Trapping Angels ~ Hunwick/Kessel ~ NC-17
Title: Trapping Angels
Author: jennyagain
Pairing: Matt Hunwick/Phil Kessel (Boston Bruins)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,667
Summary: Saturday, January 10, 2009. Hunwick gets into his first NHL fight. Kessel reacts unexpectedly.
Disclaimer: The following is for entertainment purposes only. Real people, places, and things appear, but the work is complete fiction, and there is no intent to defame, insult, or slander. No money is being made. Any and all errors belong solely to me.
Notes: Hat-tip to savvyfan again for teaching me about Hunwick and Kessel. ;D
Trapping Angels
At first, Matt Hunwick could not figure out what the big deal was.
It was just a fight! He'd totally been in fights before. It wasn't even a particularly good fight: Williams kind of swarmed him, but Hunwick made him miss a lot and then Hunwick landed that one good punch, Williams went down, and the whole world went all crazy.
He knew every reporter would be after him to talk about it postgame. "Matt, how did it feel?" "Does Thornton have a rival for the role of enforcer?" "Where'd you learn that right hook?" "Did you know Williams was coming for you?" "Is this personal?" "Can we expect more five-for-fightings from you in the future?"
But he wasn't in their greedy, dictophone-wielding clutches yet.
All he had to deal with right then, between the second and third periods, were his teammates.
Shawn Thornton, that asshole, went down on one knee in the dressing room and asked Hunwick to marry him. What was really stupid about that was how much Hunwick blushed. Marc Savard had led the cat-calls that followed, and Hunwick mostly wanted to crawl into his locker and die, but then, then he'd locked eyes with Phil Kessel.
And the whole world went all crazy again.
Hunwick had seen that look on Kessel's face before, but always in the room they shared on the road, and always half in shadow with only the bathroom light left on, and never in public, never in the fucking dressing room between periods. Want you now was written, plain as day, plain as the hit Hunwick had delivered to Williams at center ice, across Kessel's face.
Hunwick stared for a moment, dangerously close to losing his mind and closing the distance between them and grabbing a fistful of Kessel's jersey and kissing him, hard, right in front of everyone, but then Milan Lucic - wearing a suit instead of a jersey which was enough of a distraction in itself - socked Hunwick on the arm and said "Good boy, Matty" and Hunwick's eyes snapped up to Lucic's grinning face and Kessel's spell was broken, thank Christ.
Hunwick still knew he was going to have a hell of a time concentrating during the third.
Somehow that little fight had turned into a very big deal.
::
Hunwick watched Kessel slip out of the Bruins' dressing room after the game. He resisted the urge to yell "Wait up," knowing the unspoken invitation still stood: I'll be waiting.
He drove the handful of blocks to Kessel's place, parked around the corner, let himself in the front door and up the narrow, winding stairs. In his eagerness, he took the last set two at a time and nearly ran smack into Kessel, who was standing outside his own apartment door, leaning against the jam, looking for all the world like he was about to light up a cigarette.
Hunwick stared some more, and Kessel smirked at him. "What took you so long?"
Hunwick's answer was to push Kessel back up against the door and kiss him.
Kessel's clearly put-on calm fell away immediately. Hunwick smiled against Kessel's mouth as Kessel pressed his hips against Hunwick's insistently. When that wasn't enough friction for Kessel, he dropped both hands to Hunwick's ass, grabbed tight, and rubbed himself against Hunwick, clearly thinking with his cock and not his head because they were still on the landing outside Kessel's apartment. Hunwick, turned on nearly beyond belief but still with some presence of mind, placed both of his hands on Kessel's shoulders and pushed.
With a sound embarrassingly close to a whimper, Kessel let go and bounced back against the door, breathing hard. His eyes were glassy and his lips were swollen and Hunwick thought he'd never seen anything he wanted more in his life.
"You seem to have neglected to tell me how much fighting turns you on, Kes."
"Didn't know it did until today."
"Well, duly noted."
Kessel's mouth went into just the tiniest bit of a pout. "Why aren't we still kissing?"
"Because we're standing outside your apartment."
"You're no fun, you know that?"
Hunwick moved his mouth to Kessel's ear, bit lightly. "I'll be fun again in your bedroom."
"Jesus, Hunny."
"C'mon, Kes," Hunwick swatted Kessel on the ass. "Inside, now."
"That's what your mom said."
Hunwick snickered and followed Kessel inside.
::
It was true that Phil Kessel had never been really turned on by a fight on the ice before, but there was something about the way Hunwick took charge of that situation, dropped the guy like a bad habit and was so fucking nonchalant about it, that he was done for.
That third period contained the hardest - literally, figuratively - twenty minutes of hockey of his life.
When Hunwick showed up at his place, hair still just a little bit damp from his shower and with that one scratch on the bridge of his nose, Kessel was fighting back urge after primal urge to tug down Hunwick's jeans and bend him over the fucking stair railing right there, take him outside his apartment and who fucking cared if Mrs. Murphy next door could see and hear everything.
(He didn't, though, mostly because Hunwick, while clearly into it all, hadn't lost his fucking mind and wouldn't've let it happen.)
(Still.)
In Kessel's bedroom, though, with the blinds open to let in the moonlight, the tables turned, and Hunwick was the hungry one. Kessel did not mind one bit.
He lay on his back, Hunwick on his knees between Kessel's legs, and for just a moment, they looked at each other. Hunwick's curls were sweaty again, but they framed his face perfectly, bits of gold shining in the moonlight. Hunwick's left eye was just a bit swollen, and his bottom lip was a lot swollen, but that was probably Kessel's fault rather than Williams's. Then Kessel reached out and wrapped his hand around Hunwick's cock, and Hunwick groaned. Kessel moved his hand, tugging upwards, and Hunwick's eyes slipped closed, fanning his long lashes against his cheeks. Kessel wasn't usually one to stop and appreciate beauty, but there was no way around it here: Hunwick was fucking beautiful like this.
"Now, Matty," Kessel hissed, pulling his knees back to his chest and guiding Hunwick's cock home. Hunwick pushed, and Kessel's breath left him in a whoosh as Hunwick buried himself in Kessel's ass, the sweet familiar sting of it almost too good to be true.
"Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, Kes," Hunwick mumbled, eyes open again and locked on Kessel's face. Intensity marked every line of Hunwick's features, and Kessel fought off the urge to say "beautiful" and "angel" and all sorts of other shit that belonged to girls and not to how awesome this was, Hunwick above him, fucking him. (The irony of getting turned on by fighting and then getting distracted by thoughts of fucking angels was not lost on Kessel, though it wasn't until much later that he was able to really give it any thought.)
In that moment, there was only Hunwick: sweaty curls and eyes squeezed shut again and lip caught between his teeth, hands curled tight around Kessel's upper arms, hips working in frantic rhythm; clearly Hunwick's only thoughts were of getting off. Kessel shifted his own hips, gave Hunwick a better angle, and wrapped his fingers around his own cock, squeezing tight at the base, wanting this to last. "Nail me, Hunny," he whispered, "Nail me like you nailed Williams. Fuck me, Matty, c'mon c'mon c'mon."
The magic words did the trick, and Hunwick threw back his head and groaned, hips stilling as he pumped his load deep into Kessel's ass. Kessel let him come, let him have the moment, let Hunwick's head drop down, let Hunwick open his eyes to see Kessel's hand on his own cock, not moving, waiting and watching, and Hunwick took the hint, brought his own slick hands to Kessel's cock and wrapped them around him, stroking him quickly, Hunwick's own cock still buried inside Kessel.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Kessel panted, eyes locked with Hunwick's, "so close, so close," and Hunwick swiped one hot palm across the head of Kessel's cock, cupping him there, hot and tight and good, and Hunwick's other hand twisted, yeah, just right and Kessel was done for - "Nnngh! Yes!" - and he came all over Hunwick's hands.
Hunwick licked his palm, grinning, then pressed a quick kiss to each of Kessel's spread thighs before pushing back, slipping out of Kessel and standing at the foot of the bed, stretching and preening like the proverbial cat who ate the goddamned canary. Kessel, unable to move, watched Hunwick walk to the bedroom door and out, watched him return with two towels.
"You gonna get into more fights now?" Kessel asked as the towel Hunwick threw him landed in his lap.
Hunwick laughed. "You gonna always be like this afterwards?"
"Fuck yeah." Kessel propped himself up on his elbows. "Never been so turned on." He reached for Hunwick, who came over and curled himself around Kessel on the bed, nipping at his shoulder.
"I'll fight every one in the league," Hunwick said, "but you've gotta promise me you won't look at me like that in the locker room again."
"Too turned on. Can't promise."
"That's what your mom said."
"Matty, that doesn't even make any sense."
"Takes one to know one."
Kessel chuckled. "I take it back: don't fight, Hunny. I hate skating with a fucking woody."
"That's what your mom said."
"That's it. It is on."
But Hunwick moved awfully quickly when Kessel flipped over to pin him to the bed, and somehow Kessel ended up underneath Hunwick once more.
"Quit insulting my mom," Kessel whispered as Hunwick's lips moved along the light stubble covering his jaw. When Hunwick pulled back and smiled down at Kessel, mirth alight in his eyes, all Kessel could think of were stupid girly things like sunshine and kittens and stupid fucking angels.
Author: jennyagain
Pairing: Matt Hunwick/Phil Kessel (Boston Bruins)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,667
Summary: Saturday, January 10, 2009. Hunwick gets into his first NHL fight. Kessel reacts unexpectedly.
Disclaimer: The following is for entertainment purposes only. Real people, places, and things appear, but the work is complete fiction, and there is no intent to defame, insult, or slander. No money is being made. Any and all errors belong solely to me.
Notes: Hat-tip to savvyfan again for teaching me about Hunwick and Kessel. ;D
Trapping Angels
At first, Matt Hunwick could not figure out what the big deal was.
It was just a fight! He'd totally been in fights before. It wasn't even a particularly good fight: Williams kind of swarmed him, but Hunwick made him miss a lot and then Hunwick landed that one good punch, Williams went down, and the whole world went all crazy.
He knew every reporter would be after him to talk about it postgame. "Matt, how did it feel?" "Does Thornton have a rival for the role of enforcer?" "Where'd you learn that right hook?" "Did you know Williams was coming for you?" "Is this personal?" "Can we expect more five-for-fightings from you in the future?"
But he wasn't in their greedy, dictophone-wielding clutches yet.
All he had to deal with right then, between the second and third periods, were his teammates.
Shawn Thornton, that asshole, went down on one knee in the dressing room and asked Hunwick to marry him. What was really stupid about that was how much Hunwick blushed. Marc Savard had led the cat-calls that followed, and Hunwick mostly wanted to crawl into his locker and die, but then, then he'd locked eyes with Phil Kessel.
And the whole world went all crazy again.
Hunwick had seen that look on Kessel's face before, but always in the room they shared on the road, and always half in shadow with only the bathroom light left on, and never in public, never in the fucking dressing room between periods. Want you now was written, plain as day, plain as the hit Hunwick had delivered to Williams at center ice, across Kessel's face.
Hunwick stared for a moment, dangerously close to losing his mind and closing the distance between them and grabbing a fistful of Kessel's jersey and kissing him, hard, right in front of everyone, but then Milan Lucic - wearing a suit instead of a jersey which was enough of a distraction in itself - socked Hunwick on the arm and said "Good boy, Matty" and Hunwick's eyes snapped up to Lucic's grinning face and Kessel's spell was broken, thank Christ.
Hunwick still knew he was going to have a hell of a time concentrating during the third.
Somehow that little fight had turned into a very big deal.
::
Hunwick watched Kessel slip out of the Bruins' dressing room after the game. He resisted the urge to yell "Wait up," knowing the unspoken invitation still stood: I'll be waiting.
He drove the handful of blocks to Kessel's place, parked around the corner, let himself in the front door and up the narrow, winding stairs. In his eagerness, he took the last set two at a time and nearly ran smack into Kessel, who was standing outside his own apartment door, leaning against the jam, looking for all the world like he was about to light up a cigarette.
Hunwick stared some more, and Kessel smirked at him. "What took you so long?"
Hunwick's answer was to push Kessel back up against the door and kiss him.
Kessel's clearly put-on calm fell away immediately. Hunwick smiled against Kessel's mouth as Kessel pressed his hips against Hunwick's insistently. When that wasn't enough friction for Kessel, he dropped both hands to Hunwick's ass, grabbed tight, and rubbed himself against Hunwick, clearly thinking with his cock and not his head because they were still on the landing outside Kessel's apartment. Hunwick, turned on nearly beyond belief but still with some presence of mind, placed both of his hands on Kessel's shoulders and pushed.
With a sound embarrassingly close to a whimper, Kessel let go and bounced back against the door, breathing hard. His eyes were glassy and his lips were swollen and Hunwick thought he'd never seen anything he wanted more in his life.
"You seem to have neglected to tell me how much fighting turns you on, Kes."
"Didn't know it did until today."
"Well, duly noted."
Kessel's mouth went into just the tiniest bit of a pout. "Why aren't we still kissing?"
"Because we're standing outside your apartment."
"You're no fun, you know that?"
Hunwick moved his mouth to Kessel's ear, bit lightly. "I'll be fun again in your bedroom."
"Jesus, Hunny."
"C'mon, Kes," Hunwick swatted Kessel on the ass. "Inside, now."
"That's what your mom said."
Hunwick snickered and followed Kessel inside.
::
It was true that Phil Kessel had never been really turned on by a fight on the ice before, but there was something about the way Hunwick took charge of that situation, dropped the guy like a bad habit and was so fucking nonchalant about it, that he was done for.
That third period contained the hardest - literally, figuratively - twenty minutes of hockey of his life.
When Hunwick showed up at his place, hair still just a little bit damp from his shower and with that one scratch on the bridge of his nose, Kessel was fighting back urge after primal urge to tug down Hunwick's jeans and bend him over the fucking stair railing right there, take him outside his apartment and who fucking cared if Mrs. Murphy next door could see and hear everything.
(He didn't, though, mostly because Hunwick, while clearly into it all, hadn't lost his fucking mind and wouldn't've let it happen.)
(Still.)
In Kessel's bedroom, though, with the blinds open to let in the moonlight, the tables turned, and Hunwick was the hungry one. Kessel did not mind one bit.
He lay on his back, Hunwick on his knees between Kessel's legs, and for just a moment, they looked at each other. Hunwick's curls were sweaty again, but they framed his face perfectly, bits of gold shining in the moonlight. Hunwick's left eye was just a bit swollen, and his bottom lip was a lot swollen, but that was probably Kessel's fault rather than Williams's. Then Kessel reached out and wrapped his hand around Hunwick's cock, and Hunwick groaned. Kessel moved his hand, tugging upwards, and Hunwick's eyes slipped closed, fanning his long lashes against his cheeks. Kessel wasn't usually one to stop and appreciate beauty, but there was no way around it here: Hunwick was fucking beautiful like this.
"Now, Matty," Kessel hissed, pulling his knees back to his chest and guiding Hunwick's cock home. Hunwick pushed, and Kessel's breath left him in a whoosh as Hunwick buried himself in Kessel's ass, the sweet familiar sting of it almost too good to be true.
"Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, Kes," Hunwick mumbled, eyes open again and locked on Kessel's face. Intensity marked every line of Hunwick's features, and Kessel fought off the urge to say "beautiful" and "angel" and all sorts of other shit that belonged to girls and not to how awesome this was, Hunwick above him, fucking him. (The irony of getting turned on by fighting and then getting distracted by thoughts of fucking angels was not lost on Kessel, though it wasn't until much later that he was able to really give it any thought.)
In that moment, there was only Hunwick: sweaty curls and eyes squeezed shut again and lip caught between his teeth, hands curled tight around Kessel's upper arms, hips working in frantic rhythm; clearly Hunwick's only thoughts were of getting off. Kessel shifted his own hips, gave Hunwick a better angle, and wrapped his fingers around his own cock, squeezing tight at the base, wanting this to last. "Nail me, Hunny," he whispered, "Nail me like you nailed Williams. Fuck me, Matty, c'mon c'mon c'mon."
The magic words did the trick, and Hunwick threw back his head and groaned, hips stilling as he pumped his load deep into Kessel's ass. Kessel let him come, let him have the moment, let Hunwick's head drop down, let Hunwick open his eyes to see Kessel's hand on his own cock, not moving, waiting and watching, and Hunwick took the hint, brought his own slick hands to Kessel's cock and wrapped them around him, stroking him quickly, Hunwick's own cock still buried inside Kessel.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Kessel panted, eyes locked with Hunwick's, "so close, so close," and Hunwick swiped one hot palm across the head of Kessel's cock, cupping him there, hot and tight and good, and Hunwick's other hand twisted, yeah, just right and Kessel was done for - "Nnngh! Yes!" - and he came all over Hunwick's hands.
Hunwick licked his palm, grinning, then pressed a quick kiss to each of Kessel's spread thighs before pushing back, slipping out of Kessel and standing at the foot of the bed, stretching and preening like the proverbial cat who ate the goddamned canary. Kessel, unable to move, watched Hunwick walk to the bedroom door and out, watched him return with two towels.
"You gonna get into more fights now?" Kessel asked as the towel Hunwick threw him landed in his lap.
Hunwick laughed. "You gonna always be like this afterwards?"
"Fuck yeah." Kessel propped himself up on his elbows. "Never been so turned on." He reached for Hunwick, who came over and curled himself around Kessel on the bed, nipping at his shoulder.
"I'll fight every one in the league," Hunwick said, "but you've gotta promise me you won't look at me like that in the locker room again."
"Too turned on. Can't promise."
"That's what your mom said."
"Matty, that doesn't even make any sense."
"Takes one to know one."
Kessel chuckled. "I take it back: don't fight, Hunny. I hate skating with a fucking woody."
"That's what your mom said."
"That's it. It is on."
But Hunwick moved awfully quickly when Kessel flipped over to pin him to the bed, and somehow Kessel ended up underneath Hunwick once more.
"Quit insulting my mom," Kessel whispered as Hunwick's lips moved along the light stubble covering his jaw. When Hunwick pulled back and smiled down at Kessel, mirth alight in his eyes, all Kessel could think of were stupid girly things like sunshine and kittens and stupid fucking angels.