Work Text:
There’s a Difference Between Marching Band and Color Guard
The judges had blatantly turned their backs to the ice midway through Christophe’s skate. It had been flamboyant, yes, vaguely raunchy, sure, but nothing inappropriate. Nothing that wasn’t expected when Christophe Giacometti took to the ice. In fact, by Chris’ standards, it had been rather tame.
“It’s not fair.”
Leo watches Chris leave the ice with a small smile on his face that just screams regret and disappointment. The entire rink is lined with international flags which quiver slightly from the AC and heat blowing in the stadium, but the Swiss one seems limp. Folded in on itself. Just like Chris as he puts on his skate guards. Even though it’s probably just sun damage and Leo’s eyes playing tricks on him, the bright red and white that Leo has come to expect seems dulled. Faded.
“That was so much fun,” Leo continues in distress. “Chris’ exhibition skate was amazing!”
Christophe’s routines never fail to arouse some type of reaction from his audience: sometimes it’s arousal, sometimes it’s embarrassment, but it’s never disgust. Well, almost never. (There have been a few routines packed with so much sex appeal the word “pornographic” had been used as an adjective.)
“It was so much fun,” Leo repeats lamely.
Chris’ exhibition skate won’t receive a score, and for that, Leo is thankful.
“Disrespectful,” Leo’s coach hisses as she bites her thumbnail which is currently bright green. “Arrogant bastards.”
Leo flinches: he isn’t used to his coach cursing, especially around him, since she knows swear words make him uncomfortable.
“I’ll have to bring this up with the ISU,” she says. “Exhibition skates are supposed to be entertaining. There are very few guidelines to them!”
The judges had blatantly turned their backs to the ice midway through Christophe’s skate. It had been flamboyant, yes, vaguely raunchy, sure, but nothing inappropriate. Nothing that wasn’t expected when Christophe Giacometti took to the ice. In fact, by Chris’ standards, it had been rather tame.
“It’s not fair,” Leo whispers.
Other skaters are already crowding the gate to comfort Chris while the arena continues to clap and shout their approval. Leo bites his lip, crosses his arms, and then stomps one foot.
“Leo!” his coach says in shock.
“It’s not fair! It was a fun skate!” Leo says hotly. Some of Chris’ programs may not be to his tastes, but Leo would never dream of doing anything but watching and applauding.
“Representing the United States of America, Leo de la Iglesia,” comes the announcer’s voice.
“Knock ‘em dead, Leo!” his coach encourages.
Leo removes his skate guards and then hesitates. He looks around and finds Chris and the other skaters who have already gone, seated and watching. Chris winks and blows a kiss at him. Leo glances at the judges who are sitting at attention for him and then detours from the gate.
“Can I borrow this?” Leo asks an official who is standing rink side.
The official doesn’t have time to reply; Leo pulls the flag from its stand and then heads for the ice.
“Leo de la Iglesia!” the announcer says while Leo tests the flag; it’s heavier than he’s used to, but he’s lucky that the American stadium cheaped out on the flag poles.
Leo takes his starting position at the center of the ice and bows his head while he holds the Swiss flag in one hand behind his back. A loud drum and guitar solo begins, startling more than a few people at the heavy rock that is definitely not Leo’s usual music, and then Leo shifts the flag. He throws it up into the air, spins around once on his skates, and then catches the cheap plastic pole in one hand in front of himself. The flag silk nearly brushes the ground, but Leo twists it and then starts a wide circle.
More than a few people are elbowing Christophe or smiling at him: out of all the international flags, Leo had gone straight for the Swiss one. Chris is entirely too enraptured by the way Leo is whipping the flag and pole around his body to even contemplate the choice.
The entire stadium gasps when Leo pauses and then throws the flag into the air. It soars into the air, spinning rapidly, and Leo catches it deftly on the back of his wrist before tossing it back up into the air again. He catches the flagpole with both hands and the arena explodes. Chris jumps up along with his entire row to clap.
Leo swings the flagpole around his body with ease and a smile on his face. He throws the flag again, offers a combination spin, and then catches the plastic by the tips of his fingers. None of his skating elements are especially hard or impressive, but Leo thinks he gets props for doing them and catching the flag.
“Where did he learn how to do that?” Chris demands. He has hazy memories from his younger years of flag twirlers and instruments, but he knows Leo isn’t in any marching band. “Color guard!” his mind suddenly remembers.
Feel invincible, earthquake powerful!
Just like a tidal wave, you make me brave.
You’re my titanium, fight song raise it up.
Like a roar of victory in a stadium,
You make me feel invincible!
Leo finishes on his knees. He throws the flag one last time, impossibly high, rolls, and catches it before planting the butt of the flagpole in the ice and tilting the pole so that the Swiss flag can show. He makes a point of sticking his tongue out at the judges as he leaves the ice, replaces the flag into its stand, and is then nearly bowled over when someone grabs him in a hug.
“Leo, that was magnificent! Where did you learn to do that?”
Leo turns in the hug so that he can get in on the action. “High school,” Leo supplies. “I couldn’t exactly show off my ice-skating at a talent show. Flag twirling was easier.” He squeezes Chris. “Your exhibition skate was amazing. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Christophe laughs. “I’m afraid mine didn’t have skating and flag twirling. Perhaps that is the next big sport?”