Part Two of Colby/Sidney lovin'!
Title: The Places You Fear the Most (2/multiple)
Characters: Sidney Crosby, Colby Armstrong, mentions of Mario Lemieux, Ryan Malone and Marc-Andre Fleury
Fandom: NHL-Pittsburgh Penguins. Sidney/Colby
Summary: As the dog days of summer wind down in preparation for hockey season, things start to heat up.
Rating: PG-13, swearing
Disclaimer: In reality, I don’t own or know any of these people. The events more than likely did not happen and I have no idea what their sexual preference is.
Author’s Notes: The beginning of the 2007-2008 season in lovely Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Directly after Part One. Told in Colby's P.O.V.
I made my way to my car, the only thought between my ears was the reoccurring question "How could I be such a freaking idiot?" As I got into the car I cursed to myself, hoping that no one behind the door could hear me.
Then, with a great heaving sigh, I buried my head in my steering wheel, trying to even myself with two deep breaths.
“Could you have been any more of a spazz, Army?” I muttered into the steering wheel, my face squished against it. I sat, clearing my mind of all the thoughts that buzzed about. I just hoped no one inside the house had looked outside and seen me huddled over, forlorn and completely baffled.
If anyone did see me like that, I prayed it wasn’t Sidney. In a tactical sense I didn't want to show him any weakness, and I felt weak.
I sat up finally, and began to back my way out of the driveway. "Really, Army, are you this messed up that you felt it necessary to make a move on Sidney?" I asked outloud, paying no attention to where I was going until I was inches away from the mailbox. I slammed my breaks, making a screeching sound that could be head all over Pittsburgh. I could imagine Mario coming across the yard to see one of the Pittsburgh wingers in a tangle with his mailbox. I got the heck out of there.
I found myself completely drained and exhausted as if I had just done sprints for three hours, I could even feel the familiar nausea creeping into my stomach and slowly upward.
The more I thought about what had gone on, the more the thought of throwing up. What had happened? Or, what had almost happened, rather? Why was I freaking out? Was it because of what happened or because of what didn't happen? I couldn't put my finger on it.
My fingernails dug into the steering wheel as I tried to steel myself against both my thoughts and the bile in my stomach that seemed to gurgle.
I was straight, 100%. Okay, so I was newly single. I had just broken it off with my girlfriend of two years only three weeks ago but I was okay with it, so, I knew I wasn't seeking the comfort of anyone who would try to make me smile.
So what had happened? Why had I tried to advance on my best friend? The Captain of the team that held my loyalty. That was definitely not considered normal, straight behavior. At least not sober.
I began the ascent up one of Pittsburgh's bountiful bridges. (Seventy-four, Ryan Malone had been sure to mention this twenty or so times every time we showed someone around Pittsburgh.) I could see the very edge of the Mellon Arena, the place that would hold our Stanley Cup dreams this year.
I was now on the familar route home from practice or a game, I was on autopilot I had driven it so many times. I imagined the grooves worn into the road as my car wore the same path on it day after day... The path that would be drawn from Mellon, to the nearest McDonalds, to the highway, over the bridge, to my house. The route that I had taken so much that I could just see myself tearing along it for the rest of my life, in agony as much as happiness...
“AHA ” I shouted, my eyes opening quickly as my car lunged into the third lane from the second. The driver behind me lay on his horn even though he wouldn’t have hit me unless I slammed my brakes. Straightening both myself and the car, I was proud of this new mental revolution.
I wasn't gay. I was bored.
I grinned at myself in the rearview mirror for a long second. I took the moment to admire my slightly crooked nose, my crisply burnt cheeks from the weekend before, a cut from a stray puck as we tried to teach Malkin the finer points of playing baseball with a stick and puck.
It was strange, to be excited that I figured out that I was bored with my life. But I would take that over wanting to do the nasty with Sidney Crosby any day.
Soon after my brilliant revelation, I returned to my small condo, pulling into the parking lot. Golfers walked along the lot, heading towards the beautifully green course that I wouldn't mind hitting up myself sometime soon.
I was not the changed man I had felt I had become when I walked through the Lemieuxs’ house to my car. I was still Colby Armstrong, the same guy I had been before, just one who needed to mix up my life a bit more.
Just how to mix my life up more was the question. But one thing it did not entail was kissing boys, namely Sidney Crosby. I just needed the contents of my life to be poured into a large glass and shaken, not stirred.
I made my way into the condo and began my normal "welcome home!" routine. I kicked off my shoes, emptied my pockets and went to scavenge for food. My head was buried deep in the fridge when my phone began to ring.
Riding up and down Broadway on my old stud Leroy
And the girls say, save a horse, ride a cowboy.
Everybody says, save a horse, ride a cowboy.
I’m a thoroughbred, that’s what she sa-
“Hello?” I reached the phone, cutting off Big and Rich mid-line.
“Hey, Army. ‘Bout today. I jus’ . . . I’m not . . . I . . . ”
Wow, this kid didn’t beat around bush. Not in hockey and not in talk.
“Captain, you ought to get better at public speaking if you ever want to drink outta Stanley.”
“I despise you.” He jousted playfully and I grinned.
“And about today. It’s all well. No harm, no foul. Nothing ever happened, eh?”
He was silent for what seemed like a good five minutes, but was actually about five seconds. "Oh. Yeah. Nothing happened."
So he agreed, which was good. Excellent in fact. We were on the same page with a lot of things, and this was now one of them. This was what you wanted to be said, I reminded myself at the slight disappointment that he didn't argue that it could have meant something.
“I’ve already forgotten what we’re talking about. So, tonight. The boys are going out. Yer gonna come along, aren’t you, Captain?” I said, almost teasing him with the Captain. It was quickly becoming a playful, bantering nickname between the two of us.
“Well, Nathalie is cooking tonight. Where are you guys going? It’s Flower’s choice, right?”
“Mine.” I said, almost smugly. Flower would tell them to go somewhere nice, French, sit down with candles and waitresses who didn’t have a track record. I, well, I wouldn't.
“Fuck.”
A grin sprawled across my face at the clear hatred in Sid's voice of all the places I dragged the "young guns" of Pittsburgh off too.
“Where are you guys going?” He pried again.
“Tessaro’s. Me likey beers and burgers.”
“And grease. Fuck. I guess I’ll come.”
“See ya there, Sid.”
“I don’t have much choice. Don’t wanna lose my respect with my team.”
“Whatever, -Captain.- See ye at seven.”
I settled down onto the couch, placing my phone back on the low table. I grabbed the remote from between the second and third couch cushions and began in rapid pursuit of a show to capture my ever short attention span.
Your jobs a joke, you're broke, your love life's D.O.A.
It's like you're always stuck in second gear
And it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year
but..
I started to sing along with the surround sound throughout both the living room and kitchen of the one bedroom condo. The singing was bad, off-key, but oddly good because of nothing but the fact that I knew each and every word perfectly. I sang along with all the heart it took to do anything successfully.
I'll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour
I'll be there for you, like I've been there before
I'll be there for you, 'cuz you're there for me too...
Sidney would die if he saw me watching this, and that was the last thought that crossed my mind as I bunkered down on the couch for the afternoon to watch the exploits of six best friends in New York City.
Characters: Sidney Crosby, Colby Armstrong, mentions of Mario Lemieux, Ryan Malone and Marc-Andre Fleury
Fandom: NHL-Pittsburgh Penguins. Sidney/Colby
Summary: As the dog days of summer wind down in preparation for hockey season, things start to heat up.
Rating: PG-13, swearing
Disclaimer: In reality, I don’t own or know any of these people. The events more than likely did not happen and I have no idea what their sexual preference is.
Author’s Notes: The beginning of the 2007-2008 season in lovely Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Directly after Part One. Told in Colby's P.O.V.
I made my way to my car, the only thought between my ears was the reoccurring question "How could I be such a freaking idiot?" As I got into the car I cursed to myself, hoping that no one behind the door could hear me.
Then, with a great heaving sigh, I buried my head in my steering wheel, trying to even myself with two deep breaths.
“Could you have been any more of a spazz, Army?” I muttered into the steering wheel, my face squished against it. I sat, clearing my mind of all the thoughts that buzzed about. I just hoped no one inside the house had looked outside and seen me huddled over, forlorn and completely baffled.
If anyone did see me like that, I prayed it wasn’t Sidney. In a tactical sense I didn't want to show him any weakness, and I felt weak.
I sat up finally, and began to back my way out of the driveway. "Really, Army, are you this messed up that you felt it necessary to make a move on Sidney?" I asked outloud, paying no attention to where I was going until I was inches away from the mailbox. I slammed my breaks, making a screeching sound that could be head all over Pittsburgh. I could imagine Mario coming across the yard to see one of the Pittsburgh wingers in a tangle with his mailbox. I got the heck out of there.
I found myself completely drained and exhausted as if I had just done sprints for three hours, I could even feel the familiar nausea creeping into my stomach and slowly upward.
The more I thought about what had gone on, the more the thought of throwing up. What had happened? Or, what had almost happened, rather? Why was I freaking out? Was it because of what happened or because of what didn't happen? I couldn't put my finger on it.
My fingernails dug into the steering wheel as I tried to steel myself against both my thoughts and the bile in my stomach that seemed to gurgle.
I was straight, 100%. Okay, so I was newly single. I had just broken it off with my girlfriend of two years only three weeks ago but I was okay with it, so, I knew I wasn't seeking the comfort of anyone who would try to make me smile.
So what had happened? Why had I tried to advance on my best friend? The Captain of the team that held my loyalty. That was definitely not considered normal, straight behavior. At least not sober.
I began the ascent up one of Pittsburgh's bountiful bridges. (Seventy-four, Ryan Malone had been sure to mention this twenty or so times every time we showed someone around Pittsburgh.) I could see the very edge of the Mellon Arena, the place that would hold our Stanley Cup dreams this year.
I was now on the familar route home from practice or a game, I was on autopilot I had driven it so many times. I imagined the grooves worn into the road as my car wore the same path on it day after day... The path that would be drawn from Mellon, to the nearest McDonalds, to the highway, over the bridge, to my house. The route that I had taken so much that I could just see myself tearing along it for the rest of my life, in agony as much as happiness...
“AHA ” I shouted, my eyes opening quickly as my car lunged into the third lane from the second. The driver behind me lay on his horn even though he wouldn’t have hit me unless I slammed my brakes. Straightening both myself and the car, I was proud of this new mental revolution.
I wasn't gay. I was bored.
I grinned at myself in the rearview mirror for a long second. I took the moment to admire my slightly crooked nose, my crisply burnt cheeks from the weekend before, a cut from a stray puck as we tried to teach Malkin the finer points of playing baseball with a stick and puck.
It was strange, to be excited that I figured out that I was bored with my life. But I would take that over wanting to do the nasty with Sidney Crosby any day.
Soon after my brilliant revelation, I returned to my small condo, pulling into the parking lot. Golfers walked along the lot, heading towards the beautifully green course that I wouldn't mind hitting up myself sometime soon.
I was not the changed man I had felt I had become when I walked through the Lemieuxs’ house to my car. I was still Colby Armstrong, the same guy I had been before, just one who needed to mix up my life a bit more.
Just how to mix my life up more was the question. But one thing it did not entail was kissing boys, namely Sidney Crosby. I just needed the contents of my life to be poured into a large glass and shaken, not stirred.
I made my way into the condo and began my normal "welcome home!" routine. I kicked off my shoes, emptied my pockets and went to scavenge for food. My head was buried deep in the fridge when my phone began to ring.
Riding up and down Broadway on my old stud Leroy
And the girls say, save a horse, ride a cowboy.
Everybody says, save a horse, ride a cowboy.
I’m a thoroughbred, that’s what she sa-
“Hello?” I reached the phone, cutting off Big and Rich mid-line.
“Hey, Army. ‘Bout today. I jus’ . . . I’m not . . . I . . . ”
Wow, this kid didn’t beat around bush. Not in hockey and not in talk.
“Captain, you ought to get better at public speaking if you ever want to drink outta Stanley.”
“I despise you.” He jousted playfully and I grinned.
“And about today. It’s all well. No harm, no foul. Nothing ever happened, eh?”
He was silent for what seemed like a good five minutes, but was actually about five seconds. "Oh. Yeah. Nothing happened."
So he agreed, which was good. Excellent in fact. We were on the same page with a lot of things, and this was now one of them. This was what you wanted to be said, I reminded myself at the slight disappointment that he didn't argue that it could have meant something.
“I’ve already forgotten what we’re talking about. So, tonight. The boys are going out. Yer gonna come along, aren’t you, Captain?” I said, almost teasing him with the Captain. It was quickly becoming a playful, bantering nickname between the two of us.
“Well, Nathalie is cooking tonight. Where are you guys going? It’s Flower’s choice, right?”
“Mine.” I said, almost smugly. Flower would tell them to go somewhere nice, French, sit down with candles and waitresses who didn’t have a track record. I, well, I wouldn't.
“Fuck.”
A grin sprawled across my face at the clear hatred in Sid's voice of all the places I dragged the "young guns" of Pittsburgh off too.
“Where are you guys going?” He pried again.
“Tessaro’s. Me likey beers and burgers.”
“And grease. Fuck. I guess I’ll come.”
“See ya there, Sid.”
“I don’t have much choice. Don’t wanna lose my respect with my team.”
“Whatever, -Captain.- See ye at seven.”
I settled down onto the couch, placing my phone back on the low table. I grabbed the remote from between the second and third couch cushions and began in rapid pursuit of a show to capture my ever short attention span.
Your jobs a joke, you're broke, your love life's D.O.A.
It's like you're always stuck in second gear
And it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year
but..
I started to sing along with the surround sound throughout both the living room and kitchen of the one bedroom condo. The singing was bad, off-key, but oddly good because of nothing but the fact that I knew each and every word perfectly. I sang along with all the heart it took to do anything successfully.
I'll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour
I'll be there for you, like I've been there before
I'll be there for you, 'cuz you're there for me too...
Sidney would die if he saw me watching this, and that was the last thought that crossed my mind as I bunkered down on the couch for the afternoon to watch the exploits of six best friends in New York City.