Fic: My father's father craves the earth - Part IV

[bratri_ve_zbrani]

Title: My father's father craves the earth - Part IV

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Vladimir Sobotka/Blake Wheeler

Disclaimer: Never happened.

Note: A kink meme just ran away from me. It's a full blown fic now and I make no apologies. Any suggestions, criticisms - even ones that sting - are totally welcome. I probably need it. Also, Blake Wheeler and Vladimir Růžička, Jr. resemble each other somewhat, they're about the same height and weight.

 

The walk to the rink is the usual affair, Vladi pointing out a few landmarks here and there though they weren't so much landmarks as places that Vladi attached special meaning to, and as cheesy as it may sound, that was enough for Blake

 

"That shop," he says, pointing to a small convenience/grocery store with small crates of in season fruits, "the owner gave me candy when I was young. He stopped when I got older, said I should take care." He sounds wistful.

 

Blake just laughs at this; Vladi hasn't changed at all. He still has David and Chara riding his back about eating properly although it really doesn't seem to matter. He burns through calories like wildfire; it annoys the hell out of Don, who concocts all sorts of recipes to help Vladi put on muscle much to little avail.

 

"It's not that funny," Vladi says.

 

"Sure," he says, putting an arm around Vladi and leaning on him heavily to make him stumble. Vladi scowls at him like he's a misbehaving child, and Blake grins at him. He was afraid that there would be awkwardness after the talk they had, but it only feels like they've broken some barrier, like Vladi feels light and freer and Blake, too, by proxy.

 

"I love you," he whispers as they approach the players' entrance, "you know that, right?" He lays a hand on Vladi's back briefly, not too low to approach inappropriate but a touch too soft to be completely platonic.

 

Vladi nods, blushing fiercely. It's good to know someone has his back like this.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

"Hey, look, the bums decided to grace us with their presence!" Marc says as they make their  through the dressing room. "What happened, morning wood slow you down?"

 

"Piss off, Savvy," Blake says, giving him the finger. "Blame it on Vladi, the fucker overslept," he says, nodding at Vladi, who just shakes his head as he makes his way toward his stall.

 

"Lay off on the kids," Recchi's voice carries to the rink and back, "you only got here like two minute ago, Marc."

 

"Yeah, yeah, Mr. Responsible."

 

Recchi gives him a look before nodding to Paille standing by the equipment table. "Hey, Danny, throw me a tape there, will you?"

 

"Where's yours?"
 

"Who knows. Just throw a guy a roll, yeah?"

 

Blake looks up from the across the locker room, where he usually sits a few stalls from the two Czechs, between Mark and Matt although he has Milan to his left today. David is leaning into Vladi's personal space again, and he know that it doesn't mean anything but it never ceases to strike something paranoid inside him. Irrational, considering David's fiancée has him totally whipped, and Vladi is nothing if not completely loyal; he reminds Blake of the puppy his father had brought home for his tenth birthday, saying that now that he was two digits old, he should learn to look after another life. The way Vladi sometimes forgets himself and looks at Blake like he's the best thing ever - sometimes Blake is afraid he'll do something to ruin what they have.

 

Like his paranoia; he needs to get over this

 

Vladi is nodding solemnly to something David is saying, and he's really, really dying to know what that intensely serious expression on David is all about. He knows they're best buds, although it kind of boggles his mind a bit, were they friends before? Then turned into fuck buddies afterwards? Blake himself is a bit awkward with all things post-coital and even post-post-coital, and he tries to dwell on it because the image of the David and Vladi together… well, could you blame him for a little bit of imagination?

 

He tries to glance surreptitiously while he stretched.
 

"Dude, what's with you, Blake?" Matt finally asks, "You're, like, in outer space."

 

"I'm in my headspace," he replies, which only earns him a dubious look from Milan, who's not so subtly eavesdropping from he stands five steps away, taping his stick. He gets a bit OCD with how he tapes his stick, not for any technical reasons, but for a guy who can throw his weight around pretty much anywhere, he's got serious superstition hang ups.

 

"What?"

 

Milan shrugs, "Just, you know, he's right."

 

"Of course, I am," Matt preens, "so, spill, my man. Girl trouble?" Matt teases, breaking out into lyrics of 'Kiss me through the phone.' He's got such a sweet, sweet face, but underneath that angelic exterior, he's got a wicked mind and a whip-smart brain topped by no shame to put them to nefarious purposes.  Blake is almost sure that half the pranks are being pulled by him then framed on various, unsuspecting teammates.

 

"Fuck off." Blake scowls, glancing up at Milan, who has this funny look on his face, perplexed but with a clarity that, whoa, has the paranoia section of Blake's brain firing on all cylinders.

 

He's not ashamed of what he is, not ashamed of the fact that he can take a fucking from Vladi on occasion and enjoy the hell out of it, that he can unravel his boyfriend with a kiss, but… it's something like the kiss of death in this league, pun completely intended. And, well, he'd like to have a long and illustrious career, thank you very much, even if he hates that he can't take Vladi to romantic dinners or plant a full, open mouthed kiss on him when they win games.

 

It's an itch, like the stray thread hanging off the hem of a shirt, that always comes back no matter how hard he pulls at it. They say that the biggest secrets are the ones you secretly want to tell the most, and it blows that he can't tell his friends about this, that he can't announce how freakin' happy he is, and maybe he's still young but he feels like he's waited his life for this toe-curling contentment.

 

And the people, Jesus, always trying to set him up with girls. Like Milan's girlfriend, for example.

 

He's really good friends with Looch, but it gets on his nerves when his girlfriend tries to hoist one of her friends on Blake. It kind of hurts Vladi's feeling, too, regardless of the fact that both of them know Blake will politely decline every time.

 

Milan himself just looks a bit apologetic because he knows that something's up by the way Blake asks him for advice from time to time but only in questions posed as hypothetical situations. So far, he hasn't pressed the issue too hard, but Blake can tell that he's been itching to dig into this because it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that, Blake was serious about whoever this hush-hush person lover was.

 

He hasn't guessed a guy yet, bit he has asked if Blake is dating an older woman and is reluctant to tell anyone about it, or may she's already a married or already seeing someone. The conversations usually go something like this:

 

"Is she married or something?"

 

"No."

 

"You're not dating a minor, are you? Cause that's you know-"

 

"What? What kind of person do you think I am?!"

 

"I wouldn't know, Blake, you won't tell me anything."

 

"I'll tell you later."

 

"Yeah? When's that?"

 

"I'll tell you when I tell you."

 

So when Matt is out of earshot, Milan looks at him curiously, and says. "You know, Blake, that you can talk to me, right?"

 

Blake holds his gaze steadily and nods slowly, "Yeah."

 

"Good. Just so you know."

 

"I'll keep that in mind."

 

Thankfully, coach decides to make his entrance then, flanked by Ramsay and Houda, cutting their conversation short, and Blake breathes a sigh of relief while Milan turns to face the coaches, leaning on his stick with a nonchalance that would seem impossible from his hulking frame.