Post Olympic

Those Few Thoughts

Uhm? Swearing in this chapter?

Music: Till We're in the Sea - RKCB (have I used this before????)

-rabid

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We stare out onto the skyline and breathe for a minute. I'm a bit nervous about what he's going to say next, but I'll let him do it when he does.

"I don't want to leave you alone at the rink," He looks down at his feet hanging off the ledge.

"What?"

"After last night, it scares me, you being alone."

"I guess." I set my head in my hands.

"Has that ever happened before? You know, the night terror." He looks at me, his hair brushing his forehead in the wind.

"No, never." I shake my head.

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

"It was a dream, my mom in the hospital, the monitor flat lined and her," I shake my head. "I'm not going to think about it. I don't want to think about it."

"I don't want it to happen when I'm not there," He reaches over and squeezes my fingers.

"I don't want it to happen ever again."

"I don't think I really helped, even," He looks worried, really worried.

"You did, Fenrir, you helped a lot."

"I care about you, Nico, a lot, I don't want it to happen when I'm not there to make sure you're okay."

"I'll be okay, I think."

"Alright." He keeps quiet after this, lost in our thoughts. I clear my head and stare out at the city, watching the lights. We're still holding hands. I glance down at his fingers all tangled with mine. 

I kind of want to kiss him. I don't actually. I don't want to deal with whatever happens after that. The awkward and the explanation to why I don't particularly want to date him.

But I want to kiss him. Just to see how he tastes. Just to see if he kisses back, just to see what it would be like if I actually dated him.

He's right there, too. All I would have to do is catch his attention and then lean in. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't fall off the edge, so that's okay. His mouth looks soft enough, right? He doesn't have any visible scratch on his face, so that shouldn't bother me. A playoff beard would look weird on him. Would it? Maybe not, actually. As long as it's not patchy. I wonder what he kisses like? Is he too wet? Too dry? Is there an instruction manual for kissing? I've never done it before. Maybe I need to research. Research? What am I thinking? That's weird and creepy.

I kind of really want him to grab me by the ears and push me down onto the roof, making out sounds fun. Having all of him pressed against me out of breath sounds hot as hell. Christ, I wonder what he looks like hungry for something like that. That's really fucking weird. Who the hell do I think I am.

"You look like you're thinking hard about something, what is it?" His eyes drift from the city and catch on mine. Have I noticed his eyes before?

"Uh," I scramble a minute, another. I try really hard to push that string of sexual thoughts out of my head. "Hockey." He laughs at this.

"What part of it?" He raises his eyebrows at me.

"I made it, didn't I." I turn back to the city and it's his turn to stare at me. "Hell, I always wanted to play at this level, you know, and I'm here. I'm inches away from what I dreamed of. I'm the closest I can get."

"You play center, right? My spot?" I nod.

"And your number too,"

"See, we're basically the same person." He says. "I give you my jersey, you can play for me."

"Sauerkraut, we have a massive size difference."

"So? I'm damn sure you're better than me, so, it evens out."

"Plus, I'd throw your stats out of whack, I mean, we might actually win for once." I tip my chin up and look at him. He's holding in a laugh.

"You get cocky, don't you."

"Yeah, duh." I smirk at him and he grins right back.

"Feel free to mess up my stats anytime." He snorts. "I'll coach."

"Speaking of coaching, I gotta get back." I pull back from the edge and stand. He shakily gets up as well. Sauerkraut walks behind me back down into the building. I stay quiet until I know exactly what I'm going to say. 

"But seriously, if I was to play with you guys," I stop at the bottom of the ladder in that tiny room. Sauerkraut is close to me, close enough that if I breathed in too much, his chest would brush mine. "I'd want to do it when it's important. I want to do it without anyone knowing beforehand so that I don't get trashed on ice. I'd want to make even the most sexist reporters to say, who's Callahagn? And then to get off the ice and shove any slight intuition that they might have that girls cannot possibly be as good as boys right back down their throats." He's awed by me. He's just watching me now. "Because I've been told way too many times that I'll never be as good as you. As good as any of you."

"Fuck that," he whispers. "I want to see you on ice. I need to see you on ice. Before I retire I want to play with you. Side by side. As teammates. As equals." I can't deny how insane that sounds. He sounds drunk with the possibility, raw hunger in his tone. "Soon. Because now that we've said it, I can't fucking think about having to wait for that."