(no subject)
Title: Pass & Fake It
Rating: overall, NC-17.
Team: Minnesota Wild James Sheppard/Niklas Backstrom
Summary: James is rookied and Niklas gets pissed. Almost rape/mentions of rape.
Disclamer: I wish I did own them, but I dont. Life isnt fair sometimes.
Note: This takes place during the 2007/08 season. No real set time.
“James?”
James let his left knee pad fall with a loud *thud*. “Yes, Niklas?”
“What makes you scream?”
Flashback
“Please… No, it hurts, please.”
Niklas awoke with a start. He sat up, flicking on the light and looking around the room in confusion. His room mate, a rookie center, let out a sob.
“James?” Niklas pushed his blankets off, and moved toward the James’ bed. “James?”
“It hurts…” another sob made its way out of the younger man’s throat.
Niklas put a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him, “James, wake up. James, you have to awake.”
James jerked up, then slid back to flattened himself to the headboard, “Don’t hurt me.”
“Shush, James. I will not. What is wrong?”
“N-nothing,” James pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, “Sorry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, I’m sorry-“
“James.” Niklas cut in, “Do not ramble at me. And do not be sorry. You mean to scare yourself?”
“N-no.”
“Then no apologies. Shush,” Niklas patted his shoulder and felt a tinge of hurt when the rookie flinched.
“Oh-okay,” James nodded.
“Will you talk to me? Will you tell me?” Niklas sat down at the foot of his bed.
“I-I can’t,” James finally whispered, after minutes of silence.
“Just know, James,” Niklas sighed, standing up and walking back to his own bed, “Dat I am always here to help you. You can talk to me when ever you need me.”
James nodded and rolled over so his back was to Niklas. He wanted to tell someone, well, what he really wanted to do was tell Niklas. But, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let anyone know. So he’d stay away and suffer. He wouldn’t let himself fall asleep again tonight because the last nightmare had been too bad and he’d made too much noise.
Niklas clicked the light off and James heard the sheets rustle.
“Remember, James, I am always here.”
End
“Don’t ask me.”
“James-“
“Please,” James turned to look at him, “Please, please, please, don’t ask me.”
Niklas thought back to the night before. James woke up, screaming bloody murder; Niklas had rushed over to his bedside, again. He felt a slap of pain in his chest just thinking about it. But last night had been different. It had been worse. The screaming was more harsh, laced with agony. Poor James had looked as if he could cry. Again, he told Niklas it was nothing. He always told him it was nothing. Every time, it was nothing. He just wanted James to be okay.
He’d grown very fond of the rookie. When they’d first had roomed together, the hotel had a mix up and they wound up sharing the same bed. James had gone bright red when he asked Niklas which side he liked to sleep on, and Niklas had laughed. Niklas liked to sleep closest to the door, while James liked the wall. It was the one of the only times they’d roomed together when James hadn’t woken in the middle of the night.
“Really, Backs, I’m okay.”
Niklas sighed audibly, “If you are saying so, Shepp.”
Flashback
“Hey, um, Niklas?”
“Yes, James?”
James stared down at the logo on the locker room floor uncomfortably, “Have you, um, ever been, uh, rookied?”
Niklas froze. Rookied. When a veteran player raped a rookie. “No, no, James. Have you? Are you hurt? Who?” He felt a very sudden, very, very unexpected, white-hot burst of anger.
“Oh, well, um, Niklas… well, no,” James looked down further, his face turning red.
End
Niklas shouted for the driver to stop. He told him to go back to the arena, that he’d forgotten something very, very important.
Stupid, stupid, stupid boy! James had been rookied. Shit!! The nightmares-no wonder!
Niklas headed back to the arena, telling the driver to go as fast as he could without being caught. James would still be there. Hopefully alone.
He raced down the stairs to the locker room. As he ran through the hall, cursed, screams, and oaths were getting louder and more frantic.
“Fuck, no-please, no more… God, please, no more. Don’t hurt me again.”
Niklas felt his insides twist as he pushed open the heavy wooden doors to see his James shaking, shirtless and whimpering in a corner with Martin Skoula standing over him, sliding off his belt.
“You. Will. Not. Touch. My James,” Niklas snarled, stalking forward.
“Your James?” both James and Skoula asked.
“Yes. Mine.”
“Oh, come on, Niklas, it happens to every rookie!” Skoula put his hands up innocently, leaving his belt hanging.
“Not my rookie.”
James darted from behind the defenseman and launched himself in the goaltender’s general direction.
“Nik-“
“Shush,” Niklas held him and stroked his hair out of his face, letting his fingers trial down his neck.
“C’mon, Backs! Let me have him one more time!” Skoula begged.
“Get out of here. Now.”
“Aw, damn.”
They watched him leave the locker room, his bag in tow. James kept his face buried in Niklas’ neck and his eyes shut tight. His breathing was labored and his whole body trembled against Niklas’.
“My James,” Niklas pulled James back by his shoulders to look at him properly, “My James, are you okay?”
James shook his head no, not looking up. He took his hands from Niklas waist and put them behind his back.
“Look at me, my James. Look at me.”
James looked up slowly and leaned his head on Niklas chest. He had tears running down his face, “I’m sorry.”
“It is okay. You are okay,” Niklas whipped away his tears, “everyting will be okay.”
“Niklas-”
The Finn gently pushed his friend over to the bench, and sat down. James sat next to him.
“I just hate that,” James gasped, taking deep breaths between words.
“Has dat happened to you more than once?”
He watched the color drain from James’ face as he nodded.
“How many times have you been a rookie?!”
James half smiled, then let his gaze fall to his bare chest. He swallowed loudly, “Who said it was when I was a rookie?”
“My James?”
“Sorry, ignore me.”
“I can not. Really, I can not, my James,” Niklas took James’ hands in his. “My James, what happened to you?”
“Niklas,” James squeezed his hands hard.
“I am right here.”
“How long did you play in the TPS?”
“Twelve years. Why are you asking?”
“Well, is that like Juniors or AHL?”
Niklas thought for a moment. “Bot. Depends on how good you play. I still love it. Dat is where I will play when I retire.”
“Yeah, right,” James rolled his brown eyes, “You’ll never have to retire.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re Niklas.”
He snorted, “I will get old, my James.”
“Yeah, but, you’re like… God or some shit.”
“Are you trying to stay off topic?”
“Yes,” James grumbled.
“My James, what is wrong?”
“My coach… from the minors… he did things to me. And then eventually he made me do things to him. I… It was do them, or get thrown out. And then again when I played for Team Canada… Niklas.”
“Oh, my James, dose nightmares!”
James nodded sadly, trying to keep the color out of his face.
“Oh, my James,” Niklas hugged him, holding him tightly to his chest.
James surprised himself by not flinching. It felt good to be pressed to Niklas, his cotton dress shirt was warm against his skin. Instead, he let himself wrap his arms around Niklas in return.
“Skoula will not touch you anymore. My promises, my James.”
“Honestly, I think you scared the shit out of him.”
“I will kill him.”
James laughed lightly, feeling less queasy. Niklas was a good guy. He’d be there. Especially since, James reflected, he was his rookie. Huh.
“Niklas?”
“James?”
“What did you mean by ‘not my rookie’?”
“Dat he could not hurt you.”
“I was referring to the ‘my rookie’ or ‘my James’ portion of the statement.”
“Ah,” Niklas leaned back to look at the ceiling thoughtfully, “I like you a lot, James.”
“Well, I like you too, Niklas.”
“And since you are only-what, 19?-saying dis will make you very uncomfortable.”
“Niklas?”
“I want you to be my… boyfriend?”
James sat on the bench, in a different team’s arena, staring at his goalie. His goalie. Boyfriend? Niklas?
“See? Very uncomfortable.”
James kissed him. He forgot about Skoula, forgot about stats, minutes, periods, numbers, ice, skates and sticks, winning, and let himself fall into the arms of a 30-year-old Finnish goaltender, whose scruffy cheeks were tickling his face.
Niklas pulled away first, gasping for air, and keeping James’ chest pressed tight against him. “Was dat a ‘me too’?”
“No, that was a ‘shut up and kiss me’.”
“Oh. I think I might like those.”
James snorted. Niklas got up, walked over, picked up James’ button-down shirt and handed it to him.
“I think we, maybe, should go and find the hotel.”
“And sleep.”
“Yeah, sleep.”