2nd chapter!

I tried my hardest to say on que.

I want to thank my first reviewer! Thank you so much for leaving such a positive review! I'm so happy to find someone as interested in this as I am!

Well here is to you!

Enjoy!

And the disclaimer from chapter one follows through to this!


Weir liked to call this silence a stupid silence. In a childish way he stood fuming as they stood for a whole minute waiting for the door to open. However, there was none, and this was obviously demeaning the young man, for he was loosing confidence, but he wouldn't pull away unless the Japanese man did; and that man was standing like stone. When he was about to reach out and politely knock again, they heard someone behind them clear their throat. Weir whipped around actually kind of fearfully; as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. Takashi merely looked over his shoulder with a frown.

"I can help you?"

The thick Russian accent filled both of their ears, and Johnny found like melting was almost impossible to avoid.

"We were looking for some company! Think perhaps you could like some too!"

Takashi seemed to be a bundle of energetic nerves, as he bowed politely and was smiling. Plushenko looked to his left, and then to his right; at other Russian figure skaters that hadn't faired too well. They had bags in their hands, including the 2nd place skater as well. The handful of men looked the two at the door over, lingering of course on Weir. Who wouldn't? It wasn't as though they had dressed out; as though they were looking for the fallen angel get up he had; but the sweats covered it. Plushenko had a crooked smirk as he brushed by them, cark key in the door and the entrance wide open to them.

"Sure. Is no problem."

He and the others brushed by, and Takashi followed; pulling Weir along with him. The Japanese man thought that Weir was being too fearful for his own good. He thought it was completely unnecessary. Obviously, the Russian team was sneaking in alcohol and they were going to wind down; he and Weir would get to join in on that!

"Hope you don't mind anything hard."

Laughing slightly, rolling his sleeves up; he and the handful proceeded to push the beds over to the far side of the walls, pulling them together and away. Then, out of no where a game set similar to a band set was brandished. One of the younger men was setting that up, while Plushenko and the rest were gently rolling out bottles onto the beds. Vodka of course was the main thing seen; but there was also cheap beer, a bottle of wine and a few other unknown rums of some sort.

An unknown Russian was speaking to them in that same thick accent.

"Is fun to play it vasted!"

He was laughed as he picked up the drum sticks and started bouncing on the edges of the bed. Pulling the drums closer and tapping at them, the other two took both the guitars. Crosslegged on the bed, Plushenko was mulling over glasses on the nightstand. It appeared he'd mixed a few drinks together and was contemplating over some 'Kaluha.' Then he shrugged and set it aside, nothing could beat barely tainted vodka.

"Down the hatch! Then play!"

There was a gentle cheer from them as they took the drinks, and indeed shooting whole glasses down their throats like champions. While Plushenko danced to the door and locked it with both locks. What was left in the bottles he held out to the other two.

Weir took his cautiously from the long fingers of Plushenko, tearing his eyes away from those hands to the bottle of vodka; oh he already knew his first sip would be the first thing he'd regret. Not that he doubted the mans sincerity, for that matter whether or not he'd take advantage of an intoxicated fellow skater. Though it didn't help that he was skating for the Americans; and the fact that Plushenko was being more amiable then anyone figured he would have been.

Regardless, and not wanted to come off as rude; he put the rim to his lips, tilted his head back and a short drought of the liquid scorch his throat. It splashed into his stomach quickly, and for a short moment, it felt like he was on fire. His throat burned and so did his chest, while it wasn't exactly unpleasant, it wasn't something he was used to. He spluttered a bit, and elicited several loud booming laughs from the Russians in the room.

"The Water is perhaps, too strong?"

Weir cleared his throat some, and shot a glance to Takashi; who hadn't been looking to impress, and had taking a sip from it like he had with sake. The liquid probably had hardly fazed him somehow. As he was smiling too, while not overly making fun of the complete fail, he was offering his condolences in a short, and shy smile.

"I have forgotten the taste. Друг"

Plushenko sat up, though his smirk wasn't so lazy now. It was a reaction to the perfect use of Russian. Of course, how could he forget that the man could converse in Russian? Weir had gone there, had learned and practiced there, How could he have forgotten that? So what was Weir to him? Russian? Or American?

The Russians had a petit Japanese girl skating in the pairs for them, and there were several people that had abandoned their homes for other countries and other families. Weir hadn't done that though, so to Plusenko; Weir was an American. And the Americans had taken the ice from him. The ice belonged to the Russians.

"It appears so. Друг."

Plushenko replied back, that bottle at his lips again, and took a drink in the same fashion. It would continue like this for the next few hours. Weir hadn't been expecting Plushenko to lighten up, however the older skater did, he didn't apologize, as there was too much pride in him, but his aura wasn't so hateful anymore. Plushenko realized he got nothing out of taking his anger of Lysacek on Weir. He leaned back and there was a large shout from the joyful few glued to the screen. It appeared they'd just run over a song and were celebrating, somehow they have bottles of their own in their hands, and Plushenko joined in with their cheer before swigging down his own.

The music was turned up, the banging of the drums was louder, and the screen was bright as the room suddenly found it's self much darker. The pulsating blue, green, red, yellow and orange made Weir feel oddly like he was at some big party. With the booming and commanding voices of the Russian's, and why exactly was he sweating again?

Oh yes, he and a partially intoxicated Takashi were attempting to dance to a rock song. That was pretty much being failed by the other intoxicated men playing it. None the less the room was filled with laughter, and hopefully the loss of the Russians were all but gone and judging by the level of toxicity, there was a chance it wouldn't even be remembered!

Takashi was rocking his hips in much the same fashion as Weir, in a rendition of the way Lady Gaga had during a scene in her music video 'Love game.' Oh but Weir was totally too drunk for this kind of thing, and he could hardly sustain any more close dancing anymore. He was laughing as he fell over though, of course he fell over into Plushenko though; who had been taking his turn on the guitar. Who had also been watching the males closely. The guitar was discarded easily so he could catch the male on his way down and cushion the fall. Weir found himself comfortably pressed against such a lithe and hard feeling body of the figureskater. He looked into eyes that would have been cold on the ice; but where warmed by vodka, and the fun of the little party of sorts.

Weir simply couldn't look away…

But… Plushenko was married…

Whoa whoa whoa! Why was thinking of something like that anywas?!

He tried to push himself up, but only succeeded in falling back down again, and hitting his head against the mans shoulder. He gave a groan and just gave up movement completely. He could feel Plushenko's body shaking, and suddenly laughter came to his ears. The young man was frustrated that instead of helping him, he was laughing at him!

"S'not funny…"

"Oh but Weir. It is. Funny indeed."

More of the musical laughter to his ears, the sound that made him blush, and he was glad that it wouldn't be seen from his blush induced intoxication. He made to pull himself up again, but as his eyes met Plushenko's once again, they weren't warm at all; they were searing, burning into him, and he felt a moan escape between his lips. With a jerk he rolled off, and scurried away into the willing arms of Takashi who was laughing harder then ever now. His eyes told a different story however as he watched Plushenko, the Russian's and Japanese men eyes meeting.

'Getting him worked up so soon?'

The darker ones said.

'Of course. How could I not?'

Said the other, and of course, the torture of Johnny Weir was about to begin.


Fini!

Review please! It heals my always abundant writers block!