Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Povídky
"Ahoj Tomáši. Jak se máš?"
The words spoken in his mother tongue startle Tomáš, especially since it's not a female voice saying them – his coach is a lady, as is the only Czech judge here at the Cup of Russia. He turns around and finds himself face to face with a smiling Johnny Weir. He stares at the American for a while, then finally manages to respond:
"Dobře, Johnny," he says and watches Weir furrow his brows, then beam again – he understood, Tomáš realizes. He still switches to English in the next sentence, though. "How come that you speak Czech?"
Johnny shrugs. "I don't speak it, but I went to the Czech Republic once for a junior competition. Loved the country, loved the language, so I learned a few things."
"I see," Tomáš nods, grinning – when you're from a country as small and insignificant as the Czech Republic, you can't help but feel flattered when foreigners actually know something about it, don't call it Czechoslovakia, or even say they like the country.
"You were really good," Johnny says and leans against the wall next to him, sipping at his drink and observing the hotel restaurant full of ISU officials, skaters, coaches and the random mix of other people who usually attend banquets at figure skating events. Lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, he adds: "You were so much better than Klimkin. Seriously."
"Thank you," Tomáš feels a light blush creep up his face. Johnny Weir might not be the best in the world, but he's definitely one of the guys Tomáš considers to be several levels above him – and it's not every day that he receives compliments from people in Johnny's league. Besides, Johnny's shoulder presses against his very nicely when he leans closer to continue his whispering:
"I like what you do with your hands," Johnny says, gesticulating with his free hand. "When you skate, I mean. Most people's hands just die when they skate, but your hands – " he looks down to where Tomáš's hands are wrapped around a bottle of Pilsner. " – your hands are expressive and interesting."
Tomáš is blushing for real now, his cheeks burning. He's thankful that the light is not bright enough for Johnny to notice. His throat has become surprisingly dry and he has to take a gulp of his beer before he can finally mutter another thank you.
"I wonder, Tomáš…" Johnny turns to him and pierces him with his gaze, his eyes dark in the dimly lit corner. "I wonder what other things you can do with your hands. They say that Czechs have a talent for hand-work."
Tomáš watches Johnny hook the thumb of his free hand at the waistband of his jeans casually, revealing a tiny piece of tanned skin. His other hand lifts the Martini glass he's holding to his lips and he takes a sip of the clear liquid, his eyes searching Tomáš's face. He swallows, licks his lips and gives Tomáš a small, teasing smile.
"What do you say?"
"I… We… Umm," Tomáš stutters, taken aback, but intrigued… He's heard many tales about Johnny Weir, including the one about him, Evan Lysacek and trouble the two got from the American federation when they got caught in an improper situation, but he's never had the chance to find out if any of them were true. Until now.
"I mean… We have talents for many things," he finally says, trying not to sound too eager.
"Magnificent," Johnny beams. "In that case, come see me in room 201 after this thing...," he waves his hand in the general direction of the tables surrounded by officials and scrunches up his nose, "…is over." Then his voice drops into a suggestive whisper once again and he adds: "Just to… check out my Czech." With that, Johnny winks at Tomáš and walks away to chat with Alissa Czisny.
* Ahoj Tomáši. Jak se máš? = Hi Tomáš. How are you?
* Dobře. = Good.