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icarusMore fun with that skating AU. John/Rodney. I'm so tempted to keep going tonight.
Part one: 'Get back out there.' – 'No. I'm taking up hockey. It'll *hurt* less.'
Part two: 'So why do we have to skate in the nude again?'
Part three: Naturally, John had brought the boom box but had forgotten to bring any music.
Part four: Rodney wondered if John knew 'Mustang Sally' was a favorite with strippers the world over.
Part five: 'This is hero worship, isn't it?'
Part six: 'Me coach. You student. You keep forgetting that lately.'
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The sky was turning pink by the time they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Just inside the door they stamped their feet to warm up, gym bags in hand as Rodney followed John into the glaring lights of the rink. It was always too bright first thing in the morning. And quiet. A few people were down at the far end of rink, not enough to disturb them. There was an echoing laugh as someone fell, and the scrape of blades.
Being late meant they were technically going to go over their skate time, but no one had ever made a move to throw Rodney out, and the hockey team wasn't scheduled today –- they were the only ones who needed the whole ice. The owners of the rink were pleasant people who seemed to like John, and besides, they got a lot of business from Rodney's clients.
John hopped over the bench, kicked off his shoes and began pulling on his skates. Rodney stripped off his coat and sweater, blinking and smothering a yawn.
John as usual was first on the ice, stretching his arms over his head. He turned the stretch into a half-spin.
Then he did a quick warm-up lap and returned with slow gliding steps.
"So we're going to skate together today?" John glanced nervously over his shoulder to the other skaters -- who were miles away.
"Actually, we're going to try something a little different."
Rodney hadn't really warmed up yet, but he pushed off the wall and with a few stiff strokes came up behind John and slowed, laying a hand on his back. "I want you to shut your eyes and just follow me. Trust me; I won't steer you into a wall."
John gave him a suspicious dark-eyed look, then sighed and did as he was told.
Rodney took two backward strokes holding John's shoulder. John reluctantly followed.
"Okay," John said, his back tight and his eyes still squeezed shut. "Now what?"
"I want you to match my strokes." Rodney pushed off again with the lightest touch on John's shoulder.
John followed with two slow pushes, still complaining. "I can't see your—"
"Ah, ah!" Rodney cut him off. "Remember our workout? I'm simply behind you at the moment, that's all."
"Then shouldn't we have practiced it like that?" John said sarcastically, his eyes open again. He cut an edge and spun around to face Rodney.
Rodney drew himself to a stop, thumping a finger on his own chest then pointing at John. "Me coach. You student. You keep forgetting that lately."
"I'm just saying."
"--That you can't do it," Rodney interrupted.
"No, I can do it. I can so do this." John's jaw was set and he closed his eyes again, turning to present his back. He fell still, as if preparing for a race. He shook his hands out; then he was ready.
Rodney was careful not to smile, though sometimes John could be refreshingly predictable. He started with a hand on John's shoulder again, at arms-length, skating backwards as he led John.
John matched his pace, his mouth in a firm line of concentration. Then, as he grew more accurate tracing the length of Rodney's steps, Rodney slid his hands to John's hips, just below the waist. John threw him a quick startled glance, but made no comment, matching his pace again.
They glided for several seconds, nothing more than that.
Then Rodney drew him in closer, shortening the distance by half. John blinked his eyes open and cleared his throat, saying, "This has to look bad."
"Eyes closed," Rodney demanded. "No one's watching." He was lying. Several people had taken notice; pairs skating did not usually involve two men. As they passed two of the most interested culprits, girls in pastel skirts, Rodney spoke in an authoritative voice, a little more loudly than strictly necessary:
"Good, that's good!"
"Ow. I'm right here," John winced.
Catching on that he was 'The Coach,' their spectators lost interest and went back to their business.
One more lap and John followed him smoothly, shortening his usual long strokes to match Rodney's. It was effortless. Rodney admired his clean lines, accentuated by dark stretch-fleece.
"Cross-steps," Rodney warned him, one hand on John's shoulder again, giving him more room as they crossed one foot over another, picking up speed in a slow broad circle. Confident John had it, though he did have his eyes open again, Rodney moved in closer to catch his hips. Their combined power and velocity sling-shotted them around the rink and Rodney caught a trace of a smile at the corner of John's mouth, though he had to pay careful attention to what he was doing now.
Rodney cut a wide circle. "Let it glide," he ordered.
"No, let's go faster," John argued.
But Rodney let go of his hips and let the momentum carry himself further until turning to coast a stop. Of course John stopped like a hockey player in a spray of ice. It would probably take a zamboni weeks to get the gouge out.
"Wow, you weren't kidding about the speed!" John said, catching his breath as he skated over, arms loose. "I felt like I was draughting behind a truck with you breaking all the wind resistance."
"Pairs skating has its advantages," Rodney agreed. "Though I've only done that with thirteen-year-old girls. I admit, I'd underestimated the sheer velocity when your combined weight is over four hundred pounds -- and did you just compare me to a truck?"
"Four hundred," John's eyes were calculating, narrowed as he did the math. "You weigh over two hundred—?"
"Not the point, Sheppard." Rodney rolled his eyes and ended this line of questioning. "That was a good start. Now," he approached with two strokes, "I want you to lean back into my hands."
"You want me to do a layback?" John peered at him. "What's next? A dress?"
Rodney sighed at the prejudices of the sport. "More like slump into my hands. Pretend you're unconscious."
John tipped his head to one side and shrugged, backing up to Rodney. "I'm really not seeing the point of all this."
"Coach here!" Rodney raised a hand in reminder.
On the first try, Rodney fumbled his grip and John put his weight back on his skates, barely catching himself before they fell. Rodney backed up awkwardly.
"Okay, not quite that unconscious." They stopped. "Just don't give me all your weight. Just some of it."
"A layback," John insisted, hard-eyed.
"All right, fine! Call it what you will. But do it without the arched back, please."
John cut his eyes to the side, then nodded agreement, swiping his mouth. This time, while his weight pushed them into a little wobbly glide, Rodney was able to hold him. He pushed backwards, keeping up a steady rhythm.
"Now melt like butter and just slide behind me…." Rodney murmured.
John had closed his eyes automatically, just as Rodney had hoped. He turned them gently into a curve. Easy does it.
John's eyelashes made little arcs on his cheeks, his face soft almost as if he were sleeping, except for the tight line of concentration across his brows. Rodney decided he had rather small, pouty lips.
Suddenly John stiffened up, jerked, losing his edge, he went down on one knee, yanking Rodney forward, who tripped, spiraled and slammed to his hands and knees hard. They skidded a little more before coming to a stop.
Not for the first time Rodney wished there were a way to fall gracefully. He and John glanced around as if crowds of people were ready to point and laugh.
"What was that?" Rodney snapped, putting a hand on his knee as he leveraged himself off the ice. He winced as it throbbed.
"Sorry. It just occurred to me that I wasn't the one driving. I didn't like it much," John sneered.
"Hmm. Interesting." Rodney's mouth tipped up into a smug smile.
"What's interesting?" John asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Rodney said, but he beamed, positively brimming with insight. Being right was the best part of coaching. That little thrill of hypothesis and discovery when you saw what had been eluding you sitting directly under your nose. "Except that I was right, oh-so-frighteningly correct, as usual."
"What?"
"You can control the jumps. But everything else you keep, oh how do I say this? Outside of you if that makes any sense." He waved a hand. "You don't like the music to be in charge."
"No, that's not it," John corrected him patiently. "The jumps feel good. The other stuff's just boring filler."
"Well, it shouldn't be."
"What should it be then?"
"The other 'stuff,' as you call it, is the point." Rodney drew closer, drawing the number three on the ice as he turned on an edge. "It should be, hmm…" Rodney thought about his phrasing an instant, tipping his head in happy amusement. "Sexy."
He smirked and John snorted a laugh, looking skyward as he followed Rodney, his back straight.
"Try it again," Rodney said.
John was considerably more uncomfortable this time, arms stiff as he tried to lean back and stopped, pinwheeling. Rodney jerked away.
"Halfway's not good," he warned. No one ever got used to falling.
John's narrow eyes flicked to the side, glinting with suspicion. "I still don't see the point of all this."
"You will."
"Well, thanks for the clarification, Yoda." But this time he leaned back, trusting his weight to Rodney again. Though he looked like he was holding his breath. They moved into a slow glide.
For all that John was relatively tall, a good two inches taller than Rodney, he was slim and very light. Narrow through the shoulders and chest, built delicately, enough so that Rodney briefly wondered if he had hollow bones like a bird -- well, most birds. No wonder he could practically fly.
"Jumping must be pretty easy for you," Rodney observed out loud over the grinding glide of their skates.
John's hazel eyes squinted up at him. "Of course it is."
Rodney brought them to a slow stop, tipping John back up to his feet, a little less gracefully than with most of his students.
John blinked and rolled his shoulders.
"Well, that was relaxing." He skated to the wall, picking up his water bottle.
"Hmm," Rodney agreed. "Good. Means you're ready for the next step."
He turned his back to John to cover a persistent erection his soft warm-ups did nothing to hide. He grabbed from the bench the over-sized pale blue sweatshirt and pulled it on, the hem brushing his thighs. John swept him with an amused glance before becoming conscientiously distracted by something non-existent on the other side of the rink. Rodney tugged his shirt lower. He wasn't fooling anyone but he didn't have to be obvious about it.
John winced, taking another sip.
"You don't think people were watching us."
It was half a question as he scanned the ice alertly.
"I didn't notice," Rodney admitted.
"You're going get me beat up by a hockey team," John complained, not too seriously Rodney thought.
Without ceremony Rodney popped in a CD.
"Tchaikovsky?" John folded his arms defensively.
"We'll try something else first."
The complicated guitar work began, followed by the steady rolling drumbeat like a march.
John burst out laughing, bending almost double. He came back up with a smile. "It's a tango."
"Flamenco music's very masculine," Rodney pointed out.
"I need a red cape," John joked. But he was still grinning at Rodney, amused as all heck.
"Ole," said Rodney, pushing off the wall and spinning around. "Now you lead."
"What do you mean?" John asked curiously, following him with a lazy step.
"Just… play with it. Here. Watch."
Rodney got himself up to tempo, one arm drawn up to his chest as if he were holding a cape. He winked at John, then did long cross-over steps, scooping left than right in a serpentine pattern with the sway of the tango, then circled back around. "Just make it up."
"I can't do that."
"Shy, eh?" Rodney smirked. "I'll make this easy for you. I need a shower. Bad. So the rink's all yours." He gestured dramatically to the empty ice.
"I thought I was paying you to teach." John squinted.
"Ah, leaving aside that whole 'payment' issue-? Your hour was up, oh," Rodney looked at a watch he wasn't wearing, "at least half an hour ago. Have fun." He slapped John on the back.
Picking up his gym bag, he held up a cautioning finger. "Remember: No jumps!"
Music to go up soon. ;) Tango!
http://s14.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=326LWF4ZCNM9F2STAIS095ECY4
Next part, right over here, step right up for a ringside seat.
Part one: 'Get back out there.' – 'No. I'm taking up hockey. It'll *hurt* less.'
Part two: 'So why do we have to skate in the nude again?'
Part three: Naturally, John had brought the boom box but had forgotten to bring any music.
Part four: Rodney wondered if John knew 'Mustang Sally' was a favorite with strippers the world over.
Part five: 'This is hero worship, isn't it?'
Part six: 'Me coach. You student. You keep forgetting that lately.'
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
The sky was turning pink by the time they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Just inside the door they stamped their feet to warm up, gym bags in hand as Rodney followed John into the glaring lights of the rink. It was always too bright first thing in the morning. And quiet. A few people were down at the far end of rink, not enough to disturb them. There was an echoing laugh as someone fell, and the scrape of blades.
Being late meant they were technically going to go over their skate time, but no one had ever made a move to throw Rodney out, and the hockey team wasn't scheduled today –- they were the only ones who needed the whole ice. The owners of the rink were pleasant people who seemed to like John, and besides, they got a lot of business from Rodney's clients.
John hopped over the bench, kicked off his shoes and began pulling on his skates. Rodney stripped off his coat and sweater, blinking and smothering a yawn.
John as usual was first on the ice, stretching his arms over his head. He turned the stretch into a half-spin.
Then he did a quick warm-up lap and returned with slow gliding steps.
"So we're going to skate together today?" John glanced nervously over his shoulder to the other skaters -- who were miles away.
"Actually, we're going to try something a little different."
Rodney hadn't really warmed up yet, but he pushed off the wall and with a few stiff strokes came up behind John and slowed, laying a hand on his back. "I want you to shut your eyes and just follow me. Trust me; I won't steer you into a wall."
John gave him a suspicious dark-eyed look, then sighed and did as he was told.
Rodney took two backward strokes holding John's shoulder. John reluctantly followed.
"Okay," John said, his back tight and his eyes still squeezed shut. "Now what?"
"I want you to match my strokes." Rodney pushed off again with the lightest touch on John's shoulder.
John followed with two slow pushes, still complaining. "I can't see your—"
"Ah, ah!" Rodney cut him off. "Remember our workout? I'm simply behind you at the moment, that's all."
"Then shouldn't we have practiced it like that?" John said sarcastically, his eyes open again. He cut an edge and spun around to face Rodney.
Rodney drew himself to a stop, thumping a finger on his own chest then pointing at John. "Me coach. You student. You keep forgetting that lately."
"I'm just saying."
"--That you can't do it," Rodney interrupted.
"No, I can do it. I can so do this." John's jaw was set and he closed his eyes again, turning to present his back. He fell still, as if preparing for a race. He shook his hands out; then he was ready.
Rodney was careful not to smile, though sometimes John could be refreshingly predictable. He started with a hand on John's shoulder again, at arms-length, skating backwards as he led John.
John matched his pace, his mouth in a firm line of concentration. Then, as he grew more accurate tracing the length of Rodney's steps, Rodney slid his hands to John's hips, just below the waist. John threw him a quick startled glance, but made no comment, matching his pace again.
They glided for several seconds, nothing more than that.
Then Rodney drew him in closer, shortening the distance by half. John blinked his eyes open and cleared his throat, saying, "This has to look bad."
"Eyes closed," Rodney demanded. "No one's watching." He was lying. Several people had taken notice; pairs skating did not usually involve two men. As they passed two of the most interested culprits, girls in pastel skirts, Rodney spoke in an authoritative voice, a little more loudly than strictly necessary:
"Good, that's good!"
"Ow. I'm right here," John winced.
Catching on that he was 'The Coach,' their spectators lost interest and went back to their business.
One more lap and John followed him smoothly, shortening his usual long strokes to match Rodney's. It was effortless. Rodney admired his clean lines, accentuated by dark stretch-fleece.
"Cross-steps," Rodney warned him, one hand on John's shoulder again, giving him more room as they crossed one foot over another, picking up speed in a slow broad circle. Confident John had it, though he did have his eyes open again, Rodney moved in closer to catch his hips. Their combined power and velocity sling-shotted them around the rink and Rodney caught a trace of a smile at the corner of John's mouth, though he had to pay careful attention to what he was doing now.
Rodney cut a wide circle. "Let it glide," he ordered.
"No, let's go faster," John argued.
But Rodney let go of his hips and let the momentum carry himself further until turning to coast a stop. Of course John stopped like a hockey player in a spray of ice. It would probably take a zamboni weeks to get the gouge out.
"Wow, you weren't kidding about the speed!" John said, catching his breath as he skated over, arms loose. "I felt like I was draughting behind a truck with you breaking all the wind resistance."
"Pairs skating has its advantages," Rodney agreed. "Though I've only done that with thirteen-year-old girls. I admit, I'd underestimated the sheer velocity when your combined weight is over four hundred pounds -- and did you just compare me to a truck?"
"Four hundred," John's eyes were calculating, narrowed as he did the math. "You weigh over two hundred—?"
"Not the point, Sheppard." Rodney rolled his eyes and ended this line of questioning. "That was a good start. Now," he approached with two strokes, "I want you to lean back into my hands."
"You want me to do a layback?" John peered at him. "What's next? A dress?"
Rodney sighed at the prejudices of the sport. "More like slump into my hands. Pretend you're unconscious."
John tipped his head to one side and shrugged, backing up to Rodney. "I'm really not seeing the point of all this."
"Coach here!" Rodney raised a hand in reminder.
On the first try, Rodney fumbled his grip and John put his weight back on his skates, barely catching himself before they fell. Rodney backed up awkwardly.
"Okay, not quite that unconscious." They stopped. "Just don't give me all your weight. Just some of it."
"A layback," John insisted, hard-eyed.
"All right, fine! Call it what you will. But do it without the arched back, please."
John cut his eyes to the side, then nodded agreement, swiping his mouth. This time, while his weight pushed them into a little wobbly glide, Rodney was able to hold him. He pushed backwards, keeping up a steady rhythm.
"Now melt like butter and just slide behind me…." Rodney murmured.
John had closed his eyes automatically, just as Rodney had hoped. He turned them gently into a curve. Easy does it.
John's eyelashes made little arcs on his cheeks, his face soft almost as if he were sleeping, except for the tight line of concentration across his brows. Rodney decided he had rather small, pouty lips.
Suddenly John stiffened up, jerked, losing his edge, he went down on one knee, yanking Rodney forward, who tripped, spiraled and slammed to his hands and knees hard. They skidded a little more before coming to a stop.
Not for the first time Rodney wished there were a way to fall gracefully. He and John glanced around as if crowds of people were ready to point and laugh.
"What was that?" Rodney snapped, putting a hand on his knee as he leveraged himself off the ice. He winced as it throbbed.
"Sorry. It just occurred to me that I wasn't the one driving. I didn't like it much," John sneered.
"Hmm. Interesting." Rodney's mouth tipped up into a smug smile.
"What's interesting?" John asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Rodney said, but he beamed, positively brimming with insight. Being right was the best part of coaching. That little thrill of hypothesis and discovery when you saw what had been eluding you sitting directly under your nose. "Except that I was right, oh-so-frighteningly correct, as usual."
"What?"
"You can control the jumps. But everything else you keep, oh how do I say this? Outside of you if that makes any sense." He waved a hand. "You don't like the music to be in charge."
"No, that's not it," John corrected him patiently. "The jumps feel good. The other stuff's just boring filler."
"Well, it shouldn't be."
"What should it be then?"
"The other 'stuff,' as you call it, is the point." Rodney drew closer, drawing the number three on the ice as he turned on an edge. "It should be, hmm…" Rodney thought about his phrasing an instant, tipping his head in happy amusement. "Sexy."
He smirked and John snorted a laugh, looking skyward as he followed Rodney, his back straight.
"Try it again," Rodney said.
John was considerably more uncomfortable this time, arms stiff as he tried to lean back and stopped, pinwheeling. Rodney jerked away.
"Halfway's not good," he warned. No one ever got used to falling.
John's narrow eyes flicked to the side, glinting with suspicion. "I still don't see the point of all this."
"You will."
"Well, thanks for the clarification, Yoda." But this time he leaned back, trusting his weight to Rodney again. Though he looked like he was holding his breath. They moved into a slow glide.
For all that John was relatively tall, a good two inches taller than Rodney, he was slim and very light. Narrow through the shoulders and chest, built delicately, enough so that Rodney briefly wondered if he had hollow bones like a bird -- well, most birds. No wonder he could practically fly.
"Jumping must be pretty easy for you," Rodney observed out loud over the grinding glide of their skates.
John's hazel eyes squinted up at him. "Of course it is."
Rodney brought them to a slow stop, tipping John back up to his feet, a little less gracefully than with most of his students.
John blinked and rolled his shoulders.
"Well, that was relaxing." He skated to the wall, picking up his water bottle.
"Hmm," Rodney agreed. "Good. Means you're ready for the next step."
He turned his back to John to cover a persistent erection his soft warm-ups did nothing to hide. He grabbed from the bench the over-sized pale blue sweatshirt and pulled it on, the hem brushing his thighs. John swept him with an amused glance before becoming conscientiously distracted by something non-existent on the other side of the rink. Rodney tugged his shirt lower. He wasn't fooling anyone but he didn't have to be obvious about it.
John winced, taking another sip.
"You don't think people were watching us."
It was half a question as he scanned the ice alertly.
"I didn't notice," Rodney admitted.
"You're going get me beat up by a hockey team," John complained, not too seriously Rodney thought.
Without ceremony Rodney popped in a CD.
"Tchaikovsky?" John folded his arms defensively.
"We'll try something else first."
The complicated guitar work began, followed by the steady rolling drumbeat like a march.
John burst out laughing, bending almost double. He came back up with a smile. "It's a tango."
"Flamenco music's very masculine," Rodney pointed out.
"I need a red cape," John joked. But he was still grinning at Rodney, amused as all heck.
"Ole," said Rodney, pushing off the wall and spinning around. "Now you lead."
"What do you mean?" John asked curiously, following him with a lazy step.
"Just… play with it. Here. Watch."
Rodney got himself up to tempo, one arm drawn up to his chest as if he were holding a cape. He winked at John, then did long cross-over steps, scooping left than right in a serpentine pattern with the sway of the tango, then circled back around. "Just make it up."
"I can't do that."
"Shy, eh?" Rodney smirked. "I'll make this easy for you. I need a shower. Bad. So the rink's all yours." He gestured dramatically to the empty ice.
"I thought I was paying you to teach." John squinted.
"Ah, leaving aside that whole 'payment' issue-? Your hour was up, oh," Rodney looked at a watch he wasn't wearing, "at least half an hour ago. Have fun." He slapped John on the back.
Picking up his gym bag, he held up a cautioning finger. "Remember: No jumps!"
http://s14.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=326LWF4ZCNM9F2STAIS095ECY4
Next part, right over here, step right up for a ringside seat.
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Date: 2006-03-01 07:40 am (UTC)Icarus