Chapter 2:

Sidney sighed. Playing against the Flyers is never fun, even at home. It's always good hockey though. Sid loves hockey, so he tolerates it.

It's not that he hates the Flyers. Off the ice, they're pretty decent people. Key word, -off- the ice. On it they talk shit (especially to Sid) and make dirty plays that the refs never call, they're complete assholes.

Not to mention that Max got traded to them, or whatever happened. They took away his only normal friend, So now he has to deal with a Russian, a goalie, and Johnathan Toews. Okay, Johnny isn't all that bad. Unless you get him around Patrick, who he has been like in love with since he was born.

"Siiiid-neeey!" Max sings as he skates over to him former captain.

"Orange is -really- not your color." Sid smiles. "You look a lot better in black".

"Miss me, eh?" Max reaches out and strokes his cheek.

"Oh my god. Not my face." Sid pushes his hand away.

"You're not my captain anymore. Don't have to follow your orders." Max got a little closer. "Since we don't play for the same team, how 'bout dinner?" Max started skating circles around him, grinning like a psycopath.

"In your dreams, Superstar." Max stopped in front of him,

his mouth open in shock.

"Don't make me call Claude over here, 'cause that shit hurts man. That shit really hurts." Max started fake crying on Sidney's shoulder. He rubbed his back in large circles. He rolled his eyes at Geno who skated past laughing at him.

"You're a Flyer, right? So fly away. Shoo." Sidney lightly pushed Max off him.

"At least I'm not a bird who can't fly." Max smiles at him.

"Fuck you." Sidney rolls his eyes again. Why does he put

up with these people?

"Okay." Max's smile got even wider when Sidney blushed.

"Max, what the fuck are you doing?" Claude skates up to them and pokes Max with his stick.

"Nothing yet." Max winked at him.

Sid's gaze adverted over to Claude, who was already staring at him.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night." Sid says.

Apparently, Claude had gotten facial reconstruction over the summer (not really, is purely an exageration). His hair was cut short. It's still messy, but -damn- it makes him look fine.

"Come on Talbot." Claude looked Sidney over twice. "See you on the ice, Crosby."

"Try not to spend to much time in the penalty box." Sid watched as they skated away, butterflies in his stomach.

He is going to kill himself. He is going to dive his head straight into the ice before the game even starts.

"Okay Sid?" Geno asks, a worried expression on his face.

"Yeah. Everything is fucking fantastic."

He feels like a teenage boy sometimes. His hormones can not be acting up like this.

Well, Max always said that hockey makes Sid horny.

Great, now he misses Max.

Now he's thinking about Max.

Which leads him to think about Claude and his uber sexy haircut.

Did he really just use the words 'uber', 'sexy', and 'Claude' all in the same sentence?

His life is over. It is. He can't go on living when he likes a guy who he's supposed to hate with every fiber in his body. If he loses tonight it's going to be all his fault. And he's going to give up on life. He really is.

It's a pretty decent game. The Penguins lead it 4-3, with Sidney having a hat trick and an assist in Geno's goal. Max has two and Bourdon managed to sneak one in between Flower's legs. A lucky shot really, but Flower isn't going to let another one happen in the third quarter.

The whole game Sid doesn't have any major problems. A playful push from Max is the only thing that sets him off. He's used to all the obviously illegal hits that aren't called and the overly hard checks into the boards. Giroux doesn't come after him like usual though.

That is until about a quarter of the way into the third quarter. He's behind the Flyer's net, struggling with Downie for the puck. He almost has possession when Claude comes over. His plan was to make an ass out of the both of them by still getting the puck out and scoring. That is expected of him to do.

"Come on faggot. Give me the puck and I'll let you suck my dick later." Claude growls in his ear, lips against it.

His body tenses up as his blood runs cold. It's just enough time for Steve to take the puck. He slips it past Fleury and ties the game. Sidney skates a little wobbly after that.

And this is why Sidney doesn't like sex jokes directed at him. He always over thinks everything and takeas it seriously. He really shouldn't, Claude wouldn't actually mean that. Right?

After that, Giroux attacks him with illegal hits, constantly. One time he flips a speeding Sid over his head, him landing on the ground with a groan. He gets up, refusing to stay down, even after the second and third time it happens. But seriously, are the refs -blind-?

He remains calm through it all, grinding his teeth to keep his sanity. As captain he has to. It would be setting a bad example to throw down his gloves and start an altercation. Dan would be up his ass about it until the last game he ever plays against the Flyers in his life as a Penguin, which will probably end up being his whole career.

Giroux ends up scoring with a minute and a half left. It wasn't Flower's fault at all. There were bodies scrambling everywhere. Not to mention the Flyers had 72 shots on goal. Only five going in is actually pretty impressive.

It still sucks to lose back-to-back games. A road game against the Capitals, it stings but is tolerable. But a home game against the Flyers is fucking heart breaking.

"Come to bar. We hang out." Geno suggests, hand on Sidney's shoulder.

"It's not like this night could get any worse." Sidney sighs.

He hates Geno. He hates all Russians. He hates vodka.. and all alcohol. He hates the Flyers and losing to them at home. He hates losing back to back games.

So when you mix that all together into on night. That means you have one very pisssed off Sidney Crosby.

The only reason he hates Geno is for dragging him into this bar in the first place. He said they'd hang out together. Really, that meant Geno got to catch up with Ilya Bryzgalov and leave Sid all by himself. He had Max with him for about an hour, but he left to dance. Sid knows he isn't the easiest person to talk to, especially since Max has always been the most perverted person Sid has ever met in his life.

He only drinks a little, he plans on designating since Geno is going to be hammered by the end of the night. He also doesn't like to drink that much. Being unable to control his own body, or not remembering what he did last night, isn't exactly on the top of Sidney's to do list. He would love to forget about the 5-4 loss for one night, no matter the consequences. That would be immature and inappropriate, he couldn't just leave him stranded here with no suitable ride home.

It goes okay for a while, staring blankly at the people on the dance floor. Bodies moving in time to every beat of the pop song that Sidney doesn't recognize.

"The gentleman in the booth over there bought this for you." The burnett bartender put down a margarita in front of him and pointed behind him.

He thanked the bartender with a smile and waited for her to move on before he turned around, his heart racing. It might be stupid to react like that, but no one ever buys him a drink. Except Max. But he's Max. It would probably be some stranger. A fan even. He wouldn't be surprised. Absolutely no one would be interested in him. Or maybe it's just a Philadelphia fan who was thinking him for letting him get his ass beat. Just anything else than what it should generally mean.

To his luck, it's Claude sitting there. He starts to think maybe the guy moved and Claude had conveniently filled his place. Then he grins at Sid and raises his glass.

He should bang his head on the table and knock himself unconsciousness. That would be the smart thing to do.

Instead he grabs the drink and heads over there.

"Really?" Sid asks. Claude pats the area next to him and he sits down. He really needs to learn to stop giving. into people.

"Aren't you going to drink it?" Claude asks, watching Sidney carefully.

"Can't. Designating for Geno." Claude grabs one of Sidney's hands, massaging the tense muscles that means he should relax more.

"Do you always have to be Sidney Crosby? You need to let loose and have some fun." Claude says, looking into his eyes. "It's not like you'll get drunk. And I couldn't spike it.. yet."

Sidney rolls his eyes. The feeling of his hand being knead by the Flyer's uncharacteristingly heedful fingers.

"You're an ass." Sid says, a chuckle escaping the other man's lips.

"Seriously, drink it. Calm down. You'll feel a lot better if you do." Claude picks up the beverage putting it in front of Sid's face.

"I hate you." Sidney takes the glass, inhaling it.

"You came over here. Remember?"

He nurses the beverage as they trade stories about pranks pulled on other teammates (and some on themselves) and their failure attempts at playing hockey under the age of eight. It's actually quite interesting for Sid, getting to talk to someone so casually about hockey without sensing threat. A surprising gesture, still nice though. By the end of his drink, he -does- feel better. He shoulders unstiffen and he let's himself enjoy his company, no matter how horrible the person may or may not actually be.

"Better now, eh?" Claude asks.

"A lot actually. Thanks."

When the pair of lips touch his, he. relaxes even more and kisses back. His tongue being dominated was something he rarely enjoyed, the few kisses he has had he was always in control. Making out, a hand on his crotch, is something he's never done in public, or ever really.

It registers to him a moment afterwards. He's sitting in a bar that is famous for it's athletes, mainly hockey players, so he's not going to be mistaken for somebody else. And yet he's sitting here liplocking with another hockey player - a rival one at that - in front of everyone. And oh god.. oh god..

Sidney lightly shoves Claude off of him, his heart speeding up and his palms sweaty.

How could he be so careless? What if someone saw them? What if someone took a pictire? Oh god.. He's such an idiot.

"What's wrong?" Claude asks, wiping his mouth.

"What's -wrong-?" Sid repeats. "How about the fact that we just made out in -public-. Did that even click in your brain?"

"That's what I've been thinking about this whole time. It's not like your little pranks were so fucking hilarious." Claude thinks it over. "Well, when they turned the cold water on blast while you were in the shower is something I'd kill to see." Sidney blushes, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well a little warning would have been nice." Sid points out, licking his lips. "Or asking for permission."

"You did a lot better than I expected you to." Claude cocks his head and grins at him.

"What the hell does that mean?" His eyes shrinking into slits.

"I didn't expect you to kiss back. I almost wanted you to be just as stuck up as Max says." Sid's eyes open fully.

"I am -not- stuck up." Sidney objects.

"You make me stick up." Claude flirts, making Sidney's face go red again. "Take me back to your place and you.. can fix the problem." Sidney's breathing hitches at the request. His heart flutters and a wave of heat is building up in his stomach.

"I'm going to find Geno." Sidney says. He gets up, not wanting to be followed.

He's pretty easy to spot. Him and Ilya stand out. Geno is plastered to a point where it's a miracle he's even standing.

"Come on G. Going home now."

With one arm slung over Sid's shoulder, he manages to half-carry, half-drag Geno into his car all by himself. He feels pretty proud of himself.

He takes Geno back to Sid's house. He didn't want to leave the Russian all alone being that drunk. He let's his teammates crash in his guest room. The only people who use it are his parents and his sister. Unless Geno believes in cooties or something, it isn't dirty.

Sidney lets his body fall onto the bed. As much as he hates the Flyers and everything they stand for. As much as he hates Russians and a lot of other stuff. Nothing compares to how much he hates himself.