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icarusI have my hat (fedora), some salt, ketchup, a fork and (freshly sharpened) knife ready. If it isn't crystal clear why John skates by the end, this will be lunch.
Er. *checks clock* Breakfast, rather.
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?'
Part seventeen: Pain was good. It told John when he went too far.
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
John shut his apartment door behind him, not bothering to lock it, and cast a look around the darkened room. The sun was low on the horizon, staining the sky pink and gold. Dirty dishes were soaking in the sink, the bed unmade. The laundry was still in the tub, ready for the "rinse" cycle. He hadn't gotten jack shit done this afternoon.
His inline skates leaned against the table leg, one of them flat on the floor, right where he left them. There was time left; the afternoon didn't have to be a total wash. John alternated weight training days so he couldn't do that, but he hadn't yet done his cardio.
John grabbed the edge of the doorjamb leading to the kitchen that had once-upon-a-century had French doors, doing a quick chin-up. Then he swung into the kitchen with a grunt and settled into the chair, kicking off his sneakers and lacing up the inline skates with quick fingers. There were certain muscle groups he only seemed to work-out in just the right way while actually skating.
The hall carpet felt mushy under the rollerblades and the manager hated it when he skated inside the building, but this way he wasn't encumbered by his shoes. He liked to go flat-out, with no distractions. John held the door for his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Hermann, who smiled, "Good afternoon, John," taking in the familiar skates with an indulgent twinkle. She switched a bag of groceries to her other hand and lumbered up the stair to the second floor.
He grabbed the banister and jumped the three steps to the sidewalk, hitting the pavement with a pleasant jolt that reverberated distantly in his knee. He sheared off the corner of the sidewalk, rustling shrubbery, the rumble of concrete turning into the near-silent hiss of blacktop as he tucked one arm behind his back and he risked the street with smooth, long strokes.
Cutting between parked cars, John evaded the slow bounce of oncoming headlights, swept past a kid on a bike, then maneuvered a rough patch till he hit a busy street – and saw he'd missed the light. It flashed red at him, the flood of cars released. He cursed inwardly with a grimace, then turned right rather than lose momentum, dodging around blurry annoyed shoppers, more parked cars, then bent sharply left at the next light, yellow-turning-red, a hand nearly touching the ground as he crossed to his favorite neighborhood.
He'd only just begun. His whole body sang with heat, but he wasn't really working yet.
The gated community was marked by an opening speedbump which he ramped up, used the landing to skip ahead, climb the steep incline. Halfway up, John finally started to feel it, the fight with gravity costing him speed, making him struggle to maintain momentum. He put his back into it, teeth bared, pushing it with firm strokes now, before it got truly steep.
And hit another momentum-killing speedbump, flying. He took the landing with his left leg, pushing off with the right the instant he felt that balance again, efficient and smooth, jaw set in grimly smiling determination. The universe narrowed to a stretch of blacktop as John reached for that peak performance, unfaltering. In another galaxy the knee flared hot, but he'd hit the stride that meant he'd make the top, easy.
He struck the last speedbump and raced into the sky, deepening blue, the cold wind sudden and sharp as he flew across the top of the hill. John kept every ounce of momentum, not pausing as he hit the top of his downhill course. Here the road snaked like a crazy river to slow traffic, a little garden island nestled in each curve.
John hit the turns like a downhill skier, the wind whipping through his hair as he realized he'd forgotten the helmet. Knee bent close to the ground, skimming it sharply, the road disappeared behind an island than reappeared, the trees flashing by; John took the course for sheer love of speed.
It was frustrating but he stuck to only the ground, eschewed any flying spins at the bottom, keeping both feet on blacktop. How could speed skaters stand it?
But no helmet, doctor's orders -- John held himself to speed alone with sheer gut-wrenching will, letting his momentum bottom out into the wide straight drive, tucked tight to shoot along the straightaway. The neighborhood here had almost no trees and short driveways that blinked by that were identical. Rough pavement rumbled under his feet, grounding him with sound and texture.
John passed the distant, tempting sound of a basketball and glided to a slow, gradual stop, slumping to lean his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth, his chest heaving. Sweat stung his eyes and cooled on his back and neck. He could almost feel the world spin as he remained breathing alone in the empty street. The air streamed white around him as he straightened, almost satiated. For now.
The sky was nearly dark, lighter blue to the west. Towards home. His knee let its presence be known, though well-being still surged and overwhelmed its distracting, complaining throb. Pain was good though. It let John know when he went too far.
With a sigh of contentment, panting, John made for home.
The next part is here.
Coming in a minute Now available for 100 d/ls or 7 days: Adrenaline - Ross Gavin
Oh yes, definitely music for this one.
Er. *checks clock* Breakfast, rather.
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?'
Part seventeen: Pain was good. It told John when he went too far.
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
John shut his apartment door behind him, not bothering to lock it, and cast a look around the darkened room. The sun was low on the horizon, staining the sky pink and gold. Dirty dishes were soaking in the sink, the bed unmade. The laundry was still in the tub, ready for the "rinse" cycle. He hadn't gotten jack shit done this afternoon.
His inline skates leaned against the table leg, one of them flat on the floor, right where he left them. There was time left; the afternoon didn't have to be a total wash. John alternated weight training days so he couldn't do that, but he hadn't yet done his cardio.
John grabbed the edge of the doorjamb leading to the kitchen that had once-upon-a-century had French doors, doing a quick chin-up. Then he swung into the kitchen with a grunt and settled into the chair, kicking off his sneakers and lacing up the inline skates with quick fingers. There were certain muscle groups he only seemed to work-out in just the right way while actually skating.
The hall carpet felt mushy under the rollerblades and the manager hated it when he skated inside the building, but this way he wasn't encumbered by his shoes. He liked to go flat-out, with no distractions. John held the door for his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Hermann, who smiled, "Good afternoon, John," taking in the familiar skates with an indulgent twinkle. She switched a bag of groceries to her other hand and lumbered up the stair to the second floor.
He grabbed the banister and jumped the three steps to the sidewalk, hitting the pavement with a pleasant jolt that reverberated distantly in his knee. He sheared off the corner of the sidewalk, rustling shrubbery, the rumble of concrete turning into the near-silent hiss of blacktop as he tucked one arm behind his back and he risked the street with smooth, long strokes.
Cutting between parked cars, John evaded the slow bounce of oncoming headlights, swept past a kid on a bike, then maneuvered a rough patch till he hit a busy street – and saw he'd missed the light. It flashed red at him, the flood of cars released. He cursed inwardly with a grimace, then turned right rather than lose momentum, dodging around blurry annoyed shoppers, more parked cars, then bent sharply left at the next light, yellow-turning-red, a hand nearly touching the ground as he crossed to his favorite neighborhood.
He'd only just begun. His whole body sang with heat, but he wasn't really working yet.
The gated community was marked by an opening speedbump which he ramped up, used the landing to skip ahead, climb the steep incline. Halfway up, John finally started to feel it, the fight with gravity costing him speed, making him struggle to maintain momentum. He put his back into it, teeth bared, pushing it with firm strokes now, before it got truly steep.
And hit another momentum-killing speedbump, flying. He took the landing with his left leg, pushing off with the right the instant he felt that balance again, efficient and smooth, jaw set in grimly smiling determination. The universe narrowed to a stretch of blacktop as John reached for that peak performance, unfaltering. In another galaxy the knee flared hot, but he'd hit the stride that meant he'd make the top, easy.
He struck the last speedbump and raced into the sky, deepening blue, the cold wind sudden and sharp as he flew across the top of the hill. John kept every ounce of momentum, not pausing as he hit the top of his downhill course. Here the road snaked like a crazy river to slow traffic, a little garden island nestled in each curve.
John hit the turns like a downhill skier, the wind whipping through his hair as he realized he'd forgotten the helmet. Knee bent close to the ground, skimming it sharply, the road disappeared behind an island than reappeared, the trees flashing by; John took the course for sheer love of speed.
It was frustrating but he stuck to only the ground, eschewed any flying spins at the bottom, keeping both feet on blacktop. How could speed skaters stand it?
But no helmet, doctor's orders -- John held himself to speed alone with sheer gut-wrenching will, letting his momentum bottom out into the wide straight drive, tucked tight to shoot along the straightaway. The neighborhood here had almost no trees and short driveways that blinked by that were identical. Rough pavement rumbled under his feet, grounding him with sound and texture.
John passed the distant, tempting sound of a basketball and glided to a slow, gradual stop, slumping to lean his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth, his chest heaving. Sweat stung his eyes and cooled on his back and neck. He could almost feel the world spin as he remained breathing alone in the empty street. The air streamed white around him as he straightened, almost satiated. For now.
The sky was nearly dark, lighter blue to the west. Towards home. His knee let its presence be known, though well-being still surged and overwhelmed its distracting, complaining throb. Pain was good though. It let John know when he went too far.
With a sigh of contentment, panting, John made for home.
Oh yes, definitely music for this one.
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Date: 2006-07-03 06:56 pm (UTC)Icarus