The hockey game raged around him. Along with the other fans he jumped to his feet, yelling obscenities as the other team scored a goal. Booing rang out through the ring, the cacophony of sound assaulting the player's ears. Shoulders slumped in defeat as the final bell rang. Cheers mixed in with groans of disappointment. As his team fell to the ground and cried, Matthew felt like abandoning his seat in favor of comforting his team. They had been so close… a minute away from the end of the game. Feeling the tears caressing his cheeks he rummaged in his pocket for a tissue. Not finding one, he used his sleeve to roughly wipe away the tears. Sorrow transformed into a fierce resentment and anger. They had practiced so hard and long, practically fourteen hours a day, only to have it thrown out the window in a matter of seconds.
Oh yes, he had known that Russia would be an admirable opponent. The Canadian team had worn themselves down to the bone in preparation for their inevitable match. Never would he have thought that the fruits of their effort would be stripped away so suddenly. They were so close to winning, precisely five seconds away when the huge Russians, in their desperation, had finally managed to break through their defense and score the final goal, putting the Russian ahead by one point.
Matthew gazed at his stricken team. They were kneeling on the blood-streaked ice, crying and yet managing to prevent themselves from all out sobbing. Their nation pride had to be upheld, so there was no bawling or howls of torment, only chocked sobs. The nation stood, his faithful bear rising and jumping down from the seat (specially reserved) next to him. proudly he walked down, head held high despite the tears coursing down his face. Pausing to wipe them away and to collect himself, he glanced down at the cub, making sure that he hadn't gotten lost in the horde of angry and intensely happy fans. Though his face was not capable of expressing human emotions, Kumajiro appeared to be weeping along with his master.
Glad to have his long-time friend and companion by his side, the Canadian continued on his journey, barely resisting the urge to hold Kuma in his arms. Though he wasn't allowed onto the ice, only the players were, he dodged the guard and walked across the rink toward his team. The very earth seemed to hold it's breath as he drew the players up from the ground by their hands, one b one, and embraced them. Every member was either as tall or taller than him, but they clutched him for support, their knees threatening to give out on them. Though he felt like he could keel over from exhaustion and disappointment any second, he locked his knees and ushered the team into the locker room where they could let go of the restraints and fully express their sorrow.
POVish of RussiaHis breath caught in his throat as the countdown started. The game so far had been intense, full of pushing and violence with a good deal of blood. With a roar of triumph from the crowd the puck slammed into the net moments before the buzzer activated. They had fought hard against a formidable opponent, but in the end they had won. His face formed a small smile, the sight of which caused the people sitting around him to flinch away from him even though they were rooting for the same team.
He watched as the other team collapsed onto the ice. Kolling softly and basking in the glory of the opponent's defeat he withdrew from the stadium and drove to his hotel to have his own after-game party, consisting of vodka, vodka, and more vodka. Perhaps with some torture thrown in…
12 bottles of vodka and five hours later…
Russia swung himself back and forth in his swivel chair, a half-empty bottle of vodka dangling from his fingers. A giggle crept up his throat and escaped through his lips. As he replayed the game over and over again in his head, he couldn't help but wonder who they had played against. Who ever they were, they excelled at hockey and had given the Russians a run for their money. But really, who were they? He frowned, why could he not remember? Pulling up the schedule on his computer he scrolled to today's game. Canada… why did that name sound familiar? A picture of Alfred, only meek and sky with a curl in front of his face flashed before his eyes. He smiled, his grin appearing sinister in the half-light of his laptop screen. Canada looked so weak… bust that would just be a mask, judging by how well he had played earlier today. His grin turned into a smirk.
"Become one with Mother Russia, da?"
AN: So this is my first romance fic… not to mention my first time ever writing yaoi. If you wish for this story to continue… please review!
*Note* I really do not know that much information about the Olympics, so please e xcuse any errors.