"Running to put out a fire"
title: A Break in the Action
involves: Ty Conklin/Marc-Andre Fleury
rating: R +
disclaimer: Running back and forth is real. Astoundingly, further specifics about the reason why and what he actually does have not emerged. This is a GOOD thing.
notes: Happy Lincoln/Darwin Bicentennial Birthday. Liberated? Evolved? Featuring sexual selection? I don't know, but it is Ken Daniels' fault. Go blame FSN Detroit.
Et merci deux mille fois à la toujours belle et sympa nofaves, who read this first.
Ty thinks about Marc, thinks about doing this to him.
About how they came together like magnets, drawn nearer and nearer and how suddenly they couldn't stop reaching for each other.
About the way Marc took his hand, wanting to be touched by him, and the way he groaned and reacted before Ty ever reached his dick.
About how warm and how smooth and how good he felt to hold, and how having less and less separating them just felt better and better.
About lying on his back, totally bare, and Marc perched beside him, in the same state, just staring and staring without lifting a finger.
About wondering why, since it wasn't like Marc hadn't seen him already, and questioning ("You've seen me naked. You've seen me naked," and gesturing downwards -- "like this."), and the answer he got with the soft, lustful edge in Marc's voice and smile.
"But I couldn't look at you like this. Look, and look, and know while I look I'm going to touch you when I'm done. Just like I look at you now."
"Câlisse, Ty," and Marc was looming over him, put out a hand and got hold of the hair growing on his chest. Forced his words through raging hormones. Delivered them with a voice low enough that it was impossible to tell or to care if they were honest or provocative, or both. "You are so fucking sexy. And it only gets worse. Everything about you makes me want to fuck you."
About how hot his face and all the rest of him was, since he gets flushed and heated without being told he's the wood for Marc's fire, without this intemperance that continues to burn for the both of them. Without knowing full well that he's getting consumed stoking that kind of passion.
The kind that leaves you with your equipment in your hand, seriously contemplating choking the chicken while the team you left him for is waiting for you to get the hell back on the ice.
If commercial breaks were five...or seven...eight minutes instead of two, you'd get the kind of relief you really want -- and they could continue to mention on television how you'd gone streaking out of there to go take a leak. Doing what you've gotta do...when Nature calls.
Getting what you need on, getting what you need off; yeah, sure, you're fast. But you're not that fast.
------<---'--,-<@
Ty thinks about Marc.
About what they taught each other.
What they gave each other.
About how Marc wanted to be touched, but Ty needed to touch him.
About how, given the time, if Marc had him naked now, Ty would bet good money on being intently gazed at all over again.
And Ty understands what Marc meant about the potential and the pleasure of time with no pressure, but he knows that if he had Marc the way he wanted right now, he'd be grabbing hold of him without bothering to open his eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Further notes!: Since about December, Ty's picked up the habit of randomly excusing himself and leaving to use the facilities during commercial timeouts. Whenever this occurs, it's widely documented/reported/broadcast on TV/and commented on by whoever's doing the game at the time (usually Detroit's crew, but also during the WC....
uh, "Winter Classic"... ;)
The most recent instance was the game January 31 against the Capitals. Wherein the play-by-play guy (Ken Daniels) decided to inform us all that "He's incredibly quick at getting that goaltending equipment off!"
My mind went impolite places and decided to keep sending postcards. Thank you, FSN-D.
Also, "He says 'when you gotta go, you gotta go!'"
...Ty honestly thinks he's normal.
I hope he never, ever stops.
involves: Ty Conklin/Marc-Andre Fleury
rating: R +
disclaimer: Running back and forth is real. Astoundingly, further specifics about the reason why and what he actually does have not emerged. This is a GOOD thing.
notes: Happy Lincoln/Darwin Bicentennial Birthday. Liberated? Evolved? Featuring sexual selection? I don't know, but it is Ken Daniels' fault. Go blame FSN Detroit.
Et merci deux mille fois à la toujours belle et sympa nofaves, who read this first.
Ty thinks about Marc, thinks about doing this to him.
About how they came together like magnets, drawn nearer and nearer and how suddenly they couldn't stop reaching for each other.
About the way Marc took his hand, wanting to be touched by him, and the way he groaned and reacted before Ty ever reached his dick.
About how warm and how smooth and how good he felt to hold, and how having less and less separating them just felt better and better.
About lying on his back, totally bare, and Marc perched beside him, in the same state, just staring and staring without lifting a finger.
About wondering why, since it wasn't like Marc hadn't seen him already, and questioning ("You've seen me naked. You've seen me naked," and gesturing downwards -- "like this."), and the answer he got with the soft, lustful edge in Marc's voice and smile.
"But I couldn't look at you like this. Look, and look, and know while I look I'm going to touch you when I'm done. Just like I look at you now."
"Câlisse, Ty," and Marc was looming over him, put out a hand and got hold of the hair growing on his chest. Forced his words through raging hormones. Delivered them with a voice low enough that it was impossible to tell or to care if they were honest or provocative, or both. "You are so fucking sexy. And it only gets worse. Everything about you makes me want to fuck you."
About how hot his face and all the rest of him was, since he gets flushed and heated without being told he's the wood for Marc's fire, without this intemperance that continues to burn for the both of them. Without knowing full well that he's getting consumed stoking that kind of passion.
The kind that leaves you with your equipment in your hand, seriously contemplating choking the chicken while the team you left him for is waiting for you to get the hell back on the ice.
If commercial breaks were five...or seven...eight minutes instead of two, you'd get the kind of relief you really want -- and they could continue to mention on television how you'd gone streaking out of there to go take a leak. Doing what you've gotta do...when Nature calls.
Getting what you need on, getting what you need off; yeah, sure, you're fast. But you're not that fast.
------<---'--,-<@
Ty thinks about Marc.
About what they taught each other.
What they gave each other.
About how Marc wanted to be touched, but Ty needed to touch him.
About how, given the time, if Marc had him naked now, Ty would bet good money on being intently gazed at all over again.
And Ty understands what Marc meant about the potential and the pleasure of time with no pressure, but he knows that if he had Marc the way he wanted right now, he'd be grabbing hold of him without bothering to open his eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Further notes!: Since about December, Ty's picked up the habit of randomly excusing himself and leaving to use the facilities during commercial timeouts. Whenever this occurs, it's widely documented/reported/broadcast on TV/and commented on by whoever's doing the game at the time (usually Detroit's crew, but also during the WC....
uh, "Winter Classic"... ;)
The most recent instance was the game January 31 against the Capitals. Wherein the play-by-play guy (Ken Daniels) decided to inform us all that "He's incredibly quick at getting that goaltending equipment off!"
My mind went impolite places and decided to keep sending postcards. Thank you, FSN-D.
Also, "He says 'when you gotta go, you gotta go!'"
...Ty honestly thinks he's normal.
I hope he never, ever stops.