Title: Hockey Season
Author: Soviet-chan
Rating: T
Warnings: Profanity, headcannon!OOC
Pairing: AmeCan
Author Notes: I wrote a fic without angst and/or Lithuania in it! Who put something in my drink... D: Love, Sovi
"That was bullshit! Absolute bullshit!" Matthew screamed over the blaring noises of the TV, "What the *hell* was that, Canucks? Are you Canadian or are you Canadian?! Get your heads out of your bums and play!"
He was sitting alone in his small room, focused solely on his tiny, second-hand television. His walls were heavily laden with posters and and signs and a couple sticks lay across his headboard. It was hockey season. Next to him, what was once a towering bowl of maple-sugar popcorn had been diminished to a few lingering kernels. Matthew dunked his hand in the bowl, eyes not wandering from the sport. Popping a few kernels into his mouth, he chewed nervously.
"AND A GOAL FOR VANCOUVER!" the announcer could hardly be heard over Matthew's screaming. Three kernels shot out of his mouth like bullets towards the screen. The bed groaned under him as Matthew stood up on it, jumping in a victory dance. The bowl slic to the ground with a clang, but he just kept jumping.
"That's the spirit!" Crash. The TV joined the bowl on the floor. "Now you had better keep those asses in gear!"
The Canadian immediately silenced himself, plunking down on the bed and straightening the TV. His eyes were practically bugging out of their sockets. The announcer's droning voice was the only noise in the strained atmosphere. Matthew bit his lip tensely as he willed his team to make another goal.
Knock, knock, creak. The door opened a crack. Matthew rolled his eyes, still facing the TV.
"Oh, get out of here, Kumakichi! Unless you want to wat-THAT WAS NOT OKAY YOU BLACKHAWK BASTARDS! Those Chicago sons of bitches are cheaters! That's not how you play hockey, fool! Yeah, you show him, #5! You show him how Canadians run Hockey Season even without fair penalties! Bitches!"
Alfred peered into the Canadian's room, slowly opening the door a bit more. Matthew whipped around screaming a battle cry. Then, he became silent, his face blushing a deeper red than his hoodie. Alfred had pulled him out of the trance.
"Oh-oh hi. It's you...just...uh...watching a little Hockey between your guys and mine...wh-what can I do for you?"
"There's that shy little Mattie I know and love!" he walked in and casually settled himself next to
Matthew, accidentally jostling the TV.
"Would you be more CAREFUL?" Two red-sleeved arms shot out to adjust the device. He hesitated looking up. "It's j-just...this is really important."
"I can tell!" Alfred gave a deep laugh, "You've been screaming and name-calling all morning! Ya know? I think you're growin' up and becoming more like me. Well! You know what they say, every hero needs a sidekick!"
"That guy is wicked with a hockey stick, eh?" Matthew gestured to one of his players, ignoring Alfred completely. Suddenly, he stood up and started waving his arms angrily at the American, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? *You* better have a good explanation for that! Your goalie is a CHEATER! Damn that guy to the deepest pits of-"
"Dude! Get a hold of yourself!" Alfred grabbed the other nation's shoulders and shook him violently. Again, a crimson blush spread across his cheeks as he emerged from his fog. Alfred looked concerned, "What is going on with you? You are flailing your arms more than Italy on speed! You're yelling louder than Germany on steroids!"
Matthew laughed nervously. "Oh s-sorry. I just, uh, get really into it...I guess." He tried to bend around the American for a clearer view of the TV. Alfred chucked, sitting firmly between Matthew and his hockey game.
"You know, if you showed this side of yourself at meetings, people might actually remember who you are."
Matthew pouted. "Can I please watch my game?"
The other man reached behind him skillfully, pressing the power button, while looking forward.
Indignantly, the Canadian stood up, stomping his foot, "You turn that back on right now, Alfred! You're a grade A asshole and I won't stand for it!"
Alfred smirked, "Make me."
Again the Canadian tried to snatch the small TV from behind Alfred. He awkwardly reached around his waist, making sure to keep a respectful distance. Hopelessly, he struggled for a few minutes, barely touching the TV, before he gave up, "Please, Al?"
Alfred grudgingly handed the screen back, turning it on at a lower volume. "Fine, but don't waste all of your energy yelling now. You'll still need some for when I kick your losers' asses!"
Not a moment passed before Matthew threw the TV to the ground and tackled Alfred painfully across the bed. Grabbing his collar, he seethed over the insult. "Your guys will go down, Alfred!" he hissed, twitching insanely, "and so will anyone *else* who insults my team!"
Calmly, Alfred curled his leg around Matthew's body, making him freeze to the spot, "Mm," he purred, "I haven't seen you this riled up since the 2011 Stanley Cup Riot…"
Matthew loosened his grip on Alfred's collar, eyes fogging over. The bed creaked as the American casually rolled the pair over so he could be on top.
"I understand it a little," he continued, "I follow some football teams...but Mattie, you're just *crazy*. We're going to take a little break, I've decided. To prevent more riots. How about I get you fired up about something *else*?"
He leaned into the other man, brushing past his cheek and landing a firm kiss on his lips. Eyes closed, and blush spreading, Matthew returned the kiss. Satisfied, Alfred straightened slightly, looking down into Matthew's eyes before going in again.
His eyes had fogged over again.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" the Canadian stiffened, angrily cracked his knuckles in the direction of the quiet TV. Alfred rolled his eyes, climbing off. He shrugged. "A kiss?"
"THAT GOALIE IS A SCANDAL! A SCAM! A CHEAT! A LIE! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, EH? You gonna cover THAT one, Mr. Announcer?" - suddenly, he seemed to notice Alfred's change of position. He frowned, eyes clearing. "You okay, Al?"
The American shook his head. Matthew had been so caught up in his hockey game that he hadn't consciously noticed the kiss. He's have to try again later. Walking out of the room, he secretly prayed for a Canadian victory. It would be nice to have Matthew in a good mood.
The game had been over for a good five hours and in honor of Canada winning, Matthew had decided to make pancakes. Kumajiro sat at the table expectantly, with a napkin around his furry neck, as the man divied out three to each of them. He drowned his own in Maple syrup and began to eat.
"You know what, Kuma-whatever-your-name-is? I've been having this funny memory"
The bear's black eyes were questioning.
"It was a memory that America kissed me. And I really enjoyed it!" They both began to laugh.
"I know, I know. He hasn't been around. He's probably off shooting fireworks or playing football or some other American thing. Besides, I've been up in my room watching hockey all day. Maybe it was a dream!"
And, for once, sitting in the shadows in the corner of the living room, Alfred understood what it felt like to be invisible.