Season in the Red ... and slash :3
Title: Martin Ostrowski's Season in the Red
Team: Original (archived here)
Chapter 3: New Logic
But also! A little slash fic on the side :) Because this is what happens when I get the flu and stay up passed 3am watching the Little Mermaid in Czech lol
Title: Double Speak
Characters: Cici/Martin
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own these characters so I can make them have as much sex as I want MWHAHAHAHA!
They got in late. The team plane was held up for only an hour as a snow storm flirted with their destination, but an especially contentious flight with stir crazed athletes sick of poker and unappeased by pleasant mini gourmet sandwiches kept them from feeling like the ordeal was fully over even once they had arrived at another bland two and a half/three star hotel. Martin was in a foul mood, which wasn't surprising really as the Polish hockey player was usually in some state of either entering or leaving grumpiness. Perpetual tempestuousness, Cici thought, seemed to be all the rage among Slavic players lately.
But he wasn't so bad really. Cici could see through him enough to know that perhaps Martin would never really see him ... but that wasn't so bad either. It wasn't as bad as he might have thought it would be had someone explained the situation to him months ago before the season began-- that he was going to be hopelessly in love with a teammate that, to put it mildly, thought he was a complete idiot.
“Ah~h!” He stretched out on his bed while Martin meticulously arranged his belongings into drawers in the dresser. “I'm so tired!”
Martin didn't respond. He dug through his bag in search of something while Cici flipped aimlessly through the channels on the room TV.
“What do you want to watch?”
“I thought you were tired?”
He used the Czech word for tired in an otherwise Polish sentence because they had discovered rather early on that the Polish word for tired meant something different. Over time they had developed their own blend of Polish and Czech. Their own secret language, Cici thought with a smile, although he doubted Martin saw it that way. Martin certainly thought of it as a strictly functional adaptation, not an intimate bond between them. Not something special they shared. Not the way Cici saw it. Martin would never see it that way because even with their secret language, it was difficult to take conversation passed casual small talk and hockey related chatter.
Cici could always tell when he screwed up because Martin would switch to Russian. Since Cici only had a conversational knowledge of Russian, these moves felt like they were less about communication and more about marking out territory ... places where the conversation had better turn back.
“Why are you unpacking?” He chewed thoughtfully on his lip as his attention shifted back and forth between an episode of Law and Order and Martin's beautiful soft blond curls. Little light spires that tumbled down into a messy array of hair cropped short and shaved at the neck. His was pretty, but not in an obvious heart throb sort of way. Rather he was pretty in a subtle unself-conscious sort of way.
“Szukał...” Martin said.
Most of the time the words with conflicting meanings were easy to identify and isolate, but then there were those other times ... those other times when the words coming out played upon wishful thinking to the point where Cici thought maybe he DID know. Maybe he did know how Cici felt and was simply torturing him.
He felt himself growing hot and red. Blushing, he was sure he was blushing and tried to focus on the images of Jack McCoy flailing on the TV and not the images wandering around his head of Martin naked ... moaning “...So-Sorry?”
“Szukał” he repeated, unuseful hand gestures that pushed his hips up against his suitcase as he bent over. Cici swallowed the hard lump in his throat and tried to shut out the thoughts that giddily formed a conga line around those sweet syllables. Hot ... skin to skin ... purring Polish in his ear. Martin frowned and switched to the infinitive, “... szukać?” No no no, that was even worse. Šukat ... to fuck in Czech. Or at least that's what it sounded like.
And then came the Russian with a confused twitch of Martin's features “...poisk?"
Right ... right ... right, of course, of course ... he was looking for something. Something in the suitcase. Something ... probably not a seven itch purple dildo. Oh GOD ... he couldn't stop thinking about it. STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!!!
Martin stared at him for a long time. That look. That look he always got when he could feel the other player's thoughts burning into him. That look that said quite clearly “you are a complete idiot and I don't know what to do with you.”
“Are you alright?” Martin said in English. He knew things must be bad if Martin had switched to English. His words were practically seething judgement.
“Yes ... ummm ... fine ...”
Maybe he should just tell him. Maybe things would be better. They could laugh about the differences instead of awkwardly stepping around them. The mistakes would bring them closer together instead of shoving Cici further into the corner with his dunce cap on.
Martin sat down on his bed-- hands folded together in his lap, legs spread casually apart-- and looked a tiny bit concerned at his roommate. Still in inherently disjointed English, syllables he delivered so smoothly though he barely understood them, he said “You tired? Let's go to bed.”
Oh Jesus. No, he couldn't do this anymore. The urge to smile, grab Martin's wrist and say something playful back along the lines of “Yes! Let's go to bed, I'm not nearly tired enough” was overpowering. He wanted Martin to like him, he wasn't sure he did, but if he was going to think he was a freak anyway he might as well know the truth.
“Marty...”
Martin blinked and tilted his head to the side.
“Chci vědět, co si myslíte o...” I want to know what you think about...
“...o?” About?
“Láska mezi dvěma muži.”
Martin choked, physically choked on nothing more than the air in his lungs. He gave Cici the strangest look-- a little bug eyed, a little confused, and also a little curious-- but did not run away, did not laugh at him even though he had nervously chosen to express himself in the most indirect and cheesiest of ways. 'Love between two men' ... Jesus, that sounded retarded in any language.
“Czasem...” Martin said.
“Huh?”
The Pole strained, awkwardly trying to remember something. “Nekdi...” His expression seemed to say 'no, no, no ... something different' and he frowned and tried again, his accent just a little off for Czech but still comprehensible “...Někdy?”
Sometimes
Sometimes?
Sometimes what?
For once it was Cici who gave Martin the funny look and Martin who looked a little silly, though his undercurrent of defiance hid it somewhat and that seemed terribly unfair to Cici. Look like a fool honestly Martin, you owe that to me at least.
“Jste dělali předtím?” You have before?
“Obserwowanych...” Martin admitted. This was easy for Cici to understand because it sounded like the English verb “observe”. He had ... watched?
Wait ... what?
“Czasem...” Martin went on. “Eksperymenty ... ale...” Sometimes experimented but... “Boli moje gardło.” It hurt ... something. Cici didn't understand 'gardło'. Hurt? Hurt what? Poor sweet Martin, did he have his heart broken back in Russia? That would explain so much: why he was distant with the others, even the Russians; why he was so cynical when faced with team brotherhood. Cici felt his resolve strengthen. It was arrogant to think he could fix him, help mend his broken heart, but maybe ... just maybe it could help Martin forget whatever or whoever had come before--
---Wait ... gardło ... like ... hrdlo in Czech? It had hurt his throat?
“Gardło” he repeated questioningly, pointing to his neck. Martin nodded.
Jesus Christ!
“Marty ... Láska je láska ... by nemělo bolet.” Love is love, it shouldn't hurt. He broke down his Czech so the words would sound closer to Polish: “ne bolest.” Not hurt.
“Ale,” But. Martin frowned and looked off to the side, his thoughts seeming so collected and orderly, so detached and matter-of-fact, and unnatural combination when confessing matters of the heart. “Niektóre są wielkie, a niektóre są małe.” Some are big and some are small.
...What?
Cici wanted to find a way to explain to Martin that no matter how big or dramatic or intense love is, if it hurts it isn't really love. Whoever had come before had clearly taken advantage of Martin, exploited the fact that he was a Pole living in Russia alone without any family connections. It made Cici so angry to even think about it, so he had to push it out of his mind because for the first time he felt very acutely that Martin needed him.
“I would never do that to you.” Cici said firmly in English.
Martin did not react the way he expected. He hadn't flattered himself by believing that Martin would be so overcome with emotion he would jump into his arms and vow eternal devotion. He expected that Martin would either bristle like a porcupine and withdraw, or he would accept this gesture quietly and not return it.
But the Pole did neither. He frowned and looked ... disappointed. “Why not?” he asked.
Cici didn't know how to respond. “Because ... because it's wrong!”
And now Martin's reaction seemed even weirder. He looked annoyed. “Then why you ask?”
“Because...” he didn't know what to say. He didn't know what Martin wanted him to say. He was staring at him with his deep critical brown eyes; it was like being scalded with hot water. “Because ... Miluji tě.” I love you.
Martin opened his mouth to say something, then it was like a little red light went off in his head and his eyes got really wide. He looked mortified for a few seconds, looked down to the floor and then started laughing.
This too was not quite the reaction Cici had been hoping for, although after the bewildering exchange that had preceded it he couldn't muster up enough strength to be hurt by it.
“Oh ... OH!” he snorted. “Oh ... I made a mistake.” Back to Russian. Martin cleared his throat and suppressed the last few giggles, venturing tentatively into English as a peace offering. “Láska ... Láska is ... love? In Czech? Yes?”
Cici nodded.
“In Polish it is ... different. I ... mistake.”
He was still laughing, cruelly, infectiously so. Cici could only sit there, dejection and humiliation beginning to seep in passed the shock and confusion that had shielded him, and wait for some pathetic garbled excuse for why things would never work out between the two of them. A tri-lingual equivalent of 'He's just not that into you' delivered by someone who evidently found his passionate confession HILARIOUS.
“In Polish ... Láska ... it is...” Martin tried to find the right word, but gave up after only seconds. “It is ... this.” With a devious little grin he brazenly put his hand right on Cici's crotch.
That got his attention. Martin's eyes sparkled mischievously when the Czech gasped, sudden immediate eye contact sending an electric current through him. Láska meant ... in Polish it meant ... so he hadn't asked Martin what he thought about love between two men, but what he thought about---
OH MY GOD.
“You thought ... you thought I was ... asking you for sex?”
Martin shrugged, his return to blasé was almost welcoming. He thought out his words in English carefully. “I thought ... you want watch ... special movie, maybe.”
OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD.
He was too flabbergasted to speak, but at some point he realized that Martin's hand was still pressing against him ... and his thumb was rubbing quiet little semi-circles and it felt good.
--------------------------
Authors Note:
This is why Slavic languages are wicked fun :)
In Czech:
Love as a noun, general concept = Láska
Love as a verb, to love something = milovat
In Polish on the other hand milovat is understandable because the Polish word for love is miłość but láska means “walking stick” and is therefore kind of a slang term for ... *coughs* something obvious :)
Otherwise I'm sure I made lots of lots of linguist mistakes with both the Polish AND the Czech hahaha but I wanted to challenge myself to write something that would be amusing to people who neither understand Polish or Czech.
Team: Original (archived here)
Chapter 3: New Logic
But also! A little slash fic on the side :) Because this is what happens when I get the flu and stay up passed 3am watching the Little Mermaid in Czech lol
Title: Double Speak
Characters: Cici/Martin
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own these characters so I can make them have as much sex as I want MWHAHAHAHA!
They got in late. The team plane was held up for only an hour as a snow storm flirted with their destination, but an especially contentious flight with stir crazed athletes sick of poker and unappeased by pleasant mini gourmet sandwiches kept them from feeling like the ordeal was fully over even once they had arrived at another bland two and a half/three star hotel. Martin was in a foul mood, which wasn't surprising really as the Polish hockey player was usually in some state of either entering or leaving grumpiness. Perpetual tempestuousness, Cici thought, seemed to be all the rage among Slavic players lately.
But he wasn't so bad really. Cici could see through him enough to know that perhaps Martin would never really see him ... but that wasn't so bad either. It wasn't as bad as he might have thought it would be had someone explained the situation to him months ago before the season began-- that he was going to be hopelessly in love with a teammate that, to put it mildly, thought he was a complete idiot.
“Ah~h!” He stretched out on his bed while Martin meticulously arranged his belongings into drawers in the dresser. “I'm so tired!”
Martin didn't respond. He dug through his bag in search of something while Cici flipped aimlessly through the channels on the room TV.
“What do you want to watch?”
“I thought you were tired?”
He used the Czech word for tired in an otherwise Polish sentence because they had discovered rather early on that the Polish word for tired meant something different. Over time they had developed their own blend of Polish and Czech. Their own secret language, Cici thought with a smile, although he doubted Martin saw it that way. Martin certainly thought of it as a strictly functional adaptation, not an intimate bond between them. Not something special they shared. Not the way Cici saw it. Martin would never see it that way because even with their secret language, it was difficult to take conversation passed casual small talk and hockey related chatter.
Cici could always tell when he screwed up because Martin would switch to Russian. Since Cici only had a conversational knowledge of Russian, these moves felt like they were less about communication and more about marking out territory ... places where the conversation had better turn back.
“Why are you unpacking?” He chewed thoughtfully on his lip as his attention shifted back and forth between an episode of Law and Order and Martin's beautiful soft blond curls. Little light spires that tumbled down into a messy array of hair cropped short and shaved at the neck. His was pretty, but not in an obvious heart throb sort of way. Rather he was pretty in a subtle unself-conscious sort of way.
“Szukał...” Martin said.
Most of the time the words with conflicting meanings were easy to identify and isolate, but then there were those other times ... those other times when the words coming out played upon wishful thinking to the point where Cici thought maybe he DID know. Maybe he did know how Cici felt and was simply torturing him.
He felt himself growing hot and red. Blushing, he was sure he was blushing and tried to focus on the images of Jack McCoy flailing on the TV and not the images wandering around his head of Martin naked ... moaning “...So-Sorry?”
“Szukał” he repeated, unuseful hand gestures that pushed his hips up against his suitcase as he bent over. Cici swallowed the hard lump in his throat and tried to shut out the thoughts that giddily formed a conga line around those sweet syllables. Hot ... skin to skin ... purring Polish in his ear. Martin frowned and switched to the infinitive, “... szukać?” No no no, that was even worse. Šukat ... to fuck in Czech. Or at least that's what it sounded like.
And then came the Russian with a confused twitch of Martin's features “...poisk?"
Right ... right ... right, of course, of course ... he was looking for something. Something in the suitcase. Something ... probably not a seven itch purple dildo. Oh GOD ... he couldn't stop thinking about it. STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!!!
Martin stared at him for a long time. That look. That look he always got when he could feel the other player's thoughts burning into him. That look that said quite clearly “you are a complete idiot and I don't know what to do with you.”
“Are you alright?” Martin said in English. He knew things must be bad if Martin had switched to English. His words were practically seething judgement.
“Yes ... ummm ... fine ...”
Maybe he should just tell him. Maybe things would be better. They could laugh about the differences instead of awkwardly stepping around them. The mistakes would bring them closer together instead of shoving Cici further into the corner with his dunce cap on.
Martin sat down on his bed-- hands folded together in his lap, legs spread casually apart-- and looked a tiny bit concerned at his roommate. Still in inherently disjointed English, syllables he delivered so smoothly though he barely understood them, he said “You tired? Let's go to bed.”
Oh Jesus. No, he couldn't do this anymore. The urge to smile, grab Martin's wrist and say something playful back along the lines of “Yes! Let's go to bed, I'm not nearly tired enough” was overpowering. He wanted Martin to like him, he wasn't sure he did, but if he was going to think he was a freak anyway he might as well know the truth.
“Marty...”
Martin blinked and tilted his head to the side.
“Chci vědět, co si myslíte o...” I want to know what you think about...
“...o?” About?
“Láska mezi dvěma muži.”
Martin choked, physically choked on nothing more than the air in his lungs. He gave Cici the strangest look-- a little bug eyed, a little confused, and also a little curious-- but did not run away, did not laugh at him even though he had nervously chosen to express himself in the most indirect and cheesiest of ways. 'Love between two men' ... Jesus, that sounded retarded in any language.
“Czasem...” Martin said.
“Huh?”
The Pole strained, awkwardly trying to remember something. “Nekdi...” His expression seemed to say 'no, no, no ... something different' and he frowned and tried again, his accent just a little off for Czech but still comprehensible “...Někdy?”
Sometimes
Sometimes?
Sometimes what?
For once it was Cici who gave Martin the funny look and Martin who looked a little silly, though his undercurrent of defiance hid it somewhat and that seemed terribly unfair to Cici. Look like a fool honestly Martin, you owe that to me at least.
“Jste dělali předtím?” You have before?
“Obserwowanych...” Martin admitted. This was easy for Cici to understand because it sounded like the English verb “observe”. He had ... watched?
Wait ... what?
“Czasem...” Martin went on. “Eksperymenty ... ale...” Sometimes experimented but... “Boli moje gardło.” It hurt ... something. Cici didn't understand 'gardło'. Hurt? Hurt what? Poor sweet Martin, did he have his heart broken back in Russia? That would explain so much: why he was distant with the others, even the Russians; why he was so cynical when faced with team brotherhood. Cici felt his resolve strengthen. It was arrogant to think he could fix him, help mend his broken heart, but maybe ... just maybe it could help Martin forget whatever or whoever had come before--
---Wait ... gardło ... like ... hrdlo in Czech? It had hurt his throat?
“Gardło” he repeated questioningly, pointing to his neck. Martin nodded.
Jesus Christ!
“Marty ... Láska je láska ... by nemělo bolet.” Love is love, it shouldn't hurt. He broke down his Czech so the words would sound closer to Polish: “ne bolest.” Not hurt.
“Ale,” But. Martin frowned and looked off to the side, his thoughts seeming so collected and orderly, so detached and matter-of-fact, and unnatural combination when confessing matters of the heart. “Niektóre są wielkie, a niektóre są małe.” Some are big and some are small.
...What?
Cici wanted to find a way to explain to Martin that no matter how big or dramatic or intense love is, if it hurts it isn't really love. Whoever had come before had clearly taken advantage of Martin, exploited the fact that he was a Pole living in Russia alone without any family connections. It made Cici so angry to even think about it, so he had to push it out of his mind because for the first time he felt very acutely that Martin needed him.
“I would never do that to you.” Cici said firmly in English.
Martin did not react the way he expected. He hadn't flattered himself by believing that Martin would be so overcome with emotion he would jump into his arms and vow eternal devotion. He expected that Martin would either bristle like a porcupine and withdraw, or he would accept this gesture quietly and not return it.
But the Pole did neither. He frowned and looked ... disappointed. “Why not?” he asked.
Cici didn't know how to respond. “Because ... because it's wrong!”
And now Martin's reaction seemed even weirder. He looked annoyed. “Then why you ask?”
“Because...” he didn't know what to say. He didn't know what Martin wanted him to say. He was staring at him with his deep critical brown eyes; it was like being scalded with hot water. “Because ... Miluji tě.” I love you.
Martin opened his mouth to say something, then it was like a little red light went off in his head and his eyes got really wide. He looked mortified for a few seconds, looked down to the floor and then started laughing.
This too was not quite the reaction Cici had been hoping for, although after the bewildering exchange that had preceded it he couldn't muster up enough strength to be hurt by it.
“Oh ... OH!” he snorted. “Oh ... I made a mistake.” Back to Russian. Martin cleared his throat and suppressed the last few giggles, venturing tentatively into English as a peace offering. “Láska ... Láska is ... love? In Czech? Yes?”
Cici nodded.
“In Polish it is ... different. I ... mistake.”
He was still laughing, cruelly, infectiously so. Cici could only sit there, dejection and humiliation beginning to seep in passed the shock and confusion that had shielded him, and wait for some pathetic garbled excuse for why things would never work out between the two of them. A tri-lingual equivalent of 'He's just not that into you' delivered by someone who evidently found his passionate confession HILARIOUS.
“In Polish ... Láska ... it is...” Martin tried to find the right word, but gave up after only seconds. “It is ... this.” With a devious little grin he brazenly put his hand right on Cici's crotch.
That got his attention. Martin's eyes sparkled mischievously when the Czech gasped, sudden immediate eye contact sending an electric current through him. Láska meant ... in Polish it meant ... so he hadn't asked Martin what he thought about love between two men, but what he thought about---
OH MY GOD.
“You thought ... you thought I was ... asking you for sex?”
Martin shrugged, his return to blasé was almost welcoming. He thought out his words in English carefully. “I thought ... you want watch ... special movie, maybe.”
OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD.
He was too flabbergasted to speak, but at some point he realized that Martin's hand was still pressing against him ... and his thumb was rubbing quiet little semi-circles and it felt good.
--------------------------
Authors Note:
This is why Slavic languages are wicked fun :)
In Czech:
Love as a noun, general concept = Láska
Love as a verb, to love something = milovat
In Polish on the other hand milovat is understandable because the Polish word for love is miłość but láska means “walking stick” and is therefore kind of a slang term for ... *coughs* something obvious :)
Otherwise I'm sure I made lots of lots of linguist mistakes with both the Polish AND the Czech hahaha but I wanted to challenge myself to write something that would be amusing to people who neither understand Polish or Czech.