Unexpected [Boyle/Prust, PG-13]
Title: Unexpected
Author: bluelinespecial
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brian Boyle/Brandon Prust
Word Count: 800
Notes: My first time writing hockeyslash, or any RPS at all. Meeeep. Beta and encouragement thanks go to my pruster. :D
"Your problem is that you never fucking think."
Brandon laughs, falling back on the bedspread. "Your problem's that you call that a problem."
Brian rolls his eyes, but he sits down when Brandon lightly pats the mattress next to him. "Christ, you're a shit."
"That's my charm, though," Brandon says, batting his eyelashes. Brian puts his hand over Brandon's face, and Brandon flails a bit, as though he's being smothered by the fucking bear paw. When he's free again, they've wrestled themselves further back on the bed, his face bumping into Brian's hip.
"Still a stupid little shit," Brian mutters, but this time there's far more fondness than frustration in his tone, and then his fingers move over Brandon's head, through his short, loose curls.
"Mm. Nice." Brandon smiles, feeling his beard catch lightly against Brian's jeans. "Sorry, Bri."
Brian's fingers tighten, tugging on Brandon's hair. "Shut up, okay? It's fine."
Brandon brings his hand across his body, resting it high on Brian's thigh. "It's not too late . . ."
Brian sighs, his fingers moving more and brushing over Brandon's forehead. "Yeah, it is. There'd be questions." He looks down and smiles. "And you're right-staying in's not so bad."
He shifts and Brandon looks up, his smile widening.
"Yeah? So what should we do?"
Brian leans back on his elbows, shifting down the bed and stretching, their faces somewhat close together now. His lips are quirked and there's a glint in his eye. Brandon makes a scandalized face. "Mr. Boyle, I am not that kind of woman!"
"Ha. Yes, you are," says Brian with a snort. He leans down and kisses Brandon, a soft kiss that's little more than a peck, but it freezes Brandon anyway and gives him wide eyes as Brian pulls away. "What?"
"You kissed me."
"So?"
"Never done that before."
Brian looks really confused. "What? We've kissed before."
Brandon pushes himself to sit up, shaking his head hard. "No. No. I've kissed you, and I've kissed half the team, too, but you've never fucking kissed me."
He doesn't look back, not sure he could handle whatever look is on Boyle's face right now.
"That a problem for you?"
Brandon shuts his eyes, manages not to groan. Brian sounds so fucking reasonable, like nothing ever gets under his fucking skin. "Just didn't . . . expect it."
Because everyone expects Brandon's loose lips to end up somewhere on their face after an intense win, or just when he's had a few too many. That's just Prusty being Prusty, so they all tolerate it, laugh about it, scrub at his hair and pat his ass and then he's on to his next target. But no one ever kisses him, and it's rare that any of the boys kiss each other (especially after Dubi got caught on camera, stupid fucker).
There's a warm hand on his back now, so he opens his eyes and looks around. "I've sucked your fucking dick, Prust. Kissing's really that unexpected?"
He tries to ignore the rush of arousal that runs through him at those words coming from Brian's lips. Lips that just kissed him. "Yeah. Unexpected."
Brian rolls his eyes. "Fine, then here's your warning: I'm going to kiss you again." And he does, with Brandon holding stock still, like he's not sure what's happening as his best friend and recent source of pre-game orgasms leans in and kisses him firmly, definitely not a quick peck or a sloppy joke. It's how Brandon kisses girls, girls he actually wants to hang around with, get to know, not just the puck bunnies who want something to exaggerate in their Facebook statuses.
It's a kiss that Means Something, and as much as Brandon wants to pull away, get across the room, tell Brian that this wasn't the deal, he's sitting there, kissing back, his hand getting a mind of its own and moving up to tangle in Brian's stupid (wonderful) floppy hair. Then Brian opens his mouth and it's like Brandon's on auto-pilot, and their tongues are moving against each other, Brian's pulling Brandon closer, and the little bit of thinking Brandon ever does has ceased.
They finally stop to breathe, panting like they got stuck on a double shift in some intense play, and Brian cups the back of Brandon's neck. "Still freaking out?"
"Wasn't fucking freaking out," Brandon says.
Brian doesn't laugh, to his credit, but he squeezes his hand slightly. "Course not. Just a kiss, right?"
Brandon looks at Brian, sees a little hesitation in his warm, brown eyes, and he gives just the slightest nod. "Yeah. Just a kiss."
"Do I need to warn you next time?"
Brandon shakes his head. "No. I think I'll be expecting it."
When Brian smiles, Brandon stops thinking again, which is probably for the best right now.
Author: bluelinespecial
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brian Boyle/Brandon Prust
Word Count: 800
Notes: My first time writing hockeyslash, or any RPS at all. Meeeep. Beta and encouragement thanks go to my pruster. :D
"Your problem is that you never fucking think."
Brandon laughs, falling back on the bedspread. "Your problem's that you call that a problem."
Brian rolls his eyes, but he sits down when Brandon lightly pats the mattress next to him. "Christ, you're a shit."
"That's my charm, though," Brandon says, batting his eyelashes. Brian puts his hand over Brandon's face, and Brandon flails a bit, as though he's being smothered by the fucking bear paw. When he's free again, they've wrestled themselves further back on the bed, his face bumping into Brian's hip.
"Still a stupid little shit," Brian mutters, but this time there's far more fondness than frustration in his tone, and then his fingers move over Brandon's head, through his short, loose curls.
"Mm. Nice." Brandon smiles, feeling his beard catch lightly against Brian's jeans. "Sorry, Bri."
Brian's fingers tighten, tugging on Brandon's hair. "Shut up, okay? It's fine."
Brandon brings his hand across his body, resting it high on Brian's thigh. "It's not too late . . ."
Brian sighs, his fingers moving more and brushing over Brandon's forehead. "Yeah, it is. There'd be questions." He looks down and smiles. "And you're right-staying in's not so bad."
He shifts and Brandon looks up, his smile widening.
"Yeah? So what should we do?"
Brian leans back on his elbows, shifting down the bed and stretching, their faces somewhat close together now. His lips are quirked and there's a glint in his eye. Brandon makes a scandalized face. "Mr. Boyle, I am not that kind of woman!"
"Ha. Yes, you are," says Brian with a snort. He leans down and kisses Brandon, a soft kiss that's little more than a peck, but it freezes Brandon anyway and gives him wide eyes as Brian pulls away. "What?"
"You kissed me."
"So?"
"Never done that before."
Brian looks really confused. "What? We've kissed before."
Brandon pushes himself to sit up, shaking his head hard. "No. No. I've kissed you, and I've kissed half the team, too, but you've never fucking kissed me."
He doesn't look back, not sure he could handle whatever look is on Boyle's face right now.
"That a problem for you?"
Brandon shuts his eyes, manages not to groan. Brian sounds so fucking reasonable, like nothing ever gets under his fucking skin. "Just didn't . . . expect it."
Because everyone expects Brandon's loose lips to end up somewhere on their face after an intense win, or just when he's had a few too many. That's just Prusty being Prusty, so they all tolerate it, laugh about it, scrub at his hair and pat his ass and then he's on to his next target. But no one ever kisses him, and it's rare that any of the boys kiss each other (especially after Dubi got caught on camera, stupid fucker).
There's a warm hand on his back now, so he opens his eyes and looks around. "I've sucked your fucking dick, Prust. Kissing's really that unexpected?"
He tries to ignore the rush of arousal that runs through him at those words coming from Brian's lips. Lips that just kissed him. "Yeah. Unexpected."
Brian rolls his eyes. "Fine, then here's your warning: I'm going to kiss you again." And he does, with Brandon holding stock still, like he's not sure what's happening as his best friend and recent source of pre-game orgasms leans in and kisses him firmly, definitely not a quick peck or a sloppy joke. It's how Brandon kisses girls, girls he actually wants to hang around with, get to know, not just the puck bunnies who want something to exaggerate in their Facebook statuses.
It's a kiss that Means Something, and as much as Brandon wants to pull away, get across the room, tell Brian that this wasn't the deal, he's sitting there, kissing back, his hand getting a mind of its own and moving up to tangle in Brian's stupid (wonderful) floppy hair. Then Brian opens his mouth and it's like Brandon's on auto-pilot, and their tongues are moving against each other, Brian's pulling Brandon closer, and the little bit of thinking Brandon ever does has ceased.
They finally stop to breathe, panting like they got stuck on a double shift in some intense play, and Brian cups the back of Brandon's neck. "Still freaking out?"
"Wasn't fucking freaking out," Brandon says.
Brian doesn't laugh, to his credit, but he squeezes his hand slightly. "Course not. Just a kiss, right?"
Brandon looks at Brian, sees a little hesitation in his warm, brown eyes, and he gives just the slightest nod. "Yeah. Just a kiss."
"Do I need to warn you next time?"
Brandon shakes his head. "No. I think I'll be expecting it."
When Brian smiles, Brandon stops thinking again, which is probably for the best right now.