Fic: Me in Honey (skating, Brian/Stephane)
Title: Me in Honey
Fandom: figure skating RPF
Pairing: Brian Joubert/Stéphane Lambiel
Rating: PG-13 for adult content.
Continuity: Major spoilers for 2008 Euros.
Summary: Why did Brian do so poorly at Euros? Traumatic abortion. Obviously.
Highlight for warnings: Mpreg. Abortion.
Word Count: Exactly 1,000.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post. All rights reserved. All wrongs reversed. Assbabies!
Notes: Title is from an R.E.M. song. Written for picfor1000 2008; this is my picture. Thanks to callmesandy for the beta!
*
Brian was not the first person in history to mistake pregnancy for a stomach virus. The week before the Trophée Eric Bompard, praying to the toilet gods, he dropped out of the competition. He wasn't eating enough, his mother told him, and that had made him susceptible to illness. She made him tea and toast, but he rolled over, feeling more angry than sick.
He woke up each morning expecting to improve, but it was always the same, his stomach upset, his back sore. His nipples tender, which didn't seem like a normal symptom. He poked his swollen belly and decided to ask his mother to drive him to the hospital.
The doctor was on the verge of telling him it was still a virus, he should rest, it would pass. He mentioned the nipples, the swelling, his back, and the doctor said, "Let's try one more thing." Brian sat in the waiting room dreaming of Torino, where he was now guaranteed to never win anything. When the test results came back, the doctor asked him to come into the examination room alone. "Are you sexually active?" the doctor said.
Brian nodded.
"With women only?" the doctor said.
Brian shook his head.
The doctor chuckled and sat down next to him. This happened from time to time, he explained. It was not discussed: who would come forward and admit it? With Brian in the public eye, there was no question it would have to be terminated. Brian tried not to think of the word baby, of the word father. He thought of Euros and Worlds as much as he could. He scheduled the surgery, what the doctor called the procedure, and he went alone. He was anesthetized, and he felt little. His only souvenir was a small scar below his navel. Before he left, he asked the doctor, "Do people sometimes have the baby? In this situation?"
"Sometimes," the doctor said. "But usually it isn't healthy. Men's bodies aren't made for this."
Brian took a few days to recover before returning to practice. He wasn't in top condition for Nationals, but he was healthy enough to win. At Euros, though, he worried himself into an anxious state and a bronze medal. He couldn't trust his body anymore.
In the locker room before the gala, he stood in front of the mirror as if he could ask his body where the lines of communication had failed. Usually, when his mother nagged him to eat more, he laughed and reminded her of his training, but she might have been right these days. His ribs were a tight, angry ridge. The scar on his stomach blazed red for stop, don't touch.
"Still so vain," Stéphane said behind him.
"I was thinking," Brian said into Stéph's reflected eyes.
"You're lying," Stéph said. "I don't believe you can think."
Brian shrugged him away and reached for his shirt.
"Are you feeling okay?" Stéph said.
"I'm still a little sick," Brian said.
Stéph studied him as if a careful appraisal of his appearance would make sense of that comment. "Did you have appendicitis or something?" Stéph said. "Or maybe you've always had that scar."
Brian wasn't sure which was the best lie. He remembered his doctor's calmness -- he had seen this before -- and wondered if Stéph might know enough to react the same way. "I dated a guy for a few weeks in September," he said. "There was a, a broken condom, I guess. It's been taken care of now."
Stéph patted Brian's stomach where it would have rounded and filled. "I've heard it happens," he said.
"You? Last year?" Brian said, a little too hopeful.
"No, I was depressed," Stéph said. "I still am, I guess. It's like a scar nobody can see." He dug in his bag and took out a concealer stick. He used the makeup to cover Brian's scar and blended the edges into Brian's skin. "Now yours is invisible, too."
"I was planning to keep my shirt on," Brian said.
"Well, now you have the option," Stéph said.
He had to push past Stéph to get his shirt off the bench. "I have to get ready," he said. "Bronze medalists skate before intermission."
"It doesn't take long to put a shirt on," Stéph said. "You could do it at the last minute."
"Do you want to look at me with my shirt off?" Brian said. It was the first time he'd flirted since. Since his diagnosis, his procedure, his baby that wouldn't be. Flirting might make another one. But Stéph was safe. They'd messed around once, at one of those parties where everyone was making out with everyone else, but nothing had come of it, and nothing was going to.
Brian put his shirt down and sat on top of it. He was trying to see Stéph's scars. They should have been black lines crisscrossing his eyes, but there weren't even lines in his face. Stéph said, "What are you looking for?"
"I don't know," Brian said.
"My boyfriend," Stéph said. "He's angry at me again. So I'm looking at you instead."
Brian stood up and made a slow pirouette. Being admired made him hard, sometimes more than being touched. Safe sex. He didn't have time to get turned on now, but he said "Go ahead" anyway.
Stéph prissily moved Brian's shirt out of the way and sat down with a thump. "I can't believe we both lost."
"To the heterosexual," Brian added.
"Well," Stéph said. "I guess there's next year. "
"There's this year," Brian said, with the sudden passion of believing it. "There's Worlds. The Japanese boy's distracted, the Americans always choke. And the hetero won't catch lightning in a bottle twice. First and second, me and you." He leaned over Stéph for a reckless kiss. Stéph started to push him away but seemed to change his mind. While he kissed back, he rested his hand on Brian's stomach. There was nothing in there anymore but guts.
Fandom: figure skating RPF
Pairing: Brian Joubert/Stéphane Lambiel
Rating: PG-13 for adult content.
Continuity: Major spoilers for 2008 Euros.
Summary: Why did Brian do so poorly at Euros? Traumatic abortion. Obviously.
Highlight for warnings: Mpreg. Abortion.
Word Count: Exactly 1,000.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post. All rights reserved. All wrongs reversed. Assbabies!
Notes: Title is from an R.E.M. song. Written for picfor1000 2008; this is my picture. Thanks to callmesandy for the beta!
*
Brian was not the first person in history to mistake pregnancy for a stomach virus. The week before the Trophée Eric Bompard, praying to the toilet gods, he dropped out of the competition. He wasn't eating enough, his mother told him, and that had made him susceptible to illness. She made him tea and toast, but he rolled over, feeling more angry than sick.
He woke up each morning expecting to improve, but it was always the same, his stomach upset, his back sore. His nipples tender, which didn't seem like a normal symptom. He poked his swollen belly and decided to ask his mother to drive him to the hospital.
The doctor was on the verge of telling him it was still a virus, he should rest, it would pass. He mentioned the nipples, the swelling, his back, and the doctor said, "Let's try one more thing." Brian sat in the waiting room dreaming of Torino, where he was now guaranteed to never win anything. When the test results came back, the doctor asked him to come into the examination room alone. "Are you sexually active?" the doctor said.
Brian nodded.
"With women only?" the doctor said.
Brian shook his head.
The doctor chuckled and sat down next to him. This happened from time to time, he explained. It was not discussed: who would come forward and admit it? With Brian in the public eye, there was no question it would have to be terminated. Brian tried not to think of the word baby, of the word father. He thought of Euros and Worlds as much as he could. He scheduled the surgery, what the doctor called the procedure, and he went alone. He was anesthetized, and he felt little. His only souvenir was a small scar below his navel. Before he left, he asked the doctor, "Do people sometimes have the baby? In this situation?"
"Sometimes," the doctor said. "But usually it isn't healthy. Men's bodies aren't made for this."
Brian took a few days to recover before returning to practice. He wasn't in top condition for Nationals, but he was healthy enough to win. At Euros, though, he worried himself into an anxious state and a bronze medal. He couldn't trust his body anymore.
In the locker room before the gala, he stood in front of the mirror as if he could ask his body where the lines of communication had failed. Usually, when his mother nagged him to eat more, he laughed and reminded her of his training, but she might have been right these days. His ribs were a tight, angry ridge. The scar on his stomach blazed red for stop, don't touch.
"Still so vain," Stéphane said behind him.
"I was thinking," Brian said into Stéph's reflected eyes.
"You're lying," Stéph said. "I don't believe you can think."
Brian shrugged him away and reached for his shirt.
"Are you feeling okay?" Stéph said.
"I'm still a little sick," Brian said.
Stéph studied him as if a careful appraisal of his appearance would make sense of that comment. "Did you have appendicitis or something?" Stéph said. "Or maybe you've always had that scar."
Brian wasn't sure which was the best lie. He remembered his doctor's calmness -- he had seen this before -- and wondered if Stéph might know enough to react the same way. "I dated a guy for a few weeks in September," he said. "There was a, a broken condom, I guess. It's been taken care of now."
Stéph patted Brian's stomach where it would have rounded and filled. "I've heard it happens," he said.
"You? Last year?" Brian said, a little too hopeful.
"No, I was depressed," Stéph said. "I still am, I guess. It's like a scar nobody can see." He dug in his bag and took out a concealer stick. He used the makeup to cover Brian's scar and blended the edges into Brian's skin. "Now yours is invisible, too."
"I was planning to keep my shirt on," Brian said.
"Well, now you have the option," Stéph said.
He had to push past Stéph to get his shirt off the bench. "I have to get ready," he said. "Bronze medalists skate before intermission."
"It doesn't take long to put a shirt on," Stéph said. "You could do it at the last minute."
"Do you want to look at me with my shirt off?" Brian said. It was the first time he'd flirted since. Since his diagnosis, his procedure, his baby that wouldn't be. Flirting might make another one. But Stéph was safe. They'd messed around once, at one of those parties where everyone was making out with everyone else, but nothing had come of it, and nothing was going to.
Brian put his shirt down and sat on top of it. He was trying to see Stéph's scars. They should have been black lines crisscrossing his eyes, but there weren't even lines in his face. Stéph said, "What are you looking for?"
"I don't know," Brian said.
"My boyfriend," Stéph said. "He's angry at me again. So I'm looking at you instead."
Brian stood up and made a slow pirouette. Being admired made him hard, sometimes more than being touched. Safe sex. He didn't have time to get turned on now, but he said "Go ahead" anyway.
Stéph prissily moved Brian's shirt out of the way and sat down with a thump. "I can't believe we both lost."
"To the heterosexual," Brian added.
"Well," Stéph said. "I guess there's next year. "
"There's this year," Brian said, with the sudden passion of believing it. "There's Worlds. The Japanese boy's distracted, the Americans always choke. And the hetero won't catch lightning in a bottle twice. First and second, me and you." He leaned over Stéph for a reckless kiss. Stéph started to push him away but seemed to change his mind. While he kissed back, he rested his hand on Brian's stomach. There was nothing in there anymore but guts.