So Underappreciated
Characters: Devin Setoguchi (POV), Evgeni Nabokov, Joe Thornton (Why can’t I write anything other than them??)
Team: San Jose Sharks
Rating: high PG-13 for Devin’s dirty language?
Disclaimer: I’m not Devin, so no, sadly :(
A/N:
sherlockelly said I didn’t write enough porn. And this doesn’t really qualify, but it seems as though the two of us are in the mood for experimenting, and I kind of like how this came out. So it’s just a short little thing.
This was inspired by Kelly telling me that Nabby’s shirt was ripped in an interview. AWESOME.
And Devin thinks in run-on sentences.
We won the game tonight.
Ugh… barely.
I have no freaking idea where I was during those three periods, but apparently we played the Blue Jackets? Seriously, I don’t know where that went.
But hey, a win’s a win and we’ll take all the fucking points we can get.
Nabby’s pissed though, I can tell. Well shit, bro, to be honest I would be pretty steamed myself! Having to clean up the mess the team left behind for me, Jesus, no thank you. And not to mention he was a little testy since before the game, but meh. Really wasn’t my problem (it is now though, more UGH).
It was kinda funny how when we bumped heads after the game I could tell he wanted to shove his stick up my lazy ass, but hey, he didn’t need a lawsuit on top of carrying the team to victory tonight apparently. Win for me!
So we left it at that.
But now I’m cowering in the corner (figuratively of course, fuck, that would be hella embarrassing if I was actually hiding in the corner, I’m not Pickles for Christ’s sake) after what I did. I mean I didn’t mean to! It just… happened and shit I can feel that he’s glaring at me oh god I hope a skate doesn’t get lodged into the back of my head when I’m not facing him.
It was his favorite undershirt too.
It’s not like I meant to rip it… shit happens! Seriously, I don’t go out with a secret plot to tear people’s shirts. I’m not even sure how the hell it happened… Wait…
No, yeah, I do.
Why the fuck did I do that?
Flashback- queue locker room. Hmm okay.
’Hey Nabby!’
‘Hn.’
‘Ya played great out there, bud! Seriously saved our asses tonight.’
‘Plhease stop touching me’ (as said in his incredibly unmasculine Russian accent).
Oh and my arm was lovingly draped over his shoulder by the way. Seriously what was I on?
‘Oh, sorry, didn’t mean ta get into your personal bubble there.’ Here I try to remove my arm and back away slowly. But OF COURSE I snag something on his shirt and rrrrrrrrp! There the first thread went. ‘Shit! Sorry, bud… I’ll just go now.’
I move away. More ripping. Awesome.
We were both silent for a little bit, I think half the locker room was staring at us, wondering what would become of my fate. He finally ground out that I should just leave. Well screw that, I didn’t just leave, I fucking booked it outta there.
Well that was awkward and horrifying and somewhat gratifying: just coping a feel with Nabby’s pec.
Oh, hello there rippling muscle! It’s nice to become more acquainted with you. Next time we meet, I would love to have the pleasure of licking whipped cream off- WOAH. Not now, brain. We’re thinking about surviving the night, not the joys of fondling hot, sticky flesh right now, kay?
I chance a nervous glance over my shoulder when I feel the prickle of his glare not on me anymore. I have to look the other way quick before my eyes can glue themselves to the scene.
Why in the name of god was he stretching in his little corner? (Okay, I actually know the answer to that- because he can’t be stiff tomorrow and that’s what everyone should do after a game, but for the sake of my wellbeing, WHY is he doing that?)
And it’s not like looking away helped anything. Fuck, I mean it’s not like I don’t know that he’s doing the one where it looks like he’s humping the floor.
You know the one, where he’s on his hands and knees… eh… sorta.
Where he spreads his legs apart to get his crotch right to the ground, arching back until his spine has this nice curve to it, his arms in front of him to even out his weight (but also squishes his chest together nicely), and his head thrown back like he’s getting really good head or something.
So that would've been bad enough, yeah?
But then he starts bouncing his hips to get closer to the ground, and his round ass is just wiggling in the air, all firm and shit from all the squats he does. It’s fucking begging to be smacked.
They say this is to stretch the groin? Yeah, I don’t think so. It’s to give the people watching a boner, that’s what it does. So not cool.
My face is probably beet red by now so I have to look the opposite direction completely, so it’s not like, in the corner of my eye where I would be “not looking,” but secretly watching the entire time.
Oh great, and here's Joe’s staring with that unmistakable dark look right at him. His chest is heaving and his hands are pushing into his thighs. Shit man, even his erection is noticeable through his bright ass orange underwear! What the hell.
I mean, it’s not like I don’t know they’re fucking, because well, shit, everyone knows they’re fucking. Todd probably knows.
But it’s just not fair how Joe could openly look at that when I can’t even congratulate the man on a win.
The world is out to get me. Ugh… I hate life.
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Team: San Jose Sharks
Rating: high PG-13 for Devin’s dirty language?
Disclaimer: I’m not Devin, so no, sadly :(
A/N:
sherlockelly said I didn’t write enough porn. And this doesn’t really qualify, but it seems as though the two of us are in the mood for experimenting, and I kind of like how this came out. So it’s just a short little thing.
This was inspired by Kelly telling me that Nabby’s shirt was ripped in an interview. AWESOME.
And Devin thinks in run-on sentences.
We won the game tonight.
Ugh… barely.
I have no freaking idea where I was during those three periods, but apparently we played the Blue Jackets? Seriously, I don’t know where that went.
But hey, a win’s a win and we’ll take all the fucking points we can get.
Nabby’s pissed though, I can tell. Well shit, bro, to be honest I would be pretty steamed myself! Having to clean up the mess the team left behind for me, Jesus, no thank you. And not to mention he was a little testy since before the game, but meh. Really wasn’t my problem (it is now though, more UGH).
It was kinda funny how when we bumped heads after the game I could tell he wanted to shove his stick up my lazy ass, but hey, he didn’t need a lawsuit on top of carrying the team to victory tonight apparently. Win for me!
So we left it at that.
But now I’m cowering in the corner (figuratively of course, fuck, that would be hella embarrassing if I was actually hiding in the corner, I’m not Pickles for Christ’s sake) after what I did. I mean I didn’t mean to! It just… happened and shit I can feel that he’s glaring at me oh god I hope a skate doesn’t get lodged into the back of my head when I’m not facing him.
It was his favorite undershirt too.
It’s not like I meant to rip it… shit happens! Seriously, I don’t go out with a secret plot to tear people’s shirts. I’m not even sure how the hell it happened… Wait…
No, yeah, I do.
Why the fuck did I do that?
Flashback- queue locker room. Hmm okay.
’Hey Nabby!’
‘Hn.’
‘Ya played great out there, bud! Seriously saved our asses tonight.’
‘Plhease stop touching me’ (as said in his incredibly unmasculine Russian accent).
Oh and my arm was lovingly draped over his shoulder by the way. Seriously what was I on?
‘Oh, sorry, didn’t mean ta get into your personal bubble there.’ Here I try to remove my arm and back away slowly. But OF COURSE I snag something on his shirt and rrrrrrrrp! There the first thread went. ‘Shit! Sorry, bud… I’ll just go now.’
I move away. More ripping. Awesome.
We were both silent for a little bit, I think half the locker room was staring at us, wondering what would become of my fate. He finally ground out that I should just leave. Well screw that, I didn’t just leave, I fucking booked it outta there.
Well that was awkward and horrifying and somewhat gratifying: just coping a feel with Nabby’s pec.
Oh, hello there rippling muscle! It’s nice to become more acquainted with you. Next time we meet, I would love to have the pleasure of licking whipped cream off- WOAH. Not now, brain. We’re thinking about surviving the night, not the joys of fondling hot, sticky flesh right now, kay?
I chance a nervous glance over my shoulder when I feel the prickle of his glare not on me anymore. I have to look the other way quick before my eyes can glue themselves to the scene.
Why in the name of god was he stretching in his little corner? (Okay, I actually know the answer to that- because he can’t be stiff tomorrow and that’s what everyone should do after a game, but for the sake of my wellbeing, WHY is he doing that?)
And it’s not like looking away helped anything. Fuck, I mean it’s not like I don’t know that he’s doing the one where it looks like he’s humping the floor.
You know the one, where he’s on his hands and knees… eh… sorta.
Where he spreads his legs apart to get his crotch right to the ground, arching back until his spine has this nice curve to it, his arms in front of him to even out his weight (but also squishes his chest together nicely), and his head thrown back like he’s getting really good head or something.
So that would've been bad enough, yeah?
But then he starts bouncing his hips to get closer to the ground, and his round ass is just wiggling in the air, all firm and shit from all the squats he does. It’s fucking begging to be smacked.
They say this is to stretch the groin? Yeah, I don’t think so. It’s to give the people watching a boner, that’s what it does. So not cool.
My face is probably beet red by now so I have to look the opposite direction completely, so it’s not like, in the corner of my eye where I would be “not looking,” but secretly watching the entire time.
Oh great, and here's Joe’s staring with that unmistakable dark look right at him. His chest is heaving and his hands are pushing into his thighs. Shit man, even his erection is noticeable through his bright ass orange underwear! What the hell.
I mean, it’s not like I don’t know they’re fucking, because well, shit, everyone knows they’re fucking. Todd probably knows.
But it’s just not fair how Joe could openly look at that when I can’t even congratulate the man on a win.
The world is out to get me. Ugh… I hate life.
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