March, 1997

"Break's over! Back to work!"

Erik perked a bemused brow at the order. A drop of perspiration swelled at his temple, before it finally released its hold on the fine hairs it clung to and slowly made its way down his jaw; he fought the urge to rub at the ticklish feeling it left behind.

"Had we stopped?" Dirk asked in a low voice.

Erik smirked at the joke, but didn't bother to reply. Instead, he tugged on his cotton shorts in a fruitless attempt to air out his sticky thighs before he heaved a sigh, and got himself into place for a set of push-ups. His tenth set of fifty that day, and counting.

"You should work on your legs," Dirk pointed out as he lifted a dumbbell to his chin and back down again. "You'll have the thickest upper body on the ice, but it'll be useless if you snap an ankle, little chicken."

Erik huffed as he tried to regulate his breathing in the midst of his set. "They don't pay me to skate around, twinkle toes. I'm the-" he grunted as a muscle in his bicep twinged. "Muscle."

"They don't pay us at all," Dirk said with a wet snort.

Erik opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut when a shadow fell over the two.

"I don't believe vocal chords are a muscle you need to worry about training, Erik." The voice, smarmy and accented in English despite being said in German, belong to Schmidt.

From his position on the floor, Erik continued to pump out his set without bothering to give Schmidt the satisfaction of seeing the annoyance on his face. Instead, he pushed through the remainder of push-ups he had left before resting his weight on his forearms in the plank position.

"No words now, I see."

"I try not to waste precious breath on your ears, Schmidt," Erik ground out as his arms trembled under the strain of his weight, and his abdomen burned in protest.

Dirk's resounding laugh was quickly covered in a pathetic cough. Schmidt cast him an icy smile before looking down at Erik once again. "I suppose there really isn't need for words when you're already down at my feet, is there?"

"Well said," Erik retorted sarcastically as he shifted his weight to his right forearm. He turned on his side, left arm placed awkwardly on his waist, and glanced up at the other man. "Anything else or do you still wish to hear yourself speak?"

This time Dirk was unable to hide his laugh, though he valiantly tried through another coughing bout. Erik hid his smirk by tucking his chin down to his chest, but Dirk was caught outright. Schmidt turned to the other blonde smoothly, teeth clicking as he forced a smile across his face once again.

"Dirk, I suggest you get some water for that nasty cough you have. Otherwise, I may have to bench you again, and then you'd really would be living up to your nickname of Dusty Dirk."

"That's not very fair," he grunted, but he was quick to place the dumbbells back on the rack and leap out of Schmidt's eyesight. It didn't have to be said that dusty was a term used for players that saw very little ice time, and were typically horrible when they did.

Erik watched as his teammate fled with hooded eyes. He was getting very tired of Schmidt thinking he had any real clout in the arena. The man was only there because his father owned the building in which they practiced in, along with several other buildings in the city, but that was beside the point.

"So, where were we?" Schmidt turned on his heel and looked down at Erik. He placed a hand in the pocket of his carefully ironed trousers, and pretended to be deep in thought. "Ah, that's right. It's rumored that this weekend's match may have some very important scouts in attendance." He glanced down at his shoulder and removed an imaginary piece of lint. "So, it occurred to me to let you know that your usual machismo would need to be highly turned down. They're there to see real players with real skills. They're not there to see a goon. Is that understood?"

Erik, who had by now switched to his left side, ground the back of his teeth in irritation.

"Perfectly, Herr Schmidt," Erik mustered in an exaggerated German accent in the other man's native English. "I live to follow your orders."

Schmidt frowned in his annoyance, but managed to say, "See that you always do," before turning on his heel once more, and leaving the training room.

TBC...

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