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Oct. 1st, 2008 11:19 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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2minsforslashingTitle: If it were up to me.
Pairing: Jordan Staal/Sidney Crosby (Pittsburgh Penguins)
Rating: PG-14? correct me if I'm wrong.
A/N: I'm angsty and hopeful at the same time (weird).
Disclaimer: Real people, don't own, non-profit, no offense, good fun.
“We weren’t ever really meant to make it, were we.”
He doesn’t mean to be so cynical, but that’s just who he is. People may call him quiet and soft-spoken, but in reality, he’s biting back comments to keep himself out of trouble. He finds himself thinking about most likely losing a lot.
“The team? I guess those last few seconds really were proof...”
That’s not what he means, though. They’re laying together, skin on skin, blanket lazily covering them, night light creeping up on the corners of the room but never reaching the ceiling. Jordan likes the fact that he’s got Sidney in bed with him, but hates that he doesn’t really have him at all.
“I mean...us.”
He can feel the way Sidney physically responds. He can feel the sheets twisting next to him, the way his body seems to radiate twice as much heat. The way he almost flinches when the words register (and the reason he says almost is because he caught the way his eyes froze but his body barely seemed any more tense).
“I don’t...I don’t know what we were ever supposed to be.”
They shift to face each other.
“But...you know...they can’t...”
Sidney’s gotten good at hiding things. He finds that it’s hardest to lie those few minutes after a game, and more recently, any place where he might even catch a glimpse of Jordan. He might say one thing, but his body says different (and in some cases, even his heart is involved too). Jordan never really liked the way Sidney can shut him out whenever he wants, but that’s just how he is.
“Yeah....”
They both turn to lie on their backs.
The best thing about fucking your teammate is the easy access. The worst thing about falling in love with your teammate is that no one can ever know. The stupidest thing to do to your teammate (but really yourself) is to repress your feelings and never tell them how you feel and absolutely feel like dying every time you touch them. But it’s easier that way. Jordan comes to these conclusions in the silence that expands between the two. He’d like to say that he’d use these new bits of knowledge later in life, but he knows he won’t. Mostly because he knows he won’t find himself in a situation like this again (whether that’s cynicism or hope, he hasn’t decided), but also because he knows he won’t do anything about it now.
“So...we really weren’t ever--”
“Are you trying to tell me to leave?”
Jordan is known to be slightly oblivious. That’s just who he is. He may have missed the fact that Sidney had to close his eyes to say that or the rush of the words, so the meaning had a large chance of being lost as it travelled from one to another. Sidney often finds himself wishing there was a cable that could go from his mind to Jordan’s so he could see the entire picture.
Jordan knows Sidney is, on some level, a masochist. That’s just how he is. It makes him an amazing hockey player, a great leader, and sometimes not able to function. Jordan notices that Sidney forces everyone to take responsibility on the ice, but off, he only makes it easier to fuck things up. Jordan constantly finds contradictions and oxymorons in Sidney’s identity and wonders how Sidney even knows what he is and what he’s not.
“If you want.”
He prays he doesn’t.
“You’re not making this easy.”
He turns to face him again, but rethinks it. Instead he’s in his former position, on his back, hands on stomach.
“What is this?”
Sidney closes his eyes again, bringing his hands into two fists on either side of himself. Jordan watches the way his lips part and his tongue gently swipes the bottom lip before his teeth come to gnash at them.
“We’re just friends.”
Sidney unclenches his fists, and after a second of hesitation, takes Jordan’s hand. Jordan intertwines their fingers. Sidney locks their ankles together. They stare ahead at the dark ceiling thinking about how things should be.
Pairing: Jordan Staal/Sidney Crosby (Pittsburgh Penguins)
Rating: PG-14? correct me if I'm wrong.
A/N: I'm angsty and hopeful at the same time (weird).
Disclaimer: Real people, don't own, non-profit, no offense, good fun.
“We weren’t ever really meant to make it, were we.”
He doesn’t mean to be so cynical, but that’s just who he is. People may call him quiet and soft-spoken, but in reality, he’s biting back comments to keep himself out of trouble. He finds himself thinking about most likely losing a lot.
“The team? I guess those last few seconds really were proof...”
That’s not what he means, though. They’re laying together, skin on skin, blanket lazily covering them, night light creeping up on the corners of the room but never reaching the ceiling. Jordan likes the fact that he’s got Sidney in bed with him, but hates that he doesn’t really have him at all.
“I mean...us.”
He can feel the way Sidney physically responds. He can feel the sheets twisting next to him, the way his body seems to radiate twice as much heat. The way he almost flinches when the words register (and the reason he says almost is because he caught the way his eyes froze but his body barely seemed any more tense).
“I don’t...I don’t know what we were ever supposed to be.”
They shift to face each other.
“But...you know...they can’t...”
Sidney’s gotten good at hiding things. He finds that it’s hardest to lie those few minutes after a game, and more recently, any place where he might even catch a glimpse of Jordan. He might say one thing, but his body says different (and in some cases, even his heart is involved too). Jordan never really liked the way Sidney can shut him out whenever he wants, but that’s just how he is.
“Yeah....”
They both turn to lie on their backs.
The best thing about fucking your teammate is the easy access. The worst thing about falling in love with your teammate is that no one can ever know. The stupidest thing to do to your teammate (but really yourself) is to repress your feelings and never tell them how you feel and absolutely feel like dying every time you touch them. But it’s easier that way. Jordan comes to these conclusions in the silence that expands between the two. He’d like to say that he’d use these new bits of knowledge later in life, but he knows he won’t. Mostly because he knows he won’t find himself in a situation like this again (whether that’s cynicism or hope, he hasn’t decided), but also because he knows he won’t do anything about it now.
“So...we really weren’t ever--”
“Are you trying to tell me to leave?”
Jordan is known to be slightly oblivious. That’s just who he is. He may have missed the fact that Sidney had to close his eyes to say that or the rush of the words, so the meaning had a large chance of being lost as it travelled from one to another. Sidney often finds himself wishing there was a cable that could go from his mind to Jordan’s so he could see the entire picture.
Jordan knows Sidney is, on some level, a masochist. That’s just how he is. It makes him an amazing hockey player, a great leader, and sometimes not able to function. Jordan notices that Sidney forces everyone to take responsibility on the ice, but off, he only makes it easier to fuck things up. Jordan constantly finds contradictions and oxymorons in Sidney’s identity and wonders how Sidney even knows what he is and what he’s not.
“If you want.”
He prays he doesn’t.
“You’re not making this easy.”
He turns to face him again, but rethinks it. Instead he’s in his former position, on his back, hands on stomach.
“What is this?”
Sidney closes his eyes again, bringing his hands into two fists on either side of himself. Jordan watches the way his lips part and his tongue gently swipes the bottom lip before his teeth come to gnash at them.
“We’re just friends.”
Sidney unclenches his fists, and after a second of hesitation, takes Jordan’s hand. Jordan intertwines their fingers. Sidney locks their ankles together. They stare ahead at the dark ceiling thinking about how things should be.
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