[Fic: Hockey RPS] Try and Hide the Night; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
So, I wrote Rangers fic. *flails* pexylexy, this is all your fault!
Also, a loose interpretation for a challenge (Challenge #17; prompt: in the shadows) fulfillment at writerverse.
Disclaimer: Lies, lies. False. Fake. No harm or offense intended. Title from the song Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire.
Try and Hide the Night
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; implied Brad Richards/Vincent Lecavalier; 3040 words; New York Rangers; NC-17
Brad misses Vince, Henrik offers him a distraction.
Warnings: rimming, dirty talk, masturbation, barebacking
This fic has a sequel, Hummingbirds the Size of Bullets
Try and Hide the Night
His whole body ached, he realized as he tugged off his gear, and all but threw it into his stall. He ignored the pain shooting through his side as he tugged his sweat-soaked shirt off.
Pain, Brad Richards thought, was really an insufferable phenomenon. Anything else was controllable. Pain could be chosen or discarded if one wanted it to be so. It was really no different than say anger, depression, lust, jealousy, sadness. They could all be suppressed if one was strong enough.
Mind over matter.
What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.
All the cliched, hackneyed bullshit everyone said to remind themselves to be strong. Stronger.
Brad sighed as he heard his phone vibrate.
Rough game. Sorry.
He scoffed at Vince's text, before he sent off a quick reply.
Understatement to say the least.
Brad tucked his phone away before he headed for the showers, hoping to whatever higher powers existed that the hot water would help his aching muscles.
The shower helped some. Not enough to get rid of his rather dour mood though. Brad gathered his gear, his expression irritable, which allowed him to sneak out of the locker room, without having to say goodbye to his teammates.
His phone remained quiet as he made his way out of the Garden. He was moping. He knew it. Most of his teammates probably knew it by now, considering the expression he had after the bell had sounded ending the third period. And, oh fuck, they had practice tomorrow.
Anyway, Brad knew moping was not one of his better qualities. It's not like he moped often, but when he did, he was downright impossible to be around.
It was also too bad the one person who understood him when he was in his mopey state was working on his tan in Florida. If he was honest, Brad did miss that about Florida. The constant sunshine, the warmth seeping into his clothes. Oh, and Vinny.
It wasn't the same with him gone.
Brad doesn't notice Hank's quiet, unassuming presence next to him until he is outside the arena. He glares at Hank, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.
"Following me?"
"No," Hank starts, "just wanted to see if you're all right. You seemed … off tonight."
Brad feels his spine straighten as he bristles at Hank's observation. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
He feels his phone vibrate, and he yanks it out of his pocket angrily. The message from Vince is like a gut shot, and he can't even bring himself to reply to it. Brad shoves his phone away.
"Troubles?"
"S'nothing important," Brad snaps. Vince's simple text of Feb 9 hovering in Brad's mind. He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't want to be rude, Hank. I appreciate the concern for my well-being, and all, but I'm fine." Brad turns to leave, when Hank's next comment causes him to freeze mid-step.
"You miss him."
It's a statement, not a question, but it still cuts to his core. So deep, in fact, Brad actually whirls around, eyes blazing. "You don't know a damn thing about me and Vince."
Hank shrugs. "I know you miss him. I know how much it kills you to be apart from him. I know you think about what you two would be doing if you both hadn't opted to play hockey."
Brad blinks. "Just … let it be, Hank. You wouldn't understand." He's silent for a moment. "No one would."
Hank steps closer, invading Brad's personal space with the movement. "Then make me. Understand that is."
Brad can feel Hank's body heat, can smell his shampoo and soap. Hank's not wearing cologne, but he still smells like something that is just plain … Hank, and he grips the strap of his equipment bag harder in an effort to not sway on his feet.
He barely had time to register Hank had raised his hand and was running it through his still damp hair, his hand catching in the light strands, exploring the texture and silken feel between his fingers. He rubs his thumb and index finger over a clump of it, before he slides his hand away.
Hank lets his lips slide over Brad's, catching his bottom lip between his lips, and sucking gently. Brad makes a small mewling noise as Hank pulls back slightly, his tongue licking over Brad's bottom lip.
"People should know when they are conquered," Hank whispers cryptically.
Brad blinks, and narrows his eyes in confusion at Hank's statement.
"You, Brad, are not conquered. Yet." He presses a chaste kiss to Brad's lips then. "Don't let him, or your past with him, conquer you."
"Hank, I -" Brad starts, but stops talking abruptly when Hank presses a finger to his lips.
"Let me take care of you," Hank whispers against Brad's lips, his hot breath tickling Brad's mouth. It made him shiver, and his mind go blank. "Even if it's just for a night."
Brad doesn't say anything as he slips past Hank, and whispers, "Follow me in your car."
~*~
His mind is spinning as he navigates the New York streets to his apartment. The bright lights burn, lighting the interior of his car, illuminating his hands gripping the steering wheel; the anticipation, and anxiousness etching his forehead. Brad is used to New York being the city that never sleeps, as he comes to a stop at a light.
The break in the stillness surrounding him comes after Brad gets to his apartment, parks his car, and kills the engine. He knows Hank is there when he sees a set of car lights being killed.
He climbs out of the car, grabs his bag and heads towards the entrance. They ride up to Brad's apartment in silence, the elevator humming softly in the background. Hank is all quiet, relaxed, but restless.
Brad's apartment is dark, the sounds of New York flitting up to him.
Hank's eyes wander around the space, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. "Nice place."
Brad shrugged, and reaches a hand out, catching the sleeve of Hank's jacket. He barely registers Hank pushing him up against his closed door, his equipment bag slipping off his shoulder, digging painfully into the crook of his arm.
Hank leaned in then, mouth close to Brad's. He didn't move for a few moments, just let his lips hover over Brad's, hands braced on either side of his head. His stance was meant to be predatory, and Brad trembled despite himself.
"Are you frightened?" Hank whispered finally, tongue licking over Brad's lower lip.
Not trusting himself to speak, Brad swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, and shook his head.
Hank's eyes were dark, pupils blown, and Brad felt the need, the want, the inexplicable combination of want and need crackling through their bodies, until Brad couldn't stand it anymore.
"Hank," Brad whispered; the name sounded harsh in the silence between them.
Hank slid a hand down Brad's arm, eyes following the trail, before he brought them back up to stare at Brad. "Last chance."
Before he could change his mind, Brad curled an arm around Hank's shoulders, and angled his face upwards, his lips catching on Hank's chin. He brushed his lips softly over Hank's chin. "Take care of me. Please."
Brad took Hank's hand and led him towards his bedroom. He was pushed onto the bed by Hank, and watched as Hank's eyes roamed over him.
"Take off your clothes," Hank ordered.
Brad did as instructed. Starting first with his pants. He let his clothes slide to the floor, and looked up at Hank. Hank just stood there, arms crossed across his clothed chest, as he let his eyes take in Brad's naked form.
It was disconcerting. Being naked in front of Hank. Hank looking at him like he was some sumptuous dessert buffet. Brad trembled, and moved his hand to grab for the blanket.
"Don't!" Hank snapped, and Brad halted, mid-grab. "God, Brad, just … don't. If you cover any part of your body, I swear to God …"
Brad lay back against the pillows, heart beating madly in his chest as Hank shifted slightly.
"Touch yourself for me. I want to see. Need to see."
Brad swallowed, but did as instructed. He curled his fingers around his cock, and began to slide his hand over his dick in a well-practiced manner.
"Yes," Hank hissed, "just like that. Oh God, Brad, that looks so … fucking hot." Brad watched as Hank slid a hand over his stomach, his other hand gripping his thigh. Brad's free hand grabbed at the sheet as his cock twitched, and the head beaded with pre-come. He bit his bottom lip and mewled as the sensations kicked through his system.
"What are you thinking about?" Hank whispered. It was almost unintelligible above the roar in his ears.
Brad's hand paused briefly mid-stroke. "You." He licked his lips and continued to stroke his dick.
"Liar," Hank whispered, leaning in to nip at Brad's earlobe.
Brad's hand faltered, and his eyes snapped open when he felt the warmth from Hank's hand seep into his fist. "Don't stop, Brad," Hank said. "I didn't say you could."
"Fuck … Hank …" Brad choked out between gasps. His hand on his length squeezed and stroked a little faster, his free hand gripping the sheet so hard, his knuckles were white, and he shuddered as Hank's hand moved with his.
"Did Vincent ever help you do this?" Hank mutters against the shell of Brad's ear.
"Oh, fuck," Brad says, his hand slipping from his cock at the mention of Vince's name.
Immediately, he feels his hand being dragged back to grip his cock. Hank sucks Brad's earlobe into his mouth, nips with his teeth at the flesh. "I told you not to fucking stop," he growls, voice low and more predatory than Brad imagined Hank could sound.
Brad arches his hips slightly. "I'm sorry … I'm sorry," he mutters over and over like some broken prayer.
"I can just imagine the look Vince had on his face when he watches you touch yourself."
A broken train of syllables escape Brad's lips. He can feel Hank's eyes as they move over his body, his hand helping to guide his strokes. Brad shudders, and bites his bottom lip as he feels the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his belly.
"Hank, I … I'm gonna …"
The tension abates almost immediately, as Hank removes both their hands from Brad's cock. Before Brad has time to protest at his lack of release, Hank moves onto the bed, and widens the cradle of Brad's legs. He slowly bends down and presses his lips against the underside of Brad's cock. His skin was like velvet. Heat, and silk beneath his lips, as he pressed another kiss to the heated flesh. Brad moaned, and Hank watched as his eyes rolled back, biting his bottom lip. Hank licked a line from balls to the tip, stopped to look up at Brad.
"Hank," Brad said, and very ungracefully hauled Hank up his body, pressing his clothed torso against his naked chest.
"Feels. So. Good," Brad gasped out, grinding his hips against Hank, earning him a sharp intake of breath from Hank.
Brad moved his hands and grabbed the hem of Hank's shirt, yanking it up and over his head. He all but hauled Hank's mouth to his, his hands sliding down to unbuckle Hank's belt, and unzip his pants.
As Brad managed to get his hand around Hank's cock, Hank captured Brad's lips in a bruising kiss. Brad panted out of the corner of his mouth as Hank's hot, demanding tongue slipped between his teeth.
"Oh god …" Brad gasped.
He didn't get to finish his sentence, as he felt Hank grab his arms and pull them above his head. Brad squirmed underneath Hank, as Hank kissed a line from his jaw, his neck, and down to his shoulder. Hank bit into the soft juncture where neck meets shoulder, and Brad groaned.
"Fuck -"
Hank kissed him once more, before he slid down his body, past his abdomen, before they reached Brad's cock. Hank splayed a hand over Brad's stomach as he flicked his tongue over the head of Brad's cock.
Brad jerked at the first lick, his eyes snapping open. Heat pooled in his lower abdomen, as Hank moved his tongue over his shaft. A hand moved over his sac, and then up the length. Brad moaned, and bit on his knuckles, as Hank finally closed his lips around him.
"Oh, fuck! Feels so good," Brad groaned. "God, I love feeling your mouth on me."
He gasped and rose his hips off the bed as Hank's tongue flicked over his flesh. Brad lost all train of coherent thought as he came in Hank's mouth. Brad collapsed against the sheets, gasping for air as the tremors subsided.
Hank sat up, and back, tugging on Brad's leg. "Turn over for me."
Brad did as instructed, and groaned as Hank pulled him down the bed, until his knees hit the carpet. He heard rustling as Hank searched Brad's nightstand drawer. He came back a few moments later, and set the bottle of lube on the mattress, before he came back to Brad.
Brad's breathing quickened as he felt Hank's tongue slide down his spine. He bit his bottom lip, and wriggled his hips slightly as Hank slid his legs wider on the floor.
Hank's hands moved over the backs of Brad's thigh, and then gripped the cheeks of his ass.
"I'll make you forget about Vincent. Even if it's just for a night …"
Brad choked on a sound as he felt a kiss being pressed to one of his cheeks, before hands gripped the globes of his ass to spread him wide. His legs were shaking, and he whimpered as Hank's breath ghosted over his entrance.
When Hank licked him from taint to tailbone, Brad swore he bit his lip in two. "Oh …" he gasped out, hands fisting the sheets. "Oh fuck … what are you - shit, fuck … oh God."
"Fuck, Brad … you're so fucking tight. I can barely get my tongue inside you."
Brad whimpered at Hank's words, and he bucked his hips as he felt Hank's tongue press over a ring of muscle and sink inside him. He felt his cock twitch, and he moved one of his hands off the bed, to grab for his now, hardening cock.
Hank batted his hand away. "You don't get to touch yourself unless I say you can."
Brad bucked his hips back, trying desperately to get Hank's tongue further inside him, before he felt Hank's hand gripping tightly at his hips to still his movements.
"Please … oh, fuck … Hank … Jesus shit … Goddamn."
He felt Hank's warm hands over his skin, as his tongue fucked his hole mercilessly. He was mewling unintelligible words, his cheeks flushed, his knees shaking violently.
Brad felt as Hank shifted behind him, and the cap of the lube bottle being clicked open. He felt his heart skip a beat as he felt a warm stream of slick coat his wet entrance.
"Oh … god …" Brad's eyes blinked rapidly. "Don't stop, Hank. Please."
Hank chuckled. "I'm not that evil." Brad shivered as he felt a slick finger being inserted. He bit his bottom lip at the sensation Hank's finger kicked through his system.
"Is this how Vincent would fuck you? With his fingers first?"
Brad whimpered as Hank slowly withdrew his finger.
"Does it get him hot? Do you return the favour? Does he go slow?"
Brad convulsed and shoved back against Hank's finger. On the next push in, Hank added another finger.
"Oh shit!" Brad cried, hands gripping at the sheets. He was stretched, and feeling so damned … full he couldn't stand it. He felt his body as it rocked back against Hank's fingers, heard himself begging. Muttering he would do anything Hank wanted, so long as he did not stop.
"Hank!" Brad cried out as Hank pressed his fingers carefully against his prostate.
Hank slid two fingers in, then out. On the next press in, he added a third finger.
"Fuck!"
Hank repeated the pattern, varying the depth, the angle, the fingers, until Brad was dizzy.
"Hank … stop, please … fuck … oh god, just fuck me already. Please. Fuck me now."
"Have it your way," Hank whispered against Brad's ear, shoving him forward, so Brad's arms were lying flat along the mattress. Hank guided his length between Brad's cheeks, lining himself up, before he slid slowly in.
Brad's breath caught as Hank's dick moved past the initial ring of muscle. He was already stretched from Hank's previous tongue ministrations and finger fucking that all Brad felt was a dull, full sort of feeling. He groaned, and heard as Hank inhaled sharply.
He wasn't sure if it was the position they were in, or the angle, or whether Hank was really just that lucky, but he felt as he stroked over his prostate.
"Oh my god," Brad choked out.
Hank's mouth was against his ear, and he nips at Brad's earlobe, nibbles at the flesh as his hand curls around Brad's neglected cock.
"Hank," Brad pants, as he bucks back to meet Hank's thrusts. "Fuck, god, I'm so …"
"Yes," Hank hisses, his hand moving faster over Brad's cock. "Come for me. You feel so fucking good."
"Oh, shit. Oh fuck. Hank! Fuck, fuck, fuck … I'm … coming!" Brad feels his vision blur as his cock twitches in Hank's hand, and he comes, coating Hank's hand with the hot stickiness.
He feels as Hank's hand grips his hips so hard, he's sure there will be bruises there in a few hours, and feels as Hank shudders above him.
Brad feels as Hank slowly withdraws from him, and he sighs lazily, before he manages to climb up onto his bed.
Hank follows him, and curls his body against Brad's side, his breath tickling Brad's ear, and hair.
"Better?" Hank murmurs.
Their limbs were damp, languid, and sated. Brad sighed, and listened as his heartbeat slowed.
"Much."
He didn't protest when Hank managed to get them under the covers, too sleepy to protest. He yawned, and let his eyes flutter close, finally giving in to the sleepiness.
Note: The line Henrik says about people knowing when they are conquered is from the movie Gladiator.
Read the sequel, here
Also, a loose interpretation for a challenge (Challenge #17; prompt: in the shadows) fulfillment at writerverse.
Disclaimer: Lies, lies. False. Fake. No harm or offense intended. Title from the song Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire.
Try and Hide the Night
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; implied Brad Richards/Vincent Lecavalier; 3040 words; New York Rangers; NC-17
Brad misses Vince, Henrik offers him a distraction.
Warnings: rimming, dirty talk, masturbation, barebacking
This fic has a sequel, Hummingbirds the Size of Bullets
Try and Hide the Night
His whole body ached, he realized as he tugged off his gear, and all but threw it into his stall. He ignored the pain shooting through his side as he tugged his sweat-soaked shirt off.
Pain, Brad Richards thought, was really an insufferable phenomenon. Anything else was controllable. Pain could be chosen or discarded if one wanted it to be so. It was really no different than say anger, depression, lust, jealousy, sadness. They could all be suppressed if one was strong enough.
Mind over matter.
What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.
All the cliched, hackneyed bullshit everyone said to remind themselves to be strong. Stronger.
Brad sighed as he heard his phone vibrate.
Rough game. Sorry.
He scoffed at Vince's text, before he sent off a quick reply.
Understatement to say the least.
Brad tucked his phone away before he headed for the showers, hoping to whatever higher powers existed that the hot water would help his aching muscles.
The shower helped some. Not enough to get rid of his rather dour mood though. Brad gathered his gear, his expression irritable, which allowed him to sneak out of the locker room, without having to say goodbye to his teammates.
His phone remained quiet as he made his way out of the Garden. He was moping. He knew it. Most of his teammates probably knew it by now, considering the expression he had after the bell had sounded ending the third period. And, oh fuck, they had practice tomorrow.
Anyway, Brad knew moping was not one of his better qualities. It's not like he moped often, but when he did, he was downright impossible to be around.
It was also too bad the one person who understood him when he was in his mopey state was working on his tan in Florida. If he was honest, Brad did miss that about Florida. The constant sunshine, the warmth seeping into his clothes. Oh, and Vinny.
It wasn't the same with him gone.
Brad doesn't notice Hank's quiet, unassuming presence next to him until he is outside the arena. He glares at Hank, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.
"Following me?"
"No," Hank starts, "just wanted to see if you're all right. You seemed … off tonight."
Brad feels his spine straighten as he bristles at Hank's observation. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
He feels his phone vibrate, and he yanks it out of his pocket angrily. The message from Vince is like a gut shot, and he can't even bring himself to reply to it. Brad shoves his phone away.
"Troubles?"
"S'nothing important," Brad snaps. Vince's simple text of Feb 9 hovering in Brad's mind. He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't want to be rude, Hank. I appreciate the concern for my well-being, and all, but I'm fine." Brad turns to leave, when Hank's next comment causes him to freeze mid-step.
"You miss him."
It's a statement, not a question, but it still cuts to his core. So deep, in fact, Brad actually whirls around, eyes blazing. "You don't know a damn thing about me and Vince."
Hank shrugs. "I know you miss him. I know how much it kills you to be apart from him. I know you think about what you two would be doing if you both hadn't opted to play hockey."
Brad blinks. "Just … let it be, Hank. You wouldn't understand." He's silent for a moment. "No one would."
Hank steps closer, invading Brad's personal space with the movement. "Then make me. Understand that is."
Brad can feel Hank's body heat, can smell his shampoo and soap. Hank's not wearing cologne, but he still smells like something that is just plain … Hank, and he grips the strap of his equipment bag harder in an effort to not sway on his feet.
He barely had time to register Hank had raised his hand and was running it through his still damp hair, his hand catching in the light strands, exploring the texture and silken feel between his fingers. He rubs his thumb and index finger over a clump of it, before he slides his hand away.
Hank lets his lips slide over Brad's, catching his bottom lip between his lips, and sucking gently. Brad makes a small mewling noise as Hank pulls back slightly, his tongue licking over Brad's bottom lip.
"People should know when they are conquered," Hank whispers cryptically.
Brad blinks, and narrows his eyes in confusion at Hank's statement.
"You, Brad, are not conquered. Yet." He presses a chaste kiss to Brad's lips then. "Don't let him, or your past with him, conquer you."
"Hank, I -" Brad starts, but stops talking abruptly when Hank presses a finger to his lips.
"Let me take care of you," Hank whispers against Brad's lips, his hot breath tickling Brad's mouth. It made him shiver, and his mind go blank. "Even if it's just for a night."
Brad doesn't say anything as he slips past Hank, and whispers, "Follow me in your car."
~*~
His mind is spinning as he navigates the New York streets to his apartment. The bright lights burn, lighting the interior of his car, illuminating his hands gripping the steering wheel; the anticipation, and anxiousness etching his forehead. Brad is used to New York being the city that never sleeps, as he comes to a stop at a light.
The break in the stillness surrounding him comes after Brad gets to his apartment, parks his car, and kills the engine. He knows Hank is there when he sees a set of car lights being killed.
He climbs out of the car, grabs his bag and heads towards the entrance. They ride up to Brad's apartment in silence, the elevator humming softly in the background. Hank is all quiet, relaxed, but restless.
Brad's apartment is dark, the sounds of New York flitting up to him.
Hank's eyes wander around the space, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. "Nice place."
Brad shrugged, and reaches a hand out, catching the sleeve of Hank's jacket. He barely registers Hank pushing him up against his closed door, his equipment bag slipping off his shoulder, digging painfully into the crook of his arm.
Hank leaned in then, mouth close to Brad's. He didn't move for a few moments, just let his lips hover over Brad's, hands braced on either side of his head. His stance was meant to be predatory, and Brad trembled despite himself.
"Are you frightened?" Hank whispered finally, tongue licking over Brad's lower lip.
Not trusting himself to speak, Brad swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, and shook his head.
Hank's eyes were dark, pupils blown, and Brad felt the need, the want, the inexplicable combination of want and need crackling through their bodies, until Brad couldn't stand it anymore.
"Hank," Brad whispered; the name sounded harsh in the silence between them.
Hank slid a hand down Brad's arm, eyes following the trail, before he brought them back up to stare at Brad. "Last chance."
Before he could change his mind, Brad curled an arm around Hank's shoulders, and angled his face upwards, his lips catching on Hank's chin. He brushed his lips softly over Hank's chin. "Take care of me. Please."
Brad took Hank's hand and led him towards his bedroom. He was pushed onto the bed by Hank, and watched as Hank's eyes roamed over him.
"Take off your clothes," Hank ordered.
Brad did as instructed. Starting first with his pants. He let his clothes slide to the floor, and looked up at Hank. Hank just stood there, arms crossed across his clothed chest, as he let his eyes take in Brad's naked form.
It was disconcerting. Being naked in front of Hank. Hank looking at him like he was some sumptuous dessert buffet. Brad trembled, and moved his hand to grab for the blanket.
"Don't!" Hank snapped, and Brad halted, mid-grab. "God, Brad, just … don't. If you cover any part of your body, I swear to God …"
Brad lay back against the pillows, heart beating madly in his chest as Hank shifted slightly.
"Touch yourself for me. I want to see. Need to see."
Brad swallowed, but did as instructed. He curled his fingers around his cock, and began to slide his hand over his dick in a well-practiced manner.
"Yes," Hank hissed, "just like that. Oh God, Brad, that looks so … fucking hot." Brad watched as Hank slid a hand over his stomach, his other hand gripping his thigh. Brad's free hand grabbed at the sheet as his cock twitched, and the head beaded with pre-come. He bit his bottom lip and mewled as the sensations kicked through his system.
"What are you thinking about?" Hank whispered. It was almost unintelligible above the roar in his ears.
Brad's hand paused briefly mid-stroke. "You." He licked his lips and continued to stroke his dick.
"Liar," Hank whispered, leaning in to nip at Brad's earlobe.
Brad's hand faltered, and his eyes snapped open when he felt the warmth from Hank's hand seep into his fist. "Don't stop, Brad," Hank said. "I didn't say you could."
"Fuck … Hank …" Brad choked out between gasps. His hand on his length squeezed and stroked a little faster, his free hand gripping the sheet so hard, his knuckles were white, and he shuddered as Hank's hand moved with his.
"Did Vincent ever help you do this?" Hank mutters against the shell of Brad's ear.
"Oh, fuck," Brad says, his hand slipping from his cock at the mention of Vince's name.
Immediately, he feels his hand being dragged back to grip his cock. Hank sucks Brad's earlobe into his mouth, nips with his teeth at the flesh. "I told you not to fucking stop," he growls, voice low and more predatory than Brad imagined Hank could sound.
Brad arches his hips slightly. "I'm sorry … I'm sorry," he mutters over and over like some broken prayer.
"I can just imagine the look Vince had on his face when he watches you touch yourself."
A broken train of syllables escape Brad's lips. He can feel Hank's eyes as they move over his body, his hand helping to guide his strokes. Brad shudders, and bites his bottom lip as he feels the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his belly.
"Hank, I … I'm gonna …"
The tension abates almost immediately, as Hank removes both their hands from Brad's cock. Before Brad has time to protest at his lack of release, Hank moves onto the bed, and widens the cradle of Brad's legs. He slowly bends down and presses his lips against the underside of Brad's cock. His skin was like velvet. Heat, and silk beneath his lips, as he pressed another kiss to the heated flesh. Brad moaned, and Hank watched as his eyes rolled back, biting his bottom lip. Hank licked a line from balls to the tip, stopped to look up at Brad.
"Hank," Brad said, and very ungracefully hauled Hank up his body, pressing his clothed torso against his naked chest.
"Feels. So. Good," Brad gasped out, grinding his hips against Hank, earning him a sharp intake of breath from Hank.
Brad moved his hands and grabbed the hem of Hank's shirt, yanking it up and over his head. He all but hauled Hank's mouth to his, his hands sliding down to unbuckle Hank's belt, and unzip his pants.
As Brad managed to get his hand around Hank's cock, Hank captured Brad's lips in a bruising kiss. Brad panted out of the corner of his mouth as Hank's hot, demanding tongue slipped between his teeth.
"Oh god …" Brad gasped.
He didn't get to finish his sentence, as he felt Hank grab his arms and pull them above his head. Brad squirmed underneath Hank, as Hank kissed a line from his jaw, his neck, and down to his shoulder. Hank bit into the soft juncture where neck meets shoulder, and Brad groaned.
"Fuck -"
Hank kissed him once more, before he slid down his body, past his abdomen, before they reached Brad's cock. Hank splayed a hand over Brad's stomach as he flicked his tongue over the head of Brad's cock.
Brad jerked at the first lick, his eyes snapping open. Heat pooled in his lower abdomen, as Hank moved his tongue over his shaft. A hand moved over his sac, and then up the length. Brad moaned, and bit on his knuckles, as Hank finally closed his lips around him.
"Oh, fuck! Feels so good," Brad groaned. "God, I love feeling your mouth on me."
He gasped and rose his hips off the bed as Hank's tongue flicked over his flesh. Brad lost all train of coherent thought as he came in Hank's mouth. Brad collapsed against the sheets, gasping for air as the tremors subsided.
Hank sat up, and back, tugging on Brad's leg. "Turn over for me."
Brad did as instructed, and groaned as Hank pulled him down the bed, until his knees hit the carpet. He heard rustling as Hank searched Brad's nightstand drawer. He came back a few moments later, and set the bottle of lube on the mattress, before he came back to Brad.
Brad's breathing quickened as he felt Hank's tongue slide down his spine. He bit his bottom lip, and wriggled his hips slightly as Hank slid his legs wider on the floor.
Hank's hands moved over the backs of Brad's thigh, and then gripped the cheeks of his ass.
"I'll make you forget about Vincent. Even if it's just for a night …"
Brad choked on a sound as he felt a kiss being pressed to one of his cheeks, before hands gripped the globes of his ass to spread him wide. His legs were shaking, and he whimpered as Hank's breath ghosted over his entrance.
When Hank licked him from taint to tailbone, Brad swore he bit his lip in two. "Oh …" he gasped out, hands fisting the sheets. "Oh fuck … what are you - shit, fuck … oh God."
"Fuck, Brad … you're so fucking tight. I can barely get my tongue inside you."
Brad whimpered at Hank's words, and he bucked his hips as he felt Hank's tongue press over a ring of muscle and sink inside him. He felt his cock twitch, and he moved one of his hands off the bed, to grab for his now, hardening cock.
Hank batted his hand away. "You don't get to touch yourself unless I say you can."
Brad bucked his hips back, trying desperately to get Hank's tongue further inside him, before he felt Hank's hand gripping tightly at his hips to still his movements.
"Please … oh, fuck … Hank … Jesus shit … Goddamn."
He felt Hank's warm hands over his skin, as his tongue fucked his hole mercilessly. He was mewling unintelligible words, his cheeks flushed, his knees shaking violently.
Brad felt as Hank shifted behind him, and the cap of the lube bottle being clicked open. He felt his heart skip a beat as he felt a warm stream of slick coat his wet entrance.
"Oh … god …" Brad's eyes blinked rapidly. "Don't stop, Hank. Please."
Hank chuckled. "I'm not that evil." Brad shivered as he felt a slick finger being inserted. He bit his bottom lip at the sensation Hank's finger kicked through his system.
"Is this how Vincent would fuck you? With his fingers first?"
Brad whimpered as Hank slowly withdrew his finger.
"Does it get him hot? Do you return the favour? Does he go slow?"
Brad convulsed and shoved back against Hank's finger. On the next push in, Hank added another finger.
"Oh shit!" Brad cried, hands gripping at the sheets. He was stretched, and feeling so damned … full he couldn't stand it. He felt his body as it rocked back against Hank's fingers, heard himself begging. Muttering he would do anything Hank wanted, so long as he did not stop.
"Hank!" Brad cried out as Hank pressed his fingers carefully against his prostate.
Hank slid two fingers in, then out. On the next press in, he added a third finger.
"Fuck!"
Hank repeated the pattern, varying the depth, the angle, the fingers, until Brad was dizzy.
"Hank … stop, please … fuck … oh god, just fuck me already. Please. Fuck me now."
"Have it your way," Hank whispered against Brad's ear, shoving him forward, so Brad's arms were lying flat along the mattress. Hank guided his length between Brad's cheeks, lining himself up, before he slid slowly in.
Brad's breath caught as Hank's dick moved past the initial ring of muscle. He was already stretched from Hank's previous tongue ministrations and finger fucking that all Brad felt was a dull, full sort of feeling. He groaned, and heard as Hank inhaled sharply.
He wasn't sure if it was the position they were in, or the angle, or whether Hank was really just that lucky, but he felt as he stroked over his prostate.
"Oh my god," Brad choked out.
Hank's mouth was against his ear, and he nips at Brad's earlobe, nibbles at the flesh as his hand curls around Brad's neglected cock.
"Hank," Brad pants, as he bucks back to meet Hank's thrusts. "Fuck, god, I'm so …"
"Yes," Hank hisses, his hand moving faster over Brad's cock. "Come for me. You feel so fucking good."
"Oh, shit. Oh fuck. Hank! Fuck, fuck, fuck … I'm … coming!" Brad feels his vision blur as his cock twitches in Hank's hand, and he comes, coating Hank's hand with the hot stickiness.
He feels as Hank's hand grips his hips so hard, he's sure there will be bruises there in a few hours, and feels as Hank shudders above him.
Brad feels as Hank slowly withdraws from him, and he sighs lazily, before he manages to climb up onto his bed.
Hank follows him, and curls his body against Brad's side, his breath tickling Brad's ear, and hair.
"Better?" Hank murmurs.
Their limbs were damp, languid, and sated. Brad sighed, and listened as his heartbeat slowed.
"Much."
He didn't protest when Hank managed to get them under the covers, too sleepy to protest. He yawned, and let his eyes flutter close, finally giving in to the sleepiness.
Note: The line Henrik says about people knowing when they are conquered is from the movie Gladiator.
Read the sequel, here