Matthew glanced at the clock – okay, five minutes to warm up. He'd done worse in the past. Gil skated up directly behind him and whispered in his ear, "You ready?" Matthew shivered, which the albino seemed to take as a yes. Truthfully, Matthew really was worried about how Francis would feel about the warm up routine, but… he and Gil had been doing this for ages. It was perfected in that no one really understood exactly what the two were doing, but interpreted it as nothing more than a hockey player revving up a fellow teammate for the game. No one but those on their team knew that Gil was the only one who could – or was even allowed – to get Matthew ready in this way. Not only was he Matthew's most trusted companion, but the albino would undoubtedly maim anyone who touched the Canadian so intimately without express permission… a few of them were smart enough to realize that maiming was still likely to happen even with Mattie's consent.

It began with Gilbert shedding his gloves on the ice and massaging Mattie's neck with his still-warm hands, raising goosebumps on the blond's skin. He rolled his head around a bit, loosening up. The white hands delved into the neck of Matthew's jersey and under the padding as far as they could go, getting at the tendons of the Canadian's shoulders. Despite the cramped area, Gil managed to do that trick of his where he lightly trailed a finger up the very top of Matthew's spine. Matthew took a deep breath; his heart was starting to pump now, but he didn't want his breathing to become more irregular than it had to be.

Gilbert pressed up behind him, not hard, but enough so Mattie could feel his solid presence through the padding on his body. Albino fingers landed just beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing into pale Canadian hips in tiny circular motions. Positioning their heads so that it looked like nothing more than close whispering to the audience, Gilbert leaned in close enough to brush the shell of Matthew's ear with his lips as he murmured, "Are you there, yet?"

...

It was only through pure, Prussian determination and focus that, when Mattie turned to him with half-lidded bedroom eyes, pliable lips reddened through cold air and heavy breathing, looking so deliciously fuckable, and breathed, "Yes", that Gilbert was able control himself at all. Goddamnit, this happened every time! Every time, it would be so simple to lean that extra four centimeters forward and take that soft upper lip between each of his own, to feel Birdy's bottom lip settle gently beneath his, to pull him into the locker room, forget about the game, forget his own name and feel that warm body against his and mark that skin as lovingly as possible…

And every time, he didn't. Without so much as a squeeze before letting go, Gilbert moved away, trademark smirk plastered on his face as he pulled on his gloves and helmet and skated backwards towards the middle of the ice front of Matthew. As the Canadian watched him leave, watched Gil taunt him by making so wanting before taking it all away, a change came over Matthew. Because if there was one thing guaranteed to make Matthew rabid, it was that type of sexual frustration. And it was that very thing that the ferocity of Mattie's game depended on.

Jamming his helmet onto his head, Matthew charged to the middle of the ice just as the timer started. The ref blew the whistle, the Canadian and the giant, imposing Russian opposite of him smashed their hockey sticks together three times, and the game began.

...

A certain Frenchman watched the game from the stands as various emotions rolled through his body.

For one, hatred. He was going to kill a certain loud-mouthed, cocky, uncouth albino who did not know how to keep his hands to himself.

Another was arousal. Francis prided himself on knowing amour, and all the activities that went along with it, and he was not blind as everyone else in the stands and ice apparently were. He could feel the arousal coming off of his little Mathieu in waves, he saw the expression on the blond's face just before the albino skated away, and it was… hot.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was a small amount of fear in his bloodstream, from multiple sources. Fear that the albino could potentially succeed in turning Mathieu away from him. Fear that the Canadian would hurt himself out there on the ice – Francis winced as Mathieu slammed against a wall with a member of the opposing team. There was another source that he didn't want to identify… but it definitely had something to do with Mathieu's behavior out on the ice, with the look in his eyes. Francis wasn't sure he liked what the albino had forced out of the Canadian. It seemed unnatural, especially when compared with his normal demeanor.

And finally, he was happy. Maybe even smug. Little did the obnoxious white-haired man know what the product of his 'warm-up session' would be this time.

...

Matthew was in the zone; scoring often, darting around the bigger players, smashing right into the ones who didn't get out of his way fast enough. Before he even realized it, the buzzer sounded; the game was over. They had won.

A mob of his teammates descended upon him, all hugging and shaking each other and screaming. Still on a high, Mattie whooped as loud as he could. Suddenly, he was pulled out of the fray and into the long arms of a smiling, blond Frenchman. Looking into Francis' sparkling blue eyes, he fell into the passionate kiss that was bestowed upon him. Starting out gentle, but growing more powerful by the second, Matthew would have climbed onto the tall man if it weren't for his skates and bulky gear.

Ignoring the cat-calls and fake-gagging of the men around them, Mattie gave Francis' tongue a final suck before heatedly whispering, "I need to go get out of these clothes. Stay right here," and skating at breakneck speed towards the locker room.

Francis smiled dazedly as he waited for his petit chou to come back. That, that had been… délicieux.

Hardly five minutes later, Mathieu was back and somewhat cooled down, smiling shyly as he took Francis' hand. "So, do you want to go out to eat, or…?" The Canadian left the end of the question open to suggestion, which Francis gladly supplied.

"How about we go to my place and I cook you a victory feast, cher? That way we can also… talk." He suggested. The Frenchman wasn't even entirely using a euphemism; they did need to talk, especially after that wonderful re-acquaintance of their tongues, about exactly what their relationship was… before Gilbert butted in again. Matthew nodded happily at his suggestion, and as they walked back to the car, Francis could see the albino looking forlornly at their retreating backs, ignoring a tall blond man and a shorter auburn-haired boy who were trying to regain his attention.

Francis squeezed the hand entwined in his own. He knew that there was no room for sympathy in war, but even he pitied the obnoxious man at that moment. Still, a squeeze back forced his mind to return to his prize – an adorable blond Canadian at his side, and not another's. Pressing a kiss to the flaxen hair and kindly taking the duffle bag from his ange, they continued to walk into the dimming light of the evening.