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icarusMore from that silly self-indulgent AU.
Darn that Rodney. He had to go and get angsty on me. And darn that John. Don't they know I'm writing a fluffy skating romance here? Sheesh. Get with the program guys. The ultimate goal is sex, now bear that in mind.
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Their first session had gone rather well, though it just consisted of a standard warm-up, a few laps around the rink, then some spins. It annoyed Rodney that John seemed to have a natural talent for spins since he had struggled with them -- though that was probably Jeannie's fault for throwing them off-balance. He'd once believed she'd done it on purpose, but after teaching talentless kids for years now, he'd decided that some people were pathologically incapable of finding a center of gravity and doomed to flop around like ragdolls.
John was antsy the entire practice. Finally he admitted that he'd never hit the ice without doing jumps. "I feel like I haven't even skated," he complained, shaking his foot. "They are usually a big part of my warm-up."
"You'll be fine." Rodney snorted.
Naturally, John had brought the boombox but forgotten to bring any of his music.
He set to familiarizing John with some standard holds and positions for pairs, but the morning was more theory than actual work. John cast some embarrassed shifty-eyed glances around the rink as he gingerly held Rodney's hip.
Rodney snapped his fingers in John's face. "Hey! Eyes front and center! I'm not going to explain this twice."
"But people can see us…" John muttered under his breath, gazing after a young skater who passed them, her leg extended angelically.
"She's twelve, and obviously I'm your coach. Don't worry about it." Though Rodney beamed and didn't bother to hide the fact he found John's shyness endearing.
But as John took off for the showers, Rodney rolled his shoulders, skating a slow lap around the deserted rink. He felt tight, like he hadn't really skated either.
They had a good ten minutes before the hockey team showed up… and he almost never got to have fun these days, with all his attention devoted to his "proteges." Speeding up, Rodney glided to his bag. He had the tape -- lucky thing that -- and slammed it into the boombox.
He hurried to the center of the rink, mentally peopling it with the soft roar of an audience. He struck the starting pose.
The trumpets of Stravinsky's "Danse Infernale" began and Rodney started powerful backward stroking, working up speed, circling the rink nearly to the wall, wind whipping his face.
He threw himself into as single toe-loop as the orchestra struck. Then the second one, unexpected, on the next high note. He bobbled the landing a little bit, but recovered, with speed to spare. The music was unforgiving because of the time-signature changes, and the judges knew it.
Slowing a little, he carved light footwork on the clarinet solo, dainty steps on the tips of his skates -- Scott Hamilton was his hero -- then stretched his arms for maximum velocity for the surprising surge in the tempo. He hopped up into a spin, which he cut short to pop into a second spin… losing speed was the big danger here… then he let himself wobble as if off-balance to mimic the barely in-control strings, and then pulled himself upright.
That always got people clapping. A roar of approval from the announcers, over something that wasn't a jump. Very rare. That took strength!
His twizzle steps followed the whirl of the orchestra as it changed time signatures again, forward stroking, playful now.
Then the startling long legato as the wash of music turned into a waltz, where he rested in a long extension… his leg wasn't as high as it should be… he pushed it… there! Changed positions and then…
The soft build to gain speed again. He bounced into the splits, just for style points. Then he turned around and circled with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth like a sailor on a ship as he prepared for a final jump late into his program. Grimacing, with a grunt he landed a double; that's all he could do right now.
Arms outstretched as the trumpets drove him on, just as he was getting tired and feeling his legs scream, the power of the music increasing. He dove into a tight sit-spin and dragged his arms in, fighting centrifugal force, and increased the speed to a dizzying crescendo.
He nailed the stop. Foot out, arm flung upward dramatically.
Right on the beat.
God, he was good. Rodney grinned.
His chest heaved, he panted, mouth open, and finally felt the sweat trickling down his back. Not bad, not bad for not having done it a while.
Someone clapped. What was the sound of one man clapping? Rodney looked around, dazed, still more in his body than in his mind, only slowly registering John's presence where he was a dark splotch propped up against the wall.
With a happy breath, Rodney skated to the edge of the rink.
"I always think of a ship lost at sea when I skate that," Rodney said, cheerfully grabbing a towel and burying his head in it. He scrubbed the sweat out of his hair. "It's been too long."
"Wow. You're really good!" John said. Rodney pulled the towel over his shoulders to catch John blinking in astonishment. "Really good."
"Well, of course I am."
John ignored him, babbling, "I mean, everyone said told me that you were 'The Artist' and would be able to help me with my program, but jeeze, toss in a few big jumps and you'll have it."
"You didn't think I was any good?" Rodney said in disbelief.
"Well, what I saw was that fif--"
"--fifth place finish," Rodney interrupted wearily, putting his head in hands. He said between his fingers, "That was me 'tossing in a few jumps.'"
"Have I said something wrong?" John scowled. "Because I thought I just said you were good."
"I'm immortalized for the worst performance of my career," Rodney said bleakly, throwing the towel into the stands.
Rodney felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find John had leaned closer. John pressed his hand for emphasis on each point. "I said you're good."
And he got it. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He took a deep breath. "Glad you finally noticed."
Part four is here.
I'll find a copy of Danse Infernale if anyone wants it, just for effect. ;)
Here's the link to the music:
http://rapidshare.de/files/15690528/stravinsky_-_the_firebird_suite.mp3.html
Darn that Rodney. He had to go and get angsty on me. And darn that John. Don't they know I'm writing a fluffy skating romance here? Sheesh. Get with the program guys. The ultimate goal is sex, now bear that in mind.
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Their first session had gone rather well, though it just consisted of a standard warm-up, a few laps around the rink, then some spins. It annoyed Rodney that John seemed to have a natural talent for spins since he had struggled with them -- though that was probably Jeannie's fault for throwing them off-balance. He'd once believed she'd done it on purpose, but after teaching talentless kids for years now, he'd decided that some people were pathologically incapable of finding a center of gravity and doomed to flop around like ragdolls.
John was antsy the entire practice. Finally he admitted that he'd never hit the ice without doing jumps. "I feel like I haven't even skated," he complained, shaking his foot. "They are usually a big part of my warm-up."
"You'll be fine." Rodney snorted.
Naturally, John had brought the boombox but forgotten to bring any of his music.
He set to familiarizing John with some standard holds and positions for pairs, but the morning was more theory than actual work. John cast some embarrassed shifty-eyed glances around the rink as he gingerly held Rodney's hip.
Rodney snapped his fingers in John's face. "Hey! Eyes front and center! I'm not going to explain this twice."
"But people can see us…" John muttered under his breath, gazing after a young skater who passed them, her leg extended angelically.
"She's twelve, and obviously I'm your coach. Don't worry about it." Though Rodney beamed and didn't bother to hide the fact he found John's shyness endearing.
But as John took off for the showers, Rodney rolled his shoulders, skating a slow lap around the deserted rink. He felt tight, like he hadn't really skated either.
They had a good ten minutes before the hockey team showed up… and he almost never got to have fun these days, with all his attention devoted to his "proteges." Speeding up, Rodney glided to his bag. He had the tape -- lucky thing that -- and slammed it into the boombox.
He hurried to the center of the rink, mentally peopling it with the soft roar of an audience. He struck the starting pose.
The trumpets of Stravinsky's "Danse Infernale" began and Rodney started powerful backward stroking, working up speed, circling the rink nearly to the wall, wind whipping his face.
He threw himself into as single toe-loop as the orchestra struck. Then the second one, unexpected, on the next high note. He bobbled the landing a little bit, but recovered, with speed to spare. The music was unforgiving because of the time-signature changes, and the judges knew it.
Slowing a little, he carved light footwork on the clarinet solo, dainty steps on the tips of his skates -- Scott Hamilton was his hero -- then stretched his arms for maximum velocity for the surprising surge in the tempo. He hopped up into a spin, which he cut short to pop into a second spin… losing speed was the big danger here… then he let himself wobble as if off-balance to mimic the barely in-control strings, and then pulled himself upright.
That always got people clapping. A roar of approval from the announcers, over something that wasn't a jump. Very rare. That took strength!
His twizzle steps followed the whirl of the orchestra as it changed time signatures again, forward stroking, playful now.
Then the startling long legato as the wash of music turned into a waltz, where he rested in a long extension… his leg wasn't as high as it should be… he pushed it… there! Changed positions and then…
The soft build to gain speed again. He bounced into the splits, just for style points. Then he turned around and circled with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth like a sailor on a ship as he prepared for a final jump late into his program. Grimacing, with a grunt he landed a double; that's all he could do right now.
Arms outstretched as the trumpets drove him on, just as he was getting tired and feeling his legs scream, the power of the music increasing. He dove into a tight sit-spin and dragged his arms in, fighting centrifugal force, and increased the speed to a dizzying crescendo.
He nailed the stop. Foot out, arm flung upward dramatically.
Right on the beat.
God, he was good. Rodney grinned.
His chest heaved, he panted, mouth open, and finally felt the sweat trickling down his back. Not bad, not bad for not having done it a while.
Someone clapped. What was the sound of one man clapping? Rodney looked around, dazed, still more in his body than in his mind, only slowly registering John's presence where he was a dark splotch propped up against the wall.
With a happy breath, Rodney skated to the edge of the rink.
"I always think of a ship lost at sea when I skate that," Rodney said, cheerfully grabbing a towel and burying his head in it. He scrubbed the sweat out of his hair. "It's been too long."
"Wow. You're really good!" John said. Rodney pulled the towel over his shoulders to catch John blinking in astonishment. "Really good."
"Well, of course I am."
John ignored him, babbling, "I mean, everyone said told me that you were 'The Artist' and would be able to help me with my program, but jeeze, toss in a few big jumps and you'll have it."
"You didn't think I was any good?" Rodney said in disbelief.
"Well, what I saw was that fif--"
"--fifth place finish," Rodney interrupted wearily, putting his head in hands. He said between his fingers, "That was me 'tossing in a few jumps.'"
"Have I said something wrong?" John scowled. "Because I thought I just said you were good."
"I'm immortalized for the worst performance of my career," Rodney said bleakly, throwing the towel into the stands.
Rodney felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find John had leaned closer. John pressed his hand for emphasis on each point. "I said you're good."
And he got it. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He took a deep breath. "Glad you finally noticed."
Part four is here.
I'll find a copy of Danse Infernale if anyone wants it, just for effect. ;)
Here's the link to the music:
http://rapidshare.de/files/15690528/stravinsky_-_the_firebird_suite.mp3.html
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 04:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:Stravinsky's Danse Infernale
From:Re: Stravinsky's Danse Infernale
From:Re: Stravinsky's Danse Infernale
From:no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 05:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:Stravinsky's Danse Infernale
From:Re: Stravinsky's Danse Infernale
From:no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 12:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 02:20 pm (UTC)Poor Rodney!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 08:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-02-26 11:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-02-27 01:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
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From:(no subject)
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Date: 2006-02-27 02:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-02-27 02:59 am (UTC)It also makes me want to watch The Cutting Edge.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
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Date: 2006-02-27 03:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2006-02-27 03:25 am (UTC)And I must share my Stravinsky love- I marched the Firebird Suite in HS-LOVE that piece.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-03-01 12:50 am (UTC)I feel so for poor, poor Rodney. Also? Following him through his routine made me squee *out* *loud.*
And apparently I've been away from LJ way too long, because the last I'd heard you didn't care for AUs at all. And now you are making me melt into a small, sticky puddle on my aunt's computer chair. For which I am very thankful, merci beaucoup.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2006-03-16 07:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-16 12:26 pm (UTC)(Scott Hamilton is my hero too).
I don't suppose you still have a link for that music?
(no subject)
From: