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It doesn't have to be true love [JJ/Georgi]
Title: It doesn't have to be true love
Fandom: Yuri on Ice
Characters/Pairing: JJ/Georgi
Rating: 13+
Length: ~1k
Summary: Maybe some comfort is enough.
Other: I wrote this after ep07, before JJ even appeared, which is why everything is a tad off. I decided that I liked it enough to finish it, anyway. :) As for the pairing, well... I needed somebody to help mend Georgi's broken heart, and at the time, he seemed as good an option as any!
It doesn't have to be true love
True love does not exist.
There is no reason to doubt that. But there is also no reason to doubt that he may have found something else, something that it is impossible to name, impossible to find a word for.
Georgi gropes for a way to describe it. The word does not come, not in Russian, and not in English.
And the words by his ear are uttered in neither language. French, roughened at the edges in a way he doesn't usually hear it spoken on the European continent. He doesn't understand any of it.
Maybe it doesn't matter. Perhaps he is thinking about it too closely, going over it too thoroughly, clinging to details when he doesn't have to, when it wouldn't be appropriate for this situation.
He didn't make it to Moscow. Not as a competitor. But he came anyway, to act as a spectator, to encourage the others. Or so he told himself. And that is also what he told others, though nobody, including himself, believed a word of it. It was the night before the first competition, and she was there, and his intent to be support for those he knew dissolved, and he found himself falling apart. He put on a brave face, but he had to remove himself.
That is what he did. Removed himself. Decided, unwise though it was, to drown his sorrows with alcohol. Too much, maybe.
But someone, in the most figurative way possible, lifted him up and brushed him off.
"Oh, hey! Georgi, right? Whoa, you look pretty rough. Maybe we could –"
This isn't what either of them had in mind. This moment that they have together, right now, is not at all what either of them intended in the beginning.
Probably.
Georgi thinks, wonders. After giving it some thought, as much as he is capable of in this moment, he realizes that he isn't actually sure, that he can't be certain of his motivations. His. Jean's. Jean-Jacques. JJ. Right. That is his name.
All that Georgi can be certain of is the warmth, and the hands in his hair. The low-toned words that he doesn't understand – why isn't he speaking in English? Well, the French - it's probably meant to be attractive, isn't it. And then there is the weight above him. The lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue, from when they went out, just a while, before coming back here, to this small hotel room.
Georgi is not drunk now, and he wasn't drunk when they met, but he still said more than he should have. Confessed to things that should have been kept inside, even if – he has to admit – everyone knows about his heartbreak already. He wasn't exactly quiet about it.
Forming an entire program around the theme of his sorrow was, perhaps, excessive.
And yet, he didn't end this night alone. He didn't cease his drinking alone, and he didn't return to his room alone. Why?
He should ask. Georgi knows this. He should ask, just to get an answer, just to have JJ tell him what exactly was on his mind. But that mouth by his ear keeps him from asking, that fluttering breath, those words. And the kiss. It's surprising, like all the other kisses that came before it. Surprising, but pleasant, and Georgi responds with a moan against that willing mouth.
We're almost strangers, Georgi thinks, his chest tightening as his heart flutters desperately in its confusion, attempting to grasp this situation that he somehow managed to find himself in. Why are we – I can't believe I'm doing this –
But they are doing this. And he is doing this. And Jean... JJ. He is present, undeniably. Above him, pinning his wrists down, draped over him, and all of this is not forceful, but leisurely, as if his actions are the most natural thing in the world.
They kiss. Georgi feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. When they part, there is a pause.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"It's just, uh. You're crying?"
"I know." A deep breath. "I'm fine."
Another pause.
"Still thinking of that girl, eh?"
Georgi can't see him; the light is too dim. But his voice sounds earnest, and so his own answer is earnest too. "...Yes." He wants to say that she's more than just a girl, she's Anya, but it's impossible to get the words out. And anyway, they had this same conversation earlier, in a different context. JJ knows. There's no way that he doesn't.
"Okay, I'll tell you what." There's a smile in JJ's voice, a playfulness, and a warmth that Georgi can't quite understand. "How about I help you get over her? I mean, from what I've heard, your way doesn't look like it's working. Let's try it JJ-style."
There is something ridiculous about the way he says it. That excess of confidence, that attempt to be smooth. Georgi barely manages to keep himself from laughing. The friendliness, the closeness, all of it feels misplaced in this context. Almost strangers, he reminds himself. We hardly know each other at all. And yet, Georgi welcomes this all the same.
"All right," he says, conceding, as if he hadn't been defeated long before they entered this room together. "We'll try it your way."
As JJ's mouth meets his own again, and as he opens up again, Georgi decides to allow himself to relax into this, to enjoy this, to let him try his hand at setting things right.
It isn't love. It isn't anything approaching it. But the hands that slide beneath his clothing are warm and gentle and well-intentioned, and the lips that leave his mouth and trail along his throat are soft and smiling, and in this dim light Georgi can feel something spread through him, a kind of warmth that is not fuelled by alcohol, or arousal, or anything quite like that.
Comfort, perhaps. Perhaps it's that.
It doesn't have to be true love. This, for now, is enough.
Fandom: Yuri on Ice
Characters/Pairing: JJ/Georgi
Rating: 13+
Length: ~1k
Summary: Maybe some comfort is enough.
Other: I wrote this after ep07, before JJ even appeared, which is why everything is a tad off. I decided that I liked it enough to finish it, anyway. :) As for the pairing, well... I needed somebody to help mend Georgi's broken heart, and at the time, he seemed as good an option as any!
It doesn't have to be true love
True love does not exist.
There is no reason to doubt that. But there is also no reason to doubt that he may have found something else, something that it is impossible to name, impossible to find a word for.
Georgi gropes for a way to describe it. The word does not come, not in Russian, and not in English.
And the words by his ear are uttered in neither language. French, roughened at the edges in a way he doesn't usually hear it spoken on the European continent. He doesn't understand any of it.
Maybe it doesn't matter. Perhaps he is thinking about it too closely, going over it too thoroughly, clinging to details when he doesn't have to, when it wouldn't be appropriate for this situation.
He didn't make it to Moscow. Not as a competitor. But he came anyway, to act as a spectator, to encourage the others. Or so he told himself. And that is also what he told others, though nobody, including himself, believed a word of it. It was the night before the first competition, and she was there, and his intent to be support for those he knew dissolved, and he found himself falling apart. He put on a brave face, but he had to remove himself.
That is what he did. Removed himself. Decided, unwise though it was, to drown his sorrows with alcohol. Too much, maybe.
But someone, in the most figurative way possible, lifted him up and brushed him off.
"Oh, hey! Georgi, right? Whoa, you look pretty rough. Maybe we could –"
This isn't what either of them had in mind. This moment that they have together, right now, is not at all what either of them intended in the beginning.
Probably.
Georgi thinks, wonders. After giving it some thought, as much as he is capable of in this moment, he realizes that he isn't actually sure, that he can't be certain of his motivations. His. Jean's. Jean-Jacques. JJ. Right. That is his name.
All that Georgi can be certain of is the warmth, and the hands in his hair. The low-toned words that he doesn't understand – why isn't he speaking in English? Well, the French - it's probably meant to be attractive, isn't it. And then there is the weight above him. The lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue, from when they went out, just a while, before coming back here, to this small hotel room.
Georgi is not drunk now, and he wasn't drunk when they met, but he still said more than he should have. Confessed to things that should have been kept inside, even if – he has to admit – everyone knows about his heartbreak already. He wasn't exactly quiet about it.
Forming an entire program around the theme of his sorrow was, perhaps, excessive.
And yet, he didn't end this night alone. He didn't cease his drinking alone, and he didn't return to his room alone. Why?
He should ask. Georgi knows this. He should ask, just to get an answer, just to have JJ tell him what exactly was on his mind. But that mouth by his ear keeps him from asking, that fluttering breath, those words. And the kiss. It's surprising, like all the other kisses that came before it. Surprising, but pleasant, and Georgi responds with a moan against that willing mouth.
We're almost strangers, Georgi thinks, his chest tightening as his heart flutters desperately in its confusion, attempting to grasp this situation that he somehow managed to find himself in. Why are we – I can't believe I'm doing this –
But they are doing this. And he is doing this. And Jean... JJ. He is present, undeniably. Above him, pinning his wrists down, draped over him, and all of this is not forceful, but leisurely, as if his actions are the most natural thing in the world.
They kiss. Georgi feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. When they part, there is a pause.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"It's just, uh. You're crying?"
"I know." A deep breath. "I'm fine."
Another pause.
"Still thinking of that girl, eh?"
Georgi can't see him; the light is too dim. But his voice sounds earnest, and so his own answer is earnest too. "...Yes." He wants to say that she's more than just a girl, she's Anya, but it's impossible to get the words out. And anyway, they had this same conversation earlier, in a different context. JJ knows. There's no way that he doesn't.
"Okay, I'll tell you what." There's a smile in JJ's voice, a playfulness, and a warmth that Georgi can't quite understand. "How about I help you get over her? I mean, from what I've heard, your way doesn't look like it's working. Let's try it JJ-style."
There is something ridiculous about the way he says it. That excess of confidence, that attempt to be smooth. Georgi barely manages to keep himself from laughing. The friendliness, the closeness, all of it feels misplaced in this context. Almost strangers, he reminds himself. We hardly know each other at all. And yet, Georgi welcomes this all the same.
"All right," he says, conceding, as if he hadn't been defeated long before they entered this room together. "We'll try it your way."
As JJ's mouth meets his own again, and as he opens up again, Georgi decides to allow himself to relax into this, to enjoy this, to let him try his hand at setting things right.
It isn't love. It isn't anything approaching it. But the hands that slide beneath his clothing are warm and gentle and well-intentioned, and the lips that leave his mouth and trail along his throat are soft and smiling, and in this dim light Georgi can feel something spread through him, a kind of warmth that is not fuelled by alcohol, or arousal, or anything quite like that.
Comfort, perhaps. Perhaps it's that.
It doesn't have to be true love. This, for now, is enough.