[oneshot] apolo & the throbbing hot entrance

Mar 03, 2010 19:19

Title: apolo & the throbbing hot entrance
Rating: pg13
Genre: slice-of-life, crack
Warnings: mild sexual themes, swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: Apolo discovers internet fandom. Chaos ensues. A million thanks to jandi & boyfolk for loads of inspiration. Written for an anon @ wintergameskink :')

There aren’t many things that can make Apolo blush. In fact, until today, the whole list probably consisted of some inane childhood stories Yuki always told about him whenever they went to functions together, and the time in Torino when some stupid fucking shit happened involving a shower, Shani’s silver medal in the 1500m, and his own iPod.

But of course, leave it to Kim Yuna to blow all of this out of the water with a short, simple email. Oppa!!! the subject line reads, and he rolls his eyes at the blatantly familiar language the figure skater uses despite his constant objections.

He clicks the message open to see a hasty note asking whether this was an article about him or not (since the Queen apparently couldn’t read it), along with a rather benign looking attachment. He clicks on that as well, and the document starts loading on his computer.

The first thing that signals something is horribly wrong when the window comes up is the fact that the title of the article is labeled Title in large, bold font. What the fuck, I know a title when I see one, goddamn Yuna. His brow furrows as he scrolls down to the middle of the document and picks a random paragraph to read.

“JR,” Apolo moans, grinding hard into the heat as his hand slides up the younger skater’s creamy white thighs. He can feel his huge member pulsating with desire against that saccharine ass-

Fanfiction. His head snaps up so fast that the back of his neck starts hurting from the errant whiplash; he scoots back in his chair as far as he can from the screen. As if on cue, there’s a buzz from his cell and he flips it open to see a new text from the devil herself. what do u think, oppa??? ^^;; it reads, and he suppresses the sudden urge to chuck his phone out the open window.

Soon after, Apolo inches back towards the monitor in morbid fascination, curiosity getting the best of him. It’s not like this shit could’ve come out of nowhere, he decides, and so he pulls Google up on a tab and starts running searches through. If he thinks about it, it’s completely unsurprising that fans would use his fantastic self as a character in their slash stories. Or maybe he’s just deluding himself; into what, he doesn’t know.

Most of the stories, he ponders clinically, seem to feature him with Shaun White or JR. Clicking on a random link brings him to some website for Johnny Weir and Evan Lysacek, which is possibly even more disturbing because of the not-fucking-safe-for-work photoshopped pictures in the background.

It doesn’t take him long at all to start printing out copies and trying to locate the closest Kinko’s in Vancouver.

- -

A hop, skip, jump, and several lamination mishaps later, there’s a huge sign on the bulletin board in the lounge that reads PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT in big, blocky print.

“What is this?” Johnny’s voice floats over to where Apolo’s sitting on the couch. He reads the sign and looks down at the contents of the table below, packets of paper stacked up neatly. He picks one up and starts flipping through the pages. “Is this fanfiction?” Apolo’s not-so-inner douche cackles madly-at least until the unpredictable sound of the figure skater’s laughter rings through the room.

Okay, okay. He takes a couple of deep breaths and tries not to freak out about Johnny’s non-reaction. Of course Johnny Weir would think this was funny, considering everything Apolo’s heard through the grapevine about him.

Evan bursts through the door to the stairwell and passes a couple of pool tables to stand next to him. “What the hell are you doing? If you didn’t know, the short program’s tomorrow night and we need to practice.”

Johnny ignores him and continues his detailed perusal. “Look!” He waves the papers in Evan’s annoyed face. “I’m absolutely fabulous, even in fanfiction.” He pauses to pull out a pen and makes a few notes in the margins. “Though I never orgasm like that, and my pubes are most certainly shaved. These people, honestly.”

“Too much goddamn information,” Evan yelps in dismay, and Apolo would have silently agreed, if he hadn’t just read the story that was being referenced.

“Nonsense,” Johnny proclaims, and he picks up one of the piles and starts handing them out to everyone streaming in through the double doors. Shani takes one and Johnny pats him on the back. “You know, honey, fans give good advice. I think it’d really help your sex life!” The look on the poor guy’s face almost makes up for all the porn Apolo had had to look up.

- -

In the end, it somehow gets out that Apolo is the perpetrator of these crimes against humanity. Such melodrama, he grumbles, but then he remembers his first reaction to Yuna’s email and keeps quiet about his thoughts, for once. He’s pretty used to people hating him about things, South Korea notwithstanding, so this is really no different.

It’s when they’re practicing for the relay-and he’s getting frustrated as fuck-that he decides it’s high time to pull it out again. “Hey Jayner!” he screams across the rink. “‘He pounded into your throbbing hot entrance!’ HOT ENTRANCE, DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Jordan freezes in mid-stride from where he’s about to take the next leg and Travis is so shocked that he glides neatly into the padding on the side of the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the South Korean and Canadian skaters tittering to each other. Apolo snorts with disgust and skates over. “Move your ass. This, what we have right now-this isn’t going to cut it on Saturday, understand?”

A deep flush is spreading up from Travis’s neck but he nods tightly anyway. “Just, just shut up about that shit, okay?”

“I will, provided you all shape up, stat.” He turns and glances at the others with a critical eye. “Get to work, people!” JR looks pale and completely mortified, but when their practice ends, his time’s improved quite a lot. Apolo pats himself on the back for a job well done.

- -

At the end of the week, Apolo is very, very pleased, and everyone else is decidedly not. Wreaking havoc seems to be one of his specialties, and he really has to hand it to Yuna and her fortuitous email. Of course, it’s not so great that half his teammates aren’t speaking to him since he started quoting whole paragraphs of graphic description as a training staple, but the people who matter aren’t avoiding him. Yuki’s trying to steer clear of the situation entirely and he isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when Shaun White sends him a direct message on Twitter filled with links of self-written fanfiction.

He would, Apolo thinks wryly, dumping a half-eaten cup of instant noodles into one of the lounge’s trash cans. He manages to rope a couple of other skaters into a game of pool; whenever they’re about to take their shots, he starts musing about things like if it was even humanly possible for them to bend into certain positions, or how fans could know how big Stephane Lambiel’s cock really was if they’d never actually seen it before.

“This isn’t fair,” Simon complains, and Apolo just smirks before chalking up his cue. There’s a collective sigh of relief from behind him when he turns in for the night. He passes by one of the open doors leading out of the lounge and from inside he can hear rapid-fire Korean, and then a halting half-translation.

“He wants, know, Apolo? Talking about...”

“Ah,” JR’s strained voice comes streaming out the room and Apolo pauses, curious. “He, well, um. Basically there’s these people who are our, um, fans and they write-things about us? And Apolo found some stuff and-yeah, online, it’s like stuff about what they think we do in our free time and honestly, um, most of it is borderline porn, no, I don’t know where Apolo found it exactly and. Okay yes, Hosuk, it basically is porn, and pretty kinky shit too-and okay, yeah, I’m going to shut up now.”

Apolo grins wickedly and decides to take the stairs up to his floor three at a time; he hasn’t felt this young in ages.

- -

“You are such a dick,” Johnny announces when they’re in the locker rooms together. Apolo raises his eyebrows with a questioning air. “I mean, I don’t mind all the sexual allusions and everything, but I’m pretty sure our teammates don’t think the same way, especially Evan. You know how he is. And the other countries seem to think you’re going a bit senile in your old age.”

“Hey, no motivation is bad motivation, okay?” He resists the urge to flip his hair back in typical Weir fashion. “Clearly, Lysacek won the gold because of my beautifully executed tactics. You’re just too immune.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Apolo.”

He shrugs, pulling his Team USA jacket and sports bag on. “I am scarred for life because of that damn Korean figure skater, so I took it upon myself to spread the love, so to speak.” They walk out the door together and into the hallway. “Plus, they should be thankful that I’ve opened their eyes to what everyone really thinks of them.”

Johnny nods, but he speaks with a troubled tone. “Don’t be caught by surprise when it bites you in the ass, though.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “They’re trying to figure out a way to get back at you, so maybe you should think about investing in some booby traps for your room.”

Apolo scoffs and waves him off, unconcerned. “I’m Apolo Anton Ohno, I don’t need to worry about that kind of shit. Bitches got nothing on me.”

Johnny gives a little half shrug and sing-songs, “If you say so, then.”

- -

It’s said that pride comes before a downfall. He wakes up the morning before the closing ceremonies, bundled up in a warm cocoon of blankets and wholly satisfied with what they’d accomplished in the past couple of days, despite a shitty DQ. He doesn’t know why his face feels inexplicably lighter today, but he suspects it has something to do with his mood.

There’s an uncertain knock and Apolo shuffles over to open the door, yawning and stretching. His young padawan is there, a huge jar of yogurt in one hand and a spoon in the other. “Need something?” he says sleepily, rubbing at his bed-head.

The kid looks up from his food-and his jaw drops, a mouthful of yogurt falling with a splat onto Apolo’s pristine carpet.

“Really, JR?” He shakes his head at the glob of breakfast food on the floor. “I know you don’t live here but I do, so you better clean that up.”

“No-I,” JR stutters, making a vague gesture towards his face. There’s a sudden feeling of impending doom as he pushes Apolo into the bathroom and switches the light on. He’s speechless for a second as he surveys the place on his chin where his soul patch should have been, a small square of lighter skin now as smooth as the rest of his face.

He swivels around, death written all over his face. JR gulps and takes a note out of his pocket. “They wanted me to give this to you-and for the record, I had nothing to do with this so please don’t kill me, it’s not my fault-”

Apolo snatches the card out of his hands and crumples it in his fist. JR gives a small whimper that would have been cute if Apolo’s life as he knew it wasn’t ending right now. He slams the door in the kid’s face and rips the folded paper open to see a typed out message.

so we tried reasoning with and pleading with and goddamn begging you, but nothing worked. desperate times call for desperate measures, apolo. also, we have no idea how johnny did it but he managed to get the whole thing off in one go (i think he’s had practice... with his pubes or something probably, idk, don’t ask us) so take it up with him if you want it back. as a keepsake or something.

with love, team usa.

He makes an incoherent noise of rage and dumps the card into the overflowing wastebasket.

- -

“What is the meaning of this?” Apolo’s pacing back and forth in Johnny’s room, hands shaking and lips pressed into a thin line.

“I tried to warn you,” the sitting skater says, unperturbed.

No, he thinks, no, no, no, no, this is ridiculous, this isn’t happening. “What the hell, you weren’t even bothered by the shit I was saying!” It comes out as a rather embarrassing shriek instead of an intimidating growl, like he’d intended.

Johnny ignores him in favor of flipping a casual page in some fashion magazine, propping his long legs onto the coffee table. Apolo makes several frantic gestures in midair, too choked with anger to speak; Johnny sends him a look over the top of the glossy paper and then pulls out a small pillbox and tosses it to him. “They thought I was the only one who wouldn’t be scared out of my mind if you came hunting for that tuft of hair. It’s in the box, by the way.”

Apolo strides out without another word, not even bothering to close the door and still trying to process the fact that his fucking soul patch was just fucking shaved off as a direct result of fictional fucking. Fuck.

“Good luck reattaching that!” Johnny calls from inside. Furious, he storms back to his room and falls onto the bed, wood slamming shut behind him for the second time in ten minutes.

“I,” he says aloud, “am fucking retiring.”

A/N: i don’t even know anymore, fml lol. jsyk, i suck at crack/humor so this was a sad, sad attempt :[ anon commenting is on, as usual.

length: oneshot, fandom: olympics, #fic

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