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2minsforslashingtitle: "And All The Fates Do Conspire Against Me"
involves: Marc-Andre Fleury/Ty Conklin
rating: R
notes: Fortunately, he's a conspiracy kinda guy...[video]
The lovely and talented![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nofaves is to blame for being my co-con- and *in*-spirator in this, as well as being the provider of the photo below.
disclaimer: Dates are true. This is real. I didn't write the document in question. MAF didn't write it either, despite what Ty thinks..
But everybody knows that the contents of it are completely foolish and nothing remotely resembling the truth. No way. Not at all. ;)
I love my goalies, but what they do in their free time is up to them, sadly, not me.
summary: Marc proves the obvious, Ty is cursing again, all's right with the world.
Marc had been closeted with the computer, and Ty had decided not to disturb him. Since he was now standing in front of Ty, however, and had come out lighting the room with all the candlepower in his smile, Ty thought it might be a sign he was finished.
"What - you done? You have that big goofy grin on your face for some actual reason...like that paper behind your back?"
Marc presented Ty with the printout.
"Read it and cry," the other goalie said.
"Weep. You read it and weep," Ty muttered, eyes scanning the page, and as Marc was protesting "...it's the exact same fucking saint-ciboire thing!..." -- his own head dropped towards his chest. His hands flew up to rest at the top of his head, and there was an obvious quantity of profanity, inside him, and waiting to be unleashed. He looked back up at Marc, hands still interlocked behind his head, so as to -- consciously, or unconsciously -- conveniently now assume one of the internationally recognized gestures of surrender.
"You got me. I got nuthin'."
Marc gave a fist-pump of victory. But then Ty proceeded. A few decibels louder.
"Are you shitting me?" he yelled. "Seriously?! Are you fucking shitting with me with this?? Are you seriously fucking me for real with this, Flower?!? I don't know how, but I know somehow, you're tryi--" and Marc shushed him. Fingers over his mouth, and Ty had never moved his hands from behind his head.
"Shhhh. Um, yes," Marc continued. "I am seriously fucking with you for real. Very seriously. And I want to keep doing it...and I didn't know you were into being cut by paper, but I can try to remember... " he grinned, "You needed proof, that's your proof. This," and he picked up the piece of paper and waved it like he was trying to flag a ref for a whistle.
Ty just stared back at him, dumbly. Marc stopped signaling.
"We're doomed," said Ty, and couldn't help but smile. With the release of all the obscenities, a raging, snorting fit of laughter was threatening to take its place. "Oh, shit. We are so fucked."
Marc opened his hand, and the paper fluttered slowly, slowly... reaching the floor in its own way and time. He leaned down to bite Ty's ear, slip a hand under his collar.
"But being fucked is good," he pointed out hotly in Ty's ear. "Didn't we agree on that? Really, totally, completely fucked. Or do you want reminded...?"
"Think you need reminded," he said, pulling Ty off the couch, keeping Ty's hands against his head again once he'd done so, and escorting him -- pushing his shoulderblades -- in the direction of the closest bed.
"I regret the day I was born," vowed the prisoner of the universe.
Marc pressed his lips to the back of Ty's neck before deciding to use his teeth. "Sure, okay. You can do that. Just not the day you met me."
"Never," flatly stated the man who was his.
involves: Marc-Andre Fleury/Ty Conklin
rating: R
notes: Fortunately, he's a conspiracy kinda guy...[video]
The lovely and talented
nofaves is to blame for being my co-con- and *in*-spirator in this, as well as being the provider of the photo below.disclaimer: Dates are true. This is real. I didn't write the document in question. MAF didn't write it either, despite what Ty thinks..
But everybody knows that the contents of it are completely foolish and nothing remotely resembling the truth. No way. Not at all. ;)
I love my goalies, but what they do in their free time is up to them, sadly, not me.
summary: Marc proves the obvious, Ty is cursing again, all's right with the world.
Marc had been closeted with the computer, and Ty had decided not to disturb him. Since he was now standing in front of Ty, however, and had come out lighting the room with all the candlepower in his smile, Ty thought it might be a sign he was finished.
"What - you done? You have that big goofy grin on your face for some actual reason...like that paper behind your back?"
Marc presented Ty with the printout.
"Read it and cry," the other goalie said.
"Weep. You read it and weep," Ty muttered, eyes scanning the page, and as Marc was protesting "...it's the exact same fucking saint-ciboire thing!..." -- his own head dropped towards his chest. His hands flew up to rest at the top of his head, and there was an obvious quantity of profanity, inside him, and waiting to be unleashed. He looked back up at Marc, hands still interlocked behind his head, so as to -- consciously, or unconsciously -- conveniently now assume one of the internationally recognized gestures of surrender.
"You got me. I got nuthin'."
Marc gave a fist-pump of victory. But then Ty proceeded. A few decibels louder.
"Are you shitting me?" he yelled. "Seriously?! Are you fucking shitting with me with this?? Are you seriously fucking me for real with this, Flower?!? I don't know how, but I know somehow, you're tryi--" and Marc shushed him. Fingers over his mouth, and Ty had never moved his hands from behind his head.
"Shhhh. Um, yes," Marc continued. "I am seriously fucking with you for real. Very seriously. And I want to keep doing it...and I didn't know you were into being cut by paper, but I can try to remember... " he grinned, "You needed proof, that's your proof. This," and he picked up the piece of paper and waved it like he was trying to flag a ref for a whistle.
Ty just stared back at him, dumbly. Marc stopped signaling.
"We're doomed," said Ty, and couldn't help but smile. With the release of all the obscenities, a raging, snorting fit of laughter was threatening to take its place. "Oh, shit. We are so fucked."
Marc opened his hand, and the paper fluttered slowly, slowly... reaching the floor in its own way and time. He leaned down to bite Ty's ear, slip a hand under his collar.
"But being fucked is good," he pointed out hotly in Ty's ear. "Didn't we agree on that? Really, totally, completely fucked. Or do you want reminded...?"
"Think you need reminded," he said, pulling Ty off the couch, keeping Ty's hands against his head again once he'd done so, and escorting him -- pushing his shoulderblades -- in the direction of the closest bed.
"I regret the day I was born," vowed the prisoner of the universe.
Marc pressed his lips to the back of Ty's neck before deciding to use his teeth. "Sure, okay. You can do that. Just not the day you met me."
"Never," flatly stated the man who was his.
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no subject
Date: 2008-12-17 09:52 pm (UTC)there was an obvious quantity of profanity, inside him, and waiting to be unleashed
vowed the prisoner of the universe
They add this awesomely quirky quality to the story that makes me want to read more of their interactions, so that's just good writing. And the last two lines made me grin. Great job! :)
no subject
Date: 2008-12-17 11:01 pm (UTC)creaselap.I'm really glad you liked and enjoyed - I always wonder whether I'm being clear and effective and descriptive enough, so technical praise for the prose leaves me smiling like those two after a win. And that you're not even a Pens fan and you liked it enough to bother and tell me - awesome beyond awesome.
But I never would've started writing them if they hadn't been so stupidly ridiculously charming together on their own, without any assistance on my part. (You think your face would start to hurt when you smile like that. :)