The Twenty Four Second Lie

When the Blue Moon Rises

Fri, 25 Jun 2004 05:01:50 GMT

Rating: G
Characters: Peter Forsberg, and Daniel (who can be whatever Daniel you want it to be)
A/N: Thanks to biorhythm for the read over. This is a prequel to Bitten, and I've included the a small snippet of it in the beginning. However, it can stand alone.

----

Peter turns slightly to look at me, and I am struck by the pain and sadness I see in his eyes. For an instant, they are not ice blue but dark grey, pools of hurt and unshed tears.

“You reminded me of another Daniel I once knew.”

I know right then that this Daniel was the one he could not have.

And then he is gone, like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

~~

He could disobey. He could go against the wishes of the single most important person in his life. He could try to find happiness. But he knew he wouldn’t.

Maybe if Daniel had not been so young, this wouldn’t have been a problem. But really, that was just an excuse he used to delude himself with. It wasn’t Daniel’s age. It was who Daniel was.

Daniel was, to put it simply, not like him. And his father would rather have him dead than be mated to a mere human.

He came along once in a lifetime. There will be no other. And the only decision to make was: could he abandon his entire life to be with Daniel? Or fold to the will of his father?

~~

It is words on the tip of his tongue that won’t drop. It is tears on the edges of his eyes that won’t fall. His heart is beating, slower, slower…it is as though his body knows what is to come and refuses to follow through. His breath catches in his throat, his muscles still; and perhaps for one second his blood freezes in his veins…

I wish this moment could last forever.

But it can’t. Time resumes its eternal journey, a chill wind picks up, knocking the tears off his lashes, and he whispers the words he knows he must.

“I’m so sorry, Daniel.”

Daniel tilts his head to one side and dismisses the apology with a shrug. But then, he does not know how much pain is behind those words.

“Whatever, Peter. It doesn’t matter. Good bye.”

Peter watches Daniel’s parting words crystallize in the icy air then drop, tinkling down and blinking out of sight upon contact with the hard ground. When he looks back up, there is only a shadow where Daniel had stood.

“Good bye…”

I never wanted that moment to end.

Because I still love you, Daniel.

And I always will. Forever.

When you don't have to look to know.

Wed, 23 Jun 2004 05:37:36 GMT

Something in my head while I was at work today. It wasn't long enough to be a drabble, so I put it here. Brad and Vinny.

“Vinny, would you shut up already?” Annoyance.

“Make me.” Bored and rebellious.

“You are so immature.” Exasperation.

“You like it.” Teasing.

“I hate you.” Vehement lying.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better!” Victorious gloating.

“Vinny, if you don’t shut up right now…” Warning growl.

“What are you going to do? You don’t scare...me...........oh..................you don’t have to look so pleased with yourself.”

“You don’t have to look so freshly fucked either, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

Butterfly Wings, written for remix challenge, taken from Mum's fic

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:31:10 GMT

Our father, who art in heaven…

Light streamed in through the stained glass windows of the chapel, creating patterns of colors across the stone floor. If Adam tilted his head slightly, the patterns would shift, spin, and meld into each other, forming a maelstrom of starbursts. But really, he should be concentrating. He had a task to perform later.

Adam turned back to the gilded cross hanging above him and bowed his head, praying for strength, praying for guidance. If he failed this task, all would be lost. He would not fail.

“Adam? It’s time.”

He looked up from his prayer into the eyes of Joe Sakic. Nodding once, he got up off his knees and followed Joe towards the chapel door. As they walked, Adam noticed that the colored light beneath his feet seemed to writhe, as though it were alive. It was like walking through a field of flowers, or of clouds, or of dreams.

…hallowed be Thy name…

They reached the chapel door, and Joe paused to give Adam a grave look. “Once I open this door, there is no going back.”

“I understand,” Adam replied. Then he went on hesitatingly, “But…I am afraid.”

“Of what?” Joe smiled benevolently, like a priest might.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You will know when you must know,” Joe said cryptically. “Are you ready?”

“I don’t…”

But Joe’s hand was already on the door handle, pulling the gate open. Adam had to hold up his hands to shield his eyes from the bright light that came pouring in.

Thy kingdom come…

The crowd roared its approval as the puck hit the back of the net. They were his legions, his worshippers, a sea of burgundy ready to see him into battle. Adam smiled, raising his stick to acknowledge their cheers.

Chelios skated by, sneering. “It won’t be so easy next time. Are you ready?”

Adam grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. “Ready to score on your ass? Of course.”

Chelios rolled his eyes, heading for the face off at center ice. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Now get out of my way.”

“Then what did you mean?” Adam frowned, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that there was something else he had to be doing. He was here, on the ice, scoring goals…what else was there? It was important, he knew that much, but what was it? “Wait…”

Too late, the puck was about to be dropped, and the ref was yelling for him to get back onto the bench. Adam sighed in frustration and skated to the bench, climbed over the boards.

Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

“Coach, I have to…”

“No time, Footer. You ready?”

Adam blinked. He had to be ready. He had to complete his task. Only…“I don’t think…”

“Are you ready?” Peter asked, blue eyes glinting wickedly as he smiled a toothy smile. What do I have to do?

“Are you ready?” Dan asked, beaming brightly. I know I have to do this.

“Are you ready?” Rob asked, smiling stupidly and punching him playfully on the shoulder. What do I have to do?

Adam was starting to panic. He stood up, threw his stick down, and snapped, “I don’t know! What do I have to be ready to do?”

“You will know when you must know.”

Adam looked to the ice sharply, to where the voice had come from. It was Steve Yzerman. The Red Wings captain gazed at him calmly, his eyes the center of the storm.

“Just be ready to do it.”

Give us this day our daily bread…

Adam blinked again, and the winged wheel on Yzerman’s uniform looked like it was moving, but that couldn’t be. It was an illusion, a trick of the mind, a play of lights. But Adam could have sworn he saw the wing take leave of its stitching and flutter just once.

“Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“What?”

…and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us…

“Adam, come on, we’re going to be late.”

Adam nodded, grabbing his bag and following Patrick into the tunnel that would take them to the players’ parking lot. The further he walked, however, the harder it got to move. It was as though some invisible force, some unnatural wind was pushing him back. Adam squinted his eyes against the moving air, looking for Patrick, who didn’t seem to sense any problem. Patrick just kept walking, until he was so far ahead, all Adam could see was a faint outline of his body.

“Patty? Wait…”

Why was it so hard to walk? Adam dropped his bag and bent into the wind, trying hard to keep up. He had to do this, he had to stay…it was his duty. It was what was demanded of him. But he didn’t want to…

“Patty!”

But Patrick was out of sight, swallowed into the wall of butterflies that closed off the end of the tunnel. Adam froze, staring at the insects in horror. So…many…and each pair of tiny wings, beating so furiously, trying to get somewhere but not really going anywhere, millions and millions of butterflies of all colors. Patrick was somewhere beyond them, Adam knew this. But try as he might, Adam could not find the strength to walk against the wind the butterflies created.

“Patty, don’t leave me behind.”

“It’s your time, Adam. Are you ready?”

“Not yet!”

…and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.

“Patrick.”

~~

“Patrick?”

Adam could see the dark shadow that was Patrick twitch in surprise, making his bed shake. He sat up in his own bed, rubbing at his bare arms, trying to make the feeling of déjà vu go away. Patrick was here, he was a solid entity, he wasn’t going anywhere…

“Adam, what is it?” Patrick said quickly. “Did I wake you?”

“No…” Adam replied, his voice thick with sleep. “I had a bad dream.”

“What about?” Patrick said, sounding alarmed. Then, almost rushing, “I had a bad dream, too.”

Adam hesitated. “What was your dream about?”

“Armies,” Patrick said. “A big battle was going to take place, and there was a… a choice. What was yours about?”

Adam paused before answering. It was about you, I’m sure of it. It was you leaving me behind, but Patrick I’m not ready, not ready by a long shot…whatever it is I have to do can wait, can’t it? I’m not ready to do it yet. So please, please…say you’re not ready either.

“Nothing so fun.”

Title: The Places I Can't Follow

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:24:57 GMT

Rating: PG
Pairing: Ilya Kovalchuk/Marty St. Louis
A/N: I wrote this while I was drinking, so it's...not the best. But Bernie wanted the pairing, so there you go.

~~~~

It is swirls of whipped cream on a cake; it is dancing through a garden of stars. Only it lasts less than minutes, and we are back on the bed we started, gasping and panting.

It would have been perfect. Except that he had to ask.

“Where do you think I am going?”

His voice is speculative, he is musing, but tonight I want none of that. It is too hot out, or too cold, or maybe something in between. Whatever it is, it’s not just right. I bury my head deeper into my pillow that smells of his sweat and faded cologne.

“Ilya. I know you’re not asleep.”

Perhaps, but does that mean I am awake? Certainly my eyes are open, but my mind is still. It’s too soon after reaching for the stars to talk about deeper things, I want soft fluffy piles of sweet nothings to float in, I want boring white sheets to cradle me, I want to stay suspended in oblivion.

He sighs, a puff of cool air across the back of my neck, and…

…and…

…moves away.

Then I am scrambling, trying to untangle my legs from the blankets, arms flailing to reach him. I manage to get to my knees before pitching forwards toward the edge of the bed, out into space, but it doesn’t matter because please don’t go please don’t go-

He catches me, holding me tight against his naked chest, and I can’t look into his eyes because mine are shining in the moonlight. I press my face against his shoulder and clutch at his arms, he is firm and I am trembling, he is calm and I am wild.

“Ilya. Ilya, relax, I’m only going to use the bathroom.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” His hands run up and down my back, smoothing out the shivers. I look up to verify his words and find him gazing at me with dark, worried eyes. He worries. No, he will not leave.

Slowly, I let him slip from my grasp and sit back into bed. He offers me a half smile and goes into the bathroom; I can’t see him there but I hear him moving, his bare feet shrinking from the cold tile.

The moment he slides back in bed I have my arms around his waist. Not too tightly, because they say the tighter you hold on, the easier it is to break what you have. Just tight enough so I can feel his solid weight against me.

He runs one of his hands through my hair, teasing the short ends, and asks again, “Where do you think I am going?”

No where. Everywhere. I don’t know, I don’t care. As long as I am not left behind.

“I have to go home tomorrow.”

I know that.

“Next time you will come stay with me.”

I know that too.

“Will you be okay until then?”

I blink. Will I? Have I been okay at all? I don’t remember what okay feels like. But I remember when I last felt it. It was right after I said good bye. Right before the car shattered. Before I was left alone, forever.

“Ilya.”

“I will…try.”

And he knows it is the best I can give him. He can’t ask for more, because he understands that he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t know what I’ve been through. But he knows how to take care of me.

He kisses me softly, holding me to my promise to try. I kiss him back, holding him to me. He is tiny, small, with bad hair and delicate satin skin, yet when he is over me I feel sheltered from the world.

I thread my legs through his and spread out under him, so that every part of him is touching every part of me, and clutch his shoulders tight. Stay there. Stay there, just like that, framed in moonlight, watching over me. Please.

“Ilya…” He brushes his lips over my cheek in a feather light kiss. “Where do you think I am going?”

“Heaven.”

Title: The Path Not Taken

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:24:14 GMT

A/N: Not beta'd, but it should be okay. Let me know if you spot anything glaring. Vinny's POV.

~~~~

I just wanted to join the frat. Campus life, despite what was advertised, was boring. Classes, hockey practice, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was life on a level playing field, so level that nothing ever fucking moved. I wanted more. I wanted friends. I wanted brotherhood. I wanted free alcohol. And sure, some girls to party with would be nice too.

Unfortunately, I was the only who saw it that way.

“Vinny, that is the stupidest thing in the world.”

Brad Richards, my roommate, teammate, and best friend. He was cool, really. Only he was nothing like me. I’m loud, he’s quiet. I’m flashy, he’s solid. I was going to be a star. He just wanted to study. Surprisingly, we get along really well. I guess it’s like they say, opposites attract. Or something like that.

“No it’s not! So are you coming with me or not?”

I was going to The Rock on campus. Yeah, it was eleven thirty at night and snowing out. But I had a sacred duty, a duty all pledge members of my frat had to complete: I was to guard The Rock from our rival frat’s evil paint cans of fucking doom. It was no easy task, staying out there in the freezing cold all night. But it wasn’t impossible. And it would have been easier if Brad had agreed to go with me.

“Not. Sorry, but spending my Friday night keeping some stupid rock from getting spray painted is not my idea of a good time.”

He lay on his bed, which was the top bunk, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to climb up there every night after hockey practice. I sat on the floor, pulling my boots on. So I had to glare up at him, which wasn’t as effective as glaring down. Especially not after he pulled the whole glasses-on-the-bridge-of-his-nose-and-peering-over-them look. He learned that from out English professor.

“Brad, I’m surprised you even know what a good time on Friday night is. It’s not like you ever go out or anything.”

I swore he turned a little bit red. It was hard to tell though, because of the shitty lights our dorms have. Brad cleared his throat, pushed his glasses further on, and rested his chin on the edge of his bed to watch me struggle with my laces. Fuck, I hated tying laces. I had enough problems with my skate laces. My boot laces were just that much worse.

“Fuck you Vinny. I do stuff with other people that aren’t you.”

I wanted to chuckle, but I knew if I did, I’d get his biology text book to the head. Brad was sensitive like that. Instead, I just stood up and started looking for my coat.

“Really? It sure doesn’t seem like it. That’s why you should join the frat with me, come on, you’ll meet a ton of new friends.”

It was true. Brad rarely left the room except for classes or hockey. He was always reading, or on the computer, or reading…come to think of it, Brad did do a lot of reading. Some days, I wonder what was so interesting that he had to read so much, but on those days I usually hit the gym with the guys from down the hall, so…

“Friends with guys like them? Nah.”

Hey. I resented that. So frat boys drink more than occasion dictates, and they party a lot, and they have reputations for being stupid. That didn’t mean they all were like that. Some of them are really decent. Now where the fuck was my coat?

“And you’ll get to meet all the sorority girls.”

Girls were a big draw. I wasn’t really in it for the girls, because well…I wasn’t looking for one. But girls could be really fun to party with. And most sorority girls were hot to look at. I wasn’t sure that was going to be a selling point to Brad though. As far as I knew, he had never had a girlfriend, nor did he want one. He’d never really expressed an interest in girls either. I didn’t want to ask, but you know. I wondered.

“Isn’t it about time you reported to your post?”

Ouch. The brush off. He went back to studying, and I was left to go alone without my coat. I bet one of the goalies stole it. Fucking goalies. I sighed and went to the door.

“Fine, I’m going then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He didn’t answer, and I wasn’t sure why, but that kind of bugged me.

…..

Hours upon hours of standing in the wet slush, shivering, waiting to see if someone would show up, and dear fucking God I was bored out of my mind. I sort of began someone would show, just so I could do something other than wait. I bet if it were Brad doing this, he would have brought a flashlight and a book to read. He also would have had a coat. Because Brad would never have let someone steal his coat.

“Hey.”

I looked up from watching my boots soak and grinned. Speak of the devil.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

Brad shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Why would he uncomfortable though? It was just me and him out here. Well, and The Rock. I was kind of surprised he showed up though. It wasn’t like him to be awake at this time of night. Especially a school night. When he’s got an early class tomorrow too.

“It’s freezing out, and you left without your coat.”

Well no shit buddy, or didn’t you see me digging through our closet for it? Sometimes Brad was really observant. Sometimes, he missed the obvious.

“Yeah, I think it got stolen.”

Had to have been one of the goalies. Nik? No, I don’t think Nik would do something like that. Besides, he made fun of my clothing all the time. He’d never steal it to wear it. Not that I was his size, either. It was most likely Johnny. Johnny was always doing stupid things like that. Not to mention, he was always losing stuff, so he’d just snatch other people’s. This time, the victim just happened to be me.

“I know. Here. I’ve got two.”

He knew? And…he’s holding out a coat to me. A nice, warm, fuzzy looking coat. Brad was a god-send. I put it on immediately, even though the sleeves were a little short and the shoulders a little tight (hey can I help it if I worked out more than him?). And relief, it was warm. And hey, it smelled nice too. I didn’t know Brad wore cologne, but it’s not like I went around sniffing at him.

“Thanks…are you going back now?”

Because I was kind of hoping he would stick around. It was boring out here, and Brad was fun to talk to. When he opened up, I mean. Brad’s pretty private about a lot of stuff. Me, I talked about anything and everything. But Brad…was just not like that. And that’s cool. Kind of mysterious.

“It’s nice out. I can stick around for a bit.”

Score! It was probably safe enough if I sat down at the bench across from The Rock, instead of standing in front of it, so I decided we should do that. We sat pretty close together, but hey it was freezing out and no one was going to see us. Under the lamp that lit the bench, I turned to look at Brad and thought he was cute. Because I did. And I thought that if we weren’t such good friends, and if I didn’t know so little about which way he leaned towards, maybe I might kiss him.

“Cool.”

And he smiled at me, and damn now I really wanted to kiss him. Only I shouldn’t, right? Because he probably wouldn’t like that. And there were a million other reasons, because I had to live with him, and I had to play hockey with him, and I wanted to keep him my friend…oh but I really wanted to. He smelled nice. And he was cute. And he was mysterious and smart and he stayed out here with me when he didn’t have to and he seemed a little lonely sometimes

“Hey Vinny…you’re not really joining this frat just to meet more girls, are you?”

Hell no. I just wanted to have some fun, meet more people, they didn’t have to be girls. But he didn’t have to know that, right? I could be mysterious too.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Oh shit, and the look on his face just made me feel like utter crap. Maybe I didn’t do this mysterious thing as well as he did. So I did the only thing I could think of.

“Nothing, I guess. I’ve some reading to finish, I’m going to-“

I kissed him.

….

It was kind of a tradition to come out here now, and this being our senior year, it was sort of extra special. We probably wouldn’t get to come here again anytime soon. This night, four years after the first night I kissed him, wasn’t any warmer. But it was okay, because we didn’t have to wait until dawn to go in.

I finished spraying my message on The Rock, ignoring Brad’s eye rolling and pointing out how immature I was, and put the cap back on the can. There. B+V. I thought it was awesome. And whether or not he’d admit it, Brad did too.

“Can we go in now? I kind of don’t want to over sleep our graduation ceremony.”

“Whiner. Just one more thing.”

I grabbed him and kissed him in front of The Rock, and I mentally thanked Johnny for stealing my coat all those years ago.

Title: Dare You to Move

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:22:38 GMT

Rating: PG
Pairing: Holmstrom/Lidstrom (mmmmmmstrom)
A/N: For biorhythm, who wanted a fic about this pairing and so there was. It's incredibly corny and cheesy and what have you, but I hope you like it. :)
A/N: Thanks to Camille for the readover!

~~~~

What would it feel like to walk off the edge of a cliff? This was a question Tomas Holmstrom often pondered. Would he be nervous, fighting butterflies in his stomach as he took that first and only step? Would he be scared, waiting for the ground to meet him? Or would he feel happy, enjoying the moment of weightlessness, completely free and out of control?

Tomas would never find out, not literally anyway. There were too many people in his life that depended on him for him to try walking off cliffs.

Sometimes, Tomas felt that Nick was a cliff. Nick was certainly made with chiseled, solid beauty. And it would be easy to fall into the depths of his sky blue eyes. But no matter how close Tomas got to Nick, to the edge, he just couldn’t step off.

“What are you afraid of?” Nick had asked once while lying pressed against Tomas in tangled sheets. Tomas hadn’t really known the answer himself. He only knew that once he leapt off, there would be no way to get back. Could he really afford to let himself do that?

When curiosity got the better of him, Tomas would let Nick swing him out over the edge, just to taste what it felt like to have two feet off the ground. It was exhilaration. It was swimming in air. It was stopping time. But always, it ended with Tomas landing back on the ground, firmly on the earth. No, he wasn’t ready to jump yet.

Some nights, Tomas watched Nick sleep. He would trace the flat planes of Nick’s chest, the slope of his neck and the ridges of his cheekbones with brushing fingertips. On those nights, Tomas wondered if all cliffs were so beautiful in the moonlight. On those nights, Tomas would have one foot on the ledge and one hanging over empty space. Teetering back and forth, he knew he had to make a choice soon, walk away or fall, because even the most patient cliff would still become eroded with time.

After every fight, Tomas would go and lock himself in the bathroom. He reasoned that if there was a barrier between him and the edge, it would help keep him from falling. It never eliminated the edge, like Tomas thought it might. Because Nick, no matter how bad the fight, would always knock on the door after a few minutes.

“I love you.”

And Tomas would peer around the barrier, wondering how safe it was to step forward.

“But why?”

Nick would smile, causing Tomas to gain the courage to touch the open air.

“Because you always make me laugh.”

“What if one day, I make you cry?” Because yes, if he jumped, where would the fall take him then?

“Why do you worry about what may never happen?” Nick would respond with almost unbearably simple logic.

Tomas never had an answer for those moments.

Sooner, or maybe later, Tomas would feel that the relationship was coming to an end. After all, he had bound himself to Detroit for the next three years. Nick had expressed interest in going home to Sweden. However, not all endings go as Tomas pictured they would.

“But I thought-“

“Don’t be silly.” Nick’s voice was quiet, content. “I’m not going home now. I have fun here. You’re here.”

“You’d staying for me?”

And Nick smiled, making Tomas step a little closer to him. “I’m not going to get tired, Tomas. I’m not going to stop waiting. I’m not going home until you come with me.”

And Tomas would kiss Nick, softly at first, then harder, and realize this was one choice he would not be able to escape from. He would have to jump or run. And for the first time, he had found a cliff that was worth jumping off of. So he did.

Somehow, finding Nick waiting at the bottom to catch him wasn’t a surprise at all.

Title: Who's on First?

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:20:40 GMT

Rating: PG? It's really tame.
Pairing: It's a mystery. *giggles* But they are Red Wings.
A/N: For almightychrissy for her birthday. Thanks to thekatcameback for the beta. And the title is reference to that old joke "Who's on First?" You know, the one where the first baseman's name is Who...*dorks out*

Jiri and Nick. Jiri and Nick. All around the locker room these days, it was all Boyd kept hearing. Jiri and Nick. And really, it didn’t bother him or anything…except that no one had been able to confirm it. Was it true? Or was it just a stupid rumor Shanny was spreading? Boyd decided that, as the unofficial keeper of the team’s dating records, he had to find out the truth. And, as any good unofficial reporter knew, the best way to find out anything was to go straight to the source.

~~

“Hey Nick?”

Nick Lidstrom paused on his way to the showers and turned to find Boyd grinning at him. He quirked an eyebrow, slightly disturbed by that grin, but smiled back. Boyd was mostly harmless.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Oh dear lord, a personal question? The baby of the team was finally growing up! Nick felt a strange sense of pride that Boyd had sought him out to talk about this subject and tucked his towel tighter around his waist. Sure, he could take a few minutes to talk to Boyd.

“Are you and Dandy finally taking that next step?”

Boyd frowned slightly. “What? No! Why, has Dandy been talking to you? I knew I never should have mentioned that…”

Nick sighed. So it wasn’t about that. How boring. “Never mind, Boyd. What were you going to ask?”

“Huh?” Boyd blinked, then grinned again. “Oh, right. Um…I was just going to ask, are you and Jiri together?”

“Of course not, why would you think that?” Nick replied. “Jiri is a nice kid, but I’ve got someone else in mind.”

“Hmm.” Boyd thought hard for a minute, then came to a realization. He must have the wrong Nick. “Okay, thanks Nick, I’ll see you later.”

Nick watched Boyd run off, shaking his head slightly. Forwards. Insane, the lot of them. Then he proceeded on to the showers.

~~

Jiri Hudler was busy sawing his stick when Boyd popped out seemingly from nowhere. Though he would deny it until the day he died, Jiri let out an alarmingly girlish shriek.

Boyd blinked at him. “Wow Jiri, I didn’t know your voice could go that high.”

“Shut up,” Jiri muttered, blushing. “You surprise me.”

“Sorry.”

Jiri just nodded slightly and brushed sawdust off his shirt. “You want something?”

“Um, yeah. I was wondering, can I ask you a personal question?”

Jiri was filled with a strange sense of awe that of all the veterans on the team, of all the teammates Boyd had known longer than him, Boyd had chosen him to ask such a very personal question.

“So you and Dandy finally are-“

“No!” Boyd cut in, peevishly, his brow creasing in a frown. “Why does everyone think that? I was just going to ask if you and Nik are together.”

Oh. Jiri sighed wistfully. “I wish.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…of course I want to be with Nick. He’s so…perfect, yes? Only, I am so young.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like he’s that old either. He’s only 23,” Boyd encouraged gleefully, happy to leave his role as dating record book keeper to play matchmaker for a moment.

Jiri gave Boyd a strange look. This was one of those things where it wouldn’t be so confusing had he a better command of the English language, wasn’t it? “No, 34.”

Boyd gave Jiri a strange look. Wait, what? “What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“No I will not take my medication!” Boyd yelled out of the blue. It was a tagline to an inside joke he used to share with Mike Comrie. Only he had forgotten, Jiri Hudler wasn’t Mike Comrie. Maybe it was the shortness that had confused him. “Wait, I mean…”

But by then, Jiri was already holding his saw in front of him in a defensive fashion and backing away slowly. “I see you later okay?

“Yeah okay, I’ll talk to you later,” Boyd mumbled, rushing off. Jiri let out a relieved breath. Mostly harmless his tiny little ass.

~~

Nik Kronwall was sitting at his stall, taping up some sticks when Boyd plopped down next to him and sighed tiredly. Seeing Boyd’s disgruntled expression, Nik offered a smile.

“Everything okay? Are you and Dandy-“

“Nothing is me and Dandy, okay?” Boyd grumbled. Then, looking up, he saw who he was talking to and brightened considerably. “Oh hey, Nik!”

Nik’s smile wavered slightly at Boyd’s sudden change in mood, but he patted Boyd’s shoulder. “Yep, that’s me.”

“Okay, can you straighten something out for me?”

“I can try, yes.”

Boyd took a deep breath. “Are you and Jiri together?”

Nik thought long and hard with the tip of his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, and finally answered, “Which Jiri? Because I don’t date forwards.”

“But you date defensemen?”

“Right.”

“Any named Jiri?”

“Yeah.”

“So the rumors are true then?”

“What rumors?”

Boyd laughed almost giddily. Success at last! “Oh never mind. Hey look, Jiri just came out of the showers! I’ll see you later!”

Boyd bounced off, causing Nik to smile bemusedly and glance towards the shower doors. Jiri Hudler walked out, the standard sized towel looking far too large on him. Jiri smiled at Nik, glanced warily in the direction Boyd had gone off in, and went to his stall. Nik went back to his taping.

~~

Jiri Fischer finished up his set and replaced the weights on their racks. He turned to go stretch on the mats and found himself face to face with Boyd.

He blinked and backed up a step. “Hey Boyd.”

Boyd smiled deviously. “Hey Jiri. So you and Nik, huh?”

Jiri ran a hand through his sweaty curls, not quite sure why Boyd was making it sound so significant. “Oh, so you know?”

“Yes, I have finally figured it out.”

Jiri grinned, patting Boyd on the shoulder and moving past him towards the mats. “Then maybe you and Dandy would want to-“

Boyd scowled darkly at Jiri’s back. “For the last time, me and Dandy are…”

Then, from the far side of the weight room, Shanny’s voice rang out loudly, cutting Boyd off. “…did you hear about Steve and Kris’ lame date?”

And Boyd’s eyes lit up. It was time for him to go to work again.

Title: East of the Sun and West of the Moon

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:19:40 GMT

Pairing: Ilya Kovalchuk/Martin St. Louis
Rating: G
A/N: Thanks to Chrissy for reading it over. This is sort of a continuation to The Places I Can't Follow, although it can stand alone. It's short, just an idea I had floating in my head that wouldn't go away.

~~~

One thousand dancing stars in the sky, Marty thought, closing his eyes. So one thousand wishes for you.

He holds the young man resting against his chest a little closer, and tilts his head to blow a soft kiss into his lover’s hair. Ilya stirs slightly, then returns to snoring on Marty.

I hope all your wishes do come true; and you know that I love you too.

Ilya’s arms are wrapped loosely around Marty’s waist, the ends crossing over each other on Marty’s hip. Long fingers unconsciously stroke the soft, pale skin underneath, tracing over a jutting hipbone.

Marty smiles sadly at the possessive gesture. He is going to miss it.

East of the sun and west of the moon, that’s where you’re going to.

Because while he knows Ilya cares for him, and used to be so afraid of losing him, he also knows that Ilya is going to be the one to leave him.

Perhaps I’ll be there too?

Perhaps.

Brinny ficlet

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:16:56 GMT

Affy's gone out for lunch, and I'm just getting back from lunch, so I was gonna have the room all to myself for a bit. Only I get in and see this huge teddy bear, like something won from a carnival, sitting on my bed. And it's got to be for me, since Affy's got his stuffed in his bag already.

I didn't think I was going to get a bear. I mean, Vinny had talked about it, but after what had happened, I thought...

There's a card too. Did Affy get a card? I don't know. But there's one waiting for me with my name on it. I pick it up and examine it for a bit, then out of curiosity of what it has to say, I read it.

"What do you say?"

I drop the card, which flutters to the floor, and spin around in surprise. It's luck and the bed that keeps me from falling over completely. I hadn't heard the door open or close. Unless he'd been here when I got in.

"How did you get in here?"

"Affy let me in."

Yeah? And Affy is gonna be so dead when he gets back. This...this is an invasion of privacy. This is the world working against me. This is something I do not want to deal with right now. "Well get out."

"Not until I get an answer." Stubborn. Like always.

"Fine. No."

"Let me rephrase that: not until I get the answer I want." And he's looking at me with unreadable eyes, and fuck him for being arrogant and thinking he'll always get what he wants, and fuck me for knowing him so well that I know he'll get it.

"Okay. Whatever." I shrug.

He smiles slightly, probably hoping for a little more committment from me, but damn it I've already given in, haven't I?

"Hey Brad, it's gonna be great, okay? I promise." He smiles again, and this time his smile wavers, or maybe it's just my imagination, and he's gone.

I sigh and sit down on my bed, pulling the teddy bear over because I need a hug right now but I'm all alone. I hate that it smells like him. I hate that it's soft. I hate that despite everything, I still want to believe everything he promises me.

Angels and Devils and the bad fashion in between.

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:13:00 GMT

Morning came bright and early in Tampa Bay, and the first rays of sunlight managed to strike Vincent Lecavalier right in the face. Vinny blinked into the light for a few minutes before groaning and turning onto his side. Why, oh why did Brad have to wake up earlier than him and open the curtains? Why couldn’t Brad be nice and leave the curtains closed?

*poof* Three inches of haloed Nikolai Khabibulin dressed in a white shirt and jeans with tiny angel wings suddenly appeared in front of Vinny’s face. Nik was frowning.

“You know, you can’t blame Brad for everything. He might have just forgotten you were still asleep,” Nik said grumpily. “Which, by the way, wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t slept in so late. It’s almost noon.”

Vinny groaned again and tried to bat Nik away. “Tired. Five more minutes.”

Nik stomped across the pillow while pulling his halo over one eye rakishly. He stopped at Vinny’s closed eye, grabbed two handfuls of eyelashes, and pulled.

“Sloth is bad. Up. Now!”

“Yeeeeowch!” Vinny screeched, bolting upright in bed. Nik fell back and tumbled into the nice soft comforter (which of course, Brad had picked out), and grinned smugly. Vinny glared at him as well as he could with one good eye and rubbed at his other eye. “Fuck Nik, that hurt!”

Nik only rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. And don’t rub at it. You’ll hurt it more.”

Vinny grumbled something about having an evil conscience, reluctantly sliding out of bed. He shivered, his skin adjusting to the air temperature not warmed by blankets, and stumbled over to the closet. Nik hopped off the bed and fluttered along next to Vinny on his tiny wings.

“Don’t you think you should take a shower first?” Nik suggested, making a show of sniffing the air. Vinny scowled and willfully opened his closet door.

“First off, I don’t smell. Second, I’m going to practice soon. It’d be a waste to shower now.”

“Brad always showers in the morning,” Nik pointed out, flying over to the dresser and sitting down on top of the mirror. When Vinny didn’t reply, Nik went on. “And right after that, he makes coffee.”

Vinny started unbuttoning his pajama shirt. “You, are not supposed to drink coffee.”

“I don’t drink it,” Nik shot back. “I just like how it smells. Brad’s been making French vanilla lately-“

“You know, I don’t get it,” Vinny cut in, tossing his pajama shirt carelessly onto the floor, making Nik frown again. “If you like Brad so much, how come you aren’t his conscience?”

“Pick that up.”

Vinny sighed and did as he was told. The shirt went into the hamper.

“I wish,” Nik snorted. “Life would be so much easier. But I got you because I used to smoke. They don’t like that up there.”

“Wait,” Vinny left off choosing a new shirt, “so I am a punishment?”

“So to speak.”

“That’s so not fair!”

*poof* Sergei Fedorov, three and a quarter inches tall with bat wings and bad taste, popped onto Vinny’s shoulder. “No man, what’s not fair is that he made you throw away that paisley shirt.”

“That shirt was an abomination!” Nik declared, getting up and flying over to face Sergei. Vinny had to crane his neck back to see the two tiny men argue on his shoulder.

“That shirt was gold.”

“Gold isn’t always good, you’re whole house is gold, and it looks like shit.”

“You have a house of gold?” Vinny asked, interested.

“I-“

“Get dressed!” Nik snapped, interrupting Sergei. “You’re going to be late for practice if you don’t hurry it up. You,” he pointed to Sergei, “don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Vinny pouted and went back to picking out clothes. Sergei laughed.

“Not really. Hey Vinny, why don’t you wear that striped shirt—“

*poof* Barely reaching two and a half inches on his tiptoes, Martin St. Louis in a very red dress materialized out of thin air. His devil horns sharpened to perfection and his pointed tail twitching, Marty was ready for his first task of the day. He lifted the hem of his dress and kicked Sergei off Vinny’s shoulder. Sergei yelped and vanished.

Vinny smiled. “Oh hey Marty, you’re late today.”

“I overslept.” Marty grinned at Nik, who had scowled ferociously, and settled himself comfortably on Vinny’s head. “Got here just in time though. If anyone’s going to be giving bad fashion advice, it’s gonna be me.”

Nik darted up to Vinny’s head and shoved Marty over a bit, making a spot for himself in the hair. “Not if I can help it.”

Vinny sighed, sliding his pajama bottoms off his hips. This was already looking like a really long day.

more drabbles

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:11:48 GMT

Characters: Fugly Wugly and Gator
Rating: G
A/N: Because Robyn threw down a great line in IHC, Kennedy has me corrupted beyond all belief (am I Oil-fied yet?), and I am apparently Fugly's new pimp...uhm, publicist? This is bad people, really bad.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Jason peered around the dressing room quickly to make sure they were alone, then leaned in and kissed Steve lightly on the lips.

“What was that for?” Steve asked suspiciously.

Jason snorted. “What, I need a reason to kiss you now?”

“In here? Yeah, you do.”

“Just thought you needed it, okay?” Jason rolled his eyes and ambled off towards the showers, grumbling all the while about the ingrate he was dating.

And Steve could only stare after his boyfriend, the love hitting him harder than the frozen puck to the head during practice.

~~~~~

Characters: Khabi/Crackers, with Lukowich
Rating: G
Notes: Because I read Nat's journal. And I was attacked by Khabi. What are ya gonna do?
A/N: Nik's POV

I don't know why I put up with this. Night after night, it’s always the same. Sometimes, I blame Brad. But it's not all Brad's fault. He made the conscious choice to live like this.

Brad lets me in without word after I knock. He stopped trying to talk to me long ago.

I find him curled up under the kitchen table on his side. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was sucking on his thumb. He's just that adorable. Stupid-but adorable nonetheless.

I sigh, then gently grab his shoulders and shake him awake. "Come on, let's go home."

~~~~

Title: So Impossible
Rating: G
Character: ...(I have one in mind, but you can fill in the blanks)

Hitch a ride on a falling star,
Watch the sun sink, feel the heat fade,

It may crash but you will go far.
Let the wind dry your tears.

If you tumble off the sky,
It is alright, so please, do not cry;

I will bury you deep in my—
I will never blame you for my sacrifice.

If we meet again in our next lives, will you remember me?
Will you dream once more? Will it still be so impossible for you to believe?

Of Love and Spinach, Nik's POV

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:09:12 GMT

Not to sound like a Scrooge, but I hate Christmas.

When I was a child growing up in Russia, my parents used to take me to church. We’d sing, light candles, listen to the priest talk about Jesus, and I suppose it was nice enough. But now that I’m no longer religious, that facet of the holiday has lost all meaning to me.

I hate the commercialization of Christmas too. All the candy, the lights, the sales, it makes me sick. It’s nothing but a tremendous waste of money and energy, and for what? To keep children believing in this fat guy who sneaks into houses and eats their food? Excuse me while I roll my eyes.

John however, loves Christmas, and I guess it has to do with his American upbringing. He seems to throw himself into this holiday happily, and I’ll admit, it makes me feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside to see how excited he is. And despite my reserves about the holidays, I refuse to ruin it for John. Which is why I decided I had to get him the perfect gift.

I am so very screwed.

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m telling you now: I am terrible at giving gifts. Ask Vinny and Brad about the cookie cutters I gave them for their birthdays. Or Marty and the shoe shine kit I gave him when his son was born. I really really suck.

I didn’t want John’s gift to be crappy though, so I thought long and hard about what I should get him. So long in fact, that it is now Christmas Eve and I’m still thinking.

Like a said, I’m screwed.

John is out right now, getting some last minute shopping done. I’m not sure what’s left for him to buy-the house is decorated, our fridge is stocked with eggnog, and presents are under the tree-but he insisted he forgot something.

With my luck, it’ll be my gift. He’s probably out right now getting my present while I’m sitting here like a fool.

Suddenly, inspiration strikes. How did I not think of this earlier? I smile, grab my keys, and run out the door.

~~

His car in the driveway lets me know he’s already home. I tighten my grip on the small paper bag I’ve got and walk into the living room.

“Hey John, I’m…”

My eyes land on him, standing in the middle of the room, and I pause. John’s wearing this…well I want to say outfit, but it looks more like a costume…and it makes him look like a present wrapped in penguin holiday wrapping paper. He smiles at me nervously and I lift my eyebrows at him.

“Hey Nik.”

I opt not to comment about his choice of clothing just yet. “Um, is there a reason you’re standing under a bunch of spinach?”

John’s gaze drops to the floor and he blushes. “It’s supposed to be mistletoe, “he mumbles, “but all the stores were sold out.”

“That’s what you forgot?” I smile and walk over to him. “But I guess I’m still allowed to kiss you.”

And I do. And damn if I don’t love kissing him.

“So what is with this?” I wave my arm to indicate his outfit and the spinach.

“I just-Nik, I didn’t know what to get you because you sorta have everything. But I wanted to get you something special, for our first Christmas together, and, it’s me, under well, spinach. Because you’re the only guy I want to kiss Nik. You know what I mean?”

I didn’t know it was possible to love him more than I already do, but this just might do it. “I do know. This is-I love you John.”

“I love you too.” He kisses me this time, and I’ll never admit it but my knees threatened to buckle.

“Now here, open your gift.” I hand him the small bag and smile slightly, shuffling my feet. John grins and opens the bag eagerly. He pulls out the little plastic figurine and I watch intently as he brushes his fingers across it softly.

“Nik…” his voice is thick, like he might begin crying. But when he looks at me, his eyes are shining with happiness, and I feel a catch in my heart knowing that I was the cause of his joy. “It’s you.”

“I know its lame.”

“No,” he cuts in, “it’s perfect.”

He kisses me again, throwing his arms around my neck, and as I unwrapped my present I figured I could learn to like Christmas.

drabbles

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:07:07 GMT

Title: Second Star
Rating: Um...PG? There is a swear word?
A/N: Brad/Vinny, from Brad's POV. This was part of the reason I couldn't fall asleep. So I figured if I at least wrote this, Vinny would shut up a little.

I’ve resigned myself to this station so long ago I don’t know why I’m angry about it anymore. “Vinny...you score the goals. I get the assists. That’s just the way it is.”

“No.”

“No?”

His breath is shaky, like he is trying to hold back tears or something. “The only reason I try so hard…is for you. I’ve only wanted to be the best because I thought you wouldn’t want me otherwise.”

No fucking way I can stay mad after that. I hug him tightly, but still, in the back of my mind…what would happen if I let go?

~~~~~

Author: Anna
Rating: G
A/N: Because Chrissy wanted.

I look down at my feet, absently thinking how white they look in the moonlight. They are milky, sea foam white. They are-

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” I whisper softly.

“So you made a fucking mistake. It happens. Tomorrow, go talk to him and apologize. I’m sure it will be okay.”

I nod mutely and hear him sigh. The next thing I know I am pulled into bed and into his arms. I feel him kiss my cheek.

“I think you should shave.”

“Oh shut up, Vinny.”

“No, really. You need to shave.”

Brad laughs. “As you wish.”

~~~~~

Title: Sergei's Place
Rating: G
A/N: I was informed Sergei stayed overnight in Detroit after the game on 12/3. But perhaps...it was not because of Cheli. And I love Sergei. He deserves a break.

It was a tough loss. For as long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to playing in Detroit again. Not even if I were a Wing. Because obviously, I heard the fans true feelings towards me. I will never be comfortable there again.

The only thing I looked forward to was my bath. In Anaheim, I hadn’t yet installed my custom bathroom. But tonight, back in my old house, I could enjoy feeling safe in my happy place.

I sink into the bubbles that fill my marble tub and gaze at my gold toilet, feeling contentment.

Practice

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:04:44 GMT

Author: Anna
Rating: G
Pairing: Richards/Lecavalier
A/N: For Chrissy, mainly, and IHC as well, for being such inspiration. This, however, is not about shaving. If someone wants that, they'll have to write it. :)

~~~~

I tiptoe to the bed across from mine and gently touch the warm mass I find there. “Brad?”

“Yeah?” His mumble is sleep slurred. The mass under my palm moves as he rolls onto his back to look up at me with hale-shuttered eyes.

“I…forgot something.”

“Can it wait until morning?” I can just see the outlines of his lips moving in the darkness, and leaning down, I kiss him. It’s a short kiss, closed mouth, soft pressure, warmth.

Brad is smiling when I pull away.

“Vinny…I need sleep. But can we practice that more tomorrow?”

Then I wake up.

Pretty Things, for Nicky and Becky

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:03:22 GMT

It was a typical Saturday night on the road for Ray Whitney. While the rest of the team, including his roommate, went out for drinks, Ray stayed in. He ordered some room service, showered, and thought about ordering a movie to watch. It was either that or going to sleep early. Never let it be said that Ray Whitney did not have difficult decisions to make in his life.

Ray had just changed into his pajamas and was on the verge of making his choice when he heard a knock from the door. He thought that maybe it was Schneider, forgetting his keys again. Slightly annoyed, Ray went to answer the door.

“Trick or treat.” It was Kirk Maltby. Unexpected, but that was not the surprise. Kirk was wearing a strapless poofy pink taffeta and lace gown. It made him look like he was wrapped in cotton candy. It made Ray kind of hungry. Perhaps he should have ordered a milkshake with dinner.

Ray smiled, shaking his head. “Nice dress, Maltby. But Halloween was yesterday.”

Kirk smiled mysteriously. “I know. But I wanted to ask you something.”

“What, ‘Do I look fat in this’—”

Ray’s sentence ran out of time as his back hit the nearby wall hard enough to drive the air from his lungs, Kirk’s demanding lips on his own preventing him from regaining it. Somewhere in the back of Ray’s consciousness, he noted that Kirk was quite good at multitasking, as he kicked the door closed while kissing.

Ray’s hands came up to rest on the bare skin of Kirk’s shoulders but whether to push him away or pull him closer he couldn’t decide. Ray’s lips parted instinctively under Kirk’s questing tongue and he couldn’t contain the moan that ripped from his throat as that talented tongue slid sensually over his own, tasting every inch of his mouth. Spots began forming in front of his eyes from lack of oxygen but he would rather suffocate then break the fluffy embrace he found himself locked in.

Ray gasped for air when Kirk finally released him and may have slid down the wall his knees felt so weak if the taller man wasn’t pressed tightly against him from chest to groin, pinning him against the wall. The taffeta made a crinkling sound as it rubbed irritatingly against Ray; the gown would have to go, delightfully delicious looking as it was.

“Kirk.”

Kirk’s lips trailed along his jaw to his ear nibbling on the lobe, tracing the contours with his lips and tongue. Ray made an undignified sound, almost like a squeak, followed by another long moan.

“Kirk?”

“Ray, I’m trying to seduce you here. Whatever it is spit it out already,” Kirk whispered in his ear before biting on the lobe, hard.

Ray gasped as Kirk began undoing the buttons of his shirt, kissing his way down his flesh as it became exposed.

“Kirk… I thought… you… wanted to… ask me…”

Kirk looked up at Ray from the trail he was licking down the smaller man’s chest and smiled at him. Ray’s breath caught at the gleam in Kirk’s eyes.

“I think I’ve said everything I wanted to say already.”

“Kirk…”

“Now shut up.”

The shirt was shoved off Ray’s shoulders and slid to the floor in a puddle of flannel; it was quickly followed by its better half (the pants). Kirk made quick work of exploring the flesh he had just revealed. Ray sighed, threading his fingers through the blond locks of Kirk’s hair, marveling at how soft the hair was.

Kirk’s lips trailed over his collar bone, down over the pale, smooth chest, circling one nipple teasingly. Ray whimpered when Kirk bit down gently on the hardening nub, then blew over the wet and exposed flesh, sending goose bumps all over Ray’s skin.

“Kirk!”

Kirk pinched the other nipple between his fingers while he continued to suckle on the first. He ended up having to hold Ray upright with his spare arm when Ray’s legs suddenly gave way. The tiny forward gripped Kirk’s shoulders tightly in an effort to keep his balance, thankful for hockey player strong arms supporting him.

Kirk’s lips left a wet trail down his chest and over his stomach as he knelt in front of Ray, lapping briefly in the indentation of Ray’s belly button before trailing lower.

Ray bit his lip as Kirk slid his hands down his smooth back and gripped the tense muscles of his ass hard. His nails made sharp indentations in the skin of Kirk’s shoulders as Kirk nipped at the fluttering muscles of his stomach, so close yet so far from what he wanted.

“Kirk, please!”

Kirk’s hungry gaze traveled up Ray’s bare body and his pale skin flushed beautifully under the intense stare. Kirk smiled, running his hands over Ray’s slender legs; the rough lace from Kirk’s dress smothering his legs felt amazingly erotic in contrast to Kirk’s fingertips.

Ray, almost curiously, tugged at the zipper on the back of Kirk’s gown. Kirk chuckled but pinned Ray’s arms at his side before Ray could unzip him.

“Stay still.”

Ray whimpered in disappointment but did as he was told, keeping his arms at his side as Kirk ran his hands over his body again, possessively. Kirk nuzzled the impossibly soft hair at the base of Ray’s cock, causing him to whimper again. Kirk finally gave into Ray’s silent pleas and took him into his mouth after only a moment of hesitation.

Kirk was surprisingly talented, Ray found. For a man in a pink dress, perhaps it shouldn’t be so surprising. Then again…

Ray tried to keep his hands at his side, leaving deep scratches in the wall behind him that hopefully the hotel staff wouldn’t wonder about later.

Kirk moved a hand to caress Ray’s balls, applying pressure just where he knew it would give the most pleasure. His other hand slipped around to Ray’s opening, fingers teasing for a moment before finally sliding in. Slick fingers? Where had the lube come from? Or what else was Kirk hiding in the depths of his cotton candy gown?

Ray stopped thinking about that when Kirk ran his tongue along the sensitive underside of Ray’s cock, swirling the tip with his tongue playfully before taking him back into his throat and sucking hard. Between Kirk’s fingers and his tongue, Ray was ready to fall over the edge.

Kirk stopped his ministrations suddenly and Ray protested rather loudly despite himself before Kirk rose up and silenced him with a deep kiss. Ray swooned at the taste of himself in his lover’s mouth as Kirk ground his hips into him through all the layers of soft cloth and taffeta. God that was getting frustrating. Why wasn’t Kirk taking off the dress?

Ray let his hands slide over the fluffy material of Kirk’s gown as Kirk thrust against him. The airy lightness did provide for a pleasantly sensuous feel. Kirk let Ray’s hands slide around front, his fingers gently brushing over the lace covered bulge. Kirk groaned loudly and Ray became a little more aggressive as he devoured Kirk’s mouth and pushed the material up around Kirk’s waist, exposing his erection. No underwear. Ray came to the conclusion that Kirk was a Class One slut. Not that that was a bad thing.

Kirk pushed against him hard, crushing mounds of ruffly pink material between them and kissed Ray hungrily. Their erections slid together enticingly, trapped firmly between their stomachs. It took a moment’s work for Kirk to prepare himself, and then Ray found his legs wrapped around the taller man’s waist as Kirk lifted him off the ground completely. His only support was Kirk’s strong arms and the wall behind him. It was a precarious, yet a decidedly erotic position to be in.

Kirk positioned himself at Ray’s entrance, but paused until Ray’s eyes locked with his, a question in those pale depths.

Ray kissed Kirk again, tenderly, giving permission and a promise at the same time, and Kirk began to ease into him.

Ray was not light, and was amazed at the amount of strength Kirk possessed, holding him so gently and claiming him with such care.

Kirk bit down hard on Ray’s neck, and Ray moaned as he felt some of the blood vessels beneath the skin rupture. Ray tightened his legs wrapped around the young man’s waist, bringing his hands to Kirk’s shoulders for better leverage as Kirk thrust into him. Kirk shifted his hold, adjusting the angle of his thrusts and Ray nearly screamed as Kirk found that certain spot inside him.

Ray let his head fall back against the wall as Kirk thrust into him with increasing force, drawing a never ending series of wails from him as he brushed against that spot again and again.

“Kirk… KIRK!”

“Ray!”

Ray moaned as he came, his semen spilling into the folds of the gown as Kirk’s coated him inside. Kirk collapsed against him shaking hard, letting Ray down to the floor gently but having to hold the smaller man up when his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. They stayed like that; trading soft kisses and gentle caresses until Ray finally came back to himself a little and managed to form words with his mouth.

“I’m going to have horrible lace burn on my stomach tomorrow.”

Kirk chuckled slightly and kissed Ray softly. “Um, sorry about that. I just saw the dress, and couldn’t stop thinking about this…”

“With me?”

“Well, I like pretty things.”

Bitten, written for Bernie

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:01:15 GMT

Sometimes, I hate him. Him being Peter Forsberg, that is.

Mainly I hate him because his fur is so sleek and glossy, his legs are longer than mine, and he never trips over anything. In comparison, I am a stumpy-legged, bumbling mutt with wiry hair. Hardly anything to look at when next to him. Occasionally, I’ll hate him because he was the one who made me this way. Not ugly, just into a mutt. Being one has made my life far more complicated than it ever should have been.

However, being a mutt isn’t all bad. On nights when the moon is bright, the air stings of frost, and Peter is willing to share his kill, it can be quite enjoyable. And on those rare moments when I make a kill myself, sinking my teeth into soft deer flesh, feeling its blood flood my mouth, yeah, those times I’ll love Peter. Because if it wasn’t for him, I’d never have discovered I could experience such joy. The thrill that comes with the hunt is on a much higher level than any human could hope to know, as that basic raw instinct has been erased from their makeup, but I, being half-breed, I know it all and it is truly a wonder of wonders.

On this particular night, Peter and I have been running, not hunting. There had been no need to hunt—there never is, really, except to satisfy our bloodlust—and running together is just as important as making a kill. It is an age old rite of bonding between two such as us, a partnership cemented by our ability to run as one. Plus, running is just plain fun. It is a feeling of power, this capacity to run forever and not tire. Certainly something unachievable by humans. Or by me, in my human form.

Peter runs as he skates, a smooth and fluid movement of limbs that carries him over rock and loam. His footing is always certain, always sure; his lope is that of oil on ice. He leads, as is his will, his eyes constantly questing onwards towards the next horizon. Peter is most vigilant; he wants nothing to surprise him and likes to know where he is going. I, on the other hand, do not run as I skate. On the ice, I have some semblance of control, some inkling of grace. Here I am a mass of flailing legs, scurrying in what I am sure is a comical fashion to stay in Peter’s shadow. I am not worried, though, at my lack of finesse. I am new still to this form and with more practice I am sure I will be better. Not that I would ever achieve Peter’s elegance.

It is a tingling behind my ears that tells me the night is ending. How I came to have this reaction, I do not know, and I do not care to. All that matters is dawn is approaching, and while that does not mean we must change back, it does mean that we should. Both Peter and I have obligations to our other selves, and the day is when we fulfill them.

Just as the first rays of light strike the earth, Peter and I emerge from the wooded land. There is a small clearing off the highway, just outside of Denver’s city limits, where Peter had parked his car, and that is where we end our run. We would rather not run any closer, for animal control is always on the lookout for strays on the streets, and while it is no trouble to escape them, the annoyance factor is all the same. More so for me, the mutt. Peter they would be wary of approaching, he has the lean look of the wolf he truly is.

I drop back on my haunches, waiting for Peter to change first. It is never safe to change at the same time; we are vulnerable in transition, so there must always be a guard. That is why you will rarely see a half-breed on his own, most of them would be killed during their first change. There are so many dangers in this other world that mere humans could never understand.

The transformation is quick and subtle; it is a blurring of his wolf form, a shimmer of light that refocuses around him as human. Even human though, Peter still looks wolf-like, his sharp ice blue eyes and languorous smile reminiscent of something lupine. It is that side of him that allows him to thrive as he does at the ice rinks, for no mere man could undergo what Peter does and still play at the level he maintains. I am quite certain of that, and sometimes I will wonder if there are other hockey players like him, drawing on wild strength to continue. Steve Yzerman would be my first candidate if I had to pick an example, the state that man is in—

“Hurry up Dan, we have to get back.”

Peter’s voice, strangely paradoxical to his appearance (one would expect it to be gruff and low instead of silky and soft), snaps me from my thoughts. I close my eyes and focus my mind on my other self, Dan Hinote the boy, Dan Hinote the hockey player. I will myself to become that Dan, and when I open my eyes I am. I stand slowly, remembering to balance on two legs and not four, and walk over to Peter’s car. Peter is already dressed and waiting behind the wheel. He hands me my stack of clothes, because really, it is simply impossible to change with clothing, and I wrap myself in them.

I get in the car, shivering slightly, for Denver is so cold in the morning, and I am without my coat. Peter does not turn on the heat though. He grew up in a world much colder than this; the Denver morning is nothing to him. We are silent the entire drive back into the city; Peter does not like to talk much. I do enjoy talking—many say I am incessantly loud in fact— but on these drives I never dare speak, though I always want to. I want to ask him how long he has been a half-breed, who made him one, how many more of us are in this world, and most importantly, why me. Why pick me to be his companion, when surely Joe or Adam or Patrick before he retired would have been a much more fitting choice.

I have a feeling these questions will never be answered, so I bite my tongue to never ask. Perhaps I am not meant to know.

Peter drops me off in front of my house, and the fact that I am truly back in civilization strikes me, and once more I feel melancholia nibble at my edges. It might be a week before we run again, depending on our schedule. The problem with being a half-breed is, you never quite feel completely at home in cities anymore. There is always that longing for the sprawl of wilderness and open spaces. I am lucky that I live in Denver, where mountainous forests are so readily accessible.

The best way to deal with the sadness, of course, is distraction, and there is plenty to distract me today. There are only a few hours before I am due at the rink; there is morning skate, and it would do me good to get some sleep before that. Then tonight, there is the game. The Kings are in town.

~~

Being a half-breed often means having to deal with overwhelming instincts. Humans, on the whole, are cultivated so as to have as few instincts as possible. They wish to be wholly cerebral creatures since they believe anything less than that would make them base and beastly. It really is a stupid and vain desire, for instincts are what keep you alive. And in the end, that is what is most important. That’s what the mutt side of me has taught me anyway.

The instincts that I experience are usually basic. Like the ones that urge me to run, hunt, kill; that remind me to stay in Peter’s shadow always; that make me regard Joe as a sort of pack leader, although I am sure he is not like me. These are desires and impulses I am constantly aware of, no matter what form I am in. Some of them are inconvenient, especially when I am human, but I do deal with them. And at times, they come in handy.

Like Peter, I might draw on those instincts during a hockey game. I am not quite as adept at it as he is, but good enough that I have avoided more than my fair share of injuries and chipped in just that extra goal. It is no wonder Peter is a hockey player; scoring gives almost the same elation as dragging down a healthy buck.

One instinct I have yet to deal with is the need to mate. By that I do not mean simply the physical act of reproduction—that desire is not an instinct; it is the craving of a single, horny 26 year old male who happens to be one of Denver’s most eligible bachelors. To be sure, I have had my pick of lovely girls. What I mean by mating is the feeling of wanting to keep someone by my side forever. Half-breeds mate for life, after all. Of all my passing fancies, no one has made me want them for eternity.

The hockey player part of me wants me to find someone already, so I can settle down and produce some children, as is the norm. But I know better. It would be unnecessarily complicated to marry some nice young girl only to find my mate later. I am not heartless; I do not want to cause pain to anyone, especially not my innocent unborn children. Besides, I am young yet. What have I to worry about? Peter is older than I, and he has yet to settle…

Although to be honest, I think Peter has already found his mate. Except, he cannot have that person, which would explain why he tries to lose himself in useless liaisons. Not that he has told me any of this, it is only a feeling I get.

I arrive at the rink tonight still feeling the nagging desire to return to the woods. That feeling at least is easier to control. I still remember the time I saw a rabbit dash across the road from the team bus. It took everything I had not to run right off the bus and chase after it. Even now, Alex Tanguay will give me strange looks when I say I am hungry.

Once inside the dressing room, however, there are plenty of things going on to take my mind off the feeling. Music is blaring, teammates are harassing each other, and the buzz of pre-game excitement fills the air. I am greeted with slaps to the back and a scent I have only recently begun to take notice of: sweat. Even though the dressing room was well-ventilated, the smell was always there, but I never paid any mind to it until after I was changed. Now, the odor is just a bit sharper, a little more pungent to my nostrils. It’s funny the things you will notice at the most random times.

Not ready to put on my gear yet, I toss my bag at my stall and wander over to where Aebi is sitting and staring intently at his feet.

“Hey Aebi! How you feeling? Ready to start the game?”

Aebi glares at me—he must have gotten that from Patrick because I distinctly recall being glared at like this before, only with blue eyes.

“Fuck you Noter! You interrupted my thought!” he hisses, eyes sparking.

I clamp down on the urge to growl at him and back away, letting him go back to whatever he had going on. I had to remind myself that it would not do to piss off the goalie right before the game. But really, what right did he have to snap at me? He is a rookie starter—surely I outrank him.

“Come on Dan, leave Aebi to his zone aye?” Joe chuckled. “Should get dressed, we’re on the ice soon.”

“Yeah, sure thing captain.”

Joe smiles and pats my shoulder before heading off to he stick room. As per usual, when Joe notices me, I want to blush like mad. Something about Joe just has that effect on me. I want his approval so badly.

I have yet to disobey even a suggestion from Joe, so I immediately go to my stall and change into my gear. On the other side of the room, I see Peter dressing as well. He glances up for a minute and our eyes meet—there is a smirk in his, he knows how I feel about our captain—then his return to Adam Foote, who is complaining about something. My eyes narrow slightly; I hate it when Peter mocks me. Especially when he feels the same way I do. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for Joe.

It is an unspoken agreement that Joe is our leader.

After dressing, the team heads out to the ice for warm up skate. The crowd is loud—it always is—as we step onto the ice. I have to wince a bit, my hearing is more sensitive now, and the roar reverberates something painful in my ears.

Peter brushes by me with a sneer and mutters, “Pup.”

Instantly, I bristle, a snarl building in the back of my throat. Constantly with the mocking, does he not get tired of it? I hate him I—

“Not you,” Peter says dryly, amused. “A-pup. Over there.”

He gestures with a nod across the ice, where the Kings players are also warming up. The one he is referring to, Sean Avery, is talking loudly while he stretches by the boards. I focus my hearing a bit without actually moving closer (it is a trick I learned stalking squirrels on lazy summer evenings) and I can hear he is saying how Peter is a diver.

As much as Peter may irk me, I will have no one slander him. It is a principle of pride for your team to stand up for a teammate. Or perhaps, for your pack to stand up for a pack mate. So I skate by, making an obvious show of stretching my back, toeing the red line carefully. And as I pass Avery, I snort, “Isn’t that calling the kettle black, pot?”

It is an instantaneous reaction from him; he is rather puppyish with all that energy, I think. Avery is on his feet now and I can feel him smirking at my back. “I don’t dive, Hinote. I hit back.”

I turn around slightly to retort, and I catch his gaze for a single moment. I only get a moment because the next thing I know, I am lying on the ice, staring at the rafters of the Pepsi Center.

“What the fuck, asshole?” Avery is shouting, he must be loud if I can hear him above the screaming of the crowd. He is glaring at me, all traces of playful banter gone from his expression. And all I can think is ‘I couldn’t help it I couldn’t help it it is not my fault’…

The rapid swelling of my bottom lip distracts me for a second…ah I am bleeding… that is what the coppery taste is. Strange how I failed to recognize the taste of my own blood. Oh and there are other kinds of swelling going on…my God I have to make that go away.

When I look up again Avery’s teammates have gathered around him, shielding him from my view. It is a good thing they have, because if I saw him again, I am unsure I would be able to control myself. My own teammates are surrounding me now, a further barrier between me and Avery.

“Fuck Noter, what’s wrong with you?” Alex Tanguay, it is he who is speaking and pulling me to my feet. “Game’s not even started, you can’t maul the guy yet.”

“Better get him inside,” Joe tells Alex. The look on Joe’s face is disapproving, and for a moment, I forget what has just happened and want to die. Joe is disappointed in me. It takes all my strength to hold back a whimper. “Jesus…hope the officials don’t suspend him for that.”

Alex nods and begins leading me back towards the dressing room. I follow along dumbly as I am hardly in a position to argue. I do chance a look back, however. That instinct is beyond my control now. And there is Avery, still glaring—

“Noter! Goddammit, knock it off!” Alex grabs my arm and all but hauls me off the ice. Absently, I note that he has gotten stronger if he is able to drag me like that while I am struggling to get away. “Get a grip, will you? What is the matter with you?”

I stumble into the dressing room; my skate blade catches an edge at the door and I crash to the floor. Alex mutters and does not help me up this time, and really, who can blame him? I do not notice though, my head is still reeling, trying to process what my body had just tried to do.

Like I said, instincts. When they take over, there is absolutely nothing you can do. Overwhelming, uncontrollable, inconvenient—but they never lie.

I want Sean Avery. For always.

~~

Coach decided I wouldn’t play for the game. Said I was under too much mental stress, having a nervous breakdown and the like. I wanted to laugh when I heard that, he really has no idea. Nervous breakdown indeed. If only they knew. The only plus was that the officials seemed to buy it. At least as far as I know, they weren’t going to punish me.

I changed into my workout clothes. If I wasn’t playing, I would have to work my ass off on the bikes. Just to keep Coach happy, aye? I didn’t mind too much though. There’s something about the monotonous cycling that is quite soothing, almost like running, except for being stationary. It’s a mindless task, but an easy rhythm for the body to fall into.

It is probably during the second intermission-I tend to lose track of time when I’m blankly pedaling away-when Peter comes in to talk to me. He is all sweaty, his hair sopping and falling into his eyes, and his shirt dark in patches under his chest armor. He fucking reeked. And he didn’t care to stand downwind of me; the air vents blew his fumes right up my nose.

“Get over it, you don’t smell so wonderful yourself.”

Perhaps, but I am not rubbing my scent directly into his face. I do not complain anymore though, and go back to pumping my legs. “What do you want?”

“I saw what happened.”

I don’t reply, though I have such a snappy comment in mind. He would get angry if I disturbed his train of thought, and it is not worth mocking him to see him mad. Not many people have seen him angry, but believe me, it is terrifying. It is as though you have become his prey, the way his eyes pin you down. And you want to move, but you can’t for anything because you have already lost yourself in him.

“You will need to learn to control it. It can be done, just like everything else.”

For Peter. Peter often forgets that he is in on a different plane of existence from everyone else. I think Peter must have a will of steel. In the time I have known him Peter has never once lost control, never given into his instincts. It makes him cold and aloof, but his life is much easier. However, I do not think I would like to be like him. I rather enjoy feeling things, inconvenient as it might be. I like knowing I am not dead inside.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You want Sean Avery.”

“I am not gay.” This, I feel, is very important to establish. I have never had feelings for another man, other than friendly ones. And certainly not this longing for a man’s touch, to love him and to be loved in return, for his life entwined with mine.

“No, perhaps you are not. But it does not change things. You want him.”

I do, oh god I do. I want Sean like no other person I’ve ever wanted. It does not even matter that he is a guy, somehow that does not disgust me, he is beautiful and fierce and I want him. And not just for the night, for the week, or the month, I want him for always.

My legs slow then stop of their own volition. The room is unbearably silent now without the bike’s whirring, the air conditioning does not make nearly enough noise to hide the tension between us.

“So learn to control yourself. You can’t go insane every time you see him.” Peter gives me a searching look, but I don’t think my expression gives him the answer he is seeking, for he sighs and asks, “What?”

“Peter…how do I let him know?”

“Know what?”

“How I feel? I mean, do I explain what I am first? Or—”

“Idiot,” Peter snaps, suddenly narrowing his eyes. “You really are a pup. You can’t tell him anything. That’s why I tell you to control yourself. He can never know.”

“But, why?” Never let him know? But if I do not tell Sean everything, what chance do I have of making him mine? How could I possibly make him understand that we are meant to be together? Now that I know Sean is the one, I would crumble without him.

“He is not one of us,” Peter says harshly.

“I could. I could make him one.”

Peter barks out a short, ugly laugh. “Do you think it is that easy? What if he does not accept? Who will help him if he does? There are none of us in L.A.”

“I’d help him. I—you never asked me! And I am fine!” That’s true, isn’t it? I never chose to be this way. It all happened in a night of drunkenness, after losing in the first round last season, and now, I have adjusted, I have adapted. Why should Sean not be the same? My eyes demand a reply from Peter.

“You are different.”

My blood is rushing through my veins, if I had hackles, they would be standing straight up. I am angry, bristling and furious. I am different? The change did make me feel complete, as though I’d found my place in the world. I did accustom myself easily to my new life. All I know, I accept with the compassion all wolves do. I am different? A bit maybe, but surely I am not the only one.

“Sean could be as well.”

Peter snorts. “He isn’t.”

And suddenly, I do not want to take Peter’s word as law anymore. He has told me all I know, but never anything of worth, he has never answered my questions. To know is not knowledge. I want knowledge. I do not want to blindly obey him.

“Well fuck you Foppa.” That in itself scares me; I have never dared to disrespect him before by calling him that. Part of me wants to retract and beg for forgiveness, but another part of me tells me to go on, to break free of his hold and follow the chase for what is my given right.

“I’m going to tell him. Unlike you, I won’t be bitter for the rest of my life.”

The pain that lances through my head is unexpected; Peter has cuffed me. A dull throbbing starts up at the back of my skull, but I refuse to lower my gaze. I am not giving up. More important than our pack and our hierarchy is your mate. I will not give him up.

Peter gives me a disgusted look unconsciously curling his lip in a snarl. But he knows he has lost me, I can see it in him.

“Fine. Go. Make your mistake. I did warn you.”

Peter turns to leave, he has to be there for the start of the third period, and when he goes he is leaving more than this room. I know that once he walks out of here, things will never be the same again.

We have already separated, I can feel how we are no longer part of a greater one, but before he goes I need him to answer the one question I have been to scared to ask, but have always deserved to know.

“Peter? Why me? Of all people, why choose me?”

Peter turns slightly to look at me, and I am struck by the pain and sadness I see in his eyes. For an instant, they are not ice blue but dark grey, pools of hurt and unshed tears.

“You reminded me of another Daniel I once knew.”

I know right then that this Daniel was the one he could not have.

And then he is gone, like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

~~

I don’t remember what the final score of the game was. After all that had happened, I do not think it mattered much. I am called into the coach’s office before I am allowed to leave. He lectured me for a while, something about not attacking other players or getting more fiber in my diet, I don’t know. I simply nodded a lot. I just wanted to leave and hopefully catch Sean before he did.

After Coach let me go, I run out to the visiting player’s exit. There is a moment between then and now that Peter tried to stop me. I think he was afraid I would give away his secret. I am not that petty. If anything happens, I will take responsibility for it all.

So I dodged Peter’s warning glare and raced outside. Thankfully, the Kings’ bus was still there, the players were only just beginning to board. I didn’t even need to look to find Sean though. I think that’s how you know. That someone is your mate, I mean. When you are able to feel this person constantly on the edges of you awareness, you know that person is the one.

Sean was getting ready to step onto the bus, so it was now or never. I drag in a deep breath of the icy Denver night air and call out; “Sean.”

Sean glances back over his shoulder and spots me almost immediately. Well, considering I am the only person not on his team standing there, that is hardly a surprise.

I wasn’t sure if he would come over; he really has no reason to. And he had been really angry after my little stunt on the ice. But I called anyway, and I smiled shyly when Sean mentioned something to his teammates and headed over.

Shyly? Fuck, this whole thing is turning me all kinds of insane. But that is how scared I am of destroying this…this tentative future I could see. I did not want to be like Peter, cold and alone. I need to have Sean, so I need to do this.

A couple of Sean’s teammates shot me nasty looks; I was tempted to glare back. There’s nothing like a good glaring match sometimes, but I won’t allow myself to be distracted, this is too important.

Sean stopped a few feet in front of me, and vaguely, in the back of my mind, I could feel the urge to pounce him. I quickly squash that impulse though; I am here to talk and nothing else, no matter what my body said. It is easier if I did not look into his eyes, I find. Much easier if I keep my gaze on the cement ground.

“Yeah?” He didn’t seem angry now as much as curious. There is a guarded air about him as well, and I couldn’t blame him for that. Sean…is not as puppyish as I first thought he was. In fact, I do not remember why I thought he was a pup in the first place. Perhaps it is his nickname that spawns the comparison. If anything, Sean reminds me of something else…there is a world-weary feel to him, as though he were one who has traveled far and seen much. That spark of puppyish enthusiasm is still there, but it is tempered by precision and patience.

“I, um, I just wanted to, well you see, it wasn’t, well, I mean—” Typical me. I talk and talk and talk, but when it actually had to mean something, I cannot find the words to save my life. I want to just bite my tongue and walk away mumbling. That, at least, would be less embarrassing.

“Hey Hinote?”

My eyes snap up to meet his and I feel heat surge through me once more; his eyes are an ungodly brilliant shade of blue. Sean is smiling crookedly. Then his expression grows more pensive, more cautious, as he glances around sharply to make sure his team is gone and we are alone.

Then he leans in and kisses me. Barely a kiss, more like a brush of lips really, but my god. This must be the feeling they are always trying to capture in movies, with the fireworks and extravagance. But this was so much more real, with careful tenderness underneath the heat, and a feather soft touch that leaves me shaking.

My eyes widen and I step back. I could feel a hitch in my breath; what is going on? “But you—you don’t—I mean—”

“Dan, you fucking talk more than me. Jesus. Shut up once in a while.”

His mouth covers mine again, and this time his hand comes up to rest on my back to pull me closer, to prevent me from pulling away.

This is insanity. My senses seem to have been put into overdrive—I am hyper aware of the pressure of his hand on my back, his clean, freshly showered scent, the scratch of his cashmere suit against the palm of my hands. The warmth coming from him makes me want to curl up and sleep. His tongue stroking mine makes me want to crawl inside him. As it is, all I can do is clutch at his shoulders and try to stay standing. If I let go, I knew I would collapse. I am drunk off him.

A salty, metallic taste suddenly fills my mouth. It takes me a minute to realize that the kissing had reopened my wound.

“Oops.” Sean pulls back slightly and chuckles, then drags his tongue across my split lip. I shiver, holding him closer. We could never be close enough, not like this…

“I don’t get it,” I whisper, hating myself for ruining the moment but needing to ask.

“What?” Sean murmurs, nuzzling my ear.

“Well, you hit me.”

Sean laughs softly, his warm, moist breath instantly condensing into tiny droplets on my skin from the intensely cold night. “We were on the ice. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

If I let him have enough leverage to move his shoulders, I have a feeling that he would have shrugged.

“So then, you…can we…are we…”

Sean pushes me away suddenly, making me want to whimper. His hands come up to cup my face, forcing me to look at him. I want him more than ever, but hold still for him. I would give up every last drop of humanity for him.

“I only know what you know.”

What I know is that I was made for him. But he isn’t one of us. Peter told me so; I could see it, feel it for myself…So how could he possibly know? I blink at him blankly.

“There are more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Sean quips impishly.

“Did you think you were alone in this world? Maybe I’m not like you, but I am something else that can understand.”

There is whole world that I do not know and could not dare to comprehend. Is it possible that Sean could be part of that world?

“What are you then?”

“A traveler. I have looked long and hard for you, Dan Hinote. From the sun to the fucking moon.” He pauses. “The team leaves tomorrow. I have to be on that plane. Tonight though, I have with you. So where do we go?”

‘There are more things in Heaven and earth…’ I echo silently in my mind, smiling. Maybe I am not meant to understand it all. And if not, then I have time later to try. I kiss Sean this time, folding my arms around his neck, feeling heat from his body transfer into mine. And just for a moment, I swear I felt the brush of wings over my cheeks and that I could fly.

~~

The sound of the pounding surf hits my ears, making them twitch. This is very different from the usual quiet forest sounds. There is no soft chattering of the creatures of the night, no whispers of the rustling leaves, no trickles of streaming, shifting water. There is only the booming of waves, and the occasional crunch as sand moves over sand.

It makes me nervous a bit, because the surf is so loud, I cannot hear much else. If danger were to come—

A sharp, piercing screech sounds from above me. I tilt my back to look up, and if I could smile I would have. Sean hangs there in the air, his wings curved in a way that allows him to hover the way only kestrels could. With his falcon’s sight, he will spot any threat long before I could. He will watch out for me. His presence soothes my nerves; I am protected.

Sean dips his wings slightly and shoots forward. I am content for a moment just to watch him fly. There is such freedom and joy in his flight, a delightful precision, a thrilling speed. Sean flies as though every flight will be his last; he slices through the air with a desperation born from sheer pleasure. It makes me sometimes wish that I could join him in the sky instead of being bound to the earth. But the creators were right when they made me a mutt, I would have made a horrible bird. I would never have been able to fly right.

Sean screeches again, calling me, and I am off my haunches bounding after him. It is hard going; I am not used to running in sand, and my paws keep slipping. I find that if I spread my toes, I can run better, but that results in sand between the foot pads, which is quite uncomfortable.

Sean calls a third time; somehow he managed to put all sorts of derision in his tone. “Don’t be a pussy” he is telling me. I growl and plow forward. Then inspiration strikes. I remember, from way back in high school, something about density, and how wet sand is denser than dry sand…

The water is freezing, truly Pacific Ocean water during December. But it is a stinging, refreshing kind of cold, and I splash through it easily. For once, I am grateful for having wiry matted fur, because it will not become heavy and waterlogged. The salty water is strange, I had become used to the fresh water in land locked Colorado, but it is no less appreciated. It gives flavor to my running, something I have never experienced before.

It is a different kind of run, to be sure, this race on the California shoreline. And I will admit, I do miss running with Peter. The pure joy from that level of simplicity of traveling with another like you is something to be treasured. At times, though not often, I wonder if Peter ever found a replacement for me. And if so, I wonder who it might be. I might be a little jealous if he did replace me if only because I should not like to think that I am so easily replaceable. That and I feel wistful for not being able to run with more like me, a larger pack, a greater feeling of oneness.

But every time I glance up, seeing russet feathers flashing between blurs of stars, I know what I had given up was worth it.

After a bit, I sit back in the water and bark. Sean performs a little flip in mid air and wheels around to soar back to me. While he makes his way back, I return to my human form. Under his watchful eye, I know I have naught to fear.

I shiver the minute the icy water hits my bare, unprotected skin; I could feel goose bumps spreading down my body. Before I can stand and remove myself from the source of cold though, Sean dives out of the air. He transforms in mid-dive and tackles me in landing.

“Oof!”

I am shoved deeper into the water with an armful of warm, wriggling, naked Sean.

“Come here you.” One of Sean’s hands finds mine and yanks me up to him. We are two wet, nude half creatures standing in the surf of a beach in Malibu on Christmas morning. The sun has not even broken the horizon yet. I should be cold, but I am not, instead I am filled with the steady heat of his touch.

I reach up and run my free hand through Sean’s dripping hair, smoothing the curls back off his forehead, then resting it at the back of his neck. He smiles and gives me a salty cool kiss.

“Here?” I ask.

Sean laughs. “You’ll get sand up your ass.”

“Not if something else gets up there first,” I growl, pulling him close. It is damp cool flesh upon damp cool flesh, except at the center of our bodies.

“Whatever you want,” Sean breathes, laying me back on the packed sand. His fingers are careful; definitely I do not want certain things in certain places. But I am impatient and really, a little pain means nothing in the face of some pleasures, and I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him on. Sean complies, covering my body with his.

We kiss hard and deep, coming together as the first rays of sun peek over the line of the ocean. It is light toffee skin, his acquired California tan, across my preserved Colorado ivory flesh. I lick and bite as the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder as I am wont to do; Sean retaliates by attacking the pulse point behind my ear. My hands clutch at his back, trying to pull him deeper into me, trying to make him become me, or me him, I am no longer sure.

When he comes, he is silent; it is a soundless plunge within me and a quivering of the most delicate tension. I howl as I follow Sean over the edge, my attempts to muffle the sound resulting in only broken skin and spilled blood.

I lap at the wound gently, lazily, reveling in the solid heat above me and the cool sea foam underneath. And then look up into Sean’s eyes, watching the sun rise in one while the moon sets in the other.

Tell Me a Story, written for Bernie

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 08:00:20 GMT

My clothes come off, piece by piece, until I’m dressed in only my boxers. Then I slip quietly under the covers and revel in the fact that the sheets are already warm; there’s absolutely nothing like coming back from a road trip to him.

“Sean…” he murmurs sleepily, turning slightly to move closer to me. I kiss him softly on the neck and run a hand through his nappy hair.

“Hey babe, I’m home.”

“Yes, and I am glad. I had dream of you.” He turns completely over so that he is on his side, facing me, and rests a hand on my chest. I smile slightly, the warmth and weight is comforting, and I feel myself start to drift off. Before I’m fully asleep though, I feel his hand trail lower and pick at the waist of my boxers.

“Stan…” I grab his hand gently and lift it up to kiss. Hey, I can be a fucking sweetheart when I want to be. “I love you, but I’m dead tired. I just can’t.”

He sighs and looks at me with that confused, dazed expression I find so fucking adorable, although right now I wish he were happily sleeping instead of gazing at me with pouting lips. His wide eyes, his hair sticking out at all angles, it makes him seem so innocently wanting, but I know better. Behind that expression is a mind of fucking evil. He’s trying to manipulate me, the little…

The tip of his tongue flickers out just far enough to make his bottom lip shine invitingly, and I know the motion is perfectly contrived, but somehow I don’t give a damn. I kiss him anyway, darting my own tongue into his mouth, licking at his teeth, marking his mouth as mine.

I feel his hands come up, trembling at just the right amount, to clutch at my back, and I have to pull away. “Stan, really. It was a fucking long flight, I’m about to fall asleep. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He sets his chin on my chest and stares up at me through dark thick lashes. So fucking beautiful.

“I promise. Now go back to sleep.”

“I can’t now, you have me woke up.” He smiles sweetly at me. “Will you tell me bedtime story, please?”

Now it’s my turn to sigh. I love him, that’s for sure, but I am so damn tired…and fuck me but one look from him makes me cave in. “Fine, but just a short one.”

“Yes that is fine.”

I stifle a yawn the best I can and lean back into my pillow, trying to get more comfortable. From my position I’m looking down at the top of his head, and I grin because I can see he’s got a bit of a cowlick. I get the urge to lick it down, and maybe lick across his neck too, but no, that’ll have to wait for another night. I wrap an arm around his shoulders and begin.

“Once upon a time there was a king. The young king was a prick and really loud, and whenever he traveled through the neighboring kingdom he liked to rag on this young guy who was called Crazy Legs.”

“Was Crazy Leg an Indian?” He asked an indignant edge in his voice.

“Sure,” I tell him, my eyelids drooping. His warmth and the sound of my own voice is making me doze off (okay let’s admit it; I don’t love to hear my own voice that much). “He was from the Duck tribe. Anyway, the king picked on him a lot because he said he didn’t like Crazy Legs.”

“And the king is a liar?”

“Are you telling the story or am I?” I laugh. He sits up slightly and pouts at me.

“You are,” he says petulantly, tracing a pattern on my chest with cooling fingers. I kiss him quickly on the nose.

“So…the king was lying though, cause the truth was that he really liked Crazy Legs. Despite the falling down and the ugly hair, he thought Crazy Legs was, well, cute. And one day Crazy Legs called him on it.”

“What happen then?” I look down and find him with his cheek pressed to my stomach; when the hell did he slide down there? He looks innocent enough, drawing with his fingers on my abs, but I’m suspicious. It takes way too much energy to pull him back up though, so I just close my eyes and go on.

“Well, Crazy Legs cornered the king at his, um, horse, yeah. And he asked the king why he wouldn’t leave him alone. Then the king finally admitted that he thought Crazy Legs was hot.”

“You think I am hot?” He chimes, kissing right under my navel. My eyes open and I frown.

“Stan-“

“Keep going?”

“Crazy Legs was very happy and he and king rode off into the sunset. The end. Now get up here.”

“You left out a part.” He peers at me and oh god it’s that fucking evil smile I see. That’s enough to make me hard, and the next thing I know my boxers are off and he’s licking at my cock and I can’t do anything except clutch at his shoulders and moan. Oh fuck me he’s spectacularly good at this. My eyes fall shut again, though this time not from tiredness.

“Right,” I sigh breathily, my voice catching, “I did leave out a part.”

And here I thought I was tired but I am straining against his hands, trying to thrust my hips up. And damn him for being stronger than he looks; he’s got me pinned to the bed and shit he’s good, his mouth wrapped around the head of my cock. My back arches as he takes me completely into his mouth, and it’s all I can do not to scream.

It’s fucking heaven when I come in his mouth, but guilt right after, because I know I really have no strength left to do anything for him. I watch sleepily as he licks up spots he missed and slides back up my body.

I kiss him as hard as I can as soon as I can and taste myself on his lips. His lips curve against mine in what I know is a satisfied smile.

“Now we sleep, yes?”

And I realize not for the first time why I always put up with any shit he does. He is a fucking dork and too milk pale, awkward on his feet and nappy haired, sweetness that hurts and so unhealthily obsessed with Fedorov, but I love him and I know he loves me when he does things like this. Fuck I am glad he is mine.

“Yeah.” He settles against me again, head on my chest, and I swear I almost hear him purr. And this time before I fall asleep, he doesn’t try to wake me, he only reminds me of one thing.

“You still owe me tomorrow.”

Nicky's birthday fic

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 07:59:45 GMT

“Hey Mike?”

Mike looked up, saw Shawn peering at him with a concerned look on his face, and sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Shawn; Mike didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment. He didn’t want their sympathy or their pity.

“What is it Shawn?” Mike sighed, slumping back down on his bench.

“Um…just wanted to check on how you are.”

“My finger got broke in half. How do you think I am?” Mike glanced down to his bandaged up finger and scowled slightly. “Don’t you have to get on the ice or something?”

“Well yeah, but not for little bit.” Shawn quietly sat down next to Mike and bumped him gently with an elbow. “Anything I can do to make you feel better?”

Mike managed a small smile for his friend. “Not really. Don’t worry about me, Shawn. I’ll be all right.”

“He always worries about you, midget.”

Mike’s scowl deepened as he looked up again to see who would dare call him midget in his time of pain. Upon seeing Eric, however, Mike sighed and let it go. Compared to Eric, he was kind of small…Eric, he had decided, could call him midget if he wanted.

“Well he doesn’t have to. And you don’t have to either.”

“I never said I was worried, did I?” Eric smiled kindly and sat down on Mike’s other side. Mike watched Eric for a minute, then turned to look at Shawn. And suddenly, Mike felt warm and heavy and knew that if he didn’t get up soon, something was going to happen that really shouldn’t happen in the dressing room. So Mike straightened and prepared to stand up, only to have both Eric and Shawn grab his shoulders.

“Hang on, Mikey.” Shawn grinned at him. “You certainly don’t have to be on the ice yet. Stay with us for a while. Keep us company.”

“Or let us keep you company.” Eric leaned in quickly and brushed a feathery kiss across Mike’s neck, and when Shawn did the same on his other side, Mike knew resistance was futile.

“Um…guys…here?”

Shawn giggled. “What’s wrong with right here?”

And as Shawn moved to kneel between Mike’s legs and Eric drawing him into a deep kiss, Mike really couldn’t think of a reason why.

Roundabout Way, written for Mum

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 07:58:47 GMT

“It’s not my fault.”

“It never fucking is!”

And that was the way it would end. Two sentences, one spat out coldly, one hissed wrathfully, neither one as loud as the speakers wanted (for the still summer air seemed to dampen all words), signaled the end of all things familiar. A relationship of many years, finished by eight words.

“Who you are blaming this time? The fans? The media? Our coaches?” Words soaked in bitterness dripping from a tongue filled with hurt. “Just like you say the coach’s room assignment make you fuck Max?”

“Think whatever you want.” Words uttered coolly, calmly, with practiced detachment that could make the air temperature drop ten degrees. “I’m leaving.”

So saying, Sergei Fedorov stepped into his blood red Ferrari and peeled out fast enough to leave skid marks across the heart he took with him. Left standing in his exhaust fumes was Tomas Holmstrom, who kept glaring at his feet wishing his shoes could leave skid marks on Sergei’s heart until the star’s stopped blurring.

~~

“I’m Ray.”

Tomas looked up from untangling his fingers from his skate laces and froze. The same light blonde hair. The same sky blue eyes. No. Not the same. Sergei would never let his hair get that messy. Sergei never had innocent eyes. And Sergei certainly never smiled so warmly.

This was Ray.

“I just wanted to formally introduce myself to everyone on the team.” Ray offered a hand. A hand that was so clean, Tomas was loathe to touch it, lest any residual traces of Sergei on him contaminated Ray. But he shook it anyway, because that was what he had to do.

“Tomas.”

Ray smiled, a little crooked, not perfect like Sergei either, but it was somehow endearing. Endearing enough that Tomas allowed Ray to clasp his hand a few seconds longer than might have been appropriate.

“Okay, well…” Almost shyly, Ray took his hand back. His touch left a tingling sensation in Tomas’ palm. Was this what clean felt like?

“I’ll see you later, Tomas.”

“Wait.” Well fuck, Ray waited. There were consequences for speaking before thinking, and Tomas was determined to avoid them at all costs. He failed. He blurted out something he didn’t quite mean. “You want to go have lunch?”

His words were like a ketchup stain on a white shirt, something out of place, shocking, even disastrous. Tomas should not have allowed the ketchup to splatter so badly. He figured he was not to blame though. Without a heart, it was sometimes hard to judge how much of the shirt he would damage when he spilled.

It appeared that Ray, however, was an expert at cleaning stains. Not only did he agree to lunch, he paid for it.

~~

The thing about a ketchup stained shirt, was that no matter how many times you washed it, there would always be a faint pink stain. And occasionally, the stain would be seen when you least expected it.

For instance, after Tomas hurt his shoulder, he should not have talked to Ray. He should not have seen him either, but Tomas did both. He blamed the painkillers.

“Tomas-“ Ray’s next words were swallowed by a mouth that had not been kissed in months. It was a desperate, hurried kiss, though not altogether unpleasant.

“I need you.” It was almost a plea, because Tomas could still see the stain, and he knew Ray could too.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Ray’s words were vapor in the air, settling into tiny droplets of moisture across Tomas’ lips.

“Yes. I need you. Please.”

It was the ‘please’ that did it. The word was cracked, oozing pain, loneliness, fear. Ray would never leave a wound to fester.

And after, lying on damp tangled sheets, Tomas knew it was all wrong. The body was too light, too small, too-

He was just tired of being cold.

~~

“So? When is the wedding?”

“What?” Tomas wanted to concentrate on taping his stick. Every distracted syllable proved it. Yet Nick Lidstrom kept asking. He was, if nothing else, a persistent man.

“You and Whit? You two are cute.”

Tomas shrugged, smiling slightly when there no twinge of complaint from his shoulder. It felt good to be back in game shape.

“Don’t be stupid. We are not together.”

“Oh? I room next to you two. I can hear too.” Interesting how a single arched brow could reflect so much amusement. Well that, and the sand dry tone of Nick’s voice.

Tomas shrugged again, getting the most of his newly regained mobility. “We both are gay. We keep company with each other. That’s all.”

That same raised eyebrow shifted a centimeter. Now it displayed skeptical concern on Nick’s face. Amazing feat, really.

“Does Ray know you think this way?”

At that exact moment, Tomas finished taping his stick. “Ray doesn’t matter.”

“You mean doesn’t care.”

Another shrug and Tomas left.

~~

If absence makes the heart grow fonder, Tomas was on a full scale frenzy when Sergei turned up at his front door. The past somehow didn’t seem that important anymore, so long as Sergei continued to hold his hips down to the couch.

“Harder-“ Tomas was moaning, head thrown back, eyes half shut, trying so hard to keep Sergei in him forever. After all, without a heart, the next best thing to have in a body was a hard cock.

“Beg.” Ground out through gritted teeth, the word might have died on Sergei’s lips if not for the smug triumph that ballooned it.

“Sergei, harder, faster, please-“ Words turned to prayers, prayers to pleads. Tomas was keening by the time Sergei finished in him; he was on the edge of completion himself-

“Shit!”

Tomas bolted straight up and ran to the door, but it was shut. There was no evidence of another life form near by. Yet he swore, as he was coming, he saw the door open and a blue eye filled with devastation stare at him.

Did Ray have the spare key to his place? Too bad the post sex high clung fiercely to Tomas’ brain, not allowing him to think properly.

“I have to go.” Such calm words from the man who was buttoning up his pants.

“What?”

“You didn’t expect me to stay?” Soft chuckling. “You were always a good fuck, Tomas, and that’s all this was.”

And Sergei patted Tomas on the cheek. This time, when he walked away, he left Tomas’ heart behind. Only it was shattered. And it was just a few minutes too late.

~~

“It’s not my fault.”

“And it never is.”

And that was the way it would begin. Two sentences, one quiveringly distraught, one hopelessly sad, neither one as painless as the speakers wanted (for honesty has never been painless in the history of mankind), signaled the beginning of something unfamiliar but real. A relationship of a few months, renewed by eight words.

“I know Sergei hurt you. So when you asked, I came to help you. But you ran away.” Words that were listlessly truthful, unable to be anything else. “I can’t keep chasing you, Tomas. I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry.” Words uttered dully through a throat scraped raw. “But I do love you.”

So saying, Tomas turned and walked away, his feet dragging slowly behind him, leaving marks on nothing but ground. But right before he disappeared into the night, he was grabbed, spun around, and kissed gently.

Ray smiled against him, a soft curving of lips, and he could feel the dampness on his cheeks mixing with the dampness on Ray’s.

“That’s all you had to say, Tomas.”

Desserts, written for ASG challenge

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 07:58:16 GMT

Now

There is whipped cream and chocolate fudge and vanilla ice cream and a cherry on top. The makings of a perfect ice cream sundae. And it is spilled all over his bare chest.

Pavel watches me with wide eyes as I bend down to lick it up.

~~

Earlier

"You know, all that sugar is bad for you." Pavel frowns upon seeing the swirling contents in my bowl.

I shrug. "I can work it off later."

"You will rot your teeth." Pavel points out in a serious preachy voice.

I smile. "I will brush them later."

"Later, later…do you do everything later?" Pavel sighs amusedly, lying down on the bed.

I blink. "Of course not."

And I toss my concoction on him.

~~

Even Earlier

"Where were you?" Curious sleepy eyes peer out from under coffee brown bangs.

Soft creamy white arms dump a grocery bag on to the table of Pavel's hotel room. Two cans, a bottle, and a carton fall out.

"I went shopping." Two cherry red lips curve in a smile.

"Why, what are you making?" Cream puffed voice of interest and intrigue.

"You'll see." Glittering sugar brown eyes narrow suggestively.

One Fine Night, written for v!Kris

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 07:57:22 GMT

It is a fine night. Cool and crisp, with a hint of snow in the air. At least, that is how it is outside. You do not really care though, for you are not outside. You are inside, stumbling into your bedroom with Markus Naslund attached to your lips.

You run your hand through Markus' soft hair, delighting in the way the curls wrap around your fingers. If there were any more time, perhaps you will linger and play with his curls some more. But there is not more time, there is only this night, and you are in no mood to waste it.

You pull Markus against you in a crushing embrace, his body melting against yours like soft candle wax. Your arms tighten around him, lifting him slightly off his feet, until your bodies are pressed together from your lips to knees.

Markus sighs as you release him slowly, letting him slide down your body. "That was… nice…" Markus manages somewhat dazedly. You smirk and kiss him again, ravaging his mouth with your tongue.

This time when you break for much needed air, you find you are standing by your massive, king-sized bed. You smile discreetly to yourself for remembering to change your sheets; the bed is a canvas of wine red satin and Markus will look deliciously pale against it.

With your most winsome expression in place, you fall to sit on the bed as though your knees will no longer support you - which, if you were being perfectly honest - isn't all that far from the truth.

You pat the space beside you, and Markus accepts the silent invitation, coiling his muscled frame into sitting position. You marvel at the grace and hidden strength present in every move Markus makes. In appreciation, you stretch out a hand and run it down the firm planes of Markus' shoulder and arm.

"Beautiful," you murmur, lust and anticipation to creeping into your voice. "Do you know how beautiful you are when you move?"

Markus blushes lightly and gives you a kiss that is both sweet and passionate at once. You wrap your arms around the Swede and hold him close, returning the kiss with interest. There is such innocence in his kiss that you feel a brief twinge of unease slide through you - perhaps you shouldn't try tying him up? But it passes quickly. Markus cannot possibly be that naïve, not with Peter Forsberg as a friend. And you do SO want to have the gorgeous Swede at your mercy…

You exert a little pressure, and Markus obliges by leaning back onto the bed, draping yourself partly over his chest. You look down at him and smile. You were right, the snow pale skin of his bare torso glows against your sheets. The crimson sheen emphasizes every point of his perfection.

You kiss Markus deeply, thrusting your tongue into his mouth and wriggling a bit to move completely on top of him, bringing your groins into firmer contact. Slowly, you inch both your arms up, supposedly so you could have better access to Markus' chest as you begin to lick and nip your way down the column of the other man's neck. Markus doesn't resist, allowing you to manipulate him as you wish. You force yourself to swallow a gleeful little smirk as your knuckles brush against the posts of your specially designed headboard.

With a lightning fast move, you slip the cuffs over Markus' fists and tighten them about his wrists. The Swede stares up at you in total disbelief for a moment, eyes wide, before his body tightens and he begins to fight the restraints.

You jump out of the way of Markus' thrashing body, watching the cuffs curiously to see if they would hold. One of your past lovers had given them to you as a birthday present some years ago. Such a lovingly crafted gift too, ordered specially made - silk-lined reinforced steel, they reach nearly from wrist to elbow, making them more difficult to break out of than ordinary handcuffs. A chain connects them to the headboard.

Markus' eyes watch you fearfully, though he says nothing, and for a terrible moment, you wonder if he truly does not like this at all. But a second glance belies that first impression and you grin when you see the bulge in the front of Markus' shorts. Reassured that Markus isn't really panicking, you approach the bed once more.

"Now now, it won't do you any good to struggle," you tell him, your
voice silkily smug, and you are rewarded by seeing some of the
apprehension in Markus' eyes turn to lust.

Markus pretends to ignore you, tugging once again at the cuffs, only to find that there is no way he will break the restraints.

"You might as well stop," you inform him, advancing on your helpless new lover. "You won't break them. But if they bother you that much, I'm just going to have to distract you from them."

Whatever Markus' is about to say is stifled by your lips on his. He willingly responds, but you hear metal clanking as he continues to strain against the cuffs.

You decide more drastic measures are called for and resume your earlier downwards exploration. Markus moans softly as you run your hands over his hips and quest upwards.

His nipples are already peaked with desire when you reach them, and you rub at them gently. Markus squirms beneath you, his arms tense as he tries again to free himself. You nip at his collar bone then slide your gaze across the expanse of his chest, licking your lips in anticipation. Watching your tongue flicker out makes Markus groan, and you grin at him, then lower your head to swirl one stiff nipple in your mouth. Markus' chest stills for a moment then lowers abruptly in an explosion of air as one of your hands finds its way to the bulge in his boxers.

"…" he moans through clenched teeth, his entire body straining upwards. You caress him roughly through the cloth, reveling in the feel of the throbbing heat beneath your hand. You switch your attention to the other nipple as your hands tug at the shorts, exposing Markus' pulsing shaft to the cool air of the room. Markus squirms beneath your ministrations, trying to hurry you, but you will not budge from your self-appointed pace. You want to enjoy every moment of this rare opportunity and aren't about to let Markus' impatience rush you through the experience.

You smile up at your glaring lover. "Patience," you chide. "All good things come to those who wait."

You laugh aloud at Markus' muttered obscenity, and finally decide to take pity on him.

You trail one hand back up Markus' now-bare thigh, feeling shivers run under the taut skin. Markus jerks a bit as you pause to cup his balls, then moans as your hand wraps around his erection.

"Ah…" he thrashes as you tease him, running your fingers up and down the smooth length, sliding over the tip and causing him to gasp for air. Markus growls, a low, threatening sound.

"Dammit...more…"

But the demand holds little force behind it, given that his hips are desperately thrusting upwards, trying to get you to stop taunting him.

You decide to give in this once and reach for the bedside table drawer with your free hand, pulling out a small tube. Markus' eyes widen when he sees it, but there is no sign of fear or trepidation in him. You take this to mean that he doesn't object to what you have planned, and smile as you lubricate your right hand.

You wrap your left hand firmly around Markus' shaft and begin pumping slowly up and down. He closes his eyes and throws his head back, his arm muscles straining as he tries to bring his hands down to force you to speed up. Your right hand slides lower, searching for the puckered ring that will grant you entrance.

Markus makes a choked noise as you slide one finger inside him, probing the depths of his body. He writhes wildly, his expression strained. "Let me… touch…."

You shake your head and instead, you add a second, then a third finger. Your free hand is still working Markus' shaft, sliding up and down the hot length in time with your fingers. Markus moans and pants, but you keep your movements slow and varied, preventing him from gaining release.

You watch Markus' breathing and expression carefully - each time you sense him nearing the edge you back off, leaving him alone until he is practically in tears from sheer frustration. You watch in fascination as the Swede begins to lose control, his fists clenching until his knuckles are white; his face twisting in intense pleasure/pain; his back arching off the bed until nothing touches but his head and his heels. He is the embodiment of desperation against the satin, and you love it. You think it would be nice to leave him like that for awhile.

Markus cries out in frustration, his eyes wide and glaring at you in fury and lust.

"No!" he croaks, his biceps bulging as he fights the cuffs, the metal headboard creaking. You stifle a laugh, your eyes glittering as you watch your helpless lover from the far side of the large bed. Markus pumps his hips uselessly, searching for something, anything, to provide that last bit of friction which would give him release. "You…"

"Not yet," you murmur, lightly stroking the other man's chest. Markus chokes on a sob, and shakes his head wildly.

"What the hell do you want?" he demands, his entire body tense.

You smile and lean in close until your noses brush together.

"Beg."

"What?"

You trail one finger down Markus' length, making him shiver violently. "You heard me. I want you to beg. Beg for me to let you come. Beg me prettily enough, and I might even take you."

You wait, your breath held in anticipation.

"Please…." The word is so quiet you aren't entirely certain you heard it. Markus' eyes are closed and his teeth are clenched, his whole body shaking with need.

"Please..."

"What was that?" you ask innocently, breathing against his ear. You lick delicately at the outer shell, making Markus shudder again. "I can't hear you."

"Please!" The word is practically spat from his lips. You laugh.

"That's a start, but you'll have to do better than that." At his groan, you frown. "Come now, you're such a perfectionist on the ice. Apply that here. Convince me it's worth losing the amusement of watching you squirm."

Markus' fists clench and words pour from him. "Please! Please, I can't…can't take this…"

You are stripping, your body trembling with anticipation. "More," you murmur, eyeing Markus' body hungrily.

"Ah…please, I need you… I need…please, I want you… inside…"

"Keep going," you encourage.

His panting almost prevents him from forming coherent words. "…fuck me! Please!"

You position yourself, taking a deep breath, and slide inside Markus' body in one smooth motion. Markus cries out and jerks beneath you, the headboard creaking again as he fights to wrap his legs around your waist, holding you deep inside.

You marvel at the feeling of Markus' amazing strength; he is trembling muscles beneath silken skin. Slowly, torturing both of you now, you withdraw, enjoying the keening noises coming from Markus. You move back until only the very tip of you is inside him then hold still.

"Beg me," you hiss, your teeth nipping at Markus' exposed throat.

"Dammit! Please, fuck me hard, please..." All of Markus' control vanishes, leaving him entirely helpless to you. You revel in the knowledge that you have just turned this grown man into a quivering, pleading mass of flesh trembling beneath you, and the power makes
you heady.

"Yes!" You surge forward, taking Markus in a pounding rhythm that has you both gasping for air. The excitement of teasing him had left you trembling on the edge, and you know you will not hold out long. Markus is writhing beneath you. You feel his control slipping and thrust harder, your growls echoed by Markus' moans of pleasure.
With a final thrust you empty yourself into Markus' depths. You are barely aware of Markus contracting around you; sticky fluid spurting between you both as he finally reaches completion. You collapse on top of him, your panting breaths matching his deep gasps. It is several minutes before you can move, and Markus is still trembling. You smile smugly at your new lover as he rolls to one side.

"Janne…" Markus' voice is rough and tired, yet filled with contentment.

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to un-lock me?"

"What makes you think we're done?"

Breaking Brodeur, for hatefic challenge

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 07:50:43 GMT

I am at the edge of my world. I teeter on the brink of open space, and I pray to whatever higher powers there may be that a breeze might not pick up. One strong puff and I am done for. I will be left to spiral down into the emptiness with nothing softer than hard mahogany ground to greet me.

It was not always this way. There was a time when I was at the center of my world, surrounded by others who could do no less than to worship me for the God I truly was. I was bigger than all of those other mundane, working trivialities, and I often spent my days surveying my domain, nodding my approval when I was pleased. Those are days I miss. Days when I was gazed upon fondly; when Melanie would pass by and skim her hand over my head; when the children would laugh and fight over who got to play with me more.

Now, as I stand in a perpetual balancing act with half of me stable and the other half on the cusp of plunging, I can only remember the days before the move, before the separation, before the divorce. I am forgotten on a corner, put out of the way by hands that no longer care and set to gather dust for the rest of my days.

Perhaps it is better if I let myself fall rather than let some hurrying person’s reckless elbow end it all for me. At least that way, I shall have a remaining shred of control over my pathetic existence. I can go out with the dignity I’ve always dreamed of.

In the end, it does not matter what I decide. The solid mass beneath me shifts, sharply, just once, and my head tilts…just enough to allow gravity to take its course. Now I am whistling through the air, my head bouncing back and forth uncontrollably, because I know what is about to come and I fear it, I really do-

Right before I hit the ground, I hope that no one will walk on my pieces and cut their feet. It is over in a single shattering of my entire being.

Paint Me A Wish in the Velvet Sky

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 07:49:42 GMT

1. The Things We’ll Never Know

One more time in this game we play
Sorry that I couldn’t make you stay
Placing pieces in the floor
Of all the things that we loved before

“Brad, wait!”

He didn’t. Where did he get off walking away like this, anyway? It wasn’t as if…

“Brad-“

“Luko’s going to give me a ride. Back to my place.”

He hadn’t been back to his place in months. The only reason he still had it was because he hadn’t managed to sublet it yet.

“But, why?”

“Because I don’t want to be around you right now, okay?”

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you. Whoever said that was a fucking idiot.

“I-I don’t get it. What did I do?”

“It was my fight, Vinny! Mine! You weren’t supposed to get involved!”

So this was the result of caring too much? Shit, ready a guillotine please.

“What, you wanted me to stand by and watch you get your face smashed in?”

“Yeah, I’d rather have that than you jumping in to play hero.”

Nothing stung more than pride that had been trodden upon. Maybe.

“What? I wasn’t-“

“But I guess it’s not your fault, is it?”

What was this? A sudden epiphany of thought? Was Brad moving the piece where it should have been moved in the first place?

“Brad-“

“It’s not like you can help yourself. Some of us are meant to be stars. I’m just meant to be a sidekick.”

Who’s fault was it the world was made this way? If he needed a brighter star to shine next to, who could take the blame? Not that, of course, he should know this.

“That’s not how it is.”

“Isn’t it?”

Jesus, fuck him. Things had been this way since forever, and the steps wrote themselves. They were never going to change. And tonight…tonight, it was no night to dance them again. Maybe some other night, when the exhaustion was less, when the mind didn’t feel like soft pudding.

“Well if that’s what you think, why are you still with me?”

“You know, that’s a really good question.”

Walk away, walk away. Tomorrow would be a better time to sort this out. To make him see that that’s how it was meant to be. There were goals, and there were assists. Every star had a shadow. There was no other way for it.

“Vinny, look out!”

“What…?“

2. Wonderland

Well it might get better, because it can’t get any worse…
This wonderland, is this the life you thought you would have
This wonderland, is this where you dreamed you would be

He woke up with a pounding headache, and even though it felt like a hangover, he knew it wasn’t one. He hadn’t gone drinking last night. No, after the game he had come straight home and gone to bed. Perhaps he was coming down with something?

He groaned as a sick man might groan and sat up slowly, blinking to rid his eyes of the Sandman’s dust. God, why was it so fucking bright? It couldn’t possibly be that late, could it? A quick glance at the clock said that it just might. He sighed heavily, throwing back the flowery duvet he didn’t remember buying and stood. Didn’t there used to be carpet to greet his feet? He could have sworn yes.

“Vince?” A very beautiful, but also very pregnant woman walked into the room. Caroline. With her sleek black hair, chic makeup, and her stick thin figure, the distended belly somehow seemed wrong on her. To be honest, she seemed wrong in general.

“Vince, are you all right? It’s not like you to wake up so late.” Caroline sounded more annoyed than concerned. He frowned. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted his day to start.

“Was it the game? You seemed okay last night. Do you want me to call the trainer?”

“No,” he bit out. “I’m fine.”

She played the concerned wife so very well, didn’t she? He never understood why she kept it up when they were alone though, really-

“Carrie? Have you-“ A new voice, belonging to one John Michael Liles. Huh. He had almost forgotten that they were housing the rookie. No wonder Caroline was still careful with her words.

Johnny grinned, leaning against the doorway to the master suite. He had dirty blonde hair that fell into sweet blue eyes, and a puppy dog smile to match. But he was all wrong as well. “Still in bed, eh. Are we not going to the skate today then?”

“No. I’m going.” He made his way over to his closet, ignoring his twinging knees with every step. Fuck, ever since that injury, his knees never failed to ache after waking up. For a while, he had depended on painkillers to function, until everyone realized that the painkillers had become an addiction. Six months in rehab; he’d rather deal with the aching.

He quickly yanked on some clothes, noticing Caroline giving him a strange look. What, he had to be well dressed everyday?

“Vince, are you sure-“

“I’m fine!” Eyes flashing, voice snapping, he brushed her off and stormed out. Johnny followed him down the stairs.

“Dude, she’s your pregnant wife, take it easy on her, huh?”

He glared at the kid as one would an unwanted parasite. “I don’t need you telling me how to treat my own wife.”

Johnny shrank back slightly, acted like he was going to hit him or something. Had he ever struck the kid before? Not that he could remember. Then why…didn’t matter, the kid was stupid as hell. Hell of a fuck though. And that was the only reason he’d been kept around for so long.

They were late enough that he decided to forgo breakfast. He didn’t feel hungry anyway. When they got to the garage, he tossed Johnny the keys to his BMW.

“You drive.”

“But…but you never let me drive.”

“Well I’m telling you to fucking drive now, okay?”

Johnny winced. And drove. And he stared out the passenger side window. Three years in Colorado now, and he still wasn’t used to the snow. Wasn’t it supposed to be sunshine and palm trees during hockey season? That was the only thing he missed about playing in Tampa. Not the coach though. Oh no. Tortorella could go to hell. No one fucking sat him.

Johnny glanced over apprehensively at him during a stop. “Hey Vince?”

“Yeah?” A kinder tone. He wasn’t a total asshole, really. And underneath the inherent stupidity, he was pretty fond of the kid.

“So um, Toronto tonight. What do you think?”

“About what? Their team?” He snorted derisively. “Cat shit. They’ve got nothing…except Brad Richards.”

3. Spotlight

So now you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to be
Sitting in the spotlight, or would you rather be
In someone else’s shoes not knowing who you are…
But it’s not the end of the world quite yet
And all of these things will get better I bet

Brad Richards. The most favored son of Toronto. The superstar more Gretzky than Greztky. The bane of his existence.

He knew Richards once, a long time ago, when they were both teenagers in Notre Dame. Richards had been such a wet rag. Clingy. Insecure. Cried at night, when he though no on would hear. But someone did hear. And that someone finally grew tired of putting up with Richards and told him where he could go.

They hadn’t spoken since.

He had moved on to Rimouski, Richards went back to play for his hometown team. Such a shitty little team it was, too. It wasn’t exactly hard to become a star there. Still, Brad did become a star. He went second overall in the draft.

“Vince, come on, team meeting.” Joe Sakic. The captain. Calling. Right, of course, they played Toronto tonight. Time to go over the game plan, wasn’t it?

He stayed on the ice just for a few minutes longer though, to help shag some pucks. This earned him some strange glances from his teammates, as though they’d never seen him help rookies clear the ice before. He had. He could have sworn he had. Jesus, just because he was Vincent Lecavalier…

First overall, beating out Brad Richards, with a name that even today carried some stature, commanded respect. Sure, maybe not as much as it once did-before the injury, before the hold out, the trade-but still. He was Vincent Le-fucking-cavalier.

…didn’t mean he was a total snob.

He drove home, only because Johnny decided to go out with Hinote. Which made him wonder if maybe he could convince Johnny to bring Dan home with him, but seeing how it was a game day, it probably shouldn’t happen. Some other day then.

“Vince, I’m so glad you made it back in time.” Caroline, trying to give the appearnce of understated wealth with pearl earrings. Too bad she still reeked of cheap perfume like a whore. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment. You could come, you know. We’ll get back before you need your pre-game nap.”

If there was one thing he wanted less than spending more time with Caroline, it was for her to have that baby. He feared he was going to make a shitty father.

“I don’t feel too well. I’m just going to nap now. You can go without me.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. She knew Johnny wasn’t around, and she could drop any pretenses. “You know Vince, this is your child too. You could at least try to be involved.”

“Caroline…you’re going to be late.”

She threw up her slender hands, making the diamond on her ring finger flash almost angrily. “God, you’ve always been so fucking selfish. I don’t know why I married you.”

And there was that feeling, the one that was expressed in French, that flashed through him even as the words dropped from his mouth. “Why did you?”

“Because I thought you were going to be a star.”

Who was it that said words could never hurt you? Because that person was a fucking idiot. And why did he feel like he had had this thought before?

“I am a star.”

“No Vince. People like stars. You’re just a damn talented hockey player that everyone hates.” Caroline smiled so sweetly; so wrong that such poison should come from those lips. And she left.

He thought of calling Johnny’s cell and telling the kid to hurry home. He didn’t really feel like sleeping alone. But he did anyway. Because he thought it would be better.

4. Redemption

Four AM two hours to go
I’m wearing out a lonely glow
I miss you more than I could know
Here I am, here I am,
Won’t you get me?

It was almost time for the puck to drop, and yet he was not dressed in his gear. He was not even in his dressing room. No, he was lurking outside around the visitor’s dressing room hallway in socks and shorts, because…well to be completely honest, he didn’t know why. It was a stupid urge to get water that led him down the wrong hall that led him to where he was now. And he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He watched a few Leafs players, one of which was Richards, kick a soccer ball around. They hadn’t seen him and he should go, but fuck if he could make his feet obey him. He just…He just really wanted to talk to Richards.

It's not like he had ever had good impulse control but this was the dumbest fucking compulsion he had ever given into. There was no reason he should want to talk to Richards, he hadn't since the draft. Not that he really had before either.

Richards was alone with the ball now, his teammates having gone in to dress for the game. It seemed as though he was waiting for someone, maybe...no. Richards could not possibly be waiting for him. He was the one who beat Richards for first overall. He was the one who didn’t eat lunch with Richards that first day. He-

“-thought I’d find you here.”

Who was that, Stajan? Matt Stajan? That one Leaf rookie?

Richards smiled, kicking the ball up and holding it still. “You thought right.”

Stajan smiled back and quickly kissed Richards. “You coming in now? You’ll be the last one ready, like you like.”

Not that he had a problem seeing two men kiss, it was only that it was Richards. Kissing some guy. And for some reason, it irked him, like it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Another stupid feeling, why were there so many today? He didn’t give a flying fuck what Richards was up to.

“Yeah? Just hang on a second more.” Richards kissed Stajan this time, then grinned. Didn’t Richards used to grin at him that way?

“Okay, now we can go in.”

He watched them leave, suddenly feeling the desire to break down and sob uncontrollably. But the worst thing was, he knew exactly why he felt that way. He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.

Brad was supposed to be his.

5. Leaving Town

Nothing in life will ever come that easy
Doesn’t mean it has to be that hard
I know you will find out who you are
Cause I remember how we shared time together
And how you used to say that stars are forever…

The game was a blur. He couldn’t tell who had won or who had lost, all the details escape him. He did know he was going to get chewed out by the coach tomorrow for his inattention on the ice, but that didn’t matter at the moment. The only thing that mattered was getting home, so he could sleep off his splitting headache. God, his fingers were trembling as he stripped off his jersey.

There were just so many-too many-thoughts in his head that he never had; memories he didn’t remember making, and it was all driving him insane.

He discovered that enough scowling could make his teammates leave him alone, and a well placed snarl could make Johnny run off to stay at Dan’s, and he could simply ignore Caroline. She was asleep when he got in anyway.

And even asleep she rolled away from him when he slid under the covers next to her. It didn’t matter. Her body was too soft, her hair too long, her scent too flowery, and fuck somehow he found himself missing Brad. Not that he had ever had Brad. Or maybe he had.

He fell asleep hoping everything would go back to normal when he woke.

It didn’t.

He woke up wanting to cry. He was Vincent Le-fucking-cavalier, for chrissake. He was married and played for Colorado. He shouldn not be wishing to see palm trees outside his windows. He should not be wishing to reach out and hold Brad.

“Heya Vince.” Johnny tip toed in unobtrusively, trying to make himself seem small. No small wonder why, given how he had been yelled at last night. It said something about his character that he came back the next morning. “Carrie asked me to come up and check on you.”

Was it late again? Strange, he felt early.

“You okay?” Johnny carefully sat down on the corner of his bed. “You really don’t look so good.”

He sat up, rubbing at his burning eyes. “I’m not okay. I…is there anyway I can get in touch with Brad? I think I need to talk to him.”

“Richards?” Johnny looked amused. The little bastard. What did he have to be so smug about? “Maybe. But it’s not like he’ll talk to you.”

“What?” He wasn’t sure he liked this new attitude of Johnny’s.

“Hmm, I had no idea you would remember.” Johnny smirked. “Look, go back to sleep. I’ll see what I can do to make things better.”

He narrowed his eyes at Johnny, glaring balefully. Despite the strangeness of the situation, whatever was happening, Johnny seemed to be the one with all the answers. “No, you’ll tell me what the fuck is going on right now.”

“Are you sure you can handle knowing?” Johnny tilted his head to one side. “Hey, okay. You were the one who said every star had a shadow. But he was the one who made the wish on a star.”

And of course he knew exactly who he was. “…what did he wish for?”

"You can't even begin to imagine the extent of what he wants. But in short, I think it’s just to make you see that maybe you needed him too.”

“Then why wouldn’t you want me to remember?”

"Because you see how it is? Now you’re the one wanting.” Johnny sighed. “Hey, as one friend to the next, I was only extending you a bit of protective netting. What you want is most definitely out of your reach. Push comes to shove, you’ll come falling down on me. And now the question is, can you get him out of your system?"

He paused. But there was never a doubt in his mind what the answer was, is, and would always be.

6. One Last Time

I’m lost without your sight
I can’t think without your mind
There’s comfort in the night
When I wake up by your side

His eyes cracked open and god it was like that morning when everything was so fucking bright. He blinked a few times, and the room grew dim on him. Or maybe it was never bright to begin with. Next to him he heard beeping from a machine…perhaps it was a heart monitor? A brain monitor? It was hard to tell. But it was enough to scare him. What had happened to him?

“Hey…I know you can hear me.”

He turned his head as far as he could without yanking out any of the wires attached to him to see Brad on his other side. Brad was a mess, mangy and pale with bloodshot eyes. But Brad was there. And he was suddenly filled with warm relief, knowing Brad was with him, and whatever had happened didn’t matter so much anymore.

“I’m sorry. I never should have-“ Brad paused, picking up his hand, and accompanying the warm breath on his palm was a tear. “Wake up, okay. Please. I need you.”

“Brad…”

“Oh god, you’re awake…I have to-I should get the doctor, I’ll-“ Brad stood, ready to rush off, ready to do whatever he needed only his hand is held tight by the one lying on the bed.

“Wait.”

“But I have to—“

“Brad.” And Brad paused. And now he could finally correct Brad on his biggest mistake. His breath was shaky, like he was trying to hold back tears or something. “I was the one who always needed you. The only reason I had to be anything was so I could deserve you.”

“Vinny…”

That one word Brad uttered made him feel that if he had to die right now, he would have died happy.

Then he let Brad leave to get a doctor, and closed his eyes, knowing that when he opened them again, Brad would still be there.

So maybe he wasn’t Vincent Le-fucking-cavalier. But he was Vinny. More importantly, he was Brad’s Vinny. And everything was going to be all right.

Ficlet about Vinny's injury from Game 4 of SCF 2004, Brad's POV

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 07:45:30 GMT

I shove him up against the door the moment it’s closed and kiss him fiercely before he can draw in a surprised breath. One hand reaches up, as if to tangle in his hair, and I sense him brace for a wince of pain that will never come. My hand stops short, because I haven’t forgotten, and instead my fingers brush gently across his new scar.

“I was so scared.” My words are puffs of hot air against his lips, and he swallows them eagerly.

“I was too.”

“Promise me you won’t get hurt again.”

“I promise.”

But I know this is a promise he can’t keep, so I kiss him harder, just because I still can.