Score ~ Kessel/Krejci ~ NC-17
Title: Score
Author: jennyagain
Pairing: Phil Kessel/ David Krejci (Boston Bruins)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,453
Summary: Set in New York City the evening of Saturday, March 7, 2009 after the Bruins win over the 'Hawks (in which both Krejci and Kessel scored). "This is because we both scored today, isn't it?"
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: This one goes out to sailorscully who made magic happen yesterday.
Score
Easy exit, easy flight, easy check-in at the hotel, then - at last - easy to get lost in the bright lights of the big city. Phil Kessel wasn't really feeling like he wanted to get lost, it just seemed likely, again, as per usual. He had David Krejci with him, which, he supposed, was better than having a ferret or a Montreal Canadien with him - but not much. Krejci knew his way around the city even less well than Kessel did.
They managed to find somewhere off the beaten path - but not too far - to have dinner, somewhere Kessel's mom had been on a school trip with his brother a few years back. They drank a little - but not too much - because they had a game to celebrate and a game to look forward to.
It was after dinner, out on the loud and unseasonably warm big city streets, that things got to be a little more interesting.
They were cutting across some sort of patch of fenced-in grass - how this warranted a sign proclaiming it to be a "park" Kessel could not figure out - when Krejci stopped, cocked his head, and said, "I know that song!"
Kessel cocked his head, too, hoping to hear something besides the honking of taxis, but couldn't. "Sounds to me like downtown Boston at rush-hour. Ah, the soothing melodies of traffic."
"No, jerkoff. That song."
Kessel looked where Krejci was looking in hopes that his eyes could help his ears. The building storefront Krejci had been staring at was painted jet black, its edges marked with running lights, a name splashed across its awning in what looked like shimmering gold beads.
An impressive bouncer, head to toe in leather, stood guard behind an actual velvet rope. In dismay Kessel scrunched up his face as Krejci looked at him hopefully.
"You know that's not my scene, Krech."
"But we need to celebrate!"
"We did! At dinner! And we've got another game tomorrow. Krech, let's go home."
"But I know that song! I love that song."
Kessel could hear it now: the thump of a heavy techno beat, a warbling, electronic melody blended into the bleats of the traffic all around them. Krejci swayed his hips, just a little, right there in the fake-park-square, the look on his face a mixture of a wheedling pout and uncut hope.
Kessel's heart did a weird little flippy thing, and he gave in.
Krejci flashed him a huge grin, one that reached all the way up and crinkled his eyes, and took off across the street.
::
It took longer than anticipated for Kessel's eyes to adjust to the dim-but-punctuated-by-strobing lights inside the club. Krejci had sidled up to the bar right away, calling for Jack & Cokes, and Kessel had taken a sip as he leaned against the bar, trying to match Krejci's enthusiasm for their new environs.
He hated clubs.
There were beautiful people everywhere. Krejci fit right in, of course, just tall enough and just slender enough and just built enough - with a great ass, Jesus - that he could fit in anywhere. Kessel felt awfully self-conscious in scenes like these, too short and too solid and too young. Krejci wasn't much older, of course, but he was an ocean away from home and had been for a long time and Kessel knew that grew you up in a hurry.
He watched - as his eyes adjusted - as Krejci chatted up some girls who'd been standing together, pointing and giggling in their direction. To Kessel they didn't look like Krejci's type, not by a long shot, but apparently he was feeling gregarious and generous with his attention and he let two of them lead him out onto the dance floor, throwing another Cheshire grin at Kessel before twining his arms around the girls.
Kessel was content to watch.
It was a good show. Krejci had grace on the ice and off, and way more rhythm that your average white boy, at least in the circles Kessel usually ran in. Savard couldn't dance and Lucic was a trainwreck, but Krejci, he had rhythm and poise and charisma and Kessel soon found himself staring.
Then, and it hit him all at once like a blindside, open-ice check, he found himself jealous.
And it wasn't because Krejci was the center of attention of a bunch of attractive girls; Kessel could not have cared less about that bunch. It was because the girls were fawning over Krejci.
His stomach did that funny swoopy-thing again. He downed his drink, and strode out onto the dance floor, pedigree of an awkward Wisconsin boy be damned.
The girls welcomed him into their circle, and Krejci was once again all crinkly-eyed smiles. There were about ten of them now, the original two Krejci had come out with, plus a handful of other beauties, but Kessel really only had eyes for Krejci. He chose the girl nearest Krejci, slipped his hand into the small of her back, and began to move with her. It was just as awkward as he'd feared it would be, but his movements at least felt fluid, thanks to Captain Jack and the good folks at Coca-Cola. The girl he was dancing with was lovely, an inch shorter than he was with long brown hair in loose waves, but all that mattered - the bits that kept short-circuiting Kessel - were the times he brushed against Krejci.
It was innocent at first. Really it was. Jealousy may have driven him to the dance floor, but Kessel honestly had no designs on the night beyond needing to be back in the thick of things, back sharing the spotlight with his teammate, back in the energy of Krejci's rosy halo. Then Krejci's hand had brushed his arm as he'd executed some dance move that had the girls giggling, and quick prickles of gooseflesh had spread from where Krejci had touched him.
From that moment, everything had felt inevitable.
The music got louder, Kessel's limbs got looser, Krejci's laughter became more frequent. As time slipped and slid past them, more and more of what Kessel did was for Krejci's benefit, angling for more laughter, more easy touches, then more purposeful ones.
Then, somehow, the girls had moved back, stepped back to watch, circled around them but not touching either Kessel or Krejci - making room for Krejci and Kessel to touch each other.
Catcalls and high-pitched giggles and one shout of "Get a room!" came from all sides, but all Kessel registered clearly were Krejci's hands sliding down his back, fists bunched in the fabric of his sweaty shirt, then cupping the small of his back with one hand, pressing them together as his other hand came up and cupped the back of Kessel's neck, foreheads touching, a breath away from kissing. Kessel could feel the length of Krejci's cock, hard, pressed against his thigh and dangerously close to Kessel's own.
Propriety and decency and rational thought high-tailed it out of there, leaving Kessel swaying on his feet, clutching Krejci, eyes closed, awash in desire. He could hear the girls hooting and whistling, but only in the vaguest, foggiest way. His own hands moved down to Krejci's hips, clung, nudged, pressed close. He got his hands up under Krejci's untucked shirt, felt sparks of electricity rip through him as they found Krejci's hot, bare skin.
He needed more, and he needed it immediately. Kessel's heart was pounding, thoughts a-swirl: he fucking loved this club, all of a sudden, its heat and its intensity, that it had him in Krejci's clutches with pretty girls calling for them, and maybe they were really just calling for Krejci but Kessel didn't mind, he was part of Krejci's glow, but he needed to get out of there because - oh fuck - a kiss was coming and Kessel wanted, but he did not want to share.
"David - " It came out sharply, an embarrassingly breathless gasp, but thank Christ only Krejci could hear him. Krejci's eyes opened, heat mirrored there just as Kessel had hoped and feared and wished and wondered over and wanted.
"Yes - Please - " Just as breathless, colored by the lilt of Krejci's accent, and goosebumps prickled again in the wake of the tiniest brush of Krejci's lips against Kessel's neck, near his ear.
Strike while the iron is hot, Kessel thought inanely, and, in an uncharacteristic move, he took the lead, took Krejci's hand, pulled him along behind as he threaded his way off the dance floor to the dismay of their audience, obvious disappointment laced through the continued cat-calling. Kessel threw a broad smile over his shoulder at the girls, and - of course - his eye caught Krejci's, who returned the grin.
::
They kept their hands to themselves in the cab on the way back to the hotel. They kept their hands to themselves in the lobby, and in the elevator car which they shared with an elderly couple and a pair of likely newlyweds who did not keep their hands off each other. Krejci shot Kessel a look that clearly said - to Kessel's overheated mind at least - If we were not super-famous Boston Bruins visiting New York City I would so be doing that to you right now, and Kessel bit the inside of his cheek.
Still, they kept their hands to themselves when the elderly couple exited, and again when the newlyweds got off. Even though they were alone, they stood on opposite sides of the elevator car, a study in casual disinterest, definitely not meeting each other's eyes as they rode upward. Then the elevator pinged and stopped at their floor.
As it turned out, their exercise in caution and restraint proved useful because as the door opened on their floor, Kessel stepped off and nearly ran smack into Marc Savard.
"Kes! Hey! Krech! What's up, guys?"
"Hey, Sav." Please let this be a short conversation please let Savvy be purposefully going somewhere please let me and Krech get away and soon need need need, Kessel silently prayed. He snuck a glance at Krejci, and the look on Krejci's face showed similar things taking place in his mind.
"You guys out on the town? Get some dinner? Didja catch a movie? Oh, hey, no, you went dancing I'll bet." Savard's eyes glittered as he looked Kessel over, and Kessel had to fight off a blush. "Caught some tail, I'll bet. Just a quickie?"
"Did some dancing, yeah," Krejci answered for them both, smiling pleasantly, "lots of pretty girls. This is a good city."
"Good city to win in tomorrow," Kessel added, and Savard nodded.
"Yeah, speaking of winning, time for bed I'll bet. Early skate. Gotta take it to those Ranger bastards tomorrow. Gotta be ready for Avery, that douchebag. Quickie'll tide you over 'til we're home again, eh?"
"You bet," said Krejci as Savard stepped onto the elevator and the doors slid closed, cutting off Savard's chatter and leaving Kessel and Krejci alone in the hallway.
Krejci did a sharp about-face and took off running for their room. Kessel laughed, then followed.
::
The door had barely snicked shut behind them when Kessel found his face cradled in Krejci's warm, soft hands, pinned to the wall by the tight press of Krejci's hips, the sweet press of Krejci's cock against his own. Kessel wiggled a little bit, and the friction had choirs of lustful angels singing in his fevered mind.
Krejci asked, softly, eyes searching Kessel's face, "Are we supposed to talk about this first?"
The words formed a question, but Kessel wasn't going to answer it, at least not out loud. Instead he squirmed his hips into Krejci's again and reached up, threading his fingers through Krejci's damp hair before leaning in for the kiss he'd been so desperately wanting. Krejci, now clearly on board with the no-need-to-discuss urgency of the situation, smiled and obliged.
The sweet, delicious, searing heat of Krejci's mouth against his immediately canceled out all of Kessel's remaining thoughts about how monumentally stupid it was to get into something like this with the guy you shared a road-room with. When Krejci's teeth followed his tongue, nipping at Kessel's lower lip, claiming him and making his knees weak with want, Kessel stopped thinking entirely, shifting all decision-making to his cock.
It wasn't hard to figure out what was going to happen next.
"This is because we both scored today, isn't it?" Kessel asked, pausing as he licked along the edge of Krejci's jaw. Mostly Kessel just wanted to hear Krejci laugh again, hear him say something witty in that accent, but Krejci's response was to turn his face and kiss him again as his hands worked to tug Kessel's belt free of its loops.
Then Kessel got his wish: "Want to score again now," Krejci said, and Kessel snickered.
"Come and get it," Kessel shot back, and the game was truly on.
Words weren't needed as shirts were peeled off, tossed unceremoniously about their room. Undershirts came up over heads and hands returned to grope and tease as more and more pale skin became available to touch. Pants were dropped, shoes and socks kicked off, and Kessel found himself under Krejci on the bed nearest the door, his bed, with Krejci kissing a trail down Kessel's chest. Kessel may had let slip a small squeak when Krejci's teeth closed gently around one nipple - no one had ever done that to him before and the shock of pleasure it sent through Kessel couldn't not be vocalized.
So this is what it's like with another guy, thought Kessel, as Krejci went to work on his other nipple, hands sliding in under the waistband of Kessel's boxers. Kessel helpfully bucked his hips up, squealing a bit more, and Krejci chuckled as he slid the last bit of Kessel's clothing down and off.
Krejci, naked but for boxer-briefs, sat back, and Kessel felt himself blush all over as Krejci looked at him.
Krejci's face was sweetly serious as he took in Kessel's pale chest, its light fuzz of blond hair, the coarse trail leading from his navel to where Kessel's hard cock lay waiting. Kessel gasped as Krejci's hands followed the same path as his eyes had just done, smoothing over his chest, teasing down that trail, moving up his thighs to his cock, which leapt as Krejci curled the fingers of one hand around it, moving the other below to stroke the soft skin hidden between Kessel's legs.
Kessel had been given a lot of blow-jobs, more than most 21-year-olds for sure, but he'd never imagined it could be like this. He didn't have to warn Krejci to be careful with his teeth, he didn't have to tell him to work slower, or faster, or harder, or to concentrate on the tip, to tongue him along the ridge of the crown of his cock, to coax him to take a bit more, to not rush, to suck and use his tongue and to give and to take.
Krejci knew, and Krejci did it all.
But he wouldn't let Kessel come. He took him to the brink, time, time again, time the third, and Kessel was whining and whimpering and squirming around and bucking his hips up against the pressure of Krejci's strong hands holding him down but Krejci knew when Kessel was teetering right on the edge and he wouldn't push him over. Kessel lay there after that third trip right to the edge, panting, eyes flashing in need and desperation and a little bit of humiliation and the words, "Want to come," escaped before he could reel himself in and Krejci - that fucker - laughed.
"Want you to come," Krejci responded, thumb running along the inside of Kessel's trembling thigh. "Want you to come fucking me. Want you to score."
Kessel swallowed hard. He'd never been with a guy, wasn't sure how this was all supposed to go, but Krejci seemed to know what he was doing and he definitely seemed to know what he wanted so Kessel pushed himself up into a sitting position and said, "OK."
Krejci flashed that smile again, and said, "Good." He stood, rummaged in his bag for a moment or two and returned with a little bottle which he tossed to Kessel, who caught it and read the purple and red label: Astroglide. Of course Krejci traveled with lube. Kessel was learning a lot about his roommate on this trip that he couldn't believe he hadn't known before.
"Wanna help or wanna watch?" Krejci asked, eyes searching Kessel's face, hand sliding up Kessel's thigh once more.
Kessel swallowed hard and said, voice dangerously close to cracking, "Watch."
Krejci laughed, then nodded. "Give it back then, and learn."
Kessel tossed him the bottle, and Krejci, up on his knees on the bed, went to work.
He did himself first, slicking the fingers of both hands, letting his left curl around his own cock lightly as he spread his knees and reached between his legs with his right, generously coating the area all around his opening before plunging two fingers in. Kessel mouth went dry as he watched, and Krejci's eyes never left Kessel's face. When he was satisfied with his own state, Krejci lubed his fingers again and moved to wrap his slick hands around Kessel's cock, aching from being teased and taken to the edge so many times already. Krejci touched him only as much as was strictly necessary, and Kessel was grateful because the gun was seriously about to go off and oh how he wanted this to last.
"Ready?" Krejci asked, eyes alight, and Kessel could only manage a brief nod. Krejci swapped him spots on the bed, laying back propped up on pillows with his legs splayed wide. "On your knees, there," Krejci directed him, and Kessel scampered to obey. "Easy at first," Krejci warned, and Kessel lined himself up with Krejci's slick opening. Then, he pressed in.
Slick, tight heat engulfed the head of his cock, and it took every iota of Kessel's concentration on Krejci's warning to keep from slamming his hips home, burying himself in Krejci and pumping away frantically, desperate for release.
He was glad he didn't, though, because as Krejci warmed to him, adjusted to his presence and the stretch of having Kessel buried inside, the rhythm they set together outdid anything Kessel could have possibly hoped to pick up on his own. Krejci's mouth curled into an "o" and sweat made the light brown fringe of his hair a dark smudge across his forehead. Kessel moved his hips, and the paced picked up itself. Then, as the edge of the precipice of orgasm screamed toward Kessel for the fourth time - and this time not going over was not an option - Krejci cried, "There! Right there!" and a bunch of stuff in Czech and his fingers dug into Kessel's hips, holding him flush, and he came, and the sweet tightness of being buried in Krejci's ass became even sweeter and tighter as Krejci's orgasm shuddered through him and - finally - Kessel let go and came with a shriek of utter bliss, collapsing on top of Krejci who laughed quietly and stroked Kessel's sweaty hair.
::
It was Krejci who recovered first, stretched to work the kinks out and then gingerly walked to the bathroom to grab towels for them both. On his way back he tucked the lube back into its secret spot in his suitcase and crawled into the other bed, patting it and beckoning to Kessel with a yawn.
Kessel crawled in beside Krejci, who dropped off into sleep with a murmured " 'Night, Kes," followed quickly by slowing and deepening breathing and then light snores.
Time slid by; Kessel lay awake.
How did this happen? he wondered, head propped up on an elbow, looking down at Krejci's face which was relaxed and peaceful in sleep, the bliss of having broken a scoring drought - oh God the puns he could make - evident on his teammate's face. Stupid club I didn't want to go to, stupid Krejci for looking so good with all those girls on him, stupid flashing lights and stupid strong drinks and stupid girls catcalling and -
Stupid me for not knowing I wanted this sooner, could've had it all along.
Kessel finally smiled, thinking not of pucks off posts and sticks in skates on breakaways, but of Krejci's eye-crinkling smile and of how it would feel to tackle Krejci to the ice the next time he scored.
Author: jennyagain
Pairing: Phil Kessel/ David Krejci (Boston Bruins)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,453
Summary: Set in New York City the evening of Saturday, March 7, 2009 after the Bruins win over the 'Hawks (in which both Krejci and Kessel scored). "This is because we both scored today, isn't it?"
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: This one goes out to sailorscully who made magic happen yesterday.
Score
Easy exit, easy flight, easy check-in at the hotel, then - at last - easy to get lost in the bright lights of the big city. Phil Kessel wasn't really feeling like he wanted to get lost, it just seemed likely, again, as per usual. He had David Krejci with him, which, he supposed, was better than having a ferret or a Montreal Canadien with him - but not much. Krejci knew his way around the city even less well than Kessel did.
They managed to find somewhere off the beaten path - but not too far - to have dinner, somewhere Kessel's mom had been on a school trip with his brother a few years back. They drank a little - but not too much - because they had a game to celebrate and a game to look forward to.
It was after dinner, out on the loud and unseasonably warm big city streets, that things got to be a little more interesting.
They were cutting across some sort of patch of fenced-in grass - how this warranted a sign proclaiming it to be a "park" Kessel could not figure out - when Krejci stopped, cocked his head, and said, "I know that song!"
Kessel cocked his head, too, hoping to hear something besides the honking of taxis, but couldn't. "Sounds to me like downtown Boston at rush-hour. Ah, the soothing melodies of traffic."
"No, jerkoff. That song."
Kessel looked where Krejci was looking in hopes that his eyes could help his ears. The building storefront Krejci had been staring at was painted jet black, its edges marked with running lights, a name splashed across its awning in what looked like shimmering gold beads.
An impressive bouncer, head to toe in leather, stood guard behind an actual velvet rope. In dismay Kessel scrunched up his face as Krejci looked at him hopefully.
"You know that's not my scene, Krech."
"But we need to celebrate!"
"We did! At dinner! And we've got another game tomorrow. Krech, let's go home."
"But I know that song! I love that song."
Kessel could hear it now: the thump of a heavy techno beat, a warbling, electronic melody blended into the bleats of the traffic all around them. Krejci swayed his hips, just a little, right there in the fake-park-square, the look on his face a mixture of a wheedling pout and uncut hope.
Kessel's heart did a weird little flippy thing, and he gave in.
Krejci flashed him a huge grin, one that reached all the way up and crinkled his eyes, and took off across the street.
::
It took longer than anticipated for Kessel's eyes to adjust to the dim-but-punctuated-by-strobing lights inside the club. Krejci had sidled up to the bar right away, calling for Jack & Cokes, and Kessel had taken a sip as he leaned against the bar, trying to match Krejci's enthusiasm for their new environs.
He hated clubs.
There were beautiful people everywhere. Krejci fit right in, of course, just tall enough and just slender enough and just built enough - with a great ass, Jesus - that he could fit in anywhere. Kessel felt awfully self-conscious in scenes like these, too short and too solid and too young. Krejci wasn't much older, of course, but he was an ocean away from home and had been for a long time and Kessel knew that grew you up in a hurry.
He watched - as his eyes adjusted - as Krejci chatted up some girls who'd been standing together, pointing and giggling in their direction. To Kessel they didn't look like Krejci's type, not by a long shot, but apparently he was feeling gregarious and generous with his attention and he let two of them lead him out onto the dance floor, throwing another Cheshire grin at Kessel before twining his arms around the girls.
Kessel was content to watch.
It was a good show. Krejci had grace on the ice and off, and way more rhythm that your average white boy, at least in the circles Kessel usually ran in. Savard couldn't dance and Lucic was a trainwreck, but Krejci, he had rhythm and poise and charisma and Kessel soon found himself staring.
Then, and it hit him all at once like a blindside, open-ice check, he found himself jealous.
And it wasn't because Krejci was the center of attention of a bunch of attractive girls; Kessel could not have cared less about that bunch. It was because the girls were fawning over Krejci.
His stomach did that funny swoopy-thing again. He downed his drink, and strode out onto the dance floor, pedigree of an awkward Wisconsin boy be damned.
The girls welcomed him into their circle, and Krejci was once again all crinkly-eyed smiles. There were about ten of them now, the original two Krejci had come out with, plus a handful of other beauties, but Kessel really only had eyes for Krejci. He chose the girl nearest Krejci, slipped his hand into the small of her back, and began to move with her. It was just as awkward as he'd feared it would be, but his movements at least felt fluid, thanks to Captain Jack and the good folks at Coca-Cola. The girl he was dancing with was lovely, an inch shorter than he was with long brown hair in loose waves, but all that mattered - the bits that kept short-circuiting Kessel - were the times he brushed against Krejci.
It was innocent at first. Really it was. Jealousy may have driven him to the dance floor, but Kessel honestly had no designs on the night beyond needing to be back in the thick of things, back sharing the spotlight with his teammate, back in the energy of Krejci's rosy halo. Then Krejci's hand had brushed his arm as he'd executed some dance move that had the girls giggling, and quick prickles of gooseflesh had spread from where Krejci had touched him.
From that moment, everything had felt inevitable.
The music got louder, Kessel's limbs got looser, Krejci's laughter became more frequent. As time slipped and slid past them, more and more of what Kessel did was for Krejci's benefit, angling for more laughter, more easy touches, then more purposeful ones.
Then, somehow, the girls had moved back, stepped back to watch, circled around them but not touching either Kessel or Krejci - making room for Krejci and Kessel to touch each other.
Catcalls and high-pitched giggles and one shout of "Get a room!" came from all sides, but all Kessel registered clearly were Krejci's hands sliding down his back, fists bunched in the fabric of his sweaty shirt, then cupping the small of his back with one hand, pressing them together as his other hand came up and cupped the back of Kessel's neck, foreheads touching, a breath away from kissing. Kessel could feel the length of Krejci's cock, hard, pressed against his thigh and dangerously close to Kessel's own.
Propriety and decency and rational thought high-tailed it out of there, leaving Kessel swaying on his feet, clutching Krejci, eyes closed, awash in desire. He could hear the girls hooting and whistling, but only in the vaguest, foggiest way. His own hands moved down to Krejci's hips, clung, nudged, pressed close. He got his hands up under Krejci's untucked shirt, felt sparks of electricity rip through him as they found Krejci's hot, bare skin.
He needed more, and he needed it immediately. Kessel's heart was pounding, thoughts a-swirl: he fucking loved this club, all of a sudden, its heat and its intensity, that it had him in Krejci's clutches with pretty girls calling for them, and maybe they were really just calling for Krejci but Kessel didn't mind, he was part of Krejci's glow, but he needed to get out of there because - oh fuck - a kiss was coming and Kessel wanted, but he did not want to share.
"David - " It came out sharply, an embarrassingly breathless gasp, but thank Christ only Krejci could hear him. Krejci's eyes opened, heat mirrored there just as Kessel had hoped and feared and wished and wondered over and wanted.
"Yes - Please - " Just as breathless, colored by the lilt of Krejci's accent, and goosebumps prickled again in the wake of the tiniest brush of Krejci's lips against Kessel's neck, near his ear.
Strike while the iron is hot, Kessel thought inanely, and, in an uncharacteristic move, he took the lead, took Krejci's hand, pulled him along behind as he threaded his way off the dance floor to the dismay of their audience, obvious disappointment laced through the continued cat-calling. Kessel threw a broad smile over his shoulder at the girls, and - of course - his eye caught Krejci's, who returned the grin.
::
They kept their hands to themselves in the cab on the way back to the hotel. They kept their hands to themselves in the lobby, and in the elevator car which they shared with an elderly couple and a pair of likely newlyweds who did not keep their hands off each other. Krejci shot Kessel a look that clearly said - to Kessel's overheated mind at least - If we were not super-famous Boston Bruins visiting New York City I would so be doing that to you right now, and Kessel bit the inside of his cheek.
Still, they kept their hands to themselves when the elderly couple exited, and again when the newlyweds got off. Even though they were alone, they stood on opposite sides of the elevator car, a study in casual disinterest, definitely not meeting each other's eyes as they rode upward. Then the elevator pinged and stopped at their floor.
As it turned out, their exercise in caution and restraint proved useful because as the door opened on their floor, Kessel stepped off and nearly ran smack into Marc Savard.
"Kes! Hey! Krech! What's up, guys?"
"Hey, Sav." Please let this be a short conversation please let Savvy be purposefully going somewhere please let me and Krech get away and soon need need need, Kessel silently prayed. He snuck a glance at Krejci, and the look on Krejci's face showed similar things taking place in his mind.
"You guys out on the town? Get some dinner? Didja catch a movie? Oh, hey, no, you went dancing I'll bet." Savard's eyes glittered as he looked Kessel over, and Kessel had to fight off a blush. "Caught some tail, I'll bet. Just a quickie?"
"Did some dancing, yeah," Krejci answered for them both, smiling pleasantly, "lots of pretty girls. This is a good city."
"Good city to win in tomorrow," Kessel added, and Savard nodded.
"Yeah, speaking of winning, time for bed I'll bet. Early skate. Gotta take it to those Ranger bastards tomorrow. Gotta be ready for Avery, that douchebag. Quickie'll tide you over 'til we're home again, eh?"
"You bet," said Krejci as Savard stepped onto the elevator and the doors slid closed, cutting off Savard's chatter and leaving Kessel and Krejci alone in the hallway.
Krejci did a sharp about-face and took off running for their room. Kessel laughed, then followed.
::
The door had barely snicked shut behind them when Kessel found his face cradled in Krejci's warm, soft hands, pinned to the wall by the tight press of Krejci's hips, the sweet press of Krejci's cock against his own. Kessel wiggled a little bit, and the friction had choirs of lustful angels singing in his fevered mind.
Krejci asked, softly, eyes searching Kessel's face, "Are we supposed to talk about this first?"
The words formed a question, but Kessel wasn't going to answer it, at least not out loud. Instead he squirmed his hips into Krejci's again and reached up, threading his fingers through Krejci's damp hair before leaning in for the kiss he'd been so desperately wanting. Krejci, now clearly on board with the no-need-to-discuss urgency of the situation, smiled and obliged.
The sweet, delicious, searing heat of Krejci's mouth against his immediately canceled out all of Kessel's remaining thoughts about how monumentally stupid it was to get into something like this with the guy you shared a road-room with. When Krejci's teeth followed his tongue, nipping at Kessel's lower lip, claiming him and making his knees weak with want, Kessel stopped thinking entirely, shifting all decision-making to his cock.
It wasn't hard to figure out what was going to happen next.
"This is because we both scored today, isn't it?" Kessel asked, pausing as he licked along the edge of Krejci's jaw. Mostly Kessel just wanted to hear Krejci laugh again, hear him say something witty in that accent, but Krejci's response was to turn his face and kiss him again as his hands worked to tug Kessel's belt free of its loops.
Then Kessel got his wish: "Want to score again now," Krejci said, and Kessel snickered.
"Come and get it," Kessel shot back, and the game was truly on.
Words weren't needed as shirts were peeled off, tossed unceremoniously about their room. Undershirts came up over heads and hands returned to grope and tease as more and more pale skin became available to touch. Pants were dropped, shoes and socks kicked off, and Kessel found himself under Krejci on the bed nearest the door, his bed, with Krejci kissing a trail down Kessel's chest. Kessel may had let slip a small squeak when Krejci's teeth closed gently around one nipple - no one had ever done that to him before and the shock of pleasure it sent through Kessel couldn't not be vocalized.
So this is what it's like with another guy, thought Kessel, as Krejci went to work on his other nipple, hands sliding in under the waistband of Kessel's boxers. Kessel helpfully bucked his hips up, squealing a bit more, and Krejci chuckled as he slid the last bit of Kessel's clothing down and off.
Krejci, naked but for boxer-briefs, sat back, and Kessel felt himself blush all over as Krejci looked at him.
Krejci's face was sweetly serious as he took in Kessel's pale chest, its light fuzz of blond hair, the coarse trail leading from his navel to where Kessel's hard cock lay waiting. Kessel gasped as Krejci's hands followed the same path as his eyes had just done, smoothing over his chest, teasing down that trail, moving up his thighs to his cock, which leapt as Krejci curled the fingers of one hand around it, moving the other below to stroke the soft skin hidden between Kessel's legs.
Kessel had been given a lot of blow-jobs, more than most 21-year-olds for sure, but he'd never imagined it could be like this. He didn't have to warn Krejci to be careful with his teeth, he didn't have to tell him to work slower, or faster, or harder, or to concentrate on the tip, to tongue him along the ridge of the crown of his cock, to coax him to take a bit more, to not rush, to suck and use his tongue and to give and to take.
Krejci knew, and Krejci did it all.
But he wouldn't let Kessel come. He took him to the brink, time, time again, time the third, and Kessel was whining and whimpering and squirming around and bucking his hips up against the pressure of Krejci's strong hands holding him down but Krejci knew when Kessel was teetering right on the edge and he wouldn't push him over. Kessel lay there after that third trip right to the edge, panting, eyes flashing in need and desperation and a little bit of humiliation and the words, "Want to come," escaped before he could reel himself in and Krejci - that fucker - laughed.
"Want you to come," Krejci responded, thumb running along the inside of Kessel's trembling thigh. "Want you to come fucking me. Want you to score."
Kessel swallowed hard. He'd never been with a guy, wasn't sure how this was all supposed to go, but Krejci seemed to know what he was doing and he definitely seemed to know what he wanted so Kessel pushed himself up into a sitting position and said, "OK."
Krejci flashed that smile again, and said, "Good." He stood, rummaged in his bag for a moment or two and returned with a little bottle which he tossed to Kessel, who caught it and read the purple and red label: Astroglide. Of course Krejci traveled with lube. Kessel was learning a lot about his roommate on this trip that he couldn't believe he hadn't known before.
"Wanna help or wanna watch?" Krejci asked, eyes searching Kessel's face, hand sliding up Kessel's thigh once more.
Kessel swallowed hard and said, voice dangerously close to cracking, "Watch."
Krejci laughed, then nodded. "Give it back then, and learn."
Kessel tossed him the bottle, and Krejci, up on his knees on the bed, went to work.
He did himself first, slicking the fingers of both hands, letting his left curl around his own cock lightly as he spread his knees and reached between his legs with his right, generously coating the area all around his opening before plunging two fingers in. Kessel mouth went dry as he watched, and Krejci's eyes never left Kessel's face. When he was satisfied with his own state, Krejci lubed his fingers again and moved to wrap his slick hands around Kessel's cock, aching from being teased and taken to the edge so many times already. Krejci touched him only as much as was strictly necessary, and Kessel was grateful because the gun was seriously about to go off and oh how he wanted this to last.
"Ready?" Krejci asked, eyes alight, and Kessel could only manage a brief nod. Krejci swapped him spots on the bed, laying back propped up on pillows with his legs splayed wide. "On your knees, there," Krejci directed him, and Kessel scampered to obey. "Easy at first," Krejci warned, and Kessel lined himself up with Krejci's slick opening. Then, he pressed in.
Slick, tight heat engulfed the head of his cock, and it took every iota of Kessel's concentration on Krejci's warning to keep from slamming his hips home, burying himself in Krejci and pumping away frantically, desperate for release.
He was glad he didn't, though, because as Krejci warmed to him, adjusted to his presence and the stretch of having Kessel buried inside, the rhythm they set together outdid anything Kessel could have possibly hoped to pick up on his own. Krejci's mouth curled into an "o" and sweat made the light brown fringe of his hair a dark smudge across his forehead. Kessel moved his hips, and the paced picked up itself. Then, as the edge of the precipice of orgasm screamed toward Kessel for the fourth time - and this time not going over was not an option - Krejci cried, "There! Right there!" and a bunch of stuff in Czech and his fingers dug into Kessel's hips, holding him flush, and he came, and the sweet tightness of being buried in Krejci's ass became even sweeter and tighter as Krejci's orgasm shuddered through him and - finally - Kessel let go and came with a shriek of utter bliss, collapsing on top of Krejci who laughed quietly and stroked Kessel's sweaty hair.
::
It was Krejci who recovered first, stretched to work the kinks out and then gingerly walked to the bathroom to grab towels for them both. On his way back he tucked the lube back into its secret spot in his suitcase and crawled into the other bed, patting it and beckoning to Kessel with a yawn.
Kessel crawled in beside Krejci, who dropped off into sleep with a murmured " 'Night, Kes," followed quickly by slowing and deepening breathing and then light snores.
Time slid by; Kessel lay awake.
How did this happen? he wondered, head propped up on an elbow, looking down at Krejci's face which was relaxed and peaceful in sleep, the bliss of having broken a scoring drought - oh God the puns he could make - evident on his teammate's face. Stupid club I didn't want to go to, stupid Krejci for looking so good with all those girls on him, stupid flashing lights and stupid strong drinks and stupid girls catcalling and -
Stupid me for not knowing I wanted this sooner, could've had it all along.
Kessel finally smiled, thinking not of pucks off posts and sticks in skates on breakaways, but of Krejci's eye-crinkling smile and of how it would feel to tackle Krejci to the ice the next time he scored.