Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Drabbles
Pozn.: Betsy si přála drabble obsahující lízátko... Odehrává se na Cup of China 2007.
Evan is angry about the silver. It’s proving a little bit hard to stay focused on the anger, though, when Johnny Weir is sitting not far from him, costume unzipped in the back, showing an indecent amount of skin. Weir is sucking on a lollipop, the red globe sliding wetly in and out of his mouth, coloring his lips red – redder. He twirls his tongue around it, eyes closed in appreciation. Then he pulls the lolly out of his mouth with a pop and – eyes open and bright – he smiles at Evan.
“It’s my prize for winning,” he says and spins the lollipop between his fingers. “I’m on a diet – no candy diet! – but Galina let me have this one,” he giggles.
Evan stares at him, at loss for words, momentarily too caught up in that red, red smile.
“What’s the prize for silver, then?” he finally says, his throat strangely dry.
Weir seems to ponder that for a moment, for he tips his head to the side, gives Evan a once-over.
Then, slowly, in a voice considerably lower and throatier than his previous sing-songy tone, he says:
“I guess I can’t let you have the full prize,” he indicates to the candy in his hand, “but I think you deserve a little taste.” He scoots closer on the locker-room bench they’re sharing, so close his knees bump into Evan’s.
He leans forward, eyes fixed on Evan’s, until their lips are almost touching. He pauses then, hovering so close Evan can smell the sweetness in his breath, as if he was waiting for Evan to panic and back off. Evan doesn’t, he stays right where he is, gaze locked with Weir’s.
And then, with a smug smirk, Weir finally closes the gap between them, drawing Evan into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. Weir’s tongue sneaks into his mouth, slick and sweet, and Evan sucks at it, a cherry-flavored candy like nothing he’s ever had before.
The sugar – it must be the sugar, because Evan’s on a diet, too – clouds his mind a little, makes it hard to think straight and, suddenly, losing gold to Johnny Weir doesn’t taste as bitter as it did just moments before. In fact, it tastes so good Evan’s afraid he might never want anything else again.