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icarusPart four of that Rodney/John skating AU. Now with more body contact.
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
John's one-bedroom apartment was on the ground floor of a building that used to be a hotel, complete with lobby, paneled walls and an old-fashioned elevator that didn't work. Rodney didn't need to look at the room numbers to find him: there was only one person who'd be playing Credence Clearwater Revival that thumping loud at two o'clock in the afternoon.
Rodney wondered if John knew 'Mustang Sally' was a favorite with strippers the world over.
John's door was unlocked. The floors were uneven worn wood, and John had a canoe mounted to the wall, while a ten-speed and a pair of sneakers blocked the hallway. Aside from an unmade futon in the corner there was no furniture, just work-out equipment.
Broad windows let in gray light where John was silhouetted, doing a handstand.
"Okay, okay, enough fooling around," Rodney clapped twice and John dropped to the floor.
"Just having a little fun." He grinned.
"Work outs aren't fun. They're a necessary evil to keep yourself from breaking something in competition."
John snorted. "With that attitude no wonder you're a little tubby."
"I'm in terrific shape for a man my age." Rodney tossed his coat on John's bed and kicked off his shoes. "I'm assuming you've already done your stretches?"
He set his water bottle next to him on the floor and pulled his sweatshirt over his head. It followed his coat.
"Well…if you count handstands…" John equivocated in a mild amused voice.
"On the floor." Rodney already had his heel drawn in to his crotch, the other leg stretched along the floor, feeling the slow pull as he pressed his chest towards his knee. John slid effortlessly into the splits.
"Don't do that," Rodney winced.
"Relax, Rodney."
"No, I mean it! How did you manage to avoid learning any discipline at all?" Rodney snapped.
"I'm disciplined."
"You could easily pull a groin muscle if you do that without warming up first, and let me tell you, it hurts!"
"I've been doing handstands."
"You could set us back for weeks." John sighed at him. "I'll make you practice through any injuries you sustain as your just desserts." It was an idle threat; Rodney would do no such thing. "And don't forget to breathe."
"I always breathe," John snarled, but he let out a long exhalation as he bent over his knee, touching his forehead to the floor.
"Picture it going into your muscles wherever you're tight, melting that spot like butter," Rodney murmured.
"What are you, the Guru now?" John eyed him.
"It's a rolphing technique," Rodney purred. "I love stretches. I could practically fall asleep like this."
"Okay." John rolled, pushing himself up from the floor and bobbed his chin to the music. He made his way to the weight bench. "I'll spot you. Two sets of ten and then the leg lifts?"
Rodney stood and bounced on the soles of his feet. He shook out his fingers. "I don't lift weights," he said primly.
"How can you get any strength with the jumps if you don't…" John paused, a light dawning in his eyes.
"This isn't about me, this is about you!" Rodney snapped, suddenly irritable. "Now up. I need a leg extension from you, as pretty as a ballerina. C'mon, c'mon, we don't have all day."
John complied, lips tightly locked but he gave Rodney a meaningful look that spoke volumes. Rodney ignored the intense guilt-inducing stare.
At Rodney's direction John did a waltz step, then the Lutz. "Now watch me carefully." Then Rodney did the same. John frowned in confusion. "So?"
"Get my timing down perfectly. Cross-step, cross-step, then one – two – three!" Rodney landed. "Now together."
After several tries John still stumbled, slightly behind Rodney, who looked him over critically. "You're really not much of a dancer."
John's shoulders slumped. "Give it a chance, will you? You take such teenie steps."
"I was trying to make it easy for you."
"Well stop, you're making it harder!"
"Here." Rodney huffed a sigh and tucked an arm around John's waist. "Now don't be shy." He smirked.
John rolled his eyes. They repeated the cross-steps pressed hip to warm hip, this time working out a happy medium in their strides. John watched his feet carefully, tongue between his teeth in concentration.
Rodney chucked him under the chin, shaking his head earnestly. "Don't look at my feet. Trust me when I say you'll never get it that way."
After several successful tries, Rodney started varying the rhythm, forcing John to improvise. John chuckled, "Let me lead sometime." And Rodney grinned.
He clapped his hands together. "Okay then, let's try this one more time. With the Lutz."
They separated. They did the three cross-steps, then stepped up into the jump: one – two – three! John landed on a dime, dead even with Rodney. At least as far as Rodney could tell. And he even held the pose without slumping out of it. They breathed a long minute.
"Well," Rodney said, mouth pulled into a smug smile as he let his foot drop. "I'd say we made tolerable progress today."
"I'd say that was pretty damned good," John nodded slowly. He laced his fingers together and stretched. "I can do my cardio later. Wanna stay for dinner?" he offered, padding in his stocking feet over to a small sink and a cupboard. "We're having… either leftover pad thai or – ooo! – macaroni and cheese." John waggled his eyebrows.
"Much as the menu sounds enticing," Rodney slumped to the floor, legs outstretched like a two-year-old's, "I have a five o'clock lesson to give. Someone who isn't actually behind on paying me."
"Shit. Rodney—"
"Oh no, don't worry about it," Rodney swiped the air lazily and leaned on an elbow with a sigh. "It's nice to coach someone who doesn't need me to tie their skates."
"No. Rodney," John gave him a funny look. "It's five thirty."
"Already?!"
Rodney swore colorfully, scrambling up to grab his clothes. He hopped up and down as he put on his shoes.
"How did this happen?"
"You need me to call? I can call for you, make up some kind of an excuse… you were shot, run over by a bus…."
"They're at the rink so I can't reach them. I can't believe this!" He flung John's door open and suddenly stopped and spun around, pointing at John. "Tomorrow. Four am. Music, and the boombox. Don't forget this time!"
Rodney was already running down the hall when John called after him, "Do you want a three am wake up call?"
Rodney's answer to that generous offer really wasn't very nice. But John simply grinned and started heating water for macaroni and cheese, the dinner of champions, and cranked up the music.
The next part is right here, folks.
This story is just not the same without the music.So I'll be adding the link shortly. ;)
Here's Mustang Sally by Creedence Clearwater Revival:
http://s9.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=2C5AEW0GKM8XR17NJ2LC1LA2VU
Part one is here
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
John's one-bedroom apartment was on the ground floor of a building that used to be a hotel, complete with lobby, paneled walls and an old-fashioned elevator that didn't work. Rodney didn't need to look at the room numbers to find him: there was only one person who'd be playing Credence Clearwater Revival that thumping loud at two o'clock in the afternoon.
Rodney wondered if John knew 'Mustang Sally' was a favorite with strippers the world over.
John's door was unlocked. The floors were uneven worn wood, and John had a canoe mounted to the wall, while a ten-speed and a pair of sneakers blocked the hallway. Aside from an unmade futon in the corner there was no furniture, just work-out equipment.
Broad windows let in gray light where John was silhouetted, doing a handstand.
"Okay, okay, enough fooling around," Rodney clapped twice and John dropped to the floor.
"Just having a little fun." He grinned.
"Work outs aren't fun. They're a necessary evil to keep yourself from breaking something in competition."
John snorted. "With that attitude no wonder you're a little tubby."
"I'm in terrific shape for a man my age." Rodney tossed his coat on John's bed and kicked off his shoes. "I'm assuming you've already done your stretches?"
He set his water bottle next to him on the floor and pulled his sweatshirt over his head. It followed his coat.
"Well…if you count handstands…" John equivocated in a mild amused voice.
"On the floor." Rodney already had his heel drawn in to his crotch, the other leg stretched along the floor, feeling the slow pull as he pressed his chest towards his knee. John slid effortlessly into the splits.
"Don't do that," Rodney winced.
"Relax, Rodney."
"No, I mean it! How did you manage to avoid learning any discipline at all?" Rodney snapped.
"I'm disciplined."
"You could easily pull a groin muscle if you do that without warming up first, and let me tell you, it hurts!"
"I've been doing handstands."
"You could set us back for weeks." John sighed at him. "I'll make you practice through any injuries you sustain as your just desserts." It was an idle threat; Rodney would do no such thing. "And don't forget to breathe."
"I always breathe," John snarled, but he let out a long exhalation as he bent over his knee, touching his forehead to the floor.
"Picture it going into your muscles wherever you're tight, melting that spot like butter," Rodney murmured.
"What are you, the Guru now?" John eyed him.
"It's a rolphing technique," Rodney purred. "I love stretches. I could practically fall asleep like this."
"Okay." John rolled, pushing himself up from the floor and bobbed his chin to the music. He made his way to the weight bench. "I'll spot you. Two sets of ten and then the leg lifts?"
Rodney stood and bounced on the soles of his feet. He shook out his fingers. "I don't lift weights," he said primly.
"How can you get any strength with the jumps if you don't…" John paused, a light dawning in his eyes.
"This isn't about me, this is about you!" Rodney snapped, suddenly irritable. "Now up. I need a leg extension from you, as pretty as a ballerina. C'mon, c'mon, we don't have all day."
John complied, lips tightly locked but he gave Rodney a meaningful look that spoke volumes. Rodney ignored the intense guilt-inducing stare.
At Rodney's direction John did a waltz step, then the Lutz. "Now watch me carefully." Then Rodney did the same. John frowned in confusion. "So?"
"Get my timing down perfectly. Cross-step, cross-step, then one – two – three!" Rodney landed. "Now together."
After several tries John still stumbled, slightly behind Rodney, who looked him over critically. "You're really not much of a dancer."
John's shoulders slumped. "Give it a chance, will you? You take such teenie steps."
"I was trying to make it easy for you."
"Well stop, you're making it harder!"
"Here." Rodney huffed a sigh and tucked an arm around John's waist. "Now don't be shy." He smirked.
John rolled his eyes. They repeated the cross-steps pressed hip to warm hip, this time working out a happy medium in their strides. John watched his feet carefully, tongue between his teeth in concentration.
Rodney chucked him under the chin, shaking his head earnestly. "Don't look at my feet. Trust me when I say you'll never get it that way."
After several successful tries, Rodney started varying the rhythm, forcing John to improvise. John chuckled, "Let me lead sometime." And Rodney grinned.
He clapped his hands together. "Okay then, let's try this one more time. With the Lutz."
They separated. They did the three cross-steps, then stepped up into the jump: one – two – three! John landed on a dime, dead even with Rodney. At least as far as Rodney could tell. And he even held the pose without slumping out of it. They breathed a long minute.
"Well," Rodney said, mouth pulled into a smug smile as he let his foot drop. "I'd say we made tolerable progress today."
"I'd say that was pretty damned good," John nodded slowly. He laced his fingers together and stretched. "I can do my cardio later. Wanna stay for dinner?" he offered, padding in his stocking feet over to a small sink and a cupboard. "We're having… either leftover pad thai or – ooo! – macaroni and cheese." John waggled his eyebrows.
"Much as the menu sounds enticing," Rodney slumped to the floor, legs outstretched like a two-year-old's, "I have a five o'clock lesson to give. Someone who isn't actually behind on paying me."
"Shit. Rodney—"
"Oh no, don't worry about it," Rodney swiped the air lazily and leaned on an elbow with a sigh. "It's nice to coach someone who doesn't need me to tie their skates."
"No. Rodney," John gave him a funny look. "It's five thirty."
"Already?!"
Rodney swore colorfully, scrambling up to grab his clothes. He hopped up and down as he put on his shoes.
"How did this happen?"
"You need me to call? I can call for you, make up some kind of an excuse… you were shot, run over by a bus…."
"They're at the rink so I can't reach them. I can't believe this!" He flung John's door open and suddenly stopped and spun around, pointing at John. "Tomorrow. Four am. Music, and the boombox. Don't forget this time!"
Rodney was already running down the hall when John called after him, "Do you want a three am wake up call?"
Rodney's answer to that generous offer really wasn't very nice. But John simply grinned and started heating water for macaroni and cheese, the dinner of champions, and cranked up the music.
The next part is right here, folks.
This story is just not the same without the music.
Here's Mustang Sally by Creedence Clearwater Revival:
http://s9.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=2C5AEW0GKM8XR17NJ2LC1LA2VU
