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icarusIn true John style, I finally flipped a coin on that scene that was giving us trouble.
You can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "You do realize that I'm married, don't you?"
A/N: Thank you to my intrepid and hard-working betas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dossier and rabidfan. And wyomingnot for the tie-breaker -- and sarka is back. Special thanks to dad, too, for continued info on Toronto and for telling me to just make a decision on that scene.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
An ancient 60s classic echoed through the rink's sound system, thin like a high school intercom or else a very bad AM radio station. A woman in cotton candy pink stood at the glass overlooking the rink, her coat folded over her arms. Several skaters circled the ice below, including a tall man in a track suit and black gloves. John. His spiky dark hair ruffled then flattened as he moved. He pushed into a slow reverse spiral, his leg extended in the direction of his skating, like an airplane backing up to taxi. He let his leg drop, elegant and slow, then tried it again, this time with more speed.
Rodney swung his arms and slapped his palms together as he climbed the stairs from the rink. He'd been careful not to let John know he was on display. He gave Sonja a smug tilted smile as she turned from the window, shifting the coat to her other arm. It hadn't been difficult to get her to return. She'd always been amenable to bribes and this time he let her pick the restaurant.
"So. What do you think?" He rubbed his hands in satisfaction.
"He's a perfectly average skater," she said. Rodney felt his face fall, and for once Sonja seemed to notice because she added, her hand out in a conciliatory gesture, "—with very good jumps."
"Um...?" Rodney looked her up and down, searching helplessly for some indication of her decision.
"But... I like him." She turned to smile down at John through the window, a fist in the small of her arched back. He'd dug his skates into the ice, shoulders angled forward as he gathered speed to power around the rink. "He will look very pretty skating my work."
~*~*~
Skates glided and hissed on the rink, feminine shrieks of laughter echoing as Rodney's ten o'clock group warmed up on the ice. Three little girls in striped navy track suits picked up speed, racing each other for position as the lead threw a quick single jump, spiraling off into the center of the rink.
Rodney stood on the ice and clapped his hands, then gave a New York taxi cab whistle, signaling to the darker Bethany who hadn't joined the group. She leaned over the boards, her hair in a thick braid today, gazing dreamily up at John as he warmed her hands between his own, blowing on them. "See, you've got to wear gloves up until the last minute. Otherwise they turn pink." He gave her a flick of his eyebrows and a chiding head tip. "Pink flying hands. Not good."
"Bethany!" Rodney barked.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she whined with a glance over her shoulder at him, pouting, and then she pushed backwards a few strokes, saying with a flutter of her fingers, "Bye, John."
She turned and power stroked to catch up with the other girls, who'd paused to watch. As John turned away, she mouthed Oh, my God! to her friends and scamper-stepped on her skates, folding over her hands. "I'm never going to wear gloves ever."
The other girls gathered in a tight circle around her, giggling and whispering, and Rodney rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back. The group let out an ear-piercing squeal. One girl gasped, "Oh! You're so lucky!"
Rodney gave up for the next few minutes and skated over to John.
The girls bounced in place, stamping their skates. One sang out to John, "My hands are cold, too!" and the others fell over each other, squeaking with overwrought laughter that bordered on hysteria.
"What was that all about?" John asked, one eye squinted as he gave the group a nervous look.
Rodney borrowed John's water bottle, took a sip, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Mmm... it's tribal behavior. I've learned to ignore it. There will be a resurgence of human-like traits in a moment, while if I punish them it'll just get worse."
"Experience?"
"Vast quantities of trial and error." Rodney capped the water bottle and handed it back to John, and pointed at him. "Warm up stretches, on the ground, now. And don't skate until this lesson is over. Bethany has a chance to be good if you don't screw that up."
"Me?"
Rodney ignored him, muttering about prepubescent hormones as his arms pumped, shoulders squared. With solid strokes he skated out to his little class. John watched him a moment, shook his head then slid into the splits, drawing his head down to his knee. He heard Rodney squawk something about going slower and horrible injuries, and smiled to himself.
~*~*~
Later, Rodney bent over and snapped a skate guard on, stepping off the ice, one hand on the boards. The girls flowed past behind him, gathering to mill around their backpacks, tired but still chatty. It was an odd transformation as they slipped on their mangled sneakers. So graceful on the ice and then such jocks when they stepped off, reminding John more of soccer players than dancers.
Rodney grunted as he straightened his back. "I'll be a moment," Rodney made his fingers into two gun-shaped arrows, targeting the door. "Bathroom."
"Yeah, well I just had the longest stretch in history," John said, raising his voice after Rodney's retreating form, "so hurry up!"
By the time Rodney returned John was already on the ice, arms stretched upward as he finished an easy single, landing backwards and upright, his leg out in a careless swing. He carved a deep backward 'S', his hips carrying the motion more than they would have in the past. Rodney wondered if it was the yoga, the pairs skating, or what had made the difference—then decided he'd never know nor did he care, just as long as it worked. It was an incremental change but Rodney trusted incremental changes; they tended to last.
John ended his step-turn sequence with a subtle flourish, a gesture copied from Rodney and added unthinkingly as he glided to a sideways stop. Rodney's smile froze. It was not the first time he'd caught John imitating him, but it was not a good sign. You couldn't paste on another skater's style, particularly given how utterly inappropriate his was on John.
He noted that most of his ten o'clock class had settled in the stands like birds, watching, and even little Melanie Weir had arrived twenty minutes early. Her mother chatted with one of the other moms down by doors, glancing over at John every now and then. John was popular.
Rodney shrugged off the audience. He liked them for performances but preferred that his coaching be more private.
"Why do you keep your head down through so much of your program?" Rodney called out.
"Huh?"
John swung over and snagged a towel from the edge of the boards. He dabbed at his face, seemingly unaware of his admirers. "No one's ever said I have bad posture, Rodney."
"Your carriage is fine, it's just ... you always watch the ice. Except when you land your jumps."
John shrugged. "I dunno. Never noticed. Where should I be looking?"
Rodney sighed at his cluelessness. "Everywhere. The whole arena." His arm swept the room. "You're giving a performance. There are thousands of people to look at."
John shrank in on himself, shoulders up, eyes squinted tight. "I try not to think about that." He gave one of his quick darting glances at the stands, like a threat was nearby.
"But they're here to see you."
"Get real," John said in a nasal voice, his smile cynical. "They're here to see someone fall. Just like people watch Nascar for all the crashes."
Rodney's face fell, aghast. "People paid to see me perform. I was the headliner at—" He shook off the argument. "—Never mind." Rodney snapped off his skate guards and stepped back onto the ice. He stroked forward and circled in bafflement, head down, his hands on his hips. He shook his head and looked over at John, unable to grasp John's attitude.
Finally, he returned. He took a breath and spoke slowly, accommodating the crazy person. "Okay.... What I want you to do is pick someone on the sidelines. Just one person. And I want you to skate for them." He folded his hands in front of his lap, bouncing them. Then quickly added, "Oh. And it can't be me—and please don't make it Bethany. She might implode."
"Okay," John smiled. "You realize you've just eliminated half the people in the rink."
But he'd already found his target, eyes sliding over to the elegant Elizabeth Weir, who was deep in conversation with a skating mom in a glitter sweatshirt. Attuned to her environment, Elizabeth's glance flickered to John, distracted. John gripped the boards for a moment, then used them to push off. He slid over to Rodney's girls and caught the boards again, leaning over to Bethany's pink boombox. "Pick some music for me, hmm?" He smiled at her, igniting a scurry in the stands as the girls fought over what they'd play. He stretched, gripping one elbow, his forearm resting on his head.
"I've-got-it-I've-got-it-I've-got-it...." a high voice drifted from the stands, dominating the other girls. Their gleaming eyes and heated smiles said they'd found something good. There was a click and a slow thumping rap song began. John let his arms drop.
"Lick that clit... come girl—"
"Whoa!" Rodney lurched forward and skidded to a grinding halt. The girls collapsed in giggles. "You're going to get me thrown out of here!" The girls quickly shut it off. "Do you even know what that stuff means?"
"We know all about sex," he was informed tartly.
"Sure you do," Rodney said. "Keep it clean, ladies, note my hopeful use of the term."
There was a rattle of plastic jewel cases as CDs were exchanged, a whispered argument. Then the heavy downbeat began on a fast-paced techno piece.
A hot rhythm, yep. John bobbed his head. He'd figured the kids would have the faster music. "Can you restart it?" The girls nodded eagerly. "And louder?"
"You can't play that, it has swear words," one of the girls insisted.
"Shhh!" the others responded.
John put some energy into his strokes, dipping his head in a laugh as the girls fast-forwarded through a refrain of "Fuckit, Fuckit, Fuckit—" He was starting to regret asking them to pick the music, though he went with it.
He swept by Mrs. Weir again, getting into the thumping electronica. She flicked a glance in his direction and he dropped both hands to point at her, moving backward, rocking his shoulders with the beat, amused.
He carved a deep backward "S," casting a glance over his shoulder at her as he finished the turn. She'd gone a little blank, checking behind herself as if she thought he might be skating for someone else. Her friend had left. John looked at the ceiling with an air of false innocence and licked his lips, bouncing with the music. With a subtle smile he ducked his head, hips shifting as he ad-libbed fast footwork—and screwed up the last transition, his skate sliding out. He bobbed forward but caught himself before he fell.
He looked up at her, sheepish, his ears warm.
She responded with a little tip of her head and an encouraging nod, eyes sparkling, lips folded shut and obviously trying to smother a smile. He gave her his "I meant to do that" smirk, and was rewarded with a snicker. Hands on his hips and standing tall, he cut around the ice with deep strokes; his chest swelled with a deep breath.
He gave her a sly look. She had both her elbows on the boards now, watching no one but him.
Head down, eyes glinting, he passed right by her, powering into his favorite double Lutz – favorite because it was effortless. Landing backward with his back arched, he let his motion flow down into deep sit spin, holding his leg extended in a long clean line, standing out of it like he was throwing a lasso. He could feel her attention on him like a laser beam, almost uncomfortable in its intensity. He put some speed into the return to catch the look on her face.
The gleam of her smile was wry, her head tilted and chiding.
Okay. So... unimpressed with just a double.
John's eyes narrowed as he took up the gauntlet she'd thrown. Her eyebrows raised as he bent toward the ice, arms pumping to set up the jump. He stroked forward, turned once, twice, and then kicked himself into the air, landing backwards in a pristine triple axel, cutting his hands out on the landing in a gesture that he knew looked cool with the black gloves. He'd seen himself on film.
He deliberately looked away, chin raised and smug, as he heard her clap. He skated to the boards to get a sip of water, though he let his eyes circle back for her reaction. She swept a hand through her hair, sweeping dark chin-length strands off her face, looking away, but her attention was still on him, he could tell. There was nothing in that direction but empty ice. He waited till her eyes returned. Then he recapped the bottle and gave her a slow smile, raising his arms over his head as he did a circular spinning step sequence, letting momentum whip him around and roll his shoulders back and forth.
He ran out of moves before he ran out of music, so he hissed to a stop in front of her, his chin still bobbing to the rhythm.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi." She shifted in place, her eyes dark. She frowned and gestured vaguely behind herself. "I have to, um, I'll see you later—I mean, I'll see you some time," she quickly corrected. "Next lesson perhaps." She blinked rapidly as if hearing herself. "If they happen to overlap. Coincidentally, of course."
Then she collapsed in a huff of embarrassed laughter, hiding her face behind her hand. "I'm sorry." Her hand dropped. She relaxed and leaned forward on the boards, saying in an undertone with a quick glance around the rink, "You do realize that I'm married, don't you?"
"Oh, is that what the ring's for?" John grinned, licking his lips.
"Right." She nodded, her head drifting up and down. "Good." Then she looked around, gathering her purse. "Melanie--?" She became immediately embroiled in a mother-daughter argument over a lost skate guard. "Well, where did you put it...?"
Rodney's voice came up behind John as his heavy hand leaned on his shoulder. "You're the devil incarnate."
"The shy ones are easier to deal with," John said.
"Mrs. Weir? Shy?"
"She didn't try to give me her phone number."
"Of course not. She's married!"
"Doesn't matter," John said from cynical experience. "So, is that what you meant?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Rodney said with a mixture of pity and disgust. He released John's shoulder with a tiny shove. "But next time, let's use your powers for good, not evil."
"Maybe I need a superhero name."
"We can start with Dick Grayson as a point of comparison," Rodney said, pushing off into a glide, "although obviously the Grayson half is inappropriate...."
"Oh. This is going to be a good name."
Music:
The first song is "Play" by David Banner, and yes, it's the dirty version. -- ETA: I've had one person wig out and unfriend me over this song. So, please, read the fic first so you have a sense for the lyrics before you download it. As I mentioned, it *is* the explicit version and it is hip-hop. You know, the stuff Tipper Gore hates?
Then Touch It/Technologic by Daft Punk
Bonus track (having nothing whatsoever to do with the story): White America - Eminem
[Previous][Next]
Why yes, there is music. (Fair warning: this is from that hip-hop request. You'll see why.)
You can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "You do realize that I'm married, don't you?"
A/N: Thank you to my intrepid and hard-working betas,
dossier and rabidfan. And wyomingnot for the tie-breaker -- and sarka is back. Special thanks to dad, too, for continued info on Toronto and for telling me to just make a decision on that scene. Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hires ex-skating champion and 'artiste' Rodney McKay to be his coach. Their teasing friendship warms into something more, and following a serious injury, John temporarily moves in with Rodney. Rodney finally convinces John to swallow his pride and quit his job to focus exclusively on his training.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
An ancient 60s classic echoed through the rink's sound system, thin like a high school intercom or else a very bad AM radio station. A woman in cotton candy pink stood at the glass overlooking the rink, her coat folded over her arms. Several skaters circled the ice below, including a tall man in a track suit and black gloves. John. His spiky dark hair ruffled then flattened as he moved. He pushed into a slow reverse spiral, his leg extended in the direction of his skating, like an airplane backing up to taxi. He let his leg drop, elegant and slow, then tried it again, this time with more speed.
Rodney swung his arms and slapped his palms together as he climbed the stairs from the rink. He'd been careful not to let John know he was on display. He gave Sonja a smug tilted smile as she turned from the window, shifting the coat to her other arm. It hadn't been difficult to get her to return. She'd always been amenable to bribes and this time he let her pick the restaurant.
"So. What do you think?" He rubbed his hands in satisfaction.
"He's a perfectly average skater," she said. Rodney felt his face fall, and for once Sonja seemed to notice because she added, her hand out in a conciliatory gesture, "—with very good jumps."
"Um...?" Rodney looked her up and down, searching helplessly for some indication of her decision.
"But... I like him." She turned to smile down at John through the window, a fist in the small of her arched back. He'd dug his skates into the ice, shoulders angled forward as he gathered speed to power around the rink. "He will look very pretty skating my work."
Skates glided and hissed on the rink, feminine shrieks of laughter echoing as Rodney's ten o'clock group warmed up on the ice. Three little girls in striped navy track suits picked up speed, racing each other for position as the lead threw a quick single jump, spiraling off into the center of the rink.
Rodney stood on the ice and clapped his hands, then gave a New York taxi cab whistle, signaling to the darker Bethany who hadn't joined the group. She leaned over the boards, her hair in a thick braid today, gazing dreamily up at John as he warmed her hands between his own, blowing on them. "See, you've got to wear gloves up until the last minute. Otherwise they turn pink." He gave her a flick of his eyebrows and a chiding head tip. "Pink flying hands. Not good."
"Bethany!" Rodney barked.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she whined with a glance over her shoulder at him, pouting, and then she pushed backwards a few strokes, saying with a flutter of her fingers, "Bye, John."
She turned and power stroked to catch up with the other girls, who'd paused to watch. As John turned away, she mouthed Oh, my God! to her friends and scamper-stepped on her skates, folding over her hands. "I'm never going to wear gloves ever."
The other girls gathered in a tight circle around her, giggling and whispering, and Rodney rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back. The group let out an ear-piercing squeal. One girl gasped, "Oh! You're so lucky!"
Rodney gave up for the next few minutes and skated over to John.
The girls bounced in place, stamping their skates. One sang out to John, "My hands are cold, too!" and the others fell over each other, squeaking with overwrought laughter that bordered on hysteria.
"What was that all about?" John asked, one eye squinted as he gave the group a nervous look.
Rodney borrowed John's water bottle, took a sip, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Mmm... it's tribal behavior. I've learned to ignore it. There will be a resurgence of human-like traits in a moment, while if I punish them it'll just get worse."
"Experience?"
"Vast quantities of trial and error." Rodney capped the water bottle and handed it back to John, and pointed at him. "Warm up stretches, on the ground, now. And don't skate until this lesson is over. Bethany has a chance to be good if you don't screw that up."
"Me?"
Rodney ignored him, muttering about prepubescent hormones as his arms pumped, shoulders squared. With solid strokes he skated out to his little class. John watched him a moment, shook his head then slid into the splits, drawing his head down to his knee. He heard Rodney squawk something about going slower and horrible injuries, and smiled to himself.
Later, Rodney bent over and snapped a skate guard on, stepping off the ice, one hand on the boards. The girls flowed past behind him, gathering to mill around their backpacks, tired but still chatty. It was an odd transformation as they slipped on their mangled sneakers. So graceful on the ice and then such jocks when they stepped off, reminding John more of soccer players than dancers.
Rodney grunted as he straightened his back. "I'll be a moment," Rodney made his fingers into two gun-shaped arrows, targeting the door. "Bathroom."
"Yeah, well I just had the longest stretch in history," John said, raising his voice after Rodney's retreating form, "so hurry up!"
By the time Rodney returned John was already on the ice, arms stretched upward as he finished an easy single, landing backwards and upright, his leg out in a careless swing. He carved a deep backward 'S', his hips carrying the motion more than they would have in the past. Rodney wondered if it was the yoga, the pairs skating, or what had made the difference—then decided he'd never know nor did he care, just as long as it worked. It was an incremental change but Rodney trusted incremental changes; they tended to last.
John ended his step-turn sequence with a subtle flourish, a gesture copied from Rodney and added unthinkingly as he glided to a sideways stop. Rodney's smile froze. It was not the first time he'd caught John imitating him, but it was not a good sign. You couldn't paste on another skater's style, particularly given how utterly inappropriate his was on John.
He noted that most of his ten o'clock class had settled in the stands like birds, watching, and even little Melanie Weir had arrived twenty minutes early. Her mother chatted with one of the other moms down by doors, glancing over at John every now and then. John was popular.
Rodney shrugged off the audience. He liked them for performances but preferred that his coaching be more private.
"Why do you keep your head down through so much of your program?" Rodney called out.
"Huh?"
John swung over and snagged a towel from the edge of the boards. He dabbed at his face, seemingly unaware of his admirers. "No one's ever said I have bad posture, Rodney."
"Your carriage is fine, it's just ... you always watch the ice. Except when you land your jumps."
John shrugged. "I dunno. Never noticed. Where should I be looking?"
Rodney sighed at his cluelessness. "Everywhere. The whole arena." His arm swept the room. "You're giving a performance. There are thousands of people to look at."
John shrank in on himself, shoulders up, eyes squinted tight. "I try not to think about that." He gave one of his quick darting glances at the stands, like a threat was nearby.
"But they're here to see you."
"Get real," John said in a nasal voice, his smile cynical. "They're here to see someone fall. Just like people watch Nascar for all the crashes."
Rodney's face fell, aghast. "People paid to see me perform. I was the headliner at—" He shook off the argument. "—Never mind." Rodney snapped off his skate guards and stepped back onto the ice. He stroked forward and circled in bafflement, head down, his hands on his hips. He shook his head and looked over at John, unable to grasp John's attitude.
Finally, he returned. He took a breath and spoke slowly, accommodating the crazy person. "Okay.... What I want you to do is pick someone on the sidelines. Just one person. And I want you to skate for them." He folded his hands in front of his lap, bouncing them. Then quickly added, "Oh. And it can't be me—and please don't make it Bethany. She might implode."
"Okay," John smiled. "You realize you've just eliminated half the people in the rink."
But he'd already found his target, eyes sliding over to the elegant Elizabeth Weir, who was deep in conversation with a skating mom in a glitter sweatshirt. Attuned to her environment, Elizabeth's glance flickered to John, distracted. John gripped the boards for a moment, then used them to push off. He slid over to Rodney's girls and caught the boards again, leaning over to Bethany's pink boombox. "Pick some music for me, hmm?" He smiled at her, igniting a scurry in the stands as the girls fought over what they'd play. He stretched, gripping one elbow, his forearm resting on his head.
"I've-got-it-I've-got-it-I've-got-it...." a high voice drifted from the stands, dominating the other girls. Their gleaming eyes and heated smiles said they'd found something good. There was a click and a slow thumping rap song began. John let his arms drop.
"Lick that clit... come girl—"
"Whoa!" Rodney lurched forward and skidded to a grinding halt. The girls collapsed in giggles. "You're going to get me thrown out of here!" The girls quickly shut it off. "Do you even know what that stuff means?"
"We know all about sex," he was informed tartly.
"Sure you do," Rodney said. "Keep it clean, ladies, note my hopeful use of the term."
There was a rattle of plastic jewel cases as CDs were exchanged, a whispered argument. Then the heavy downbeat began on a fast-paced techno piece.
A hot rhythm, yep. John bobbed his head. He'd figured the kids would have the faster music. "Can you restart it?" The girls nodded eagerly. "And louder?"
"You can't play that, it has swear words," one of the girls insisted.
"Shhh!" the others responded.
John put some energy into his strokes, dipping his head in a laugh as the girls fast-forwarded through a refrain of "Fuckit, Fuckit, Fuckit—" He was starting to regret asking them to pick the music, though he went with it.
He swept by Mrs. Weir again, getting into the thumping electronica. She flicked a glance in his direction and he dropped both hands to point at her, moving backward, rocking his shoulders with the beat, amused.
He carved a deep backward "S," casting a glance over his shoulder at her as he finished the turn. She'd gone a little blank, checking behind herself as if she thought he might be skating for someone else. Her friend had left. John looked at the ceiling with an air of false innocence and licked his lips, bouncing with the music. With a subtle smile he ducked his head, hips shifting as he ad-libbed fast footwork—and screwed up the last transition, his skate sliding out. He bobbed forward but caught himself before he fell.
He looked up at her, sheepish, his ears warm.
She responded with a little tip of her head and an encouraging nod, eyes sparkling, lips folded shut and obviously trying to smother a smile. He gave her his "I meant to do that" smirk, and was rewarded with a snicker. Hands on his hips and standing tall, he cut around the ice with deep strokes; his chest swelled with a deep breath.
He gave her a sly look. She had both her elbows on the boards now, watching no one but him.
Head down, eyes glinting, he passed right by her, powering into his favorite double Lutz – favorite because it was effortless. Landing backward with his back arched, he let his motion flow down into deep sit spin, holding his leg extended in a long clean line, standing out of it like he was throwing a lasso. He could feel her attention on him like a laser beam, almost uncomfortable in its intensity. He put some speed into the return to catch the look on her face.
The gleam of her smile was wry, her head tilted and chiding.
Okay. So... unimpressed with just a double.
John's eyes narrowed as he took up the gauntlet she'd thrown. Her eyebrows raised as he bent toward the ice, arms pumping to set up the jump. He stroked forward, turned once, twice, and then kicked himself into the air, landing backwards in a pristine triple axel, cutting his hands out on the landing in a gesture that he knew looked cool with the black gloves. He'd seen himself on film.
He deliberately looked away, chin raised and smug, as he heard her clap. He skated to the boards to get a sip of water, though he let his eyes circle back for her reaction. She swept a hand through her hair, sweeping dark chin-length strands off her face, looking away, but her attention was still on him, he could tell. There was nothing in that direction but empty ice. He waited till her eyes returned. Then he recapped the bottle and gave her a slow smile, raising his arms over his head as he did a circular spinning step sequence, letting momentum whip him around and roll his shoulders back and forth.
He ran out of moves before he ran out of music, so he hissed to a stop in front of her, his chin still bobbing to the rhythm.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi." She shifted in place, her eyes dark. She frowned and gestured vaguely behind herself. "I have to, um, I'll see you later—I mean, I'll see you some time," she quickly corrected. "Next lesson perhaps." She blinked rapidly as if hearing herself. "If they happen to overlap. Coincidentally, of course."
Then she collapsed in a huff of embarrassed laughter, hiding her face behind her hand. "I'm sorry." Her hand dropped. She relaxed and leaned forward on the boards, saying in an undertone with a quick glance around the rink, "You do realize that I'm married, don't you?"
"Oh, is that what the ring's for?" John grinned, licking his lips.
"Right." She nodded, her head drifting up and down. "Good." Then she looked around, gathering her purse. "Melanie--?" She became immediately embroiled in a mother-daughter argument over a lost skate guard. "Well, where did you put it...?"
Rodney's voice came up behind John as his heavy hand leaned on his shoulder. "You're the devil incarnate."
"The shy ones are easier to deal with," John said.
"Mrs. Weir? Shy?"
"She didn't try to give me her phone number."
"Of course not. She's married!"
"Doesn't matter," John said from cynical experience. "So, is that what you meant?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Rodney said with a mixture of pity and disgust. He released John's shoulder with a tiny shove. "But next time, let's use your powers for good, not evil."
"Maybe I need a superhero name."
"We can start with Dick Grayson as a point of comparison," Rodney said, pushing off into a glide, "although obviously the Grayson half is inappropriate...."
"Oh. This is going to be a good name."
Music:
The first song is "Play" by David Banner, and yes, it's the dirty version. -- ETA: I've had one person wig out and unfriend me over this song. So, please, read the fic first so you have a sense for the lyrics before you download it. As I mentioned, it *is* the explicit version and it is hip-hop. You know, the stuff Tipper Gore hates?
Then Touch It/Technologic by Daft Punk
Bonus track (having nothing whatsoever to do with the story): White America - Eminem
[Previous][Next]
Why yes, there is music. (Fair warning: this is from that hip-hop request. You'll see why.)
