(no subject)
Title: Deny (Sequel to Mourn, Disenchant, Revel, Scream, and Glance)
Author:
slasher48 /
bad_bad_books
Rating: R. A bit of swearing and sexual undertones.
Pairing: Sidney Crosby/ Alex Ovechkin but the Ovie shall suffer first. Hee.
Disclaimer: If Alex has fucked this many people, I want physical proof. First hand accounts, videos, pictures, whatever. Since I don't have 'em, I'm going to assume no. However, 68%, and Ovie's a sexy bitch. All I'm sayin.
Glance
Scream
Revel
Disenchant
Mourn
You read the scoreboard again and sigh. His team is here and they've beaten you by more than three points. You don't want to think about exactly how many.
You change without looking up from the floor once. You're tying your shoes as fast as is humanly possible, just wanting to leave the arena before Michael comes in to chastise you for your distraction.
Evgeni gives you a sad look as he leaves the room. You've declined his invitation to drive you back to the hotel in his car the way you both came. Tonight you'll take a taxi. The drivers are the only ones who don't ask questions when you cry silently in the back seat.
You leave the locker room and hurry out the front entrance, wanting to catch that cab home quickly. All you wish for tonight is a warm, comforting shower and a beer in front of one of your favorite programs. The comedies will let you laugh all that Alex away.
There's one car in the parking lot, and you furrow your brows as it pulls up to you. It's him, the miserable jerk. You shouldn't be surprised.
"Hey, Sid. Come in the car, and I take you home." He's so sure of himself, so confident. He's everything you'll never be.
It is because you're so unsure that you nod and slip into the warm interior of the vehicle and shut the door behind you.
Maybe the two of you can be friends, pals, buddies. There is certainly no way you're letting him close enough to break your heart again, but maybe some companionship can be salvaged from the wreckage he created.
"Thanks," you mutter and he nods, keeping his eyes on the road.
"You really go home? Not coming to my room?" His eyes flick to you quickly and then back again. Your stomach tightens in response to the loaded question. How dare he.
"No, I'm not going to your room," you say firmly, but a part of you wavers. Maybe if he's come back, he really wanted you all along?
His hand leaves the wheel and creeps along your shoulder. "But you were so fun last time..." he says lowly, sexily, and you realize that your hopes are showing you solutions that aren't there. All he wants is what's under that shirt, what's under your jeans, and he won't go far enough to want what's further than that, under the skin and muscle and bone. Your heart is of no consequence to him. You're just another one of his many stories to tell.
You've had enough of this. Your eyes focus again as your thoughts turn from within to around you and you almost thank God. There's a red light. How perfect.
Before he can say another word, you're flipping the latch on the door and stepping out of the car. You can walk from here, anyway. It's only a mile or so.
His blue eyes that burned so a second ago are now completely clear with shock, and confused. Hm, you've managed to shock him. Fancy that.
You turn away from that intense gaze and start to stride down the street, hoping to keep your dignity in tact. As the light turns green, he follows. You ignore him. He's following for the reason that you're the first to turn him down and his pride is wounded. Nothing else.
"Sid..." He starts. Your eyes stay firmly turned ahead. Maybe if you don't answer, he'll leave.
"Get back in vehicle, Sid," he says and at the order, you turn to him angrily to tell him off. You can see he's taken aback. Your brown eyes probably look like they're turning black, you're so pissed.
"I don't think so, playboy," You spit at him and continue to walk. Ha. Think on that, Alexander Ovechkin.
"What if we only talk, Sid?" He asks and you glance at him once, but not for long. He doesn't deserve the privilege of looking into your eyes and seeing exactly how much he hurt you.
"I've got to get some sleep," You say. It's obviously an excuse and he knows it. It's the reason his eyes are darkening with upset.
"But Sidney, I cannot get you out of mind after that night..." He sounds sincere, but you know from experience, he's acting, playing the part perfectly.
You have proof, in any case. Thankful you're on a deserted road, you walk up to the car that's moving less than a mile an hour and flip open your phone.
There resides your most recent text. It's from Staalsy, after a game a few weeks ago.
Sid! Alex O just kissed me!
"Don't lie to me unless you're absolutely sure I'll never hear the truth," you say, inwardly applauding your choice of words, both malicious and mature.
What'll he say now? You're almost curious to see how he'll defend this one. "We not lovers, though..." He says and in your head, you laugh wickedly.
"That's true, Alex, but if I'm not mistaken, you're wishing we were?"
He averts his eyes, but nods slowly. Oh, tut tut. He couldn't even lie to save face. He's as weak as you are.
"That's awfully sweet of you, but lovers don't kiss, touch, fuck more than one person in a few months between seeing each other. I don't know how it works in Russia, but that's not the way it is here." As you say this, you flick between messages, showing him how many of them have his name in them, how many stories you've been told. He casts his eyes to his lap, apparently finally feeling the shame that should come with such acts.
You clap the phone shut with a snap and strut away from the car, leaving him dumbfounded. You wish you could do a little dance. You're giving him what he deserves, and admirably at that.
But you're expecting him to slam out of his car and run after you, defend himself furiously and beg you to have him again.
And when he takes to heart that you've denied him and drives away, there's a part of you that still wants to cry.
No one will see you, so you do. You let the tears come, falling fast down your cheeks and onto the sidewalk below.
He didn't even fight for you.
***
One last caress from the corpse of love...is all I want, underneath the cyanide sun. Rather apt to be listening to this.
I have little to say. After re-reading this, I'm stunned. I badly want to finish the story now just so it can be happy.
Leave me some love? You know I'll adore every last word. :)
Author:
slasher48 /
bad_bad_books
Rating: R. A bit of swearing and sexual undertones.
Pairing: Sidney Crosby/ Alex Ovechkin but the Ovie shall suffer first. Hee.
Disclaimer: If Alex has fucked this many people, I want physical proof. First hand accounts, videos, pictures, whatever. Since I don't have 'em, I'm going to assume no. However, 68%, and Ovie's a sexy bitch. All I'm sayin.
Glance
Scream
Revel
Disenchant
Mourn
You read the scoreboard again and sigh. His team is here and they've beaten you by more than three points. You don't want to think about exactly how many.
You change without looking up from the floor once. You're tying your shoes as fast as is humanly possible, just wanting to leave the arena before Michael comes in to chastise you for your distraction.
Evgeni gives you a sad look as he leaves the room. You've declined his invitation to drive you back to the hotel in his car the way you both came. Tonight you'll take a taxi. The drivers are the only ones who don't ask questions when you cry silently in the back seat.
You leave the locker room and hurry out the front entrance, wanting to catch that cab home quickly. All you wish for tonight is a warm, comforting shower and a beer in front of one of your favorite programs. The comedies will let you laugh all that Alex away.
There's one car in the parking lot, and you furrow your brows as it pulls up to you. It's him, the miserable jerk. You shouldn't be surprised.
"Hey, Sid. Come in the car, and I take you home." He's so sure of himself, so confident. He's everything you'll never be.
It is because you're so unsure that you nod and slip into the warm interior of the vehicle and shut the door behind you.
Maybe the two of you can be friends, pals, buddies. There is certainly no way you're letting him close enough to break your heart again, but maybe some companionship can be salvaged from the wreckage he created.
"Thanks," you mutter and he nods, keeping his eyes on the road.
"You really go home? Not coming to my room?" His eyes flick to you quickly and then back again. Your stomach tightens in response to the loaded question. How dare he.
"No, I'm not going to your room," you say firmly, but a part of you wavers. Maybe if he's come back, he really wanted you all along?
His hand leaves the wheel and creeps along your shoulder. "But you were so fun last time..." he says lowly, sexily, and you realize that your hopes are showing you solutions that aren't there. All he wants is what's under that shirt, what's under your jeans, and he won't go far enough to want what's further than that, under the skin and muscle and bone. Your heart is of no consequence to him. You're just another one of his many stories to tell.
You've had enough of this. Your eyes focus again as your thoughts turn from within to around you and you almost thank God. There's a red light. How perfect.
Before he can say another word, you're flipping the latch on the door and stepping out of the car. You can walk from here, anyway. It's only a mile or so.
His blue eyes that burned so a second ago are now completely clear with shock, and confused. Hm, you've managed to shock him. Fancy that.
You turn away from that intense gaze and start to stride down the street, hoping to keep your dignity in tact. As the light turns green, he follows. You ignore him. He's following for the reason that you're the first to turn him down and his pride is wounded. Nothing else.
"Sid..." He starts. Your eyes stay firmly turned ahead. Maybe if you don't answer, he'll leave.
"Get back in vehicle, Sid," he says and at the order, you turn to him angrily to tell him off. You can see he's taken aback. Your brown eyes probably look like they're turning black, you're so pissed.
"I don't think so, playboy," You spit at him and continue to walk. Ha. Think on that, Alexander Ovechkin.
"What if we only talk, Sid?" He asks and you glance at him once, but not for long. He doesn't deserve the privilege of looking into your eyes and seeing exactly how much he hurt you.
"I've got to get some sleep," You say. It's obviously an excuse and he knows it. It's the reason his eyes are darkening with upset.
"But Sidney, I cannot get you out of mind after that night..." He sounds sincere, but you know from experience, he's acting, playing the part perfectly.
You have proof, in any case. Thankful you're on a deserted road, you walk up to the car that's moving less than a mile an hour and flip open your phone.
There resides your most recent text. It's from Staalsy, after a game a few weeks ago.
Sid! Alex O just kissed me!
"Don't lie to me unless you're absolutely sure I'll never hear the truth," you say, inwardly applauding your choice of words, both malicious and mature.
What'll he say now? You're almost curious to see how he'll defend this one. "We not lovers, though..." He says and in your head, you laugh wickedly.
"That's true, Alex, but if I'm not mistaken, you're wishing we were?"
He averts his eyes, but nods slowly. Oh, tut tut. He couldn't even lie to save face. He's as weak as you are.
"That's awfully sweet of you, but lovers don't kiss, touch, fuck more than one person in a few months between seeing each other. I don't know how it works in Russia, but that's not the way it is here." As you say this, you flick between messages, showing him how many of them have his name in them, how many stories you've been told. He casts his eyes to his lap, apparently finally feeling the shame that should come with such acts.
You clap the phone shut with a snap and strut away from the car, leaving him dumbfounded. You wish you could do a little dance. You're giving him what he deserves, and admirably at that.
But you're expecting him to slam out of his car and run after you, defend himself furiously and beg you to have him again.
And when he takes to heart that you've denied him and drives away, there's a part of you that still wants to cry.
No one will see you, so you do. You let the tears come, falling fast down your cheeks and onto the sidewalk below.
He didn't even fight for you.
***
One last caress from the corpse of love...is all I want, underneath the cyanide sun. Rather apt to be listening to this.
I have little to say. After re-reading this, I'm stunned. I badly want to finish the story now just so it can be happy.
Leave me some love? You know I'll adore every last word. :)