MAGICAL RIVALRY: Hearts On Ice

“The ice remembers every destiny carved — every victory, every defeat, every rivalry, even two hearts that seem to beat as one, even hearts on ice.” YEAR 3000, MONTH OF JULY, 21ST DAY “Welcome back to Day One of the Annual Arcane Ice Hockey World Cup! And folks brace yourselves. Because this is the match everyone’s been waiting for.” The voice of the announcer boomed through the arena, resounding over twenty thousand screaming fans and millions watching from home. "Demidov versus Kensington. Russia versus the USA, Moscow vs. Chicago. Two of the biggest names, two of the brightest talents. Two men who utterly, without question despise each other's guts." Hearing this, Lian tried to hold back his laughter as he stretched near the boards. "Hate each other? Yeah. Sure." He thought, sounding sarcastic, then eventually sighed. How many years has it been? Two years? Two years of sneaking into hotel rooms, empty locker rooms, dark hallways or their own penthouses. Two years of biting back smiles on the ice. Two years of play-acting. Yeah. They were experts at pretending. Across the rink, Demidov stood stiff and stoic, helmet under one arm, glaring as though someone had insulted him personally. Well to be fair, someone did. Lian did. Always him. But under that glare was the same thing Lian always felt buzzing between them. Heat and Desire, even Love. A bond they still didn't know how to handle. And tonight? That bond was vibrating like a live wire under his skin. “There he is, ladies and gentlemen—Yaroslav Viktorovich Demidov! Captain of team Russia, Moscow's rising player the only non-magical athlete in the tournament, and easily the most disciplined player on the ice. With him is his team, the Volkov Ice Dynasty” Disciplined, wow! It's like a kind word for repressed as hell. Yaroslav walked in with his team while adjusting his gloves with clenched jaw, slicked-back hair, eyes in permanent murder mode. Even seeing this, Kensington's mouth went dry. And god, he was in trouble. “And now entering the ice—Lian Mateo Alonzo-Kensington! USA's rising dual-type sensation, Chicago's pride and even the pride of Filipinos. Fast, flashy, dangerously talented, and yes, Demidov’s favorite rival. With him, is his team, the Chicago Frost Titans. The crowd screamed so loudly that the rink shook. Lian skated in a slow arc, letting the wind magic curl around him as diamond-shaped frost weave across the wind just enough to be dramatic. The cameras loved it, and the fans loved it. Yaroslav hated yet loved it at the same time. He hated how he had the perfect image as a magic wielder ice hockey player that he isn't, but loved him for how he shines on the rink and how Lian seemed to glimmer in the light. Lian passed by the Russian bench and caught Yaroslav's eyes—not long, not obvious, just a tiny glance, and it was enough to make the bond snap tight. A pulse, like a second heartbeat, hit his chest and Yaroslav's reaction was barely seen, a twitch of his jaw, the slightest narrowing of his eyes. But Lian saw all of it. And he loved it. Two years together taught him every version of that expression. That one meant: You're distracting me. You're in trouble. I miss you. He looked away at first because if he didn't, he'd skate straight into him and kiss him in front of the whole damn world. "Puck drops in thirty seconds! This has been an explosive rivalry for years, so expect hits, expect heat, and for the love of magic, expect....CHAOS!" Chaos was an understatement. The puck hadn't even hit the ice yet when Yaroslav drifted closer, lowering his voice just enough for Lian to hear. “Stop smiling like that,” he muttered. “It’s distracting.” Hearing this, Lian can't help but smirk, "You make it too easy." “You make everything difficult,” Yaroslav shot back. He skated off before Lian could reply, because of course he did. But the bond pulsed again, stronger this time, as if the universe was leaning in between them and whispering, You're not fooling anyone. Halfway through the first period, they slammed into each other along the boards—clean hit, technically, but only just. Their helmets clacked together, their chests collided. The crowd roared, but they didn't hear a damn thing. All Lian felt was the heat coming from Yaroslav's body, his breath. The bond ripping through his ribs. Yaroslav's gloved hand briefly caught Lian's jersey for just a second, barely noticeable. But the look he gave him? It hit him harder than any body check. A look that seems to say how he remembered last night, how his body felt on his hands, his lips and how he clenched around Yaroslav's c*ck, f*ck, just thinking of it made Lian aroused and even Yaroslav because it was what he was thinking at the moment. Lian swallowed hard and skated away before he did something insane. He found the quiet hallway behind the benches, cool air, equipment smell, muffled crowd noise. But what he hadn’t expected, was Yaroslav finding him there. He grasped him by the arm, eased him dangerously gently against the wall. “Yaro—” "Shut up." His voice was low and furious, shaking. "I can't do this today. Not with you looking at me like—" "Like what?" Lian whispered. “Like you're mine.” Lian's breath caught. “Are you saying I'm not?” Yaroslav pressed his forehead against his, breathing too harsh, too close. “This tournament, Lian… if the Council finds out, if our families—” “I know,” Lian replied almost in a whisper. "I could lose everything." “I know” “But you—” Yaroslav’s voice broke, just a little. “F*ck Lian… then I’ll risk everything, suffer everything… for one thing that matters… you.” The bond between them throbbed, hot and bright. They kissed each other quick, desperate, and fierce. They separated at the sound of the intermission horn. Time to pretend again. Time to go back to being rivals. The announcer's voice boomed loudly once more: "And now, period two of the world's hottest rivalry." They skated out, their eyes never meeting, bodies tense. But the bond knew. And the ice? The ice remembered everything.