Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení
Stéphane has never been to a housewarming party; they're not as common at home as they are in America, so he's not quite sure what to expect when Johnny steals a kiss from him – fresh from the ice, his practice ends just as Stéphane's session begins – and asks him to drop by tomorrow in the afternoon for housewarming.
Stéphane has heard a lot about the new house already, even though Johnny bought it only recently. Even before he came to America, Johnny was constantly calling him to tell him about the house that is almost his dream-house. When Stéphane arrived to New Jersey, Johnny was just leaving for his vacation, though, and so he hasn't even seen much of Johnny since then, never mind the famous dream-house. But now that they're both finally at the same place and Johnny has abandoned his apartment for good and moved into the new house, Stéphane will get to see Johnny's (almost) dream as well.
He knows that housewarming parties usually come with friends and food, so he puts on his best shirt to look good in front of Johnny's friends. It's pointless, of course, since most of Johnny's friends already know him and are used to seeing him in sweatpants and costumes, but this occasion is a special one for Johnny and Stéphane treats it as such. He bakes chocolate-chip cookies the night before, because it's polite to bring something and just bringing chocolate or wine is too ordinary. Besides, Stéphane has not yet discovered a place in Wayne that sells real Swiss chocolate... and bringing non-Swiss chocolate would be insulting. Also, Johnny is fond of his cookies, Stéphane knows, even though he accuses Stéphane of attempting to ruin his figure and so sabotage his career every single time Stéphane bakes some.
When he arrives at Johnny's door, Stéphane is slightly nervous and sweating in his formal clothes – July has brought a heat wave to New Jersey, the air quiver hotly and the late afternoon sun is bright enough to make him squint; of course, he has forgotten to bring his sunglasses.
He rings the bell and waits, looking forward to the comfortable air-conditioned climate he's sure reigns inside the house; that's one thing he likes about America in the summer, the air-conditioning, even though the constant change of temperature has given him a runny nose.
Johnny opens the door moments later.
"Oh," Stéphane says instead of a greeting, because Johnny is not exactly dressed for a party; in fact, he's not dressed at all, except for a pair of golden hotpants. Stéphane looks at Johnny and blushes, then glances at his watch, wondering if he has made a mistake and come too early.
"Am I early?" he begins to mumble, "I thought you said – ", but Johnny cuts him off.
"No, silly," he says and steps forward to kiss him. Stéphane decides that he doesn't really care if he's too early or too late; Johnny doesn't seem to mind, anyway, judging by the way he sneaks his hand into Stéphane's hair and pulls him close, closer. "Hi," he smiles against Stéphane's mouth when they come apart to breathe.
"I thought – " Stéphane begins, slightly confused. "I brought cookies!" He's out of breath now, his skin burning, because they're still standing on the porch and the air is hot and Johnny is hotter. He's not making much sense, he knows, and he blames Johnny for it – he should know better than to surprise Stéphane like this when they haven't had the time to properly get together since Johnny came back from vacation, Johnny being busy with moving and Stéphane with settling in.
"Good," Johnny grins. "We might get hungry later." He gives Stéphane a naughty look, grabbing the box of cookies and then Stéphane's hand. "Come in, I'll show you around."
Johnny leads him through all the rooms, living room first, then kitchen with the dining area, all rooms light, spacious. Stéphane likes the house, he could even imagine living here. He has to smile at the thought.
There's not much to see aside from this, though; Johnny hasn't unpacked most of his furniture yet. But it's not the lack of furniture that puzzles Stéphane, it's the lack of guests; they seem to be alone in the house.
"I thought you were going to have a party?" he asks, tapping his fingers against the smoothly clean kitchen counter.
"I've noticed," Johnny says and laughs, gesturing at Stéphane's attire. "I am going to have a party. With you. You are a bit overdressed, though." He runs his hands down Stéphane's chest, then starts unbuttoning his shirt. "My AC is not working yet – sorry about that. They should come fix it tomorrow." Idly, he opens the buttons, fingertips barely brushing Stéphane's skin. Johnny can be such a tease sometimes. "I promise to make you comfortable, though," he adds and pushes the shirt from Stéphane's shoulders, then folds it in half and places it onto the kitchen counter, right beside the box of cookies. "You're my guest, after all."
"I don't doubt your hospitality," Stéphane says, but the end of the sentence turns into a sharp gasp as Johnny leans down to lick over his nipple.
Johnny grins, then straightens up to give Stéphane's lips a quick peck. "Let's finish the tour first," he says. "You haven't seen my new closet yet." There's an excited bounce in his voice.
Stéphane groans in mock frustration. "I'd rather see your bedroom," he points out, but follows Johnny all the same.
"We're getting there, don't worry," Johnny promises over his shoulder, grinning. He looks beautiful, tanned after his beach vacation, and relaxed, even though he has been back to training for several days now. Stéphane could definitely get used to seeing Johnny like this every day, naked – or almost – and glowing, first thing in the morning and until late at night. He'd be surprised if Johnny's presence didn't revitalize his own skating, too – if it doesn't, Stéphane doesn't know what else possibly could.
The closet is the only room already completely furnished, unpacked and organized. Johnny spends a good ten minutes explaining the system to Stéphane, then throws his arms up in defeat when Stéphane still doesn't get why Gucci shares a shelf with Ferragamo, but not with Gautier and why Johnny's D-Squared t-shirts aren't beside the Dior ones.
The bedroom feels almost a little bare after the fill of the closet, it has a few random boxes scattered around, a few pieces of furniture that haven't been put in their proper places yet, a large fan Stéphane assumes Johnny has been using instead of the AC.
"You haven't unwrapped your bed yet," he observes in astonishment. Johnny's bed is still covered in bubble wrap, the way it was transported.
"I know," Johnny says and shrugs. "I just... I was busy with the closet."
Stéphane laughs. Johnny's priorities are so screwed up. Good that he now has Stéphane to take care of him a little.
"But where do you sleep?" he asks. And where are we going to make love? He doesn't add that, because it's a redundant question, really – it's not like they haven't gotten creative in the past where that's concerned. Fucking Johnny up against the wall has its perks. But the sleeping issue makes him frown, Johnny needs to sleep to be able to skate. "Not the couch? Your back..." It's been troubling him for quite a while, after all.
Johnny just grins. "I brought this amazing thing from Korea," he points to the corner, then proceeds to unroll what turns out to be a futon. Or at least Stéphane thinks that there's a futon underneath the large white fur throw. "I love it, it's harder than my bed and my back seems to approve of that."
He smiles up at Stéphane as he finishes smoothing out the fur over the futon, then stretches out luxuriously on it, sultry look on his face. He doesn't even need to do the come-hither gesture, because Stéphane is already crouching down, knees planted on either side of Johnny's hips.
They kiss, just kiss for the longest time, until Stéphane wishes he could melt into Johnny completely. Johnny deftly peels Stéphane's pants off; they're clinging to his skin by now, because the air is sticky, because the large windows of Johnny's bedroom face west, filling the room with afternoon sunlight, but mainly because Johnny makes Stéphane feel like he's going to go up in flames.
It's been a long time, but Johnny seems to be in the mood for slow and languid, which is just fine with Stéphane; they don't need to hurry, after all, there are no other guests coming to this party. He takes his time to cherish Johnny's chest and stomach, covering every bit of his skin with kisses, dabs of tongue and a scratch of teeth here and there, so long until Johnny is arching his back and letting out strangled little moans. Stéphane nuzzles the happy trail disappearing into Johnny's hotpants and wonders if the tan reaches all the way under those, too, if Johnny lounged around nude on the beaches of the Cayman Islands.
Then Johnny begins to talk in between sharp breaths, part nonsense and part meaningful content. He sometimes does that in bed; they've been together long enough for Stéphane to not be surprised or freaked out by it anymore.
"I missed you so much," Johnny gasps into his mouth when Stéphane finds his lips once again. "So much. I wanked off every night thinking –," he rubs his nose against Stéphane's, " – about you, inside me," and he grinds his hips into Stéphane's, which draws out a quick, surprised noise from him. "I want you. In me," he then demands, opening his eyes. Their gazes link and Johnny kisses the tip of Stéphane's nose.
"Yes," Stéphane whispers back and reaches between them to get rid of those panties. But Johnny tenses, then gently pushes Stéphane off himself. "What –?"
"Let me," Johnny says and smiles, warm and reassuring, and Stéphane is relieved that there's nothing wrong. Johnny takes a deep breath to steady his voice before continuing, "You're my guest, remember?" He stands up in front of Stéphane; not a very smart move, actually, because it brings Stéphane's eyes level with Johnny's crotch and makes him wonder if he could get a taste first, let Johnny wait a little longer.
Johnny doesn't give him the opportunity, though. Instead, he hurries off to dig through the Louis Vuitton duffle Stéphane has seen him carry just yesterday, then comes back with a tube of lube – strawberry-scented, Stéphane notes with amusement; Johnny can be such a girl sometimes. He wants to tease Johnny, ask if he carries lube around like this all the time and why, for whom, but he forgets all about teasing when Johnny returns with a dirty smile and an even dirtier kiss, tossing the lube onto the fur.
Then Johnny gingerly peels off the underwear, so gingerly that Stéphane can't help but wonder if maybe these are a pricey designer piece that Johnny just didn't want to suffer any damage at Stéphane's inexpert hands.
Johnny sinks to his knees, close, brushing Stéphane's knees, and he mirrors his position, sitting back on his heels the way Stéphane is sitting. His eyes never leave Stéphane's as he coats his own fingers with lube, reaches around and pushes at first just one inside himself, accompanied by a sharp hiss. It's been a while since they had sex and Stéphane worries for a moment, but Johnny smiles.
He never stops smiling as he stretches himself open, the muscles of his thighs flexing as he fucks himself on his fingers, rocking back and forth. Stéphane could come just watching him, the way his playful smile melts into an expression of bliss as he adds a third finger and then a concentrated frown to keep himself from getting too worked up. Johnny’s never been very good at practicing self-restraint, though, not in bed, anyway.
His eyes fall shut and he bites his lower lip to stop a moan, the tender flesh turning bright crimson under his teeth, and grinds down harder to meet another thrust. Stéphane wakes up from the trance he’d sunken into, remembering what Johnny’s clearly forgotten by now, that this is not supposed to be a one man show.
Stéphane slips out of his briefs and scuttles closer to Johnny to grab his waist and pull him flush against himself. Johnny’s eyes fly open and he yelps. The surprise melts away almost instantly, though, and his lips curl into a smile under Stéphane’s mouth when they kiss. He rests his elbows on Stéphane’s shoulders and lets the fingers of his clean hand play over Stéphane’s skull.
“Did you do this every night?” Stéphane asks and drops one hand lower, down the cleft of Johnny’ ass, rubbing at Johnny’s slick opening before sliding a finger inside.
“Pretty much,” Johnny breathes and squeezes around Stéphane’s finger. “I’m ready,” he points out. As if Stéphane couldn’t tell himself. Johnny is trembling in his arms, temples beaded with sweat; Stéphane loves to have him like this, hovering right on the edge. But when he moves to tumble them onto the futon, Johnny shakes his head.
“I want you on your back,” he says and gives Stéphane’s shoulders a gentle push. Stéphane obliges; they’ve never been one of those couples that are in constant struggle for dominance. Not in bed, anyway; it’s different in skating, of course. Besides, he’s long past caring about the how and he definitely appreciates the sight when Johnny climbs on top of him and straddles him, all of his beautiful muscle and bronze skin for Stéphane to adore with eyes and hands.
Johnny reaches for something behind Stéphane’s head – the fan, Stéphane realizes as a gentle blast of cooling air kisses his skin, a tingle sweeping all over him.
“You’re tight,” he mutters when Johnny guides him inside his body, pushing down with his weight until Stéphane is completely sheathed.
“I've been a good boy,” Johnny replies and slowly rises on his knees, then sits back down, fast and unexpected. Stéphane lets out a strangled cry and claws his fingers into Johnny’s thighs.
“Never with me,” he manages past the tightness in his throat.
Johnny starts to ride him, grinding his ass down Stéphane's cock, hands on his chest for support, and Stéphane struggles to keep his eyes open so he can watch, keep his breath steady so he can last longer.
“Would you want me to be?” Johnny asks and forces himself to come to a halt. Stéphane can tell how much effort it takes him to stay still; Johnny’s hands are balled into fists when he rests them on his own thighs and sits up straight. His hair is fluttering in the streaming air and his cheeks are flushed pink – he looks almost innocent, except for the wild desire in his eyes as he locks them on Stéphane.
“No,” Stéphane replies and sits up in one swift move, circling Johnny’s waist to crush their bodies together, taking Johnny’s lips in a forceful kiss. The air from the fan cools the sweat on his back and he shivers. He reaches for Johnny’s hips to make him move again, faster now, harder, fingernails digging into Johnny’s hip-bones. Johnny wraps his legs around him and Stéphane notes the burns on his knees; he’s going to make Johnny get rid of the damn fur the next time.
Johnny doesn’t seem to mind the discomfort, though. “Yes,” he moans into Stéphane’s ear right before he bites his earlobe, fingers tight in his hair. Stéphane licks the sweaty sheen off Johnny’s neck, salty and delicious, breathes in his scent. He’d move even further than halfway around the world for this, for him, Stéphane realizes as Johnny’s sweet whimpers fill his ears.
He doesn’t have the time to reach between them to fondle Johnny’s cock; Johnny abruptly clenches all around him and comes, pulling him closer, closer. When Stéphane’s own orgasm hits, his heart thrumming erratically against Johnny’s chest, it feels almost as if they're one – one body, one heart, one soul.
“I love you,” Johnny murmurs into his neck when they drop back down onto the futon moments later, with warm sun and cooling air on their skin. It might be just one of the random things Johnny says in bed, or it might not... it doesn’t matter to Stéphane, because he doesn’t need to be told again, he knows. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been sure about this, about Johnny and about them, for months already.
“I’d like a cookie now,” Johnny whispers, nuzzling just behinds Stéphane’s ear.
Stéphane smiles. “They make you fat,” he teases, but Johnny’s unperturbed for once.
“We’ll work off the calories,” he says and lifts his head to give Stéphane another filthy smile. “The housewarming only just started. One room down, four to go.”
Thanks for beta-reading, Cel.