Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Drabbles
He runs his fingers over Stéphane’s sides, feeling the ribs underneath and shaking his head in disbelief.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he whispers and moves his hands to Stéphane’s face, tracing his tired features.
“I wasn’t going to,” Stéphane mumbles and bows his head, his hair hiding his eyes like a veil. “But I didn’t have a say.”
Johnny nods. He knows how things go in this business. He understands. He lifts Stéphane’s chin gently with his fingertips, then leans in to plant a kiss on his eyelids, tasting a hint of salt on his lips as he does so.
It hurts. It hurts so bad to see him with the Swiss bastard that Evan thinks his chest is going to explode. He hates Johnny for everything he’s done – made him crave and become addicted to him, made him feel. He tried to get rid of this, of Johnny, he honestly tried. Because He. Is. No. Good. For. You. He tried to avoid him, ignore him, forget that he exists. He started fucking Tanith. He took away his goddamn title – it was revenge for stealing his heart. He persuaded the press that he despises Johnny. He couldn’t persuade his heart.
“So you’re fucking Lambiel?” The words are out before he can stop himself, before he can think.
“That’s none of your business,” Johnny’s answer is calm, measured.
“Will you still want him after he loses the title?” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Or are you going to sleep with whoever wins?”
Johnny smirks disdainfully. “If you’re asking if I’m going to let you touch me if you should win this – which I highly doubt – the answer is NO. Go back to Tanith.”
“Fuck you,” he whispers after Johnny is gone, gritting his teeth. He wants to stop… wanting him.
“Please win this,” Stéphane’s voice is tense and urgent when he kisses Johnny’s neck, his hands combing through his hair. “Please.” He sounds so desperate, it makes Johnny’s heart constrict with pain.
Suddenly, Stéphane grips his face in his palms and makes him look straight at him, dark eyes burning with a flame Johnny hasn’t seen in Stéphane for quite a while.
“Win this for me, Johnny. Do you hear me?”
“I –“ am afraid, Johnny wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat.
“You can do it,” Stéphane insists. “I believe in you,” he adds then and something about his voice makes Johnny believe in himself, too.
“Okay,” he replies. “I’m gonna win. For you. For us.”