Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Drabbles
Eliot knows it’s not fair. But he’s a figure skater; he’s been taught to play dirty since he was a little boy – he’s got experience in playing mind games and using people’s weaknesses to his advantage in competition. It’s almost as easy off the ice, almost the same, really – he’s working to get what he wants, only now it’s not a medal. This time, Eliot wants Johnny Weir.
Johnny is drunk, Eliot has made sure to inconspicuously keep refilling his glass since the moment he sat down beside him. And if the gossip can be trusted – and Eliot has some very reliable sources – Johnny has also not gotten laid for months.
“What’re you doing?” Johnny mumbles, shrinking back a little when Eliot carefully places a hand on his thigh.
“Nothing,” Eliot flashes an innocent smile.
“Oh,” Johnny says with a drunken smirk, bugs his eyes a little. Then, when Eliot shifts his hand to give Johnny’s upper thigh an intimate squeeze, his fingers just barely brushing Johnny’s crotch, Johnny nearly squeaks, his voice a notch higher this time: “Oh!”
“Yeah,” Eliot smiles some more and glances around to check that nobody is watching them, then leans closer to nuzzle Johnny’s neck.
“Hey,” Johnny makes a faint attempt at pushing him aside, but gives up rather quickly when Eliot bites down, teeth on tender flesh. The small sound that escapes Johnny’s lips tells Eliot all he needs to know – he’s been with enough boys already to recognize the gasp, to read the expression on Johnny’s face. It fills him with sizzling excitement and smug self-satisfaction. He’s been wishing for this for a long time, so much that it doesn’t even bother him that Johnny probably won’t remember any of it tomorrow (in the better case scenario), or that he’ll be mad once he sobers up.
“You’re young,” Johnny mutters, clutching at his glass so desperately Eliot’s afraid he might break it.
“And you’re horny,” he responds, then gets up from the table, holding out a hand for Johnny.
There is a moment of silent consideration, then Johnny shrugs and – standing up on wobbly legs, says: “When you put it that way...”
When Johnny fucks him later that night, nice and slow at first, then hard and fast, Eliot concludes that it’s a good thing his sport is dirtier than football on a rainy day.