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drysaladandketchup · 3 months

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Mattdrai and 14 please for the Game. Thank you 💜

Thank you, anon! Once again I have failed to understand the word 'mini'. Seriously never ask me to write something short I don't know how to anymore. I hope it's to your liking :)

14. things you said after you kissed me

He expects a lot of things when he walks into the airport toting his life behind him in a suitcase: the drone of hundreds of voices, the inevitable bustle of bodies, brightly lit screens flashing so much information it makes your head spin, lines, because there's always lines everywhere for everything, the smell of fifteen different coffee shops vying for traveller's attention. Fuck knows he's going to need one of those soon.

What he doesn't expect is to be grabbed mid-yawn as he's on his way to check his luggage. If he was already jittery about the move before, he nearly has a heart attack now when a hand latches onto his bicep and drags him into a shadowy alcove, half-concealed by a thick pillar.

Matthew's brain very unhelpfully provides him with the image of being mugged before he's even out of Calgary. Pissed off fans angry he's leaving for bright, sunny, warm-all-year-round Florida, perhaps? Some even more pissed off Edmontonian who saw he was leaving and came down here thinking now's my chance? He wouldn't put it past some of them.

He's not too far off the mark with that last one. When he rips his arm free and spins to face his assailant, he laughs right in their face.

"Jesus, dude, you look like a stalker."

In fairness, Leon usually dresses pretty decent. But right now he's in plain jeans and a thick, unassuming pull-over sweater--it's fucking summer in Calgary, who does that?--with the hood pulled up over a snap-back, head ducked low so the brim hides part of his face.

"Didn't want to be recognized," Leon says, somewhat defensively, like he's only now realising how very conspicuous he looks in a place like this.

"I got that." Matthew checks his phone. He's got a bit of time for... for whatever this is, so he sets his stuff down and leans against the wall across from Leon. It only puts a couple feet of space between them.

"What are you doing here?"

Leon tugs the hood and hat off his head, runs fingers through his hair. It's still pretty long--Leon's let it grow since the spring, and Matthew has very distinct memories of running fingers through it--but it's also uncharacteristically messy. He doesn't look entirely focused, either; there's shadows under his eyes.

"I came to see you," Leon says.

Suddenly, Matthew really wishes he wasn't here. Either of them. It's been two weeks since they've seen each other, since Matthew broke the news. Not that it was Leon's business. They weren't... weren't anything. Not partners, anyways. Not really. And this was Matthew's choice, his career, his future he was considering. That had to come first.

But now Leon's here, and Matthew has never wanted to run so badly in his life. This didn't feel like running before. The earth could split open and swallow him whole, and it would be kinder than that look on Leon's face, all anger and desperation and confusion and... God, he looks so fucking tired.

It's a 9am flight to Florida. It's just past six now. The sun's barely up.

"Have you slept at all?" Matthew asks, instead of a million other questions.

Leon shoves his hands in the pocket of his sweater and shakes his head. "I couldn't."

"So you drove all the way down here."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Hard not to be when you haven't talked to me in weeks."

Leon's mouth twists. Slumped back against the wall, curled in on himself, it may be one of the few times Matthew could ever say he looks small. Fragile.

Sighing, Leon finally, finally looks Matthew in the eye. He's not scowling like the last time they met, the night he stood in Matthew's doorway and told him he didn't understand anything before storming out of Matthew's life.

"I thought we should talk. Before you go," Leon says.

Matthew does understand, now. He put it together staring at Leon's back as he disappeared into the night. He knows why Leon's really here. What he really means.

I wanted to see you.

It's amazing how many people say Leon is hard to read. He's always been an open book to Matthew, even when he was snapping and bearing his teeth. All his emotions spilling from the pages.

"Okay." Matthew swallows. "We can talk."

Neither of them does, for a minute. They stare at each other, through each other. Remembering. Committing all the little details to memory. Matthew's palms tingle with the urge to touch.

"You kissed me," Leon finally says, "then said you were leaving."

Yeah, not Matthew's finest moment, if he's being honest. But he didn't know what else to do. There was already so much turmoil around the trade and the shit going on with the Flames.

And then there was Leon. There was no way it wouldn't be gruesome.

"How long did you know?" Leon's voice is rigid, but still calm. "Would you actually have told me, if I hadn't come to see you?"

A year ago, yeah, he would have said it was none of Leon's damn business. Why would he care? But they've come a long way since then. Farther than Matthew could have anticipated. Farther than he realised, until he was staring at Leon's retreating back and silently begging him to turn around, to come back, to stay.

Of course Matthew was going to tell him. He's not an asshole. But that's not what this is about.

"Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me."

"You're not here because you're pissed I didn't tell you sooner."

He knows why Leon's here, and he knows why part of him is stupidly happy Leon is here. Even if nothing will change.

"Did you even think about how I'd--" Leon groans, scratches at the back of his head.

"I did," Matthew says, because it's the truth. Of course he thought about Leon. How could he not?

Leon's gaze drops to the floor, and he grits out, "Fuck. I wanted to do this better."

Matthew can practically hear time ticking by. His heartbeat makes a good clock, thudding away in his chest.

"What is this, Leon? What do you want?"

Dangerous question. Leon could say a million things that would make Matthew's entire resolve waver. If they're not done, if there's even a sliver of hope...

But Leon doesn't say anything. Instead he steps forward, cups Matthew's face between his hands, and kisses him. Not rough or desperate. There's no urgency. It's slow and deep and bruising, and Matthew melts into it because he could never do anything else, and Leon holds tight like he thinks Matthew will disappear if he doesn't.

It's an apology and a confession. It's not the first time they've kissed, but it may be the first time it's been an honest one.

It doesn't last long. Matthew barely has time to taste it, savour it, get a fistful of Leon's hoodie like he's the one threatening to leave. There's a moment as Leon pulls back where Matthew thinks he's imagined it all. Where it feels like something precious is slipping between his fingers.

But no, Leon's still there when he opens his eyes, pressed from hip to chest, noses brushing, beard catching Matthew's freshly shaved cheek. Hot breathes mingle between their mouths.

"Would you stay," Leon whispers, hand sliding back to tangle through Matthew's curls, "if I asked?"

He didn't ask the night Matthew told him. He was too angry, too upset. It took Matthew too long to realise why, to recognise what he was seeing on Leon's face was heartbreak.

But they both know the answer. Still, Matthew closes his eyes and takes the luxury of thinking about it. Considers the possibilities.

"Would you actually ask?" he says.

Leon's fingers curl around the back of Matthew's neck. "If I thought you'd actually say yes."

"But you won't."

"No."

"Because you know I won't."

"I know."

"It's not you."

"I know." Leon steps back only as far as Matthew's grip on his hoodie will allow. "Fuck, you don't make things easy."

Matthew chuckles. "When have I ever? You're not winning any awards either."

Leon scoffs.

"Still," Matthew says. "This is better than what you said to me the first time we kissed."

"What did I say?"

"Pretty sure it was, 'Get the fuck out of my arena.' And something about hoping I lose my next game."

Leon smirks. Doesn't look even a little sorry. "And did you lose your next game?"

"Fuck off." Matthew shoves his shoulder, unable to keep a grin from tugging at his mouth.

He looks away only long enough to straighten out his shirt and run a hand through his hair, but when he looks back, Leon isn't smiling anymore, and his brows are pulled low.

"I really fucked up my timing, huh?"

Matthew winces. "Just a little, yeah." Makes two of us. He's about to say more but Leon waves a hand.

"But you were going to leave anyways, I know. I got it."

"Leon--"

"I'm not here to stop you. I just wanted to... you know."

I don't want this to be over. I want to make this work.

Still an open book.

Matthew angles his head, forces Leon's eyes back to him, staring right into that mystifying grey-blue that always reminded him of a thunderstorm. Everything about Leon kind of reminds him of one. What does that make Matthew? A whirlwind? A hurricane? Storms, both of them.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Matthew steps closer, crowding Leon against the wall this time. They may not have known what they were doing before, but Matthew knows what he wants now.

Leon must have found his answer too, because he kisses Matthew again, no less meaningful than the last, pulling Matthew into his body, into his hands, his mouth. Breathing his air and tasting his tongue, giving and taking until they're light-headed and fitting pieces of each other together.

"You better not be fucking with me, Draisaitl," Matthew pants out once he's got his breath back.

He doesn't get far before he's pulling Leon to him, into his arms, getting the bulk of him in a crushing hug. And Leon hugs him back, a deep laugh rumbling right in Matthew's ear and fingers carving into his back. That's answer enough.

Somehow, Matthew is strong enough to let go. And just like that the world is moving again. He's too aware of everything outside their little alcove, so loud and invasive. He's running out of time. His future's waiting for him down south.

When they step back out into bright lights and bustling strangers, Leon's got his hat and hood back on, keeping his head tilted low. He doesn't stray far, bumping Matthew's arm every so often as he walks with him through luggage check and down towards the gates.

They get to security, and for the first time since the trade decision was made, Matthew hesitates. This is what he wanted. What he still wants. What he needs. The only variable left is...

Leon has stopped a few steps behind, leaving Matthew stranded and alone. He turns back around to find Leon watching him silently. They may as well be the only ones in the world, the way his vision tunnels.

"Well," Matthew says, words clogging his throat. "Guess I'll... see you around. We'll talk. I'll call, or..."

"I'm serious, Matthew." His name always sounds beautiful and dangerous on Leon's tongue. "About this. You and me."

And fuck, Matthew's only human. He drops his bag, marches back over to Leon and tugs him into another kiss. He nearly knocks the hat off Leon's head with the force, crushing his lips and clacking their teeth together. It doesn't even matter if people see them.

One more time. Just one more. Until they can see each other again.

"I know." Matthew shudders against Leon's eager mouth, kissing the smile that breaks out under his lips. "I want to try us too."

He swallows the strangled sound that comes up from Leon's throat, tipsy with it, like he's getting drunk just from this. Is that possible? Fuck knows, but he sure as hell wants to find out one day.

Matthew jerks back, breathless, hot-cheeked, and beaming.

"And I'm gonna be fucking great."

If Leon wasn't slack-jawed, if they weren't the them they are now, he would have chirped Matthew to high hell. If they were on the ice he'd probably put Matthew into the boards just for fun.

But the Leon here and now only scoffs, shaking his head like he's been well and truly defeated. Then he smiles.

"Yeah, I know. So get the fuck out of here and go be great."

#hockey #mattdrai #matthew tkachuk #leon draisaitl #my writing #asks #florida trade drama my beloved #there's photos of them making out in the airport all over social media the next day. publicity shitstorm. good luck boys #This is over 2k. Even less 'mini' then my last one wtf is wrong with me #I used to be able to write drabbles but no no no too many ideas to write down now it seems #I realise this has the same 'can't admit we're in love until it's too late' energy as my last ask fic but apparently that's my fave trope #I CAN write other dynamics I swear

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clonerightsagenda · 1 year

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I was going to save this for one of my podcast girls week entries, but I wrote it out and then thought, why sit on it, so here is today's ladies night content before I go on a walk: Alien zombie Alana Maxwell is an underutilized concept and here's why.

She'd be cool with it. Maxwell works with AI who are ported between containers without that changing who they are, so she's primed to view her mind and memories being rebooted in a new container similarly. I don't think she'd have any identity crises. Also, her dad was a preacher, she's not on good terms with her family, and she tried to ditch the holiday party, which makes me guess she's ex-Christian. How better to spite your Christian parents than coming back from the dead in a distinctly non-God honoring way? This could generate some interesting conflict with Lovelace, who is significantly less cool with it and might be annoyed and dismayed to see someone else taking alien resurrection in stride. Bonus points considering I hc Lovelace as being raised Catholic and the soul question being an additional level of identity angst that Maxwell immediately dismisses.

The aliens have motive. It's clear that watching through their surrogates' eyes doesn't mean they understand what they see. Once Lovelace gets back to Earth, they might want help with context. They seem to have grasped that humans don't like multiple copies of a person running around, and of the others they have on file, they dislike Kepler and Cutter, and Rachel and Riemann were there when Cutter killed one of their meatsuits, so Maxwell seems like the one they'd have the least aversion to. Then she would immediately try to talk them into roadtripping to see things in person, which is how we can get all the other interactions I'm describing.

The aliens have opportunity. It's not stated what the crew did with Maxwell's body, but the likely options are either tossing her into the star or freezing her on the station, which later went into the star. Lovelace was frozen (albeit alive) when she got scanned, and Word of God is that the Dear Listeners are perfectly capable of creating a functioning surrogate from a corpse. If you don't want to go that angle, almost everyone got hit by multiple rounds of stellar activity in "Persuasion". However, the corpse angle creates an opening for...

Fun body horror. I am a 'came back wrong' enjoyer and think it would be very good if the aliens got their scanned corpse up and running but didn't fuss too much about the cosmetic stuff. Maxwell's skin is colder than it ought to be. She has a gnarly scar on her forehead. Neither of these bother her much, but she's not a fan of the tingling neuropathy left over from tissue damage or the brain fog from the bullet that went through her head. (A fun parallel to the issue she first helped Hera with. Hera is now in the brain damage club with Doug, Miranda, and Maxwell. She hates this.) She can fun-terrorize Jacobi with perma-cold hands and real-terrorize Minkowski by making her look at the hole in her head. She's honestly over it but it's still funny to watch her squirm.

The Hera thing. Hera was furious with Maxwell immediately after the mutiny, and although her opinions softened near the end of the show, I think she'd be furious again if Maxwell actually showed up. She embraced non-human solidarity with Lovelace and now here's Maxwell. What is she supposed to do, have non-human solidarity with her too?? Did Maxwell become an alien to spite her??? The nerve. I got the impression that Maxwell saw her actions during the mutiny as for Hera's own good - better than deleting her, right? - just as she was willing to ignore Hera's wishes and erase her memories in Memoria. She'd probably insist on that if they had a chance to argue about it, and I could see Hera throwing the restraining bolt incident in her face. ("If you're so comfortable putting something into people's brains to make them more useful to you, I'm sure you won't mind hearing how Jacobi got that scar on the back of his neck.") Could be juicy, is my point.

Meanwhile, Jacobi: Of course this is my very good friend Maxwell back from the dead. Yes this has implications for the version of myself I listened to die screaming. No I'm not going to unpack that.

Finally, I think it's a missed opportunity that Pryce and Maxwell never got to meet. I suspect pre-mutiny Maxwell would want to believe she was ethically better than Pryce while pre-finale Pryce would see Maxwell as a bleeding heart amateur, but after all that? I think they'd still get each other's hackles up, but there's room for some interesting interaction, especially as I think Miranda's memories would start trickling back after a while, and immortal alien surrogate Maxwell is basically her white whale. Miranda trying to navigate social niceties enough to determine an acceptable way to ask someone for tissue samples. Maxwell might be willing to swap some for custody over a few of Pryce’s experimental AIs.

In conclusion, while I enjoy postcanon scenarios dissecting people's trauma, I think it's fun if while everyone else is grappling with the Horrors, Maxwell is also there enjoying herself. *commercial voice* Add an alien Maxwell to YOUR postcanon today.

#for 12 low payments of $0.00 #perpetual perpetual ladies night #wolf 359 #visibly undead Maxwell dragging an alien doing a really bad human impression around Florida: :D #everyone else seeing this: D:#spending my last day of winter break blogging furiously

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