Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Povídkové cykly
If only you’d look at me and want to stay
~Hanson: If Only~
They have sex in Orlando, Richmond, and Washington, in Boston, Detroit, and Louisville, and in a bunch of other cities whose names Johnny doesn’t even remember. They fuck in hotel beds, once in Evan’s room, once in Johnny’s. They meet at night, right after the show, and spend half an hour or a little more in sweet bliss.
Sometimes they even dare to fool around on the bus. It’s easy – they’ve been sitting together since the beginning of the tour; nobody was surprised to see them share a seat…. Especially not after that spectacular kiss and the following media frenzy. All Johnny needs to do is lean closer to Evan in the bus speeding through the night – lights are low and most of the other skaters are asleep, so the chances of anyone noticing are slim. And even when they do notice, Johnny doesn’t give a damn. Evan, on the other hand, gets nervous whenever Johnny get bored and decides to tease him during the ride, pressing his lips against his neck and rubbing his cock through his pants. Evan’s lower lip is constantly bitten raw from how he always struggles to restrain himself from making a sound.
Johnny is almost amused by their situation. Almost because there is an aspect of this that is certainly not amusing, a thing Johnny’s been agonizing over since the first night they spent together. Every time – every single time! – after they make love, Evan only stays a few minutes before getting up and leaving. It makes Johnny feel like a little whore, or like one of those men who fuck around, but most of all, it makes him feel lonely every time Evan goes away.
When he lies in his bed afterwards, clinging to the warmth that Evan’s body has left behind, Johnny always realizes that this is not it, that this is not what he wants. The sex is great, sure, and Johnny can’t recall ever enjoying any of his few previous lovers as much as he enjoys Evan. Their touches, kisses, the way their bodies melt together – Johnny’s never experienced anything like it before, so intense and so right. But regardless of how good it is, the sex is not enough! Johnny craves more and every time they collapse into each other’s arms in post-coital exhaustion, he hopes that maybe this time Evan will stay with him, that he’ll hold him and fall asleep with him. He imagines waking up and seeing Evan’s face first thing in the morning. But it never happens and one day Johnny starts to wonder whether Evan can give him what he’s looking for. Whether Evan is interested in more than a fling at all. He also wonders if maybe this is all his fault… Maybe it wasn’t a wise thing to begin their ‘relationship’ with sex, maybe he should have waited instead of giving himself so willingly, maybe they should have talked instead of jumping into bed…. But it had felt so natural, Johnny reasons, then curses his habit of feeling rather than thinking, of listening to his heart rather than his brain. Rational consideration has never been his strong point. He wonders whether things would have developed differently if he hadn’t been so instinctual… But hell, the mature, rational approach to a ‘relationship’ is not easy, especially if the person in question is someone you’ve been fancying for months!
Johnny is not sure when exactly he’s fallen for Evan, but it happened quite a while ago, probably around the time Evan became Worlds bronze champion for the first time. Johnny had watched his face when they hung the medal around his neck – it was alight with joy, tears sparkling in the dark eyes… And despite the jealousy he felt towards him for taking his spot on the podium, Johnny could not help but be charmed by Evan’s genuine smile and the shy, down-to-earth impression he made. And when, in Torino, he got to know Evan – really know him – Johnny had fallen in love, hard. Under such circumstances, it was understandable that he jumped at the first opportunity to become more than friends with Evan, wasn’t it?
He had been quite sure that Evan liked him back before he dared to kiss him…. That confidence was now shattering, though. Evan kept treating him like a friend at day, sleeping with him at night, and Johnny wonders if that is what Evan considers him to be – a friend with whom he can have some fun when no one else is around, when things get boring and the need for release urgent. A fuck-buddy.
Please stay. Johnny wishes he’d have the nerve to say the two simple words. But as much as he hates the insecurity of the current situation, he’s still afraid to finally bring in some clarity. He’s afraid he might hear the thing he doesn’t want to hear, that Evan might turn him down – and Johnny isn’t sure if he could bear that. He’s well aware that he can’t keep avoiding this forever, though.
Then one day, Johnny overhears Evan giving an interview to yet another reporter.
“Are you and Johnny Weir together, then?” the woman asks the question Evan has had to deal with a million times already. I don’t want to comment on that or That is a private matter – these are the standard answers Evan has been repeating over and over to reporters from all over the US. This time, though, the answer is different and Johnny feels something inside himself break as he hears the words that come out of Evan’s mouth.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Johnny clenches his teeth and blinks several times to battle the tears that threaten to flood his eyes. He imagines the words printed out on paper the next day, black on white, definite.
That night, he doesn’t answer the door when he hears the familiar light knock. Instead, he hugs his pillow and rolls over to face the wall, as if not seeing the door could stifle the urge to jump up and run to open it after the second, third or fourth knock.
The next morning, he treats Evan as always, as a friend, but purposely avoids his questioning looks and determinedly ignores the unspoken question in his eyes. On the ice, he practices like crazy, not his usual light routine – he throws himself into quads and quad-triple combos, only to land on the ice painfully several times… but it’s better to distract himself from his hurt feelings, to endure physical pain rather than succumb to the ache tearing at his insides. Priscilla would kill him for risking an injury, but his coach isn’t there to stop him and Johnny doesn’t care if he breaks his leg, or arm, or a rib. At least that would match the condition of his heart.
He is the last one to stay on the ice, he skates and skates until he is alone – how perfectly that reflects his current situation: alone in a cold place.
He closes his eyes and skates to imaginary music playing in his head. He sometimes does that, it makes him feel like he’s in his own special word where no one can touch or reach him… Usually, his inner jukebox launches something like Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter” or even “Beautiful”, something to lift his spirits or give him a kick of energy. This time, though, Johnny comes to the conclusion that his own brain must hate him when lyrics of a different Christina-song get stuck in his head: We have a physical thing/We make love, but don’t fall in love/We spend time/Just enough so you get yours and I get mine/No strings attached/I want your body/Not your heart... For the first time in his life, Johnny curses Christina and her damn music to hell.
He nearly gets a heart attack when a hand catches his wrist unexpectedly and pulls him out of his fantasy world.
He opens his eyes to see that the hand is Evan’s. Automatically, he jerks his hand, trying to free his wrist, but Evan’s grasp is firm.
“Let go,” Johnny demands.
”What the – what’s this about, Evan?”
“I should be asking you that. I won’t let you go until you tell me what’s wrong,” Evan explains flatly and to enforce his threat, he reaches out with his other hand and closes it around Johnny’s wrist, too.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Johnny says and forces a smile onto his face. “Why d’you think anything’s wrong?”
“Why didn’t you let me in last night?” Evan wants to know.
“Because… I was tired,” Johnny blurts out the first excuse that comes to his mind and inwardly smacks himself for sounding like a bitch wife on PMS.
“Bullshit. If you’d been tired, you could have let me in and we’d just-”
“Just what?” Johnny snaps. “We’d just cuddle? Cuddle and kiss or just be together. We never do that. We only fuck all the time, remember?!” Johnny finally manages to jerk his hand from Evan’s grasp. He skates a few meters away from him, turning his back on him. He stands there for a few moments, sulking, arms wrapped around his torso. His previous anger morphs into resignation and pity, and when he speaks again, his voice sounds small and weary.
“You’ll probably think that I’m silly and overly romantic, a silly boy from the country, but I thought…” Johnny stops as the words that he wants to say make his heart skip into his throat. Finally, he spins around to face Evan and exclaims, desperate: “I’m in love with you, Evan. And it’s killing me to always watch you leave immediately after you’ve fucked me, as if you couldn’t stand to be next to. I’m in love with you and you go around saying to reporters that no, Johnny and I are not together at all. I can’t take this any longer. I’m not a fucking masochist.”
His voice echoes across the rink and he wonders how many people have witnessed his little scene – not that he cares, it couldn’t possibly get any worse, anyway.
Evan is standing in front of him, petrified, a look of shock on his face.
“Oh my god,” he whispers, eventually, then skates towards Johnny. Before Johnny realizes what’s happening, Evan gathers him in his arms and pulls him close. “And I thought you wanted me to go.”
Johnny starts struggling against the embrace, then stops abruptly when Evan's words sink in.
“What?” he asks dumbly and tilts his head back to see Evan’s face.
“I… I honestly didn’t know what it was you expected of me and I figured… I thought…” Evan looks away, breaking the eye-contact, and laughs nervously. “I thought that you’re the kind of guy who… can have anyone and – “
“You thought I was a slut,” Johnny interrupts him, trying hard to hold back the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, the cold lump of frustration in his chest dissipating.
“NO!” Evan exclaims and Johnny is quite amused at the expression of genuine horror on his face. “Johnny, I didn’t! But… I thought that someone like you – someone so beautiful and confident – wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You know – for real. For more than a few nights. I thought you don’t want any sort of… commitment. I thought I was just another f– “
“You thought I was a slut,” Johnny repeats, and the smile he’s been trying to suppress makes its way onto his face. He quickly claps his hand over Evan’s mouth to stop a new litany of protests.
“A beautiful slut.” He lifts his eyebrows and tips his head to one side thoughtfully.
“I think I can live with that,” he then announces and moves his hand to stroke at Evan’s nape.
“So… My room or your room tonight?”
“I don’t care,” Evan replies, eyes lighting up.
“Mine, then. I hope you don’t snore.”
Děkuji Reet a Betsy za beta-read. / Thanks for beta-reading, Reet and Betsy.
The Christina Aguilera lyrics are from the song "Get Mine, Get Yours".