Title(s): Vision
Author: Natalie
Fandom: RPS, NHL, Detroit Red Wings
Pairing: I'm not telling...yet...
Rating: PG, PG-13 maybe?
Email address for feedback: nataliejcs182@y...
Synopsis: Somebody's got a crush on Stevie...
Disclaimers: I own nothing, unfortunately.
Author's Notes: Okay, I wrote this last night after the game. Its my
first ever Red Wings fic--as well as my first ever slash fic. So...be
kind. *g* And I couldn't remember which of Stevie's knees was
hurt...and I can't figure out how to italicize, oops. Please
respond, because I'd love to know what you all think, Thanks!
Dedicated to: all you hockey-dream folks who have turned me into a
Red Wings loving, slash obsessed female.
Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level: 8.6 (woo hoo, I'm almost in high school!)
Steve Yzerman has to be the most beautiful creation on the planet.
I was standing in the showers, hot water pounding against my skin, soap
bubbles trailing down my body, and yet my eyes were glued to the statue of
masculinity that was less than four feet away. He was leaning to his right,
favoring his injured knee; he had taken some rough hits during the game,
and it was obviously causing more than a little discomfort. His eyes were
shut, a peaceful grin across his face, aside from the occasional wince of
pain that contorted his features. He left me speechless, with an ache
inside and a desire to kiss all of his boo-boos and make everything better
again.
Not that you can help him, I thought as I watched him massaging a bar
of soap over his chest, down to his muscled stomach. His biceps bulged
beneath the skin, and the pure strength of him sent a tremble through me,
and I was all too aware of the fact that he didn't need me to fix him-he
was the most powerful, most resilient human being I had ever known. I shook
my head, tearing my eyes from the masterpiece next to me, attempting to
return my attention to cleaning the sweat from my skin. I made quick work
of washing my nether-regions-my pulse had already been set racing when his
naked form strode into view, only to make me short of breath when he
grinned and took the shower next to my own. The last thing I needed to do
was to embarrass myself by making my attraction to the captain visible.
I dared a glance at him again, and luckily he was turned around,
facing the opposite direction. I drank in the wide expanse of his back, t
muscles rippling under the skin right near his shoulder blades. He was
broad and sturdy, with a simple, confident sexuality that showed in his
smile, his eyes, and his walk. My gaze drifted to his backside, the perfect
curve of it. I marveled at the cleft where his leg met his butt, resisting
the way it beckoned to me, rendering me paralyzed.
Almost paralyzed, a stirring between my legs reminded me.
The steam slipped around the solidity of him, like satin gliding over
a bar of steel. It surrounded him in a thick haze, a dream-like fog, like a
fantasy, something unreal. He had to be a vision, because nothing that
impossibly perfect could exist-it simply wasn't fair to the sun or stars to
have to compete. The earth was merely unable to house a creature that
unspeakably flawless.
His eyes drifted open, meeting my gaze with his own, drowning me in
the swirls of rich, melted, enticing chocolate, framed with black lashes.
One side of his mouth curled into a knowing, mischievous smile, then he
turned off his shower.
"Hurry up, Fish," he commented in a teasing voice, "we have a plane
to catch."
"Yeah, I know, I'm, uh…I'm just…" I stammered, looking at everything
but him, eventually turning around, letting the water caress my chest,
"I'll be ready in a few minutes."
A few moments later, a hand rested on the small of my back, and I
jumped, nearly losing my balance when I felt warm breath against my neck.
"Besides," he whispered, "the showers at the hotel are much nicer."