10 Short Stories Inspired by Songs (Sam Gagner/Robert Nilsson)
10 Short Stories Inspired by Songs
Author:heartandmindxx
Pairing: Sam Gagner/Robert Nilsson [Edmonton Oilers]
Rating: 14A
Notes: It's currently 6:20AM and I have yet to sleep tonight. This was to pass the time. Play 10 songs on random, write until the song ends.
Disclaimer: You know the deal. I don't claim anything except the story. It's fiction.
Now It’s Done - Straylight Run
[129]
Robert took a deep drag of his cigarette, his mind wandering far from what his father would do to him if he ever found out he smoked. In fact, his father was not even close to boarding his train of thought. Instead he thought of a 19-year-old fucking kid who’d somehow managed to infiltrate his life and single-handedly ruin it. He tilted his head back and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the brisk night air. In his head, his heart, he knew it couldn’t last. Sam was young, free, careless. Robert had known from the start that it was just fucking, just sex, and that there were others. Hell, there were others for Robert, too- maybe he wasn’t losing anything. But somehow... he’d never lost so much.
Woe - Say Anything
[151]
Everything Sam said was so calculated, mapped-out from here to next week. In every interview, there was never a word off, not a word spoken off the cuff. Robert wondered if he’d taken a class somewhere, or if he’d just grown up watching so much hockey that these answers were wired into his brain. Back in Sweden, Robert had never had a problem with running his mouth. People wanted to hear him talk, he was fucking Mini-Magic, and girls were throwing themselves at him no matter what he said (though most likely because of his father, not because of his mind). Sometimes, though, Robert wished he could be a little more like Sam, especially in the situation he was in now, standing in front of the aforementioned Sam Gagner, whose grey eyes were open wide as the words Robert had just said registered in his brain. “You... you want to what?”
Worst December - Sugarcult
[151]
Sam sat on his bed, his cellphone to his ear. Silent, motionless. He could hear breathing on the other end of the line, but nothing else. The rush of December had come and gone, the season a memory, but the short playoff run, though months ago, was a fresh wound. Sam had been a mess since the final buzzer- he’d never experienced a feeling as terrible as that loss. He’d hated losing for his entire life, but he never thought a loss could feel like getting your heart ripped out and thrown to the cold, mangled ice. And that loss was only magnified by the one that came on July 1st. Things had gone so well for Sam in the past that the idea of so much pain coming at once was a complete and utter shock to him. Eventually, he choked out a strangled sob. “I miss you so much.”
Say Anything - Mariana’s Trench
[133]
Though there were similarities between them, the differences were too plain to be ignored. Even though both of their fathers played in the NHL they were raised very differently. Dave taught his son to be humble and down-to-earth, Kent had told his son to be proud and to raise his head high, to know he was a Nilsson. On their draft days, Sam was heralded as a franchise player, and Robert was torn apart by a bitter commentator. Robert had toughed it out in two different pro-leagues before making it to the show, while Sam had made the seemingly easy step from Major Junior right to the NHL. Robert was outgoing and obnoxious, Sam was quiet and shy, always choosing his words carefully. But there was something to be said about opposites attracting.
24 Hours - The Sounds
[73]
Robert burst into the room unceremoniously, wasting no time in jumping on the bed, startling Sam into dropping his book.
“24 hours.”
“24 hours for what?”
“I don’t care. I’m yours, the world is ours.”
Sam went back to his book.
“Sammy, I’m sorry. I love you, let me prove it.”
Sam glanced up. “Is it going to be different this time?”
Robert smiled, pulling Sam off the bed. “I knew you’d agree.”
Too Much Of Not Enough - Silverchair
[110]
Sam averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. Robert tightened his grip on Sam’s hands, a silent plea. Sam just sighed. “I was blind,” he said quietly, “and shallow, too.” He tried to drop his hands, but Robert still held on. Sam looked up at him sadly. “You’ll never stop needing. You always want something and I’m not able to give it to you.” Robert opened his mouth to speak but no sound escaped. Finally, Sam pulled his hands away and stepped back, his eyes dropping to the floor once again. “It’s just not enough anymore.” Robert could only watch as he walked away.
The Year Summer Ended in June - Misery Signals
[121]
Sam woke up blearily, nearly blinded by the bright white lights.
Was this... heaven?
As things came into focus, he realized that no, it wasn’t- it was much closer to hell.
As a child he’d sat in his grandfather’s hospital room thinking about how much he hated how white everything had been. Was white the colour of purity, or sickness?
It was strange how that memory came to him before the next. His hands clenched at the sheets as he remembered. Everything.
Crash.
Lights- no, darkness- screeching tires- no, metal- scraping and- no, screaming- gasping, choking, choking- the bridge- glass flying, glass in his mouth- cracking, the water- gasping- yellow? a jacket? another person, there was- the water- blood, glass- Robert.
At The Bottom Of Everything - Bright Eyes
[140]
Sam woke up on the morning of his 19th birthday feeling no different than he had the night before, just more tired. So this was getting older. He got out of bed, stretched, and carefully made his way down the stairs so to not slip on the hardwood. His parents had already left for work and his sisters were no doubt doing something annoying elsewhere, so the house was quiet and still. On the kitchen table was a package and a note that said “Happy Birthday Sam! This came in the mail for you. -Mom and Dad”. He sat at the table and began to open the nondescript cardboard box. Inside the box, amidst a plethora of packaging peanuts, was an autographed head shot of Robert Nilsson. Attached was a yellow sticky note that read “Because everyone needs one. -Bobby”.
I Mostly Copy Other People - The Almost
[133]
Sam danced around the living room, a lampshade on his head and a bed sheet tied around his neck as a makeshift cape. He air-guitared wildly to the song on the stereo, a beer still clutched tightly in his left hand. Robert stumbled across the room to join him, grabbing the stand of the lamp and singing into it loudly as if it were a microphone. His accent had become so thick that the words were completely unintelligible, but were assumed to be the words to the song. Sam danced around Robert, eventually tripping on his cape and sending them both crashing to the ground, where they promptly started to make out.
“Ain’t it a shame that they won’t remember all of this?” Andrew laughed as he leaned into a hysterical Tom Gilbert.
The Exit - Forgive Durden
[93]
Robert had heard it from enough coaches to know of the heavy expectations placed upon him.
“Why can’t you be more like your father?”
The problem with that was, he didn’t want to be his father; he just wanted to be Bobby.
He sighed, leaning back to stare at the white stucco ceiling of his hotel room. “Why can’t I live up to my family name?” He muttered, wondering aloud.
A hand began to unsystematically trace light patterns into the pale skin of his bare stomach. “I’m not the right person to ask.”
---
Please drop a line. xo.
Author:heartandmindxx
Pairing: Sam Gagner/Robert Nilsson [Edmonton Oilers]
Rating: 14A
Notes: It's currently 6:20AM and I have yet to sleep tonight. This was to pass the time. Play 10 songs on random, write until the song ends.
Disclaimer: You know the deal. I don't claim anything except the story. It's fiction.
Now It’s Done - Straylight Run
[129]
Robert took a deep drag of his cigarette, his mind wandering far from what his father would do to him if he ever found out he smoked. In fact, his father was not even close to boarding his train of thought. Instead he thought of a 19-year-old fucking kid who’d somehow managed to infiltrate his life and single-handedly ruin it. He tilted his head back and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the brisk night air. In his head, his heart, he knew it couldn’t last. Sam was young, free, careless. Robert had known from the start that it was just fucking, just sex, and that there were others. Hell, there were others for Robert, too- maybe he wasn’t losing anything. But somehow... he’d never lost so much.
Woe - Say Anything
[151]
Everything Sam said was so calculated, mapped-out from here to next week. In every interview, there was never a word off, not a word spoken off the cuff. Robert wondered if he’d taken a class somewhere, or if he’d just grown up watching so much hockey that these answers were wired into his brain. Back in Sweden, Robert had never had a problem with running his mouth. People wanted to hear him talk, he was fucking Mini-Magic, and girls were throwing themselves at him no matter what he said (though most likely because of his father, not because of his mind). Sometimes, though, Robert wished he could be a little more like Sam, especially in the situation he was in now, standing in front of the aforementioned Sam Gagner, whose grey eyes were open wide as the words Robert had just said registered in his brain. “You... you want to what?”
Worst December - Sugarcult
[151]
Sam sat on his bed, his cellphone to his ear. Silent, motionless. He could hear breathing on the other end of the line, but nothing else. The rush of December had come and gone, the season a memory, but the short playoff run, though months ago, was a fresh wound. Sam had been a mess since the final buzzer- he’d never experienced a feeling as terrible as that loss. He’d hated losing for his entire life, but he never thought a loss could feel like getting your heart ripped out and thrown to the cold, mangled ice. And that loss was only magnified by the one that came on July 1st. Things had gone so well for Sam in the past that the idea of so much pain coming at once was a complete and utter shock to him. Eventually, he choked out a strangled sob. “I miss you so much.”
Say Anything - Mariana’s Trench
[133]
Though there were similarities between them, the differences were too plain to be ignored. Even though both of their fathers played in the NHL they were raised very differently. Dave taught his son to be humble and down-to-earth, Kent had told his son to be proud and to raise his head high, to know he was a Nilsson. On their draft days, Sam was heralded as a franchise player, and Robert was torn apart by a bitter commentator. Robert had toughed it out in two different pro-leagues before making it to the show, while Sam had made the seemingly easy step from Major Junior right to the NHL. Robert was outgoing and obnoxious, Sam was quiet and shy, always choosing his words carefully. But there was something to be said about opposites attracting.
24 Hours - The Sounds
[73]
Robert burst into the room unceremoniously, wasting no time in jumping on the bed, startling Sam into dropping his book.
“24 hours.”
“24 hours for what?”
“I don’t care. I’m yours, the world is ours.”
Sam went back to his book.
“Sammy, I’m sorry. I love you, let me prove it.”
Sam glanced up. “Is it going to be different this time?”
Robert smiled, pulling Sam off the bed. “I knew you’d agree.”
Too Much Of Not Enough - Silverchair
[110]
Sam averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. Robert tightened his grip on Sam’s hands, a silent plea. Sam just sighed. “I was blind,” he said quietly, “and shallow, too.” He tried to drop his hands, but Robert still held on. Sam looked up at him sadly. “You’ll never stop needing. You always want something and I’m not able to give it to you.” Robert opened his mouth to speak but no sound escaped. Finally, Sam pulled his hands away and stepped back, his eyes dropping to the floor once again. “It’s just not enough anymore.” Robert could only watch as he walked away.
The Year Summer Ended in June - Misery Signals
[121]
Sam woke up blearily, nearly blinded by the bright white lights.
Was this... heaven?
As things came into focus, he realized that no, it wasn’t- it was much closer to hell.
As a child he’d sat in his grandfather’s hospital room thinking about how much he hated how white everything had been. Was white the colour of purity, or sickness?
It was strange how that memory came to him before the next. His hands clenched at the sheets as he remembered. Everything.
Crash.
Lights- no, darkness- screeching tires- no, metal- scraping and- no, screaming- gasping, choking, choking- the bridge- glass flying, glass in his mouth- cracking, the water- gasping- yellow? a jacket? another person, there was- the water- blood, glass- Robert.
At The Bottom Of Everything - Bright Eyes
[140]
Sam woke up on the morning of his 19th birthday feeling no different than he had the night before, just more tired. So this was getting older. He got out of bed, stretched, and carefully made his way down the stairs so to not slip on the hardwood. His parents had already left for work and his sisters were no doubt doing something annoying elsewhere, so the house was quiet and still. On the kitchen table was a package and a note that said “Happy Birthday Sam! This came in the mail for you. -Mom and Dad”. He sat at the table and began to open the nondescript cardboard box. Inside the box, amidst a plethora of packaging peanuts, was an autographed head shot of Robert Nilsson. Attached was a yellow sticky note that read “Because everyone needs one. -Bobby”.
I Mostly Copy Other People - The Almost
[133]
Sam danced around the living room, a lampshade on his head and a bed sheet tied around his neck as a makeshift cape. He air-guitared wildly to the song on the stereo, a beer still clutched tightly in his left hand. Robert stumbled across the room to join him, grabbing the stand of the lamp and singing into it loudly as if it were a microphone. His accent had become so thick that the words were completely unintelligible, but were assumed to be the words to the song. Sam danced around Robert, eventually tripping on his cape and sending them both crashing to the ground, where they promptly started to make out.
“Ain’t it a shame that they won’t remember all of this?” Andrew laughed as he leaned into a hysterical Tom Gilbert.
The Exit - Forgive Durden
[93]
Robert had heard it from enough coaches to know of the heavy expectations placed upon him.
“Why can’t you be more like your father?”
The problem with that was, he didn’t want to be his father; he just wanted to be Bobby.
He sighed, leaning back to stare at the white stucco ceiling of his hotel room. “Why can’t I live up to my family name?” He muttered, wondering aloud.
A hand began to unsystematically trace light patterns into the pale skin of his bare stomach. “I’m not the right person to ask.”
---
Please drop a line. xo.