Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Drabbles
Cup of Russia je soutěž Grand Prix, která se bude konat v Moskvě koncem listopadu (a já mám to štěstí, že budu u toho!). Johnny tam bude bruslit, Sergei též. Nechala jsem se inspirovat...
There are several reasons why Johnny Weir wants to win the Cup of Russia.
First of all, he wants to win simply for the sake of it. He wants to win just like at every competition he enters.
Secondly, he wants to win because it’s in Russia. He loves the country and having an audience full of Russian fans who truly appreciate his artistry cheer for him has to be one of the best things in the world.
There is one more reason, one that Johnny would never admit, not to anyone, not even to himself. The third and major reason why he desperately wants the gold is currently a swirl of blue and black on the ice, skating his long program. The reason is known to the world as Sergei Dobrin. Johnny watches him stumble and fall - once, twice… Then he knows the gold is his, for Dobrin was the last to skate.
Johnny came to Moscow determined to win. To prove to Sergei that he’s strong enough to do it, strong enough to compete against him and beat him, strong enough to get over the past, to move on.
So he skated a clean short last night, followed by a not-so-clean-but-good-enough long today, and got his first gold medal of the season.
He is dizzy with happiness afterwards, the applause still echoing in his ears. He blabbers something for the media in a confusing mix of Russian and English, signs autographs and takes pictures with fans. An hour later, he finally makes it to the locker room, a big goofy smile still plastered to his face.
He swings the door open – and freezes on the spot when he finds himself face to face with Reason #3.
They stare at each other in silence for a few moments, eyes locked, and Johnny feels the past tug at his heart. It had begun here in Moscow, at Cup of Russia two years ago – sweet, rushed, delirious. Scenes flash before him – Sergei smiling at him through the snow on that chilly night, pulling him into an embrace in the flickering light of a street lamp, his lips – cold and hesitant at first, then hot, demanding… Two years. Two years of nightly phone-calls, quick secret trips (New York – Moscow, Moscow – New York), stolen moments of privacy at events they both went to.
Johnny finds himself moving forward, reaching for the past – so close…
Sergei moves, too. He brushes past Johnny with a heartless Congratulations, steps into the corridor and starts to walk away.
If Sergei turned around then, he would see his ex-lover press a hand to his chest, clutching not at the shiny medal, but the ring - white gold with sapphires for the color of your eyes – hanging on a thin silver band underneath his costume. But he doesn’t, leaving Johnny behind with quick strides.