[Fic: Hockey RPS] Tired and Wired, We Ruin Too Easy; NC-17
This was supposed to be drabbles, but apparently, boltschick2612 and myself are too long winded for our own good. Anyway, this started out when boltschick2612 and me were discussing what happened between our pairings of choice after 'Operation Hat Trick', and well ... it evolved into this. Three different pairings, three different lj-cuts, and of course ... the end result of a co-writing venture. Yay for co-writing! ♥
Disclaimer: So totally fake. Title from the song Apartment Story by The National. Summary from a song by The National.
Tired and Wired, We Ruin too Easy
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards, Simon Gagne/Vincent Lecavalier and Steve Downie/Steven Stamkos; NC-17
For a little while you'll be here, the only good part of me
Warnings: dirty talk, comeplay, rimming.
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards
As much fun as the game had been, Brad was more than a little happy when he entered the lobby of his hotel. He made his way for the elevators after making a few stops along the way to sign autographs, pose for pictures, and talk to the media. By the time he made it to the elevators, he was drained.
"Bradley."
The smooth voice, like honey dripping over his bones, caused him to turn his head. He looked to where Hank was slowly walking up to him. His breath caught in his throat. Even after months of them being together, the mere presence of Hank still caused his breath to catch.
He stood next to him, the mere millimetres of space separating their arms was like a charged electrical wire. Brad was almost sure he would feel the shocks course through his veins if they touched. Hank looked immaculate as always in his perfectly pressed dress pants, and expensive button down shirt. His tie was slightly loosened too. It gave him a slightly dishevelled appearance. But, if there was one thing Brad knew about Hank, it was that there was absolutely nothing dishevelled about him.
Hank smiled at him, and nodded. There was something telling in Hank's crystal-like blue eyes. Brad returned the look, doing nothing to disguise the hunger in his amber depths. Hank chuckled and stepped into the elevator.
"Coming, Bradley?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone, as he leaned back against the glass paned wall of the elevator.
Brad could hardly collect his thoughts. Could barely breathe as he followed. He watched as Hank's eyes remained assessing as he entered the elevator. His blue eyes flickered with barely contained hunger as Brad settled next to him. He could almost feel Hank's lips on his. Brad wanted to feel Hank's naked skin against his overly heated flesh. He wanted to fist his hands in his hair and watch as his mouth closed around his cock. Just thinking about the prospect of having his dick in the slick, wet heat of Hank's mouth caused a current of heat to shoot through his veins.
The doors to the elevator closed, the smell of Hank's cologne and soap assaulting his senses. The smell was … fantastic. It was the cologne Hank always wore, the generic soap from the showers, mixed with something that was just pure … Hank. It was intoxicating.
Brad was not sure how much more of this he could take. All night he had watched Hank as he smiled for the cameras. Watched as he laughed and joked with his teammates. Then he watched as Hank stripped off his gear in the locker room, the bare skin of his back tantalizing him. Brad had been unable to take his eyes off the curve of Hank's spine as he crossed the floor to head for the showers. The twinge of longing haunted Brad all throughout his shower and trip back to the hotel.
He gulped down mouthfuls of air as he thought about all the delicious possibilities that awaited them in the room. He loosened his tie, suddenly feeling like all air had left the elevator. He was dizzy, and burning up for Hank.
Before he could over think anything, he stepped away from the wall swiftly, and crushed his body against Hank's.
"Bradley," Hank said in a half-mocking tone.
"Shut up," he growled, before Hank's next words were halted by the force of Brad's mouth as they swallowed them.
Brad reached up, curling a warm hand around the back of Hank's neck, and holding him there. His lips were hot, but insistent against Hank's as they slid over his. Brad could see Hank's cheeks as they flushed.
He tasted sweet; like honey and hot, summer nights. Brad wanted to bottle it. Savour it.
Fuck, a person could get high off it.
Brad pressed his mouth against him, the low, muffled groan Hank made was knee melting. He slid his hand from the back of Hank's neck, before he slid it down the smooth expanse of Hank's throat. The breathy gasps escaping Hank's mouth caused a series of vibrations to run through Brad's veins.
Hank's hands were pressed against Brad's chest, and he wanted nothing more than to have Hank's hand venture lower. He shuddered as Hank's hands curled around his waist, drawing him closer, his hands sliding down his spine.
"Bradley," he mock chastised.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard," Brad whispered, his hands sliding lower to dig into Hank's ass.
Hank laughed, as his hand finally moved to grip him through his pants.
"Shit!" Brad gasped, biting hard on his bottom lip.
He barely realized Hank was stepping away from him, his eyes alight with amusement as he made his way towards the elevator doors, which had just currently opened.
"You're going to have a hard time doing that if you continue to stand in the elevator."
Brad moved quickly, his footsteps shadowing Hank's as he calmly made his way down the hallway.
"Don't sound so sure of yourself," Brad mumbled, as he watched Hank pull out the room key.
They had barely managed to get the hotel room door open, before Brad's hands were all over Hank. He had his hands fisted in Hank's shirt front as he shoved him back against the door. Hank laughed lightly, letting his hands slide though the damp, silky strands of Brad's hair.
"Miss me that much, hm?" Hank teased, the tip of his tongue tracing the outline of Brad's. He didn't protest when he felt Brad suck his tongue into his mouth, before he bit down lightly.
"There's more where that came from," Brad whispered in a lust laden voice.
"Show me what you've got, Bradley," Hank said, a slight hint of a dare in his tone.
"I intend to." Brad managed to get Hank's shirt untucked from his pants, before his fingers traced the hem of Hank's shirt. His amber eyes intense as they regarded Hank. "I can't wait to see you naked, with your legs spread for me on the bed. I get hard just thinking about that face you make when I'm making you come."
"Now, Bradley, I think we're going to have to do something about that mouth of yours," Hank purred, as he tugged on Brad's hair.
"I think you're right, Hank, it's not currently around your cock."
"You know the solution, then, hm?" Hank's tongue flicked out briefly to slide over Brad's lips.
Brad responded by gripping Hank's upper arms, and pulling him further into the hotel room. Hank did his part by undressing Brad hurriedly. His fingertips lingering on his biceps, and hipbones, leaving goosebumps on Brad's flesh.
When Hank felt his knees come up against the edge of the bed, he arched one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows at Brad. "Now what?"
"I think you know," Brad whispered, his voice full of delicious promise, as he finally pushed on Hank's shoulders.
Brad straddled Hank hips, and yanked his tie off. "I've waited a long time for this."
Hank reached a hand up and pushed Brad's sandy hair back from his forehead. "It looks longer than I remember," he mused.
"You gonna complain?" Brad asked, as his eyes burned into Hank's.
"Of course not," Hank said, tugging on the strands to prove his point.
"Good," Brad murmured, as he ground down against Hank, smirking as he heard the sharp intake of breath Hank made at the action.
Brad could barely make out the sounds of their ragged breathing above the roar in his ears as he finally managed to get Hank's pants undone. He slid Hank's pants down, dragging his boxer briefs along with them.
"Hank," Brad choked out, his hand curling around Hank's cock.
Hank made a noise in his throat, causing Brad's cock to twitch. He rode the wave of lust coursing through his body, as he slowly bent his head down, his lips brushing lightly over Hank's shaft. It was like velvet under the soft skin of his lips, as he pressed kiss after kiss against it. He delighted in the noises Hank made at each contact of his lips against his cock. When he eventually licked a long, languid line from the base to the tip, he felt as Hank's fingers dug into his hair.
"Relax, Hank, I'm just getting started."
He briefly came up from kneeling between Hank's spread legs to hastily help him unbutton the buttons of his shirt. Brad's fingers lingered on Hank's shoulders, before they slid down his arms, watching the way the light played over Hank's muscles.
"God, I've missed this. I've missed you …" Brad bit his lip as he kissed a trail down Hank's torso. When he licked a line across Hank's balls, he felt Hank jerk, and he listened as a harsh cry escaped his lips.
"Jesus fuck, Bradley." Brad felt as Hank's hands fisted the sheets, his eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to keep Brad's face in focus.
Brad flicked his tongue over the underside of Hank's dick, curled his fingers around the base of the shaft, as he continued to explore his rigid flesh with his tongue. "Too long … you were gone too long … dreamed about doing this," Brad mumbled nonsensically as he finally swirled his tongue once more around the base.
"Would you just … would you just fucking get on with it," Hank said through gritted teeth.
Brad chuckled, as the hand wrapped around the base of Hank's shaft held his cock in position, before his lips pressed lightly to the head. "Have it your way, Hank."
His lips covered just the head, but Brad kept his tongue away from touching Hank's dick. Hank squirmed under him, his hands finally finding their way to Brad's hair.
"Oh, motherfucking fuck," Hank groaned. "Please … fuck, Brad …"
Eventually, Brad sucked harder, his hand gently coming over to hold and roll his balls. Hank's eyes went wide, and he bucked his hips, forcing his erection further into Brad's mouth, as Brad finally pressed his tongue to him.
Hank was lost to the feel of Brad's warm hands and mouth on him, and he came with one more quick thrust of his hips up into Brad's awaiting mouth, the force of his orgasm had him gasping for air, the sensations wracking his body until he lay in a boneless heap against the sheets.
Hank's fuzzy vision cleared as he felt Brad lay his body atop him. "You taste good," Brad whispered, pressing a kiss to Hank's forehead.
Hank groaned, before he shifted beneath Brad. "My turn to show you how much I missed you," he purred. "Lie on your stomach."
Brad obliged, his heart hammering unsteadily against his ribcage, as he felt Hank lick a long, steady line down his spine. "Hank …" he began, but his speech was cut off by Hank gripping his hips, pulling back and up, forcing him to his knees.
"Spread your legs for me, Bradley," Hank whispered, hands running up and down the back of Brad's thighs.
Brad moaned, but did as instructed, his eyes staring down at the sheets. He rested on his elbows, and bit his bottom lip in anticipation as he felt the bed shift. Hank licked and nibbled a line up the backs of Brad's legs, his breath as it tickled the curve of his ass had Brad squeezing his eyes shut, and his mouth going slack.
He clenched his hands into fists, and he trembled slightly as Hank bit at the fleshy spot of his thigh. "Hank," he managed to get out.
"Shh," Hank whispered, before his index finger ran over Brad's heated opening.
Brad choked on a groan as he felt just the slick tip of Hank's index finger enter him. His legs trembled, and he swore he bit his bottom lip in half as Hank's hot breath swept over his entrance.
"Bradley …" Hank muttered, before his tongue licked across his hole.
"Oh, fuck!" Brad moaned, as he slammed his eyes shut.
Hank's tongue circled his entrance over and over again, before dipping in slightly. "So good … fuck … you're still so tight for me. So eager."
"Always," Brad gasped, and he bucked his hips involuntarily as Hank slid two fingers into him, scissoring them, opening him wider for his tongue to dip in.
Brad's cock was leaking, his pre-come sliding onto the sheets. "Fuck, Hank," he moaned, before his fingers reached down.
Using his free hand, Hank batted Brad's hand away. "You can't touch yourself just yet, Bradley."
"Hank … fuck … please … have to … have to … come …"
"You will," Hank promised, before his tongue buried itself once more into Brad's hole.
Brad's body clenched shamelessly around Hank's tongue and fingers, and he sobbed out Hank's name, and pleaded with him to let him touch his cock.
A few more swipes of his tongue, and relentless thrusting of his fingers, and Brad is boneless against the sheets. He almost doesn't realize when Hank's hand finally curls around his dick. It makes him forget to hold on a little longer, and he cries out, spilling over Hank's hand.
Brad keens as Hank slowly slips his fingers from him, before he slumps against the sheets. When he finally manages to turn over, he is greeted by Hank's amused blue eyes.
"I wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow," he says finally, wriggling his body closer to Hank.
Hank chuckled, and kissed Brad's hair. "Not until the late afternoon."
Brad raises an eyebrow, and blinks up at Hank, a mischievous grin breaking out on his face. "That, is excellent news."
Hank just laughs.
Simon Gagne/Vincent Lecavalier
Simon's hand shook slightly as he slid the key card in the hotel room door, partially from exhaustion, partially from anticipation of what lay waiting for him just past the threshold. While the game may have been for charity, and not a Stanley Cup, the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders knew no difference. Nothing sounded better than a hot shower, a cold drink, and a soft bed. Just the thought of the hot water beating down on his sore muscles, followed by the soft cotton sheets sliding over his skin was almost enough to make Simon forget where he was, and that the door's lock had clicked open a good five seconds ago.
An exhausted sigh escaped him as he slowly pushed open the door, now seemingly much heavier than it had been this afternoon, before the game. He was all but in the shower, slipping out of his jacket while simultaneously toeing off his shoes, when his cell chirped happily in his pocket. He momentarily went through the internal struggle of whether to answer it or let it ring, but in the end, he supposed it couldn't hurt to at least see who was calling. He fished the phone from his pants pocket, shot a brief glance at the caller ID on the backlit screen, and immediately answered it.
"Bonjour, mon ami, tu m'as manqué."
All thoughts of a shower and sleep vanished from Simon's mind as a familiar voice washed over him. It was a voice he hadn't heard in at least five months, and he relished in the velvety tone, absentmindedly stripping off the rest of his clothes as the voice slid over him like silk over skin.
"Simon, j'ai dû appeler."
If there had been anything other than a lazy comfort to Vincent's tone, Simon might have been worried by his words, saying he had to call, but there was no hint of urgency or emergency. There was only a serene sense of longing skirting the edges of Vincent's thick voice.
Simon slid his pants past his hips, letting them pool on the floor, as he held the phone with his free hand. Part of him did not want to set the phone down, not even for a second, for fear of not getting another chance to hear Vincent's smooth voice. He began to work on the buttons of his dress shirt. He wasn't really interested in talking, he was simply content to listen to the voice flowing over him as he continued to undress.
"So, how was the game?"
By this time, Simon had completely shed his clothing, save for his thin cotton boxers. He slowly stalked towards the bed, crawling on top of the luxurious down comforter as he formulated his answer. "It was nice to play again, nice to see some of my old teammates. Though, every time I looked at Stammer or Downie, I expected you to be not far behind. I kept thinking you were going to come skating up to me any minute."
Simon's heart raced as he heard a breathy laugh escape the other end of the line, it was a sound he had all but forgotten, and he was slightly shocked to discover the kind of hold it still had over him.
"Aww, Gags, are you getting all nostalgic on me?"
Simon let out a small laugh of his own, and moved to fit his body into a more comfortable position on the bed. He settled on resting his back against the hard wooden headboard, the surface ice cold against the hot skin of his bare back. As he reached up and ran a hand through his dark strands, he couldn't help but remember what Vince's fingers felt like raking through his hair, and his breath escaped him in a shaky sigh. Vincent broke the silence, and it was probably for the better, as Simon was rendered speechless.
"What would you have done if I was there? Right now, what would you be doing?"
Simon let his hand slide from his hair, down his face, letting his fingers skate across the skin of his stomach until his hand was resting just above the waistband of his boxers. "I don't think I have to tell you what I'd be doing right now."
"Oh, but I want you to."
Simon slid his eyes shut, and rested his head against the headboard behind him. He let his hand venture over the thin fabric of his boxers, moaning slightly as his fingers ghosted over his now rigid flesh. After a few seconds spent in bliss over his own touch, he remembered the question posed to him. "Well, I wouldn't still be wearing this, for starters."
He knew Vince couldn't see what he was referring to, but he also knew that it didn't matter, anyways. The game they were playing wasn't about what they could see, but more about what they could remember, and where their fevered minds could take them.
"Would you be kissing me?" Vincent's smooth voice flowed over Simon, and he increased the pressure his fingertips were spending over the smooth fabric of his boxers with every syllable that hit his ears.
"Mm ... yes." Simon muttered in a far off voice, which was drenched with too much lust and not enough sleep. He let his fingers trail up his body again, until they were brushing against the soft skin of his lips. He let his mind play on the sensation of Vince's lips pressed to his, and it was almost like they were.
"Are you thinking about my hand running down your body ... over your chest ... brushing down your stomach?" As Vincent's words plotted an imaginary course down Simon's body, his hand followed. His fingers skated down his chest, then trailed over every taut muscle of his abdomen, and finally came to a rest when his fingers dipped just below the waistband of his boxers. Vincent's next words came in a breathy whisper, and that was all Simon needed to let his hand venture lower, wrapping his fingers around his rigid flesh.
"I remember how you taste, how good you feel, how you tremble under my touch."
Simon held onto every thought he ever had of Vincent, the way he touched him, the way he kissed him, as his hand stroked over his sensitive skin. Every memory, every thought, every remembered nuance of Vincent brought Simon closer and closer to the edge. His world was quickly spiralling out of control, his touch and his thoughts making it all but impossible for him to breathe.
"Mon Dieu. Vince, I -" Simon gasped into the phone, his breath ragged and his heart racing. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on, but he knew he had to, he had to drag the moment out for all it was worth.
"S'ok. That's the whole reason I called. I want to hear you come, Simon."
All he had to do was think of Vincent's intense gaze, and Simon knew he could never deny Vincent of anything. Ever.
He slammed his eyes shut even tighter, the sound of Vincent's voice, pleading in it's tone and words, guiding him over the brink. Simon gave Vincent exactly what he wanted in the form of a low growl as every muscle in his body tensed, and the heat spread through his entire body.
For the space of a few moments, the only sounds in the quiet hotel room were Simon's laboured breathing as he fought for air, waiting for his world to return to normal. As the high wore thin, he suddenly became all too aware of the fact he was alone, his only tie to Vincent being the cold, impersonal plastic of the phone he briefly forgot he held.
"Vince?"
A muffled laugh came through the line. "I'm still here."
"I wish you were."
Simon couldn't help but notice a small hint of hope in Vincent's voice. "Until next time, Simon."
"Bonsoir, Vince."
Steve Downie/Steven Stamkos
The elevator ride up to the 26th floor of the hotel started out as a quiet one, only owed to the fact that both of them were far too tired for idle conversation. Steven was dead on his feet, the wall behind him being the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor. He was resting against the right wall, eyes closed, the dull mechanical whir and light Christmas music flowing through the speakers lulling him into a daze. If he had been more coherent, more awake, he might have been able to feel Steve's eyes burning into his skin, his gaze hadn't left Steven's body since the second they stepped into the elevator. He had taken to leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes dragging over Steven's body. Somewhere around the third floor, Steve broke the silence, jolting Steven and sending his eyes flying open.
"So, my room or yours?" Steve let out a small, gravely laugh before shaking his head in amusement and adding "I can't believe they gave each player a separate room, anyways."
Steven was still trying to clear the fog from his brain, and it took him a few seconds to process Steve's words.
"Well, it's not like they know that we're -" Steven started, before stopping himself short to let a smile play across his lips. "Besides, who said anything about sleeping together?"
Steve filled the air with a hearty laugh, hanging his head as his body shook with laughter. "Oh, come on, you were thinking about it all night. That's probably why we lost, anyway. You were too preoccupied. What kind of sixty goal scorer doesn't score a single goal in a charity game?"
Steven let an irritated look cross his face, but the truth was, he was only using it as a cover, because he didn't want to tell Steve he was right. He had been thinking about being with Steve all night. He could not seem to get the intense need to be close to him out of his mind. Every breath he took was spent trying not to think of Steve's lips skating over his bare skin, and the fire that flashed in Steve's dark brown eyes every time he came apart.
How Steven managed to become such a prolific goal scorer with Steve constantly within arms reach was beyond him.
Steve shot his dark eyes to meet the icy blue of Steven's, mischief and laughter dancing within his intense orbs. From the outside, all the back and forth shared between Steven and Steve might be exhausting, even irritating, but they were both well aware of what it really was. The constant banter and insults thrown each other's way was nothing more than their own brand of foreplay, which both of them were more than up for.
Steven's lips curled into a sly smile. "Oh, I could have showed them my usual brand of awesomeness, but I didn't want to make you look bad by paling in comparison."
Steve let out a small, sideways smirk, and pushed himself off the wall behind him. He started to slowly stalk towards Steven, shuffling his feet loudly over the carpet. Steven swallowed hard, wondering what exactly Steve could have in mind, and he briefly thought how this might just be the slowest elevator ride of his life, but he wasn't even close to complaining.
He was too busy staring at the intense fire flashing in Steve's eyes, and he almost didn't notice Steve quickly push one of the buttons among the shiny row of lighted circles by the elevator door, wasn't even sure he had, until he felt the elevator jerk to a stop. Steven blinked, and before he knew it, Steve was imposing upon his space, their faces almost touching and his hand resting against the wall behind Steven's head. A sly smile curled around the corners of Steve's lips, and he lazily ran the fingers of his free hand along Steven's arm, nearly distracting him from his words.
"First, 'awesomeness' isn't even a word. Second, you were thinking about me. All night."
Steve dipped his head down, touching his nose to Steven's, and ran his tongue along Steven's lower lip. He never broke contact, never pulled away, as he started to pick at the hem of Steven's shirt. His words washed over Steven, low and full of want, as he slid his hand under the thin cotton shirt and raked his nails over Steven's chest.
"You were thinking about what you would do to me once we were alone."
Steve's fingers trailed their way back down Steven's chest, stealing the air from his lungs.
"You were imagining my hands all over you." Steve whispered against Steven's lips, his hand sliding to the front his pants, feeling him through the rough fabric. He increased the pressure of his palm over the denim, the heat radiating through the fabric as he hovered his face above Steven's, taking in a shallow breath for each ragged one Steven exhaled.
"Anticipating how it would feel to have your soft lips around my throbbing ..." Steve stopped himself short, letting the half formed sentence hang in the air between them. Another breathy laugh pushed past his lips. "Can't give it all away up front, can I?"
Steven's head was spinning, and he was starting to find it as hard to think as it was to breath. His words escaped him in a breathless whisper. "I was not ..."
"You can't lie to me, blondie. I know you like the back of my hand." Steve trailed his fingers up to the top button of Steven's pants, and slipped his hand past the waist band, letting it venture lower and lower until his fingers were wrapped around Steven's heated, rigid flesh. The sensations coursing through him were quickly becoming too much for Steven, his knees grew weaker with each stroke of Steve's fingers over his sensitive skin. If it weren't for the wall behind him, he would have crumpled to the floor under Steve's touch. It was all he could do to let out a choked, pleading gasp.
"Fucking shit, Downs, just get us to the room already."
The hand resting against the wall was fisted in Steven's flaxen coloured strains before he could react. Steven swallowed heavily as images of Steve's mouth closing around his cock assaulted his mind. And, oh … was it just him, or was it absolutely boiling in the elevator?
"What's the matter, kitten?" Steve started, leaning his head down slightly to nuzzle his nose against the side of Steven's neck. "Cat got your tongue?"
"Fucking hell, Downs, stop fucking around and get us to the fucking room, already," Steven said through gritted teeth.
"Now, now, kitten, patience is a virtue," Steve teased, as he ran the tip of his tongue across the shell of Steven's ear. "I know you're just dying to blow me, blondie." Steve licked a long, languid line down Steven's throat. "You've been thinking about it the whole night."
"Ngh. Don't flatter yourself, Downs."
Steve chuckled, the hand tangled in Steven's hair finally coming down to the back of his neck, before he hauled Steven's mouth to his. Steven's eyes went wide as Steve's hot, but insistent lips slid over his. He whimpered, his fist tugging on Steve's hair, as he ground his hips shamelessly against him.
"If you don't get us to the room soon, I will not be held responsible for what I do to you in this elevator," Steven ground out as he pushed on Steve's chest.
Steve's hand tightened in Steven's hair, and he felt a current of heat shoot through his system as Steven let out a moan. Fuck, that noise was enough to give him a hard on that would last a week. He tilted Steven's head slightly, his mouth coming down to nip at the pale, creamy column of exposed skin he had just uncovered. He tasted sweet, like sugar and cream. Steve couldn't get enough. He was starved for him.
Eventually, the hand he had down the front of Steven's jeans was withdrawn, as it wandered down to the curve of Steven's ass. His name escaped Steven's lips in that instant, and it was enough to make him want to throw Steven down onto the carpeted floor of the elevator and fuck him until they were both raw.
Steve had both his hands digging into Steven's ass before he lifted him up. Steven gasped when he felt his spine connect with the glass paned wall. "Fucking shit, Downs."
Steve tugged Steven's legs apart, and he hauled his mouth to his, as Steven's arms tightened around his neck, and he shoved his legs apart. Steve had his hands under Steven's ass then, holding him against him as he ground hard against him.
"You were saying, kitten?" Steve managed to get out as Steven's hands took to doing a little of their own exploring.
Steven's fingers were spread across Steve's chest as he ran them down the length of his chest. He shuddered when the digits skimmed over his abdomen, and then moved even lower until he was gripping him through his jeans.
"If you keep this up, blondie, I'm gonna ruin these jeans." Steve bit down on his bottom lip in an effort to regain some semblance of control, his eyes slamming shut as colours exploded around his vision. Steven's grip on him tightened, and he was panting, the little bursts of air tickling Steve's lower lip.
Taking advantage of Steve's momentary distraction, Steven slid down the wall of the elevator before he sidled over to the row of buttons. He pressed the start button on the pad before he finally released Steve from his grasp. The lights flickered, and the elevator started up again.
When the elevator dinged on their floor, Steven slid his blue eyes - now alight with mischievousness and barely contained hunger - to Steve. "Time to finish what we started in there."
He had just finished adjusting his clothes, before he stepped from the elevator. He winked at Steve. "Coming, Downs?"
The double meaning behind Steven's words only served to fuel Steve's desire even further, and he followed after Steven as they all but raced down the hall to the room.
Steven wasted no time once they were inside to pin Steve against the wall.
"Why, kitten, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me," Steve teased.
"Shut up," Steven ordered, before kissing him. His hands slid down to Steve's shoulders, pinning him to the wall.
Steven shoved his leg between Steve's, his knee creating a delicious friction against the denim of his jeans. Steve moaned, his hand tightening to the point of pain in Steven's flaxen coloured strands.
Before his fevered mind could figure out out what to do next, Steve felt as his shirt was dragged up and over his head. Steven dropped to his knees in the next instant, his heated mouth pressing open mouthed kisses along Steve's hipbones. Steven's hands set about unbuttoning Steve's jeans, unzipping the zip, his hands dragging Steve's jeans and boxers down his legs, until they were bunched around his ankles.
Steve grabbed Steven's head then, his fingers fisting the strands. "You're such a prick tease," he growled, watching as Steven's tongue darted out to lick along the head of his dick, before he swallowed him deep. Steve moaned, and thrust his hips slightly. "You want me to fuck your mouth, hm? Is that what you want?"
Steven moaned in response, the vibrations sending an electric current straight to Steve's balls. He held Steven's head steady, as he fucked his mouth slowly. Steve guided Steven's head as he muttered obscenely dirty things to him. He increased the pace slightly, his eyes staring down into Steven's marble blue ones, before his eyes slid to where Steven's lips were stretched around his cock. That sight alone almost causing him to come.
"Come on, Steven," Steve urged, fingers sliding through the damp strands of Steven's hair, "I can't have all the fun."
Steven finally cottoned on to what Steve was saying, and he reached down with his free hand, his fingers sneaking past the fly of his jeans. Steve chuckled and thrust his hips again for good measure. He watched as Steven started to jerk himself off.
"Oh, shit, yes, blondie, keep doing that … fuck …" Steve's tone is gravely, his hips thrusting hard, his eyes watching Steven's expression the whole time.
Steven is utterly surrounded by Steve. The low hitch his voice makes as it grinds out his name. The smell of his soap, and cologne. His jaw aches, his cock hard enough to cut glass, but he can't think of anything else except the way Steve fucks his mouth.
"Steven … fucking hell … Steven …" Steve thrusts his hips once more, letting out a low groan as he comes.
Steve's come hits the back of Steven's throat, which is enough to make him forget to hold on a bit longer, and he comes, shuddering and groaning Steve's name.
Breathlessly, and wordlessly, Steven lets Steve help him to his feet. Steven slid his fingers into Steve's awaiting mouth, his tongue darting out to help Steve lick his fingers clean. Steve has his hand curled around the back of Steven's neck soon after, before he hauls his mouth to his. The taste of his come lingers and melts on his tongue, and Steven sways on his feet.
"Come on, kitten," Steve purred, tugging Steven further into the room.
"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Steven hissed, as Steve helps strip him of his jeans and boxers. He kicks them off seconds later. By now, Steve bumps up against the couch, his knees widening slightly, so Steven can settle between them.
"Make me," Steve dares, teeth nipping at Steven's bottom lip.
"Fine," Steven growls, before he steps away from Steve, and tugs on his arm. "Turn over."
Steve smirks, but does as instructed. He turns his head slightly as he watches Steven fiddle with the hem of his jersey. "Leave it on," he says, dark eyes gleaming. "It's not often I get to see you in clothing you've never scored in."
"Fuck you, Downs," Steven says. He spits in his hand, jerking his cock slowly.
"If you ever stop fucking around," Steve mumbled.
Steven pushes on Steve's shoulder blades, gets him bent over the couch arm, before he lines himself up, and pushes slowly, inside.
Steve is tight, and hot around his cock, and Steven's fingers dig into Steve's hips, as he stills, letting his head fall forward. His hair brushes Steve's back as he lets out his breath in a whoosh.
"Come on, blondie," Steve says, before he feels Steven move, slow, and steady. The feel of Steve around his cock is almost too much, and Steven has to bite on his bottom lip to keep his composure.
Steve moves slightly, trying to press back against Steven's cock, and he chuckles as Steven inhales sharply. "You're so fucking impatient sometimes, Downs," Steven manages to get out, as he finally starts to move.
"I don't hear you complaining." Steve turns his head, and Steven leans down, lips catching on Steve's. It's a messy clash of teeth, and tongues.
Steven manages to get a hand around Steve's cock, as he continues to thrust into him. "You were saying about my inability to score in this jersey?" he finally whispers, tugging once more on Steve's dick for good measure.
"Maybe I'm just letting you score," Steve teases.
"I could still outscore you any day." Steven digs his blunt nails into Steve's skin, his rhythm becoming more insistent.
Steve can't help it, he comes first, fist jammed against his mouth, muffling the sound as he comes hot into Steven's hand. Steven's grip on Steve's hips tightened as he feels Steve clench tight around him, and oh … he doesn't know how he will be able to last much longer. He bites on his bottom lip, tastes blood, and comes seconds later.
The only sound in the room for a few moments after is their combined breathing. Eventually, Steven slowly pulls out of Steve, watching as a thin line of his come makes a trail down Steve's thigh.
"Oh, fuck, that's hot," he says, "I could get hard again just watching that."
"We have all night," Steve points out, as he shakily stands up.
Steven rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest when Steve takes him by the hand and drags him to the bed.
They fall onto the mattress, and Steven shifts closer to Steve, curling his fingers around Steve's. "All night, hm?"
"All night," Steve agrees.
"I do like the sounds of that," Steven says.
"Figured you would, kitten."
"Don't call me that."
Steve just laughs.
Disclaimer: So totally fake. Title from the song Apartment Story by The National. Summary from a song by The National.
Tired and Wired, We Ruin too Easy
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards, Simon Gagne/Vincent Lecavalier and Steve Downie/Steven Stamkos; NC-17
For a little while you'll be here, the only good part of me
Warnings: dirty talk, comeplay, rimming.
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards
As much fun as the game had been, Brad was more than a little happy when he entered the lobby of his hotel. He made his way for the elevators after making a few stops along the way to sign autographs, pose for pictures, and talk to the media. By the time he made it to the elevators, he was drained.
"Bradley."
The smooth voice, like honey dripping over his bones, caused him to turn his head. He looked to where Hank was slowly walking up to him. His breath caught in his throat. Even after months of them being together, the mere presence of Hank still caused his breath to catch.
He stood next to him, the mere millimetres of space separating their arms was like a charged electrical wire. Brad was almost sure he would feel the shocks course through his veins if they touched. Hank looked immaculate as always in his perfectly pressed dress pants, and expensive button down shirt. His tie was slightly loosened too. It gave him a slightly dishevelled appearance. But, if there was one thing Brad knew about Hank, it was that there was absolutely nothing dishevelled about him.
Hank smiled at him, and nodded. There was something telling in Hank's crystal-like blue eyes. Brad returned the look, doing nothing to disguise the hunger in his amber depths. Hank chuckled and stepped into the elevator.
"Coming, Bradley?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone, as he leaned back against the glass paned wall of the elevator.
Brad could hardly collect his thoughts. Could barely breathe as he followed. He watched as Hank's eyes remained assessing as he entered the elevator. His blue eyes flickered with barely contained hunger as Brad settled next to him. He could almost feel Hank's lips on his. Brad wanted to feel Hank's naked skin against his overly heated flesh. He wanted to fist his hands in his hair and watch as his mouth closed around his cock. Just thinking about the prospect of having his dick in the slick, wet heat of Hank's mouth caused a current of heat to shoot through his veins.
The doors to the elevator closed, the smell of Hank's cologne and soap assaulting his senses. The smell was … fantastic. It was the cologne Hank always wore, the generic soap from the showers, mixed with something that was just pure … Hank. It was intoxicating.
Brad was not sure how much more of this he could take. All night he had watched Hank as he smiled for the cameras. Watched as he laughed and joked with his teammates. Then he watched as Hank stripped off his gear in the locker room, the bare skin of his back tantalizing him. Brad had been unable to take his eyes off the curve of Hank's spine as he crossed the floor to head for the showers. The twinge of longing haunted Brad all throughout his shower and trip back to the hotel.
He gulped down mouthfuls of air as he thought about all the delicious possibilities that awaited them in the room. He loosened his tie, suddenly feeling like all air had left the elevator. He was dizzy, and burning up for Hank.
Before he could over think anything, he stepped away from the wall swiftly, and crushed his body against Hank's.
"Bradley," Hank said in a half-mocking tone.
"Shut up," he growled, before Hank's next words were halted by the force of Brad's mouth as they swallowed them.
Brad reached up, curling a warm hand around the back of Hank's neck, and holding him there. His lips were hot, but insistent against Hank's as they slid over his. Brad could see Hank's cheeks as they flushed.
He tasted sweet; like honey and hot, summer nights. Brad wanted to bottle it. Savour it.
Fuck, a person could get high off it.
Brad pressed his mouth against him, the low, muffled groan Hank made was knee melting. He slid his hand from the back of Hank's neck, before he slid it down the smooth expanse of Hank's throat. The breathy gasps escaping Hank's mouth caused a series of vibrations to run through Brad's veins.
Hank's hands were pressed against Brad's chest, and he wanted nothing more than to have Hank's hand venture lower. He shuddered as Hank's hands curled around his waist, drawing him closer, his hands sliding down his spine.
"Bradley," he mock chastised.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard," Brad whispered, his hands sliding lower to dig into Hank's ass.
Hank laughed, as his hand finally moved to grip him through his pants.
"Shit!" Brad gasped, biting hard on his bottom lip.
He barely realized Hank was stepping away from him, his eyes alight with amusement as he made his way towards the elevator doors, which had just currently opened.
"You're going to have a hard time doing that if you continue to stand in the elevator."
Brad moved quickly, his footsteps shadowing Hank's as he calmly made his way down the hallway.
"Don't sound so sure of yourself," Brad mumbled, as he watched Hank pull out the room key.
They had barely managed to get the hotel room door open, before Brad's hands were all over Hank. He had his hands fisted in Hank's shirt front as he shoved him back against the door. Hank laughed lightly, letting his hands slide though the damp, silky strands of Brad's hair.
"Miss me that much, hm?" Hank teased, the tip of his tongue tracing the outline of Brad's. He didn't protest when he felt Brad suck his tongue into his mouth, before he bit down lightly.
"There's more where that came from," Brad whispered in a lust laden voice.
"Show me what you've got, Bradley," Hank said, a slight hint of a dare in his tone.
"I intend to." Brad managed to get Hank's shirt untucked from his pants, before his fingers traced the hem of Hank's shirt. His amber eyes intense as they regarded Hank. "I can't wait to see you naked, with your legs spread for me on the bed. I get hard just thinking about that face you make when I'm making you come."
"Now, Bradley, I think we're going to have to do something about that mouth of yours," Hank purred, as he tugged on Brad's hair.
"I think you're right, Hank, it's not currently around your cock."
"You know the solution, then, hm?" Hank's tongue flicked out briefly to slide over Brad's lips.
Brad responded by gripping Hank's upper arms, and pulling him further into the hotel room. Hank did his part by undressing Brad hurriedly. His fingertips lingering on his biceps, and hipbones, leaving goosebumps on Brad's flesh.
When Hank felt his knees come up against the edge of the bed, he arched one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows at Brad. "Now what?"
"I think you know," Brad whispered, his voice full of delicious promise, as he finally pushed on Hank's shoulders.
Brad straddled Hank hips, and yanked his tie off. "I've waited a long time for this."
Hank reached a hand up and pushed Brad's sandy hair back from his forehead. "It looks longer than I remember," he mused.
"You gonna complain?" Brad asked, as his eyes burned into Hank's.
"Of course not," Hank said, tugging on the strands to prove his point.
"Good," Brad murmured, as he ground down against Hank, smirking as he heard the sharp intake of breath Hank made at the action.
Brad could barely make out the sounds of their ragged breathing above the roar in his ears as he finally managed to get Hank's pants undone. He slid Hank's pants down, dragging his boxer briefs along with them.
"Hank," Brad choked out, his hand curling around Hank's cock.
Hank made a noise in his throat, causing Brad's cock to twitch. He rode the wave of lust coursing through his body, as he slowly bent his head down, his lips brushing lightly over Hank's shaft. It was like velvet under the soft skin of his lips, as he pressed kiss after kiss against it. He delighted in the noises Hank made at each contact of his lips against his cock. When he eventually licked a long, languid line from the base to the tip, he felt as Hank's fingers dug into his hair.
"Relax, Hank, I'm just getting started."
He briefly came up from kneeling between Hank's spread legs to hastily help him unbutton the buttons of his shirt. Brad's fingers lingered on Hank's shoulders, before they slid down his arms, watching the way the light played over Hank's muscles.
"God, I've missed this. I've missed you …" Brad bit his lip as he kissed a trail down Hank's torso. When he licked a line across Hank's balls, he felt Hank jerk, and he listened as a harsh cry escaped his lips.
"Jesus fuck, Bradley." Brad felt as Hank's hands fisted the sheets, his eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to keep Brad's face in focus.
Brad flicked his tongue over the underside of Hank's dick, curled his fingers around the base of the shaft, as he continued to explore his rigid flesh with his tongue. "Too long … you were gone too long … dreamed about doing this," Brad mumbled nonsensically as he finally swirled his tongue once more around the base.
"Would you just … would you just fucking get on with it," Hank said through gritted teeth.
Brad chuckled, as the hand wrapped around the base of Hank's shaft held his cock in position, before his lips pressed lightly to the head. "Have it your way, Hank."
His lips covered just the head, but Brad kept his tongue away from touching Hank's dick. Hank squirmed under him, his hands finally finding their way to Brad's hair.
"Oh, motherfucking fuck," Hank groaned. "Please … fuck, Brad …"
Eventually, Brad sucked harder, his hand gently coming over to hold and roll his balls. Hank's eyes went wide, and he bucked his hips, forcing his erection further into Brad's mouth, as Brad finally pressed his tongue to him.
Hank was lost to the feel of Brad's warm hands and mouth on him, and he came with one more quick thrust of his hips up into Brad's awaiting mouth, the force of his orgasm had him gasping for air, the sensations wracking his body until he lay in a boneless heap against the sheets.
Hank's fuzzy vision cleared as he felt Brad lay his body atop him. "You taste good," Brad whispered, pressing a kiss to Hank's forehead.
Hank groaned, before he shifted beneath Brad. "My turn to show you how much I missed you," he purred. "Lie on your stomach."
Brad obliged, his heart hammering unsteadily against his ribcage, as he felt Hank lick a long, steady line down his spine. "Hank …" he began, but his speech was cut off by Hank gripping his hips, pulling back and up, forcing him to his knees.
"Spread your legs for me, Bradley," Hank whispered, hands running up and down the back of Brad's thighs.
Brad moaned, but did as instructed, his eyes staring down at the sheets. He rested on his elbows, and bit his bottom lip in anticipation as he felt the bed shift. Hank licked and nibbled a line up the backs of Brad's legs, his breath as it tickled the curve of his ass had Brad squeezing his eyes shut, and his mouth going slack.
He clenched his hands into fists, and he trembled slightly as Hank bit at the fleshy spot of his thigh. "Hank," he managed to get out.
"Shh," Hank whispered, before his index finger ran over Brad's heated opening.
Brad choked on a groan as he felt just the slick tip of Hank's index finger enter him. His legs trembled, and he swore he bit his bottom lip in half as Hank's hot breath swept over his entrance.
"Bradley …" Hank muttered, before his tongue licked across his hole.
"Oh, fuck!" Brad moaned, as he slammed his eyes shut.
Hank's tongue circled his entrance over and over again, before dipping in slightly. "So good … fuck … you're still so tight for me. So eager."
"Always," Brad gasped, and he bucked his hips involuntarily as Hank slid two fingers into him, scissoring them, opening him wider for his tongue to dip in.
Brad's cock was leaking, his pre-come sliding onto the sheets. "Fuck, Hank," he moaned, before his fingers reached down.
Using his free hand, Hank batted Brad's hand away. "You can't touch yourself just yet, Bradley."
"Hank … fuck … please … have to … have to … come …"
"You will," Hank promised, before his tongue buried itself once more into Brad's hole.
Brad's body clenched shamelessly around Hank's tongue and fingers, and he sobbed out Hank's name, and pleaded with him to let him touch his cock.
A few more swipes of his tongue, and relentless thrusting of his fingers, and Brad is boneless against the sheets. He almost doesn't realize when Hank's hand finally curls around his dick. It makes him forget to hold on a little longer, and he cries out, spilling over Hank's hand.
Brad keens as Hank slowly slips his fingers from him, before he slumps against the sheets. When he finally manages to turn over, he is greeted by Hank's amused blue eyes.
"I wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow," he says finally, wriggling his body closer to Hank.
Hank chuckled, and kissed Brad's hair. "Not until the late afternoon."
Brad raises an eyebrow, and blinks up at Hank, a mischievous grin breaking out on his face. "That, is excellent news."
Hank just laughs.
Simon Gagne/Vincent Lecavalier
Simon's hand shook slightly as he slid the key card in the hotel room door, partially from exhaustion, partially from anticipation of what lay waiting for him just past the threshold. While the game may have been for charity, and not a Stanley Cup, the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders knew no difference. Nothing sounded better than a hot shower, a cold drink, and a soft bed. Just the thought of the hot water beating down on his sore muscles, followed by the soft cotton sheets sliding over his skin was almost enough to make Simon forget where he was, and that the door's lock had clicked open a good five seconds ago.
An exhausted sigh escaped him as he slowly pushed open the door, now seemingly much heavier than it had been this afternoon, before the game. He was all but in the shower, slipping out of his jacket while simultaneously toeing off his shoes, when his cell chirped happily in his pocket. He momentarily went through the internal struggle of whether to answer it or let it ring, but in the end, he supposed it couldn't hurt to at least see who was calling. He fished the phone from his pants pocket, shot a brief glance at the caller ID on the backlit screen, and immediately answered it.
"Bonjour, mon ami, tu m'as manqué."
All thoughts of a shower and sleep vanished from Simon's mind as a familiar voice washed over him. It was a voice he hadn't heard in at least five months, and he relished in the velvety tone, absentmindedly stripping off the rest of his clothes as the voice slid over him like silk over skin.
"Simon, j'ai dû appeler."
If there had been anything other than a lazy comfort to Vincent's tone, Simon might have been worried by his words, saying he had to call, but there was no hint of urgency or emergency. There was only a serene sense of longing skirting the edges of Vincent's thick voice.
Simon slid his pants past his hips, letting them pool on the floor, as he held the phone with his free hand. Part of him did not want to set the phone down, not even for a second, for fear of not getting another chance to hear Vincent's smooth voice. He began to work on the buttons of his dress shirt. He wasn't really interested in talking, he was simply content to listen to the voice flowing over him as he continued to undress.
"So, how was the game?"
By this time, Simon had completely shed his clothing, save for his thin cotton boxers. He slowly stalked towards the bed, crawling on top of the luxurious down comforter as he formulated his answer. "It was nice to play again, nice to see some of my old teammates. Though, every time I looked at Stammer or Downie, I expected you to be not far behind. I kept thinking you were going to come skating up to me any minute."
Simon's heart raced as he heard a breathy laugh escape the other end of the line, it was a sound he had all but forgotten, and he was slightly shocked to discover the kind of hold it still had over him.
"Aww, Gags, are you getting all nostalgic on me?"
Simon let out a small laugh of his own, and moved to fit his body into a more comfortable position on the bed. He settled on resting his back against the hard wooden headboard, the surface ice cold against the hot skin of his bare back. As he reached up and ran a hand through his dark strands, he couldn't help but remember what Vince's fingers felt like raking through his hair, and his breath escaped him in a shaky sigh. Vincent broke the silence, and it was probably for the better, as Simon was rendered speechless.
"What would you have done if I was there? Right now, what would you be doing?"
Simon let his hand slide from his hair, down his face, letting his fingers skate across the skin of his stomach until his hand was resting just above the waistband of his boxers. "I don't think I have to tell you what I'd be doing right now."
"Oh, but I want you to."
Simon slid his eyes shut, and rested his head against the headboard behind him. He let his hand venture over the thin fabric of his boxers, moaning slightly as his fingers ghosted over his now rigid flesh. After a few seconds spent in bliss over his own touch, he remembered the question posed to him. "Well, I wouldn't still be wearing this, for starters."
He knew Vince couldn't see what he was referring to, but he also knew that it didn't matter, anyways. The game they were playing wasn't about what they could see, but more about what they could remember, and where their fevered minds could take them.
"Would you be kissing me?" Vincent's smooth voice flowed over Simon, and he increased the pressure his fingertips were spending over the smooth fabric of his boxers with every syllable that hit his ears.
"Mm ... yes." Simon muttered in a far off voice, which was drenched with too much lust and not enough sleep. He let his fingers trail up his body again, until they were brushing against the soft skin of his lips. He let his mind play on the sensation of Vince's lips pressed to his, and it was almost like they were.
"Are you thinking about my hand running down your body ... over your chest ... brushing down your stomach?" As Vincent's words plotted an imaginary course down Simon's body, his hand followed. His fingers skated down his chest, then trailed over every taut muscle of his abdomen, and finally came to a rest when his fingers dipped just below the waistband of his boxers. Vincent's next words came in a breathy whisper, and that was all Simon needed to let his hand venture lower, wrapping his fingers around his rigid flesh.
"I remember how you taste, how good you feel, how you tremble under my touch."
Simon held onto every thought he ever had of Vincent, the way he touched him, the way he kissed him, as his hand stroked over his sensitive skin. Every memory, every thought, every remembered nuance of Vincent brought Simon closer and closer to the edge. His world was quickly spiralling out of control, his touch and his thoughts making it all but impossible for him to breathe.
"Mon Dieu. Vince, I -" Simon gasped into the phone, his breath ragged and his heart racing. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on, but he knew he had to, he had to drag the moment out for all it was worth.
"S'ok. That's the whole reason I called. I want to hear you come, Simon."
All he had to do was think of Vincent's intense gaze, and Simon knew he could never deny Vincent of anything. Ever.
He slammed his eyes shut even tighter, the sound of Vincent's voice, pleading in it's tone and words, guiding him over the brink. Simon gave Vincent exactly what he wanted in the form of a low growl as every muscle in his body tensed, and the heat spread through his entire body.
For the space of a few moments, the only sounds in the quiet hotel room were Simon's laboured breathing as he fought for air, waiting for his world to return to normal. As the high wore thin, he suddenly became all too aware of the fact he was alone, his only tie to Vincent being the cold, impersonal plastic of the phone he briefly forgot he held.
"Vince?"
A muffled laugh came through the line. "I'm still here."
"I wish you were."
Simon couldn't help but notice a small hint of hope in Vincent's voice. "Until next time, Simon."
"Bonsoir, Vince."
Steve Downie/Steven Stamkos
The elevator ride up to the 26th floor of the hotel started out as a quiet one, only owed to the fact that both of them were far too tired for idle conversation. Steven was dead on his feet, the wall behind him being the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor. He was resting against the right wall, eyes closed, the dull mechanical whir and light Christmas music flowing through the speakers lulling him into a daze. If he had been more coherent, more awake, he might have been able to feel Steve's eyes burning into his skin, his gaze hadn't left Steven's body since the second they stepped into the elevator. He had taken to leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes dragging over Steven's body. Somewhere around the third floor, Steve broke the silence, jolting Steven and sending his eyes flying open.
"So, my room or yours?" Steve let out a small, gravely laugh before shaking his head in amusement and adding "I can't believe they gave each player a separate room, anyways."
Steven was still trying to clear the fog from his brain, and it took him a few seconds to process Steve's words.
"Well, it's not like they know that we're -" Steven started, before stopping himself short to let a smile play across his lips. "Besides, who said anything about sleeping together?"
Steve filled the air with a hearty laugh, hanging his head as his body shook with laughter. "Oh, come on, you were thinking about it all night. That's probably why we lost, anyway. You were too preoccupied. What kind of sixty goal scorer doesn't score a single goal in a charity game?"
Steven let an irritated look cross his face, but the truth was, he was only using it as a cover, because he didn't want to tell Steve he was right. He had been thinking about being with Steve all night. He could not seem to get the intense need to be close to him out of his mind. Every breath he took was spent trying not to think of Steve's lips skating over his bare skin, and the fire that flashed in Steve's dark brown eyes every time he came apart.
How Steven managed to become such a prolific goal scorer with Steve constantly within arms reach was beyond him.
Steve shot his dark eyes to meet the icy blue of Steven's, mischief and laughter dancing within his intense orbs. From the outside, all the back and forth shared between Steven and Steve might be exhausting, even irritating, but they were both well aware of what it really was. The constant banter and insults thrown each other's way was nothing more than their own brand of foreplay, which both of them were more than up for.
Steven's lips curled into a sly smile. "Oh, I could have showed them my usual brand of awesomeness, but I didn't want to make you look bad by paling in comparison."
Steve let out a small, sideways smirk, and pushed himself off the wall behind him. He started to slowly stalk towards Steven, shuffling his feet loudly over the carpet. Steven swallowed hard, wondering what exactly Steve could have in mind, and he briefly thought how this might just be the slowest elevator ride of his life, but he wasn't even close to complaining.
He was too busy staring at the intense fire flashing in Steve's eyes, and he almost didn't notice Steve quickly push one of the buttons among the shiny row of lighted circles by the elevator door, wasn't even sure he had, until he felt the elevator jerk to a stop. Steven blinked, and before he knew it, Steve was imposing upon his space, their faces almost touching and his hand resting against the wall behind Steven's head. A sly smile curled around the corners of Steve's lips, and he lazily ran the fingers of his free hand along Steven's arm, nearly distracting him from his words.
"First, 'awesomeness' isn't even a word. Second, you were thinking about me. All night."
Steve dipped his head down, touching his nose to Steven's, and ran his tongue along Steven's lower lip. He never broke contact, never pulled away, as he started to pick at the hem of Steven's shirt. His words washed over Steven, low and full of want, as he slid his hand under the thin cotton shirt and raked his nails over Steven's chest.
"You were thinking about what you would do to me once we were alone."
Steve's fingers trailed their way back down Steven's chest, stealing the air from his lungs.
"You were imagining my hands all over you." Steve whispered against Steven's lips, his hand sliding to the front his pants, feeling him through the rough fabric. He increased the pressure of his palm over the denim, the heat radiating through the fabric as he hovered his face above Steven's, taking in a shallow breath for each ragged one Steven exhaled.
"Anticipating how it would feel to have your soft lips around my throbbing ..." Steve stopped himself short, letting the half formed sentence hang in the air between them. Another breathy laugh pushed past his lips. "Can't give it all away up front, can I?"
Steven's head was spinning, and he was starting to find it as hard to think as it was to breath. His words escaped him in a breathless whisper. "I was not ..."
"You can't lie to me, blondie. I know you like the back of my hand." Steve trailed his fingers up to the top button of Steven's pants, and slipped his hand past the waist band, letting it venture lower and lower until his fingers were wrapped around Steven's heated, rigid flesh. The sensations coursing through him were quickly becoming too much for Steven, his knees grew weaker with each stroke of Steve's fingers over his sensitive skin. If it weren't for the wall behind him, he would have crumpled to the floor under Steve's touch. It was all he could do to let out a choked, pleading gasp.
"Fucking shit, Downs, just get us to the room already."
The hand resting against the wall was fisted in Steven's flaxen coloured strains before he could react. Steven swallowed heavily as images of Steve's mouth closing around his cock assaulted his mind. And, oh … was it just him, or was it absolutely boiling in the elevator?
"What's the matter, kitten?" Steve started, leaning his head down slightly to nuzzle his nose against the side of Steven's neck. "Cat got your tongue?"
"Fucking hell, Downs, stop fucking around and get us to the fucking room, already," Steven said through gritted teeth.
"Now, now, kitten, patience is a virtue," Steve teased, as he ran the tip of his tongue across the shell of Steven's ear. "I know you're just dying to blow me, blondie." Steve licked a long, languid line down Steven's throat. "You've been thinking about it the whole night."
"Ngh. Don't flatter yourself, Downs."
Steve chuckled, the hand tangled in Steven's hair finally coming down to the back of his neck, before he hauled Steven's mouth to his. Steven's eyes went wide as Steve's hot, but insistent lips slid over his. He whimpered, his fist tugging on Steve's hair, as he ground his hips shamelessly against him.
"If you don't get us to the room soon, I will not be held responsible for what I do to you in this elevator," Steven ground out as he pushed on Steve's chest.
Steve's hand tightened in Steven's hair, and he felt a current of heat shoot through his system as Steven let out a moan. Fuck, that noise was enough to give him a hard on that would last a week. He tilted Steven's head slightly, his mouth coming down to nip at the pale, creamy column of exposed skin he had just uncovered. He tasted sweet, like sugar and cream. Steve couldn't get enough. He was starved for him.
Eventually, the hand he had down the front of Steven's jeans was withdrawn, as it wandered down to the curve of Steven's ass. His name escaped Steven's lips in that instant, and it was enough to make him want to throw Steven down onto the carpeted floor of the elevator and fuck him until they were both raw.
Steve had both his hands digging into Steven's ass before he lifted him up. Steven gasped when he felt his spine connect with the glass paned wall. "Fucking shit, Downs."
Steve tugged Steven's legs apart, and he hauled his mouth to his, as Steven's arms tightened around his neck, and he shoved his legs apart. Steve had his hands under Steven's ass then, holding him against him as he ground hard against him.
"You were saying, kitten?" Steve managed to get out as Steven's hands took to doing a little of their own exploring.
Steven's fingers were spread across Steve's chest as he ran them down the length of his chest. He shuddered when the digits skimmed over his abdomen, and then moved even lower until he was gripping him through his jeans.
"If you keep this up, blondie, I'm gonna ruin these jeans." Steve bit down on his bottom lip in an effort to regain some semblance of control, his eyes slamming shut as colours exploded around his vision. Steven's grip on him tightened, and he was panting, the little bursts of air tickling Steve's lower lip.
Taking advantage of Steve's momentary distraction, Steven slid down the wall of the elevator before he sidled over to the row of buttons. He pressed the start button on the pad before he finally released Steve from his grasp. The lights flickered, and the elevator started up again.
When the elevator dinged on their floor, Steven slid his blue eyes - now alight with mischievousness and barely contained hunger - to Steve. "Time to finish what we started in there."
He had just finished adjusting his clothes, before he stepped from the elevator. He winked at Steve. "Coming, Downs?"
The double meaning behind Steven's words only served to fuel Steve's desire even further, and he followed after Steven as they all but raced down the hall to the room.
Steven wasted no time once they were inside to pin Steve against the wall.
"Why, kitten, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me," Steve teased.
"Shut up," Steven ordered, before kissing him. His hands slid down to Steve's shoulders, pinning him to the wall.
Steven shoved his leg between Steve's, his knee creating a delicious friction against the denim of his jeans. Steve moaned, his hand tightening to the point of pain in Steven's flaxen coloured strands.
Before his fevered mind could figure out out what to do next, Steve felt as his shirt was dragged up and over his head. Steven dropped to his knees in the next instant, his heated mouth pressing open mouthed kisses along Steve's hipbones. Steven's hands set about unbuttoning Steve's jeans, unzipping the zip, his hands dragging Steve's jeans and boxers down his legs, until they were bunched around his ankles.
Steve grabbed Steven's head then, his fingers fisting the strands. "You're such a prick tease," he growled, watching as Steven's tongue darted out to lick along the head of his dick, before he swallowed him deep. Steve moaned, and thrust his hips slightly. "You want me to fuck your mouth, hm? Is that what you want?"
Steven moaned in response, the vibrations sending an electric current straight to Steve's balls. He held Steven's head steady, as he fucked his mouth slowly. Steve guided Steven's head as he muttered obscenely dirty things to him. He increased the pace slightly, his eyes staring down into Steven's marble blue ones, before his eyes slid to where Steven's lips were stretched around his cock. That sight alone almost causing him to come.
"Come on, Steven," Steve urged, fingers sliding through the damp strands of Steven's hair, "I can't have all the fun."
Steven finally cottoned on to what Steve was saying, and he reached down with his free hand, his fingers sneaking past the fly of his jeans. Steve chuckled and thrust his hips again for good measure. He watched as Steven started to jerk himself off.
"Oh, shit, yes, blondie, keep doing that … fuck …" Steve's tone is gravely, his hips thrusting hard, his eyes watching Steven's expression the whole time.
Steven is utterly surrounded by Steve. The low hitch his voice makes as it grinds out his name. The smell of his soap, and cologne. His jaw aches, his cock hard enough to cut glass, but he can't think of anything else except the way Steve fucks his mouth.
"Steven … fucking hell … Steven …" Steve thrusts his hips once more, letting out a low groan as he comes.
Steve's come hits the back of Steven's throat, which is enough to make him forget to hold on a bit longer, and he comes, shuddering and groaning Steve's name.
Breathlessly, and wordlessly, Steven lets Steve help him to his feet. Steven slid his fingers into Steve's awaiting mouth, his tongue darting out to help Steve lick his fingers clean. Steve has his hand curled around the back of Steven's neck soon after, before he hauls his mouth to his. The taste of his come lingers and melts on his tongue, and Steven sways on his feet.
"Come on, kitten," Steve purred, tugging Steven further into the room.
"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Steven hissed, as Steve helps strip him of his jeans and boxers. He kicks them off seconds later. By now, Steve bumps up against the couch, his knees widening slightly, so Steven can settle between them.
"Make me," Steve dares, teeth nipping at Steven's bottom lip.
"Fine," Steven growls, before he steps away from Steve, and tugs on his arm. "Turn over."
Steve smirks, but does as instructed. He turns his head slightly as he watches Steven fiddle with the hem of his jersey. "Leave it on," he says, dark eyes gleaming. "It's not often I get to see you in clothing you've never scored in."
"Fuck you, Downs," Steven says. He spits in his hand, jerking his cock slowly.
"If you ever stop fucking around," Steve mumbled.
Steven pushes on Steve's shoulder blades, gets him bent over the couch arm, before he lines himself up, and pushes slowly, inside.
Steve is tight, and hot around his cock, and Steven's fingers dig into Steve's hips, as he stills, letting his head fall forward. His hair brushes Steve's back as he lets out his breath in a whoosh.
"Come on, blondie," Steve says, before he feels Steven move, slow, and steady. The feel of Steve around his cock is almost too much, and Steven has to bite on his bottom lip to keep his composure.
Steve moves slightly, trying to press back against Steven's cock, and he chuckles as Steven inhales sharply. "You're so fucking impatient sometimes, Downs," Steven manages to get out, as he finally starts to move.
"I don't hear you complaining." Steve turns his head, and Steven leans down, lips catching on Steve's. It's a messy clash of teeth, and tongues.
Steven manages to get a hand around Steve's cock, as he continues to thrust into him. "You were saying about my inability to score in this jersey?" he finally whispers, tugging once more on Steve's dick for good measure.
"Maybe I'm just letting you score," Steve teases.
"I could still outscore you any day." Steven digs his blunt nails into Steve's skin, his rhythm becoming more insistent.
Steve can't help it, he comes first, fist jammed against his mouth, muffling the sound as he comes hot into Steven's hand. Steven's grip on Steve's hips tightened as he feels Steve clench tight around him, and oh … he doesn't know how he will be able to last much longer. He bites on his bottom lip, tastes blood, and comes seconds later.
The only sound in the room for a few moments after is their combined breathing. Eventually, Steven slowly pulls out of Steve, watching as a thin line of his come makes a trail down Steve's thigh.
"Oh, fuck, that's hot," he says, "I could get hard again just watching that."
"We have all night," Steve points out, as he shakily stands up.
Steven rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest when Steve takes him by the hand and drags him to the bed.
They fall onto the mattress, and Steven shifts closer to Steve, curling his fingers around Steve's. "All night, hm?"
"All night," Steve agrees.
"I do like the sounds of that," Steven says.
"Figured you would, kitten."
"Don't call me that."
Steve just laughs.