Altair hunched his shoulders, bringing his head down as he flew across the ice like a blur in his Predator’s uniform. With three powerful strides, he went slamming into number fifty-one, leaving a mark on the boards as he flicked the puck away and sent it skimming over the ice to his cousin, number twenty-five, Desmond Miles, the Slap Shot and Wrist Shot King.
The young man caught it and spun with the puck, rolling an opposing player around him. A few short fancy strokes with his feet skating backwards and he spun back around, grinning like a demon as he zipped down the ice. When he raised his stick, he got a smug satisfaction at watching the other team members move out of the way, and he grinned as he brought it down.
The moment slowed as he watched the puck go zooming past the goalie’s helmet, landing in the corner of the net, and the young man laughed heartily as a cheer came from the crowd, almost drowning out the sound of the buzzer. Shortly after, he was head-butted by another member, who practically scooped him up in joy. The fifth game was theirs.
“Way to go, Des!”
He laughed as he looked down at his other cousin. Desmond grinned like a loon as the other team members bombarded them. One more win, and the Stanley Cup was theirs. Even Malik Al-Sayf, the manager of the team, looked smug, his one arm slung around his waist, clutching the clipboard, and the tiniest hint of pride shining in his eyes. Desmond threw off his gloves and sent the coach a “thumbs-up,” practically bursting with joy when he received a slow nod and a wicked smile. Somewhere along the lines, his helmet had come off, and he was set down, being noogied by one of his teammates.
“You saved us from losing!” one shouted over the roar of the crowd.
He wriggled from the grip and stood. He laughed as his cousin Ezio Auditore slung an arm around his shoulders after he scooped up his gloves and helmet.
“A brilliant shot, yet again!”
Desmond grinned.
“You have a wicked slap shot, cousin. A force to be feared.”
He laughed at his words. They bid farewell to the Redwings and skated off, and Malik fell in line beside him as they walked back to the locker room.
“Next time, take the damn goalie out.”
Ezio shoved their coach slightly as Desmond nodded, grinning.
“Of course, coach.”
“Give the boy a break, Malik. He’s saved our asses several times with his wrist shots and slap shots.”
Desmond turned to see Altair on the other side of Malik as they entered the dressing room.
“Why else do you think he’s always on the ice the last minute of every period?” Malik scoffed, looking around the room with the beginning of a smirk on his lips. “He’s getting better. He’s been our savior more times than one.”
Altair smirked toward Desmond, who grinned back widely as he began undoing his skates. Shaun was going to have a conniption fit. He was immediately distracted by the pounce from a teammate, Alfred Jones, number fourteen.
“Great save! We’re gonna take the Cup this year! I can feel it!”
“That’s what you say every year, Freddie, lay off it!” Number sixty-two, Erudito, shouted over the din in the locker room. The others laughed, and Alfred just grinned like an idiot.
Malik called for silence, his voice ringing out loud and clear over theirs. They all settled down like children who were being hushed. They were fidgeting and squirming as they listened with rapt attention; although, Desmond was itching to get out of his jersey. He peeled off his socks and kneepads as he listened. When he received a nudge from beside him, he looked to see their goalie give him a “thumbs-up,” and he grinned.
After the lecture was over and he had taken a shower, he pulled on his shirt as he headed out to meet his lover. Ezio walked beside him, their bags slung over their shoulders as they planned their night. Desmond was planning on taking Shaun out for a nice meal—his apology for leaving his gear in his bag over night a few nights ago after the fourth game. Ezio was going out to hit the city before they had to hit the road again.
Aggressive Legacy
The young man caught it and spun with the puck, rolling an opposing player around him. A few short fancy strokes with his feet skating backwards and he spun back around, grinning like a demon as he zipped down the ice. When he raised his stick, he got a smug satisfaction at watching the other team members move out of the way, and he grinned as he brought it down.
The moment slowed as he watched the puck go zooming past the goalie’s helmet, landing in the corner of the net, and the young man laughed heartily as a cheer came from the crowd, almost drowning out the sound of the buzzer. Shortly after, he was head-butted by another member, who practically scooped him up in joy. The fifth game was theirs.
“Way to go, Des!”
He laughed as he looked down at his other cousin. Desmond grinned like a loon as the other team members bombarded them. One more win, and the Stanley Cup was theirs. Even Malik Al-Sayf, the manager of the team, looked smug, his one arm slung around his waist, clutching the clipboard, and the tiniest hint of pride shining in his eyes. Desmond threw off his gloves and sent the coach a “thumbs-up,” practically bursting with joy when he received a slow nod and a wicked smile. Somewhere along the lines, his helmet had come off, and he was set down, being noogied by one of his teammates.
“You saved us from losing!” one shouted over the roar of the crowd.
He wriggled from the grip and stood. He laughed as his cousin Ezio Auditore slung an arm around his shoulders after he scooped up his gloves and helmet.
“A brilliant shot, yet again!”
Desmond grinned.
“You have a wicked slap shot, cousin. A force to be feared.”
He laughed at his words. They bid farewell to the Redwings and skated off, and Malik fell in line beside him as they walked back to the locker room.
“Next time, take the damn goalie out.”
Ezio shoved their coach slightly as Desmond nodded, grinning.
“Of course, coach.”
“Give the boy a break, Malik. He’s saved our asses several times with his wrist shots and slap shots.”
Desmond turned to see Altair on the other side of Malik as they entered the dressing room.
“Why else do you think he’s always on the ice the last minute of every period?” Malik scoffed, looking around the room with the beginning of a smirk on his lips. “He’s getting better. He’s been our savior more times than one.”
Altair smirked toward Desmond, who grinned back widely as he began undoing his skates. Shaun was going to have a conniption fit. He was immediately distracted by the pounce from a teammate, Alfred Jones, number fourteen.
“Great save! We’re gonna take the Cup this year! I can feel it!”
“That’s what you say every year, Freddie, lay off it!” Number sixty-two, Erudito, shouted over the din in the locker room. The others laughed, and Alfred just grinned like an idiot.
Malik called for silence, his voice ringing out loud and clear over theirs. They all settled down like children who were being hushed. They were fidgeting and squirming as they listened with rapt attention; although, Desmond was itching to get out of his jersey. He peeled off his socks and kneepads as he listened. When he received a nudge from beside him, he looked to see their goalie give him a “thumbs-up,” and he grinned.
After the lecture was over and he had taken a shower, he pulled on his shirt as he headed out to meet his lover. Ezio walked beside him, their bags slung over their shoulders as they planned their night. Desmond was planning on taking Shaun out for a nice meal—his apology for leaving his gear in his bag over night a few nights ago after the fourth game. Ezio was going out to hit the city before they had to hit the road again.
***************
Yes, OP? Yay? Nay? More? Less? XD