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icarusYou can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17 (in time)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Rodney's always been a very confident skater.
A/N: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me, amothea for listening to me whine, teaphile for her birds eye view, as well as enname and monanotlisa for coming through in a pinch.
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Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Rodney's hair was sweat-soaked, longish dark brown curls falling in his face as he stepped away from the Kiss-and-Cry. He raised a victorious hand to his fans, raising a shriek from the stands. Even at the Olympics only the really dedicated ones came to the compulsories. His coach lumbered behind him, a protective hand on Rodney's shoulder.
The predictable gantlet of reporters and cameras lay in wait for him on the way to the showers, the flashbulbs flickering as microphones extended in his direction. Rodney was still out of breath as the press peppered him with questions, bright lights shining in his face.
"Great work, Rodney," said a Canadian reporter with a Quebec accent. "All of Canada is cheering for you."
Rodney heaved a sigh, trying to catch his wind, beaming. "Thank you. I noticed." He waved again, raising another cheer, and grinned.
"Rodney," asked the tall gray-haired reporter from the British newspapers. "To what do you attribute your successful performance today?"
"A happy sex life," Rodney joked, and the reporters all chuckled. "No, no, just kidding -- discipline is the essence of the compulsories, though there was never any question that I'd do well here. They're more or less just a warm-up for me. But a lot of these new skaters don't have the basics down, and then come crying that we should get rid of the compulsories because they don't know how to skate." He threw up his hands. "It's pathetic."
A gruff voice from the back with a heavy Germanic accent said, "What do you think of the East German threat?"
"Who? 'Hans and Franz,' the steroid twins?" Rodney snorted. The American reporter sniggered at the Saturday Night Live reference. "Oh, I'll admit they have some pretty impressive jumps, but that's not what skating is all about. In fact, it would be a tragedy for figure skating if they won. The real measure of a figure skater is: Artistic. Skill," Rodney said, emphasizing each word with a little bird-like okay sign. He smirked.
"What about the Russian team? They're known for their artistic presentation marks," said another, Rodney couldn't tell who, blinking at the lights.
"Well, they're very... traditional, aren't they? You can see the same moves in their ballet, and let's be honest: Was Barishnikov any good before he defected? Not even." Rodney made a little brushing motion. "The soviet system crushes free will, and, in the process, any shadow of creativity."
Rodney's coach cut in, earning a glare from Rodney. "Rodney's always been a very confident skater." His grizzled head leaned down towards the microphones. "A confidence that shows on the ice with his World Championship record." He held up a hand. "No, no further questions today. Thank you." They edged between the cables and press of people and passed security, which held back the public.
As he dragged Rodney away from the cameras and down the long hallway towards the showers, his coach hissed, "Steroid twins?"
"What?" Rodney tittered. "Have you seen those two?"
"Do we need to have another talk about sportsmanship?" said his coach, his voice stern and belabored.
"Oh, please, if they can't take a little friendly competition they shouldn't be competing at this level. Though it's good you cut in when you did--"
"Yes."
"--I mean, I was having trouble ignoring the questions from the French reporter. That article she ran about me? Was positively catty." Rodney sniffed. "I am not 'pampered,' though if I were, I'd deserve it." He made a sweeping gesture back towards the ice. "I work hard out there!"
[Previous][Next]
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17 (in time)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Rodney's always been a very confident skater.
A/N: Thank you to
perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me, amothea for listening to me whine, teaphile for her birds eye view, as well as enname and monanotlisa for coming through in a pinch. Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hired ex-skating champion and 'artiste' Rodney McKay to be his coach. A teasing friendship (and perhaps more?) developed between them, and a late night practice session turned sensual and intense... and more successful than expected. If only Rodney could get John to skate like that all the time.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Rodney's hair was sweat-soaked, longish dark brown curls falling in his face as he stepped away from the Kiss-and-Cry. He raised a victorious hand to his fans, raising a shriek from the stands. Even at the Olympics only the really dedicated ones came to the compulsories. His coach lumbered behind him, a protective hand on Rodney's shoulder.
The predictable gantlet of reporters and cameras lay in wait for him on the way to the showers, the flashbulbs flickering as microphones extended in his direction. Rodney was still out of breath as the press peppered him with questions, bright lights shining in his face.
"Great work, Rodney," said a Canadian reporter with a Quebec accent. "All of Canada is cheering for you."
Rodney heaved a sigh, trying to catch his wind, beaming. "Thank you. I noticed." He waved again, raising another cheer, and grinned.
"Rodney," asked the tall gray-haired reporter from the British newspapers. "To what do you attribute your successful performance today?"
"A happy sex life," Rodney joked, and the reporters all chuckled. "No, no, just kidding -- discipline is the essence of the compulsories, though there was never any question that I'd do well here. They're more or less just a warm-up for me. But a lot of these new skaters don't have the basics down, and then come crying that we should get rid of the compulsories because they don't know how to skate." He threw up his hands. "It's pathetic."
A gruff voice from the back with a heavy Germanic accent said, "What do you think of the East German threat?"
"Who? 'Hans and Franz,' the steroid twins?" Rodney snorted. The American reporter sniggered at the Saturday Night Live reference. "Oh, I'll admit they have some pretty impressive jumps, but that's not what skating is all about. In fact, it would be a tragedy for figure skating if they won. The real measure of a figure skater is: Artistic. Skill," Rodney said, emphasizing each word with a little bird-like okay sign. He smirked.
"What about the Russian team? They're known for their artistic presentation marks," said another, Rodney couldn't tell who, blinking at the lights.
"Well, they're very... traditional, aren't they? You can see the same moves in their ballet, and let's be honest: Was Barishnikov any good before he defected? Not even." Rodney made a little brushing motion. "The soviet system crushes free will, and, in the process, any shadow of creativity."
Rodney's coach cut in, earning a glare from Rodney. "Rodney's always been a very confident skater." His grizzled head leaned down towards the microphones. "A confidence that shows on the ice with his World Championship record." He held up a hand. "No, no further questions today. Thank you." They edged between the cables and press of people and passed security, which held back the public.
As he dragged Rodney away from the cameras and down the long hallway towards the showers, his coach hissed, "Steroid twins?"
"What?" Rodney tittered. "Have you seen those two?"
"Do we need to have another talk about sportsmanship?" said his coach, his voice stern and belabored.
"Oh, please, if they can't take a little friendly competition they shouldn't be competing at this level. Though it's good you cut in when you did--"
"Yes."
"--I mean, I was having trouble ignoring the questions from the French reporter. That article she ran about me? Was positively catty." Rodney sniffed. "I am not 'pampered,' though if I were, I'd deserve it." He made a sweeping gesture back towards the ice. "I work hard out there!"
[Previous][Next]