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2minsforslashingtitle: "Sorcerer's apprentice"
involves: Marc-Andre Fleury/Ty Conklin
rating: PG-13 for slash
disclaimer: Real life does not work this way. But MAF is quoting the actual paper.
notes: Not dead. Still breathing. Apparently there were these things called "playoffs" and "Stanley Cup Finals" and "free agency"... At any rate, this may very well have originated last July, but I just felt like postingfor the sake of posting.
This is quite possibly my favorite picture. MAF's not smiling. Ty's using the other hand. Something is up.
"Something I saw, in the paper in Pittsburgh," said Marc, looking at Ty sideways, "They said you were a witch."
"What, was that supposed to be an insult?"
"It was something with you and Hossa and a lion and the Cup and...and a...and I don't remember. It didn't make a lot of sense. That you'd all gone to Detroit."
"And you're making about as much sense."
"But the part I remember," he went on, ignoring Ty, "the part I remember was...right. 'Backup goaltender Ty Conklin, who put a mes...a mesmeric spell on opponents in the injured absence of Marc-Andre Fleury.' That was the interesting part."
"Just think, once upon a time I used to get credit for being an actual goalie."
"Is that what you really are?" Marc wasn't teasing; he was being coy, but for him, that was seriousness with a smile. "Un sorcier? Am I your opponent? Is that what happened, did you put a spell on me?"
"Hmmm." Ty appeared to be giving the matter some thought.
"Did I...." He got up and walked over to Marc, put a hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eyes. Didn't smile. "Maybe." And ran another hand firmly down Marc's side, under his shirt, and all the way back up his ribcage. Still, only the gray eyes were glinting.
Wickedly?
"Why don't you...tell...me." But Marc's eyes had closed as soon as Ty had leaned in and put his other hand on him. So had his mouth, and his breathing, through his nose, was now definitely irregular, not reflexive.
Was there really a question, with how he shuddered, as soon as Ty found his skin?
"Well?"
"...Yes. Oh, yes, I think you did...Aucun doute, un vrai sorcier." He was leaning his head against Ty's hand.
"You want more?"
"Mmm."
"Of?"
"I want everything."
"Oh, I know you do."
"I didn't learn enough yet." Undoubtedly being about as familiar with Alice in Wonderland as he was with C.S. Lewis, Marc was nonetheless approaching Cheshire Cat limits -- like he'd managed to internalize all the canary he was no longer sporting. "Don't I get to teach you?"
"I'll tell you when you can open your eyes."
And Marc didn't protest as Ty took him by the hand, and the surroundings changed, as clothes disappeared; as Ty touched him everywhere, knowing exactly what he wanted and not giving it to him, then giving it to him without ever being asked.
Never interrupt a magician at work...it spoils the show.
...And does the witch wish for a winter that hadn't ended, given way to a spring and a flower in full bloom and a summer that melted it all into the past?
...Do sorcerers curse themselves?
Love makes it very easy.
A/N: The actual quote: "So there is this: In the space of 29 days, Detroit rips from Pittsburgh its fiercest playoff predator, Mr. Hossa; its backup goaltender, Ty Conklin, who put a mesmeric spell on opponents in the injured absence of Marc-Andre Fleury; and, oh yeah, the Stanley Cup itself and all of its fashionably glorious cache. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, all diverted to the same increasingly maddening destination." --Gene Collier, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, July 3, 2008.
(Gee, feels a lot better to read this year!)
**Aucun doute, un vrai sorcier = "No doubt, a real magician."
For anyone who's as illiterately English-cultured as nôtre Marc-André is: C.S. Lewis *is*, bîen sur, the author of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
involves: Marc-Andre Fleury/Ty Conklin
rating: PG-13 for slash
disclaimer: Real life does not work this way. But MAF is quoting the actual paper.
notes: Not dead. Still breathing. Apparently there were these things called "playoffs" and "Stanley Cup Finals" and "free agency"... At any rate, this may very well have originated last July, but I just felt like posting
This is quite possibly my favorite picture. MAF's not smiling. Ty's using the other hand. Something is up.
"Something I saw, in the paper in Pittsburgh," said Marc, looking at Ty sideways, "They said you were a witch."
"What, was that supposed to be an insult?"
"It was something with you and Hossa and a lion and the Cup and...and a...and I don't remember. It didn't make a lot of sense. That you'd all gone to Detroit."
"And you're making about as much sense."
"But the part I remember," he went on, ignoring Ty, "the part I remember was...right. 'Backup goaltender Ty Conklin, who put a mes...a mesmeric spell on opponents in the injured absence of Marc-Andre Fleury.' That was the interesting part."
"Just think, once upon a time I used to get credit for being an actual goalie."
"Is that what you really are?" Marc wasn't teasing; he was being coy, but for him, that was seriousness with a smile. "Un sorcier? Am I your opponent? Is that what happened, did you put a spell on me?"
"Hmmm." Ty appeared to be giving the matter some thought.
"Did I...." He got up and walked over to Marc, put a hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eyes. Didn't smile. "Maybe." And ran another hand firmly down Marc's side, under his shirt, and all the way back up his ribcage. Still, only the gray eyes were glinting.
Wickedly?
"Why don't you...tell...me." But Marc's eyes had closed as soon as Ty had leaned in and put his other hand on him. So had his mouth, and his breathing, through his nose, was now definitely irregular, not reflexive.
Was there really a question, with how he shuddered, as soon as Ty found his skin?
"Well?"
"...Yes. Oh, yes, I think you did...Aucun doute, un vrai sorcier." He was leaning his head against Ty's hand.
"You want more?"
"Mmm."
"Of?"
"I want everything."
"Oh, I know you do."
"I didn't learn enough yet." Undoubtedly being about as familiar with Alice in Wonderland as he was with C.S. Lewis, Marc was nonetheless approaching Cheshire Cat limits -- like he'd managed to internalize all the canary he was no longer sporting. "Don't I get to teach you?"
"I'll tell you when you can open your eyes."
And Marc didn't protest as Ty took him by the hand, and the surroundings changed, as clothes disappeared; as Ty touched him everywhere, knowing exactly what he wanted and not giving it to him, then giving it to him without ever being asked.
Never interrupt a magician at work...it spoils the show.
...And does the witch wish for a winter that hadn't ended, given way to a spring and a flower in full bloom and a summer that melted it all into the past?
...Do sorcerers curse themselves?
Love makes it very easy.
A/N: The actual quote: "So there is this: In the space of 29 days, Detroit rips from Pittsburgh its fiercest playoff predator, Mr. Hossa; its backup goaltender, Ty Conklin, who put a mesmeric spell on opponents in the injured absence of Marc-Andre Fleury; and, oh yeah, the Stanley Cup itself and all of its fashionably glorious cache. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, all diverted to the same increasingly maddening destination." --Gene Collier, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, July 3, 2008.
(Gee, feels a lot better to read this year!)
**Aucun doute, un vrai sorcier = "No doubt, a real magician."
For anyone who's as illiterately English-cultured as nôtre Marc-André is: C.S. Lewis *is*, bîen sur, the author of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
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