[Fic: Hockey RPS] One's Not Half Two. It's Two are Halves of One; NC-17
Don't worry, there's more after this, I promise! *g* Enjoy. ♥
Fourteenth in the Hide the Night-verse
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title from the E.E. Cummings poem of the same name.
Warnings: Google translated Swedish and French, mild dirty talk, masturbation, comeplay, barebacking
One's Not Half Two. It's Two are Halves of One
Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
People should know when they are conquered ...
One's Not Half Two. It's Two are Halves of One
They closed out their regular season against the Capitals earlier. A four to one loss. The mood around the locker room was a mixed bag. Some were disappointed with the loss. Others were glad to have a few extra days off before they started their Playoff run.
He had gathered his equipment and gone home, where he all but collapsed in his bed. Brad hoped he could at least have a few restful hours of sleep, but almost as soon as his eyes shut he knew it was just wishful thinking on his part.
Brad doesn't think this is reality. He thinks it still feels like a dream. Because, really, there was no way he would be having this many sleepless nights over that one phone call from Vinny from nearly two weeks ago.
Except, he can still hear his phone ringing, and the white noise for a few moments before Vinny said, 'Hi'.
He had been standing by his window, looking out at the streets of New York.
It was getting late. The sky dark, the streets dimly lit. The light filters into his apartment, spilling over his feet, and across the carpet. He finds for a moment he cannot breathe. Brad wants to open a window to see if that would help, but the air is still, and he knows opening a window won't matter.
Vinny's voice on the other end of the line sounds louder than Brad thinks it should. It sounds like a hymn, a call to the dead.
"Hi," Vinny says.
"Hey," Brad says, voice hoarse.
"I'm sitting on my couch watching the highlights from the games last night. You got a playoff spot."
"We did." Brad wonders why his heart is beating so loudly against his chest. "You calling to congratulate me?"
"I - are you alone?"
"Yes." Brad rakes his fingers through his hair, stares down at the still busy New York streets. "Why?"
"I thought maybe you might be with someone else. Or out celebrating."
Brad's mind flits briefly to Hank, and the bar from last night after their win. He slides his eyes to the couch, can almost see his and Hank's bodies still on the couch. The way he kissed Hank, and slid onto his lap. Begging for Hank to kiss him. The look in Hank's eyes as he finally stopped what they were doing …
"Once," was Hank's reply to Brad's question of whether Hank had ever loved someone so much it hurt to breathe when they weren't there.
"You still there, Brad?"
Brad forces his thoughts away from Hank, and tries to focus on the conversation with Vinny. "Celebrated last night." Brad sighs, and leans his forehead against the cool glass of his window. "You called me just to ask me that, Vinny?"
"I miss you."
"No you don't."
Vinny chuckles. The sound slips over Brad's skin like silk. He shivers despite himself. "You remember when we won the Cup in 2004?"
"Sure. You don't just forget something like that."
"It was like living the dream," Vinny whispers, voice low and rough. "Now, you're getting the chance to live the dream again, and I'm here. In Tampa. Picturing you fucking someone else."
"I'm -" Brad squeezes his eyes shut, his mind swirling with memories of the last time he was with Hank. "I'm not with anyone. Anymore."
The silence is deafening. Brad thinks Vinny has hung up on him. He is about to say his name when Vinny says, "Not even Henrik?"
Brad hesitates a beat too long. "I don't …"
"It's okay, Brad."
Brad bites his bottom lip, closes his eyes. "I can't tell y -"
"Brad." Vinny sighs again, the sound is sensual and languorous. "Do you remember last summer -"
"Vinny, don't."
Vinny laughs. Brad hears a rustle of fabric, and he thinks Vinny is switching positions on his couch. "You came over to see me shortly after the loss to Boston in the Eastern Conference Finals. Caroline was gone for the day. We spent the afternoon sitting by the pool, sipping beers, and …"
"You told me you were taking your honeymoon with Caroline finally," Brad said, finality in his tone.
"There was that too," Vinny agreed. "But do you remember how I made you come three times that night?"
Brad's heart was racing. He swallows heavily. He can still taste the tang of chlorine on his tongue as Vinny moved over him, the Tampa sun beating down on their forms. He couldn't get the taste of Vinny out of his mouth for weeks after that. It's there. It lingers. Like rich, dark chocolate as it slips over his tongue. Heavy. Dark. Rich. Like he imagines the aftertaste of chocolate would taste.
The funny thing is … Brad hates chocolate.
"I made you come three times then. The first time your cock was in my mouth. You smelled like pool water, and sunscreen. I couldn't get enough of you …"
"Vinny," Brad snapped. "You need to -"
"I still had a trace of your come on my tongue when I kissed you afterwards. You had your hand on my dick shortly after. I told you to make me come, and how you were going too slow. I was … utterly consumed by you."
"Vinny, stop."
"Come on, Brad," Vinny urges. "I know you miss me. It's why you keep coming back to Tampa in the off-season."
Brad grips the window ledge in an effort to stop himself from collapsing. He can't think. He wants to tell Vinny he's right. That he always comes back to Tampa because he still held out hope for them, but …
"Is that why you called me on your honeymoon?" he whispers to Vinny.
Vinny chuckles. "I had to hear your voice then."
Brad lets his eyes flutter close. "Is that why you always call me?"
Silence.
"I … I need you in my life."
Brad bites his lip. "Need or want?"
"I don't … why do you want to know?"
"Answer the question, Vinny."
Brad can hear Vinny as he inhales deeply, and exhales. "Je vais t'aimer toujours,"
He feels it hit him like a ton of bricks, and Brad slumps against the window, gripping his phone tightly.
"You said that to me when you called during your honeymoon," he whispers sadly.
"I know," Vinny replies. "I meant it."
Brad can't move from his spot on the floor. His phone gripped tightly in his hand, as he stares at the floor, trying desperately to bring the carpet back into focus, but he finds he is unable to move. He listens as Vinny continues to talk.
"I … I don't know what else -"
"Need or want, Vinny?" Brad manages to choke out. He's not sure why he needs Vinny to answer the question. He already knows what the answer is going to be. And, Brad isn't sure what is killing him more. Knowing what Vinny's answer will be, or wanting him to actually say it aloud. Christ, maybe he really was a masochist.
"I don't know," Vinny chokes out.
Brad wants to throw his phone against the wall. Instead, he sits on his apartment floor, phone gripped in his hand as the phone line goes silent.
He isn't sure how long the line stays silent. He knows Vinny has not hung up the phone; he can still hear him breathing.
"You keep your eyes open," Vinny finally says.
The sound of his voice stirs Brad from his reverie. "What?"
"Every time we're together, you keep your eyes open."
"I … I was afraid," Brad says, voice muffled, his tone holding back tears.
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid I'd …" he takes the phone away from his ear, holds it against his chest, feeling his chest as it tightens. "Afraid I'd …" he tries again. "I can't …" He nearly bites his lip in half as he feels his world tilt on its axis. He wonders if this is what it feels like when the rug is finally yanked out from someone. "It's late. I have an early start tomorrow."
“Le cœur a ses raisons," Brad hears Vinny say.
And, for the first time in a long time, he can't, and doesn't want to say Que la raison ne connaît pas back to him.
"Brad?"
"Hm?"
"I want to hear you say it."
"Adieu," Brad says, before he disconnects the phone.
-x-
Brad bolts upright in his bed, hair damp, and gasping for air. The last vestiges of the phone conversation with Vinny fleeing from his mind.
People should know when they're conquered …
You know where to find me …
He cradles his head in his hands, lets his elbows rest on his knees. Lets Hank's words float through his mind. Knows Hank has been making good on his promise to stay out of his life. Waiting until Brad figured everything out.
I hear the beginning is a pretty good place to start.
Brad wonders if Hank knows the beginning always sucks. Middles really aren't any different though. Partly because the middle is where things can get so fucked up, because it's usually the middle that stays with someone. It can distort the beginning. Make it seem like the beginning never existed, so the middle is the only part one remembers. And, the end … well, Brad is sure the end sucks too. Because, he is quite sure people spend time at the end trying desperately to go back to the middle, or even the beginning. Try to rearrange the pieces so the end will fit with the one already built up in the memory.
Trouble is, the reality is so much worse and no matter how many pieces that are rearranged, sometimes it makes no difference.
Except, maybe this time it was not really the end.
Brad kicks off the sheets, dresses quickly, and grabs his keys from the entrance hall table.
-x-
There is a steady stream of rain hitting his windows as he kills his engine, and stares at the apartment building. He taps his steering wheel nervously. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe this would not go as he expected it to. Brad closes his eyes, grips the steering wheel as he calms his thoughts.
You already know what it is you want, he thinks.
Don't be stupid. Don't wait. Don't stop. Don't over think. Don't …
He grits his teeth, before he grips his door handle and opens the door. Brad grabs his keys, locks the car, before he hurries towards the doors, not caring he was getting absolutely soaking wet by the rain.
He is recognized by the doorman, and he races for the bank of elevators, and punches in the floor number. Brad steps from the elevator, and doesn't stop his hurried pace until he is standing in front of the door. He reaches a trembling hand out, curls his hand into a fist and bangs on the door.
-x-
Hank was restless. The loss did not sit well with him, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The only thing he could do was look towards their opening Playoff game. The Ottawa Senators were their opponents.
He was aimlessly flipping channels, when he heard the knock on his door. He got to his feet and went to answer it.
Hank was half-surprised by the sight of a thoroughly soaked Brad, looking half-dazed, and trembling.
"Brad?" Hank's chest tightens almost immediately when Brad slowly raises his eyes to him. "God, you're soaking wet. What's wrong?"
Brad lets Hank pull him inside. He blinks dazedly as he takes in the warmth of Hank's entrance. Lets his eyes flit around his surroundings. He hasn't been here that much, but he knows the layout pretty well. He still can't bring himself to move.
He slips out of his jacket, grips his phone in his hand, and stares at in disdain before he throws it down on top of his jacket. "Vinny called me about two weeks ago," he whispers, not taking his eyes off the phone.
Hank hovers near Brad. Near enough to reach a hand out to him, but not near enough to spook him. He crosses his arms across his chest. More out of an effort to keep his hands busy though.
"You came all the way here to tell me that?"
Brad shakes his head, but continues to stare at the floor. "He wanted to talk. Wanted to congratulate me. He asked me if I was still with you."
"What'd you tell him?"
"We weren't anymore."
Brad is so pale, so fragile-looking, it takes Hank's breath away. Finally, he reaches a hand out, lets his fingers graze Brad's arm. "Brad," he whispers.
"Let me talk!" Brad says, his tone forceful. It halts all the words Hank has and is ready to say.
"He told me he needed me in his life. I asked him if it was because he needed me in his life, or if it was because he wanted me …"
Finally, Brad lifts his eyes to stare at Hank. His eyes look haunted. "He told me he didn't know."
Hank reaches his hands out, frames Brad's face with his hands, turns Brad's face to his. "Brad," he tries.
Brad grips Hank's arm tightly. "I keep my eyes open during sex. All the time."
"What?"
He leans in to Hank, presses his lips to the hollow in the base of Hank's throat. "I couldn't … I couldn't bring myself to tell Vinny why I do. Why I always do …"
Hank's voice was calm, his tone soothing. The sounds moved through Brad's veins like electricity. He was glad he could not look at Hank at this moment. He didn't trust himself enough yet. He had to get through this admission. Tears filled his eyes, dissolving Hank and his surroundings to a vapid shimmery glow.
"I don't close my eyes when I'm with someone I … someone I care about. I can't close my eyes because I'm afraid I'll miss something. And, I can't miss anything. I used to think it was a way to stay connected with Vinny. With you. With every person who's ever mattered."
And, finally, Brad crumbles. He was trembling. He felt feverish. Cold one moment, and scorching the next. He was dizzy.
"Brad, Brad, Brad," Hank's voice was gentle. Running over him in waves, his hand on his back running down his spine causing Brad to shiver.
Brad leaned his head away from Hank's chest to stare up at him. His hands were fisted in Hank's shirt front.
"You told me 'people should know when they're conquered'."
"I also said if you had to ask me that that you would never -"
"That I would never know," Brad finished. He swallowed heavily. "Well, what if I told you that the moment Vinny said he didn't know was the moment I knew what you meant? That all I could think about for the past two weeks is whether that was the moment when I knew I was conquered. Is that enough for you?"
Brad couldn't help it, he felt the tears spill out from his eyes, and his face crumpled. "Fuck, Hank, I don't … I can't …"
"Shh," Hank whispered, pulling Brad against him again. "It's okay. I know. It'll be okay."
"It won't be." Brad stared at Hank. "Don't you get it, Hank? Don't you see? Every time it's mattered, he's … Vinny's left me. Do you know why I took the Rangers offer?"
"You said it was a great experience to play in New York. That you were excited to play for an Original six team."
Brad shakes his head. "I got offers from Calgary, LA, Toronto, even Tampa Bay. I could have gone back to Tampa, but I didn't. Do you know why I picked New York?"
Hank shook his head.
"I took the offer in New York because I needed the distance. It was the first decision I ever made without thinking about how it would affect my relationship with Vinny. Don't you get it, Hank? It's the one time I … I left him."
Brad felt all his composure leave him with that confession, and he could do nothing except grip Hank's shirt, and let Hank pull him close again.
"Brad, shh. Brad, it's okay. Jag tror att jag älskar dig."
"What does it mean?"
Hank bit his bottom lip, kissed the top of Brad's hair, before he inhaled deeply and pushed Brad away so he was at arm's length. He stared at Brad, took in his features, his haunted expression. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest, as he swallowed heavily, and as he brushed the hair out of Brad's eyes, he finally answered Brad's question. "Jag tror att jag älskar dig … I think I love you."
It was his eyes that caused Brad to freeze, while Hank tucked his index finger and thumb under Brad's chin. His expression was tender, his eyes sympathetic. Brad could not tear his eyes away from the way the hair fell into his eyes, the way Hank's expression was intense, and unreadable.
Brad was dizzy almost as soon as he felt Hank's lips touch his. God, Hank kissed like a house on fire. The heat, the urgency, was like flames licking the sides of a house. Brad swayed against him.
Hank was tender, and he moved slowly, as if he was afraid Brad would turn and run. But, Brad could feel his desire. From the way, Hank's fingers were tangled in his hair, to the urgent way he parted Brad's mouth with his tongue. Brad had never been kissed like this before. No one had ever kissed him the way Hank was now. It made him dizzy.
When Hank finally broke the kiss, Brad whimpered, fisted his hands tighter in Hank's shirt front. He half-thought Hank was going to stop this now, and ask him to leave. He couldn't bear it if he did. He leaned in again, but Hank shook his head and jerked his head away.
"Please," Brad whimpered, "Hank, please."
Hank traced a finger down Brad's cheek, his stunningly blue eyes never leaving Brad's. "I want to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"Do you want this? Do you want me?"
Brad laughs, the sound half-strangled as he presses against Hank. "You know the answer to that. How can you even ask me that? Don't you know?"
Hank's lips twitch as he leans in and brushes his lips over Brad's quickly. Listens as Brad whimpers at the contact. "I need to hear you say it. Before this goes any further."
Brad leans his head to the side slightly, eyes Hank intently. "Why's this so important to you?"
"Because this isn't like the first time, when it was about taking care of you. About making you forget. It's not just one night this time. If I touch you again, if I take your clothes off again, I'm not letting you go. This isn't over when the morning light comes."
"C'est juste toi et moi, ce soir," Brad mumbles.
Hank is still, eyeing Brad intently. Waiting for him to make the next move. Eventually, Brad curls his arms around Hank's neck, tilts his head up towards him, and stares directly at Hank.
"I'm sure. I want this. I want you. Please, Hank. Please."
Hank laughed, and any last minute hesitation he may have had was gone, as he folded Brad into his arms, and touched his lips to his again.
Brad slides a hand between their bodies, presses his fingers to the thick, pulsing bulge at Hank's groin. "I'm sorry," he whispers, feeling as Hank arched up into his exploring fingers. "Sorry. So sorry."
"For what?"
"For not realizing sooner, for having to ask you what you - oh, fuck, Hank, yes, touch me again."
Hank had managed to get the fly on Brad's jeans undone, and his hand was gripping Brad through his open fly. "Come with me," he whispered, before taking Brad by the hand and leading him to the bedroom.
Hank presses Brad up against the wall, his hands busily sneak under Brad's shirt, rakes his nails over the thin skin at Brad's hips, listens as Brad's breath hitches. He slides Brad's shirt up and over his head, before he shoves a knee between Brad's legs, and pushes up with his leg, feeling as Brad's cock pulsed against his thigh.
Hank managed to maneuver their bodies so he could roll his hips against Brad, his cock rubbing against his.
"Fucking hell," Brad muttered, digging his fingers into Hank's back.
"We're just getting started," Hank promised, grinding his hips against Brad one more time before he slid his tongue over Brad's throat, his collar bone, sternum, and pectoral. He nipped at the fleshy spots on Brad's shoulder, neck, and chest.
"Jesus shit, Hank," Brad gasped, tugging on Hank's hair as Hank bit down on his nipple.
"Relax, Brad, I'm just getting stared."
Hank is on his knees soon after, mouth near Brad's groin. He licks at the fly of Brad's jeans, his eyes darting up to Brad's. Brad is watching him intently, amber eyes darkening in arousal.
"You really do," Hank muses, his mouth moving over the outline of Brad's hard cock, feeling as it strains against the fabric.
"Hm?" Brad manages to get out.
Hank's mouthing his cock again, his mouth leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Brad's jeans. Brad hears a click as Hank gets his belt and the button undone.
"Hank, please," Brad moans, and he bucks his hips in an effort to get Hank's mouth on him again.
Hank slides Brad's jeans down his legs, before he licks a slow line up Brad's leg. His breath is hot, and warm as it ghosts over Brad's still clothed dick. He slides his fingers over the outline of Brad's cock through the thin cotton of his briefs, eyes watching Brad intently.
"God, Hank … just … please … touch me, please."
Hank shifts on his knees, before he presses a kiss to Brad's hip, his hands coming up to grip the elastic of Brad's briefs. He slides them down Brad's legs, before his lips are on Brad's skin again. He dips his tongue slightly into Brad's navel, smirks against Brad's hip as he hears him whimper and fist his fingers in his hair.
"Brad," Hank whispers against his hipbone. "Brad, Brad, Bradley …"
Brad is dizzy, his legs shaking at trying to keep himself standing. He swallows heavily, looks down at the crown of Hank's head, watches as Hank's tongue darts out to lick across the head of his cock.
"Shit," Brad gasps, his hips involuntarily bucking forward.
Hank gently grasped Brad's cock with one hand and lined up his mouth with the head. "You do keep your eyes open the whole time," he remarked. And, without giving Brad time to respond, Hank wrapped his lips around Brad's cock. He relaxed his throat on his slide down Brad's length, and his nose touched hair, as his lips touched the steadying hand he still had on Brad's cock.
"Fucking shit, Hank," Brad managed. The fingers of one of his hands digging painfully into Hank's hair.
Hank pulled back before he bobbed forward and set an absolutely maddening rhythm on Brad's cock. His hand working the parts of Brad's flesh his mouth couldn't reach, his fingers brushing over Brad's balls, as his lips continued to slide over his length.
Brad's voice was mangled. All he could manage was a strangled groan as he sweated, and panted above Hank. Hank had his hand on his own cock, was stroking himself faster and faster, watched as Brad's grip tightened, his head falling forward as he groaned.
Hank sucked and pressed his tongue to the underside of Brad's cock, feeling as Brad pulsed against his lips.
"Motherfucking fuck," Brad said softly. "Hank … I'm …" His eyes went wide as he felt his orgasm approaching. "I'm going to - Hank -"
Hank pulled back at the last moment, worked Brad's cock with his fist. "Come for me, Brad."
Brad's hands clawed at the wall, his legs shaking and nearly giving out on him as he came. Hank felt as Brad's come hit his cheek, and lips. He closed his mouth over the head of Brad's dick, milking every last drop from him, listened to Brad's uneven breathing. It was enough to make Hank forget to hold on a moment longer, and he came, his forehead pressed against Brad's thigh. Hank felt Brad's hand pressing against his head, his breathing as it began to slow.
Hank shakily gets to his feet then, and gathers Brad into his arms. "Jag älskar dig," he whispers against Brad's ear.
Brad pulls back slightly to look at Hank.
"I love you," Hank replies upon seeing all the questions in Brad's gaze. He backs up slowly, hands gripping Brad's, urging him to follow. "Come to bed, Bradley. We've got the night."
Hank pulls the covers back, and undresses hurriedly, before he watches as Brad lies down on the cool linen. Hank shifts and straddles Brad's waist, deliberately lining their cocks up side-by-side. Brad's cock twitches as he feels the heat coming off of Hank in waves. Hank leaned over Brad, resting his hands on the pillows by Brad's head. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Brad's forehead.
"Brad," Hank said quietly. His lips pressed kisses down Brad's cheek to his jaw, and he traced his tongue over the shell of Brad's ear. Brad clenched his hands into fists as Hank ground down and into his erection with his own.
"Shit," Brad gasped, and he heard as Hank laughed. Brad's cock throbbed, and he squirmed under Hank. He felt Hank's tongue as it slid over his neck, down his chest.
"More," Brad said.
"You want more?" Hank asked, teeth nipping at Brad's bottom lip.
"God, yes. Come on, Hank, what are you waiting for?"
Hank ground hard against Brad. Listened as Brad moaned and gripped at Hank's arm. Hank slid a hand down Brad's heated skin, his fingers curling around Brad's length, stroked him in a long, steady glide.
"That's just … Oh, fuck, Hank, yes."
"I love it when you're like this," Hank muttered, stroking Brad's length as he spoke.
Brad felt as the bed shifted, and watched as Hank grabbed something from the drawer. There was a small clicking noise, and then Hank was back, his hand closing over Brad's dick again.
Brad gasped as he felt the slick slide over his length. "Hank …"
"Shh."
Brad was dizzy, lost to the feel of Hank's hand on his dick, the way Hank's fingers slid behind his balls and traced his entrance.
"Fuck," Brad moaned, and felt his hips buck as Hank rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth between Brad's cheeks.
"Do you want me to touch you?" Hank breathed, and coaxed Brad's legs further apart.
Brad could only whimper and he tilted his pelvis towards Hank. "Please. Touch me. I want to feel you."
"Really?" Hank asked. "Because, I've been dying to feel you …" He paused and slowly slipped just the tip of his index finger into Brad. "On the inside," he finished, before he slid the rest of his finger inside.
Brad pleaded incoherently, begged, ground his hips down in an effort to create more friction between Hank's finger and his ass.
Hank shifted, adding another finger, while his other hand stroked Brad hard, and swift. Brad sobbed and ground down on Hank's finger, voice pleading with Hank. Promising he would do whatever Hank asked.
His fingers pumped in and out Brad's body, his mouth pressed against Brad's ear whispered words of promise, words Brad was lost to as the pressure built, and spiralled tightly in his belly.
"Please, Hank. Fuck me, please."
Hank immediately stopped what he was doing, before he sat up and reached over to the nightstand again. When he comes back, he has the small square foil packet in his hand.
"You sure?" he asks, sitting back on his heels to tug the corner of the foil.
Brad manages to get up into a sitting position, and plucks the condom from Hank's grasp. He throws it away, and presses a finger to Hank's lips as Hank starts to protest.
"No condom this time. I want to feel you." Brad grips Hank's dick, and slides his hand along the length. "All of you." He presses a kiss to the side of Hank's lips. "Please, Hank," he begs, feeling the hesitation in Hank. "Fuck me like you did the first time."
Hank pushed Brad so he was laying against the bed again. "Not exactly like the first time. The first time was about making you forget. This time I don't want you forgetting anything."
Hank slicked his fingers with more lube, and smeared some on his length. Brad feels as Hank slides two fingers into him, his fingers scissoring him open, prepping him. He trembles, gasping out Hank's name.
"Shh, Brad, it's okay. Shh."
The initial press of Hank's cock felt imposing for a second, and then as he slid past the initial rings of muscle, Brad finally let out his breath in a low whoosh. It had been a while since they had done this, but eventually Brad felt his body open to Hank's, his internal walls clenching tightly around Hank's erection.
Brad swore he bit his bottom lip in half as Hank's length pushed and stroked over his prostate.
"Brad … Brad … Jag älskar dig," Hank breathes, as he begins to move, one hand braced on the mattress, the other catching Brad's and interlacing their fingers.
Brad shuddered beneath Hank, utterly bereft of speech at Hank's omission. He trembled beneath Hank, murmured nonsensical things against Hank's skin. He felt like he was drowning alive. And, Brad let the tide carry him away.
Hank's mouth was at the hollow in Brad's throat, as he thrust. He was gasping and moaning in a mixture of English and Swedish on every thrust. Brad was dizzy.
Eventually, Hank moved one of Brad's legs onto his shoulder, and continued his thrusting.
Brad reached a hand up, fingers running over the planes of Hank's chest, before he felt Hank suck his index finger into his mouth. He pumped faster, longer, and harder into Brad's body. It was starting to become too much.
"Hank," Brad panted, as he moved to meet Hank's thrusts. "I'm so fucking … close."
Hank reached a hand out to circle around Brad, his strokes matching his thrusts.
"Fuck, Hank, you feel so damned good … Oh, fuck, shit …"
"Come with me," Hank said, "I want to feel you come with me." His eyes met Brad's. "Together."
"Oh, fuck, that's what I want," Brad moaned. "Come inside me, Hank. Please."
Hank stripped Brad's cock mercilessly, watched as Brad's eyes went wide, his mouth open in a silent cry, as he came apart in his hand. Hank felt Brad's hot seed spill over his hand as he finally let go and came.
"Fuck, Brad," he gasped, before collapsing against him.
It takes Hank a few moments before he speaks. He lies on his side, eyes Brad intently, as he runs a hand down his torso. "Jag älskar dig."
Brad rolls onto his side, presses a kiss to Hank's forehead, breathes in deeply, surrounds himself with Hank. "Hank …"
Hank presses a finger to Brad's lips. "You don't have to say anything."
Brad blinks away tears. "I'm sorry."
Hank shifts closer, curls an arm around Brad. "Stanna hos mig för alltid."
"Okay," Brad breathes against Hank's chest. "I will."
They fall asleep with their fingers intertwined.
-x-
- Adieu - Farewell
- C'est juste toi et moi, ce soir - It's just you and me, tonight
- Stanna hos mig för alltid - Stay with me forever
Fourteenth in the Hide the Night-verse
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title from the E.E. Cummings poem of the same name.
Warnings: Google translated Swedish and French, mild dirty talk, masturbation, comeplay, barebacking
One's Not Half Two. It's Two are Halves of One
Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
People should know when they are conquered ...
One's Not Half Two. It's Two are Halves of One
They closed out their regular season against the Capitals earlier. A four to one loss. The mood around the locker room was a mixed bag. Some were disappointed with the loss. Others were glad to have a few extra days off before they started their Playoff run.
He had gathered his equipment and gone home, where he all but collapsed in his bed. Brad hoped he could at least have a few restful hours of sleep, but almost as soon as his eyes shut he knew it was just wishful thinking on his part.
Brad doesn't think this is reality. He thinks it still feels like a dream. Because, really, there was no way he would be having this many sleepless nights over that one phone call from Vinny from nearly two weeks ago.
Except, he can still hear his phone ringing, and the white noise for a few moments before Vinny said, 'Hi'.
He had been standing by his window, looking out at the streets of New York.
It was getting late. The sky dark, the streets dimly lit. The light filters into his apartment, spilling over his feet, and across the carpet. He finds for a moment he cannot breathe. Brad wants to open a window to see if that would help, but the air is still, and he knows opening a window won't matter.
Vinny's voice on the other end of the line sounds louder than Brad thinks it should. It sounds like a hymn, a call to the dead.
"Hi," Vinny says.
"Hey," Brad says, voice hoarse.
"I'm sitting on my couch watching the highlights from the games last night. You got a playoff spot."
"We did." Brad wonders why his heart is beating so loudly against his chest. "You calling to congratulate me?"
"I - are you alone?"
"Yes." Brad rakes his fingers through his hair, stares down at the still busy New York streets. "Why?"
"I thought maybe you might be with someone else. Or out celebrating."
Brad's mind flits briefly to Hank, and the bar from last night after their win. He slides his eyes to the couch, can almost see his and Hank's bodies still on the couch. The way he kissed Hank, and slid onto his lap. Begging for Hank to kiss him. The look in Hank's eyes as he finally stopped what they were doing …
"Once," was Hank's reply to Brad's question of whether Hank had ever loved someone so much it hurt to breathe when they weren't there.
"You still there, Brad?"
Brad forces his thoughts away from Hank, and tries to focus on the conversation with Vinny. "Celebrated last night." Brad sighs, and leans his forehead against the cool glass of his window. "You called me just to ask me that, Vinny?"
"I miss you."
"No you don't."
Vinny chuckles. The sound slips over Brad's skin like silk. He shivers despite himself. "You remember when we won the Cup in 2004?"
"Sure. You don't just forget something like that."
"It was like living the dream," Vinny whispers, voice low and rough. "Now, you're getting the chance to live the dream again, and I'm here. In Tampa. Picturing you fucking someone else."
"I'm -" Brad squeezes his eyes shut, his mind swirling with memories of the last time he was with Hank. "I'm not with anyone. Anymore."
The silence is deafening. Brad thinks Vinny has hung up on him. He is about to say his name when Vinny says, "Not even Henrik?"
Brad hesitates a beat too long. "I don't …"
"It's okay, Brad."
Brad bites his bottom lip, closes his eyes. "I can't tell y -"
"Brad." Vinny sighs again, the sound is sensual and languorous. "Do you remember last summer -"
"Vinny, don't."
Vinny laughs. Brad hears a rustle of fabric, and he thinks Vinny is switching positions on his couch. "You came over to see me shortly after the loss to Boston in the Eastern Conference Finals. Caroline was gone for the day. We spent the afternoon sitting by the pool, sipping beers, and …"
"You told me you were taking your honeymoon with Caroline finally," Brad said, finality in his tone.
"There was that too," Vinny agreed. "But do you remember how I made you come three times that night?"
Brad's heart was racing. He swallows heavily. He can still taste the tang of chlorine on his tongue as Vinny moved over him, the Tampa sun beating down on their forms. He couldn't get the taste of Vinny out of his mouth for weeks after that. It's there. It lingers. Like rich, dark chocolate as it slips over his tongue. Heavy. Dark. Rich. Like he imagines the aftertaste of chocolate would taste.
The funny thing is … Brad hates chocolate.
"I made you come three times then. The first time your cock was in my mouth. You smelled like pool water, and sunscreen. I couldn't get enough of you …"
"Vinny," Brad snapped. "You need to -"
"I still had a trace of your come on my tongue when I kissed you afterwards. You had your hand on my dick shortly after. I told you to make me come, and how you were going too slow. I was … utterly consumed by you."
"Vinny, stop."
"Come on, Brad," Vinny urges. "I know you miss me. It's why you keep coming back to Tampa in the off-season."
Brad grips the window ledge in an effort to stop himself from collapsing. He can't think. He wants to tell Vinny he's right. That he always comes back to Tampa because he still held out hope for them, but …
"Is that why you called me on your honeymoon?" he whispers to Vinny.
Vinny chuckles. "I had to hear your voice then."
Brad lets his eyes flutter close. "Is that why you always call me?"
Silence.
"I … I need you in my life."
Brad bites his lip. "Need or want?"
"I don't … why do you want to know?"
"Answer the question, Vinny."
Brad can hear Vinny as he inhales deeply, and exhales. "Je vais t'aimer toujours,"
He feels it hit him like a ton of bricks, and Brad slumps against the window, gripping his phone tightly.
"You said that to me when you called during your honeymoon," he whispers sadly.
"I know," Vinny replies. "I meant it."
Brad can't move from his spot on the floor. His phone gripped tightly in his hand, as he stares at the floor, trying desperately to bring the carpet back into focus, but he finds he is unable to move. He listens as Vinny continues to talk.
"I … I don't know what else -"
"Need or want, Vinny?" Brad manages to choke out. He's not sure why he needs Vinny to answer the question. He already knows what the answer is going to be. And, Brad isn't sure what is killing him more. Knowing what Vinny's answer will be, or wanting him to actually say it aloud. Christ, maybe he really was a masochist.
"I don't know," Vinny chokes out.
Brad wants to throw his phone against the wall. Instead, he sits on his apartment floor, phone gripped in his hand as the phone line goes silent.
He isn't sure how long the line stays silent. He knows Vinny has not hung up the phone; he can still hear him breathing.
"You keep your eyes open," Vinny finally says.
The sound of his voice stirs Brad from his reverie. "What?"
"Every time we're together, you keep your eyes open."
"I … I was afraid," Brad says, voice muffled, his tone holding back tears.
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid I'd …" he takes the phone away from his ear, holds it against his chest, feeling his chest as it tightens. "Afraid I'd …" he tries again. "I can't …" He nearly bites his lip in half as he feels his world tilt on its axis. He wonders if this is what it feels like when the rug is finally yanked out from someone. "It's late. I have an early start tomorrow."
“Le cœur a ses raisons," Brad hears Vinny say.
And, for the first time in a long time, he can't, and doesn't want to say Que la raison ne connaît pas back to him.
"Brad?"
"Hm?"
"I want to hear you say it."
"Adieu," Brad says, before he disconnects the phone.
-x-
Brad bolts upright in his bed, hair damp, and gasping for air. The last vestiges of the phone conversation with Vinny fleeing from his mind.
People should know when they're conquered …
You know where to find me …
He cradles his head in his hands, lets his elbows rest on his knees. Lets Hank's words float through his mind. Knows Hank has been making good on his promise to stay out of his life. Waiting until Brad figured everything out.
I hear the beginning is a pretty good place to start.
Brad wonders if Hank knows the beginning always sucks. Middles really aren't any different though. Partly because the middle is where things can get so fucked up, because it's usually the middle that stays with someone. It can distort the beginning. Make it seem like the beginning never existed, so the middle is the only part one remembers. And, the end … well, Brad is sure the end sucks too. Because, he is quite sure people spend time at the end trying desperately to go back to the middle, or even the beginning. Try to rearrange the pieces so the end will fit with the one already built up in the memory.
Trouble is, the reality is so much worse and no matter how many pieces that are rearranged, sometimes it makes no difference.
Except, maybe this time it was not really the end.
Brad kicks off the sheets, dresses quickly, and grabs his keys from the entrance hall table.
-x-
There is a steady stream of rain hitting his windows as he kills his engine, and stares at the apartment building. He taps his steering wheel nervously. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe this would not go as he expected it to. Brad closes his eyes, grips the steering wheel as he calms his thoughts.
You already know what it is you want, he thinks.
Don't be stupid. Don't wait. Don't stop. Don't over think. Don't …
He grits his teeth, before he grips his door handle and opens the door. Brad grabs his keys, locks the car, before he hurries towards the doors, not caring he was getting absolutely soaking wet by the rain.
He is recognized by the doorman, and he races for the bank of elevators, and punches in the floor number. Brad steps from the elevator, and doesn't stop his hurried pace until he is standing in front of the door. He reaches a trembling hand out, curls his hand into a fist and bangs on the door.
-x-
Hank was restless. The loss did not sit well with him, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The only thing he could do was look towards their opening Playoff game. The Ottawa Senators were their opponents.
He was aimlessly flipping channels, when he heard the knock on his door. He got to his feet and went to answer it.
Hank was half-surprised by the sight of a thoroughly soaked Brad, looking half-dazed, and trembling.
"Brad?" Hank's chest tightens almost immediately when Brad slowly raises his eyes to him. "God, you're soaking wet. What's wrong?"
Brad lets Hank pull him inside. He blinks dazedly as he takes in the warmth of Hank's entrance. Lets his eyes flit around his surroundings. He hasn't been here that much, but he knows the layout pretty well. He still can't bring himself to move.
He slips out of his jacket, grips his phone in his hand, and stares at in disdain before he throws it down on top of his jacket. "Vinny called me about two weeks ago," he whispers, not taking his eyes off the phone.
Hank hovers near Brad. Near enough to reach a hand out to him, but not near enough to spook him. He crosses his arms across his chest. More out of an effort to keep his hands busy though.
"You came all the way here to tell me that?"
Brad shakes his head, but continues to stare at the floor. "He wanted to talk. Wanted to congratulate me. He asked me if I was still with you."
"What'd you tell him?"
"We weren't anymore."
Brad is so pale, so fragile-looking, it takes Hank's breath away. Finally, he reaches a hand out, lets his fingers graze Brad's arm. "Brad," he whispers.
"Let me talk!" Brad says, his tone forceful. It halts all the words Hank has and is ready to say.
"He told me he needed me in his life. I asked him if it was because he needed me in his life, or if it was because he wanted me …"
Finally, Brad lifts his eyes to stare at Hank. His eyes look haunted. "He told me he didn't know."
Hank reaches his hands out, frames Brad's face with his hands, turns Brad's face to his. "Brad," he tries.
Brad grips Hank's arm tightly. "I keep my eyes open during sex. All the time."
"What?"
He leans in to Hank, presses his lips to the hollow in the base of Hank's throat. "I couldn't … I couldn't bring myself to tell Vinny why I do. Why I always do …"
Hank's voice was calm, his tone soothing. The sounds moved through Brad's veins like electricity. He was glad he could not look at Hank at this moment. He didn't trust himself enough yet. He had to get through this admission. Tears filled his eyes, dissolving Hank and his surroundings to a vapid shimmery glow.
"I don't close my eyes when I'm with someone I … someone I care about. I can't close my eyes because I'm afraid I'll miss something. And, I can't miss anything. I used to think it was a way to stay connected with Vinny. With you. With every person who's ever mattered."
And, finally, Brad crumbles. He was trembling. He felt feverish. Cold one moment, and scorching the next. He was dizzy.
"Brad, Brad, Brad," Hank's voice was gentle. Running over him in waves, his hand on his back running down his spine causing Brad to shiver.
Brad leaned his head away from Hank's chest to stare up at him. His hands were fisted in Hank's shirt front.
"You told me 'people should know when they're conquered'."
"I also said if you had to ask me that that you would never -"
"That I would never know," Brad finished. He swallowed heavily. "Well, what if I told you that the moment Vinny said he didn't know was the moment I knew what you meant? That all I could think about for the past two weeks is whether that was the moment when I knew I was conquered. Is that enough for you?"
Brad couldn't help it, he felt the tears spill out from his eyes, and his face crumpled. "Fuck, Hank, I don't … I can't …"
"Shh," Hank whispered, pulling Brad against him again. "It's okay. I know. It'll be okay."
"It won't be." Brad stared at Hank. "Don't you get it, Hank? Don't you see? Every time it's mattered, he's … Vinny's left me. Do you know why I took the Rangers offer?"
"You said it was a great experience to play in New York. That you were excited to play for an Original six team."
Brad shakes his head. "I got offers from Calgary, LA, Toronto, even Tampa Bay. I could have gone back to Tampa, but I didn't. Do you know why I picked New York?"
Hank shook his head.
"I took the offer in New York because I needed the distance. It was the first decision I ever made without thinking about how it would affect my relationship with Vinny. Don't you get it, Hank? It's the one time I … I left him."
Brad felt all his composure leave him with that confession, and he could do nothing except grip Hank's shirt, and let Hank pull him close again.
"Brad, shh. Brad, it's okay. Jag tror att jag älskar dig."
"What does it mean?"
Hank bit his bottom lip, kissed the top of Brad's hair, before he inhaled deeply and pushed Brad away so he was at arm's length. He stared at Brad, took in his features, his haunted expression. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest, as he swallowed heavily, and as he brushed the hair out of Brad's eyes, he finally answered Brad's question. "Jag tror att jag älskar dig … I think I love you."
It was his eyes that caused Brad to freeze, while Hank tucked his index finger and thumb under Brad's chin. His expression was tender, his eyes sympathetic. Brad could not tear his eyes away from the way the hair fell into his eyes, the way Hank's expression was intense, and unreadable.
Brad was dizzy almost as soon as he felt Hank's lips touch his. God, Hank kissed like a house on fire. The heat, the urgency, was like flames licking the sides of a house. Brad swayed against him.
Hank was tender, and he moved slowly, as if he was afraid Brad would turn and run. But, Brad could feel his desire. From the way, Hank's fingers were tangled in his hair, to the urgent way he parted Brad's mouth with his tongue. Brad had never been kissed like this before. No one had ever kissed him the way Hank was now. It made him dizzy.
When Hank finally broke the kiss, Brad whimpered, fisted his hands tighter in Hank's shirt front. He half-thought Hank was going to stop this now, and ask him to leave. He couldn't bear it if he did. He leaned in again, but Hank shook his head and jerked his head away.
"Please," Brad whimpered, "Hank, please."
Hank traced a finger down Brad's cheek, his stunningly blue eyes never leaving Brad's. "I want to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"Do you want this? Do you want me?"
Brad laughs, the sound half-strangled as he presses against Hank. "You know the answer to that. How can you even ask me that? Don't you know?"
Hank's lips twitch as he leans in and brushes his lips over Brad's quickly. Listens as Brad whimpers at the contact. "I need to hear you say it. Before this goes any further."
Brad leans his head to the side slightly, eyes Hank intently. "Why's this so important to you?"
"Because this isn't like the first time, when it was about taking care of you. About making you forget. It's not just one night this time. If I touch you again, if I take your clothes off again, I'm not letting you go. This isn't over when the morning light comes."
"C'est juste toi et moi, ce soir," Brad mumbles.
Hank is still, eyeing Brad intently. Waiting for him to make the next move. Eventually, Brad curls his arms around Hank's neck, tilts his head up towards him, and stares directly at Hank.
"I'm sure. I want this. I want you. Please, Hank. Please."
Hank laughed, and any last minute hesitation he may have had was gone, as he folded Brad into his arms, and touched his lips to his again.
Brad slides a hand between their bodies, presses his fingers to the thick, pulsing bulge at Hank's groin. "I'm sorry," he whispers, feeling as Hank arched up into his exploring fingers. "Sorry. So sorry."
"For what?"
"For not realizing sooner, for having to ask you what you - oh, fuck, Hank, yes, touch me again."
Hank had managed to get the fly on Brad's jeans undone, and his hand was gripping Brad through his open fly. "Come with me," he whispered, before taking Brad by the hand and leading him to the bedroom.
Hank presses Brad up against the wall, his hands busily sneak under Brad's shirt, rakes his nails over the thin skin at Brad's hips, listens as Brad's breath hitches. He slides Brad's shirt up and over his head, before he shoves a knee between Brad's legs, and pushes up with his leg, feeling as Brad's cock pulsed against his thigh.
Hank managed to maneuver their bodies so he could roll his hips against Brad, his cock rubbing against his.
"Fucking hell," Brad muttered, digging his fingers into Hank's back.
"We're just getting started," Hank promised, grinding his hips against Brad one more time before he slid his tongue over Brad's throat, his collar bone, sternum, and pectoral. He nipped at the fleshy spots on Brad's shoulder, neck, and chest.
"Jesus shit, Hank," Brad gasped, tugging on Hank's hair as Hank bit down on his nipple.
"Relax, Brad, I'm just getting stared."
Hank is on his knees soon after, mouth near Brad's groin. He licks at the fly of Brad's jeans, his eyes darting up to Brad's. Brad is watching him intently, amber eyes darkening in arousal.
"You really do," Hank muses, his mouth moving over the outline of Brad's hard cock, feeling as it strains against the fabric.
"Hm?" Brad manages to get out.
Hank's mouthing his cock again, his mouth leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Brad's jeans. Brad hears a click as Hank gets his belt and the button undone.
"Hank, please," Brad moans, and he bucks his hips in an effort to get Hank's mouth on him again.
Hank slides Brad's jeans down his legs, before he licks a slow line up Brad's leg. His breath is hot, and warm as it ghosts over Brad's still clothed dick. He slides his fingers over the outline of Brad's cock through the thin cotton of his briefs, eyes watching Brad intently.
"God, Hank … just … please … touch me, please."
Hank shifts on his knees, before he presses a kiss to Brad's hip, his hands coming up to grip the elastic of Brad's briefs. He slides them down Brad's legs, before his lips are on Brad's skin again. He dips his tongue slightly into Brad's navel, smirks against Brad's hip as he hears him whimper and fist his fingers in his hair.
"Brad," Hank whispers against his hipbone. "Brad, Brad, Bradley …"
Brad is dizzy, his legs shaking at trying to keep himself standing. He swallows heavily, looks down at the crown of Hank's head, watches as Hank's tongue darts out to lick across the head of his cock.
"Shit," Brad gasps, his hips involuntarily bucking forward.
Hank gently grasped Brad's cock with one hand and lined up his mouth with the head. "You do keep your eyes open the whole time," he remarked. And, without giving Brad time to respond, Hank wrapped his lips around Brad's cock. He relaxed his throat on his slide down Brad's length, and his nose touched hair, as his lips touched the steadying hand he still had on Brad's cock.
"Fucking shit, Hank," Brad managed. The fingers of one of his hands digging painfully into Hank's hair.
Hank pulled back before he bobbed forward and set an absolutely maddening rhythm on Brad's cock. His hand working the parts of Brad's flesh his mouth couldn't reach, his fingers brushing over Brad's balls, as his lips continued to slide over his length.
Brad's voice was mangled. All he could manage was a strangled groan as he sweated, and panted above Hank. Hank had his hand on his own cock, was stroking himself faster and faster, watched as Brad's grip tightened, his head falling forward as he groaned.
Hank sucked and pressed his tongue to the underside of Brad's cock, feeling as Brad pulsed against his lips.
"Motherfucking fuck," Brad said softly. "Hank … I'm …" His eyes went wide as he felt his orgasm approaching. "I'm going to - Hank -"
Hank pulled back at the last moment, worked Brad's cock with his fist. "Come for me, Brad."
Brad's hands clawed at the wall, his legs shaking and nearly giving out on him as he came. Hank felt as Brad's come hit his cheek, and lips. He closed his mouth over the head of Brad's dick, milking every last drop from him, listened to Brad's uneven breathing. It was enough to make Hank forget to hold on a moment longer, and he came, his forehead pressed against Brad's thigh. Hank felt Brad's hand pressing against his head, his breathing as it began to slow.
Hank shakily gets to his feet then, and gathers Brad into his arms. "Jag älskar dig," he whispers against Brad's ear.
Brad pulls back slightly to look at Hank.
"I love you," Hank replies upon seeing all the questions in Brad's gaze. He backs up slowly, hands gripping Brad's, urging him to follow. "Come to bed, Bradley. We've got the night."
Hank pulls the covers back, and undresses hurriedly, before he watches as Brad lies down on the cool linen. Hank shifts and straddles Brad's waist, deliberately lining their cocks up side-by-side. Brad's cock twitches as he feels the heat coming off of Hank in waves. Hank leaned over Brad, resting his hands on the pillows by Brad's head. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Brad's forehead.
"Brad," Hank said quietly. His lips pressed kisses down Brad's cheek to his jaw, and he traced his tongue over the shell of Brad's ear. Brad clenched his hands into fists as Hank ground down and into his erection with his own.
"Shit," Brad gasped, and he heard as Hank laughed. Brad's cock throbbed, and he squirmed under Hank. He felt Hank's tongue as it slid over his neck, down his chest.
"More," Brad said.
"You want more?" Hank asked, teeth nipping at Brad's bottom lip.
"God, yes. Come on, Hank, what are you waiting for?"
Hank ground hard against Brad. Listened as Brad moaned and gripped at Hank's arm. Hank slid a hand down Brad's heated skin, his fingers curling around Brad's length, stroked him in a long, steady glide.
"That's just … Oh, fuck, Hank, yes."
"I love it when you're like this," Hank muttered, stroking Brad's length as he spoke.
Brad felt as the bed shifted, and watched as Hank grabbed something from the drawer. There was a small clicking noise, and then Hank was back, his hand closing over Brad's dick again.
Brad gasped as he felt the slick slide over his length. "Hank …"
"Shh."
Brad was dizzy, lost to the feel of Hank's hand on his dick, the way Hank's fingers slid behind his balls and traced his entrance.
"Fuck," Brad moaned, and felt his hips buck as Hank rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth between Brad's cheeks.
"Do you want me to touch you?" Hank breathed, and coaxed Brad's legs further apart.
Brad could only whimper and he tilted his pelvis towards Hank. "Please. Touch me. I want to feel you."
"Really?" Hank asked. "Because, I've been dying to feel you …" He paused and slowly slipped just the tip of his index finger into Brad. "On the inside," he finished, before he slid the rest of his finger inside.
Brad pleaded incoherently, begged, ground his hips down in an effort to create more friction between Hank's finger and his ass.
Hank shifted, adding another finger, while his other hand stroked Brad hard, and swift. Brad sobbed and ground down on Hank's finger, voice pleading with Hank. Promising he would do whatever Hank asked.
His fingers pumped in and out Brad's body, his mouth pressed against Brad's ear whispered words of promise, words Brad was lost to as the pressure built, and spiralled tightly in his belly.
"Please, Hank. Fuck me, please."
Hank immediately stopped what he was doing, before he sat up and reached over to the nightstand again. When he comes back, he has the small square foil packet in his hand.
"You sure?" he asks, sitting back on his heels to tug the corner of the foil.
Brad manages to get up into a sitting position, and plucks the condom from Hank's grasp. He throws it away, and presses a finger to Hank's lips as Hank starts to protest.
"No condom this time. I want to feel you." Brad grips Hank's dick, and slides his hand along the length. "All of you." He presses a kiss to the side of Hank's lips. "Please, Hank," he begs, feeling the hesitation in Hank. "Fuck me like you did the first time."
Hank pushed Brad so he was laying against the bed again. "Not exactly like the first time. The first time was about making you forget. This time I don't want you forgetting anything."
Hank slicked his fingers with more lube, and smeared some on his length. Brad feels as Hank slides two fingers into him, his fingers scissoring him open, prepping him. He trembles, gasping out Hank's name.
"Shh, Brad, it's okay. Shh."
The initial press of Hank's cock felt imposing for a second, and then as he slid past the initial rings of muscle, Brad finally let out his breath in a low whoosh. It had been a while since they had done this, but eventually Brad felt his body open to Hank's, his internal walls clenching tightly around Hank's erection.
Brad swore he bit his bottom lip in half as Hank's length pushed and stroked over his prostate.
"Brad … Brad … Jag älskar dig," Hank breathes, as he begins to move, one hand braced on the mattress, the other catching Brad's and interlacing their fingers.
Brad shuddered beneath Hank, utterly bereft of speech at Hank's omission. He trembled beneath Hank, murmured nonsensical things against Hank's skin. He felt like he was drowning alive. And, Brad let the tide carry him away.
Hank's mouth was at the hollow in Brad's throat, as he thrust. He was gasping and moaning in a mixture of English and Swedish on every thrust. Brad was dizzy.
Eventually, Hank moved one of Brad's legs onto his shoulder, and continued his thrusting.
Brad reached a hand up, fingers running over the planes of Hank's chest, before he felt Hank suck his index finger into his mouth. He pumped faster, longer, and harder into Brad's body. It was starting to become too much.
"Hank," Brad panted, as he moved to meet Hank's thrusts. "I'm so fucking … close."
Hank reached a hand out to circle around Brad, his strokes matching his thrusts.
"Fuck, Hank, you feel so damned good … Oh, fuck, shit …"
"Come with me," Hank said, "I want to feel you come with me." His eyes met Brad's. "Together."
"Oh, fuck, that's what I want," Brad moaned. "Come inside me, Hank. Please."
Hank stripped Brad's cock mercilessly, watched as Brad's eyes went wide, his mouth open in a silent cry, as he came apart in his hand. Hank felt Brad's hot seed spill over his hand as he finally let go and came.
"Fuck, Brad," he gasped, before collapsing against him.
It takes Hank a few moments before he speaks. He lies on his side, eyes Brad intently, as he runs a hand down his torso. "Jag älskar dig."
Brad rolls onto his side, presses a kiss to Hank's forehead, breathes in deeply, surrounds himself with Hank. "Hank …"
Hank presses a finger to Brad's lips. "You don't have to say anything."
Brad blinks away tears. "I'm sorry."
Hank shifts closer, curls an arm around Brad. "Stanna hos mig för alltid."
"Okay," Brad breathes against Hank's chest. "I will."
They fall asleep with their fingers intertwined.
-x-
- Adieu - Farewell
- C'est juste toi et moi, ce soir - It's just you and me, tonight
- Stanna hos mig för alltid - Stay with me forever