[fanfiction] Risqué - Memoirs of a Prussian Defence 3/6
Title: Memoirs of a Prussian Defence 3/?
Author: twilightrose2
Genre(s): Romance/Humor
Rated: T
Summary: If Gilbert was ever going to write a personal memoir, this is exactly where he would start. With a concerned Canadian standing over him, an angry Brit yelling from the stands and his voice utterly gone.
Note: In which Gilbert actually attempts to skate and learn the finer points of using a hockey stick.
In Which Gilbert's Thick Skull Comes in Handy
-and promises himself to never be the woman in a relationship-
If there was one thing Gilbert found he didn't enjoy, it was the cold. This steamed from a very unfortunate winter break in which he was forced to stay at Ivan Braginski's house with numerous other people because of a snowstorm raging outside. Leave it to the Russian to invite everyone over the one day there is a blizzard so strong all the roads were closed for two days.
While he sat cold, miserable and forced to play risk with Ivan and his creepy sisters while Ludwig was making attempts to save him, Gilbert had a lot of time to think. For someone so self-involved, this was almost a blessing (except he kept losing Europe to the Russian and it was starting to tick him off).
Gilbert realized that he hated the cold.
So why in the world did Matthew have to like the cold? Bundled up (wife-beater- sweater, sweater, jacket, coat, thin gloves, mittens, hat, long underwear, pants and a scarf) he stood outside the arena, already freezing.
Ludwig got out of the sleek car, leaning on the room, pushing sunglasses into his hair, tapping a gloved finger against the outside contemplatively. "Are you sure you really want to do this?" he asked, "You don't even know how to skate."
"It can't be that hard." The Prussian said, waving a hand with difficulty because of his bulk, "Strap on blade and push self across ice. Hell, I bet our dog could do it."
"Blitz would never skate."
Gilbert lifted his hands, drawing a small square in the air around Ludwig's head. "That's your problem Luddy." He said quickly, "You're always thinkin' inside that little efficient box of yours. You need to be less German."
"But I was born in Berlin-"
His brother waved a cut, cutting him off. "No. Don't even deny it. Now, pick me up in an hour-and-a-half."
Ludwig sighed. "Am I just a ride to you?"
"No, sometimes you're a meal ticket." Gilbert grinned at him, slipping into the large recreation centre, looking around, wandering over to where he supposed the arena was. He peered in through a window, staring at the giant ring of ice. His breath fogged the glass and he pulled back, grinning at his own reflection. "Lookin' good." he said to himself. "Soon, Matthew Beilschmidt will be mine... or Gilbert Williams... Gilbert Beilschmidt-Wiliams... Matthew Williams-Beilschmidt?"
"Oh Gilbert!" He jumped, looking around to see six figures walking over to him, most wearing half of their uniform, sticks either around their shoulders or tucked against their sides, tapping against guarded-skates. Matthew was at the forefront, waving eagerly at the Prussian, "I'm glad you came! This is the rest of the team."
Gilbert nodded, recognizing most of the faces. "I'm Gilbert, you know that already though." His introduction got no laughs. It never did. He glanced at them, why were they all so… big?
Smiling nervously, Matthew led his team inside the arena, taking Gilbert's arm and sitting him down in the stands. "So, I'm Matthew and the captain and part of offence. Co-captain is Ivan, he's goalie," the big Russian waved a hand, smiling behind his cage mask, "The other two offence are Berwald and Matthias," The Dane and the Swede were on opposite sides of the line-up, Matthias grinning at him, Berwald merely nodding curtly, "And our defence is Li and Tobias." The two smallest players both blinked at Gilbert, not making any other motion towards him.
"You're all so quiet." Gilbert said, offering his famous grin, "Loosen up a bit, it's just a game."
There was a visible shift among the players, Ivan's smile twitching and Berwald's hand tightening around his stick. Matthew smiled weakly. "You guys go get warmed up, I'm going to find Gilbert a pair of skates."
Nodding, the team slowly gets onto the ice, though Berwald holds back a moment, long enough to grumble, "Y'u l'k r'dic'lo's." before skating out, starting to wrestle with Matthias almost at once. Ivan intervened quickly, patting both their heads fondly, shoving them away from each other while Li and Tobias slowly circled around each other, mumbling quietly.
Matthew pulled Gilbert into the locker-room, sighing heavily. "Sorry about that, eh?" he said, starting to rummage around for extra skates, in the lockers. "They're not that… cold usually."
"That was punny." The Prussian commented, "You're pretty funny Matthew." Compliments. Compliments were good.
A light tint of pink appeared on the blond's cheeks as he smiled. "I wasn't trying to be, honest. Try and be a little less… casual, they take this game seriously." He held out a pair of skates, the fabric looking a little decrepit around the toes. "These should fit you."
Plopping down on the bench, Gilbert pulled off his large furry boots, starting to tug on the skates, grunting in effort. "Do you take it seriously?" he questioned, bracing himself against the floor as he heaved the shoe.
"You could say that." Matthew said, still smiling, "I've always played it. A-And since I've been captain, we haven't lost a game s-so I guess I'm not bad at it either. I like it a lot. Really good rush, you're burning on the side, but your fingers and toes are freezing..." he stared off into the distance for a moment before shaking his head, face still a little pink.
Finally getting the skates on (which was really hard while trying to ignore the adorable blush Matthew had) Gilbert stood up, immediately starting to waver until the blond caught his flailing arms, steadying him. "This is weird…" he muttered, ankles shaking, trying to get used to the skates. "Like…"
"Walking on a blade?" Matthew supplied.
"Exactly!"
Smiling and letting Gilbert stand on his own, Matthew grabbed a stick, forcing it into Gilbert's hands, who immediately used it as balancing stick to keeping himself from falling flat on his face (like it would happen to him, but better safe than sorry). "You're right handed," he said, eying the Prussian, "And you'll need this." He pulled out a large, bright blue helmet, holding it out
"I don't need a helmet." Gilbert said, tapping a fist against his head, "Artie says I've got a thick skill anyway."
Matthew sighed. "You know that having a thick skull…" he trailed over, "Never mind, lets get you out on the ice." Carefully guiding the Prussian out of the locker-room, he opened the door to the ice, stepping on, blades sinking into the arena. "C'mon." he started to skate backwards, waiting for Gilbert.
Gilbert swallowed, trying to remind himself that this was going to be easy. He took a hesitant step onto the ice, skate slipping slightly but managing to stay under him. Swallowing his fear, he lurched onto the ice, gripping his hockey stick for dear life.
Seconds passed and he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Uh… Gilbert?" he opened his eyes, not realising he had closed them. Matthew's face was inches from his, peering concernedly, "Something wrong?"
"I'm alive…" Gilbert muttered to himself, "Mien Gott… I'm ALIVE!" he raised his hockey stick in triumph, only to wobble on his feet violently until he put the stick back on the ice.
The Canadian was laughing. "Eager?" he asked, starting to skate in circles around the albino.
"Oh you have no idea."
Gilbert started out with a few laps around the arena, finding his 'ice legs' as it were. He watched the rest of the team; secretly looking for any competition he might have for Matthew. Now he had large stick to beat them off, which was awesome. But the Canadian was friendly with everyone, shouting as much encouragement as critique, eyes carefully observing his team. It was the loudest he had ever heard the blond raise his voice and it was actually kind of hot to see Matthew in control. Not that he'd hand it over if it ever went that far; Gilbert wasn't the woman. Ever.
Gliding over to him, Matthew was already a bit sweaty, hair sticking to his face. "Okay Glibert," he said, punching a large glove against his shoulder, "Let's get you trying out. I'm going to put you on offence in my place. You'll be centre, with Berwald on your right and Matthias on your left. Got it?"
"What… exactly am I supposed to do?" Gilbert asked, following Matthew to the middle of the arena.
A small black disk fell onto the ice in front of him. "Shoot the puck." The Canadian said. He was grinning that smile Gilbert has only come to associate with Arthur. Which usually meant he was about to be humiliated.
Ivan hulked down at the other end of the arena, skating around his net, banging his stick against the ice, humming to himself, raising a hand at Gilbert. The Prussian swallowed, looking to his sides, wishing he was a bit more bulky for once in his life -he liked lean and mean normally. Sighing and glancing at Matthew -who gave him a small thumbs-up of encouragement and made Gilbert's heart fall into his stomach- Gilbert gripped the stick determinedly. He could do this.
Testing out the puck in the curve of his hockey stick, he started forward, skating carefully, gaining more confidence with each stride. Maybe… he could actually do this without making an utter fool of himself. He came within a scoring distance and pulled his stick back, flicking it forward, the puck actually coming in contact and flying towards the net.
However, there was too much energy put in the swing and the Prussian over-balanced himself, falling backwards. The ice missed his ass and instead hit him on the head. There was a curse in Russian, a nasally laugh from Matthias and a shout of surprise from Matthew and then a whine of sound and then dark.
Man, hockey was not easy.
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Author's Note
I so would've been writing more, but I've been watching Torchwood and Dr. Who while school has been murdering me in the face.
Tobias Ytterstad = Norway.
Li Yao = Hong Kong
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2