Vrag Naj Vzame (PG-13, Team Russia, English)

Title: Vrag Naj Vzame (To Hell With It)
Author: Dima
Fandom: Team Russia
Players: Sergei Fedorov, Ilya Kovalchuk, Alexander Ovechkin, Alexander Semin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Drunk hockeyplayers and some slashyness RuskajaStyle...
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't make profit. Nada, nunca.
Summary: Few too many, or many too few
A/N: I don't know the rooming stuff. Only guessing. I hope my artistic license is enough... The name is from Slovenia's ESC song by Rebeka Dremelj. Vrag Naj Vzame - To Hell With It. I don't speak enough Russian to be able to translate that into Russian. And apologies for the pretty error-ish English o'mine... Plus: the rating is what it is... I'm not good with those. Originally posted to my LiveJournal
Feedback: Beggin' some.




The springs of the hotel bed squeaked as Ilya threw himself on it, giggling.

"Seryozha, I think I'm drunk. Are you drunk yet?"

"I might be." Sergei slurred and started giggling as well, as Ilya peered at him from the other bed.

"You are drunk! Haha, Sergei Fedorov is drunk!"

Sergei got up, wobbling and managed to get to Ilya's bed without breaking anything on the way.

"So is Ilya Kovalchuk. Very drunk." he added as Ilya tried to reach him. His aim was bad.

"Wee aaaareeee theeee chaaampiiioooonsss!" someone bellowed out at the corridor. Very much offkey.

"Oh, my god! Whoever he was, waa-um.. What I was saying again?"

"Is the little hero already suffering of dementia?"

"Don't call me that. I want another drink."

"You are drunk enough. Or, maybe I'm the one who's drunk- Whatever... Hey, look at the ceiling."

"The ceiling is white. Cool, Seryozha." Ilya said wryly.

"It's not white. Not totally, at least... I think."

"Getting blind, are we, old man?"

Sergei snorted as Ilya laughed and rolled on the bed like a eight-year-old kid. Ilya finally calmed down and looked at Sergei, who seemed to be asleep, so Ilya simply swatted him.

"Who taught you to swat older players?"

"I can swat whoever I want. I'm the hero of the team."

*TWACK*

"Hey! What for?"

"You're a brat."

"Whatever. Did you talk about the ceiling before? Or to the ceiling?"

Sergei sighed.

"You really have dementia, you know."

"Have what?"

"Nevermind."

Ilya tried to get up of the bed. His coordination was bad and instead of grabbing support from something that looked like a nightstand, his hand missed the edge by several inches, sending him crashing to the floor. This made Sergei laugh hysterically.

"Ow. Did a car hit me?" Ilya whined from the floor.

The young foward made a feeble try to get up.

"Great, I can't get up."

Sergei was now practically howling of laughter.

~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, after the offkey singing
~~~~~~~

Sasha covered his ears as Alex continued the outraging "singing" of his in the elevator.

"Come on, Sema. I'm not that bad."

"Oh, yes you are." Sasha muttered so quietly that Alex didn't hear it.

Alex kept singing as the elevator took them one floor up. Sasha had been have to choose between stairs and a small cubicle without or at least less anything dangerous. Alex was a walking menace when he was drunk. He was always like the damn duracell bunny, but add some alcohol and you get even louder, even more hyper and even dumber Ovechkin.

The doors slid open and Alex teetered out, Sasha trailing behind him. Suddenly Alex grabed him by his arm, yanking him to him and locked his suprised teammate between his body and the wall.

"Sema, don't look so suprised." Alex said quietly and it took a moment before Sasha noticed Alex didn't yell. When the realisation hit, Alex had already pressed his lips against his. Sasha parts his lips and Alex slips his tongue in. He moans into the kiss and brings his hands up to Alex' neck. He sensed someone nearby and looked at his right, and pushed Alex roughly away.

Slava Bykov was standing but a few meters away from them, looking calmly back and forth between the young wingers. Behind him stood who else but Igor Larionov. The constant grin had vanished from Alex' face and Sasha looked pretty horrified.

"Don't mind about me. Carry on." Bykov said, his features softening some. Igor's eyes were twinking as he smiled to the two stunned boys.

"Slava, shall we go to get some fine wine, or does votka sound better?" he spoke the fellow former center.

"Rather wine. Have a good night, boys."

After they had gone, Alex and Sasha still stared at each other.

"What did he say?" Alex was clearly more sober than minutes ago.

~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile in Sergei and Ilya's room...
~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, my, god... How... ah.. you do thaaaat?"

"Just a little trick I learned..."

"Oh, yesssss. Just the spot! Do that again!"

"Does that feel good?"

"TaHell it does! You're a wonder, Seryozha..."

"No, just experienced, Ilyushka moja."

"Tvoja? My ass..."

"Stop that... I can't take it anymore..."

*silence*

"Are you done now?"

"How do you feel?"

"Are you seriously asking that? You just gave me the -"

Some incoherent yelling and moaning from the floor above.

"-backmassage of my freaking life, Seryozha."

"Are you even going to thank me? Who taught you to be rude?"

"Is there anything left in the minibar?"

"Only the light and it has been bitten too. Drink water. You won't get a killing hangover."

"Russians can't get a hangover."

"Want to test it? We'll see in the morning then."