Author: eveliens/eeevee
Genre : humor/ romance (?)
Characters: America, Canada, Russia; one-sided RussiaxAmerica, CanadaxRussia
Rating: T for language and implied sexual situations
Warnings: snarky!Canada, human names, college AU
Summary: Matthew had thought this over a million times, now he just had to voice his idea. He cleared his throat and whispered, “Hey, you want my twin brother, I like you; I think we can work something out here.”
A/N: Hockey fail! This chapter brought to you buy someone who doesn't watch sports and only watched the World Cup for the uniforms and funny antics when someone scored.
Soren= Denmark
Part Five
It had taken some coaxing to convince Ivan that Natalia was really gone. He wouldn’t actually come out until Alfred returned nursing some sore fingers. He grinned sheepishly and muttered something about holding a door open for her. Matthew was guessing she wasn’t appreciative of Alfred’s outdated, chauvinist manners and had slammed the door on his fingers.
“Are you ready?” Matthew asked, praying Ivan could focus on the game. Alfred actually wasn’t too bad of a player, since his natural athletic abilities gave him balance and strength. And Berwald and Tino had ended up on the opposing team, so Matthew knew they’d have their hands full.
Ivan gave a brief nod, smoothing out the concern in his face. He placed his mouth guard in and then put on his helmet. Søren came up behind them and gave them both a hefty thump on the back. Shit, Matthew had forgotten about their teammate. The obnoxious Dane seemed to revel in the thought of playing against Berwald instead of on the same team. Well, it would certainly solve a lot of problems, Matthew reflected, if the two of them could beat the snot out of each other.
“Ready to kick some ass?” Søren bellowed good-naturedly. Ivan pushed him back a step and Matthew sighed. Hockey was not about kicking ass. Hockey was about grinding the opponents into paste! Smashing them into puddles of goo! Ensuring that the next time they got up their knees gave out on them! Oh, and scoring. But that really took second place.
Despite his whine-fest earlier, Alfred hopped on the ice happily enough. He swished around ridiculously and Matthew had to roll his eyes. Maybe he should’ve tried out of the figure skating team? Ivan gracefully slid around on the ice, watching Alfred’s ass. And Matthew watched Ivan.
“You better pay attention. The game’s about to start.” Tino remarked calmly as he dodged around Matthew as he daydreamed. Matthew flushed and muttered, “Sorry.”
The beginning of the game started out horribly. Matthew was used to playing with Søren but he had only played against Ivan. And if he had time to think about it, he’d be banging his head against the glass at the pissing contest Søren initiated with Ivan. The two of them were jostling each other more than dealing with Berwald. Which left Matthew and the rest of their team a little shorthanded when their brute strength was too pumped up with testosterone and pride to focus on the true enemy! On the other hand, Berwald and Tino worked together smoothly, more than making up for Alfred’s eagerness and occasional moments of klutziness and misplaced bravado.
The puck swished into the net and Tino circled back around, giving Berwald a tentative thumbs up. Although the Finnish student was closest to the scary, possum-mode inducing Swede he still acted like he was intimidated. There was a running pool on whether or not the two of them had something going on, fueled by the Berwald’s mistake about the English word “wife.” No one on the team had bothered to correct him because it amused them too much to see Tino writhe in embarrassment.
If the man weren’t so scary Matthew would’ve been good enough to tell him. But the one time he tried he had ended up beating a hasty retreat, grateful that Berwald had looked past him and glared at Søren instead. Sometimes his invisibility was a gift from God.
Oh come on guys! Matthew snarled in his head as he shoved off a guy from the other team and lunged for the puck. He was cut off by a very gleeful Alfred, who had slipped past both Ivan and Søren. He flipped Matthew the bird, or at least Matthew was sure that’s what he was trying to do with the bulky gloves, and scooted towards the net.
Dead didn’t begin to cover what Alfred was…
Matthew shoved forward, checking some unfortunate out of the way (who may or may not have actually been on his team…), aiming for the puck Alfred was pushing teasingly. Alfred turned his head to see where Matthew was and his blue eyes widened in panic sending a thrill down Matthew’s spine. It never got old. Matthew savored the look. He was going to have to burn that one in his memory and caption it ‘Alfred pissed his pants.’ Putting on a burst of speed, he was millimeters from a satisfying crush and defeated foe when two bodies rolled past him, cutting him off. Alfred, who was hauling ass frantically, nailing the puck and swerving out from under Matthew’s intended punishment.
Matthew watched the puck arch to the left, their goalie just barely missing a block, before hitting the net.
His baleful violet eyes traveled over to the two tangled bodies to his right. Søren and Ivan were whaling away on each other while Gilbert, who was supposed to be linesmen, was cackling and encouraging them to swing harder. Vash, the appointed ref, blew his whistle repeatedly before he got tired of being diplomatic and brought out his gun. Ivan and Søren continued fighting through it with powerful swings going at each other like a pair of pissed tom cats.
Matthew glided over to Vash, “Can you give use a moment please?”
Vash gave a slight nod and backed off a safe distance. Alfred, Tino and Berwald had retreated to the other side of the rink with the rest of their team. Even Gilbert had grown quiet, ceasing his obnoxious cackling that sounded like a goat with lung cancer. The only two who weren’t watching with bated breath were the two that were about to be in for a rare treat. Matthew would have smiled at the thought but he was afraid the actual action might break the taunt muscles in his face.
“HEY ASSHOLES!”
Silence rung off the walls. Aww, how poetic. He hoped the echo gave them whiplash.
Ivan and Søren looked up. Despite the massive amounts of noise and heavy blows, neither looked particularly hurt.
Matthew leaned forward and asked in a mock whisper, “Having fun?”
Søren whimpered and Ivan merely blinked.
“Because I’m not.” Matthew continued in a velvety tone. He leaned against his hockey stick so he could get closer to the pair. He lost the whisper and his voice rose with every word until he was shouting, “I thought we were here to play hockey. Yet do you see THAT?” Matthew pointed to the score board, “What is THAT? Do you see THAT? THAT is failure! Now, get your asses up off the ice and behave like real wingmen because if THAT happens again I might be forced to drastic measures, you understand?”
Søren nodded meekly, wiping a thin trickled of blood off his lip and putting his helmet back on, “Yes, Captain. Loud and clear.”
Ivan smiled blandly without response.
Matthew slammed his stick down close to Ivan head, practically leaning into Ivan’s face and hissed, “Are you going to be serious about this or not Ivan?”
“I do not like being threatened.” The big Russian responded levelly looking Matthew in the eye. He had managed to retain his helmet and darkened purple eyes stared out with a challenge in them. Even down on the ice he still managed to look menacing.
“Shit, Mattie…” Alfred called from across the rink. He started to move forward and Tino grabbed his arm. The two blonds had a quiet conference, Alfred gesturing wildly at the drama across the ice and Tino shaking his head.
“And I don’t like people on MY rink playing like assclowns.” Matthew retorted weakly, suddenly realizing how dangerous his position was… for so many reasons. And most of them weren’t for fear of pain and violence… “Beat the shit out of him off the ice for all I care, but Jesus, we’re in the middle of a game! Ivan, back me up here.”
The two stared at each other silently for a moment before Ivan slowly rose to his feet and brushed the ice off his gear. He straightened up and looked down at Matthew, who, now that he wasn’t puffed up with rage, was fidgeting. Genius, show your crush what an utter ass you can be and threaten him. Great courtship ritual… for crocodiles or pimps.
“Matvey is so cute when he is serious.” Ivan said cheerfully. Cute? Cute! Fuck that shit. Couldn’t Ivan say something like racy or petrifying or… or… something more manly? Matthew just cussed him out in front of everyone and threatened him with a hockey stick! What did it take to intimidate the Russian? Aside from putting on a wig and brandishing a knife that is.
“As long as we’re clear.” Matthew growled, pulling himself away, mindful of not touching in the process. Liz wolf whistled from the stands and yelled out how she loved men’s hockey. He stalked over to Vash and said in his normal voice, “Okay, I think we’re set.”
The rest of the game went much better. Ivan and Søren stayed on their respective sides under the age old code that if you couldn’t kill them then avoid them and Matthew was fine with that. They even managed to score two goals, which put them ahead, and land Berwald in the penalty box for “accidentally” mowing Søren over… four times… with his skates.
It wasn’t until the last ten minutes that things got ugly again. At best the opposing team could hope for a tie, and ties were unacceptable in Matthew’s eyes. Ties were not winning, ties were like a cop out. So there was no way in hell they were tying. Besides, he knew about the bet where the losing team had to pay for the other team’s booze and dinner, and he wanted to see Alfred cry while footing the bill for Søren’s tab at the bar. And he knew from experience that he didn’t want to pay for Tino’s drinks. The guy looked like a light weight but with a DD and some else’s wallets he was the biggest booze hound on the team.
Matthew looked out of the corner of his eye and noticed Alfred had the puck again. It was déjà vu all over again. Alfred, looking a little sore from a few misadventures with Ivan, was concentrating with uncharacteristic care. He glanced at Matthew before speeding up and cutting to the side out of reach. There was no look of terror or panic. Which meant he was in game mode. Matthew was quite sure science had never explained the genetics involved in game mode but he knew they were there. He had seen his dad play golf and his mom play Bridge. Both he and Alfred were like berserkers minus the hallucogenics and war paint. They underwent drastic personality changes when challenged with a game they HAD to win at… which, in their family, was pretty much any game. Matthew remembered the instant death Candy Land when they were younger which graduated into punch poker as they got older. Their parents requested that if they played, they had to punch in clothing-covered spots because someone called child protective services about their bruises.
In short, unless Matthew could get in the same mode, the game was shot. No one could touch Alfred now.
Which didn’t mean Ivan didn’t try. The big Russian had been good as gold since their intimate little “chat” and had taken the game with a seriousness that didn’t bode well for the other team. Even Berwald was wary about getting in his way now. Even Søren had given a grudging seal of approval when he body checked Alfred so hard the American did a flip. Twice.
Ivan bullied his way forward, clearly intending to do a similar number on Alfred again. Alfred saw him coming and sped up even more. All awkwardness had dissipated with Alfred’s new found super powers and his cortexes were being milked for their full potential. Which meant Alfred was strong, graceful AND intelligent… for a brief period of time. Then his neurons overheated and it was Chernobyl all over again, except in Alfred’s head. People in the area had to be aware of radioactive drift coming from his ears and mouth.
Ivan put on more speed, sensing a challenge, and almost caught up to Alfred. Matthew hoped Liz was videotaping this because he wanted to see it in slow motion. Twisting around Tino, Matthew almost missed the fireworks. Just as Ivan reached Alfred, the other did a near impossible move. He slammed to a dead stop and leaned back bringing the puck with him. Ivan was going so fast it was like trying to stop a train going a hundred miles an hour. You know, like one of those math problems… except the train never made it to Moscow at approximately 4:23 pm because it blew up in a massive, fiery explosion. Ivan vainly tried to slow down and turn, forgetting about Alfred and being more worried about the looming wall in any case.
The resulting crash not only shook the glass but made the whole rink shudder.
While everyone else stood stunned, Matthew slid forward to intercept Alfred. His brother was going to score an easy goal while the goalie was staring at Ivan’s prone form.
Alfred zigged to the side in response to the threat. Matthew grinned, shark-like, behind his mouth guard. Alfred may be a tactical genius about physical stuff but he still sucked at mathematics. He was going at the wrong angle to completely avoid confrontation and Matthew was still peeved from earlier. Peeved as in like a swarm of killer bees was peeved when their nest was destroyed.
He considered slamming Alfred so hard he’d believe his fake time machine really worked but decided he didn’t really have enough time. So instead he stuck his stick out and did a half circle turn so that he simultaneously cut Alfred off and slammed his shins to knock him off balance. Alfred stumbled, fumbling with the puck, and tried to dart left. Matthew cut him off again, this time a little more physically. His brother scowled and shoved back. Soon the two of them were slamming each other shoulder-to-shoulder with all they had and hitting their sticks together so hard Matthew was sure he’d have to buy a new one because this one was covered in stress fractures. He toyed with getting one last use out of it by slamming it over Alfred’s head and taking the penalty.
Before he could make up his mind, Alfred took a desperate shot. Just as the puck started its crash course, Vash blew his whistle, indicating the time was up. Matthew took a crack shot at Alfred’s head anyway. Just because he could. Alfred crumpled and whined then cheered from the ice as the puck nicked the corner post and barely swished the net.
“Woock waah!” Alfred whooped through saliva and dizziness as he spit out his guard and raised his hands. He promptly lost his balance and fell backwards still grinning, “Hero won wice!” Matthew didn’t comment on the fact that every word was slurred except hero. He looked mournfully at his broken stick and decided to give it an honorable burial later in the backyard.
It took a few seconds for reality to sink in. They tied. Dammit, they tied! Well, at least that meant everyone would be buying their own booze and he could afford a new hockey stick. Matthew blinked the rest of his aggressive and rage draining away, feeling his alter ego slip back into slumber. It was replaced with the numbness of a loser and…
Oh shit, Ivan!
The Russian was propped up against the rink wall holding a compress to his shoulder. He was glaring nastily at the giggling Alfred, clearly holding a grudge. If Matthew’s foreplay was that of a crocodile, he was sure that Ivan’s affections for Alfred were of the black widow spider kind at the moment.
“Hey Ivan.” Matthew greeted quietly. Ivan tore his eyes away from Alfred, who Berwald was helping off the rink, and gave a quick smile in return. “You okay there?”
Ivan shrugged.
“I have some painkillers in my locker if you want.” Matthew offered, “I think we’ll all need them after that game.”
“Perhaps Matvey has medication for Alfred, da?”
“Cyanide is too traceable.” Matthew said with a smile, “Don’t worry; I think you might have cracked some of his ribs. It’ll stop him from gloating too much.”
Ivan didn’t look particularly pacified by that thought.
“Matvey is a different person on ice.” Ivan commented while maneuvering to his feet. He held the ice pack loosely and Matthew picked up his shoulder pads. He could see the nasty black bruise covering Ivan’s shoulder and winced. With all of Ivan’s speed and weight behind it, it was amazing he hadn’t fractured something because it wasn’t the glass that was going to give.
“Er, not really.” Matthew rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I just get more intense when I play hockey.”
“Then Matvey is a very violent and rude person normally?”
“I’m not rude!” Matthew protested and flushed.
“Matvey called me an asshole. I do believe that this is not a term of endearment.” Ivan clucked his tongue like a five year old telling on his teenage babysitter.
“Sure it is.” Matthew flailed, “I call Al an asshole all the time!”
“Then Matvey likes me?” Ivan’s eyes were wide and pleading. Matthew felt the pressure of hope Ivan was pouring on him. Did his opinion really mean that much to Ivan?
Oh yes, Matthew really, really likes you, Matthew’s inner voice purred, Let him show you how much by licking your wounds clean and kissing them better.
“Of course I like you!” Matthew blurted out hastily.
"A lot?"
“A lot.” Matthew confirmed, warmed by Ivan’s sudden, genuine smile. The Russian was practically beaming, and there were no teeth involved. Suddenly he was swooped into a bear hug that was reminiscent of Alfred’s famous spine crushers when his brother was tickled about something or other. He slowly swung Matthew back and forth in happiness. Matthew’s body responded in happiness too.
“Hey, are you two coming or what?” Alfred called across the rink. “We’re going out for pizza!”
Ivan gently deposited Matthew back on the ice and Matthew ducked his head to hide his blush and other things.
Part Seven
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