(parenthetical) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
parenthetical) wrote2008-08-14 02:39 am
parenthetical) wrote2008-08-14 02:39 am
[stop, go; michael phelps/jonathan horton, 945 words]
Title: Stop, Go
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blindmadness
Word Count: 945
Pairing: Michael Phelps/Jonathan Horton, in a very slight barely-there preliminary-ish sort of way
Rating: PG for cursing
Fandom: Olympics (swimming/gymnastics)
Summary/Notes: Takes place the afternoon of Monday, August 11 Beijing time -- after the men's 4x100 relay but the day before the men's gymnastics team finals. Basically just me briefly getting the idea to write something with my two favourite Olympians, realizing I didn't have too much of a plot, and going for it anyway, so it doesn't really end so much as... trail off. My very first foray into the exciting and fertile land of Olympicslash! /o\
"Did you see it? Did you see what he's been doing here?" Jonathan Horton demands of his team during a rare moment of downtime in the locker rooms, actually quivering a little with the energy he's obviously suppressing (possibly more so than usual, though with Jon it's difficult to tell). "It's all amazing, so amazing. Fucking amazing, actually -- did you see?"
"Michael Phelps?" Kevin asks Sasha in an undertone that's nonetheless audible to everyone in the locker room; "who else?" Sasha replies with an exaggerated shrug of resignation.
Jon wrinkles his nose at Sasha, but refuses to look ashamed or embarrassed. "He's the real deal, you guys," he says instead, eyes all but shining as he beams at his teammates. "Seriously. He knows exactly what he wants, he sets everything up for himself -- and he does everything he can to do it and then he does it. He makes it happen. Always, right on, seriously, amazing. I'm telling you guys, he's it. He's a real Olympian if I've ever seen one."
Raj leans over to Justin to speak in a stage whisper, elaborately making a show of not looking at Jon, "I think he's replacing us. We might not be his favourites anymore."
"Never!" Jon exclaims immediately, with as much feeling as if he'd actually thought that any of them had doubted even for a second that they would always be his favourites. He seems to cross the room to where Raj and Justin are in less than a second, throwing an arm around both of their shoulders and squeezing tightly. "It's always you guys," he tells them solemnly, with the near-painful sincerity that marks the majority of things that come from his mouth. "No one in the world's as amazing as you, no one else is my team. You're first, you're my favourite. Always."
"You're going to make me cry," Justin murmurs, but both he and Raj rest a hand over both of Jon's and press down firmly for a moment before they let go.
"What if Michael Phelps shows up in the stands to watch us?" Joe asks from across the room, expression teasing; it's not the first time they've said things like this.
Jon simply grins, wide and innocent and cheerful -- the grin that makes Justin and Joe exchange knowing looks, looks that say Michael Phelps doesn't stand a chance -- and says, "If that happens, then we'll talk."
"Great job today."
Michael Phelps wipes his eyes with his towel one more time before turning, actually having to take a moment to locate the person speaking. He's used to being taller than most people (outside of swimming, at least), but this is easily more than a foot of difference between him and this guy, who can't be more than a couple of years younger.
"Thanks," he's saying anyway with a faint grin, almost before he's even processed to whom he's talking. Once he's noticed that the young man looks familiar, though, he studies him a little more closely. He does, after all, live in the pool, not under a rock. "Gymnastics, right?"
Michael thinks that it should maybe be impossible to grin the way this guy's grinning right now -- seeming to use his entire face, not just his mouth -- and looking ridiculously genuine about it. "You actually got your head out of the water enough to notice? I thought you'd be too busy practicing to recognize me."
He sounds cheerful enough, but Michael's heard enough veiled insults along those lines to quirk a wary eyebrow. "I can't tell if you think that's a good thing or not," he confesses bluntly, because he's learned that with fellow athletes, honesty is almost always the best policy.
His only reply, for a moment, is another grin, almost brighter than the first, something Michael didn't think possible until just now. "Which'll endear me to you quicker?" he asks, and Michael thinks he might actually be bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, just barely enough for him to notice.
"Honestly, it'd probably be nice to see someone who thinks I'm not impressive," he says with a shrug, taking a few absent steps away from the pool. "Someone not on my team," he clarifies, because if anyone's good at taking him down a notch, it's the people who are used to what he does and know how to rag on him when he doesn't do it.
"Well, sorry," the other guy replies, cheer still firmly in place, grin still so bright that it's making Michael grin a little too, almost unconsciously. "I'm not that someone. I definitely think you're impressive."
Michael appreciates this honesty and is about to tell him so when he offers a hand -- angling it up, grin going brighter still again (how the hell does he do it?). "Jon Horton," he says, and Michael takes his hand (grinning as he angles it down), replying "Michael Phelps" automatically, even though it's completely unnecessary and he knows it.
Jon -- his name's Jon -- laughs, but to his credit he sounds easily amused rather than mocking at all. "Sounds sort of familiar," he says brightly, studying Michael with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression. "I think I might've heard of you somewhere?"
His easy demeanor makes Michael give a quiet laugh before he even quite realizes he's doing it; it's nice to act before thinking out of the water, and he finds himself briefly indulging the (impossible, he has far too much to do here and little time to himself as is) thought of going to watch one of the gymnastics events tomorrow. "Yeah," he murmurs, giving Jon a slightly sheepish grin, "there's a chance you might have."
Author:
blindmadnessWord Count: 945
Pairing: Michael Phelps/Jonathan Horton, in a very slight barely-there preliminary-ish sort of way
Rating: PG for cursing
Fandom: Olympics (swimming/gymnastics)
Summary/Notes: Takes place the afternoon of Monday, August 11 Beijing time -- after the men's 4x100 relay but the day before the men's gymnastics team finals. Basically just me briefly getting the idea to write something with my two favourite Olympians, realizing I didn't have too much of a plot, and going for it anyway, so it doesn't really end so much as... trail off. My very first foray into the exciting and fertile land of Olympicslash! /o\
"Did you see it? Did you see what he's been doing here?" Jonathan Horton demands of his team during a rare moment of downtime in the locker rooms, actually quivering a little with the energy he's obviously suppressing (possibly more so than usual, though with Jon it's difficult to tell). "It's all amazing, so amazing. Fucking amazing, actually -- did you see?"
"Michael Phelps?" Kevin asks Sasha in an undertone that's nonetheless audible to everyone in the locker room; "who else?" Sasha replies with an exaggerated shrug of resignation.
Jon wrinkles his nose at Sasha, but refuses to look ashamed or embarrassed. "He's the real deal, you guys," he says instead, eyes all but shining as he beams at his teammates. "Seriously. He knows exactly what he wants, he sets everything up for himself -- and he does everything he can to do it and then he does it. He makes it happen. Always, right on, seriously, amazing. I'm telling you guys, he's it. He's a real Olympian if I've ever seen one."
Raj leans over to Justin to speak in a stage whisper, elaborately making a show of not looking at Jon, "I think he's replacing us. We might not be his favourites anymore."
"Never!" Jon exclaims immediately, with as much feeling as if he'd actually thought that any of them had doubted even for a second that they would always be his favourites. He seems to cross the room to where Raj and Justin are in less than a second, throwing an arm around both of their shoulders and squeezing tightly. "It's always you guys," he tells them solemnly, with the near-painful sincerity that marks the majority of things that come from his mouth. "No one in the world's as amazing as you, no one else is my team. You're first, you're my favourite. Always."
"You're going to make me cry," Justin murmurs, but both he and Raj rest a hand over both of Jon's and press down firmly for a moment before they let go.
"What if Michael Phelps shows up in the stands to watch us?" Joe asks from across the room, expression teasing; it's not the first time they've said things like this.
Jon simply grins, wide and innocent and cheerful -- the grin that makes Justin and Joe exchange knowing looks, looks that say Michael Phelps doesn't stand a chance -- and says, "If that happens, then we'll talk."
"Great job today."
Michael Phelps wipes his eyes with his towel one more time before turning, actually having to take a moment to locate the person speaking. He's used to being taller than most people (outside of swimming, at least), but this is easily more than a foot of difference between him and this guy, who can't be more than a couple of years younger.
"Thanks," he's saying anyway with a faint grin, almost before he's even processed to whom he's talking. Once he's noticed that the young man looks familiar, though, he studies him a little more closely. He does, after all, live in the pool, not under a rock. "Gymnastics, right?"
Michael thinks that it should maybe be impossible to grin the way this guy's grinning right now -- seeming to use his entire face, not just his mouth -- and looking ridiculously genuine about it. "You actually got your head out of the water enough to notice? I thought you'd be too busy practicing to recognize me."
He sounds cheerful enough, but Michael's heard enough veiled insults along those lines to quirk a wary eyebrow. "I can't tell if you think that's a good thing or not," he confesses bluntly, because he's learned that with fellow athletes, honesty is almost always the best policy.
His only reply, for a moment, is another grin, almost brighter than the first, something Michael didn't think possible until just now. "Which'll endear me to you quicker?" he asks, and Michael thinks he might actually be bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, just barely enough for him to notice.
"Honestly, it'd probably be nice to see someone who thinks I'm not impressive," he says with a shrug, taking a few absent steps away from the pool. "Someone not on my team," he clarifies, because if anyone's good at taking him down a notch, it's the people who are used to what he does and know how to rag on him when he doesn't do it.
"Well, sorry," the other guy replies, cheer still firmly in place, grin still so bright that it's making Michael grin a little too, almost unconsciously. "I'm not that someone. I definitely think you're impressive."
Michael appreciates this honesty and is about to tell him so when he offers a hand -- angling it up, grin going brighter still again (how the hell does he do it?). "Jon Horton," he says, and Michael takes his hand (grinning as he angles it down), replying "Michael Phelps" automatically, even though it's completely unnecessary and he knows it.
Jon -- his name's Jon -- laughs, but to his credit he sounds easily amused rather than mocking at all. "Sounds sort of familiar," he says brightly, studying Michael with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression. "I think I might've heard of you somewhere?"
His easy demeanor makes Michael give a quiet laugh before he even quite realizes he's doing it; it's nice to act before thinking out of the water, and he finds himself briefly indulging the (impossible, he has far too much to do here and little time to himself as is) thought of going to watch one of the gymnastics events tomorrow. "Yeah," he murmurs, giving Jon a slightly sheepish grin, "there's a chance you might have."