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icarusI think this story just got a little more cracked.
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.'
Part seven: It was just hockey, not a cardinal sin.
Part eight: I'm sure when we were being chased by sabre-toothed tigers we did all kinds of neat tricks.
Part nine: 'You want to be alone?' Kim-the-unutterably-stupid asked.
Part ten: He mentally took back his den and no longer had to worry about John's exercise equipment.
Part eleven: 'I take American Express.'
Part twelve: Give John a spotlight and what does he do? Skate in the dark.
Part thirteen: Something about a dead hamster-?
Part fourteen: Being a UPS driver had been great, nice people, but it worked all the wrong muscle groups.
Part fifteen: 'I don't think she actually skates -- she just floats over the ice like a fruit fly!'
Part sixteen: 'You see me naked and you think I'm athlete?'
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
A sound boom dangled in midair over the cluster of bored-looking reporters in new parkas, dragging wires and a collection of cameramen and technicians as they paced between events. The Soviet Union had threatened to boycott the Olympics but that story had died. It had never been likely for the winter games anyhow, which had some of their best events. A helicopter rolled across the gray skies high overhead, its cameras sweeping the Olympic village like a dragnet. The cluster at the front gate talked in several languages, brimming with carefully generated excitement the moment the cameras started rolling, then they kicked tires once they were no longer "live."
They'd been stuck filling airtime with "local color" that no one cared about: snow had postponed the Giant Slalom.
Unfortunately, there was only one exit from the Olympic village. Rodney filled his lungs and prepared a bright smile, signaling to Radek with a lift of his chin. Radek filtered off to the side, a frown of confusion furrowing his brow as he glanced back at Rodney.
Ducking his head, Rodney stepped out into the gray light, breath misting about him. Reporters scurried and soundmen swore as they redirected the boom. "McKay!" -- "Rodney!"
"Rodney," a reporter called out with false intimacy, "do you have a minute?" They'd take a minute whether he had one or not.
"How's it going, McKay?" said another -- and oh, Rodney struggled to remember the name. He was Canadian, though, so one of the good guys.
"Good, great in fact!" Rodney smiled, making sure his Canadian arm-patch was aimed towards the cameras. Flashbulbs left yellow spots dancing in front of his eyes. He stood in the crunchy hardened slush and shot Radek a fierce look to move.
No longer chasing a moving target, the reporters clustered around, cutting off Rodney's escape route. Cameramen could move amazingly fast, despite how much equipment they carried.
"How do you feel about the upcoming freeskate?"
"Well, I have to get through the compulsories first, don't you think?" Rodney said, skewering the woman's ignorance. More knowledgeable sportscasters chuckled. Just because they didn't film the figure eights didn't mean they didn't exist. Radek had stopped staring and started to -- thank god -- slip past the reporters, his hands in his pockets and head down.
"So you're not ready for the freeskate yet?" the woman said, a trifle vengefully, Rodney thought.
"Ask my competitors that question," Rodney laughed. "Where're you from? France? You're in -- what? -- tenth place, if that?" He pointedly turned to the Canadian reporter. The Canadian press always favored him.
He filled them in on the goings on in the Olympic village, including a cheerful story about a food fight the other morning that had them all laughing. People let off steam in the craziest ways. It was an undignified moment for some of the champions involved, but Rodney grinned, alive and in his element. There was a little romance brewing between the East German skater, Natalia, and a West German skater that the American press would kill for -- nothing like a little iron curtain drama -- but he kept that in his back pocket for later, because Radek had finally cleared the compound. He gave the grateful reporters a jaunty wave.
"Where are you going now?" that French reporter called after him.
"For a drink!" Rodney sang out over his shoulder, instantly regretting it and trying not to cringe. He saw the notepads and scribbling as the reporters turned their back on him to recap their sound-bites to the international audience. A dozen different versions of "outside the Olympic village, Canadian skating sensation Rodney McKay granted us an exclusive interview…."
Rodney zipped his jacket with surreptitious backward glance as he caught up with Radek at the edge of their little village in the Schwaebisch Alps. The French reporter followed Rodney with intense eyes.
"Keep walking," Rodney said under his breath, "pretend you don't know me. I will have to meet you there. I might have a hornet on my tail."
"A what?" Radek paused and stared. Rodney made a frustrated noise and urged him forward.
"A pissed off reporter. Go, go!" Rodney spluttered and jogged into the village.
He pulled on the headphones to his Walkman and prepared to ignore being shadowed, trying to work out the Japanese in Styx's "Mr. Roboto."
~*~*~
It was well over two hours later when Rodney climbed a dumpster behind a drab little hotel with a quick hop. He knocked on a window on the second floor. It slid part-way open. Rodney grabbed the window jamb and hauled himself up with a complaining breathless curse. Scrabbling to get an elbow in, he banged his head on the frame, legs kicking.
"Open it all the way, you idiot!"
"Sorry," Radek said, moving too late as Rodney squeezed through.
Rodney pulled off his hat and flopped down onto the bed with a sigh. Radek barred the window behind him with a sharp metallic click, drawing thick drapes.
"I thought you maybe not coming," Radek admitted.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I hit every boring monument in the city." Rodney rolled onto his back and gazed up at Radek through smiling, half-slitted eyes. "Did you realize they must have a hundred museums?" he said with a tired wave. He yawned, glancing over in amusement that Radek's idea of 'sexy' for a tryst was an old-fashioned nightshirt. He kicked off his shoes. "I ran into some fans who bought me ice cream though." Radek rolled his eyes.
"Reporters... this is crazy." Radek paced, running his hand through his hair.
"I told you I was a skater," Rodney said.
"I will be followed by KGB because of you."
"You're small and mousy. I'm sure no one noticed you."
Rodney rolled over on his stomach and stretched to pull out two cigarettes from Radek's pack on the table, lighting them both, their ends glowing red. He handed one off with a breath of smoke to Radek to calm him down. "Besides, aren't you Russian athletes all rock stars in your country?" Rodney worked on holding his cigarette so he looked cool.
Radek frowned down at him and said in amazement, "You see me naked and you think I'm athlete?" He paced more then sank to the bed. "My brother is ski jumper," Radek explained. "And my father, he wanted me to see the world, go with, so," he shrugged, "he get me a job with the judging."
"I thought you guys weren't allowed to leave," Rodney mused, mildly interested.
"My family has friends," Radek said, pursing his lips cynically. He peered at the drawn curtains. "It is how the communism really functions."
"Ah. Nepotism at its best." Rodney stretched out his arms on the bed with a satisfied sigh, letting his legs fall open, tired muscles stretching. He smiled at Radek. "I'm guessing this is not quite what he had in mind, eh?"
Radek's smirk was filthy and embarrassed. "Probably, no."
As Radek slid rustling under the covers, Rodney grinned at the illicitness of it all, breathing hard. "What do you judge?" Rodney asked him, watching with wide eyes as Radek pulled the nightshirt over his head.
The wry look Radek shot him said 'you're an idiot' but all he said was a flat, "Ski jumping."
Rodney hurriedly began tearing off his jacket and shirt. "Tsk. That's boring. I'll teach you all about figure skating." Radek helped Rodney with the buttons, getting a little in the way so Rodney brushed him aside with an impatient gesture to finish it himself, baring a narrow muscular chest. "That's much more of a challenge."
It wasn't until he was naked on top of Radek, kissing pleasantly, when it dawned on Rodney. He pushed himself up on his arms, astonishment crossing his face with a thousand flickering emotions. "Wait-a-minute. You're judging your brother's event?"
Radek snickered with a broadening smile, shaking his head slowly, his expression a mixture of sarcasm and relief. His hand trailed down Rodney's bicep and tapped Rodney's chest with each word. "You are very innocent." Radek made it sound like a compliment.
A little music for this one: Styx -- Mr. Roboto
Yep. The next part is here.
ETA: typos. Yeah, okay, too lazy to chase down my betas. *hand-wavy gesture* We'll do it later.
ETA 2: removed fire escape (thank you to my German friends), made it clear this is a jump back in time, and made![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rike_tikki_tavi and Lillian's suggested changes well.
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.'
Part seven: It was just hockey, not a cardinal sin.
Part eight: I'm sure when we were being chased by sabre-toothed tigers we did all kinds of neat tricks.
Part nine: 'You want to be alone?' Kim-the-unutterably-stupid asked.
Part ten: He mentally took back his den and no longer had to worry about John's exercise equipment.
Part eleven: 'I take American Express.'
Part twelve: Give John a spotlight and what does he do? Skate in the dark.
Part thirteen: Something about a dead hamster-?
Part fourteen: Being a UPS driver had been great, nice people, but it worked all the wrong muscle groups.
Part fifteen: 'I don't think she actually skates -- she just floats over the ice like a fruit fly!'
Part sixteen: 'You see me naked and you think I'm athlete?'
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
A sound boom dangled in midair over the cluster of bored-looking reporters in new parkas, dragging wires and a collection of cameramen and technicians as they paced between events. The Soviet Union had threatened to boycott the Olympics but that story had died. It had never been likely for the winter games anyhow, which had some of their best events. A helicopter rolled across the gray skies high overhead, its cameras sweeping the Olympic village like a dragnet. The cluster at the front gate talked in several languages, brimming with carefully generated excitement the moment the cameras started rolling, then they kicked tires once they were no longer "live."
They'd been stuck filling airtime with "local color" that no one cared about: snow had postponed the Giant Slalom.
Unfortunately, there was only one exit from the Olympic village. Rodney filled his lungs and prepared a bright smile, signaling to Radek with a lift of his chin. Radek filtered off to the side, a frown of confusion furrowing his brow as he glanced back at Rodney.
Ducking his head, Rodney stepped out into the gray light, breath misting about him. Reporters scurried and soundmen swore as they redirected the boom. "McKay!" -- "Rodney!"
"Rodney," a reporter called out with false intimacy, "do you have a minute?" They'd take a minute whether he had one or not.
"How's it going, McKay?" said another -- and oh, Rodney struggled to remember the name. He was Canadian, though, so one of the good guys.
"Good, great in fact!" Rodney smiled, making sure his Canadian arm-patch was aimed towards the cameras. Flashbulbs left yellow spots dancing in front of his eyes. He stood in the crunchy hardened slush and shot Radek a fierce look to move.
No longer chasing a moving target, the reporters clustered around, cutting off Rodney's escape route. Cameramen could move amazingly fast, despite how much equipment they carried.
"How do you feel about the upcoming freeskate?"
"Well, I have to get through the compulsories first, don't you think?" Rodney said, skewering the woman's ignorance. More knowledgeable sportscasters chuckled. Just because they didn't film the figure eights didn't mean they didn't exist. Radek had stopped staring and started to -- thank god -- slip past the reporters, his hands in his pockets and head down.
"So you're not ready for the freeskate yet?" the woman said, a trifle vengefully, Rodney thought.
"Ask my competitors that question," Rodney laughed. "Where're you from? France? You're in -- what? -- tenth place, if that?" He pointedly turned to the Canadian reporter. The Canadian press always favored him.
He filled them in on the goings on in the Olympic village, including a cheerful story about a food fight the other morning that had them all laughing. People let off steam in the craziest ways. It was an undignified moment for some of the champions involved, but Rodney grinned, alive and in his element. There was a little romance brewing between the East German skater, Natalia, and a West German skater that the American press would kill for -- nothing like a little iron curtain drama -- but he kept that in his back pocket for later, because Radek had finally cleared the compound. He gave the grateful reporters a jaunty wave.
"Where are you going now?" that French reporter called after him.
"For a drink!" Rodney sang out over his shoulder, instantly regretting it and trying not to cringe. He saw the notepads and scribbling as the reporters turned their back on him to recap their sound-bites to the international audience. A dozen different versions of "outside the Olympic village, Canadian skating sensation Rodney McKay granted us an exclusive interview…."
Rodney zipped his jacket with surreptitious backward glance as he caught up with Radek at the edge of their little village in the Schwaebisch Alps. The French reporter followed Rodney with intense eyes.
"Keep walking," Rodney said under his breath, "pretend you don't know me. I will have to meet you there. I might have a hornet on my tail."
"A what?" Radek paused and stared. Rodney made a frustrated noise and urged him forward.
"A pissed off reporter. Go, go!" Rodney spluttered and jogged into the village.
He pulled on the headphones to his Walkman and prepared to ignore being shadowed, trying to work out the Japanese in Styx's "Mr. Roboto."
~*~*~
It was well over two hours later when Rodney climbed a dumpster behind a drab little hotel with a quick hop. He knocked on a window on the second floor. It slid part-way open. Rodney grabbed the window jamb and hauled himself up with a complaining breathless curse. Scrabbling to get an elbow in, he banged his head on the frame, legs kicking.
"Open it all the way, you idiot!"
"Sorry," Radek said, moving too late as Rodney squeezed through.
Rodney pulled off his hat and flopped down onto the bed with a sigh. Radek barred the window behind him with a sharp metallic click, drawing thick drapes.
"I thought you maybe not coming," Radek admitted.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I hit every boring monument in the city." Rodney rolled onto his back and gazed up at Radek through smiling, half-slitted eyes. "Did you realize they must have a hundred museums?" he said with a tired wave. He yawned, glancing over in amusement that Radek's idea of 'sexy' for a tryst was an old-fashioned nightshirt. He kicked off his shoes. "I ran into some fans who bought me ice cream though." Radek rolled his eyes.
"Reporters... this is crazy." Radek paced, running his hand through his hair.
"I told you I was a skater," Rodney said.
"I will be followed by KGB because of you."
"You're small and mousy. I'm sure no one noticed you."
Rodney rolled over on his stomach and stretched to pull out two cigarettes from Radek's pack on the table, lighting them both, their ends glowing red. He handed one off with a breath of smoke to Radek to calm him down. "Besides, aren't you Russian athletes all rock stars in your country?" Rodney worked on holding his cigarette so he looked cool.
Radek frowned down at him and said in amazement, "You see me naked and you think I'm athlete?" He paced more then sank to the bed. "My brother is ski jumper," Radek explained. "And my father, he wanted me to see the world, go with, so," he shrugged, "he get me a job with the judging."
"I thought you guys weren't allowed to leave," Rodney mused, mildly interested.
"My family has friends," Radek said, pursing his lips cynically. He peered at the drawn curtains. "It is how the communism really functions."
"Ah. Nepotism at its best." Rodney stretched out his arms on the bed with a satisfied sigh, letting his legs fall open, tired muscles stretching. He smiled at Radek. "I'm guessing this is not quite what he had in mind, eh?"
Radek's smirk was filthy and embarrassed. "Probably, no."
As Radek slid rustling under the covers, Rodney grinned at the illicitness of it all, breathing hard. "What do you judge?" Rodney asked him, watching with wide eyes as Radek pulled the nightshirt over his head.
The wry look Radek shot him said 'you're an idiot' but all he said was a flat, "Ski jumping."
Rodney hurriedly began tearing off his jacket and shirt. "Tsk. That's boring. I'll teach you all about figure skating." Radek helped Rodney with the buttons, getting a little in the way so Rodney brushed him aside with an impatient gesture to finish it himself, baring a narrow muscular chest. "That's much more of a challenge."
It wasn't until he was naked on top of Radek, kissing pleasantly, when it dawned on Rodney. He pushed himself up on his arms, astonishment crossing his face with a thousand flickering emotions. "Wait-a-minute. You're judging your brother's event?"
Radek snickered with a broadening smile, shaking his head slowly, his expression a mixture of sarcasm and relief. His hand trailed down Rodney's bicep and tapped Rodney's chest with each word. "You are very innocent." Radek made it sound like a compliment.
A little music for this one: Styx -- Mr. Roboto
Yep. The next part is here.
ETA: typos. Yeah, okay, too lazy to chase down my betas. *hand-wavy gesture* We'll do it later.
ETA 2: removed fire escape (thank you to my German friends), made it clear this is a jump back in time, and made
rike_tikki_tavi and Lillian's suggested changes well.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 07:16 am (UTC)Egad. I'm on the back end of those.
So I'd use communist instead of soviet, but you are the writer.
Communist! That's the word. *steals your suggestion happily*
Icarus