huggingcompetition | redheadedstepson Terra Firma

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reno,
rp threads

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

Getting shot through space would be traumatic if you weren't asleep and/or being beamed through it at the speed of life itself. It only felt like he'd had a long, restless sleep when Emil's eyes opened to focus blearily not on the smooth metal ceiling of his tiny apartment, or, more often than not, someone else's, but on the generically spackled ceiling of a hotel room in Malay. He was sure he was dreaming at first; he'd had dreams like this before, where he was back on earth and preparing to go about his day, at least until someone new happened out of the bathroom, or turned over beside him in the bed, but a quick glance around told him the one thing that made his heart sink straight into his stomach.

"Reno?"

Silence. just wind and surf and birds outside the cracked open window, and his own pulse plodding along strangely placidly.

He checked his phone to confirm what the date was, finding himself only a little bit alarmed to find out that time had passed here. Not much, but some. Enough to have taken up his vacation before he had to head home and begin arranging for the next winter sports season.

It would go like that for months after arriving back home and settling back into his routines. Wake up, work out, practice, visit with friends and family, with the underlying feeling that something was just off. It almost felt wrong just going back to his life now.

Sometimes, he'd try to talk to a concerned friend asking questions. Explain that he wasn't sleeping well. Making an effort to rationalize that he wasn't unjustified in feeling like something was missing or wrong. He had so much on his phone that confirmed what he already knew: this "dream" of his, about all of these people he'd met, couldn't be fake. He had photos taken of the park, of ladies he'd made friends with, of interesting people he'd met in the observatory or at the rink, of Koller and Reno and Mo Guanshan and Sam. He still had messages from some of them.

He reread those a lot as time went on. He couldn't possibly have fabricated those, surely. He'd start doubting every so often, wondering if it was all an elaborate, staged thing, like he'd been brainwashed. He joked that he'd been abducted by aliens, which did throw off some concern with the humor of it, but feeling so left of center never really stopped.

Even when the world started turning into the sort of low-key hell that had always been predicted by the sci-fi writers of the last century, Emil kept going. He went to the finals another few times, even making it to the Four Continents, with a piece that he'd choreographed on his own, to a remixed piece that he'd once worked on when he was still in his "dreamstate". That year he dressed in red with a yakuza-style phoenix emblazoned on his costume's back.

The summer after, he opted to take time off from his normal busy schedule to spend time close to home with his family, to reflect on what he wanted to do with the few years he had left in his skating career. He only had a few years left in him after all, as his body filled out and matured. He'd kept his hair short and feathery, but let his beard grow fuller and make his face much more mature. He walked the streets of Prague like anyone would the streets of home, having moved here the year prior after leaving his parents' home. It had been a move advised by his coach and some well-meaning publicists after some suspicious occurrences, including redirected phone calls and some increasingly freaky "fan-mail" that had apparently never had a name or return address attached. He'd been curious, but followed the advice nonetheless, if only to keep his actual fans from going on some kind of witch hunt.

Pulling out of his distraction for a moment, he stops in his meandering path through a small city park to sit and take a moment to zone out, a tablet in his lap for his fingers to flick across mindlessly. It's become home to a massive photo gallery, transferred from his phone when it was finally on the verge of death. The background of it is, predictably, a starfield, though if anyone looked closely enough at it they would realize that it isn't the view from anywhere on earth. In one corner of the image is a figure standing without paying attention, a shock of red hair tied and twisted into a haphazard bun over a simple tshirt, hint of tattoo peeking from the collar. Emil finds himself glancing back at it as he scrolls through an article linked from his Twitter feed, barely absorbing a word as his mind wanders.

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He wants to argue that they don't have to take a lot of time apart, but Reno does have a point. They can spend a proper date together, go home, think about how they feel about continuing. Meet back up a little later and see what they wand to do from there.

"Alright," he concedes, a little bit reluctant but understanding that it's necessary. "Besides, I may want to spend the rest of the night gossiping about you with Sara." After all, she was his go-to these days when it came to things like that, when she was around and Michele wasn't fussing her. He'd gotten better about that in the last few years, which everyone was thankful for, and it gave Emil more chances to just sit and talk to her. She might not have been experienced in dating thanks to her brother, but she was smart, and sensible. Headstrong like Mickey was, in a way that made her hard to argue with. Reno would like her, he's sure.

When their food finally comes, he orders a tea to go with the meal, helping the server and handing over one of the empty appetizer dishes. He'd continue chatting with Reno if the man wanted to between bites, but really, for now he's content just sharing the table and the silence, occasionally stealing glances at the Turk's face.

The meal continues with both of them catching what looks they can. Reno talks amiably about things, trying very hard to speak as if they hadn't been apart for years, all the while a tension between his shoulderblades was making his neck ache. By the time the meal was done and they were ready to head for a rink, Reno was eager just to do something physical and loosen up.

At least Emil learned little more about the casual and social side of Reno's life. While it consisted almost entirely of criminals, he seemed to have a few good relationships with cops as well. Good-guy criminals like Reno that kept their noses clean and weren't afraid to turn over real nasty characters were a boon to the police force. It's obvious reno likes the police more than the soldier from his world, or the Turks. A better authority force, to his mind.

When they head out (and Reno insists on paying, only relenting by letting Emil foot the tip) he glances around before reaching over, hooking a finger with one of Emil's. Not really holding hands, because he didn't want to push or smother, but enough contact to make a connection.

"You're gonna have to forgive my technique it's trouble and flaws; I didn't exactly have much formal training. I just kind of decided I could do something and did it. That doesn't make it exactly...uh...pretty."

In the middle of listening to Reno talk about the help he gives the local cops, Emil suggests that eventually he try to get a job as one himself, when his paperwork is straightened out. He doesn't push it, but he does think it would fit, especially given both Reno's respect for it, and for his prior profession, such as it was.

Walking with their fingers linked loose and casual is easy. It feels good. Emil lets it be as it is, looking back at Reno with a soft smirk.

"I can't say I'm surprised. I'll bet it suits you, pretty or not."

Naturally Reno scoffs off the absurdity of him being anything resembling a legitimate authority figure, rolling his eyes at the very idea. Him? A cop? Please.

"Well, it has to suit me," he remarks, arching a brow slowly and gesturing to himself. "I'm not one of those skinny, prissy little dancer types, y'know? I got the face, just not the rest." Doesn't discourage him in the least, aside from wanting to impress Emil and not really being sure he can. The general preference was for ice-skating to be graceful and elegant, neither of which he felt he exemplified. Then again, there was no one around to encourage him, praise him, tell him what his skating looked like. People either ignored or taunted him ,so he just did what he did. Stay off his ass, start steady, move on from there.

"I've got skates of my own in a locker but we'll have to rent some for you. Hope they've got something. Place is....kinda ratty," he murmurs, nodding down the street towards a very old-looking, forgotten rink.

"I'm glad you kept up with it, even without any professional help." Emil swings their hands idly as they go, looking up at the rink. The graffiti on the wall isn't familiar, but then again he's less familiar with this part of the city.

The person behind the desk at the front office looks bored out of their mind, but they greet Reno and eyeball Emil. If they recognize him, they're not saying. Emil is a little bit hesitant when he gives his size and signs for a rental pair of skates, very quick and businesslike.

The locker rooms are at least sort of clean, and Emil starts to stretch in the large, open area after stripping off the top layer of his clothes. He's not wearing his training gear underneath, but a long-sleeved, thin black thermal shirt and boxers are better to stretch in than his jeans and shirt from the date. He gestures Reno over in the hopes of helping him stretch out as well.

"You know, I meant it before. I really do think you could be great at this. You're one of the most tenacious people I know. And especially handsome. You'd get a lot of female admirers, certainly."

"Well...It was what you liked....and you weren't there so I just...Hm. It was a way to be close even if you were galaxies away," the redhead shrugs slightly, shaking his head. Conversation ends there for a time as they rent skates for Emil and head to the locker room.

Reno pulls a set of stretchy skinny jeans and an old black tank top out along with some well-worn plain black skates. Second-hand, by the look of them, though well-maintained with blades sharpened freshly. He changes, lacing his skates tight before licking his thumb to rub at a scuff.

"Ready?" he asks, arching a brow and holding a hand out to escort the other man.

"The usual, Reno?" the attendant asks, thumbing over at a radio that had seen better days haphazardly wired to the speaker system. Once upon a time it had been a bustling rink full of people, a popular date spot. Now it was almost safe to say that Reno's patronage was the only thing that paid the rent.

"Uhhh, yeah. Well, wait. You have the D-Mix, right? With the, uh," he gestures vaguely, struggling with the details.

"AC/DC? Do I!" the man hops up, suddenly enthusiastic as he flips through a CD case and pulls a disc out, feeding it into the stereo. "No one's been on the ice yet today so you've got a fresh field."

"Did you go over it this time?" the redhead scowls, prompting the man to raise both hands an nod.

"Sure did."

"Hate to threaten you with another lawsuit, Ondrej," Reno smiles slyly, the man flipping him a bird. The former Turk blows a kiss in reply before tugging Emil towards the ice.

The warm up is dull, Reno doing little to show off, stretching as he does wide figure-eights, the music popping through a variety of old rock songs. Reno bobs his head, singing along with some of them, playfully pointing and singing at Emil until AC/DC's Back in Black starts to play.

Reno takes off, building speed around the rink, turning easily to fly backwards, all but sailing as he vaguely moonwalks across the ice, only to flip around once, twice, three times, hands gesturing air guitar. Then, without any more signal than an almost mad grin, the redhead kicks off the ice and pulls in for a tight toe loop, ice flecks rising under his skates. His weight should mean a brute smack back into the ice with a fierce gouge, but his momentum keeps him going, his landing a smooth transition back into motion. Around he goes, leaning back further and further and he drifts almost spread-eagle around emil, looking at the other skater upside down from his vantage.

Of he goes again, slipping along the ice as he leans in to flip-flip-flip, skates clicking against the ice before he rights himself and weaves across the rink, the music taking off with him.

"Two-hundred crown says you can't show off for you friend!" Ondrej shouts as Reno goes sailing by, flipping a bird with one hand and grabbing his crotch with the other.

"Five-hundred! And he gets the skates free!"

"Bullshit! I'll take it!"

"You always lose!" Reno crows, zipping past Emil, looping back around and speeding up before absolutely nailing a triple axel. And, notably, not breaking himself or the ice in the process. Ondrej curses, something crashing in the background as the man kicks it over. for his part, the redhead crows loudly with laughter before howling at the rafters, obviously ramped up to the Nth degree both by the music and the exercise. For all that what he does is extraordinary for a technical beginner, he clearly doesn't think of it as more than a fun diversion. Whatever the point of it, he's proud of his skating.

Small wonder his coworkers taunt him, if he has any measure of passion for it. Though likely if they saw him - far less graceful and elegant than violent and passionate - they might have less to say.

"EAT THAT, ASSHOLE! PAY UP!" he shouts, laughing brightly as he circles tight around Emil, winking at the Czech skater. "Free skates; Ain't I the best?"

Throughout the impromptu show, Emil had been leaning up against the outer partition, just letting Reno get it out of his system. At least, that was how it started. But the more Reno got into his performance, flowing from practice to a loose routine that promised the ice would need a new finish later, Emil's smile faded, eyes widening. That wasn't just a lot of hard work, that was innate talent. Yes it was flawed, occasionally brutal, in need of polish that it might never actually get, but it was good, very indicative of Reno as a person. Even without the taunting, teasing, the bet made for his sake, it was just...perfect. The best start to something that could be a full program, if Reno ever agreed to it.

He's on the ice by the end of it, a tiny bit unsteady in skates that had seen better days, brow furrowed and smile fierce as he scoots over to Reno to intercept him in his circles. He catches the man by the hand and uses the momentum to swing himself around, then bumps up against the other man's side.

"I have skates already," he points out with a laugh, by no means actually rejecting this lovely gift of passion and gloating. He refrains from kissing Reno like he desperately wants to do, hoping to spare him from teasing from his friend. He releases Reno's hand and glides off over the ice, turning around to glide backward, steady and confident as a true professional would be. His hands come together behind his back as he surveys the rink, then starts into a routine that might be familiar to Reno, from back when they'd been first getting to know eachother. He has the music in his head, and he doubts the man with his CDs has it available to play. Maybe if his stereo has an auxiliary port... For now, he's just going through the sequences as if warming up, until he pulls into his first jump, a flawless quadruple flip with enough height on it to nearly allow for a fifth rotation, if he really wanted to push it. The problem is that while he lands smoothly, it does leave a deep divot in the ice where the shavings flew off the back of the blade. He drops low and slides back toward Reno with his hand out to catch and pull him along.

The redhead watches Emil with a much moe dreamy look than the other man had observed him with, though their reasons were vastly different. Reno had gone from insulting the art to beating it into a shape all his own, while Emil was already a master. It was all the Turk could do, really. Just gaze upon what was, to him, perfection.

"Quit mooning," Ondrej drawls, making a gagging sound for effect and earning another bird from Reno, who lets himself be pulled along by Emil. His smile had faltered a moment, watching Emil land so heavily. Well, nothing he could fix on the ice. It'd take work off the rink, but he'd help if the man was willing.

"Did I do alright?" he asks, oblivious, somehow, to his own talent. Of course, someone like him wasn't going to believe he was naturally good at something like ice-skating. It was all hard-work as far as he was concerned, and that meant flawed under the scrutiny of someone you admired.

"Ondrej doesn't know the first thing about skating. He just runs the place for his grandparents. So...other than him gettin' pumped about me doin' dumb shit, I can't really say how I'm doing. No professional coaches would give me the time of day," he chuckles, shrugging as he drifts along hand in hand.

"I got backflips down last week...That frilly stuff doesn't really get me, but I like that shit, f'sure."

Emil takes a moment to be objective, thinking back over what Reno had done. He puts on a mostly professional tone for Reno's benefit.

"Your jumps need work. You've got height and rotations, but not finesse. Your outside spread-eagle is perfect, just not the pull out of it. You've got charisma pouring out of your ears. Audiences like that sort of thing." He cools it and grins at Reno, butting his forehead against the other man's, intentionally hamming it up this time around just because Ondrej insists on being antagonistic. "And for the record, you don't even need a lot of frills. You're doing beautifully with just your basics."

He lets himself glide back, keeping his fingers loosely laced with Reno's to encourage him along. "If I asked you to do a short exhibition, would you at least consider it? I want to be able to skate with you competitively one day...You could be really great."

He listens, nodding, not at all crestfallen. His ego was much more brittle in the past, when he hadn't believed he was god for anything, or anyone. They would still argue, still unintentionally wound one another. Just not this way. Or, at least not in any way that had to do with skating, specifically.

"You think...you'll fall in love with me again?" He asks, looking away as the drift along together, fingers careful not to clutch, even if holding on is all he wants to do.

"It was stupid...but I thought if I was skating and someone would pay attention...notice me...maybe you'd see me. Past everything else. I'd try and try until one day someone would say my name on television. Show my face. I thought 'This is what he loves as much as stars' so it had to help us find each other. It didn't, obviously. Happenstance was all it was. I'm almost angry about it," Reno admits, shrugging.

"If it's what you want, I'll keep trying. I'll get better...maybe. I mean I can't promise anything; I kind of shit on the sport, let's be honest."

It hurts deep in his heart that Reno has to ask, but it makes sense, too. It's been so long, so many missed connections and opportunities, fruitless searching. But it had never snuffed out the feelings that were still mutual, even if Emil wasn't good at showing them anymore. His expression softens, slightly too-bright eyes back on teal ones as he digs his toe pick into the ice and lets Reno drift close enough that he would be the only one that can hear.

"I don't think I ever fell out of love in the first place," he admits, taking the other hand and dragging his thumb across calloused knuckles. "And it wasn't stupid. Sometimes, things just don't work out like you want them to. I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I think...maybe I gave up on getting you back. The only time I actually gave something up and yet here you are. Showing me how stupid that was.

"I want this, I really do. Maybe it's selfish, but I don't want you to give it up. If you can dig your heels in now, then so can I."

"It's not your fault. For all you knew I was still out in space somewhere. Or not real in the first place," he points out, shrugging a shoulder lightly and gesturing with his free hand.

"Turns out I was still in space. So honestly, what could you do? I was stuck out there and you were gone, you were home and I wasn't here. I mean...I'm not mad at you, or myself. They did this to us. Whoever they are." He shrugs, leaning in and sliding his hands down Emil's arm's to lace their fingers together, drifting aimlessly on the ice as Ondrej clean up the mess he made in his fit.

"If you gave up it's only because you had a life that you couldn't just set aside chasing something that might not have even been real. I couldn't give up. You were all I had," Reno reasons, glancing off across the rink at nothing in particular before sighing with a small nod.

"I'll get my records sorted so I'm a citizen...even if it's shady, it's the best we can do. I'll keep skating. For you. I just do it for fun - competing is only fun for me if I'm winning bets," the redhead smirks, arching a brow and thumbing over his shoulder at Ondrej.

"Then maybe just for the coming year, you keep working on sorting your life out a little better. If you can compete with the rest of us before next year I'd be surprised but it would be the greatest 'rising star' story. You could take my place in the record books." He smiles at that, just a little bit wet around the eyes as he leans to steal a kiss, featherlight but lingering, in time for Ondrej to see and make another retching noise at the two of them. He squeezes Reno's hands to keep him from flipping the man off again.

He draws away again and slips into place at Reno's side, just easing into a slow pace around the outside of the rink, more like a traditional skating date if not for the sheer ease with which the share the ice. "How long should I wait before dragging you to meet my family?" He peeks over with a soft smirk, facing forward as he keeps his tone terribly casual about the idea of subjecting the man to the Nekola clan.

He snorts softly at the idea of taking Emil's place in anything. Even if he could, it's not of interest. He just wants what Emil wants.

It's nice, moving about the empty rink, carrying along idly with the only person he's ever loved. A year, hm? Well, now that he didn't have to keep chasing Emil around the world, maybe he could afford to focus on the skating...

"Huh? Family? Uhh...I...I don't know. What's good? I don't know how many dates you're supposed to go on for anything, Emil. If you'll recall, I didn't exactly have a track record for long-term shit. This is your show. I'm not sure you wanna show me off to anyone, though," he murmurs, wrinkling his nose.

"I mean...what are you supposed to tell anyone right now if they ask where I'm from or what I do for a living, y'know?"

"I thought maybe you'd have an idea of some kind of a standard? I don't know either. It isn't often I bring anyone around at all so this will be novel by all accounts."

Emil laces his hand with Reno's a little more firmly as he considers it. "I'd tell them the truth: You were running with a rough crowd but you're working on turning things around. You're a terrible influence, I've never known you to be able to cook, you used to be an alcoholic but you were at least working on that, last I checked, and you're one of the only people I've ever met that can not only keep up with me, but give me a run for my money. I'll convince Mama that she needs to feed you, and then I'll turn you over to my brothers."

"Wow. Woooow, what the hell, Emil! I'm...I'm...Actually, no, you pretty much got it in one. I'm probably that bad. But I'm not a terrible influence! Come on. Before me, you backed down from every social challenge you had. If we didn't fight and it wasn't worth it, you'd still be a chicken shit," he points out, reaching up and poking the skater's nose.

"I've literally killed people and you blow that off like it's nothing, to tell me off when you think I'm being a twat. If that's not a reasonably good influence, what even is? Am I supposed to inspire sainthood or something? You already go that on your own. It's your job to be the good influence," the redhead snorts, tugging the other man lightly and spacing them out, arms stretching to spin them sharply about.

"You're the golden boy. We can't both be perfect. Shit."

"Even a killer needs to know when he's being stupid sometimes," Emil points out, once more showing that, yes, while he is very well aware what Reno used to do, it doesn't affect the way he feels given that there is very much a choice in the matter now and that he knows Reno wouldn't. Not when he's got more to live for and no pseudo-government branch to cover his ass.

He moves easily in the spin and lifts their hands, spinning beneath and reversing their positions, then doing it again until he's turned around to move backward while facing Reno. "The way I think about it, you make me look better because I still adore you no matter your faults or the fights we get into, and I make you look better because I've influenced you to be a better version of you. Does that sound right?"

"Sounds pretty accurate. If nothing else, it's a good sales pitch for the 'rents," he chuckles, turning them in another wide spin, easily gripping Emil's forearm to turn himself over, skates kicking off from the ice so he can so a double high-kick and spin, landing surprisingly light and adjusting his grip again.

"I don't think anything makes me look that good, but everyone will definitely say whatever relationship I may have been in, in the past, I've traded up," he chuckles, winking at the brunette.

"And I mean, have you looked at me? Bad influence or not, who can blame you. I'm fuckin' hot, yo."

It's easy to counter-balance when Reno flips himself up from the ice, Emil lifting his skate in an easy, elegant spin that terminates in a dip around the other man that he straightens out of at Reno's back.

"People are going to think you're younger than me, you know," he points out, wrapping his free arm around Reno's middle with their linked hands held up as if in a tango. "I can't very well explain to them that you're about eleven years up on me without them thinking you're an alien. Or maybe a vampire."

"Psh, bullshit. I've seen your Hollywood stars in the US and those pop-stars in South Korea. I just age well, and that's the truth. I mean, I'm not immortal. No one back home is, technically. Not counting Sephiroth, but that's...not the same," he muses, wrinkling his nose.

"Old man Bugenhagen was pretty old. Older than people in your world get, evidently. We'll probably age at a completely different rate, but for now, anyone that matters can just assume what they like. By the time we get that old, we'll probably live off the grid or something with a hundred dogs and wrestle bears under waterfalls."

Emil chuckles against the back of Reno's neck, letting him drift away again until they're slowed by their hands still being linked. "My new goal in life is to live to at least a hundred and fifty just because you'll probably live at least that long. I'm twenty-four now, I've got all the time in the world. If you think you'll like old me as well, anyway.

"You should tell my brothers all the stories from your world. They love tales of action and intrigue. They'll tell anyone that listens all about being mob contacts, smugglers, elite information brokers. They'll love you, even without knowing you're not bullshitting them."

"Well, you know I've got a weakness for older guys. If you get bulk after you move on from skating, I'll probably be hot for teacher forever, man. Look forward to your twilight the way other people don't. Already got someone that loves you and has a thing for daddies. You can spank me when I act up," he grins, winking, sliding out of Emil's grasp to drift around him, leaning easily, unafraid of equilibrium issues. He may not even experience them.

"Well, I mean, I'll have to come up with a good overlap tale so I present as a citizen but have stories about some foreign country. I can keep most of it on the down-low because obviously wouldn't want them accidentally involved in my nefarious past."

"Be as candid as you like with the boys, but...yes, definitely present your case a little better to Karolina and Mama." Emil turns on the spot to stay facing Reno as he goes around, his arms coming up with his hands laced behind his head. "You know, out of everything we did before, that was one thing I never did. I can think of a few things we never tried actually. Maybe...we could compare notes on all that, when we get back to that point."

He can't say he's not looking forward to being with Reno in the physical aspect again. He misses the closeness, the intimacy, even in the more unorthodox things they did together. He smiles to himself after a moment's thought, eyes closing as he shifts around in front of the other man again.

"You know what I miss most though? Just laying there, talking and going slow for hours, as many times as we could. Like going for endurance, but in the laziest way possible."

"Emil I really can't afford a hard-on in these pants," Reno hisses, waving both hands in the other man's face and clearing his throat.

"I haven't had sex in two years and I'm not really in a position to start fantasizing right now," the redhead adds with a soft huff of frustration, turning his back to the skater and doing a tight little figure-eight to right himself from his lean.

"I miss you. I don't give a shit about anything else. I could give up sex if I had to. Just seeing your stupid face..." he sighs, shaking his head and turning to drift backwards away from Emil.

"I feel like I can keep living in this shit-hole as long as I can see you. Even if I can't have you."

"You know I wouldn't have minded if you had gone for something else," he points out with a sigh. He'd never have begrudged Reno a one night stand, a fling, a prostitute if he'd wanted. Just because he hadn't slept with anyone in the time they'd been apart absolutely didn't mean he would have wanted Reno to stay abstinent. But it's a non-issue at this point, not worth an argument.

"And my couch is always on offer if you might want it. It's big and firm, very comfortable to sprawl out on." There, an innocent segue out of boner territory.

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

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