iPod Shuffle / Pandora Drabbles - No. 5
Title : Shuffle Drabbles
Author : Russian Torque
Team/Pairing : Washington Capitals | Ovechkin / Semin, Green / Backstrom, Laich / Green, Alzner / Carlson, Holtby / Neuvirth ; Chicago Blackhawks | Keith / Toews ; St. Louis Blues | Berglund / Halak
Words : 2,700~
Rating : PG -> R
Note : for fakekitten because she deserves something special for her hard work =-D Enjoy your angst, BB.
the fray - how to save a life
keith | toews
« And suddenly I become a part of your past
I'm becoming the part that don't last
I'm losing you and it's effortless »
It’s the small stuff at first.
When Johnny spends the night with Duncan, he’s always alone when he wakes up in bed. Sometimes Duncs isn’t even in the house- he just leaves a note on the table that says ‘out on a run’ or ‘getting groceries’ and Jonathan always finds those mornings to be particularly stressful. They watch TV together and when Johnny reaches over to brush his fingers along Duncs’ hand, he pulls it away. It hurts, but he lets it go time and time again, just letting the heavy emptiness in the pit of his stomach grow until it’s a constant throb.
From there, it escalates. They don’t really make love, or even just have sex anymore as much as they just fuck- every time is like a quickie and the only thing that matters anymore is simply getting off and going to sleep. And there’s the emptying of the wardrobe. Every now and then, Duncan tosses something at him with the words ‘you left this here the other night’ and Jonathan doesn’t really know what to do except stuff it in whatever bag he happens to have with him and call it a day.
Johnny has spent nights racking his brain just trying to figure out what’s changed. They don’t talk as much, but there isn’t really as much to say these days. They don’t fight, never have and probably never will. Hell- if things keep going the way they are, they’ll just keep drifting apart without so much as a breakup call. And maybe that’s what Duncan’s going for but what Jonathan can’t figure out is what he did wrong because this has to be his fault. He didn’t try hard enough, didn’t put in enough effort.
He thinks maybe he should have at least told Duncan he’s in love with him, but that seems like such a cheap shot now that things spiraling down and Johnny doesn’t even know why.
Why don’t they go out for dinner anymore? Why doesn’t Duncan make two pieces of toast instead of just one every morning? Why don’t they carpool or even take walks together?
Why does it have to end this way?
X x X x X
caesars - jerk it out
green | backstrom
« Shut up
Hush your mouth
Can't you hear you talk too loud
No I can't hear nothing cause I got my head up in the clouds »
Nicky looks distracted. Mike hates it when Nicky looks distracted because he ends up getting distracted too and when that happens, practice usually comes to a close with Coach Hunter chewing them both out like no one’s business. The worst part is that it isn’t even serious most of the time. It’ll be something like Nicky having forgotten to lock the front door (like he doesn’t have a full security system) or not remembering if he made his bed (who does that?) or something equally ridiculous.
But Mike’s just an insanely nosey person. It doesn’t help that they’re kinda sorta dating except not really because they haven’t slept together, but he still gets jealous when Nicky talks to other people and don’t even get him started on Alex. He tries not to pay attention to the fact that Nicky’s spending the majority of his time just sort of gliding about on the ice without even making it look like his mind is elsewhere. And he’s relatively successful until it comes time for breakaway practices and they’re all lined up on the boards.
The second he skates in behind Nicklas, he realizes something’s really, really off. This isn’t just regular ‘I left my toothbrush on the sink instead of in the toothbrush cup’ Nicky and Mike can’t put his finger on what’s off.
“Dude, what’s wrong?” Mike asks, hooking the blade of his stick into the back of his pants to keep him from taking his turn. Chimera looks at the pair out of the corner of his eye for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and taking Nicky’s place.
Nicky turns, slightly wobbly, to face him and his pupils are totally blown. All Mike needs to do is lean in and-
“Are you fucking high?” he hisses under his breath, trying to resist the urge to deck his not-boyfriend where everyone will see.
Nicky giggles and nods. “I thought it would wear off before practice, was in your coffee pot this morning.”
Fucking shit. He never actually makes coffee since the Starbucks opened in the lobby of his apartment complex and it seemed like a good place for his stash. Apparently not.
“You’re not driving home,” Mike growls at him, “You can sleep it off at my place.”
If nothing else, watching Nicky get his head chewed off all by himself for once is amusing, even if he does spend the entire drive home sulking it off.
X x X x X
the killers - jenny was a friend of mine
berglund | halak
« She said she loved me, but she had somewhere to go
She couldn't scream while I held her close
I swore I'd never let her go »
“Going somewhere?”
Jaro’s been hearing that question more and more often lately and it’s getting on his nerves. He doesn’t want to fight about it- that would just be a waste of everyone’s time and honestly? he likes Patrik, but not enough to be validating his every move.
So he chooses to ignore the question, toeing on his shoes in the hall and slipping his cell phone into his back pocket as if he heard nothing.
He doesn’t really expect Patrik to get out of bed and confront him at ten at night, just like he doesn’t expect him to lock the deadbolt on the door, yank out the key, and toss it into the living room. There is no replacement and Jaro feels the beginnings of rage bubbling in his blood. He doesn’t want to do this- not tonight.
“Not funny,” Jaro says. He’s tired of the bullshit and he really doesn’t want to go crawling around on their living room for the key, but Patrik doesn’t look like he’s about to apologize and find it. “I’m going to the gym.”
Patrik scoffs. “It isn’t open this late.”
“It’s open twenty-four seven,” Jaro shoots back, kicking his shoes off and trudging into the living room for the key, “It isn’t your business.”
Jaro hears Patrik’s heavy footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t think much of it until he’s being spun around and the grip Patrick has on his grips is tight enough to make him wince. His breath catches because of the pain, but also because Patrick is scaring him.
It’s awkward because Patrik isn’t actually saying anything, but his teeth are grinding together like he wants to. Instead, they just glare at each other and this isn’t how Jaro envisioned spending his evening. He cares about Patrik, sometimes, but he can’t deal with the possessiveness.
Patrik’s grip gets even tighter and Jaro can’t hold back a gasp and he starts to struggle, half-heartedly at first and when he realizes he can’t get away, he starts to panic.
“Let go, god dammit-” he curses, and he wishes he hadn’t taken his shoes back off because stomping on Patrik’s foot would be really helpful right about now, “Patrik!”
The way they’re moving around the apartment doesn’t really make sense until his head is banging against heavy wood of their bedroom door and Patrik’s shoving him through the door and closing it behind him, effectively locking Jaro in.
He always thought having locks on the wrong side of the door was weird, but it isn’t until this moment that the reason why it’s like that starts making sense.
X x X x X
sara barreiles - love song
laich | green
« I’m not gonna write you a love song
Cause you asked for it
Cause you need it
You see, I’m not gonna write you a love song
Cause you tell me it’s make or breaking this »
Getting Brooks to go out is like pulling teeth out of an elephant with a pair of pliers, and that’s on a good night. It isn’t healthy, he says, to stay out so late. If you’re going to drink, you should drink earlier and not as much as you do. I’m not pretending to be your mom, Mike, I just don’t want you to mess up your health. It’s important, you know?
Sometimes, he just wants to murder Brooks. Just put him out of his physical finessed obsessed misery and toss him in a box filled with whiskey. Toss a couple cigarettes in there just for good measure.
Mike wants more than just a gym-buddies bromance, he wants some real romance. He wants to convince Brooks to go out drinking with him just this once and never again. He wants a reason to pin Brooks to his living room couch and kiss him silly that isn’t something completely transparent like ‘I just felt like it’ and getting Brooks even a little housed will do the job just fine.
Hell, anyone who’s watched Brooks drink knows he get a little pink in the cheeks by his second drink and becomes Mr. Brooks-I’m-A-Fucking-Butterfly-Laich by the third or fourth.
Really, Mike’s just trying to help their relationship. Brooks has feelings for him too, he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Come on, man,” Mike pleads, going as far as to get on his hands and knees and touch his forehead to the steam-cleaned carpet of Brooks’ bedroom, “Just this one time. I’ll never ask you to come out this late again. It’s right across the damned street, just one drink-”
“Christ, Mike,” Brooks cuts him off, sitting up in bed and fuck- he isn’t wearing a shirt. How is this even legal? “It’s late, I’m tired. If you wanna show up to practice tomorrow with a hangover, then go by yourself, but count me out.”
Mike whines and pulls himself up onto the bed. He’s feeling rather bold, he blames Brooks’ perky nipples for that one, and he pins him down. You know, in that bromantic wrestling match sort of way.
“You’re such a fucking stick in the mud,” he snaps, “When’s the last time you even went out to a non-team related dinner?”
The fact that Brooks has to think about it is shameful, especially considering that Mike makes it a point to ask him out every single Friday night without fail, regardless of whether or not they’re on the road.
“I dunno,” Brooks finally grumbles back, “I’m just not in the mood, all right?”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mike finds it both amusing and intriguing that neither of them find it awkward that he’s practically straddling his best friend in his bed. And one of them is shirtless to boot. Maybe kissing him sober wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but it’s also possible that Brooks is so tired he just doesn’t fucking care anymore.
Mike has no words left. He said all he wanted to say and now he’s just staring at Brooks’ lips like they’re the Stanley fucking Cup and all he needs to do is get one goal- just one goal and he’s won. He doesn’t even realize he’s slowly moving closer and closer until Brooks is clearing his throat and Mike finds himself staring at him from about an inch away and fuck- his eyes are gorgeous.
“What are you doing?” Brooks asks, careful not to shift around and Mike grins like an idiot.
“Gay chicken?” he offers, eyebrows waggling because he can’t think of anything better. “Loser gets his way?”
Brooks nods slowly, unamused, and Mike moves a centimeter closer. He could reach out and lick Brooks’ lips if he really wanted to.
It comes as the biggest surprise on the damned planet when Brooks is the one to close the space between them with a quick, but firm, kiss and Mike feels all the blood drain from his face and go down, down, down-
“Go the fuck to sleep,” Brooks grumbles when he pulls away- too soon for Mike’s taste, “And next time you wanna kiss me just do it. These games are a waste of time.”
Brooks Laich, ever the romantic.
X x X x X
coldplay - fix you
ovechkin | semin
« Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you »
“Do you want to play anymore?”
Sasha’s felt this brewing for a while and he curls on his side, pulling the blankets tighter around him and letting his mind go blank.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Alex is standing in the doorway. If he’s a little drunk, it doesn’t show in his voice or demeanor, only in his words. He isn’t the confrontational sort unless he’s been drinking.
“This isn’t a fucking joke anymore, Sasha. You’re not going to get resigned at this rate.”
Sasha wonders if Alex honestly believes he hasn’t thought of this before. The idea of not getting signed again honestly makes him sick to his stomach. Washington is home. The Capitals are his family. Sure, going back to Russia would be all great and dandy, but he can’t bear the thought of leaving Alex.
Words aren’t enough, apparently, and Alex’s weight makes the bed tilt a little. Sasha is vaguely aware of Alex leering over him, waiting for a response, but his eyes are squeezed shut and he doesn’t have anything to add to this conversation.
“Fucking say something,” Alex snarls, “It’s like you don’t care anymore.”
That hits a sore spot and Sasha sits up. He’s glad it’s dark, if only because he can’t handle the pain in Alex’s eyes right now. He never wanted to be the one to hurt Alex.
“I care,” he whispers, “I’ve always cared.”
Alex’s fingers dig into his shoulder and he wants to pull away because it stings, but he doesn’t. He deserves this.
“Then show it,” Alex cracks, “For me. Stay here for me.”
That isn’t enough anymore. And when he thinks about it, it never really was to begin with.
X x X x X
Third Eye Blind - Jumper
Alzner | Carlson
« You're the first to fight
You're way to loud
You're the flash of light on a burial shroud
I know something's wrong »
Karl doesn’t fight very often, but John always wants to die when he does. Watching him exchange blows with someone taller and heavier than him, split his lip, bruise his face, crumple down on the ice, whatever happens- John wants to kill him for it.
This time, Karl gets lucky and when they’re crammed in John’s bathroom after the game assessing the damage, he has the audacity to laugh about it.
“It’s not fucking funny,” John complains, wrapping an ice pack in a hand towel and pressing it to Karl’s lip with a bit more force than is really neccessary. Karl twitches and slaps John’s hand away, holding it in place himself.
“Wasn’t that bad,” he snickers, “Coulda been worse. Remember that time Hendy-”
“Yeah, everyone remembers that,” John interrupts, “You trying to show him up?”
Karl must realize that John isn’t just giving him a hard time and he stops smiling.
“Sorry.”
It’s just one word and it doesn’t even sound like he means it, but John cools off enough to lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth gently.
“You’re really not,” John snaps back and Karl starts to say something, but he’s cut off with another sweet kiss.
“But I forgive you anyway. Jerk.”
X x X x X
priscilla ahn - lullabye
holtby / neuvirth
« So heres your lullaby
no boy dont cry just rest your head and go to bed
your time will come to flyaway
never a day just dream your life away
sleep... »
Seeing each other is difficult recently. Michal isn’t really playing games very often, but he never seems to have a spare day to run up to Hershey. And although Braden’s in much the same boat, he’s bitter because when they do see each other, it’s aways on his time. He’s the one driving, he’s the one rushing, he’s the one paying for gas on his shitty salary and Michal’s been kind of a bitch recently.
The All-Star game gives them a chance to fix whatever heaviness has grown between them and Braden’s got a million things he plans to say to Michal, everything from wanting to tear him a new one for being an asshole all the way to telling him how much he loves and misses him.
All of that goes straight out the window when Michal shows up at his apartment on his first day off, overnight bag slung over his shoulder and he doesn’t even kick his shoes off before he’s pushing Braden against the wall and kissing him.
That first day is a blur, and the second is much the same. They fuck- hard and fast and like rabbits in the hall, again on the couch and Braden considers blowing him while he’s doing the dishes, but he just ends up starting a bubble fight with the soapy dishwater instead. When they finally get to bed, they’re burned out and Braden’s just happy to have Michal in his arms, warm and loving instead of the cold lonliness he’s almost gotten used to.
Getting out of bed is a hassle and they take turns running barefoot and naked to the kitchen for bottles of water or food every few hours, but mostly they just stay tangled up in each other until they’ve both forgotten what it’s like not to be together.
The last day is the hardest and Braden’s chest is throbbing with the worst wrenching pain when Michal kisses him goodbye. He takes comfort in the fact that the season’s half done and they’ve got some overlaps of free time in their schedules coming up, but that doesn’t make the tears he’s fighting to hold back stop from burning his eyes.
X x X x X
Author : Russian Torque
Team/Pairing : Washington Capitals | Ovechkin / Semin, Green / Backstrom, Laich / Green, Alzner / Carlson, Holtby / Neuvirth ; Chicago Blackhawks | Keith / Toews ; St. Louis Blues | Berglund / Halak
Words : 2,700~
Rating : PG -> R
Note : for fakekitten because she deserves something special for her hard work =-D Enjoy your angst, BB.
the fray - how to save a life
keith | toews
« And suddenly I become a part of your past
I'm becoming the part that don't last
I'm losing you and it's effortless »
It’s the small stuff at first.
When Johnny spends the night with Duncan, he’s always alone when he wakes up in bed. Sometimes Duncs isn’t even in the house- he just leaves a note on the table that says ‘out on a run’ or ‘getting groceries’ and Jonathan always finds those mornings to be particularly stressful. They watch TV together and when Johnny reaches over to brush his fingers along Duncs’ hand, he pulls it away. It hurts, but he lets it go time and time again, just letting the heavy emptiness in the pit of his stomach grow until it’s a constant throb.
From there, it escalates. They don’t really make love, or even just have sex anymore as much as they just fuck- every time is like a quickie and the only thing that matters anymore is simply getting off and going to sleep. And there’s the emptying of the wardrobe. Every now and then, Duncan tosses something at him with the words ‘you left this here the other night’ and Jonathan doesn’t really know what to do except stuff it in whatever bag he happens to have with him and call it a day.
Johnny has spent nights racking his brain just trying to figure out what’s changed. They don’t talk as much, but there isn’t really as much to say these days. They don’t fight, never have and probably never will. Hell- if things keep going the way they are, they’ll just keep drifting apart without so much as a breakup call. And maybe that’s what Duncan’s going for but what Jonathan can’t figure out is what he did wrong because this has to be his fault. He didn’t try hard enough, didn’t put in enough effort.
He thinks maybe he should have at least told Duncan he’s in love with him, but that seems like such a cheap shot now that things spiraling down and Johnny doesn’t even know why.
Why don’t they go out for dinner anymore? Why doesn’t Duncan make two pieces of toast instead of just one every morning? Why don’t they carpool or even take walks together?
Why does it have to end this way?
X x X x X
caesars - jerk it out
green | backstrom
« Shut up
Hush your mouth
Can't you hear you talk too loud
No I can't hear nothing cause I got my head up in the clouds »
Nicky looks distracted. Mike hates it when Nicky looks distracted because he ends up getting distracted too and when that happens, practice usually comes to a close with Coach Hunter chewing them both out like no one’s business. The worst part is that it isn’t even serious most of the time. It’ll be something like Nicky having forgotten to lock the front door (like he doesn’t have a full security system) or not remembering if he made his bed (who does that?) or something equally ridiculous.
But Mike’s just an insanely nosey person. It doesn’t help that they’re kinda sorta dating except not really because they haven’t slept together, but he still gets jealous when Nicky talks to other people and don’t even get him started on Alex. He tries not to pay attention to the fact that Nicky’s spending the majority of his time just sort of gliding about on the ice without even making it look like his mind is elsewhere. And he’s relatively successful until it comes time for breakaway practices and they’re all lined up on the boards.
The second he skates in behind Nicklas, he realizes something’s really, really off. This isn’t just regular ‘I left my toothbrush on the sink instead of in the toothbrush cup’ Nicky and Mike can’t put his finger on what’s off.
“Dude, what’s wrong?” Mike asks, hooking the blade of his stick into the back of his pants to keep him from taking his turn. Chimera looks at the pair out of the corner of his eye for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and taking Nicky’s place.
Nicky turns, slightly wobbly, to face him and his pupils are totally blown. All Mike needs to do is lean in and-
“Are you fucking high?” he hisses under his breath, trying to resist the urge to deck his not-boyfriend where everyone will see.
Nicky giggles and nods. “I thought it would wear off before practice, was in your coffee pot this morning.”
Fucking shit. He never actually makes coffee since the Starbucks opened in the lobby of his apartment complex and it seemed like a good place for his stash. Apparently not.
“You’re not driving home,” Mike growls at him, “You can sleep it off at my place.”
If nothing else, watching Nicky get his head chewed off all by himself for once is amusing, even if he does spend the entire drive home sulking it off.
X x X x X
the killers - jenny was a friend of mine
berglund | halak
« She said she loved me, but she had somewhere to go
She couldn't scream while I held her close
I swore I'd never let her go »
“Going somewhere?”
Jaro’s been hearing that question more and more often lately and it’s getting on his nerves. He doesn’t want to fight about it- that would just be a waste of everyone’s time and honestly? he likes Patrik, but not enough to be validating his every move.
So he chooses to ignore the question, toeing on his shoes in the hall and slipping his cell phone into his back pocket as if he heard nothing.
He doesn’t really expect Patrik to get out of bed and confront him at ten at night, just like he doesn’t expect him to lock the deadbolt on the door, yank out the key, and toss it into the living room. There is no replacement and Jaro feels the beginnings of rage bubbling in his blood. He doesn’t want to do this- not tonight.
“Not funny,” Jaro says. He’s tired of the bullshit and he really doesn’t want to go crawling around on their living room for the key, but Patrik doesn’t look like he’s about to apologize and find it. “I’m going to the gym.”
Patrik scoffs. “It isn’t open this late.”
“It’s open twenty-four seven,” Jaro shoots back, kicking his shoes off and trudging into the living room for the key, “It isn’t your business.”
Jaro hears Patrik’s heavy footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t think much of it until he’s being spun around and the grip Patrick has on his grips is tight enough to make him wince. His breath catches because of the pain, but also because Patrick is scaring him.
It’s awkward because Patrik isn’t actually saying anything, but his teeth are grinding together like he wants to. Instead, they just glare at each other and this isn’t how Jaro envisioned spending his evening. He cares about Patrik, sometimes, but he can’t deal with the possessiveness.
Patrik’s grip gets even tighter and Jaro can’t hold back a gasp and he starts to struggle, half-heartedly at first and when he realizes he can’t get away, he starts to panic.
“Let go, god dammit-” he curses, and he wishes he hadn’t taken his shoes back off because stomping on Patrik’s foot would be really helpful right about now, “Patrik!”
The way they’re moving around the apartment doesn’t really make sense until his head is banging against heavy wood of their bedroom door and Patrik’s shoving him through the door and closing it behind him, effectively locking Jaro in.
He always thought having locks on the wrong side of the door was weird, but it isn’t until this moment that the reason why it’s like that starts making sense.
X x X x X
sara barreiles - love song
laich | green
« I’m not gonna write you a love song
Cause you asked for it
Cause you need it
You see, I’m not gonna write you a love song
Cause you tell me it’s make or breaking this »
Getting Brooks to go out is like pulling teeth out of an elephant with a pair of pliers, and that’s on a good night. It isn’t healthy, he says, to stay out so late. If you’re going to drink, you should drink earlier and not as much as you do. I’m not pretending to be your mom, Mike, I just don’t want you to mess up your health. It’s important, you know?
Sometimes, he just wants to murder Brooks. Just put him out of his physical finessed obsessed misery and toss him in a box filled with whiskey. Toss a couple cigarettes in there just for good measure.
Mike wants more than just a gym-buddies bromance, he wants some real romance. He wants to convince Brooks to go out drinking with him just this once and never again. He wants a reason to pin Brooks to his living room couch and kiss him silly that isn’t something completely transparent like ‘I just felt like it’ and getting Brooks even a little housed will do the job just fine.
Hell, anyone who’s watched Brooks drink knows he get a little pink in the cheeks by his second drink and becomes Mr. Brooks-I’m-A-Fucking-Butterfly-Laich by the third or fourth.
Really, Mike’s just trying to help their relationship. Brooks has feelings for him too, he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Come on, man,” Mike pleads, going as far as to get on his hands and knees and touch his forehead to the steam-cleaned carpet of Brooks’ bedroom, “Just this one time. I’ll never ask you to come out this late again. It’s right across the damned street, just one drink-”
“Christ, Mike,” Brooks cuts him off, sitting up in bed and fuck- he isn’t wearing a shirt. How is this even legal? “It’s late, I’m tired. If you wanna show up to practice tomorrow with a hangover, then go by yourself, but count me out.”
Mike whines and pulls himself up onto the bed. He’s feeling rather bold, he blames Brooks’ perky nipples for that one, and he pins him down. You know, in that bromantic wrestling match sort of way.
“You’re such a fucking stick in the mud,” he snaps, “When’s the last time you even went out to a non-team related dinner?”
The fact that Brooks has to think about it is shameful, especially considering that Mike makes it a point to ask him out every single Friday night without fail, regardless of whether or not they’re on the road.
“I dunno,” Brooks finally grumbles back, “I’m just not in the mood, all right?”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mike finds it both amusing and intriguing that neither of them find it awkward that he’s practically straddling his best friend in his bed. And one of them is shirtless to boot. Maybe kissing him sober wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but it’s also possible that Brooks is so tired he just doesn’t fucking care anymore.
Mike has no words left. He said all he wanted to say and now he’s just staring at Brooks’ lips like they’re the Stanley fucking Cup and all he needs to do is get one goal- just one goal and he’s won. He doesn’t even realize he’s slowly moving closer and closer until Brooks is clearing his throat and Mike finds himself staring at him from about an inch away and fuck- his eyes are gorgeous.
“What are you doing?” Brooks asks, careful not to shift around and Mike grins like an idiot.
“Gay chicken?” he offers, eyebrows waggling because he can’t think of anything better. “Loser gets his way?”
Brooks nods slowly, unamused, and Mike moves a centimeter closer. He could reach out and lick Brooks’ lips if he really wanted to.
It comes as the biggest surprise on the damned planet when Brooks is the one to close the space between them with a quick, but firm, kiss and Mike feels all the blood drain from his face and go down, down, down-
“Go the fuck to sleep,” Brooks grumbles when he pulls away- too soon for Mike’s taste, “And next time you wanna kiss me just do it. These games are a waste of time.”
Brooks Laich, ever the romantic.
X x X x X
coldplay - fix you
ovechkin | semin
« Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you »
“Do you want to play anymore?”
Sasha’s felt this brewing for a while and he curls on his side, pulling the blankets tighter around him and letting his mind go blank.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Alex is standing in the doorway. If he’s a little drunk, it doesn’t show in his voice or demeanor, only in his words. He isn’t the confrontational sort unless he’s been drinking.
“This isn’t a fucking joke anymore, Sasha. You’re not going to get resigned at this rate.”
Sasha wonders if Alex honestly believes he hasn’t thought of this before. The idea of not getting signed again honestly makes him sick to his stomach. Washington is home. The Capitals are his family. Sure, going back to Russia would be all great and dandy, but he can’t bear the thought of leaving Alex.
Words aren’t enough, apparently, and Alex’s weight makes the bed tilt a little. Sasha is vaguely aware of Alex leering over him, waiting for a response, but his eyes are squeezed shut and he doesn’t have anything to add to this conversation.
“Fucking say something,” Alex snarls, “It’s like you don’t care anymore.”
That hits a sore spot and Sasha sits up. He’s glad it’s dark, if only because he can’t handle the pain in Alex’s eyes right now. He never wanted to be the one to hurt Alex.
“I care,” he whispers, “I’ve always cared.”
Alex’s fingers dig into his shoulder and he wants to pull away because it stings, but he doesn’t. He deserves this.
“Then show it,” Alex cracks, “For me. Stay here for me.”
That isn’t enough anymore. And when he thinks about it, it never really was to begin with.
X x X x X
Third Eye Blind - Jumper
Alzner | Carlson
« You're the first to fight
You're way to loud
You're the flash of light on a burial shroud
I know something's wrong »
Karl doesn’t fight very often, but John always wants to die when he does. Watching him exchange blows with someone taller and heavier than him, split his lip, bruise his face, crumple down on the ice, whatever happens- John wants to kill him for it.
This time, Karl gets lucky and when they’re crammed in John’s bathroom after the game assessing the damage, he has the audacity to laugh about it.
“It’s not fucking funny,” John complains, wrapping an ice pack in a hand towel and pressing it to Karl’s lip with a bit more force than is really neccessary. Karl twitches and slaps John’s hand away, holding it in place himself.
“Wasn’t that bad,” he snickers, “Coulda been worse. Remember that time Hendy-”
“Yeah, everyone remembers that,” John interrupts, “You trying to show him up?”
Karl must realize that John isn’t just giving him a hard time and he stops smiling.
“Sorry.”
It’s just one word and it doesn’t even sound like he means it, but John cools off enough to lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth gently.
“You’re really not,” John snaps back and Karl starts to say something, but he’s cut off with another sweet kiss.
“But I forgive you anyway. Jerk.”
X x X x X
priscilla ahn - lullabye
holtby / neuvirth
« So heres your lullaby
no boy dont cry just rest your head and go to bed
your time will come to flyaway
never a day just dream your life away
sleep... »
Seeing each other is difficult recently. Michal isn’t really playing games very often, but he never seems to have a spare day to run up to Hershey. And although Braden’s in much the same boat, he’s bitter because when they do see each other, it’s aways on his time. He’s the one driving, he’s the one rushing, he’s the one paying for gas on his shitty salary and Michal’s been kind of a bitch recently.
The All-Star game gives them a chance to fix whatever heaviness has grown between them and Braden’s got a million things he plans to say to Michal, everything from wanting to tear him a new one for being an asshole all the way to telling him how much he loves and misses him.
All of that goes straight out the window when Michal shows up at his apartment on his first day off, overnight bag slung over his shoulder and he doesn’t even kick his shoes off before he’s pushing Braden against the wall and kissing him.
That first day is a blur, and the second is much the same. They fuck- hard and fast and like rabbits in the hall, again on the couch and Braden considers blowing him while he’s doing the dishes, but he just ends up starting a bubble fight with the soapy dishwater instead. When they finally get to bed, they’re burned out and Braden’s just happy to have Michal in his arms, warm and loving instead of the cold lonliness he’s almost gotten used to.
Getting out of bed is a hassle and they take turns running barefoot and naked to the kitchen for bottles of water or food every few hours, but mostly they just stay tangled up in each other until they’ve both forgotten what it’s like not to be together.
The last day is the hardest and Braden’s chest is throbbing with the worst wrenching pain when Michal kisses him goodbye. He takes comfort in the fact that the season’s half done and they’ve got some overlaps of free time in their schedules coming up, but that doesn’t make the tears he’s fighting to hold back stop from burning his eyes.
X x X x X