Peter Metcalf: 
Michael Schutte: 
by me
Fandom: NCAA Hockey, Maine Black Bears
Pairing: Peter Metcalf/Michael Schutte
Rating: R
Series/sequel: 1/1
Disclaimer: This is fake, fiction, not real. I'm not implying anything about
the values or orientations of those involved. It all originates in my
overactive imagination (comes from not having television as a child).
Summary: post-game NCAA hockey championship. Uh, Minnesota won, in case you
couldn't tell.
Notes: Um, I apologize for this. I couldn't help but write it.
Dedication: To ESPN for giving me those lovely () shots of Michael
Schutte in the penalty box after the goal was scored and Peter Metcalf
collapsed on the ice crying while Minnesota celebrates and their fans do
whatever weird chant thing that was they were doing. I never did figure it
out.
"Peter, I'm sorry."
The captain - he was still a captain - turned to the junior defenseman, his
eyes smoldering. "What the hell are you apologizing to me for?"
Michael took a step back. He was 2 inches taller than Metcalf, but Peter was
still intimidating. "I - I...the penalty...it's my fault..." He directed
his eyes at the floor, blinking back more tears. Peter didn't say
anything, and Michael peered at him from under his lashes.
Peter's anger was gone at the younger man's expression. "Ah, Mike-" Michael's
breath hitched, and Peter stepped forwards, wrapping his arms around
him. "Please...you know it wasn't your fault."
Schutte buried his face in Peter's neck, and his captain rubbed his back
gently. "That stupid penalty...stupid fucking penalty..."
"How about those two goals, huh? They got us there. You got us there."
Michael raised his head a little. "I wanted to win it for you, Peter."
It was too much for Peter, and he sank to a sitting position. Michael ended up
in front of him, kneeling, his head still against Peter's chest in an
embrace. "I wanted to win it for Shawn," Peter choked.
Michael moved so they were almost face to face. "Why wasn't it enough, Peter?
Why wasn't it enough that we wanted it so much? You...you played almost
the entire overtime period...why wasn't that good enought?"
"I don't know," Metcalf whispered, his lips brushing Schutte's forehead. "It
should've been. I thought it would be."
"My penalty..." Michael whispered again.
"No. I was the leader. I couldn't do enough." His eyes were dry, his voice
weary. He couldn't cry anymore. He could barely feel anymore. So much
emotion...they had played on emotion. Emotion and adrenaline and a ring
made of tape. And now it meant nothing. They were left crashing, emotions
reeling, no more adrenaline, and a ring...but only one made of tape.
Michael knew better than to say anything else. To say that the one image that
had burned into his mind as he sat, stunned, in the penalty box, was
Peter's devastation wouldn't help. "I still love you, Peter," he whispered
on impulse. Metcalf's eyes rose to meet his own. Their arms were still
around each other and suddenly everything was a little bit more bearable.