in, melting their mouths together completely.
It still surprises Evan every time when he realizes how natural it feels, kissing Johnny, how familiar - as if he'd always known that Johnny's chin would scratch, contrasting with the softness of his lips; as if the scent and taste of Johnny's skin had always been right there, on the brink of his consciousness.
The strange novelty of their current situation strikes him, though, when they tumble down onto the couch, Johnny on his back under him. A year ago, he was sitting in this very spot, watching Johnny win his World bronze. He wonders what next year will be like, will they both still be competing…
"Evan," Johnny breathes, distorting that train of thought. One thing at a time, Evan reminds himself - and right now, getting rid of Johnny's shirt is on the agenda. "Look at me," Johnny says and waits for him to reopen his eyes, as if he wanted to make sure that Evan sees him, for what he is. Evan wishes he could tell him that he has always seen him, during all those years of watching, but it wouldn't be true, exactly - there were times when he looked at Johnny and just saw a score to beat.
These times are long gone, though, he sees and appreciates every inch of Johnny's beauty, and there's still more to discover. He helps Johnny pull his shirt over his head, then does the same, and proceeds to kiss him again, open mouth and open eyes. He can feel every rib when he runs his hands down Johnny's sides, but he refrains from commenting on that. Johnny hates it when people tell him that he's too thin.
Johnny lets his legs fall apart under him and wraps them around his waist; rubbing their cocks together through two layers of denim. A few minutes of that, hips rocking, Johnny's nails up and down his back, skin against skin, tongues tangled - a few minutes and Evan feels like his system is about to explode; he just finished a competition, and he always sticks to the no-sex rule during important events. He makes a strangled sound and grabs at Johnny's ass to try to pull him closer still, craving more friction and the subsequent release. He just needs a bit more and -
"Wait," Johnny interrupts, voice catching in his throat; before Cleveland, Evan never suspected Johnny could sound like this, rough and low. He stops, even though he doesn’t want to, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from latching them back to Johnny's skin. It's hard. The past week has been filled with discipline and self-control; Evan just wants to… let himself go. Except that's never a good idea, not even in skating, and he's rehearsed his programs a billion times. This, however, is a first run through - and the only one he has. He starts to pull back, but Johnny holds him in place.
"Wha - " he begins. Johnny should fucking make up his mind, because this isn't fair. Evan's about to tell him just that, when Johnny clasps a hand over his mouth to silence him.
"Sleep with me," he says and Evan realizes that he's not the only one with a painfully hard dick. Johnny removes his palm and Evan kisses him fiercely before he can add anything more, knocking their teeth together clumsily. He gives his hands free reign again and they travel to work on the buttons of Johnny's jeans; he hates Johnny's fashion kink - a zipper would have been so much more convenient.
"Bed?" Johnny gasps before Evan reaches the bottom button and that is a good idea, even though Evan doesn't really want to move and delay this any further.
He pushes himself up onto all fours, standing up, and lets his eyes swoop over Johnny's form on the couch - half naked with tousled hair, he looks like some naughty fantasy Evan has dreamed up. That comes pretty close to the truth, actually; Evan has spent years dreaming about fucking Johnny - or well, not fucking, not exactly.
He bends down to scoop Johnny up, but Johnny slaps his arms away, hopping up from the couch briskly despite his disheveled appearance. "I can walk, you know," he laughs, then turns back to Evan with a questioning look. "Where to?"
"Right there." Evan nods towards one of the doors and reaches out to touch Johnny's skin right above the waistline of his jeans, just to remind himself that he can. His hand stays glued there as he steers Johnny into the bedroom; the heat of that connection makes his heart race - he can't wait to touch more, feel more.
Johnny stops in front of the bed and turns around to face Evan, chest rising and falling in sync with his quick, open-mouthed breaths. He moves his hands to his hips to start tugging his own jeans down, eyes still linked with Evan's.
Evan covers Johnny's hands with his own and slides to his knees, pulling those tight jeans down as he goes. Johnny steps out of them, holding on to Evan's shoulders for support. Evan kisses his way up a thigh, grazes his teeth against a hipbone through the fabric of Johnny's underwear, then continues kissing up his abdomen, his chest, until Johnny curses and pulls him up with an impatient hiss.
"Fuck me," he demands when Evan is on his feet once again, glaring up at him with a firm gaze. Clearly the 'one thing after another' approach only works to an extent, for both of them. Evan couldn't be happier to oblige.
They tumble onto the bed, discarding the rest of their clothes on the way; Evan decides that he's going commando the next time Johnny is around after he gets tangled in his boxer shorts for a moment. Then he's finally free and on top of Johnny, landscapes of warm smooth skin to touch and kiss and lick, except he doesn't have any patience nor self-control left for prolonged foreplay.
He pushes one of Johnny's knees up, just careful enough not to strain any muscles - they both still have that team event coming up, and shows - and strokes the tip of a finger down the crack between Johnny's buttcheeks. Johnny shivers in his arms, a delightful, full-body spasm that makes Evan wish he wasn't achingly hard.
"Lube?" Johnny's voice breaks on the word when Evan repeats the trick.
Evan rolls off for just a moment to retrieve the supplies, then kisses Johnny briefly when he lies down beside him. Johnny's breath hitches when Evan slicks a finger and pushes inside. He grabs at Evan's other wrist, taking a few sharp breaths.
"Shit, I'm sorry." Evan strokes Johnny's side soothingly.
"-is okay," Johnny replies. "It's not like I need to skate tomorrow," he adds, but the laugh gets caught in his throat.
Evan gives himself a mental kick and forces himself to go slow, until Johnny's arching his back and grinding his hips and yelling that "I'm fine, ah, yeah."
When Evan pulls out his fingers, Johnny scrambles to sit up, toppling them over so he can climb on top of him. On all fours, he leans down for a kiss, a breath into Evan's mouth, and his hair tickles Evan's face. Evan didn't think this would be how they'd end up, but he doesn't really give a damn, not when Johnny straddles him and lowers himself down, thighs flexing and his hands on Evan's chest for leverage, liquid heat engulfing his dick.
It's all a blur after that, images of Johnny rocking against him, and then the soft darkness when he squeezes his eyes shut, darkness filled with sensations and scents and sounds too intense to bear. He comes - way too soon, he wanted to savor this a little longer. He's embarrassed, until he reminds himself that this is not a competition. More like a win-win, he smiles when he notices that Johnny's in no better state than he is. He's lying deadweight on Evan's chest, blowing short harsh breaths against his neck.
He makes his hands move from Johnny's hips and runs them up and down the planes of Johnny's back, waiting for his breath to slowly come back.
Johnny lifts his head, then peels the rest of himself off Evan, rolling onto his back bonelessly.
"I'm sticky," he says after a moment, drumming his fingers on his stomach.
"Take a shower?" Evan suggests and tips his head to the side to give Johnny an exhausted smile. "You can go first."
Johnny seems to contemplate it, eyes fixed on the ceiling, then he furrows his brows and shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. It's late and it's fresh outside. My hair takes forever to dry, I'd have to leave it wet and a cold is the last thing I need." He sighs and starts to sit up, but Evan throws his arm out, across his chest, to stop him.
"Johnny. Seriously." He rolls his eyes and, before Johnny can come with a sniping remark, he adds, softly: "Your hair will dry until tomorrow?"
Johnny looks at him with an indiscernible expression and Evan holds his breath. He's almost sure they are this far, at least; there's no need to run like they're just a fuck & forget thing - they're not, which is why they didn't do this the very first night, or even before that. Then Johnny nods with a small bashful smile blooming on his lips, softening his features.
"There's towels in the drawer beside the bathtub," Evan says and accepts the quick butterfly kiss Johnny drops onto his lips before he slinks off to the bathroom.
He emerges from the shower some twenty minutes later, as naked as when he was leaving, but smelling of Evan's shower gel and Evan's shampoo.
"This was good." He runs a hand through his damp hair and yawns. He's standing right there in the middle of Evan's bedroom and Evan feels like he could stay like this forever, looking, watching - he's spent years doing that, after all, if not exactly like this. He likes this more, the suppleness to Johnny's stance, all tension gone from his muscles after the sex and the shower. Then Johnny wraps his arms around himself, running his palms up and down his biceps. Once again, Evan feels like a fool; he should not forget to think this often.
He moves from the bed, lifting a corner of the cover up as he goes, and holds it up for Johnny to slip underneath. "Get some sleep," he says and heads to the bathroom himself.
When he comes back, Johnny seems to have taken his advice and Evan moves as quietly as he can so as not to wake him. Johnny's a light sleeper, has always been. He climbs into bed at the opposite side and switches off the bedside lamp. He waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, keeping them trained on Johnny's form. He doesn't plan to reach out and touch, but he does, craving just a bit more of that warmth before sleep, just a light slide of fingers down Johnny's shoulder, over his elbow, all the way to where his ribs disappear under the covers.
Johnny opens his eyes - not asleep, after all, or was he? - and Evan draws back.
"It feels good," Johnny mumbles sleepily and waits for Evan to put his hand back on him. "C'mere." He catches Evan's wrist to make him shuffle closer - not too close, because neither of them can sleep that way, as they discovered in Cleveland, but close enough for their bent knees to bump. Evan supposes it must take years to get used to sleeping closer to someone than this. He's not sure if they could ever last that long, but for now, knowing that Johnny's within reach is more than enough.
~*~
Waking up without the sound of the alarm is a luxury Evan doesn't get to enjoy very often, so it's all the more appreciated when he can, when he doesn't have to get up for practice. Johnny's still slumbering beside him, prostrate on his stomach, pillow lines on his face. Evan watches him for a few moments. This is just the kind of image he had in mind when he offered Johnny to stay with him instead of booking a hotel.
Stealthily, he moves closer, and kisses the bump at the top of Johnny's spine, then kisses his way down, each vertebra gets a little peck. Johnny wakes up when Evan's halfway down, an appreciative sound rumbling in his throat, so Evan doesn't even need to ask whether he should stop or continue. This time, he has all the time and patience he needs. He slides the covers down past Johnny's hips, massaging all over the newly revealed skin while he kisses his way to the end of Johnny's tailbone. He dips his tongue into the cleft of Johnny's ass experimentally.
"Evan," Johnny gasps and cranes his neck to look at him, blinking away sleep.
"Good morning," Evan grins. "You want me to stop?" He quirks an eyebrow and pulls away a little.
"I hate you," Johnny mutters and buries his face in the pillow. When it becomes clear to him that Evan's not going to resume without a word from him, he sighs, but then he looks back at Evan with a gleam in his eye. "Wussing out, are you?"
Evan chuckles. Then, on a whim, he sinks his teeth into Johnny's thigh to shut him up, coaxing a groan from his mouth instead.
By the time he's done, Johnny's skin is shimmering with a salty sheen and his fingers are wrinkling the sheets as he claws them in while cursing Evan to ninth hell and beyond. Evan helps him over the edge with a few pumps of his hand on his dick, smiling to himself as he watches Johnny squeeze his eyes and stifle a few sobs into the pillow. He definitely prefers reducing Johnny to tears this way rather than doing so by crushing his dreams on the ice.
~*~
Evan's halfway through his bowl of cereal when Johnny finally comes padding into the kitchen, after a lengthy shower that he wouldn't let Evan share.
"I - um." Johnny looks down the length of his own body - he's dressed in Evan's track pants and a plain white tee, also out of Evan's closet. Then he lifts his chin, jaw set. "My jeans are too tight for this early," he shrugs. "And I didn't want to stay in the bathrobe." He seats himself on one of the high stools by Evan's bar-counter. "It made me feel too much like… Pretty Woman."
Evan sets his spoon down, eyeing Johnny. "Gorgeous?" He immediately feels himself flush in embarrassment. Thinking it is one thing, but saying it out loud is another.
But Johnny's cheeks color in response and he lowers his eyes with a flutter of lashes. "No. It made me feel like I'm your mistress or something." He grimaces, but there's a smile dancing in his eyes when he looks up.
"Aren't you?" Evan teases.
"Are you going to pay me?" Johnny rests his elbows on the bar and purses his lips.
"I don't think I'm that rich. But I could bribe you with coffee?"
"I'll take that," Johnny says and reaches out eagerly when Evan pours him a cup. He bobs his head in approval after taking a sip. "Mmm, Starbucks."
"Wanna eat something?" Evan asks, because it is breakfast time and there's no practice to stay light for, so some food should be okay.
When Johnny shakes his head, Evan gives him a look. Johnny sighs. "What are you having?"
"Yoghurt with Froot Loops. And oranges." Food is okay, but there's no need to get excessive with it. Evan wants to keep his quad and triples - not an easy task for someone of his height.
Johnny nods. "I'll have yoghurt? Without the Froot Loops."
"And oranges," Evan decides and when Johnny opens his mouth to argue, he continues: "You're in California. You've got to have some. It's our thing here. Besides - loads of vitamins, minimum calories."
"If you insist," Johnny grins and eats everything Evan serves him. Evan is surprised - as far as he can remember, Johnny has always been one to nibble rather than eat. But then again, that was hotel restaurant meals, and during competitions; appetite is usually the last thing on everyone's minds when there's titles to fight for. And, Evan reminds himself with a grin, they did use up quite a bit of energy since last night.
Evan wishes he could get more of that kind of 'workout', more of Johnny, but he has power yoga and Johnny has a plane to catch in the afternoon. He calls Johnny a cab and resolves to touch with his eyes only as he settles down on his bed with another cup of coffee. He can't trust his hands and they don't have the time for another round. Johnny sheds the borrowed clothes and pulls on his own, folding everything neatly onto Evan's dresser as if it was designer pieces rather than home wear. It's almost like watching Johnny change from a costume, Evan realizes with a twinge. Like he's shedding another role.
"Come here," he beckons when Johnny's done and just smoothing the small pile of clothes uncertainly. Johnny glances at his watch. "This is L.A. Cabs take forever here," Evan assures him and sets his cup down so he can wrap his arms around Johnny once he climbs onto the bed, melting against Evan in a kiss.
"You really have one hell of a view," Johnny comments when they come apart and turns his head to the window. Evan wants to tell him that he's seen him cry before, that it's okay… But this is not the same, there's no showers to hide the tears behind, no justification in form of lost titles. Evan stays silent, because he feels his eyes sting, too, and he's not strong enough to show it.
"Must be nice down there," Johnny mutters, eyes trained on the glittering ocean in the distance.
"We could - we should do this again," Evan says and it feels odd on his tongue, the we. "The beaches are rad."
Johnny turns his face back to him and smiles; it's the smile that Evan's seen so often in the past two years, the one that's on Johnny's lips only. He knows it so well. And he fucking hates it.
He inhales, wondering what to say first, but Johnny covers his mouth with his fingers.
"We should," he says. "I love beaches. But don't expect me to swim." He lowers his eyes, then looks back at Evan hesitantly. "Maybe one day." He kisses Evan again, slow and soft; this way, Evan can almost believe that Johnny means it, that they could.
And then they're really out of time, there's a cab waiting under Evan's windows and their lives at the opposite sides of the country.
"Thank you. For the breakfast and - " Johnny begins, lingering in the doorway. "Thank you."
"My pleasure?" Evan tries to laugh, but it sounds fake, as fake as Johnny's smile. He shakes his head in irritation. "Johnny, I want - "
"You want Olympic gold," Johnny jumps in solemnly. "So do I. Don't say anything you can't stand behind," he says with a resolute shake of his head and he reaches up to Evan's face, then drops his hand before his fingers touch Evan's skin. "Not yet?" he adds in a whisper and looks up, eyes wide and… hopeful?
"Okay," Evan nods. That - he can live with that. One thing at a time.
~fin
Title: Full City Roast
Pairing: Evan Lysacek/Johnny Weir
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,886
Beta: reet
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The events described in the story are not real. Not intended as libel, no money is being made.
Summary: Johnny comes to Los Angeles for Worlds. Evan invites him over to his place. Sequel to The Definition of a Swan.
One thing at a time. That has always been Evan's motto. One element after another, you focus on one and then, once you've successfully completed it, you move on to the next. It's the most constructive approach - guys really aren't that good at multitasking.
His thing with Johnny is no exception; figuring things out one after another feels natural, and safe. It's not that Evan doesn't want more - he does. He certainly did, at Nationals, after kissing Johnny for what felt like hours, mapping his back and chest and arms with his fingertips. But they both have discipline and, well, a history. It would be easy to discard both, have fun and just fuck, but Evan suspects they're both a bit too old for that. He's noticed that the older he gets, the more he expects - on ice and off. There used to be times when landing all his triples would have satisfied him, but not anymore. He thinks Johnny's had an influence on that, too.
Johnny calls him on Valentine's Day and in that instant Evan is scared, afraid that Johnny might say something neither of them are ready for, afraid that he might not say… anything.
"How are you?" is what Johnny says, though, and Evan exhales, a little embarrassed for getting unsettled. This is Johnny. He knows Johnny.
The conversation is like any other they've had recently - training and Worlds, Evan's celebrity neighbors and Johnny's favorite new designers… But right before hanging up, Johnny smiles - Evan can hear him smiling into the phone - and says: "Happy Valentine's Day, Evan."
"Happy Valentine's Day," Evan echoes and hopes Johnny can tell he's smiling, too.
~*~
"I'm going to root for you at Worlds," Johnny tells him and Evan rolls his eyes, a retort ready on his tongue, before he realizes that Johnny means it. He's glad that they're just on the phone, and hopes that his voice doesn't betray his blush when he says:
"Thank you." He bites the insides of his cheeks. "I'll try to win. To get us the spots for Vancouver. Both of us."
"You better." Johnny laughs, the mirth tainted by a tinge of bitterness. If it wasn't for Johnny, he wouldn't even be going to Worlds, possibly. Johnny doesn't say that, though, and Evan is grateful for his tact.
"It's gonna be weird without you there," Evan admits. Like his - their - time is over, like the bubble they've lived in for the past decade is about to burst.
"Don't worry. I'll be there," Johnny interrupts his train of thought.
"What?" Evan snaps. "Did they - who are they taking off the team?" He shakes his head, confusion mingling with a faint stab of suspicion. He is the number three on the team…
"I'm coming to L.A. to watch," Johnny explains calmly. Evan bites his lip guiltily. Johnny sounds kind of… sad. Of course.
"That’s… that's cool," he mutters in reply, head swirling with a new, completely different batch of thoughts. He wonders why, what made Johnny decide that watching from his couch would not suffice. It sounds like pure masochism - being there and yet… not. Though maybe it is exactly the opposite, a reminder of how much he's still part of it, only inhibited for the moment. Evan isn't as naïve as to think that Johnny would come to see him, not as a competitor and the sole representative of the 'old school' on the US Men's team, but just him. And then, before he can think through all the implications, he blurts: "You could stay at my place."
He instantly gives himself a mental slap. He's not sure what possessed him to offer that. Possibly the image of Johnny sprawled on his bed, asleep and naked, not the tense nakedness of a locker room or a common shower, but a softer, private kind. Johnny's so much softer when he's out of the limelight, always has been - Evan remembers watching him slumber on the COI bus, and nick in on a couch at last year's Nationals, and then, finally, sleep all through the night back in Cleveland. It's almost like a whole new side of Johnny - he supposes that should be unsettling, realizing that there are things about Johnny that he's not familiar with yet, but it's not; instead, he feels anticipation.
The silence on the other end of the line makes Evan's stomach sink, anticipation evaporating as the seconds tick by. What was he thinking - or rather, why was he not thinking? Johnny does that to him, sometimes, makes him feel before he can think. Evan's not sure if he likes that; he likes to be prepared.
"I - thank you for offering, honestly," Johnny says slowly, carefully. "But no." Then his tone changes, lighter, far from serious: "You'll be competing. Didn't your coach teach you to avoid distractions during competition?" Evan doesn't mind the fakeness in his voice - it's less awkward than discussing this in all seriousness. They're not quite there yet. He wonders if one day, step by step, they will get there. He hopes so.
"What kind of distraction do you have in mind?" he asks and leans back in his chair, thinking of all the ways he'd like to be distracted.
"Win the sucker and I'll show you," Johnny laughs. "Work first, play later."
~*~
Evan has beaten Abbott now, and everybody else, so he can move on to think about other things - distractions, Frank would call them - like Johnny, and just how far they can go this time without tripping.
He doesn't go looking for Johnny, though. The Staples Center is huge and even if they got lucky and ran into each other, they wouldn't be able to share more than a couple of words - in public, they still have roles to play. They're both good at that, generally, but also kind of weary at the moment. It's probably for the better if they don't go near each other in places where they could be seen.
Johnny calls him after the gala and this time, when Evan invites him to his place, he agrees, sliding into Evan's car quickly and quietly once Evan manages to escape the throngs of fans and spectators. The kiss hello is a brief, quick one, too, because they're near the arena and you never know who might be watching. Johnny's wearing a pashmina scarf wrapped around his shoulders and a pair of bug sunglasses - he could pass for a woman from afar, slender as he is, but it's better to be safe than sorry. They haven't even managed to put a name to what they have in private; explaining themselves to a bunch of sports journalists is a task neither of them is ready to deal with. It would probably crack the fragile balance they have at the moment and Evan doesn't want to risk that. But having Johnny's hand clasped on his thigh while he drives is welcome, like a promise for times to come.
It feels strange and new, seeing Johnny Weir walk into his home, like new boots at the beginning of a season, the leather slightly stiff and abrasive before you break the skates in, but smooth and unblemished at the same time, a new beginning.
Evan didn't want to throw a post-Worlds party at his house; it's his place and the idea of people - many of them only a step from being strangers - filling it rubbed Evan the wrong way. Inviting Johnny over is different, though; Johnny's not a stranger, now even less than ever before.
Johnny does look a little bit out of place, at first, as he runs his fingers over the surface of Evan's kitchen counter, smiling when no crumbs or dirt stick to his fingertips. He takes in the furnishings of Evan's living room, moving from one corner to another to look at the pictures, Evan's DVD collection, the few magazines stacked on the coffee table. Finally, he cracks up at the signed photo of Michelle Kwan on the trophy shelf.
"What? She is an icon!" Evan protests and joins in on the laughter. He leans closer to wipe the dust off the frame with a fingertip.
"I know," Johnny says. "I have all her old programs on tape." He walks over to sit down on the couch, taking off his scarf. When Evan sits down beside him, he asks: "So where will the new Worlds medal go?"
Evan shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know." He's elated about his win, as he should be, but it seems unfair to be discussing it with Johnny, cruel almost. It still irks him that Johnny didn't get to compete, though at the same time, maybe it's easier this way - maybe they wouldn't even be here like this if Johnny had skated. That's the one thing he has wondered about - just how long they can go on, how long the temporary break from their rivalry could possibly last. They both want to win too much.
"I'm glad that you did so well." Johnny's voice is quiet and he's looking at his feet, but he reaches for Evan's bicep and keeps his hand there, firm and warm. It means a lot - even more because Johnny means it - and Evan knows how hard this must have been to say.
"Thanks," he nods and covers Johnny's hand with his, then pulls him closer and kisses him. It's a brief peck at first, then another, until he pulls Johnny's lower lip between his teeth, sucking at it. Johnny lets out a desperate little sound and grabs a fistful of Evan's hair to pull him deeper in, melting their mouths together completely.
It still surprises Evan every time when he realizes how natural it feels, kissing Johnny, how familiar - as if he'd always known that Johnny's chin would scratch, contrasting with the softness of his lips; as if the scent and taste of Johnny's skin had always been right there, on the brink of his consciousness.
The strange novelty of their current situation strikes him, though, when they tumble down onto the couch, Johnny on his back under him. A year ago, he was sitting in this very spot, watching Johnny win his World bronze. He wonders what next year will be like, will they both still be competing…
"Evan," Johnny breathes, distorting that train of thought. One thing at a time, Evan reminds himself - and right now, getting rid of Johnny's shirt is on the agenda. "Look at me," Johnny says and waits for him to reopen his eyes, as if he wanted to make sure that Evan sees him, for what he is. Evan wishes he could tell him that he has always seen him, during all those years of watching, but it wouldn't be true, exactly - there were times when he looked at Johnny and just saw a score to beat.
These times are long gone, though, he sees and appreciates every inch of Johnny's beauty, and there's still more to discover. He helps Johnny pull his shirt over his head, then does the same, and proceeds to kiss him again, open mouth and open eyes. He can feel every rib when he runs his hands down Johnny's sides, but he refrains from commenting on that. Johnny hates it when people tell him that he's too thin.
Johnny lets his legs fall apart under him and wraps them around his waist; rubbing their cocks together through two layers of denim. A few minutes of that, hips rocking, Johnny's nails up and down his back, skin against skin, tongues tangled - a few minutes and Evan feels like his system is about to explode; he just finished a competition, and he always sticks to the no-sex rule during important events. He makes a strangled sound and grabs at Johnny's ass to try to pull him closer still, craving more friction and the subsequent release. He just needs a bit more and -
"Wait," Johnny interrupts, voice catching in his throat; before Cleveland, Evan never suspected Johnny could sound like this, rough and low. He stops, even though he doesn’t want to, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from latching them back to Johnny's skin. It's hard. The past week has been filled with discipline and self-control; Evan just wants to… let himself go. Except that's never a good idea, not even in skating, and he's rehearsed his programs a billion times. This, however, is a first run through - and the only one he has. He starts to pull back, but Johnny holds him in place.
"Wha - " he begins. Johnny should fucking make up his mind, because this isn't fair. Evan's about to tell him just that, when Johnny clasps a hand over his mouth to silence him.
"Sleep with me," he says and Evan realizes that he's not the only one with a painfully hard dick. Johnny removes his palm and Evan kisses him fiercely before he can add anything more, knocking their teeth together clumsily. He gives his hands free reign again and they travel to work on the buttons of Johnny's jeans; he hates Johnny's fashion kink - a zipper would have been so much more convenient.
"Bed?" Johnny gasps before Evan reaches the bottom button and that is a good idea, even though Evan doesn't really want to move and delay this any further.
He pushes himself up onto all fours, standing up, and lets his eyes swoop over Johnny's form on the couch - half naked with tousled hair, he looks like some naughty fantasy Evan has dreamed up. That comes pretty close to the truth, actually; Evan has spent years dreaming about fucking Johnny - or well, not fucking, not exactly.
He bends down to scoop Johnny up, but Johnny slaps his arms away, hopping up from the couch briskly despite his disheveled appearance. "I can walk, you know," he laughs, then turns back to Evan with a questioning look. "Where to?"
"Right there." Evan nods towards one of the doors and reaches out to touch Johnny's skin right above the waistline of his jeans, just to remind himself that he can. His hand stays glued there as he steers Johnny into the bedroom; the heat of that connection makes his heart race - he can't wait to touch more, feel more.
Johnny stops in front of the bed and turns around to face Evan, chest rising and falling in sync with his quick, open-mouthed breaths. He moves his hands to his hips to start tugging his own jeans down, eyes still linked with Evan's.
Evan covers Johnny's hands with his own and slides to his knees, pulling those tight jeans down as he goes. Johnny steps out of them, holding on to Evan's shoulders for support. Evan kisses his way up a thigh, grazes his teeth against a hipbone through the fabric of Johnny's underwear, then continues kissing up his abdomen, his chest, until Johnny curses and pulls him up with an impatient hiss.
"Fuck me," he demands when Evan is on his feet once again, glaring up at him with a firm gaze. Clearly the 'one thing after another' approach only works to an extent, for both of them. Evan couldn't be happier to oblige.
They tumble onto the bed, discarding the rest of their clothes on the way; Evan decides that he's going commando the next time Johnny is around after he gets tangled in his boxer shorts for a moment. Then he's finally free and on top of Johnny, landscapes of warm smooth skin to touch and kiss and lick, except he doesn't have any patience nor self-control left for prolonged foreplay.
He pushes one of Johnny's knees up, just careful enough not to strain any muscles - they both still have that team event coming up, and shows - and strokes the tip of a finger down the crack between Johnny's buttcheeks. Johnny shivers in his arms, a delightful, full-body spasm that makes Evan wish he wasn't achingly hard.
"Lube?" Johnny's voice breaks on the word when Evan repeats the trick.
Evan rolls off for just a moment to retrieve the supplies, then kisses Johnny briefly when he lies down beside him. Johnny's breath hitches when Evan slicks a finger and pushes inside. He grabs at Evan's other wrist, taking a few sharp breaths.
"Shit, I'm sorry." Evan strokes Johnny's side soothingly.
"-is okay," Johnny replies. "It's not like I need to skate tomorrow," he adds, but the laugh gets caught in his throat.
Evan gives himself a mental kick and forces himself to go slow, until Johnny's arching his back and grinding his hips and yelling that "I'm fine, ah, yeah."
When Evan pulls out his fingers, Johnny scrambles to sit up, toppling them over so he can climb on top of him. On all fours, he leans down for a kiss, a breath into Evan's mouth, and his hair tickles Evan's face. Evan didn't think this would be how they'd end up, but he doesn't really give a damn, not when Johnny straddles him and lowers himself down, thighs flexing and his hands on Evan's chest for leverage, liquid heat engulfing his dick.
It's all a blur after that, images of Johnny rocking against him, and then the soft darkness when he squeezes his eyes shut, darkness filled with sensations and scents and sounds too intense to bear. He comes - way too soon, he wanted to savor this a little longer. He's embarrassed, until he reminds himself that this is not a competition. More like a win-win, he smiles when he notices that Johnny's in no better state than he is. He's lying deadweight on Evan's chest, blowing short harsh breaths against his neck.
He makes his hands move from Johnny's hips and runs them up and down the planes of Johnny's back, waiting for his breath to slowly come back.
Johnny lifts his head, then peels the rest of himself off Evan, rolling onto his back bonelessly.
"I'm sticky," he says after a moment, drumming his fingers on his stomach.
"Take a shower?" Evan suggests and tips his head to the side to give Johnny an exhausted smile. "You can go first."
Johnny seems to contemplate it, eyes fixed on the ceiling, then he furrows his brows and shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. It's late and it's fresh outside. My hair takes forever to dry, I'd have to leave it wet and a cold is the last thing I need." He sighs and starts to sit up, but Evan throws his arm out, across his chest, to stop him.
"Johnny. Seriously." He rolls his eyes and, before Johnny can come with a sniping remark, he adds, softly: "Your hair will dry until tomorrow?"
Johnny looks at him with an indiscernible expression and Evan holds his breath. He's almost sure they are this far, at least; there's no need to run like they're just a fuck & forget thing - they're not, which is why they didn't do this the very first night, or even before that. Then Johnny nods with a small bashful smile blooming on his lips, softening his features.
"There's towels in the drawer beside the bathtub," Evan says and accepts the quick butterfly kiss Johnny drops onto his lips before he slinks off to the bathroom.
He emerges from the shower some twenty minutes later, as naked as when he was leaving, but smelling of Evan's shower gel and Evan's shampoo.
"This was good." He runs a hand through his damp hair and yawns. He's standing right there in the middle of Evan's bedroom and Evan feels like he could stay like this forever, looking, watching - he's spent years doing that, after all, if not exactly like this. He likes this more, the suppleness to Johnny's stance, all tension gone from his muscles after the sex and the shower. Then Johnny wraps his arms around himself, running his palms up and down his biceps. Once again, Evan feels like a fool; he should not forget to think this often.
He moves from the bed, lifting a corner of the cover up as he goes, and holds it up for Johnny to slip underneath. "Get some sleep," he says and heads to the bathroom himself.
When he comes back, Johnny seems to have taken his advice and Evan moves as quietly as he can so as not to wake him. Johnny's a light sleeper, has always been. He climbs into bed at the opposite side and switches off the bedside lamp. He waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, keeping them trained on Johnny's form. He doesn't plan to reach out and touch, but he does, craving just a bit more of that warmth before sleep, just a light slide of fingers down Johnny's shoulder, over his elbow, all the way to where his ribs disappear under the covers.
Johnny opens his eyes - not asleep, after all, or was he? - and Evan draws back.
"It feels good," Johnny mumbles sleepily and waits for Evan to put his hand back on him. "C'mere." He catches Evan's wrist to make him shuffle closer - not too close, because neither of them can sleep that way, as they discovered in Cleveland, but close enough for their bent knees to bump. Evan supposes it must take years to get used to sleeping closer to someone than this. He's not sure if they could ever last that long, but for now, knowing that Johnny's within reach is more than enough.
~*~
Waking up without the sound of the alarm is a luxury Evan doesn't get to enjoy very often, so it's all the more appreciated when he can, when he doesn't have to get up for practice. Johnny's still slumbering beside him, prostrate on his stomach, pillow lines on his face. Evan watches him for a few moments. This is just the kind of image he had in mind when he offered Johnny to stay with him instead of booking a hotel.
Stealthily, he moves closer, and kisses the bump at the top of Johnny's spine, then kisses his way down, each vertebra gets a little peck. Johnny wakes up when Evan's halfway down, an appreciative sound rumbling in his throat, so Evan doesn't even need to ask whether he should stop or continue. This time, he has all the time and patience he needs. He slides the covers down past Johnny's hips, massaging all over the newly revealed skin while he kisses his way to the end of Johnny's tailbone. He dips his tongue into the cleft of Johnny's ass experimentally.
"Evan," Johnny gasps and cranes his neck to look at him, blinking away sleep.
"Good morning," Evan grins. "You want me to stop?" He quirks an eyebrow and pulls away a little.
"I hate you," Johnny mutters and buries his face in the pillow. When it becomes clear to him that Evan's not going to resume without a word from him, he sighs, but then he looks back at Evan with a gleam in his eye. "Wussing out, are you?"
Evan chuckles. Then, on a whim, he sinks his teeth into Johnny's thigh to shut him up, coaxing a groan from his mouth instead.
By the time he's done, Johnny's skin is shimmering with a salty sheen and his fingers are wrinkling the sheets as he claws them in while cursing Evan to ninth hell and beyond. Evan helps him over the edge with a few pumps of his hand on his dick, smiling to himself as he watches Johnny squeeze his eyes and stifle a few sobs into the pillow. He definitely prefers reducing Johnny to tears this way rather than doing so by crushing his dreams on the ice.
~*~
Evan's halfway through his bowl of cereal when Johnny finally comes padding into the kitchen, after a lengthy shower that he wouldn't let Evan share.
"I - um." Johnny looks down the length of his own body - he's dressed in Evan's track pants and a plain white tee, also out of Evan's closet. Then he lifts his chin, jaw set. "My jeans are too tight for this early," he shrugs. "And I didn't want to stay in the bathrobe." He seats himself on one of the high stools by Evan's bar-counter. "It made me feel too much like… Pretty Woman."
Evan sets his spoon down, eyeing Johnny. "Gorgeous?" He immediately feels himself flush in embarrassment. Thinking it is one thing, but saying it out loud is another.
But Johnny's cheeks color in response and he lowers his eyes with a flutter of lashes. "No. It made me feel like I'm your mistress or something." He grimaces, but there's a smile dancing in his eyes when he looks up.
"Aren't you?" Evan teases.
"Are you going to pay me?" Johnny rests his elbows on the bar and purses his lips.
"I don't think I'm that rich. But I could bribe you with coffee?"
"I'll take that," Johnny says and reaches out eagerly when Evan pours him a cup. He bobs his head in approval after taking a sip. "Mmm, Starbucks."
"Wanna eat something?" Evan asks, because it is breakfast time and there's no practice to stay light for, so some food should be okay.
When Johnny shakes his head, Evan gives him a look. Johnny sighs. "What are you having?"
"Yoghurt with Froot Loops. And oranges." Food is okay, but there's no need to get excessive with it. Evan wants to keep his quad and triples - not an easy task for someone of his height.
Johnny nods. "I'll have yoghurt? Without the Froot Loops."
"And oranges," Evan decides and when Johnny opens his mouth to argue, he continues: "You're in California. You've got to have some. It's our thing here. Besides - loads of vitamins, minimum calories."
"If you insist," Johnny grins and eats everything Evan serves him. Evan is surprised - as far as he can remember, Johnny has always been one to nibble rather than eat. But then again, that was hotel restaurant meals, and during competitions; appetite is usually the last thing on everyone's minds when there's titles to fight for. And, Evan reminds himself with a grin, they did use up quite a bit of energy since last night.
Evan wishes he could get more of that kind of 'workout', more of Johnny, but he has power yoga and Johnny has a plane to catch in the afternoon. He calls Johnny a cab and resolves to touch with his eyes only as he settles down on his bed with another cup of coffee. He can't trust his hands and they don't have the time for another round. Johnny sheds the borrowed clothes and pulls on his own, folding everything neatly onto Evan's dresser as if it was designer pieces rather than home wear. It's almost like watching Johnny change from a costume, Evan realizes with a twinge. Like he's shedding another role.
"Come here," he beckons when Johnny's done and just smoothing the small pile of clothes uncertainly. Johnny glances at his watch. "This is L.A. Cabs take forever here," Evan assures him and sets his cup down so he can wrap his arms around Johnny once he climbs onto the bed, melting against Evan in a kiss.
"You really have one hell of a view," Johnny comments when they come apart and turns his head to the window. Evan wants to tell him that he's seen him cry before, that it's okay… But this is not the same, there's no showers to hide the tears behind, no justification in form of lost titles. Evan stays silent, because he feels his eyes sting, too, and he's not strong enough to show it.
"Must be nice down there," Johnny mutters, eyes trained on the glittering ocean in the distance.
"We could - we should do this again," Evan says and it feels odd on his tongue, the we. "The beaches are rad."
Johnny turns his face back to him and smiles; it's the smile that Evan's seen so often in the past two years, the one that's on Johnny's lips only. He knows it so well. And he fucking hates it.
He inhales, wondering what to say first, but Johnny covers his mouth with his fingers.
"We should," he says. "I love beaches. But don't expect me to swim." He lowers his eyes, then looks back at Evan hesitantly. "Maybe one day." He kisses Evan again, slow and soft; this way, Evan can almost believe that Johnny means it, that they could.
And then they're really out of time, there's a cab waiting under Evan's windows and their lives at the opposite sides of the country.
"Thank you. For the breakfast and - " Johnny begins, lingering in the doorway. "Thank you."
"My pleasure?" Evan tries to laugh, but it sounds fake, as fake as Johnny's smile. He shakes his head in irritation. "Johnny, I want - "
"You want Olympic gold," Johnny jumps in solemnly. "So do I. Don't say anything you can't stand behind," he says with a resolute shake of his head and he reaches up to Evan's face, then drops his hand before his fingers touch Evan's skin. "Not yet?" he adds in a whisper and looks up, eyes wide and… hopeful?
"Okay," Evan nods. That - he can live with that. One thing at a time.
~fin