(no subject)
Title: All the Miles That Separate
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Characters: Megan Knuble/Mike Knuble
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Work of fiction. Never really happened.
Summary: She always knows exactly what to do, but that doesn't mean it's always easy.
Author's Notes: Response to a prompt on the anon meme asking for something hockey wife-related, because they deserve some loving, especially around the trade deadline. Also pretty much a reaction to Monday night's game, because Mike's the only Cap I'm not mad at right now.
“They’re going to trade dad for sure now, aren’t they?”
That’s the quiet question Anna asks when they arrive home, turn on the TV, and see the score. “We’ll see, dear,” Megan Knuble says. “We’ll see.” But Anna’s right, and quite honestly, it’s looking the best thing for Mike would definitely be to get the hell out of dodge.
“Don’t worry,” she adds when she sees the boys’ faces. “You’ll stay here until the end of the year.” She and Mike have talked about this plenty since he’d started getting scratched. The real question as far as the kids are considered is whether he’ll try to extend his career past this season, because if he does, he won’t be able to do it here in DC.
“He’ll go away and leave us here?” asks Cole, deeply dismayed.
“It’ll only be for a little while,” she trys to assure him. “Three and a half months at most, probably less.”
“But if it’s less, that means he doesn’t win the Cup,” Cole protests, sounding even more dismayed.
“But he has to go away to win the Cup, you idiot!” Cam yells at him.
“Don’t call your brother an idiot,” Megan tells him sternly, but inwardly, she can’t deny he’s right.
Cole just looks back at the TV, where Alex Ovechkin is putting his head down in despair. He keeps watching this and he’ll cry for an hour. It might be too late; he might start crying for an hour even if she turns it off now. “Well,” she says, “I don’t think we need to watch the rest of this game.”
“What if dad scores a goal?” Anna points out. “He might.”
“I don’t care!” Cam snaps. “I don’t want to watch this anymore. I’m going to bed.”
Megan persuades Cole to go too, but Anna insists on watching until the bitter end. They don’t stay up for the post-game interviews, though. They head upstairs, and Anna softly asks her mother, “Will I have to cut back, if dad’s not around to help with the driving?”
“Absolutely not,” Megan says firmly. “We’ll manage.” They manage with Mike on the road half the time, after all. Though she supposes if he does bring the Stanley Cup home it will be to a very ragged wife.
Alone in the master bedroom, she crawls under the covers, and thinks about having to sleep there alone for three months. It’s not the first time she’s faced this, but that won’t make her feel less lonely.
She wakes up a little before 5 AM. She doesn’t feel that rested. There’s a tension in her she can’t figure out how to get rid of, and her chosen life of constant rushing around doesn’t really provide an opportunity for it to go away on its own. She doesn’t mind for the most part, because it’s worth it, and she might not even feel it once the day’s underway, but for now, she wants her husband badly, or at least a few more hours of sleep. But she doubts at this point she could get back to sleep quickly enough for it to do any good, especially with her head so full of worries.
Considering the time of his flight, if she knows Mike, he’s in the hotel bed right now, but probably not asleep. Perfect time to call him.
When it takes him two rings to answer she briefly wonders if maybe he’s been asleep anyway. But he sounds awake enough as he answers with a nonetheless heavy, “Hey, Meg.”
“Hey you.” She know she sounds heavy herself. “How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I think I might have a better idea at the end of the week.”
“Are you going to request a trade?” she asks, without letting himself think about how she might feel about that.
“No,” he sighes. “They do what they want with me. I’m not going to actively walk out.”
She bites back a comment that she wishes he would. He deserves better than this, and she doesn’t just think that because she’s his wife. Instead she just says, “Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage.”
“I know you will,” he says, in the warm voice of a man who knows that’s all in good hands. “How’s it going?”
“Short version or long version?”
“Long. As long as possible. Talk about anything, please.” Here his voice breaks a little, which speaks worlds to Megan, that he’s cracking here and now. It makes her want to crawl through the damn phone and hold him close and kiss him until he can’t think anymore.
But she can’t. All she can do is talk about Anna’s math level and Cam’s hockey drills and Cole’s intention to marry one of his female classmates. She makes him laugh several times, which makes them both feel better. He’s also the only person to which she can frankly say she did about 80 down the streets this morning with all three kids in the car after Cole forgot his gear and not worry at all about their reaction. It had been early morning anyway; it was allowed. “Next time,” she concludes, “I’m putting a note on his lunchbox.”
“At least you didn’t have to go down the highway,” he chuckles.
“Don’t even talk to me about that.” Made aware of the time, she glanced at the phone to check it. About 5:30. “How long before you have to get up?”
“About half an hour. Hunter’s rousing us up early today.”
“Ouch,” she comments, but wisely says no more. “I’ve got to be in the shower at ten to at the latest. If you’re to ask me what I’m wearing, now would be the time.”
But he only laughs again. “I’m not sure if I’m in shape for that right now.” That’s sad; the two of them are definitely getting older now. “Or at least I need a minute or two.”
“Too bad,” she tells him. “I’m in the ivory lace.”
“Oh.” He does sound mildly intrigued by that. It’s his favorite of her nightgowns; she’s even had to have it repaired a couple of times because of the eagerness with which he’d pulled it off, though that was more something that happened in their early thirties than now at the end of it.
“Want a picture?” she asks. The two of them have experimented with sexting the past two years, but for the most part they’ve always been nervous one of his teammates-or worse, one of the kids-would pick up the phone and see a photo one of them had neglected to delete. Sending a picture with the nightgown on just might be smarter. And then he might just spend the next three months jerking off to it, which means she should probably make it a good one.
But she’s spared the need to look for quality lighting when he instead asks, “Can you wear it Thursday night instead, assuming I make it home without being traded first?”
There’s the slightest amount of huskiness in his voice, just enough so there’s no way she wouldn’t pick up on it; it goes straight to her own loins. She’s been on edge like this all week; just about anything could raise her itch. “Absolutely,” she murmurs, trying to aim for that tone of voice that when they were twenty always made him hard; if she’s going to get aroused, she’s not going to languish alone in it.
“Fuck.” It sounds like it’s working. Maybe he needs this too, especially after last night. “For that, if I’m shipped off today? I might insist on making a stopover at home.”
She laughs, but he then says in a much less seductive voice, “Actually, I’m serious about that. I’ll want to see the kids and talk to them about it in person, Cole especially.”
“If you can’t, we can grab a plane this weekend,” she tells him. “If you’re sent out all the way to the west coast we might have a problem, but remember Friday night none of the kids have anything on the schedule after both the boys finish their practices, and even if we couldn’t make it back by Saturday night for Cam’s game I think under the circumstances they’d understand. He’s the only one of them who’s never been late for a practice, after all.” Good thing she’d found that surprise bridge back in October. Really inefficient of Google Maps; she probably should’ve written that strongly worded email. And why’d Anna’s lacrosse team have to go out there anyway?
“If we have to,” he agrees. “Though obviously I’d rather come to you all. It would be a little crammed; the kids would have to do their homework on the plane and then if they lost your bags...” Then the huskiness returns as he adds, “Besides, next time I see you, I really want to eventually get you alone in the nearest room with a bed and fuck you so hard you’ll be able to get yourself off for three months from still feeling me in you.”
That gets a whimper out of her; she automatically presses her head into the pillows the minimize the chances of waking the kids up. “We’re doing this, right?” she eagerly whispers.
“As much as we can; I’m not sure I even have time to tell you all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you on this road trip. Especially now that you’ve told me you’re wearing that nightgown.”
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep it on,” she moans in reply; already her free hand has slipped under the silk, running over the sensitive places on her stomach, muscles quivering as she thinks of how he likes to run his tongue over them, getting her hot and needy before moving further down.
He’s allowed to groan louder, lying there with his room to himself, and hearing him makes her want to. “I’d love to feel you pulling it off right now,” she babbles softly into the phone half to stop herself from doing anything louder. “Want to push you down and rip your boxers off, what would you think if I lick my lips...God, Mike, keeping moaning like that, just hearing you might make me lose it.” Another quiet moan of her own escapes as she can bear it no longer and switches hands, taking her right hand down to her clit. At the first touch her hips buck up hard and her legs fall open, and for a moment she even thinks she can feel the warm, solid weight of her husband pressed against her, his strong embrace enclosing her, loving her, taking her. She moans again as the ache between her legs turns painfully sharp, and adds, “I want you inside me, Mike. I want it so bad it hurts.”
“Oh fuck, I want to be there, Meg. How’s the nightgown looking now? Is it all tangled from your squirming? Is it still covering your breasts? Is the lace teasing them just far enough down for me to say screw it and start mouthing them through the fabric?” He does that a lot; the memory of it has Megan knocking the lace down with her elbow and pressing her bared nipples into the blankets, trying to imagine they were his hot and hungry mouth. Down on her clit, her hand starts moving faster as she felt the tension start to gather.
At the same time she presses the receiver to her ear simply to better hear his breathing. She grins as she recognized the pattern. “You’re jerking it like mad, aren’t you? And you pretending I’m sucking you or riding you? I can see you doing it now, your blankets thrown off, your head thrown back, you’ll look almost like you’re offering yourself up. You look so beautiful like that, you have no idea...”
But his response now is only a desperate, “Megan...Megan-oh, GOD!” And she nearly comes herself just from that image of her husband, arching off the bed, mouth falling open, eyes screwing shut as he shot come all over his own stomach. She has to outright push her mouth into the mattress.
And even then enough of the sound escapes her that he hears it through the phone. “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you Megan? You’re so fucking close you can barely keep from screaming and I know you won’t but you’ll want to. I can’t wait to have you like this around me, feeling you let it out against my mouth while you come around my cock.” She doesn’t even recognize the sound that escapes her then, that still muffled, but needy little wail that might have been followed by his name. She suddenly felt like sobbing in her need.
“Don’t overwork it, Meg.” As Mike comes down, his voice turns tender. “Just let it go. Oh, my Megan, my beautiful Megan, just let it go.”
She lets it go. He continues to babble, words that she gets the vague impression are downright sappy, but she can’t really listen because it just feels too good, her system is flooded with heat and pleasure and joy, her lips are twisted into her husband’s name, her muscles all loosen and relax, and when it finally fades she sinks down boneless onto the mattress. She feels at ease for the first time since Mike started getting scratched.
Again for a moment she thinks she can feel the phantom of her husband’s embrace; he’s learned over the years that just leaning against her to cuddle her from behind makes her much happier in the minutes just after sex while not tiring him out too much. But then it’s gone, and she’s left listening long-distance to the breathing of the man she’s been in love with for close to twenty-five years over the phone; so near and yet so far away.
She’s endured this before. She can handle it one last time.
“Where would you like to live in the fall?” he asks after a pause.
“I’ll have a request for sure,” she replies. “The kids will want to stay here, of course.” There’s a time to plan for everything. There’ll be for that.
Though he notices the time first; she hears him sadly say, “It’s ten to.”
She pulls herself up and out of bed, and maybe she overdid it a little; her walk to the bathroom’s a little loopy. Nothing that won’t be gone, though, by the time she’s out of the shower and the kids are up and ready for breakfast. “Call me if anything happens,” she says. “We’ll see you somehow. I promise we’ll see you.”
“I know,” he replies. “Bye, Meg. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says, and has to hang up quickly, because the nightgown finally is completely off and she’s already got the water running. She has a busy day ahead of her.
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Characters: Megan Knuble/Mike Knuble
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Work of fiction. Never really happened.
Summary: She always knows exactly what to do, but that doesn't mean it's always easy.
Author's Notes: Response to a prompt on the anon meme asking for something hockey wife-related, because they deserve some loving, especially around the trade deadline. Also pretty much a reaction to Monday night's game, because Mike's the only Cap I'm not mad at right now.
“They’re going to trade dad for sure now, aren’t they?”
That’s the quiet question Anna asks when they arrive home, turn on the TV, and see the score. “We’ll see, dear,” Megan Knuble says. “We’ll see.” But Anna’s right, and quite honestly, it’s looking the best thing for Mike would definitely be to get the hell out of dodge.
“Don’t worry,” she adds when she sees the boys’ faces. “You’ll stay here until the end of the year.” She and Mike have talked about this plenty since he’d started getting scratched. The real question as far as the kids are considered is whether he’ll try to extend his career past this season, because if he does, he won’t be able to do it here in DC.
“He’ll go away and leave us here?” asks Cole, deeply dismayed.
“It’ll only be for a little while,” she trys to assure him. “Three and a half months at most, probably less.”
“But if it’s less, that means he doesn’t win the Cup,” Cole protests, sounding even more dismayed.
“But he has to go away to win the Cup, you idiot!” Cam yells at him.
“Don’t call your brother an idiot,” Megan tells him sternly, but inwardly, she can’t deny he’s right.
Cole just looks back at the TV, where Alex Ovechkin is putting his head down in despair. He keeps watching this and he’ll cry for an hour. It might be too late; he might start crying for an hour even if she turns it off now. “Well,” she says, “I don’t think we need to watch the rest of this game.”
“What if dad scores a goal?” Anna points out. “He might.”
“I don’t care!” Cam snaps. “I don’t want to watch this anymore. I’m going to bed.”
Megan persuades Cole to go too, but Anna insists on watching until the bitter end. They don’t stay up for the post-game interviews, though. They head upstairs, and Anna softly asks her mother, “Will I have to cut back, if dad’s not around to help with the driving?”
“Absolutely not,” Megan says firmly. “We’ll manage.” They manage with Mike on the road half the time, after all. Though she supposes if he does bring the Stanley Cup home it will be to a very ragged wife.
Alone in the master bedroom, she crawls under the covers, and thinks about having to sleep there alone for three months. It’s not the first time she’s faced this, but that won’t make her feel less lonely.
She wakes up a little before 5 AM. She doesn’t feel that rested. There’s a tension in her she can’t figure out how to get rid of, and her chosen life of constant rushing around doesn’t really provide an opportunity for it to go away on its own. She doesn’t mind for the most part, because it’s worth it, and she might not even feel it once the day’s underway, but for now, she wants her husband badly, or at least a few more hours of sleep. But she doubts at this point she could get back to sleep quickly enough for it to do any good, especially with her head so full of worries.
Considering the time of his flight, if she knows Mike, he’s in the hotel bed right now, but probably not asleep. Perfect time to call him.
When it takes him two rings to answer she briefly wonders if maybe he’s been asleep anyway. But he sounds awake enough as he answers with a nonetheless heavy, “Hey, Meg.”
“Hey you.” She know she sounds heavy herself. “How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I think I might have a better idea at the end of the week.”
“Are you going to request a trade?” she asks, without letting himself think about how she might feel about that.
“No,” he sighes. “They do what they want with me. I’m not going to actively walk out.”
She bites back a comment that she wishes he would. He deserves better than this, and she doesn’t just think that because she’s his wife. Instead she just says, “Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage.”
“I know you will,” he says, in the warm voice of a man who knows that’s all in good hands. “How’s it going?”
“Short version or long version?”
“Long. As long as possible. Talk about anything, please.” Here his voice breaks a little, which speaks worlds to Megan, that he’s cracking here and now. It makes her want to crawl through the damn phone and hold him close and kiss him until he can’t think anymore.
But she can’t. All she can do is talk about Anna’s math level and Cam’s hockey drills and Cole’s intention to marry one of his female classmates. She makes him laugh several times, which makes them both feel better. He’s also the only person to which she can frankly say she did about 80 down the streets this morning with all three kids in the car after Cole forgot his gear and not worry at all about their reaction. It had been early morning anyway; it was allowed. “Next time,” she concludes, “I’m putting a note on his lunchbox.”
“At least you didn’t have to go down the highway,” he chuckles.
“Don’t even talk to me about that.” Made aware of the time, she glanced at the phone to check it. About 5:30. “How long before you have to get up?”
“About half an hour. Hunter’s rousing us up early today.”
“Ouch,” she comments, but wisely says no more. “I’ve got to be in the shower at ten to at the latest. If you’re to ask me what I’m wearing, now would be the time.”
But he only laughs again. “I’m not sure if I’m in shape for that right now.” That’s sad; the two of them are definitely getting older now. “Or at least I need a minute or two.”
“Too bad,” she tells him. “I’m in the ivory lace.”
“Oh.” He does sound mildly intrigued by that. It’s his favorite of her nightgowns; she’s even had to have it repaired a couple of times because of the eagerness with which he’d pulled it off, though that was more something that happened in their early thirties than now at the end of it.
“Want a picture?” she asks. The two of them have experimented with sexting the past two years, but for the most part they’ve always been nervous one of his teammates-or worse, one of the kids-would pick up the phone and see a photo one of them had neglected to delete. Sending a picture with the nightgown on just might be smarter. And then he might just spend the next three months jerking off to it, which means she should probably make it a good one.
But she’s spared the need to look for quality lighting when he instead asks, “Can you wear it Thursday night instead, assuming I make it home without being traded first?”
There’s the slightest amount of huskiness in his voice, just enough so there’s no way she wouldn’t pick up on it; it goes straight to her own loins. She’s been on edge like this all week; just about anything could raise her itch. “Absolutely,” she murmurs, trying to aim for that tone of voice that when they were twenty always made him hard; if she’s going to get aroused, she’s not going to languish alone in it.
“Fuck.” It sounds like it’s working. Maybe he needs this too, especially after last night. “For that, if I’m shipped off today? I might insist on making a stopover at home.”
She laughs, but he then says in a much less seductive voice, “Actually, I’m serious about that. I’ll want to see the kids and talk to them about it in person, Cole especially.”
“If you can’t, we can grab a plane this weekend,” she tells him. “If you’re sent out all the way to the west coast we might have a problem, but remember Friday night none of the kids have anything on the schedule after both the boys finish their practices, and even if we couldn’t make it back by Saturday night for Cam’s game I think under the circumstances they’d understand. He’s the only one of them who’s never been late for a practice, after all.” Good thing she’d found that surprise bridge back in October. Really inefficient of Google Maps; she probably should’ve written that strongly worded email. And why’d Anna’s lacrosse team have to go out there anyway?
“If we have to,” he agrees. “Though obviously I’d rather come to you all. It would be a little crammed; the kids would have to do their homework on the plane and then if they lost your bags...” Then the huskiness returns as he adds, “Besides, next time I see you, I really want to eventually get you alone in the nearest room with a bed and fuck you so hard you’ll be able to get yourself off for three months from still feeling me in you.”
That gets a whimper out of her; she automatically presses her head into the pillows the minimize the chances of waking the kids up. “We’re doing this, right?” she eagerly whispers.
“As much as we can; I’m not sure I even have time to tell you all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you on this road trip. Especially now that you’ve told me you’re wearing that nightgown.”
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep it on,” she moans in reply; already her free hand has slipped under the silk, running over the sensitive places on her stomach, muscles quivering as she thinks of how he likes to run his tongue over them, getting her hot and needy before moving further down.
He’s allowed to groan louder, lying there with his room to himself, and hearing him makes her want to. “I’d love to feel you pulling it off right now,” she babbles softly into the phone half to stop herself from doing anything louder. “Want to push you down and rip your boxers off, what would you think if I lick my lips...God, Mike, keeping moaning like that, just hearing you might make me lose it.” Another quiet moan of her own escapes as she can bear it no longer and switches hands, taking her right hand down to her clit. At the first touch her hips buck up hard and her legs fall open, and for a moment she even thinks she can feel the warm, solid weight of her husband pressed against her, his strong embrace enclosing her, loving her, taking her. She moans again as the ache between her legs turns painfully sharp, and adds, “I want you inside me, Mike. I want it so bad it hurts.”
“Oh fuck, I want to be there, Meg. How’s the nightgown looking now? Is it all tangled from your squirming? Is it still covering your breasts? Is the lace teasing them just far enough down for me to say screw it and start mouthing them through the fabric?” He does that a lot; the memory of it has Megan knocking the lace down with her elbow and pressing her bared nipples into the blankets, trying to imagine they were his hot and hungry mouth. Down on her clit, her hand starts moving faster as she felt the tension start to gather.
At the same time she presses the receiver to her ear simply to better hear his breathing. She grins as she recognized the pattern. “You’re jerking it like mad, aren’t you? And you pretending I’m sucking you or riding you? I can see you doing it now, your blankets thrown off, your head thrown back, you’ll look almost like you’re offering yourself up. You look so beautiful like that, you have no idea...”
But his response now is only a desperate, “Megan...Megan-oh, GOD!” And she nearly comes herself just from that image of her husband, arching off the bed, mouth falling open, eyes screwing shut as he shot come all over his own stomach. She has to outright push her mouth into the mattress.
And even then enough of the sound escapes her that he hears it through the phone. “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you Megan? You’re so fucking close you can barely keep from screaming and I know you won’t but you’ll want to. I can’t wait to have you like this around me, feeling you let it out against my mouth while you come around my cock.” She doesn’t even recognize the sound that escapes her then, that still muffled, but needy little wail that might have been followed by his name. She suddenly felt like sobbing in her need.
“Don’t overwork it, Meg.” As Mike comes down, his voice turns tender. “Just let it go. Oh, my Megan, my beautiful Megan, just let it go.”
She lets it go. He continues to babble, words that she gets the vague impression are downright sappy, but she can’t really listen because it just feels too good, her system is flooded with heat and pleasure and joy, her lips are twisted into her husband’s name, her muscles all loosen and relax, and when it finally fades she sinks down boneless onto the mattress. She feels at ease for the first time since Mike started getting scratched.
Again for a moment she thinks she can feel the phantom of her husband’s embrace; he’s learned over the years that just leaning against her to cuddle her from behind makes her much happier in the minutes just after sex while not tiring him out too much. But then it’s gone, and she’s left listening long-distance to the breathing of the man she’s been in love with for close to twenty-five years over the phone; so near and yet so far away.
She’s endured this before. She can handle it one last time.
“Where would you like to live in the fall?” he asks after a pause.
“I’ll have a request for sure,” she replies. “The kids will want to stay here, of course.” There’s a time to plan for everything. There’ll be for that.
Though he notices the time first; she hears him sadly say, “It’s ten to.”
She pulls herself up and out of bed, and maybe she overdid it a little; her walk to the bathroom’s a little loopy. Nothing that won’t be gone, though, by the time she’s out of the shower and the kids are up and ready for breakfast. “Call me if anything happens,” she says. “We’ll see you somehow. I promise we’ll see you.”
“I know,” he replies. “Bye, Meg. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says, and has to hang up quickly, because the nightgown finally is completely off and she’s already got the water running. She has a busy day ahead of her.