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icarusThe story in one file up to an earlier chapter: Out Of Bounds.
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "That's your ignorance speaking. You're not aware that they're a ravening mob that will gleefully tear you limb from limb."
A/N: Thank you once again to my tireless betas (we're having fun),![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rabidfan and roaringmice, and now tingler and mariamme, too.
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Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Chaotic noise and laughter drifted down from crowded halls above the arena, the energy still high from a pairs competition that had just ended in a tight finish. A team of virtual unknowns had unseated the champions. Afternoon sun streamed down from the skylight and conversations buzzed with excitement. The crew on the ice smiled and laughed to each other, calling out as they patched holes with handfuls of ice. A portly fellow in a workman's shirt who ran the camera boom spread his arms in disbelief to his neighbor, shaking his head. Over by the judges platform, a reporter in a red dress gabbled into her microphone about "making history" and "what a performance!" one hand pressed to her ear piece.
John and Rodney were among the first to arrive for the men's short program. John's costume glittered purple and turquoise under the light. He had one warm hand on Rodney's shoulder, steering him. They filtered through clusters of staff and competitors and press all talking over one another.
"Aren't I supposed to be the one who's nervous?" John said with dry humor as Rodney balked again in the doorway.
"That's your ignorance speaking. You're not aware that they're a ravening mob that will gleefully tear you limb from limb. And use your bones to pick their teeth," Rodney added as an afterthought.
"Uhm-hmm," John said, his mind clearly not in the present. Instead he pushed Rodney forward, forcing him back into motion.
Rodney moved through the crowd in a daze, light bulbs flashing, his mouth open, looking over the heads of the reporters, not seeing anything but the ice ahead of him. Championship ice was different from any other. Imbued with the power of all those eyes watching, the crux of so much: years of training, success or failure in the space of minutes.
He pushed towards it, ignoring the people around him. His hands curled around the boards and he looked over the edge, turning around to gaze at the crowd, up and up. Murmuring and chaotic, ready for the spectacle, talking to one another, paper cups in their hands.
Yes. This was where he belonged.
He should never have retired, he thought with utter certainty.
No recriminations. No guilt. He simply accepted it as true. He hadn't lost because of the Olympics. He just shouldn't have let them win. He'd had years ahead of him. Zelenka had been right all along.
He held out an arm to John, drawing him forward to what he still had. John was watching him with a perplexed expression. Weirdly, the cameramen seemed to get it, circling them, cameras whir-clicking, seeming to sense that this was "a moment."
"Welcome back, McKay!" one of the reporters called out, a kid Rodney didn't recognize. Of course, after ten years he wouldn't, would he? There'd been a changing of the guard.
"Welcome back?" Rodney snapped. "I never left!" They chuckled, surrounding him as they always had, drawn to his personality like moths.
[Previous][Next]
Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: "That's your ignorance speaking. You're not aware that they're a ravening mob that will gleefully tear you limb from limb."
A/N: Thank you once again to my tireless betas (we're having fun),
rabidfan and roaringmice, and now tingler and mariamme, too. 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. After a year of training and preparation... the U.S. Championships.
[Previous][Next]
Out Of Bounds
by Icarus
Chaotic noise and laughter drifted down from crowded halls above the arena, the energy still high from a pairs competition that had just ended in a tight finish. A team of virtual unknowns had unseated the champions. Afternoon sun streamed down from the skylight and conversations buzzed with excitement. The crew on the ice smiled and laughed to each other, calling out as they patched holes with handfuls of ice. A portly fellow in a workman's shirt who ran the camera boom spread his arms in disbelief to his neighbor, shaking his head. Over by the judges platform, a reporter in a red dress gabbled into her microphone about "making history" and "what a performance!" one hand pressed to her ear piece.
John and Rodney were among the first to arrive for the men's short program. John's costume glittered purple and turquoise under the light. He had one warm hand on Rodney's shoulder, steering him. They filtered through clusters of staff and competitors and press all talking over one another.
"Aren't I supposed to be the one who's nervous?" John said with dry humor as Rodney balked again in the doorway.
"That's your ignorance speaking. You're not aware that they're a ravening mob that will gleefully tear you limb from limb. And use your bones to pick their teeth," Rodney added as an afterthought.
"Uhm-hmm," John said, his mind clearly not in the present. Instead he pushed Rodney forward, forcing him back into motion.
Rodney moved through the crowd in a daze, light bulbs flashing, his mouth open, looking over the heads of the reporters, not seeing anything but the ice ahead of him. Championship ice was different from any other. Imbued with the power of all those eyes watching, the crux of so much: years of training, success or failure in the space of minutes.
He pushed towards it, ignoring the people around him. His hands curled around the boards and he looked over the edge, turning around to gaze at the crowd, up and up. Murmuring and chaotic, ready for the spectacle, talking to one another, paper cups in their hands.
Yes. This was where he belonged.
He should never have retired, he thought with utter certainty.
No recriminations. No guilt. He simply accepted it as true. He hadn't lost because of the Olympics. He just shouldn't have let them win. He'd had years ahead of him. Zelenka had been right all along.
He held out an arm to John, drawing him forward to what he still had. John was watching him with a perplexed expression. Weirdly, the cameramen seemed to get it, circling them, cameras whir-clicking, seeming to sense that this was "a moment."
"Welcome back, McKay!" one of the reporters called out, a kid Rodney didn't recognize. Of course, after ten years he wouldn't, would he? There'd been a changing of the guard.
"Welcome back?" Rodney snapped. "I never left!" They chuckled, surrounding him as they always had, drawn to his personality like moths.
[Previous][Next]
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Date: 2009-04-13 08:26 am (UTC)