by purpleatheist
Rating: R, language and stuff
Pairing: Ilya Kovalchuk/Dany Heatley
Summary: Dany is apparently in Salt Lake (and not at whatever mini-camp the
Thrashers might be having...) to watch Ilya play vs the USA. Short, very
short, and written in like 20 minutes. So, forgive me, but they were crying
for attention and I had to write *something*.
"Fuck," Ilya scowled, stalking across the room. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Maybe I shouldn't have taught you that word. It's all you can say now,
apparently." Dany watched his friend pace back and forth.
Ilya stopped and looked at his NHL teammate. "We fucking lost."
"Yeah, but...Kovy, you played well. That third period was great...you
just...you guys maybe weren't meant to win that one. The Americans were
meant to win."
"We play bad in first two. And the ref-"
"Hey," Dany said, standing up at walking over to him. "The officials were
good. I know the Russian Olympic people are all pissed off about the skier
and the figure skating thing, but I was at the game and they were good."
Sighing, Ilya dropped his eyes and nodded. "I know..." He sat down on the
bed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "But we wanted
good win. For Igor. And Slava."
"I know. I know you did...but look, you know the Americans are the same
way. They've got Chelly, and Housley...and maybe Hull in their last
Olympics, probably a couple more. And they have Brooks coaching and you
were around for the September thing...you know they're playing with a lot of
pride and determination. Maybe it's just enough."
"And they have stupid good defense," Ilya mumbled, causing Dany to laugh.
"Where's your roommate, anyway?"
"Pavel? Probably with others. With alcohol." He looks forlorn. "You are
21. Will you-"
"No. Not if all you're planning to do is get really drunk and pass out."
"Dan-"
"Damn it, Ilya, I came here to see you! To congratulate you on your play,
because it's been great, and see you play the US. I didn't come to watch
you get drunk because you fucking lost! Everyone loses!"
"But it is the Olympics-"
"You have like three Olympics left. Shut up."
Ilya sighed again, looking up at Dany. "I try - I...sorry you did not see
me playing good. Today, I am a bad player."
Dany finally realized what was bothering the young Russian, even more than
losing. It was losing in front of Dany. Playing poorly in front of Dany.
He immediately stepped across the room, leaned down and kissed him hard. By
the time they broke apart, Dany was positioned more or less on top of Ilya
on the bed. Ilya smiled at him a little. "See, you stupid Russian? I love
you anyway. Even when you play bad, I still love you. Crazy, isn't it?"
Smiling a little more, Ilya ran his hand through Dany's hair. "I don't
know. Maybe crazy."
"So," Dany said, "would you be ok if we celebrated now? No alcohol. Just
me. And you."
"What about Pavel?"
"Shto?" Pavel Datsyuk, Ilya's roommate came in looking slightly
drunken. He looked at the two Atlanta rookies on the bed and answered his
own question. "Ya nye budoo zdec."
"Spaciba," Kovy mumbled, turning red. "Eta kharasho?"
The Red Wing shrugged carelessly, obviously not really caring about anything
at the moment. He mumbled something in Russian and Ilya laughed. He got a questioning look from Dany, and explained. "He is saying half of his team is gay."
Dany flashed a grin in Pavel's direction as he shut the door. Looking back at his teammate, Dany half-smiled. "Is that ok with you?"
Nodding, Ilya pulled Dan back down for another long kiss. "Yeah, that is ok
for me. I love you too, Dan."
"You play for the bronze tomorrow."
"We will win that," Ilya responded flippantly, deftly relieving Dany of his
shirt.
Smiling at the usual flashiness and attitude of his partner, Dany kissed him
again, molding their bodies together, and doing everything in his power to
make the Russian forget about his loss.