Stairwell -- Jason Smith/Chris Plys
Title: Stairwell
Pairing: Jason Smith/Chris Plys
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not real, all fiction, some actual events used for inspiration. I know nothing about these athletes.
Notes: Fic for parka_girl. About 1100 words. Set the night after the end of curling round robin play.
It's not a secret (not like it ever has been, not like it ever could be), but Chris likes to pretend it is, and you'd be lying if you said the sneaking around wasn't hot. He texts you after the last match, in the middle of the night, and you can barely understand the message (he's an awful speller and you were asleep so you're all groggy), but you get the gist and head to the stairwell, just like last night.
Chris shows up a couple minutes later, pushing you against the door and kissing you hard, hands on your hips already, digging in, and you don't think you've ever seen him like this. You know it's frustration, at being on the bench, at the last game (fucking China, seriously). At everything about the past week that neither of you could control. He bites your lip hard, pressing against you and you know this is one of those nights that he takes it all out on you. You pull him closer, hands on his back, then his arms, dragging your nails down over the new tattoo where you know the skin's still just a little tender. He inhales sharply against your mouth, almost hissing, and you know exactly what he likes.
You hook your leg around his, pressing your hips together and god, this is too easy. You're too easy, really, answering whenever he calls and showing up wherever he tells you to, but you want this too, so why pretend any different. He slides his hand up from your hips and under your shirt, scratching at your sides and it's cold in the hall, but it doesn't matter. You twist your fingers in his hair, pulling his head back and biting hard at his throat, just between the words on his collarbones, and he arches against you, almost shuddering.
He pushes you against the door again, rougher this time, grinding and you can feel him hard against you, pressing you back and it almost hurts, but you don't care. The fluorescent light in the stairwell flickers and you glance up for a second, hoping there's not a security camera or something. There's not, and you have just enough time to feel relieved before Chris's mouth finds that spot just below your ear and bites, hard enough to make you moan. He pushes your hips against the door, hands under your shirt until the metal door is cold against your back and you shudder and move against him.
You don't really know how far this is going, but you don't want to stop, and you think this is one of the things you'll miss most when you move. Chris pushes your shirt up again, tugging it all the way off and pressing you against the door again. You slide your hands down, fingers against his hips and then under the waist of his jeans, pulling him close and then sliding a hand down to the front, just barely brushing his cock. He moans something that could be "Jay," but you can't really tell. He arches against you, pulling back just long enough to take his shirt off, and you never get tired of Chris's tattoos, no matter how much you make fun of him for each new one. You step away from the door, kissing him, and he bites at your lips as you rest your hand on his hip, guiding him over to the corner of the stairwell.
He lets you push him back against the wall and kiss him again, harder this time, hand on his cock again, pressing until he gasps again and opens his mouth against yours. He closes his eyes and tips his head back and you bite again between his collarbones, moving up to the junction of his shoulder and neck, and you've lost count of how many places you've done this in. How many hotel bathrooms or airport waiting areas or stairwells like this, and this is gonna be the last one. Because you're leaving. Breaking up the team, and you know it's inevitable, but it still feels like your fault.
Chris is kissing you back, intense and almost needy in a way you've never seen from him. His hands on your hips, nails scratching at your lower back and it's all you can do to concentrate enough to undo his jeans. You slide them down, boxers following, and you kiss him hard one more time before you slowly get on your knees on the concrete floor.
Chris looks down at you, hands resting lightly on your shoulders and maybe you should say something, but it's not like this is your first time. You stroke him lightly, hand wrapping around his cock before you lean forward and take it slowly into your mouth. You lean forward a little, pressing your free hand against Chris's hip and you can already tell your knees will be stiff tomorrow. But you don't have to play tomorrow -- or anytime soon, really -- and your knees don't matter as long as Chris keeps making those noises. You glance up, catching Chris's half-closed eyes, and he moves his hand to just barely touch the back of your neck and you shudder before you can stop yourself. You open your mouth wider, taking him in deeper, pressing your tongue flat against the underside, lightly at first and then harder. He moans, just a little, and you let your teeth just touch him, not enough to hurt, but his other hand clenches your shoulder and he bites his lip and you'd be lying if you said you didn't love this.
You don't stop, moving a little faster and digging the nails of your free hand down his hip, hard enough to leave scratch marks. He shivers again, arching up into your mouth and you know he's close. You twist your hand around him, moving in time with your mouth and pressing your tongue against the tip, and you scrape your teeth once more over him, a little harder than before and that's what sends him over the edge.
You barely have time to stand up before Chris pulls you close and kisses you hard. You open your mouth, leaning into him again and you're both complete messes, but you don't care.
He pulls back a little, just enough for you to hear him mumble, "What was that for?"
A goodbye? An apology? Both? The answers run through your head, but you just kiss him again, shaking your head. You can talk about it later, but not now. Now it's just you and Chris in another anonymous stairwell, pretending that it's not for the last time.
Pairing: Jason Smith/Chris Plys
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not real, all fiction, some actual events used for inspiration. I know nothing about these athletes.
Notes: Fic for parka_girl. About 1100 words. Set the night after the end of curling round robin play.
It's not a secret (not like it ever has been, not like it ever could be), but Chris likes to pretend it is, and you'd be lying if you said the sneaking around wasn't hot. He texts you after the last match, in the middle of the night, and you can barely understand the message (he's an awful speller and you were asleep so you're all groggy), but you get the gist and head to the stairwell, just like last night.
Chris shows up a couple minutes later, pushing you against the door and kissing you hard, hands on your hips already, digging in, and you don't think you've ever seen him like this. You know it's frustration, at being on the bench, at the last game (fucking China, seriously). At everything about the past week that neither of you could control. He bites your lip hard, pressing against you and you know this is one of those nights that he takes it all out on you. You pull him closer, hands on his back, then his arms, dragging your nails down over the new tattoo where you know the skin's still just a little tender. He inhales sharply against your mouth, almost hissing, and you know exactly what he likes.
You hook your leg around his, pressing your hips together and god, this is too easy. You're too easy, really, answering whenever he calls and showing up wherever he tells you to, but you want this too, so why pretend any different. He slides his hand up from your hips and under your shirt, scratching at your sides and it's cold in the hall, but it doesn't matter. You twist your fingers in his hair, pulling his head back and biting hard at his throat, just between the words on his collarbones, and he arches against you, almost shuddering.
He pushes you against the door again, rougher this time, grinding and you can feel him hard against you, pressing you back and it almost hurts, but you don't care. The fluorescent light in the stairwell flickers and you glance up for a second, hoping there's not a security camera or something. There's not, and you have just enough time to feel relieved before Chris's mouth finds that spot just below your ear and bites, hard enough to make you moan. He pushes your hips against the door, hands under your shirt until the metal door is cold against your back and you shudder and move against him.
You don't really know how far this is going, but you don't want to stop, and you think this is one of the things you'll miss most when you move. Chris pushes your shirt up again, tugging it all the way off and pressing you against the door again. You slide your hands down, fingers against his hips and then under the waist of his jeans, pulling him close and then sliding a hand down to the front, just barely brushing his cock. He moans something that could be "Jay," but you can't really tell. He arches against you, pulling back just long enough to take his shirt off, and you never get tired of Chris's tattoos, no matter how much you make fun of him for each new one. You step away from the door, kissing him, and he bites at your lips as you rest your hand on his hip, guiding him over to the corner of the stairwell.
He lets you push him back against the wall and kiss him again, harder this time, hand on his cock again, pressing until he gasps again and opens his mouth against yours. He closes his eyes and tips his head back and you bite again between his collarbones, moving up to the junction of his shoulder and neck, and you've lost count of how many places you've done this in. How many hotel bathrooms or airport waiting areas or stairwells like this, and this is gonna be the last one. Because you're leaving. Breaking up the team, and you know it's inevitable, but it still feels like your fault.
Chris is kissing you back, intense and almost needy in a way you've never seen from him. His hands on your hips, nails scratching at your lower back and it's all you can do to concentrate enough to undo his jeans. You slide them down, boxers following, and you kiss him hard one more time before you slowly get on your knees on the concrete floor.
Chris looks down at you, hands resting lightly on your shoulders and maybe you should say something, but it's not like this is your first time. You stroke him lightly, hand wrapping around his cock before you lean forward and take it slowly into your mouth. You lean forward a little, pressing your free hand against Chris's hip and you can already tell your knees will be stiff tomorrow. But you don't have to play tomorrow -- or anytime soon, really -- and your knees don't matter as long as Chris keeps making those noises. You glance up, catching Chris's half-closed eyes, and he moves his hand to just barely touch the back of your neck and you shudder before you can stop yourself. You open your mouth wider, taking him in deeper, pressing your tongue flat against the underside, lightly at first and then harder. He moans, just a little, and you let your teeth just touch him, not enough to hurt, but his other hand clenches your shoulder and he bites his lip and you'd be lying if you said you didn't love this.
You don't stop, moving a little faster and digging the nails of your free hand down his hip, hard enough to leave scratch marks. He shivers again, arching up into your mouth and you know he's close. You twist your hand around him, moving in time with your mouth and pressing your tongue against the tip, and you scrape your teeth once more over him, a little harder than before and that's what sends him over the edge.
You barely have time to stand up before Chris pulls you close and kisses you hard. You open your mouth, leaning into him again and you're both complete messes, but you don't care.
He pulls back a little, just enough for you to hear him mumble, "What was that for?"
A goodbye? An apology? Both? The answers run through your head, but you just kiss him again, shaking your head. You can talk about it later, but not now. Now it's just you and Chris in another anonymous stairwell, pretending that it's not for the last time.