Rating: R, for language
Characters: Petr Sykora, Andy McDonald, Jason Arnott
Dedication: almightychrissy, frala, lastcatastrophe, joolzie, and of course, tamiflu. :)
Disclaimer: It's all lies!
Author's Notes: This is set just before Petr got traded from the Ducks to the Rangers and is written from Petr's POV.
"One more game," I said weakly, even though I had absolutely no intention of getting up off the couch, where I'd sprawled gloriously after my last defeat. I didn't plan to move at all, except to get more comfortable. Or to pee, which I suppose counted as getting more comfortable.
"Petr," Mac sort of wheezed, apparently just as weak. "I'm ahead thirteen games to two. I don't think you're coming back from this one."
"Don't tell me what I can't do!" I said sternly, but that just sent him into a fit of giggles. I sighed deeply. "Fine, you win, you're the champion. You get to gloat for one day. Congratulations."
Mac had his arm around my shoulder and he pulled me closer to him, so my head was resting on his shoulder. "It could be more than one day. Remember Buffalo? Nothing happened then."
And then I felt it, the press of warm, soft skin against my forehead. Just a touch, but long enough for me to be sure that there had been contact, and long enough to recognise the feel of lips.
I lifted my head up quickly and looked at him, shocked. A gentle forehead kiss was way beyond the limits of gay behaviour brought out by alcohol in straight guys. He reacted to the suddenness of my movement by sliding violently away from me to the far side of the couch where he stayed, eyes wide and nervous.
As sure as I was of what I'd felt, I still doubted it at the same time because it went against everything I knew about him. Had I hallucinated it? I'd been wanting him all evening - all day - and maybe I'd just imagined what I'd wanted him to do.
Or had I been the one who had kissed him? I'd narrowly averted disaster earlier, and maybe I hadn't been so lucky this time. Oh God.
"Did you just kiss me?" I blurted in a stupid panic, breaking the awkward silence.
Mac stared back at me, an expression of horror mixed with confusion slowly appearing on his face.
"On my forehead," I clarified, as if that was the big sticking point, as if there was no issue with him kissing me, it was just where he kissed me that was potentially a problem.
"Yes," he said nervously. "Sorry, was I being too forward? I thought that you-"
"Forward?" I almost yelled, interrupting him. I had no idea why I did that. Maybe I just felt an overwhelming urge to stop him from talking anymore, and it seemed as good a way to do it as any. Probably better than punching him in the face, which could easily have been my backup method of stopping him.
Mac was starting to blush furiously, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I guess I read you wrong, I thought today you were--it seemed like you were into me. God, I feel so stupid now."
"No, I was--I am." I said, not fully believing that I was having an actual conversation with him, and not dreaming about it.
The look of embarrassment was replaced by confusion, and some degree of pain. "Then why did you freak out when I kissed you?"
"I didn't know that you're gay," I said, defensively.
"I'm not," he replied, then seeing the look of complete bewilderment on my face, quickly added, "I'm bi."
"Oh." I sank back onto Mac's couch, staring at the ceiling light until it started hurting my eyes. I looked away, my vision overlaid by its afterimage as I looked back at him.
"You didn't know?" he asked, finally starting to look neither horrified, embarrassed, confused or pained.
"No." I was mostly calmed down, too, by that point, and it started to sink in that the thing I'd wanted to do all day, the thing that I'd had to stop myself at the last moment from doing and almost given myself a heart attack over, was the thing that he wanted to do too.
So I did it.
And I noticed that he tasted like something.