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ladyjanellyArg. Always nervous, dipping my toes into a new fandom. Thanks to all the dirty-dirty enablers out there for your encouragement.
Title: The Gentlest Ties
Author: Ladyjanelly
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Pairing: Sid/Geno preslash
Rating: R
Warnings: Teen characters in peril, implied harm against other children in the AU setting (reluctant bonding fic)
Gratitude: Tounperfectwolf and queenklu for the wonderful quick beta jobs. I had to go and fidget with things once they’d read, so if there are any errors left, they’re all mine.
Summary:
Beyond that door is a boy Sid has skated with six times, and spoken to twice. He’s a year older than Sid is, and drugged out of his mind on Bonding agent. .
“The fall of the Soviet union in 1991 had a drastic change in the practice of Bonding among professional athletes and dancers. During the 60’s and 70’s, bonding drugs were used reciprocally between athletes as they approached professional status, to create an enhanced working relationship and better offensive or defensive cohesion. Beginning in the early nineties, the average age of bonding fell from nineteen to thirteen as hopeful parents in the west took advantage of the economic chaos in the former Soviet states to pair their children with talented but impoverished players there, in asymmetrical bonds where only the “Supporting” player was administered the chemical.
“In the spring of 1998, Time magazine published an expose on the practice, highlighting the damage done to both children by the experience. UNICEF and Save The Children condemned the practice as child slavery, abuse and prostitution. By 2001, legislation had been passed in most of the world, limiting age of induced bonding to the age of consent in the local area.”
~2002~
Sid hates Russia. Hates the funny smell of it. Hates the food and the air. Hates the colorless buildings and sky, thinks even the trees look faded and dull. He hates the rush of foreign words around him, so much harsher than the brush of French he occasionally hears at home.
He doesn’t mind the ice, because ice is ice. This month he’s skated with some amazing players, searching for his perfect match, the ideal complement to his strengths and weaknesses. It’s been a long summer of looking, first at local talent, and then further and further afield. His parents and his agent have been weighing offers. There are players, good players, offering to pay to be Bound to Sidney Crosby, despite his youth. Offering money to be his Support, even.
They’re in Russia because he needs the best, at any price.
“Sidney.” His father’s voice is low, serious. “Are you going to be able to do this?”
Sid hates this low, Soviet-built medical clinic most of all. The paint is peeling and he can hear water dripping somewhere.
“Sid,” his father says again, sharper this time. It’s been so long since someone asked if he could do something, instead of psyching him up by reminding him of his ability, that he hadn’t realized a response was required.
He nods, because this is about hockey, and there’s nothing to do with hockey that he can’t or won’t do, even this thing that reduces his father to euphemisms. There’s a position for Unbonded hockey players; it’s called goaltender.
A nurse steps out of the doorway he and his father are waiting by. Sid doesn’t register her face, just a body in dull blue scrubs and the spent hypodermic needle in her hand.
Beyond that door is a boy Sid has skated with six times, and spoken to twice. He’s a year older than Sid is, and drugged out of his mind on Bonding agent. He reminds himself that everyone agrees this is for the best. That the boy, Zhenya, his mother called him, has asked to be chosen, to join his life to Sid’s. Come tomorrow, Sid won’t ever be alone again. Won’t have to face an ever-shifting world of billet families and new teammates on his own. No more summers trying to reconnect with boys he was never close to in the first place. And always, always, he’ll have Evgeni on the ice, there to take his passes, there to slip him the puck. A perfect partner that he can never lose to a trade or contract negotiation.
“He is ready,” the nurse says, her words slow and exaggerated to compensate for the thickness of her accent.
Sid leaves his father’s side and steps through the door, his spine stiff and his heart pounding. He knows what he’s supposed to do, the things he’s supposed to say while he does them. He thinks he should laugh at the absurdity of being coached even through this, but his stomach twists instead and he thinks for a second that he might puke.
The room beyond the door is dim-lit, bare except for a mattress on the floor. Empty except for the boy huddled naked in the corner. Stripped of both his teenage bravado and his Russian stoicism by the drugs racing through his system, he looks nothing but afraid, lost and young. Just a day ago, he’d seemed so bold, bright and open. Now, his eyes are unfocused, and his entire body jerks as the door clicks closed. Fever-sweat glistens over his forehead, beads on his upper lip. His mouth moves in a constant stream of mumbled words; the only one in English is “Please,” slipping out at random between the ones that Sid does not know.
One night, Sid reminds himself, and anything done in that night will be forgiven, the bond strong and glowing, Evgeni his as long as Sid wants him.
Sid fumbles his shirt off and doesn’t have the patience to fold it, just lets it fall on the foot of the bed. He goes to his knees on the mattress and crawls slow to Evgeni’s side. He expects to be physically rebuffed at any moment, but the lanky teen is in no shape to strike out, his head lolling uncontrolled on his neck as he turns to try to keep Sid in his view.
“Zhenya,” Sid whispers, and reaches to touch him, fingers brushing his jaw. Evgeni jerks back, whimpers in his throat. Sid’s stomach twists again; his hand shakes. He’s further away from aroused than he could ever have imagined being in his life.
He can’t do this. He won’t. Not for his parents and his career. Not for hockey. He would rather not ever put on skates again, than do this. Would rather spend his career being the spare wing, forever shuffled between lines of bonded pairs.
“Shh,” he soothes, awkward as he pushes the sweaty hair back from Evgeni’s face. Sid touches him, not sure where to put his hands at first, palms slow-moving over shoulder and back.
“We won’t,” he whispers, hoping that Evgeni isn’t so gone that he doesn’t understand English at all. “We won’t do this. I won’t do this.” His voice shakes. “You have to say we did, though. You have to tell them. That we did it, and I hurt you, but you forgive me. Please,” he begs, because he won’t do what they want him to, but he’ll lie for hockey. He’ll lie to keep Evgeni with him.
Slow, so slow, Evgeni relaxes against him, but Sid doesn’t know if it’s because he understands or because he’s just so drugged and tired he has no fight left. Sid waits until Evgeni is soundly asleep before slipping out of his pants and untucking the sheet so he can cover them. When he’s done he stretches out, trying to get comfortable. Evgeni might be older and taller, but Sid feels oddly protective, tucking the other boy up against the wall and curling against him skin to skin.
He doesn’t plan to sleep, but the stress of the day and the calm of Evgeni’s slow breaths overtakes him. He wakes to the sound of the door opening and there’s no chance to make sure Evgeni understood, that he’ll go along with Sid’s half-assed plan in the light of day. They untangle themselves and he waits, afraid, for Evgeni to pull away, but he never does, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Sid like he couldn’t bear to be apart. When Sid dares to glance at his face, Evgeni is staring at him with all the awed devotion of the newly-bonded.
Sid dares to hope this just might work.
”In July of 2012, under pressure from child-protection agencies and after careful consideration of player statistics and mental health evaluations, the NHL passed down a ruling prohibiting asymmetrical Bonds by excluding players who had entered into a pairing after that date.
One of the few success stories from this dark period in international sports was long-considered to be the one of Crosby and Malkin. Crosby faced years of criticism and accusations of hypocrisy for speaking out against Bondings entered into in childhood and also against those of a non-reciprocal nature, while at the same time stating that his partnership with Malkin was the most important relationship of his life.
It wasn’t revealed until after their retirement that the initial bond had been fraudulent, and that in 2008 they had made the decision, together, to enter a bond of equals.”
Title: The Gentlest Ties
Author: Ladyjanelly
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Pairing: Sid/Geno preslash
Rating: R
Warnings: Teen characters in peril, implied harm against other children in the AU setting (reluctant bonding fic)
Gratitude: To
unperfectwolf and queenklu for the wonderful quick beta jobs. I had to go and fidget with things once they’d read, so if there are any errors left, they’re all mine.Summary:
Beyond that door is a boy Sid has skated with six times, and spoken to twice. He’s a year older than Sid is, and drugged out of his mind on Bonding agent. .
“The fall of the Soviet union in 1991 had a drastic change in the practice of Bonding among professional athletes and dancers. During the 60’s and 70’s, bonding drugs were used reciprocally between athletes as they approached professional status, to create an enhanced working relationship and better offensive or defensive cohesion. Beginning in the early nineties, the average age of bonding fell from nineteen to thirteen as hopeful parents in the west took advantage of the economic chaos in the former Soviet states to pair their children with talented but impoverished players there, in asymmetrical bonds where only the “Supporting” player was administered the chemical.
“In the spring of 1998, Time magazine published an expose on the practice, highlighting the damage done to both children by the experience. UNICEF and Save The Children condemned the practice as child slavery, abuse and prostitution. By 2001, legislation had been passed in most of the world, limiting age of induced bonding to the age of consent in the local area.”
~2002~
Sid hates Russia. Hates the funny smell of it. Hates the food and the air. Hates the colorless buildings and sky, thinks even the trees look faded and dull. He hates the rush of foreign words around him, so much harsher than the brush of French he occasionally hears at home.
He doesn’t mind the ice, because ice is ice. This month he’s skated with some amazing players, searching for his perfect match, the ideal complement to his strengths and weaknesses. It’s been a long summer of looking, first at local talent, and then further and further afield. His parents and his agent have been weighing offers. There are players, good players, offering to pay to be Bound to Sidney Crosby, despite his youth. Offering money to be his Support, even.
They’re in Russia because he needs the best, at any price.
“Sidney.” His father’s voice is low, serious. “Are you going to be able to do this?”
Sid hates this low, Soviet-built medical clinic most of all. The paint is peeling and he can hear water dripping somewhere.
“Sid,” his father says again, sharper this time. It’s been so long since someone asked if he could do something, instead of psyching him up by reminding him of his ability, that he hadn’t realized a response was required.
He nods, because this is about hockey, and there’s nothing to do with hockey that he can’t or won’t do, even this thing that reduces his father to euphemisms. There’s a position for Unbonded hockey players; it’s called goaltender.
A nurse steps out of the doorway he and his father are waiting by. Sid doesn’t register her face, just a body in dull blue scrubs and the spent hypodermic needle in her hand.
Beyond that door is a boy Sid has skated with six times, and spoken to twice. He’s a year older than Sid is, and drugged out of his mind on Bonding agent. He reminds himself that everyone agrees this is for the best. That the boy, Zhenya, his mother called him, has asked to be chosen, to join his life to Sid’s. Come tomorrow, Sid won’t ever be alone again. Won’t have to face an ever-shifting world of billet families and new teammates on his own. No more summers trying to reconnect with boys he was never close to in the first place. And always, always, he’ll have Evgeni on the ice, there to take his passes, there to slip him the puck. A perfect partner that he can never lose to a trade or contract negotiation.
“He is ready,” the nurse says, her words slow and exaggerated to compensate for the thickness of her accent.
Sid leaves his father’s side and steps through the door, his spine stiff and his heart pounding. He knows what he’s supposed to do, the things he’s supposed to say while he does them. He thinks he should laugh at the absurdity of being coached even through this, but his stomach twists instead and he thinks for a second that he might puke.
The room beyond the door is dim-lit, bare except for a mattress on the floor. Empty except for the boy huddled naked in the corner. Stripped of both his teenage bravado and his Russian stoicism by the drugs racing through his system, he looks nothing but afraid, lost and young. Just a day ago, he’d seemed so bold, bright and open. Now, his eyes are unfocused, and his entire body jerks as the door clicks closed. Fever-sweat glistens over his forehead, beads on his upper lip. His mouth moves in a constant stream of mumbled words; the only one in English is “Please,” slipping out at random between the ones that Sid does not know.
One night, Sid reminds himself, and anything done in that night will be forgiven, the bond strong and glowing, Evgeni his as long as Sid wants him.
Sid fumbles his shirt off and doesn’t have the patience to fold it, just lets it fall on the foot of the bed. He goes to his knees on the mattress and crawls slow to Evgeni’s side. He expects to be physically rebuffed at any moment, but the lanky teen is in no shape to strike out, his head lolling uncontrolled on his neck as he turns to try to keep Sid in his view.
“Zhenya,” Sid whispers, and reaches to touch him, fingers brushing his jaw. Evgeni jerks back, whimpers in his throat. Sid’s stomach twists again; his hand shakes. He’s further away from aroused than he could ever have imagined being in his life.
He can’t do this. He won’t. Not for his parents and his career. Not for hockey. He would rather not ever put on skates again, than do this. Would rather spend his career being the spare wing, forever shuffled between lines of bonded pairs.
“Shh,” he soothes, awkward as he pushes the sweaty hair back from Evgeni’s face. Sid touches him, not sure where to put his hands at first, palms slow-moving over shoulder and back.
“We won’t,” he whispers, hoping that Evgeni isn’t so gone that he doesn’t understand English at all. “We won’t do this. I won’t do this.” His voice shakes. “You have to say we did, though. You have to tell them. That we did it, and I hurt you, but you forgive me. Please,” he begs, because he won’t do what they want him to, but he’ll lie for hockey. He’ll lie to keep Evgeni with him.
Slow, so slow, Evgeni relaxes against him, but Sid doesn’t know if it’s because he understands or because he’s just so drugged and tired he has no fight left. Sid waits until Evgeni is soundly asleep before slipping out of his pants and untucking the sheet so he can cover them. When he’s done he stretches out, trying to get comfortable. Evgeni might be older and taller, but Sid feels oddly protective, tucking the other boy up against the wall and curling against him skin to skin.
He doesn’t plan to sleep, but the stress of the day and the calm of Evgeni’s slow breaths overtakes him. He wakes to the sound of the door opening and there’s no chance to make sure Evgeni understood, that he’ll go along with Sid’s half-assed plan in the light of day. They untangle themselves and he waits, afraid, for Evgeni to pull away, but he never does, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Sid like he couldn’t bear to be apart. When Sid dares to glance at his face, Evgeni is staring at him with all the awed devotion of the newly-bonded.
Sid dares to hope this just might work.
”In July of 2012, under pressure from child-protection agencies and after careful consideration of player statistics and mental health evaluations, the NHL passed down a ruling prohibiting asymmetrical Bonds by excluding players who had entered into a pairing after that date.
One of the few success stories from this dark period in international sports was long-considered to be the one of Crosby and Malkin. Crosby faced years of criticism and accusations of hypocrisy for speaking out against Bondings entered into in childhood and also against those of a non-reciprocal nature, while at the same time stating that his partnership with Malkin was the most important relationship of his life.
It wasn’t revealed until after their retirement that the initial bond had been fraudulent, and that in 2008 they had made the decision, together, to enter a bond of equals.”
no subject
Date: 2013-05-30 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-30 03:16 am (UTC)