Fan Fiction - Krasobruslení - Povídky
Don't let me sleep
Open my eyes
To the wonders you keep
Let me look at you
See how you shine
I'll fall in love
Like I've done every time
~ Tim McGraw – Comfort Me
He remembers the emotions he experienced with an astonishing clarity, though. Whenever he thinks back to that year’s Trophée Eric Bompard, it’s almost as if he was reliving it and the whole emotional tumult. The mix of excitement and nervousness when he first stepped onto practice ice with some of the men he’d been idolizing for years. The intimidation and anxiety he felt when he heard how loudly the audience cheered for some of his competitors, how brightly the lights shone onto the ice. The knot of fear in his stomach as he waited backstage, trying to keep his muscles warm and his mind focused. The unexpected thrill when Johnny Weir came up to him and – with a clap on the shoulder – asked:
“Your first Grand Prix?”
The smile... God, the smile. Javier remembers Johnny Weir’s smile more clearly than anything, the warm, playful smile he’d secretly been admiring for years, the smile that – at that time – had been looking down at him from his bedroom wall back at home. Frankly, Javier remembers more of Johnny Weir than of the entire competition.
Up to the present day, Javier is not sure whether it really was a coincidence when Johnny ran into him in the elevator the night after the free skate, or whether – and that thought fills Javier with an odd sense of pride – Johnny had picked him and cornered him on purpose.
He remembers the glow that seemed to be radiating from Johnny’s entire body, as if the gold of his victory had perpetrated all of his being. There was firmness to every single one of Johnny’s moves and gestures, the kind of confidence you can only achieve when you’re the best and you’re fully aware of it.
“I watched you,” Johnny tossed in conversationally, leaning against the wall as the elevator began to glide upwards. He let his eyes travel down Javier’s body, then back to his face, all as nonchalantly as if he wasn’t doing anything more than checking out his outfit.
“Not bad for your first time as a senior,” he said and added a smile, one that made Javier believe that Johnny actually meant the compliment.
“Thanks,” he beamed in response, way too pleased to receive acknowledgement from one of his skating heroes. “Well, I watched you, too. Of course,” Javier laughed and pushed his glasses up his nose a little. He had to wear contacts for skating, but he preferred glasses off the ice. He felt less exposed with them on. It was almost a paradox, really – he didn’t mind skating in front of an audience wearing nothing but a skintight bodysuit, but he felt strangely naked without his specs off ice, like people could see right into his soul.
He looked Johnny in the eyes, struggled not to blink. Johnny was making him nervous – not the cold, tight nervous that wrapped around his guts before competition, but expectant, flushed.
“You were perfect,” he said. “You are perfect.” He could have smacked himself for saying that; worse still – with a blush. It was, of course, the truth – Johnny’s skating in the past two days had been exquisite and, indeed, perfect. But saying it out loud sounded silly, Javier realized, it made him sound like too much of a fan. Besides, he knew well enough that he wasn’t referring solely to skating and was afraid Johnny would be able to tell.
“Thanks.” The laugh rang through the air and seemed to tickle Javier, the sound trickling into him like warm honey. Javier recalls the sensation it set off in him – what an intoxicating feeling! It made him lose his head a little, made him forget who he was talking to, because next thing, he was blushing bright red and mumbling:
“Would you like to go... walk along the Seine?”
He chanced a look at Johnny – his mouth was twitching, as if he was resisting the urge to burst into laugher. Javier felt cold panic wash over him. How embarrassing. What was he thinking?
But then Johnny grinned, stepped forward and reached out to ruffle up Javier’s hair.
“Room 613. In 15 minutes,” he said and winked at Javier, then dropped his hand and waltzed out of the elevator that had just come to a halt on his floor.
Johnny had to smile to himself. These juniors... He’d almost forgotten how fun it had been, how exciting and new everything had seemed when he first started going to senior events, how in awe he had been at suddenly hanging around the big names of the sport.
There was something about this kid, Javier, specifically, that reminded Johnny of himself several years back – of the part of himself that he sometimes missed these days, the naive and easy-to-thrill part. He didn’t usually take much interest in men younger than him, but Javier caught his eye for some reason – his smile was infectious and the mixture of shyness and striking curiosity behind those glasses of his was rather cute. Besides, it was not like Johnny had anything – or anyone – better to do. And he had to celebrate, didn’t he, after his rather spectacular win.
When Javier arrived at his door a while later, he was carrying a jacket folded over one arm, held a hat squished in his hands. As if he couldn’t quite decipher the meaning of Johnny’s invitation. It was adorable, Johnny decided, that this kid clearly had no idea how things were done between senior skaters. Or most senior skaters, Johnny reminded himself, thinking back to the time when he believed this habit would never apply to him. How naive he had been. He knew well enough now that it didn’t work that way, that there was no room for relationships between all the rivalry and drive to win.
“Come on in,“ he waved at Javier and peeked out into the hallway to check for unwanted witnesses. It was empty. Satisfied, he closed the door and turned to the boy. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it onto an armchair.
Javier let out a gasp and stood there staring. The poor hat in his hands got squished even more.
“This is what you came for, no?” Johnny smiled at him and nodded with his head to invite Javier to come closer.
“I... guess,” Javier stuttered and took one, two hesitant steps forward.
“Here, let me take this,” Johnny said and pulled the jacket and the hat from Javier’s grasp, then placed both items carefully over a chair. “You won’t need these, either,” he continued and gently removed the glasses from the boy’s face. He caught a look of surprise and anxiety in his eyes as he took the protection of the specs away – there was nowhere to hide now. Johnny hated hiding.
He folded the glasses and tucked them into the breast-pocket of Javier’s jacket, then stopped right in front of the boy and studied his face. He looked nervous.
“Don’t tell me you boys in Spain don’t do this,” he said and brushed his fingers across Javier’s jaw. He was as tall as Johnny; it was nice not to look up at his lover for once.
Javier blushed, bit his lip. “We do. I’ve done,” he admitted. “But not like this,” he added. “Oh? Like what?” Johnny leaned closer to nuzzle at Javier’s neck, his fingers in the black curly hair.
“Not quickly like this. Only with my boyfriend.”
Johnny smiled, bitterly, hiding the smile in Javier’s skin. It’s high time you learned how things work in reality, he wanted to say, but stopped himself. Why take the illusions away? Let him find out on his own.
“Well, I promise this will be fun, too,” he whispered into Javier’s ear instead, then sucked at his earlobe, coaxing a sharp surprised gasp out of him. “Even though it’s just for tonight,” he added quietly.
A year and a half later, Javier finds himself in bed with Johnny Weir once again. There is no way his recollection of the competition will be overshadowed by memories of Johnny’s body like the last time, though. One doesn’t forget the Olympic Games. But then again, one doesn’t forget getting fucked by the freshly crowned Olympic champion, either.
Johnny is gentle, like Javier remembers him being, feathery touches across his ribs, careful bites and licks along the line of his shoulders. He moves in and out of Javier with long, sweet thrusts, unhurried and thorough, almost as if he was making love to him. Javier isn’t fool enough to believe that, but it’s nice to close his eyes and imagine...
Johnny fucks him – nice and slow – until Javier is shivering in his arms, fingers curled into fists so tightly it hurts.
“P-please,” he whispers, his heart pounding so hard he can feel its throb in every vein, in every inch of his body.
Then Johnny’s hand is under his hips, finally, one-two-three quick strokes to send him crashing over the edge. His hair tickles Javier’s nape when he comes inside him, he rests his forehead against Javier’s skin and licks at the sheen of condensed sweat.
Johnny collapses on top of him and stays inside until they can both breathe again, then pulls out and stands up from the bed. He tosses the condom into the trash and picks up his clothes from the couch. Javier turns onto his back, tucks his hands under his head, and observes Johnny, noticing how the hurry makes his movements jerky, torn – so unlike the fluency with which he skates, or the creamy smoothness of every move when he takes his time in bed.
“Why do you do this?” Javier asks and Johnny looks up abruptly, one leg already in his jeans, the other still bare.
“What do you mean?” he cocks an eyebrow at Javier, then resumes to clothe himself, a little more slowly.
“You run away,” Javier accuses and sits up, not quite trusting his legs to carry him if he tried to stand; his body still feels a little like it’s made of jelly.
Johnny gives him a sharp look, eyes narrowed, jaw set tight. They stare at each other in silence for a few moments and Javier nearly shies away from Johnny’s gaze, suddenly feeling silly and young.
Then Johnny shakes his head and laughs, a laugh too bright and light to be genuine. “I don’t run away,” he says, rolls his eyes as if the idea was completely absurd. “I just like to shower and sleep in my own room,” he ads, as if that answered Javier’s question, as if that was what Javier meant.
Johnny leaves him with a quick peck on the mouth, dropped almost playfully onto Javier’s lips, a cheerful see you later.
Javier cannot help but wonder when this happened, when and why the Johnny Weir he’d admired so much as a kid changed into someone who feels compelled to lie and pretend. He wonders how Johnny could become like... like everybody else. It makes him nostalgic, sad as if he’d lost something that was most precious to him.
Johnny should be happy. Delirious with happiness. He’s just won that Olympic Gold Medal, for fuck’s sake! The medal that has been everything, the only thing that mattered, the center-point of his existence, for three years straight.
He cannot help but feel a little empty, though, as he lies in his bed alone, freshly showered, and stares at the ceiling, trying to trick his mind into sleep.
You run away.
It was an unreasonable accusation – didn’t he face all the challenges life threw at him and come out a winner? How was that running away?! He reasons with himself for minutes, hours, but the voice in his head still won’t leave him alone.
You run away.
Deep inside, Johnny knows exactly what the boy meant and just how right he is. It scares him a little. Johnny hates being scared.
It’s a crispy, clean winter morning. The early sun trickles into Javier’s room through the champagne-colored curtains and he ponders whether he should get up or indulge a little longer. He didn’t place high enough to skate in the exhibition, has no obligations today and no practice, either. Just when he decides to try to fall back asleep, there is a knock on his door, sharp and distinct; it makes Javier jump a little.
He fumbles for his glasses on the bedside table, then tumbles out of bed and towards the door. He opens it and freezes, for Johnny Weir is standing at his doorstep, smiling smugly and dressed for outside, fur coat and gloves and earmuffs.
Javier blinks at him, rubs at his eyes to make sure he really is awake.
“Hi,” Johnny greets brightly and flashes a smile, the very smile that made Javier’s knees weak the first time he saw it in person. And many times since.
“I know it’s early, but... Fancy a little walk along the sea?” Johnny says, not quite meeting Javier’s eyes. Javier feels his heart skip a beat inside him as hope washes over him, wild and naive and unreasonable.
“Y-yes,” he manages and doesn’t even care that he sounds like an excited fanboy. “Give me 15 minutes.”