Sean exchanged a look with Harry as he slipped the guard out of his mouth and spat a stream of saliva and blood onto the ice. The new centre was a fucking hotshot, and they all knew it. He'd be good for half a season, and then burn out like all the rest. Maybe it'd be coke, maybe gambling, maybe puck bunnies, or maybe just a bum knee and a shit record once the pressure was on. He'd seen it before, and he'd see it again. It was just a shame they'd traded away Craig and Mark for this one; it'd be a long time before their second line would be as good as it was with those boys onboard.
Harry grunted as he took the water bottle from Sean's proffered hand. "High scorer, reads the ice well, always one step ahead, creative thinker, dirty in the corners..." He shook his head. "Next they'll be telling us he can make the puck fly out of his ass and slip through the five-hole."
Sean couldn't quite hold back a snort as "they" glanced over at Harry and Sean. Coach Rhys-Davies raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering away as he leaned over and spoke quietly to Elijah, sending the trainer scurrying back towards the tunnel.
On the ice, the new centre with the fucking awful name stole the puck from Dave, skidded around his flank and smoothly passed it to Karl. Karl flicked it at Orlando, who reached up out of the net and caught it neatly in a glove, his eyes never leaving the new boy.
"Speaking of hotshots," Sean rumbled under his breath, earning him a rare grin from Harry.
Dave's grin was even wider as he nudged the centre hard enough to make the two of them stumble and almost go down against the boards. Sean sighed and rolled his eyes, silently wondering how long the goodwill would hold out once the game was on the line and the new boy failed to live up to expectations.
"If he's addicted to suicide passes like the last one was, I'll pound his scrawny little arse into the ground." Sean rolled his shoulder, the memory of the last time it was wrenched out of its socket still fresh in his mind. That and a sprained ankle had kept him as close to flat on his back as he was willing to get without someone naked and sweating above him.
Harry slid a little closer, passing the water bottle back. He shrugged. "It is a nice ass. Given a chance, I'd be after it too."
"You know what I mean." Sean could feel the irritation rising, thick and hot in the back of his throat.
"Oh, I know," Harry murmured, his breath hot on Sean's cheek. "That's how it started with us, wasn't it?" Another quick flash of teeth was all Sean saw before Harry pushed off from the boards and skated away, leaving Sean scowling.
It'd been years. Angry, hot, violent years where skirmishes on the ice led to rumbles in the dressing room, and from there tumbles into hotel bed after bed. But the passion had cooled, the fire banked until Harry and Sean played like two halves of one well-oiled machine. They were good together, but only when ice and sticks and padding separated them. Strip those things away, and they were nothing but brawlers, every moment a new chance to deke one another out. One of Sean's worst shiners had come at the hands of Harry while they were off the ice; that was right about when they'd realized the rink was the only place the two of them should ever tangle.
Still, they'd been good years while they lasted.
"Nice hustle, Mortensen," Coach Csokas shouted, snapping Sean out of his reverie. The rest of the players were making their way to the bench, practise over, and Sean had the sense he'd missed something important. He sighed, waiting for coach or trainer to pull him aside even as he fell in line behind the other men, slowly making his way to the dressing room.
As he stepped off the rink, the new boy stopped in front of him. He yanked off his glove and held out a hand, a winning smile spreading over his face. "Viggo," he murmured, by way of introduction, his hand sinking back to his side when Sean didn't immediately reach for it. "I'm looking forward to working with you. With all of you."
"Yeah. Sure. We all are." The words felt empty in Sean's mouth, frozen as it was in a tight smile. "But for now, let's just keep moving forward, yeah?"
"Oh. Right." Viggo swallowed visibly, turning around and hurrying to catch up with the rest of the team.
Sean couldn't be sure, but he thought he caught sight of the faintest flush at the nape of Viggo's neck, underneath a swaying curtain of damp hair. It was probably nothing more than a trick of the light, or maybe the lingering marks of exertion. It certainly wasn't anything Sean should waste time thinking about. He wet his lips, his gaze sliding down Viggo's back even as they shuffled forward into the dimness of the tunnel. If this one fucked up like the last, Sean would make sure he paid, and paid dearly. They'd had enough fuckups to last anyone ten seasons, maybe more. If he didn't live up to the hype, Sean'd take it out of his hide. He'd pound him, that was for certain. Pound his tight, round arse right into the ground.
Summary: There's a new hotshot centre on the team, and left-winger Sean is less than impressed. (Hockey!AU)
Rated: PG-13
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo/Harry Sinclair
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 931 Read: 827
Published: 19 Aug 2009 Updated: 19 Aug 2009