Rating: PG
Original Date of Completion: September 2003
Disclaimer: I don't own Andrew Ference, Curtis Joseph, Brent Johnson, Ryan Miller, or the Detroit Red Wings. I do however own Anthony Owen, so please don't try and rip him off. This is all fiction, conjured in the confines of my demented little mind. That means it's fake, and you can't sue me.
Notes: This takes place in 2008, and the Ryan that appears herein is goalie Ryan Miller. The title is yoinked shamelessly from a Cher song, but the song has absolutely nothing to do with the fic. I think that's all you need to know, everything else is explained in the fic.
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You ever see one of those people who could light up a room when they're happy? The ones with big toothy grins, and bright eyes, that are almost like billboards proclaiming their happiness? If you haven't seen one, you should, 'cause they're beautiful. I'm fortunate enough to have one of those people to call my very own, and I love him to pieces. Especially right now, because happiness is just radiating off of him. What can I expect though? He doesn't score goals very often, so they are always somewhat of a big deal when he does. But when he scores one in a playoff game, in triple overtime, on one of the best goalies in the league, to give us a 3-2 series lead over the defending Stanley Cup champs? Let's just say it's a good thing happiness isn't toxic radiation, or our entire team would be sporting a few extra limbs and eyeballs and stuff. Such is the price to pay to see him like that, though. At least as far as I'm concerned.
I'm not thinking the other guys would disagree too much with that right now, though. I think I'm the only one that HASN'T mauled him since we've gotten back to the lockerroom, and that is only because I had to get a cut taken care of. I'm pretty content watching everyone else molest him right now anyway. Currently, our starting goaltender is sitting in his laps, half naked with his arms draped around his neck. If we had signed anyone other than Brent to be our goalie this year, that would be decidedly less hot than it is. But Brent was our guy, and watching him sitting in the lap of my boyfriend was some pretty nice eyecandy. They keep whispering in each other's ears, then giggling like a couple of freaks. The guys sitting around them just keep looking at them and rolling their eyes, clearly not seeing the hot and amusing aspect of it all. Me, I just keep staring at them and grinning. It's pretty wrong that I'm enjoying it so much, both are taken after all, and one of them is MINE. But, I just can't see Andy smiling like that and not enjoy it. Brent half naked in his lap is just an extremely hot and pleasant bonus.
If I were anyone else in the world, I might get jealous over all of that. But I knew Brent, and I knew Andy, and I trusted them both. From the first moment we'd gotten together, four years ago, Andy had been nothing but faithful to me, and believe me it wasn't for lack of opportunity. He was a puckbunny's dream, the tattoos were a huge turn on. But he just laughed them off every time and came home with me. I kept him satisfied, beyond satisfied really, so I had no worries about him and Brent. Besides that, if you would ever seen Brent with his pants off, you'd see a name and a date tattooed on his left hipbone. And as much as we all kid him and say it says Megan, we all know it says Marc, and the date is a vow that means the world to him. He's a flirty guy, and he may sit half naked in our laps, but Marc is his one and only, which is still funny because he's probably his biggest competition too. Goalie love boggles the mind. I'll never understand it, and I take great comfort in that. I'm weird, but I don't ever want to be goalie level weird.
"Feeling voyeurific today?" Someone asks from behind me.
Speaking of weird goalies, I look up to see Ryan standing beside me. He's fully dressed in his street clothes already, such is the life of a back-up, and wearing a cowboy hat. I stare quizzically at the hat for a moment, but decide against asking him what the deal is. I'm not entirely sure I'd want to hear the explanation. Although, that hat is giving me ideas...
"What's with the hat, Ry?" I ask, rescinding my previous decision not to ask. I've got ideas for that hat, and I'd like to know where it's been before I go through with them.
"What, this old thing?" He replied, running his finger along the brim of the hat. "I wear it all the time, shame on you Tony for never noticing," He shook his finger at me.
Remember what I said about weird goalies? There's a prime example right there. Once upon a time, we had normal goalies. Cujo was normal, and the first year Ryan was here, he was really shy and quiet, thus normal. Then he got used to all of us, eventually Brent got here, and normal took the midnight train far far away from here. It's not missed too often, if at all, and right now isn't even a time when it is. But damn him, he called me Tony, and I HATE that. A NORMAL goalie wouldn't call me Tony, knowing that I hate it....Except that Cujo did and does all the time. Okay, so apparently I'm talking out of my ass here. Either that, or I really have never known a normal goalie. Eh, whatever. Getting called Tony is annoying no matter who does it. And such perpetrators must be punished to the fullest extent of my power.
Standing up, I quickly pulled Ryan into a headlock. I pulled the hat from his head, placing it a top my own, then ground my knuckles against his skull with a classic noogie. He squealed and squirmed trying to get away, but I'd perfected this very move about 10 years ago; growing up with two little brothers gives you such advantages. Besides all that, I was about six inches taller than Ryan, and outweighed him by a good 60 pounds. Skinny little stick figure goalies have no chance against big strong defenseman, you would think they'd teach them that in goalie school.
"Yeah, shame on me for not noticing your studly new look," I mocked, straightening the hat on my head, still holding Ryan in the headlock. "But if you're not in the net, I don't have to pay attention to you, that's in my contract,"
"Is beating up your goalies in your contract?" He asked, his voice muffled by my by my body.
I grinned at Cujo as he walked by, rolling his eyes at us. "Nope, not all my goalies. Just you Rhyno, you're my favorite,"
I knocked on his head three times, then released him from my hold. He straightened up, glaring at me, and smoothing out his ruffled hair.
"Yay for me," He spoke sarcastically, adding a slight hop at the end.
I smacked him playfully in the back of the head. "You love it,"
He rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. Take that, Johnson!" He yelled jokingly, shaking his fist at Brent.
Brent, still occupying the lap of my boyfriend, gasped and clutched at his heart. Ryan burst into giggles as he walked away from me, while I shook my head at him, then flashed a cheesy grin at Brent. Brent still clutched at his heart as he stood, shaking his head as he walked over to me.
"I'm hurt, O," He said teasingly serious, clapping me on the shoulder. "I thought I was your favorite?"
I grinned. "Isn't that a little bit selfish, Johnny? I already let you sit on my boyfriend's lap tonight, and now you want to be my favorite?"
"I was just keeping it warm for you," He laughed, motioning toward Andy.
"Then you're my favorite," I said with a grin. "Go break the bad news to Ryan," I winked.
He nodded with a laugh, walking away in the direction Ryan had without another word. My goalies may be weird, but that doesn't change the fact they are cool as hell. Brent leaving left me almost alone with Andy. Most of my teammates were either still out on the ice, or in the shower, and those that were here in the room were busy doing their own thing. The less people around right now the better, because odds are I was going to make a total ass of myself. That's fine to do in front of a few teammates at a time, but all at once, no go. Half of these guys have seen me in some pretty embarrassing moments already, there was no need for them to see any more. Everyone but Brent had been here last year when I did that "special" dance to cheer everyone up after we lost the Cup to Ottawa. That's as embarrassing as it gets, anything I could do today would just be a disappointment to them, so it's good they're gone. I wouldn't want to disappoint anyone. Um, yeah, that's it.
Straightening out the hat, I did my best cowboy walk over to where Andy stood. Thankfully I was able to do that without any eruptions of laughter from anyone (including myself); Andy had been focused on his skates the whole time, or he would've laughed for sure. He looked up at me as I approached though, and smiled hugely at me. At normal times, a smile like that is enough to make me maul him straight out, but I didn't attack our back-up goalie and steal his hat for nothing. Believe it or not, I have a plan here.
"Hey there, big shooter," I said in my best southern drawl, smirking down at him. "That was some pretty impressive gun work out there, I reckon,"
He giggled, arching an eyebrow. "You reckon, eh?"
I grinned. "I reckon I reckon,"
"Well then," He laughed, shaking his head. "If you reckon you reckon that was some pretty impressive gun work, it must've been,"
I nodded sagely, adjusting the hat. "A good sheriff knows all about..." I paused long enough to look him shamelessly over, letting my eyes linger for a moment on his crotch before continuing. "Guns," I finished with a smirk.
His eyes lit up instantly, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Boy howdy," He said slowly, biting his lip to keep from giggling. "I reckon a big sheriff like you would know all about..." He paused like I had, repeating in my same motions and looking me over, focusing intently on my crotch. "Guns,"
I bit my own lip to stop the laughter, clenching my hands into fists to squelch the undesireable urge I had to adjust myself. Next time I did something like this, I had to remember to take my cup off first. Him staring at the little defenseman like that is making him take the ice, so to speak, and that is making for some uncomfortable feelings. I'm glad that this wasn't a long plan, I'm not sure I could last too much longer without having to break character and rip a cup off. I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think cowboys wore cups. Although, they did all walk funny. Hmm...
Shaking my head, I regained my concentration, and jumped back into the little game we had going here. I smirked down at Andy, slipping my hand past the waist of my hockey pants, and leaning back slightly, like you always see the cowboy do agains the hitching posts in the movies. I don't have a post, but you've got to give me an A+ for effort, I say.
"I reckon I know a lot about guns," I stated, nodding my head slowly. "I might even be able to teach you a few things,"
He snorted a laugh, smirking as he stood up. "That so, sheriff? You reckon you could teach me to be a better shot?"
I nodded. "I reckon. But first, I'll hafta check out your gun,"
He smiled, slipping his arms around my neck. The game was all but over now, but I'm not complaining by a long shot. No matter how it may've come about, somehow before this night ended, I would've been congratulating him on scoring that goal, and showing my appreciation in the way that only I can. Seeing Ryan wearing the hat earlier had just given me an idea on how to make it more fun. I could see obviously that he'd enjoyed the whole thing, and I have to admit that I did too. One of the best things about being in love is that you can act like an idiot like this, and your significant other will think it's cute, if only a little bit insane. Lucky for me, Andy liked insane. He'd have to, to still be with me after so long. I'm a damned lucky guy to have him, it's moments like these that remind me of how much so. I can't think of anyone else who would play along with me as a hockey cowboy. And that's good, because there is no one I'd want to more than him. There's no one else I love enough to be this corny with.
"Well, sheriff," He whispered, pulling me down slightly so our lips were level. "You show me your's, I'll show you mine,"
I giggled softly, pressing my lips gently against his. The kiss lasted for just a moment, before I pulled away and nodded my head. "I reckon that's fair,"
"You're a good man, sheriff," He whispered, stealing a quick kiss. "I reckon I'm going to like working with you,"
I grinned, slipping my arms around his waist, and pushing him gently back against his locker. "I reckon you'll be a great student. I think I'll find out right now,"
The game was over instantly as I leaned forward and drove my lips onto his. The sexual build up we'd accumulated over the course of the game flooded quickly into the kiss, making it rough, dominating. Teeth and lips clashed heatedly, tongues massaged passionately against each other. A kiss lasting only a minute seemed to last for eternity, and I found myself whimpering as he pulled away. He laughed softly at the noise, smiling sweetly up at me. I couldn't help but smile in return, then hugged him tightly to me, kissing gently at his neck.
"I reckon you're my hero," I whispered into his ear. "I'm so proud of you, Andy,"
I felt him sigh in contentment, then felt his lips press to my temple. "Thank you. That means the most coming from you,"
I entwined my fingers with his, squeezing his hand. "I love you,"
"I love you too," He replied, pulling away from me with a big smile. "Come on, you've got a gun to show me,"
I grinned, nodding eagerly. "Just let me give Ryan back his hat,"
He shook his head, flashing a quick devious smile. "Keep it. I reckon we can still have some fun with it. In the press box,"
He licked his lips, then with a smirk, turned and walked seductively from the room. I stood for a moment and marvelled at how amazingly hot that whole thing had been. Who knew playing cowboys could be so fucking sexy? That must be why the outlaws got laid so much. I reckon I'll go see for myself though, just to be sure. Besides, I hear there might be some varmints in the press box, and I wouldn't be a good sheriff if I didn't check it out, now would I? A law man's work is never done. At least, not for a few hours, in most cases. Damn, it's good to be sheriff.
END