[Fic: Hockey RPS] L'aveu de L'amour; Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier & Lundqvist/Richards; NC-17
Oh, hi complicated Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier fic-verse. Sixth in the Hide the Night-verse. This fic has actually been niggling at me for a while now, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out the logistics of the whole thing. It has probably been one of the harder pieces I've written for this verse, but I hope it works, because I will go cross-eyed if I try to edit anymore.
Disclaimer: Entirely false.
Warnings: dirty talk, rimming
Notes: Takes place before the Lightning vs. Rangers game (02/09/2012), and slightly after it.
L'aveu de L'amour
Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
Le cœur a ses raisons. Brad never believed how true that expression is until now ...
L'aveu de L'amour
From the moment Brad entered his dorm room at Athol Murray College of Notre Dame, and found a tall, lanky, French-Canadian teenager leaning a hockey stick against his bed, he knew he was a goner. The subtle flirtation in Vince's grin as he turned at the sound of their door being opened.
Vince was wearing immaculately pressed dark jeans. Brad could not stop staring at the crisp lines of Vince's white polo shirt, watching the way it stretched over his collarbones, and shoulder blades. Brad remembers as Vince crossed the floor to shake his hand. He also remembers the scent of finely milled French soap and poplin.
To this day, Brad still thinks about French soap and poplin when he thinks of Vince.
Brad was fourteen when he had sex with Vince for the first time.The dying rays of sunlight filtered in through the window, as they fumbled around on the bed. The sunlight bled onto the crisp white linen sheets, and their skin.
He remembers thinking their first time is exactly like everyone says their first time is. Awkward touches, glances, fumbling in the dark. Whispered murmurs filling the space.
Brad came in Vince's mouth, staring up at the white ceiling of their dorm room, as his hands grabbed fistfuls of the stiff white linen.
When people say the loneliness at boarding school is enough to drive a person mad, they're not lying. He imagines sex with your roommate isn't on the average person's list of things to do while staying in dorms. It certainly wasn't his.
And, it most certainly wouldn't have been what his parents intended for him.
The thing was, Brad always kind of had a feeling it was bound to happen. Him and Vince that was.
Despite the awkwardness of the whole first time, Brad thinks it is probably one of his better memories.
Vince leaves Athol Murray in 1996, having been drafted by the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League. Rimouski Océanic , to be specific. Brad joined him the year after. In the 1999-00 season Rimouski Océanic won the Memorial Cup. Brad was the third scoring leader in the tournament.
When Brad made his NHL debut, it was with the Tampa Bay Lightning in the year 2000.
He remembers thinking no matter what happened, and wherever their careers went, he and Vince would always find a way back to each other.
In the spring of 2011, he stood at the altar and watched as Vince slipped a gold band onto the ring finger of Caroline Portelance.
It was the first moment Brad ever thought he'd be lost.
He came in Vince's mouth in a bathroom stall during the reception.
Vince seemed to sense the questions in Brad's gaze, as Brad helped him to his feet. Without missing a beat, Vince curled Brad against his chest, placing his chin on Brad's shoulder. He closed his eyes as he felt Brad curl a hand around his dick, letting Brad work out his lust, and frustration. Vince came with his mouth pressed against Brad's ear, his fingers tangled in Brad's hair.
“Le cœur a ses raisons," Vince whispered in the aftermath.
"The heart has its reasons," Brad whispered back.
“Que la raison ne connaît pas,” Vince continued, stepping away from Brad slightly.
"Of which reason means nothing."
~*~
Brad hears the sound of his phone over the running water in the sink. He dries his hands on a nearby dishtowel, and goes into the hall. His phone is still vibrating and blinking on the table by his doorway.
He manages to answer it on the last ring.
"Hello?"
"So, I managed to get away from the team for a few hours, and I'm almost at your apartment building. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd be willing to let me in … unless, of course, you're busy fucking someone else."
Brad leans against the wall, and rakes a hand through his hair. "Vinny, I -"
A brief pause. "You can tell me about it when I get there."
Brad's phone line goes dead then.
He barely manages to get his door halfway open, before Vince has Brad's body roughly pressed against it.
"I need you," he pants, cheeks rosy. Brad wonders if it's from the wind outside, or something else. He's about to ask, but Vince silences him with a kiss. Vince's hands busily sneak under Brad's shirt, blunt nails scraping over smooth skin.
"How long do we have?" Brad gasps as Vince manages to pull his shirt up and over his head.
"Long enough." Vince leads Brad's hands to his jacket, and waits until Brad unfastens it and slides it to the floor. "You already have practice?"
Brad nods. "We'll try to take it easy on you guys tomorrow night." He resists the urge to cry out as Vince backs him up against the cool wood of the door. Brad hears as his belt and zipper are undone. The loud rustling of denim against denim, as Vince manages to get Brad's jeans down his legs.
"Don't be so sure of that," Vince whispers, letting Brad maneuver them, so he's got Vince pressed up against the door. Brad manages to get his hand down Vince's jeans, before his dry hand wraps around his cock.
Vince groans, and hauls Brad's mouth to his.
"Fuck," Brad groans, fingers twisting in Vince's hair.
"I love it when you're like this," Vince says, teeth nipping at the hollow in the base of Brad's throat, as his hand closes around his dick.
"Jesus shit," Brad moans, as Vince twists his wrist in an absolutely maddening way.
"God, it's been so long," Vince says, before he turns Brad around to face the door. Vince undresses quickly, before he runs a hand down Brad's bare back. "You've missed this, haven't you?" He leans in, mouth pressed against Brad's ear. "I know I have."
"Please," Brad whimpers, palms resting on the wood in front of him, nails scraping against the finish.
"You want this?" Vince taunts, grip on Brad's hips tightening to the point of pain. Brad arches his back and nods, pushing his ass back against Vince.
"Fuck, Brad," Vince murmurs, "I'm so fucking hard for you right now."
"Oh, please. Fuck. Please. Fuck me, please."
Vince sinks to his knees, licks a teasing line up the back of Brad's leg, and smirks as Brad's legs quiver. "Tell me," he starts, "how badly do you want me to fuck you?"
"Oh fuck," Brad gasps, "do you even have to ask? Jesus fuck, Vince."
"C'mon, Brad, enlighten me." Vince is biting and sucking at the fleshy spots on the backs of Brad's thighs, and ass.
"Fuck, Vince, don't you fucking dare leave a - oh, fuck - a mark. What would my teammates say if I -"
"And, which of your teammates cares if I leave a mark on you?"
"None of them." Brad laughs nervously, mind flitting to Hank briefly.
"Them, huh?" Vince muses.
"It's not important -"
"Right," Vince says.
He's on his feet now, running his jaw along Brad's neck. "Which one, then, Brad."
"What?"
"Which one fucks you?"
Brad's eyes are screwed tightly shut, his thoughts a jumble of Hank's hand on his cock in the parking garage of the Garden, and Vince, and poplin, and French milled soap. He's dizzy. His thoughts hazy, and having Vince pressed up against him was doing nothing to combat that.
"No matter," Vince says, "I'll just have to show you how much better I am than whoever it is who fucks you when I'm in Florida."
"Go ahead and try," Brad hisses, knowing his comment will only spur Vince on.
"I intend to."
And then Vince has his hand on Brad's cock, jerking it roughly. Brad bites his bottom lip, because damn it all if he was going to give in that easily.
Vince is licking a line down his spine then, before he gets over the curve of Brad's ass. Brad feels his legs shaking in anticipation, and groans when Vince finally sinks his tongue in to lick him.
"Jesus fuck," Brad gasps.
"Shh," Vince orders. He pushes his tongue in deeper, flicking his tongue inside Brad's hole, and Brad can't help it; his body jerks at the sensations that shoot through his system. Vince strokes his hands up Brad's thighs, before he spreads his legs wider.
"God, you feel so fucking good," Brad gasps.
"Really?" Vince smirks.
"Fuck, yes. Don't stop."
"Are you going to tell me who fucks you when I'm in Florida?"
"Does it … does it matter?" Brad blinks his eyes rapidly. "This isn't some ga -"
"I guess I'll have to guess." Vince nips at Brad's thigh, before he gets to his feet, and turns Brad around to face him.
Brad gets his hand wrapped around Vince's cock, the soft pad of his thumb moving over the head. Vince closed his eyes, feeling as Brad's fingers closed around him, the rush of blood hardening him further.
"I need you," Brad whispers.
"You said that the first time," Vince notes.
"I know," Brad replies. "Nothing's changed."
"Even now?"
"Always."
"Fuck," Vince mutters, hauling Brad's mouth to his again.
Brad isn't sure what causes them to break apart, but he vaguely registers that his phone is ringing from the spot he left it. Vince tells him to let it ring, but Brad argues that it might be something important.
"Hello?" Brad managed to get out.
Vince was tracing his lips up and down his throat, nibbling on his ear lobe. Brad bit his bottom lip, and listened as Hank's voice spoke on the other end of the line.
"Um," Brad started, "no, I don't think -"
Vince had Brad's cock in his hand and was stroking it, eyes gleaming, as Brad fought to keep himself focused.
"Sure, yeah. See you tomorrow."
Brad barely managed to click his phone off, and toss it down onto the table before Vince had his lips wrapped around his dick, and he was moaning out Vince's name.
Vince brought Brad over the edge soon after. Brad had his eyes screwed shut, knuckles against his mouth as he rode out his orgasm. Vince let Brad pull him to his feet, and capture his lips in a kiss.
They stumble off to the bedroom soon after.
Brad turns over some time later, and finds Vince staring at him.
"It's Henrik, isn't it?"
Brad bites his bottom lip, but he can't bring himself to say the word.
Vince reaches a hand out to brush the hair from Brad's face. "Le cœur a ses raisons," he murmurs.
Brad shifts closer, and interlaces his fingers with Vince's. “Que la raison ne connaît pas,” he returns.
~*~
Brad scores the game winner in the game the next night. He doesn't get a chance to see Vince's face, before his teammates are crowding around him, in a flurry of hugs, and congratulations.
By the time Hank gets to him, Brad's dizzy with emotions, that he barely hears Hank whisper into his ear.
It's one word, but the meaning behind it still causes a jolt to run through his system.
"Tonight."
~*~
He lets Hank peel his clothing off slowly, lets Hank press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, chest, shoulders, arms.
He comes in Hank's mouth that night, eyes staring up at the ceiling, his fingers tangled in Hank's still damp hair.
Hank's brilliant blue eyes are the last thing Brad sees before he lets sleep claim him.
Disclaimer: Entirely false.
Warnings: dirty talk, rimming
Notes: Takes place before the Lightning vs. Rangers game (02/09/2012), and slightly after it.
L'aveu de L'amour
Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
Le cœur a ses raisons. Brad never believed how true that expression is until now ...
L'aveu de L'amour
From the moment Brad entered his dorm room at Athol Murray College of Notre Dame, and found a tall, lanky, French-Canadian teenager leaning a hockey stick against his bed, he knew he was a goner. The subtle flirtation in Vince's grin as he turned at the sound of their door being opened.
Vince was wearing immaculately pressed dark jeans. Brad could not stop staring at the crisp lines of Vince's white polo shirt, watching the way it stretched over his collarbones, and shoulder blades. Brad remembers as Vince crossed the floor to shake his hand. He also remembers the scent of finely milled French soap and poplin.
To this day, Brad still thinks about French soap and poplin when he thinks of Vince.
Brad was fourteen when he had sex with Vince for the first time.The dying rays of sunlight filtered in through the window, as they fumbled around on the bed. The sunlight bled onto the crisp white linen sheets, and their skin.
He remembers thinking their first time is exactly like everyone says their first time is. Awkward touches, glances, fumbling in the dark. Whispered murmurs filling the space.
Brad came in Vince's mouth, staring up at the white ceiling of their dorm room, as his hands grabbed fistfuls of the stiff white linen.
When people say the loneliness at boarding school is enough to drive a person mad, they're not lying. He imagines sex with your roommate isn't on the average person's list of things to do while staying in dorms. It certainly wasn't his.
And, it most certainly wouldn't have been what his parents intended for him.
The thing was, Brad always kind of had a feeling it was bound to happen. Him and Vince that was.
Despite the awkwardness of the whole first time, Brad thinks it is probably one of his better memories.
Vince leaves Athol Murray in 1996, having been drafted by the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League. Rimouski Océanic , to be specific. Brad joined him the year after. In the 1999-00 season Rimouski Océanic won the Memorial Cup. Brad was the third scoring leader in the tournament.
When Brad made his NHL debut, it was with the Tampa Bay Lightning in the year 2000.
He remembers thinking no matter what happened, and wherever their careers went, he and Vince would always find a way back to each other.
In the spring of 2011, he stood at the altar and watched as Vince slipped a gold band onto the ring finger of Caroline Portelance.
It was the first moment Brad ever thought he'd be lost.
He came in Vince's mouth in a bathroom stall during the reception.
Vince seemed to sense the questions in Brad's gaze, as Brad helped him to his feet. Without missing a beat, Vince curled Brad against his chest, placing his chin on Brad's shoulder. He closed his eyes as he felt Brad curl a hand around his dick, letting Brad work out his lust, and frustration. Vince came with his mouth pressed against Brad's ear, his fingers tangled in Brad's hair.
“Le cœur a ses raisons," Vince whispered in the aftermath.
"The heart has its reasons," Brad whispered back.
“Que la raison ne connaît pas,” Vince continued, stepping away from Brad slightly.
"Of which reason means nothing."
~*~
Brad hears the sound of his phone over the running water in the sink. He dries his hands on a nearby dishtowel, and goes into the hall. His phone is still vibrating and blinking on the table by his doorway.
He manages to answer it on the last ring.
"Hello?"
"So, I managed to get away from the team for a few hours, and I'm almost at your apartment building. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd be willing to let me in … unless, of course, you're busy fucking someone else."
Brad leans against the wall, and rakes a hand through his hair. "Vinny, I -"
A brief pause. "You can tell me about it when I get there."
Brad's phone line goes dead then.
He barely manages to get his door halfway open, before Vince has Brad's body roughly pressed against it.
"I need you," he pants, cheeks rosy. Brad wonders if it's from the wind outside, or something else. He's about to ask, but Vince silences him with a kiss. Vince's hands busily sneak under Brad's shirt, blunt nails scraping over smooth skin.
"How long do we have?" Brad gasps as Vince manages to pull his shirt up and over his head.
"Long enough." Vince leads Brad's hands to his jacket, and waits until Brad unfastens it and slides it to the floor. "You already have practice?"
Brad nods. "We'll try to take it easy on you guys tomorrow night." He resists the urge to cry out as Vince backs him up against the cool wood of the door. Brad hears as his belt and zipper are undone. The loud rustling of denim against denim, as Vince manages to get Brad's jeans down his legs.
"Don't be so sure of that," Vince whispers, letting Brad maneuver them, so he's got Vince pressed up against the door. Brad manages to get his hand down Vince's jeans, before his dry hand wraps around his cock.
Vince groans, and hauls Brad's mouth to his.
"Fuck," Brad groans, fingers twisting in Vince's hair.
"I love it when you're like this," Vince says, teeth nipping at the hollow in the base of Brad's throat, as his hand closes around his dick.
"Jesus shit," Brad moans, as Vince twists his wrist in an absolutely maddening way.
"God, it's been so long," Vince says, before he turns Brad around to face the door. Vince undresses quickly, before he runs a hand down Brad's bare back. "You've missed this, haven't you?" He leans in, mouth pressed against Brad's ear. "I know I have."
"Please," Brad whimpers, palms resting on the wood in front of him, nails scraping against the finish.
"You want this?" Vince taunts, grip on Brad's hips tightening to the point of pain. Brad arches his back and nods, pushing his ass back against Vince.
"Fuck, Brad," Vince murmurs, "I'm so fucking hard for you right now."
"Oh, please. Fuck. Please. Fuck me, please."
Vince sinks to his knees, licks a teasing line up the back of Brad's leg, and smirks as Brad's legs quiver. "Tell me," he starts, "how badly do you want me to fuck you?"
"Oh fuck," Brad gasps, "do you even have to ask? Jesus fuck, Vince."
"C'mon, Brad, enlighten me." Vince is biting and sucking at the fleshy spots on the backs of Brad's thighs, and ass.
"Fuck, Vince, don't you fucking dare leave a - oh, fuck - a mark. What would my teammates say if I -"
"And, which of your teammates cares if I leave a mark on you?"
"None of them." Brad laughs nervously, mind flitting to Hank briefly.
"Them, huh?" Vince muses.
"It's not important -"
"Right," Vince says.
He's on his feet now, running his jaw along Brad's neck. "Which one, then, Brad."
"What?"
"Which one fucks you?"
Brad's eyes are screwed tightly shut, his thoughts a jumble of Hank's hand on his cock in the parking garage of the Garden, and Vince, and poplin, and French milled soap. He's dizzy. His thoughts hazy, and having Vince pressed up against him was doing nothing to combat that.
"No matter," Vince says, "I'll just have to show you how much better I am than whoever it is who fucks you when I'm in Florida."
"Go ahead and try," Brad hisses, knowing his comment will only spur Vince on.
"I intend to."
And then Vince has his hand on Brad's cock, jerking it roughly. Brad bites his bottom lip, because damn it all if he was going to give in that easily.
Vince is licking a line down his spine then, before he gets over the curve of Brad's ass. Brad feels his legs shaking in anticipation, and groans when Vince finally sinks his tongue in to lick him.
"Jesus fuck," Brad gasps.
"Shh," Vince orders. He pushes his tongue in deeper, flicking his tongue inside Brad's hole, and Brad can't help it; his body jerks at the sensations that shoot through his system. Vince strokes his hands up Brad's thighs, before he spreads his legs wider.
"God, you feel so fucking good," Brad gasps.
"Really?" Vince smirks.
"Fuck, yes. Don't stop."
"Are you going to tell me who fucks you when I'm in Florida?"
"Does it … does it matter?" Brad blinks his eyes rapidly. "This isn't some ga -"
"I guess I'll have to guess." Vince nips at Brad's thigh, before he gets to his feet, and turns Brad around to face him.
Brad gets his hand wrapped around Vince's cock, the soft pad of his thumb moving over the head. Vince closed his eyes, feeling as Brad's fingers closed around him, the rush of blood hardening him further.
"I need you," Brad whispers.
"You said that the first time," Vince notes.
"I know," Brad replies. "Nothing's changed."
"Even now?"
"Always."
"Fuck," Vince mutters, hauling Brad's mouth to his again.
Brad isn't sure what causes them to break apart, but he vaguely registers that his phone is ringing from the spot he left it. Vince tells him to let it ring, but Brad argues that it might be something important.
"Hello?" Brad managed to get out.
Vince was tracing his lips up and down his throat, nibbling on his ear lobe. Brad bit his bottom lip, and listened as Hank's voice spoke on the other end of the line.
"Um," Brad started, "no, I don't think -"
Vince had Brad's cock in his hand and was stroking it, eyes gleaming, as Brad fought to keep himself focused.
"Sure, yeah. See you tomorrow."
Brad barely managed to click his phone off, and toss it down onto the table before Vince had his lips wrapped around his dick, and he was moaning out Vince's name.
Vince brought Brad over the edge soon after. Brad had his eyes screwed shut, knuckles against his mouth as he rode out his orgasm. Vince let Brad pull him to his feet, and capture his lips in a kiss.
They stumble off to the bedroom soon after.
Brad turns over some time later, and finds Vince staring at him.
"It's Henrik, isn't it?"
Brad bites his bottom lip, but he can't bring himself to say the word.
Vince reaches a hand out to brush the hair from Brad's face. "Le cœur a ses raisons," he murmurs.
Brad shifts closer, and interlaces his fingers with Vince's. “Que la raison ne connaît pas,” he returns.
~*~
Brad scores the game winner in the game the next night. He doesn't get a chance to see Vince's face, before his teammates are crowding around him, in a flurry of hugs, and congratulations.
By the time Hank gets to him, Brad's dizzy with emotions, that he barely hears Hank whisper into his ear.
It's one word, but the meaning behind it still causes a jolt to run through his system.
"Tonight."
~*~
He lets Hank peel his clothing off slowly, lets Hank press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, chest, shoulders, arms.
He comes in Hank's mouth that night, eyes staring up at the ceiling, his fingers tangled in Hank's still damp hair.
Hank's brilliant blue eyes are the last thing Brad sees before he lets sleep claim him.