Flyers Series, "Reward Number System"
TITLE: "Reward Number System", Richie and Jeff
BY: kjameson
FANDOM: NHL
TEAM(S): Philadelphia Flyers
PAIRING(S): Mike Richards/Simon Gagne, Mike Richards/Jeff Carter
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Total work of fiction. Completely not true. For entertainment purposes only.
WARNINGS: Double-header slash (and all the pun in the world intended!)
SUMMARY: Richie and Carts get rewarded for their goals from Saturday night. Pure smut.
CREDIT: To the Flyers, because they are such horny boys. To the plot bunnies, who just don't stop bugging me, even in my dreams! And to tinydancermags , in which another conversation lead to another wonderful series.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Kinda claiming this as the opening story for the series, because tinydancermags hasn't posted hers yet. It's pretty easy to understand to concept of this series. Read to find out, of course, and ENJOY! (PS I'm still working on the xmas fic, I swear!)
It was a rumor, of some sorts, floating around the Flyers' locker room. Get a goal and you get a blow job. Get two goals, get sex. If you get three goals and dozens of hats on the ice, well damn, you get whatever you want. It was pretty simple, easy, not hard at all for a hockey player to understand. But what some of the boys didn't get, was who gave the rewards?
They went out on the ice expecting to play hard, play well, and play tough against a huge rival of theirs, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Pulling out the four to one victory was very satisfying; not one Flyer was complaining. Moving through out the locker room, everyone returned to their respected spot in front of their locker and started to dress. Mostly everyone was done their shower now, as only a few players still lingered, doing after game stretches or just fooling around.
Mike Richards was sitting on the bench, pulling his skates off, his jersey off, starting to undo his padding as quick as possible before the media made its way in. He never liked to be in front of the camera sweaty. A shower before an after game interview was refreshing, made his head clearer and less likely to say something stupid. As Mike grabbed what he needed from his locker, towel draped over his right shoulder, he caught a look from Simon Gagne out of the corner of his eyes. Simon was seated in a corner, his locker next to Cote's, with just his towel wrapped around his waist. Legs spread ever so slightly, a look in his eyes made a chill run down Mike's back, hitting his hips and causing him to grasp his items tighter. Simon just smiled in return, winked, and stood up, heading off into the shower. Mike followed, eyebrows burrowing in confusion.
The steam from the showers filled up the room, as the players' quirkly, playful banter had died out as the last three remaining Flyers left. Simon picked a shower stall and turned on the water, pulling his towel off from around his waist and throwing it up to rest on the rack. He stood under the spray, water crashing down on his head, wetting his hair, his body, eventually circling his feet and down the drain. Mike tried not to watch as he picked his own stall, one farthest from Simon, stuck in a corner away from the main door.
He failed poorly, Simon catching him, and Mike turned his head sharply to look away.
Dammit.
Mike occupied himself with pouring soap into the palm of his hand and rubbing through out his hair. When a pair of hands were suddenly at his hips, spinning him around and pushing him up against the cold tiled wall, he caught himself from screaming and instead let his eyes widen, mouth hanging open in the shape of an "O". He felt Simon's very naked body pressed against his own very naked body, and there was a pair of warm lips pressed to his, teasing, sucking in his tongue.
"Uh, Gags?"
Simon ignored the hesitant strain in Mike's voice and continued his assault on the captain. Trailing kisses on his jaw, down his throat, along his collar bone, and suddenly, in one swift motion, was suddenly on his knees, mouth just inches away from Mike's vapidly growing erection.
"I saw you looking," was all he said and then Mike's cock was gone, into Simon's mouth, and Mike had to grasp helplessly at the wall because damn, it felt so good. He felt like he was slipping, his feet slidding forward and he wanted to stop, but when Simon took him deeper, the tip of his cock hitting the back of the winger's throat, Mike bucked his hips and just let it go. He landed on his butt, not too hard, but he wasn't worried about the pain when he saw Simon's mouth still covering his cock. Mike spread his legs wider, a moan escaping as he threw his head back to take in the intense pleasurable feeling he was receiving from his teammate.
"Oh, Gags, yeah, that's it, oh fuck, suck it, oh fuck yesss..." Mike's trail of words seemed endless as he fucked Simon's mouth, a tongue slipping over the tip as Simon pulled back and then forward again. He watched the lips surround his cock, as the water hit Simon's back, trailing down his sides, down his ass, down onto Mike's own legs. It was the hottest thing Mike ever saw, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to last much longer if Simon keep moaning and rubbing his balls and looking up at him through heated eyelids and OH FUCK - Mike covered his mouth to silence his scream as he shot down Simon's throat, bucking his hips to hit every part of the winger's throat.
"Oh, fuck..."
Simon sat up, wiped the drops of semen that didn't make it in, and stared at his captain. Mike was slowing coming down from his orgasmic high, eyes barely open, mouth letting out heavy pants. He blinked, batted away from the water Simon was splashing towards him, and let out a small laugh.
"That was for your goal tonight, Richie."
"Oh...yeah, uh, thanks, Gags. Appreciate it."
"Anytime." And with that, Simon stood and went back to his own shower, suddenly embraced in his own world as he lathered up with soap, acting as if nothing just happened. Mike shook his head, stood up himself, and did exactly what Simon did. Moments later, Mike was faced with the media, and while that nagging voice in the back of his head was screaming about what just happened, he couldn't help but smile the entire time he was asked about Simon's pass to him for his sixteenth goal.
******
Later that evening, Mike was standing in the kitchen cleaning up his plate of food he picked through, remains going into the trashcan. He didn't hear Jeff Carter come into the room, and for the second time today he felt hands grabbed his hips, demanding submission from him.
"Hey sexy." Hot breath hit his ear. Mike shuddered, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto Jeff's left shoulder.
"Mmmm..." A pair of lips attacked his neck, nipping, sucking, licking every inch they could, until finally Mike was turned around and the lips were on his own, doing the same.
"I got two goals today," Jeff proudly stated, pulling at Mike's hoodie. He wanted if off and soon it was, thrown onto the floor and forgotten. "Now I want to fuck you, because I get rewarded sex for that.."
Mike grinned as he allowed himself to be pulled by Jeff, nodding his head in agreement. "Yes, you do."
They kissed passionately, pulling at each other clothes, groaning in frustration until both were naked. Mike had been trying to get up the stairs, take the hot action up to their bedroom, but Jeff wasn't having it. He was too horny, too eager, too impatient to wait.
"Fuck yeah," Jeff groaned, pressing Mike up against the back off the couch, exposing his ass. The blond center pushed himself against Mike, hot skin touching, as spit-covered fingers prodded the captain's hole. He added two fingers, then three and four, stretching Mike to prepare him. With a hand pressed flat against his back, Jeff covered his own cock with spit and, just as eagerly when kissing him, Jeff entered the captain, making him draw out a long moan.
There were thrusts, long and hard and quick and slow, hands gripping at Mike's waist as he moved against the couch. His own cock was trapped between the leather material and his body, the pressure building him close to an orgasm. Mike was bent over more, legs spread wider, as Jeff continued to fuck him until he was finally at the brink, finally brought over the edge, and Jeff was holding still, body shaking as he filled Mike completely. The captain came too, a couple seconds later, semen hitting the couch and slowly dripping down to the floor.
They rested there shortly, Jeff's cheek pressed against Mike's sweaty back, until Mike couldn't take his stomach being pushed into the couch
"Jeff, gotta move now."
Jeff chuckled and pulled out, cock limp and slick. He wiped his hands on his thighs and looked at Mike. "Thanks. It was kinda, sudden, I guess."
Mike smiled. "No problem." He looked down at the mess and then at Jeff. "Shower?"
"Yeah, sounds great."
END!
BY: kjameson
FANDOM: NHL
TEAM(S): Philadelphia Flyers
PAIRING(S): Mike Richards/Simon Gagne, Mike Richards/Jeff Carter
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Total work of fiction. Completely not true. For entertainment purposes only.
WARNINGS: Double-header slash (and all the pun in the world intended!)
SUMMARY: Richie and Carts get rewarded for their goals from Saturday night. Pure smut.
CREDIT: To the Flyers, because they are such horny boys. To the plot bunnies, who just don't stop bugging me, even in my dreams! And to tinydancermags , in which another conversation lead to another wonderful series.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Kinda claiming this as the opening story for the series, because tinydancermags hasn't posted hers yet. It's pretty easy to understand to concept of this series. Read to find out, of course, and ENJOY! (PS I'm still working on the xmas fic, I swear!)
It was a rumor, of some sorts, floating around the Flyers' locker room. Get a goal and you get a blow job. Get two goals, get sex. If you get three goals and dozens of hats on the ice, well damn, you get whatever you want. It was pretty simple, easy, not hard at all for a hockey player to understand. But what some of the boys didn't get, was who gave the rewards?
They went out on the ice expecting to play hard, play well, and play tough against a huge rival of theirs, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Pulling out the four to one victory was very satisfying; not one Flyer was complaining. Moving through out the locker room, everyone returned to their respected spot in front of their locker and started to dress. Mostly everyone was done their shower now, as only a few players still lingered, doing after game stretches or just fooling around.
Mike Richards was sitting on the bench, pulling his skates off, his jersey off, starting to undo his padding as quick as possible before the media made its way in. He never liked to be in front of the camera sweaty. A shower before an after game interview was refreshing, made his head clearer and less likely to say something stupid. As Mike grabbed what he needed from his locker, towel draped over his right shoulder, he caught a look from Simon Gagne out of the corner of his eyes. Simon was seated in a corner, his locker next to Cote's, with just his towel wrapped around his waist. Legs spread ever so slightly, a look in his eyes made a chill run down Mike's back, hitting his hips and causing him to grasp his items tighter. Simon just smiled in return, winked, and stood up, heading off into the shower. Mike followed, eyebrows burrowing in confusion.
The steam from the showers filled up the room, as the players' quirkly, playful banter had died out as the last three remaining Flyers left. Simon picked a shower stall and turned on the water, pulling his towel off from around his waist and throwing it up to rest on the rack. He stood under the spray, water crashing down on his head, wetting his hair, his body, eventually circling his feet and down the drain. Mike tried not to watch as he picked his own stall, one farthest from Simon, stuck in a corner away from the main door.
He failed poorly, Simon catching him, and Mike turned his head sharply to look away.
Dammit.
Mike occupied himself with pouring soap into the palm of his hand and rubbing through out his hair. When a pair of hands were suddenly at his hips, spinning him around and pushing him up against the cold tiled wall, he caught himself from screaming and instead let his eyes widen, mouth hanging open in the shape of an "O". He felt Simon's very naked body pressed against his own very naked body, and there was a pair of warm lips pressed to his, teasing, sucking in his tongue.
"Uh, Gags?"
Simon ignored the hesitant strain in Mike's voice and continued his assault on the captain. Trailing kisses on his jaw, down his throat, along his collar bone, and suddenly, in one swift motion, was suddenly on his knees, mouth just inches away from Mike's vapidly growing erection.
"I saw you looking," was all he said and then Mike's cock was gone, into Simon's mouth, and Mike had to grasp helplessly at the wall because damn, it felt so good. He felt like he was slipping, his feet slidding forward and he wanted to stop, but when Simon took him deeper, the tip of his cock hitting the back of the winger's throat, Mike bucked his hips and just let it go. He landed on his butt, not too hard, but he wasn't worried about the pain when he saw Simon's mouth still covering his cock. Mike spread his legs wider, a moan escaping as he threw his head back to take in the intense pleasurable feeling he was receiving from his teammate.
"Oh, Gags, yeah, that's it, oh fuck, suck it, oh fuck yesss..." Mike's trail of words seemed endless as he fucked Simon's mouth, a tongue slipping over the tip as Simon pulled back and then forward again. He watched the lips surround his cock, as the water hit Simon's back, trailing down his sides, down his ass, down onto Mike's own legs. It was the hottest thing Mike ever saw, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to last much longer if Simon keep moaning and rubbing his balls and looking up at him through heated eyelids and OH FUCK - Mike covered his mouth to silence his scream as he shot down Simon's throat, bucking his hips to hit every part of the winger's throat.
"Oh, fuck..."
Simon sat up, wiped the drops of semen that didn't make it in, and stared at his captain. Mike was slowing coming down from his orgasmic high, eyes barely open, mouth letting out heavy pants. He blinked, batted away from the water Simon was splashing towards him, and let out a small laugh.
"That was for your goal tonight, Richie."
"Oh...yeah, uh, thanks, Gags. Appreciate it."
"Anytime." And with that, Simon stood and went back to his own shower, suddenly embraced in his own world as he lathered up with soap, acting as if nothing just happened. Mike shook his head, stood up himself, and did exactly what Simon did. Moments later, Mike was faced with the media, and while that nagging voice in the back of his head was screaming about what just happened, he couldn't help but smile the entire time he was asked about Simon's pass to him for his sixteenth goal.
******
Later that evening, Mike was standing in the kitchen cleaning up his plate of food he picked through, remains going into the trashcan. He didn't hear Jeff Carter come into the room, and for the second time today he felt hands grabbed his hips, demanding submission from him.
"Hey sexy." Hot breath hit his ear. Mike shuddered, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto Jeff's left shoulder.
"Mmmm..." A pair of lips attacked his neck, nipping, sucking, licking every inch they could, until finally Mike was turned around and the lips were on his own, doing the same.
"I got two goals today," Jeff proudly stated, pulling at Mike's hoodie. He wanted if off and soon it was, thrown onto the floor and forgotten. "Now I want to fuck you, because I get rewarded sex for that.."
Mike grinned as he allowed himself to be pulled by Jeff, nodding his head in agreement. "Yes, you do."
They kissed passionately, pulling at each other clothes, groaning in frustration until both were naked. Mike had been trying to get up the stairs, take the hot action up to their bedroom, but Jeff wasn't having it. He was too horny, too eager, too impatient to wait.
"Fuck yeah," Jeff groaned, pressing Mike up against the back off the couch, exposing his ass. The blond center pushed himself against Mike, hot skin touching, as spit-covered fingers prodded the captain's hole. He added two fingers, then three and four, stretching Mike to prepare him. With a hand pressed flat against his back, Jeff covered his own cock with spit and, just as eagerly when kissing him, Jeff entered the captain, making him draw out a long moan.
There were thrusts, long and hard and quick and slow, hands gripping at Mike's waist as he moved against the couch. His own cock was trapped between the leather material and his body, the pressure building him close to an orgasm. Mike was bent over more, legs spread wider, as Jeff continued to fuck him until he was finally at the brink, finally brought over the edge, and Jeff was holding still, body shaking as he filled Mike completely. The captain came too, a couple seconds later, semen hitting the couch and slowly dripping down to the floor.
They rested there shortly, Jeff's cheek pressed against Mike's sweaty back, until Mike couldn't take his stomach being pushed into the couch
"Jeff, gotta move now."
Jeff chuckled and pulled out, cock limp and slick. He wiped his hands on his thighs and looked at Mike. "Thanks. It was kinda, sudden, I guess."
Mike smiled. "No problem." He looked down at the mess and then at Jeff. "Shower?"
"Yeah, sounds great."
END!