Archive of Our Own

The ice is made up of tiny pieces. Metal slices the skin, crisscrossing reflections of men gliding through water. Always there, waiting, a rush or a breakaway, destined to sink into the rink like dead weight.

Hockey has always been there. 

In his ear, under his nails, where he sleeps, waiting to hear it in the darkness.

If Matthew fucked around, if he grinned or screamed, if he was somehow big and small all at once, he knew hockey was all he’d ever want. 

Wanted. 

The season is slowly falling apart. But two cups back to back and Matthew still grins, stares at the rings. He wears red, a different red and everything’s changed and he came out all the better. It’s

new and now he’s a superstar.

And yet the message’s sits, there, alone. 

Hey

Last season broke the air apart. His phone’s hot, scorching, icy red, and if he drops it, he’ll curse himself because he has it. Always had it. He proved them wrong, when they snubbed him for captain, when they said a rat, a rat he was proud of, when his father said it’d be alright so he looked at the offers waiting in his agent’s hands.

Leon’s hey is different. Losing twice. On and off for years now. Scared to be seen or perceived or that bitter rivals could even look at each other without a bloody nose. I’d get off the ice and that had been the start—Matthew had wormed his way through the rabbit hole. 

“You’re a piece of shit, total piece of shit.” Leon was holding Matthew’s waist, digging his thumbs into the skin, like stakes, cursed wood to keep him in place.

“Takes one to know one.”

“Witty.”

“Smart too.”

“I could crush you.” And it was neither threat nor promise. It was a possibility, like being bashed against the boards. If only Matthew had looked down, he’d have seen ice in the room, there in Edmonton, in prairie oil.

Matthew smiled. Leon’s eyes narrowed. His brown eyes shimmered. Matthew remembered pick-up games, on the street as the lights turned on. The boys he had a crush on, trying hard to breathe as he changed clothes. It had always been boys. Something in the skin, shining in the men in his daddy’s locker room. Heroes and muscle, guiding him to 100, 200, 300 points.

636.

Matthew was there, held against the wall, caged by this larger man, not so large he would forget himself, not so small he could pretend. He felt his ouroboric rage turn, crescendo into a feeling akin to desire.

“Should do more than that, bud.”

“Bud...” It came out of Leon’s mouth like a pebble. 

“Bud, buddy, boy, Draisaitl. All on offer eh?”

“Nervous?” The smirk made Matthew shake.

“Of what? You? Shit’s gonna get me scared. Not the first time playing, right...Leon?” Matthew wanted to make him angry. He was so hard. He wanted to melt, to fall into Leon’s chest and let him gorge. He wanted to be naked and panting and he wanted all the roughness to disappear and for Leon to hold him like he belonged to him. All a single urge.

Leon’s eyes darkened. “You ever?” And his hand was on Matthew’s ass, groping, squeezing over his jeans. His apartment seemed so big then. 

Matthew nodded because he couldn’t trust himself to speak. He’d say everything, let the weakness show. But it was the weakness he wanted, to submit, to allow. It wasn’t a line, a turnover, it wasn’t trying to outmanoeuvre the glove—there was no one on the ice.

“You’ve got stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Leon picked him up, made Matthew wrap his legs around his waist. The kiss came with force, brutality and it was another scrum except this one felt real. 

The memory is there. Matthew’s fingers hover over his phone.

Sup

He can’t remember whose fault it is. Being a dick is natural. A punchable face, his dad said and people wanted him to be offended but it was an understanding, something soft, a joke and tender too. From his father. From a man who didn’t know Matthew liked boys. That he liked to be fucked, that he liked to lay there and watch as they puppeteered his limbs. His dad wouldn’t disown him. He wouldn’t. He’s never going to feel it. Because there aren’t any out players in the league. Because they’re hiding, because it’s all good, everything’s fine, the rainbows and hearts and bullshit, everything means that no one will care. A lie. Every player who’s come out in the major leagues, of which there are very few, faded into obscurity, left the sport to be keynote speakers on why it was important to be true to yourself. True to himself is hockey, right there on the ice. It’s a children’s game but it’s his game. He doesn’t want to help anybody. He doesn’t want to inspire. He wants to live and grab Leon and tell him it hurt when he pulled away and maybe Matthew should have communicated it all but he was scared—the cup had grown heavier and heavier. Leon loves the game as much as him. Leon, who also loves boys, who has a slight hint of an accent, who looks beautiful with a trim beard, who somehow looks tired and rested, a contradiction that always makes Matthew smile. 

Can we talk?

Matthew wants to scream. 

Whats there to say? 

Sure

Both at once. Leon fucked with fervor. He held steady, never questioned Matthew’s sleepy gaze, how he gave it easy, never wanted to top. He wasn’t a man but he looked down and it was all there. One night he watched Leon sleep. Only the second night he’d slept over. The planes of Leon’s face were soft, like the planes of Red Deer, the halfway point. They were lost in bed, stuck in the drifting of the prairie grass. Matthew’s first triple digit season. The puck was calling to him. He could weave through the ice, could see where Johnny would be, where he was going to be, through the gloves, all the tenacity in the world and the back of the net would ripple. 

He didn’t have the heft of his brother. But he had, has grit. Always. And it bled away in bed, feeling Leon’s cock inside of him, in and out, thrusts that made his body shake. He trembled when Leon looked down. It’s where they were connected. He had a cock in his ass. If only they could see him. They, capitol, amalgamation of the broad-shouldered, Their eyes, facial hair that fell to gravity. Because it was the broad-shouldered that held his gaze. Born of ice, in metal dreaming, They were strong, heavy in anticipation. That’s the man he wanted. To be.

His first day as a Panther, he walked out to the beach as the sun was a sliver rising in the horizon. I’m here, he thought and he laughed, letting the ocean swallow his feet. He’d cried only once, after calling Leon and he’d heard Bowie bark. Crouched behind his kitchen island, sobbing, his fingers trying to dig between the tiles. That was Leon, there, across the world, and Red Deer, Red Deer, Reddeer, lost. He cried because he was relieved. He’d told his parents and they’d smiled, and his dad had looked at him, proud. You made the right choice. His agent shook his hand. The flight was him thinking what the lines were going to be. Barkov was there. I’ll meet you at the airport.

I need you to know I’m gay. Fag sure, that’s easier. I want a man. I’ve always wanted a man. I won’t ever forget that. So if that’s a dealbreaker, gotta tell me. Scream if you hafta. There’s more hiding, sure. I’m pointing to me because I know. Sure bud. Ain’t nothing lost. Nothing.

Nothing always feels so full. 

Come over. After the game.

There’d been pictures of him and Leon online. In a video, separate, with music, about them in love. Or fucking. Or something. He broke a glass in the kitchen. He laughed a rolling belly laugh. He googled their names and there were a lot of stories. He read one, bright red, and the laughter wouldn’t stop. He opened up their texts, was going to send it. He did send it, it just never reached him. He stopped after that, knowing the words weren't going to change.  

They met in the hallways of Roger’s Place. They’d played a season already. Matthew had bumped into Leon, the start of a joke.

“Hell you doing? Lost?” The gruffness of Leon’s voice was there, even then.

“Wow, not even a hello. Could have broken my back there.”

“That fragile?”

“Like glass. Matthew Tkachuk.” He had his hand out. First conversation off the ice. First without trying for a call. Maybe the whistle would have blown, had they known where the horizontal stretch of one building would lead.

“I know who you are.” But Leon took his hand. Calloused, hardy male hands. In his imagination, his father was walking past these same walls. His back never changed.

“Following along?” The smirk looked funny on Matthew’s face. They were both up, out with the real boys, where it actually mattered. 

“Your father is what they all talk about.”

“I am him.” Matthew laughed. He wasn’t put out. He’d never been interested in Leon past his skills. There’d been enough fucking around in Juniors. 

“Leon Draisaitl.” He let go of Matthew’s hand.

“Nice to meet ya. And yeah, sure, I’m lost.” What was in his body that let Leon know? They were the same height. Leon was a little broader but not enough. Leon’s German, he’s American-Canadian. They were boys. Filling out, more weight, more speed. 

Matthew knew because Leon had stared at him and nothing had stopped but his heart sure did.

Leon shook his head. “Come on.”

It stopped because he moved far away. It stopped because Matthew had taken two cups from Leon. It stopped because his brother had gotten married and his parents were asking about him. It stopped because he’s gay and that’s not going to change and it’ll kill him but he’ll play hockey. The ice will take over the body, pump the heart and he’ll be something altogether new but somehow, maybe, with the dream he’s always had, I never imagined anything else, he’ll still be him. 

Four games later, they were making out in a storage closet. 

Nine games later, they were in an apartment and it belonged to a player and it was Leon’s and it was Matthew who left thinking nothing had changed. 

When Leon had fucked him for the first time, he had tears in his eyes.

“Fuck did I hurt you?”

“Don’t fucking pull out. Don’t you fucking dare, you piece of shit.” 

“Shut up. Quiet, you’ll—”

“There’s no one there!”

“Always someone there.” Leon’s full length sank into Matthew. There it was, grazing his prostate, better than the porn he watched, a moving picture he saw outside of his body. He clenched and Leon moaned. It was all new. 

“You’re so tight.”

“I—”

“Tell me to stop.” Leon almost pulled out and pushed back. The bed shook. He was nervous if he’d clean himself out enough. Would he bleed? Would it hurt later? Where on the ice would Matthew know?

“Don’t. More, just more.”

Leon picked up speed. They were facing each other. Matthew’s legs were wrapped around his waist. Every time Leon’s balls slapped Matthew’s ass, he groaned. His hands grabbed the sheets. It was skin underneath them. There was no condom. They’d both been tested. Or they didn’t care. Matthew wanted cum in his hole. He wanted to feel wet, used up, he wanted debauchery, something he couldn’t pronounce. 

Matthew looks around his apartment, wondering if he should clean. He could punch him. They could fight again. After Matthew woke up alone and the voicemail delivered one word—Matty.

He had lost. A black eye but Leon had a matching one and as they fell on the ice, it felt the most natural they’d ever been.

No, he didn’t need to clean up.

“I’m gonna cum,” Leon said, trembling. 

“I—don’t pull out, don’t, please,” was all Matthew could muster.

Leon’s cum was warm. Matthew finished right after. It spilt between them. Leon was gasping. Matthew clenched again just to feel Leon inside. When Leon looked up, there was fondness and a deadly thing. Punishable, despicable so Matthew said:

“Good work, bud.”

Leon burst out laughing, shaking his head back and forth. There were bubbles in the air. The smell of sex and fresh snow and prairie wheat. Leon was leaning over. His forehead grazed Matthew’s chest. He didn’t want to move and spook himself. It had happened. 

“Rat.” When Leon pulled out, Matthew shivered. The German was gone to somewhere in the dark. No longer his apartment, just shadowed boxes. Water running, a light turning on and off. Matthew stared up at the ceiling. He could feel the cum leaking out of his hole. He brought a hand down, fingering his rim, its rawness, slickness, what felt like the real him. 

“Here,” Leon said, returning with a wet towel. He cleaned Matthew’s stomach. He paused for a second then started down. “You mind?”

Matthew shook his head. The towel was warm. The gentleness was suffocating him. He breathed through his nose. Stay. 

Leon sat back down on the bed, still naked. He looked towards the bathroom. 

“I’d give you a four,” Matthew said.

“Out of?”

“Five.”

“I rocked your world, don’t lie.”

“Can always improve.” Matthew grinned. Leon rolled his eyes. 

“Such a pest.” The fondness would kill him.

There’s a text from Brady. Benny sent something to the group chat. Leon’s coming. He’ll be here and Matthew will have to say something. The game, yes, maybe that’s what mattered. 

Three hours later and the ice is back. Blue and orange. Blue and red. The rink is home. Everyone’s screaming. He skates over to the glass, throws a puck to a young girl. There’s a sign with a number. A girl screams his name. He grins, winks and almost trips over himself. 

Leon’s on the other side. He feels it with the twisting of his muscles. McDavid stares at him a second too long. He mouths a hello. And Leon is there and he’s behind and he’s beside and in front of him, standing tall with his tiny shadow. Matthew needs to stay put. Marchand skates by, asks him something. He nods, doesn’t remember anything. There’s a whistle, an anthem, there’s screaming and the game, he remembers falling in love again. 

Two assists and a goal. A penalty drawn. Still a rat but Marchand’s there, he’s been taught much more. A rocket while Skinner flounders outside the crease. Matthew screams, rams into Bennet. Barkov shakes his helmet. 

But of course it’s not all. McDavid scores and Leon follows with two. He’s showing off. They’re in the corner, Matthew can see a panther to the side. There’s a path for the puck, from his blade to theirs to the top shelf. But Draisaitl has followed him. Why is he here? Where’s the defense? 

“Give it.” It’s Leon’s voice, a whisper but Matthew’s hears it in his head. He shoves, someone shouting. Leon’s lower body is so hard to move. Matthew is small but he’s not, not even wiry. It’s the spirit, the grit, the puck is loose and Leon pushes off of him and Matthew wants to scream, tell him to start the Something that’s been lingering between them for years. 

The rest is a blur. Or time stops and quickens. A minute left in the game, tied 3-3 and the crowd is kinetic, waiting for the grandness of a rippling net. Matthews’ on the bench when Leon gets the breakaway. No one’s there and Matthew wants him to trip, to scream to his teammates to fucking go, slow as molasses. He wants them to all leave, and he wants—Leon scores the hat trick and Matthew knows he’s happy, that maybe, no, for sure, a certainty, maybe this is a trade-off for the finals. It’s not but the five hats thrown and the buzzer and the score without a single point for them, all of it is something to Matthew, to the Leon he remembers, laughing, trying out another impression. It counts, doesn’t it?

The lecture is the same. The media is the same. He’s quick in the change room. Barkov gives him a look. Matthew shrugs. In the car, he’s breathing heavy. It’s hard coming to terms with how proud of Leon he is. And yet he has the two rings, looming, perfect, beautiful, he wouldn’t trade it for a thing but is Leon a thing?

They didn’t fight about it. They were going to meet up in the summer but neither reached out. Matthew didn’t reach out because he couldn’t apologize and he couldn’t help. They’d been rivals and now they were losers and winners. No one knows about them. So if it disappears, it’s nothing, dies deep in the ground. The waking up in his arms, the idea of small figures crawling on the floor, the holding hands when they retire, the kissing inside, outside, the holding of him as he lifted the cup. 

They'd know he’s taking cock and that would be the end. 

He enters the apartment, doesn’t turn on any lights. He stares at his phone, waiting for I’m sorry, I can’t. 

Be there in 20

Matthew puts the phone on the counter. He looks out the window. When he imagines coming out, it’s always to his dad. No one else, just his dad’s imposing, stocky figure. They’re in a room and Matthew is the him of now but he’s also 17, trying not to shake. I’m gay. And he can’t see his father’s face, only sees his hands, opening and closing. 

Love is always underneath the ice. 

He wishes he had a dog, something to hold while he waits. He wishes he wasn’t alone, that his stomach wasn’t churning. Three points today. Not triple digits but close enough. 

I love you.

Three words he mouths. He waits for the window to shatter. The phantom of a punch, an eidolon caressing the valley of his back, the shifting of muscle to sand. He was 15 and he knew. The girls were like spires broken in the hands of his teammates. Their glossy lips, their soft cheeks, the long hair. He remembers running his hand through those strands, drunk at a party, after a win, Mitchy screaming something, Robbie trying to get another shot. She was trying to lead him to the bathroom. She was so pretty. But there was a boy there, from the town, from some farm and he had worn-out jeans and a flannel and speckles of a beard and he didn’t look at Matthew because of course he didn’t, there was nothing to see, it was him with this girl who wanted him and she didn’t know, no one, not even Robbie, who was his best friend, who knew that Matthew was excited and scared, that his dad loved him with so much pressure but he liked it, he liked it, he liked it—

There’s a knock at the door.

Here

A step, two, three, the door and there’s a light right underneath. He opens.

“Hey,” Matthew says.

“Hey. Uh, someone let me in. Not great security. Gotta—wait, why are you in the dark?”

“Oh.” Matthew looks back, stares at the living room illuminated by the city lights. “I’m a vampire?”

“Hmm, right...so you gonna let me in?”

“No,” Matthew says as he steps aside to let Leon in. 

“Great, I—“

“You can put your shit wherever.”

“Did you eat?” Leon’s voice is a warm hand. He wants to turn around and stare into his eyes. He wants to punch him and feel the impact on his own face.

“Why you here?”

“I...”

Matthew walks into the living room. He hears Leon follow.

“You never messaged.”

“You didn’t either,” Leon says, standing there in the low brilliance of the night. 

“What the fuck were we ever doing?”

“Never asked.”

Matthew chuckles. He should turn on the lights. Instead he sits down on the couch. 

“I was angry,” Leon says to the room, letting it settle over the walls and floors to surround what’s left of Matthew’s breathing.

“Yeah,” Matthew scoffs.

“Not why you think. Losing the Final, it sucked. Twice, fuck, it was unbearable. I’m not gonna stand here and tell you I’m not jealous, that I didn’t wish it was me. But I was, am, still happy for you. Because...because you deserved it. Of course you fucking deserved it. But that’s not why I was angry.” Leon walks to the couch and sits a couple feet away. He looks tired. He’s so handsome in the soft dark. 

“Then why?”

“I couldn’t go out there. Couldn’t get on the damn ice and grab you, tell you I was proud. Or I don’t know, let you sob or do your thing, whatever it was as long as I was holding you. I couldn’t be out there and it hit me, fuck, this is it, the rest of it all. We defined shit. It wasn’t because we were players, or even rivals for some dumb show. It was because we’re...well, Matty, we’re what we are.”

“Gay, Leo. Gay.”

Leon laughs and it’s a bit wet and Matthew understands he’s been drowning and the light, the light was something indelible, forgotten, never in use. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Matthew says, wringing his hands, “The cup, I didn’t want to rub it in your face.”

“That was all?”

The anger is a wave colder than he’s ever felt.

“Of course not. Don’t be a piece of shit, of course not! I was scared cause you’re a guy! I’m a guy! And I’ve never told anyone, not one fucking soul! I wanted it! What my dad and mom have! What Brady just got. I had it but I didn’t. Like raccoon cotton candy.”

Leon looks at him. “Like raccoon cotton candy?”

“I—the video, of it cleaning cotton candy, y’know, disappearing but—”

“Matty, I know.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Say what?”

“My name!” And the scream is everything that’s left. “I’m in love with you! I’m in love with you! I’m in—” The sobs are childish, youthful, innocent and he’s shaking and the gap disappears and Leon is holding him, no, Leon is pressing into him, hoping for their bodies to fuse, for Matthew to fall into his chest where he can keep him, warm, safe, together.

“I want you so bad,” Leon whispers, the tears tracing his face in long, falling rivers. The darkness swallows Matthew’s cries, swallows their shaking, the rhythm of hurt that comes with nothing changing. 

“Why does it matter?” Matthew manages to blurt out. And it’s a question not to Leon, not to the room but to the outside, to where people look up at the sky and wonder about divine design. He’s in love with this sturdy boy from Germany, with the sour face and the sneaky digs. With the wit and the grumpy eyes. With the strength of the boy from the party, tenfold. 

“I don’t know.” 

It’s done. They’re still together. Matthew pulls away, grabs Leon’s hand. Wordlessly, he guides him out of the room, to the bedroom. The apartment is quiet. The world has ended and begun again. 

“Liebling...”

Matthew falls back on the bed. He sighs, his arms outstretched to his side. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out,” he says.

“I’m sorry I didn’t either,” Leon echoes. 

“Idiot.”

“You too.”

Leon’s on top of Matthew, hovering, sheltering. 

“Should be naked,” Matthew whispers.

Leon tsk’s. “Patience.” Even in the dark, he can see the redness of Leon’s eyes. He comes up, slides his tongue along his cheek. Salty, leftover, he pulls Leon down.

The kiss is soft. Leon’s hand is under Matthew’s shirt. His cock is hard, their legs twined together. This a man. Panting, groaning, thinking of all that is left. Desperate, tongues inside mouths, tracing Leon’s beard, the sunken eyes, the scruffy hair. Leon sucks on his bottom lip. Pinches Matthew’s left nipple. He mewls. Leon pulls him up, arm wrapped around his back and Matthew’s shirt is pulled off and the kissing doesn’t stop, Matthew fumbling with his pants, there’s a break and in a single motion, Leon pulls Matthew’s pants and underwear off.

“Socks,” Matthew says, still grabbing on to Leon, kissing his neck, leaving spots, suckling. Leon grunts and his socks are off and Leon pushes him down and stares. Matthew’s breathing is heavy. He’s naked, his cock standing at a attention, his hole craving Leon, his body broken into pieces and they’re all finally here. He has no protection and yet he’s allowed this, Leon still fully clothed, him with nothing, not scared, just turned on, happy, with all the tears and the shadow, he grins when Leon wraps his hand around his cock and leans down to Matthew’s face.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s shaky, maybe scared and the gasp Matthew lets out isn’t in the room, but inside, between them, red-string tangled. 

“Why’re you still clothed? Naked, now, please,” Matthew pleads. Leon ignores him, brings his other hand to Matthew’s ass, between his cheeks, at the rim. 

“In the drawer, there, in the—”

“Shhh, liebling, I got it. Soon, soon.” Leon pulls back and Matthew closes his eyes. The weight is gone, he hears shifting. A drawer sliding open. He’s warm. He plays with his cock, thumb circling the head. So much precum at the slit. Waiting. Where is he going?

“Here.”

Matthew opens his eyes and there’s Leon, his face above him, and Leon’s fully naked, his cock red, leaking and he grabs them both together and they slide against each other and the moaning, a helical merging of sound. 

There’s a squelch and something cold, slimy against Matthew’s hole. Leon’s fingers are lovingly gentle.

“Get on with it,” Matthew grits out.

“Let me, Matty. Just...” and it comes out in such a pleading tone that when his finger enters him, Matthew pushes back, wanting to engulf him, hook into amorous flesh, divine and fallen altogether. 

Another finger and another and Matthew is rocking into them while Leon kisses him, his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his ears, his eyes, his chin, he’s melting and the fingers are gone and Matthew clenches, Leon rips a condom open and Matthew grabs his wrist, shakes his head and it’s obvious, neither have had anyone else but Leon was scared and now he smiles and he pours lube over his cock and more into Matthew’s ass, sliding up and down and Matthew doesn’t think the bed is solid anymore, the whole apartment is an ocean, he’s sinking and there’s water in his lungs, more kissing, fingers over his nipples, over his abdomen, through his pubic hair and Leon says something, I love you, I need you, I have you, he lines up, the head right at the rim and Leon pushes and Matthew yells, Leon groans, full length and Matthew has never felt more whole, never been more whole, never had it together like the shadows, with their neolithic voice recordings, with their soft embrace and it’s all hard, Leon is pounding into him, in and out and Matthew is following, pushing at the same time, clenched as the head feels his prostate, the noise, the bed shaking, Matthew’s legs in the air, over Leon’s shoulders, Leon’s pubic hair tickling Matthew’s ass and the eyes, the eyes, oh, Matthew sees, understand, on the ice, never melting, never moving, he’s been inside Leon all along, lost, touching the membranes, the bones, blood vessels and more and more and more—

Matthew sees white.

Leon spills inside him, wet, warm, cum-filled and Matthew finishes, spurting over himself, on the sheets, on Leon’s chest. Quiet. Panting. Red eyes. Leon’s hand cupping Matthew’s cheek. 

“Come here.” Matthew doesn’t know where he wants Leon to go, there’s no space anywhere. In the loneliness, he sees his father again and he motions to Leon, to one of the best players in the league and he says it’s a boy. The hands opening and closing. Leon on top, Leon holding him, pulling out and the cum is inside him, a child, another world where the womb is there, where he isn’t in this body, where no one will as  a question. It’s always a question.

“We should clean up,” Leon mutters but neither of them get up. Instead, Leon manoeuvres them so he’s spooning Matthew, chest to back, arms around him and Matthew can feel Leon’s cock softening against his ass. 

There are no lights. 

No one’s ever come out. 

The rainbow is a picture but it’s not life. People’s hands are more than a cheer, than a child, a little boy who sees the afterimage of a man, not a girl, not a mother, just a man, in full gear, with a helmet, a visor, a stick the curves just the right way. He motions forward and there’s the ice. In the middle a chair. Above, a branch. Above, a snake, not pomegranate-obsessed this time.

“I love you,” Matthew says. Hands are together. The sun must come out. 

“I love you too.”

If the tears are a sign, then maybe, somehow, Matthew won’t forget the feeling of death that comes before morning.