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mentalhygiene, is it your birthday? This is for you!
Jul. 6th, 2006 05:56 pmbedlamsbardThree Miracle drabbles:
It's the little things. Looks that linger a little too long, unnecessary touches in the locer room or on the ice, the heat rising in Mark's cheeks. Mac watches OC work his tricks with narrowed eyes -- he can be subtle too; not everything Jack O'Callahan does is as bull in a china shop as his fighting -- then goes after him on a day when Mark is out on an injury.
"Try it on someone who knows what you're doing," he suggests when OC comes off the ice with the rest of his his shift.
OC slants his cat eyes at him. "What?" he says, panting slightly. "Like you? Where's the fun in that?"
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-
OC's breath is short and unsteady against Mac's ear. His large hands splay across his waist, knuckles scarred from fighting, palms callused from years of sticks and ice. One muscled leg curls between Mac's thighs, trembling slightly. If it weren't for the darkness and the scratchy dorm sheets they could be on the rink; the air smells of sweat and the sweet-sharp reek of ice that pervades everything.
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-
The rink is dark. Mark skates smooth circles, skates steady and sure on the ice. He skates backwards and forwards, more daring now, dodges an invisible opponent and surveys the rink for his invisible teammates. Jimmy, in the goal, crouched forward with the mask obscuring his face. OC skating lazy figure eights around a pair of Soviets. Rammer with his face intent, stick braced on his knees. Mac bent low, eyes distant, gracefully distracting an opponent. Silky by the boards, one leg stretched out like he's dancing.
All this in a heartbeat, and Mark skates forward and scores.
It's the little things. Looks that linger a little too long, unnecessary touches in the locer room or on the ice, the heat rising in Mark's cheeks. Mac watches OC work his tricks with narrowed eyes -- he can be subtle too; not everything Jack O'Callahan does is as bull in a china shop as his fighting -- then goes after him on a day when Mark is out on an injury.
"Try it on someone who knows what you're doing," he suggests when OC comes off the ice with the rest of his his shift.
OC slants his cat eyes at him. "What?" he says, panting slightly. "Like you? Where's the fun in that?"
-
-
OC's breath is short and unsteady against Mac's ear. His large hands splay across his waist, knuckles scarred from fighting, palms callused from years of sticks and ice. One muscled leg curls between Mac's thighs, trembling slightly. If it weren't for the darkness and the scratchy dorm sheets they could be on the rink; the air smells of sweat and the sweet-sharp reek of ice that pervades everything.
-
-
The rink is dark. Mark skates smooth circles, skates steady and sure on the ice. He skates backwards and forwards, more daring now, dodges an invisible opponent and surveys the rink for his invisible teammates. Jimmy, in the goal, crouched forward with the mask obscuring his face. OC skating lazy figure eights around a pair of Soviets. Rammer with his face intent, stick braced on his knees. Mac bent low, eyes distant, gracefully distracting an opponent. Silky by the boards, one leg stretched out like he's dancing.
All this in a heartbeat, and Mark skates forward and scores.
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-07 03:16 am (UTC)*ahem*
It is still my birthday. Thank you so much!
I love the last one best -- the tension of it, it's beautiful, it is.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-08 12:11 am (UTC)