2fer: "Crank Call" & "Bon Nuit"
Two for one special today. The first fic presented, “Crank Call”, was written back on April 4th. The second one, “Bon Nuit”, was written on April 15th, and picks up immediately where “Crank Call” leaves off. I got such positive feedback from my beta-readers (among them, caitlin--thanks cait!) on the latter, I decided to share with the community. :)
Disclaimer: I do not know these people. I do not know anything about what they do in the privacy of their hotel rooms. Made up. Fiction.
Characters: Milan Michalek, Mark Smith (Smitty), Jonathan Cheechoo (Cheech) [yes, THAT Jonathan Cheechoo], Jim Fahey (Jimmy), Steve Bernier (Bernie), a mention of “Josh” (Josh Gorges)
Title: Crank Call
Author: Zdarovyeh
Rating: PG-13, for language and sexual innuendo
Written: April 4, 2006
Author’s Note: harleymae threw down a gauntlet: to write a fic that begins with the line "[player] has a boner so big it's going to take my eye out!" Heavily inspired by her story, "How Not to Get Laid", I have, with permission, blessing, and orders of "DO IT!", written a variation on it. :). In real life, Milan Michalek and Jonathan Cheechoo are (or were at one point this season) roommates on the road; Mark Smith and Jim Fahey are/were roommates on the road. Milan (Czech) and Bernie (Quebecois) are both in the process of trying to learn/improve their English, and an eyewitness to a Sharks practice reported that they talk to each other in French.
"Jimmy has a boner so big it's going to take my eye out!"
Milan Michalek pulled the handset of the hotel phone away from his ear to stare at it. He was pretty sure it was English being spoken, but putting the words together in his head made no sense whatsoever. He brought the phone back to his head and asked uncomprehendingly, "What?"
"This is room 228, right?" the man on the other end of the line suddenly asked seriously.
"Yes, but--"
He wasn't given the opportunity to finish. The man interrupted merrily, "Cheech, it's threatening me! You need to come over here right now and take care of th--Ow!" The last sound was accompanied by a peal of laughter and a *clang* as if something had hit the phone, and another voice in the background saying, "I sweah to GAWD, Smitty..."
He figured out from that other voice, Jim Fahey’s characteristic Boston accent coming through, who he was talking to. "This is not Cheech, Mark" Milan said carefully into the phone.
"Oh, Jesus," Mark Smith said, suddenly sounding mortified. "Is that you Milan?""
"Yes."
"Oh, fucking hell," Smitty said in embarrassment. "Is Cheech there?"
"No," he answered simply. Simple was still best for him. "He is in room with Josh playing Xbox."
"Oh, hell. Hell," Smitty repeated apologetically. "I'm sorry, Milan, it was supposed to be a joke with Cheech. And it's not what you might think."
The words tumbled out of the ear piece like dice which he had to sort through carefully to understand. When he did, he said, "It okay. Good night, Smitty."
"Night, Milan."
Milan re-cradled the phone receiver, then looked over to find Bernie, stretched out on the bed next to him, looking up.
"Not even tempted?" Bernie asked teasingly in much easier to understand French.
Milan flopped back down, pillowing his head on his muscular linemate's arm, mouth curling up into a knowing smile. "Why should I be?"
Title: Bon Nuit
Author: Zdarovyeh
Rating: NC-17
Written: April 15, 2006
Author’s Note: Dialogue between Steve Bernier and Milan Michalek is all in French. The rest of the dialogue is in English. This is slightly AU of ‘my world’, wherein I write Bernie and Milan (who I call ‘Bernalek’ or ESL!love) serially; this was written as an exercise to figure out what might get Bernie and Milan past flirting with each other, and...well, why don’t you read. :)
Milan cradled the phone receiver, then looked over to find Bernie, stretched out on the bed next to him, looking up.
"Not even tempted?" Bernie asked teasingly in French.
Milan flopped back down, mouth curling up into a knowing smile. "Why should I be?"
Bernie shrugged his shoulder. “Hey, you never know.”
Milan grabbed the pillow out from under his right shoulder and whumped Bernie across the chest with it. Bernie oofed under the attack, laughing as Milan re-settled the pillow back in its place.
They resumed watching the movie, French language track on, and it only vaguely crossed Milan’s mind that he should maybe be troubled by their arrangement. Even with Cheech gone, they were stretched out together on his bed, Bernie’s arm under his head. He heard Bernie yawn hugely, and relax even further next to him. But even though one part of him thought he should be bothered by it, the better part of it felt like this was the most natural thing in the world.
The movie came to an end, and Milan looked over to find Bernie’s eyes closed, fast asleep. “Hey, Bernie,” he said softly. He was loathe to disturb him. They were all so tired this road trip.
Bernie’s response was to hiccough an inhale, then let his breath out, sinking even more deeply into sleep.
Milan sighed. He didn’t have the heart to wake him. The bed was big enough for two, he decided. After stripping down to t-shirt and boxers, he crawled under the covers of the bed, to fall quickly asleep, listening to Bernie’s soft breathing.
*CRASH*
The door of the hotel room slammed into the wall, waking Milan up with a start. What followed was the sound of Cheech…giggling? as he stumbled in behind it.
“Shhhh,” another drunken-male-voice said loudly. “You’ll wake him up.”
“Milan?” Cheech slurred, “He sleeps through the alarm when it’s six inches from his head.”
“You sure?”
And with those words, Milan recognized Jim Fahey’s voice again.
“For sure,” Cheech assured him.
The door was shut, and the light pouring in from the hallway cut off to plunge the room back into semi-darkness.
And then he heard a body, possibly two bodies, thump up against the wall, and the tell-tale sounds of…kissing? It definitely sounded like kissing, the increased breath rate, the softly smacking noises made by two mouths moving against one another, and he detected the whisper of moving cloth, sliding against itself, against the stippled walls, against skin.
Cheech and Jimmy were kissing?
Milan wasn’t quite sure what to do. Part of him recoiled in revulsion at what he could only guess as to what they were doing. Part of him wanted to curl up in embarrassment that he was an unintentional voyeur into this illicit assignation, when they obviously thought he would sleep through it. Part of him thought he should speak up, let them know he was awake, so they wouldn’t continue in front of him, but part of him thought of how they’d react, how everyone would be even more mortified than Smitty had been on the phone earlier, and did he really want to deal with that? Part of him said he should just shut up, continue pretending to be asleep, and then not talk about it to anyone. When he ran through the options like that, he decided the last one sounded best.
Cheech yelped. “You bit my tongue!”
“Sorry,” Jimmy apologized, before the kissing noises resumed. They sounded like they were moving away from the wall, towards Cheech’s bed closest to the door, confirmed when the bedsprings creaked under weight.
Milan faced that bed. Even though his eyes were tightly closed, he didn’t want to be facing that bed, with the perfect acoustics. In a last ditch effort to try to prompt them to change their minds, he made a show of stirring in his sleep as he rolled over to his other side, so his back was to them. The sounds paused for a few seconds, but his relief survived only briefly, slain when he heard some piece of clothing splat on the floor.
“Careful,” Cheech breathed out softly in warning, as another piece of clothing joined the first. A rattling sigh came next, perhaps an answer.
The worst of it for Milan was that despite the initial revulsion and the embarrassment, he found another part of himself reacting at an unconscious level to the sounds coming from the other bed. The soft panting, the wet rasp of a tongue against taut skin, a slight gasp, and his body stirred, aroused. It was like listening to the soundtrack of a porno, with his imagination supplying the video feed, except it was real, and going on in the same room less than two meters from him.
“Easy,” Cheech instructed, voice already strained.
The bedsprings creaked, as someone shifted, moving and he could hear breathing coming from high on the bed as well as the middle. A scuffing sound, like skin against hair from lower down, accompanied a quiet moan from higher up, and Milan felt himself harden further, beginning to strain against the fabric of his boxers. He wished he could stop his ears and not hear anything more, but now both of them were making little small gasps amidst their noisy breathing.
“Yes,” Cheech breathed out in encouragement.
His groin ached. It had been a long roadtrip, and he wasn’t the type to pick up women on the road, and now he had his own personal Cheechoo Does Columbus going on in his room. Both of them were being loud enough and were drunk enough, from the sounds of things when they came in, that he doubted either of them would hear him or even pay attention if he was to move. He needed release, that was it, and it was their faults he needed it now. He moved his free hand under the covers as stealthily as possible, stuttering a breath as his fingers slid over his erection.
He heard another breath catch, and his eyes flew open.
He saw Bernie looking back at him in the gloaming of the room, only able to tell by the two pools of darkness that were his open eyes, rather than the white skin of closed eyelids. He was awake and had remained silent, too. This close, Milan could pick out the same mix of reactions affecting Bernie as him: fear, but arousal as well. That last sent a thrill of desire through him that surprised him, and he nearly gasped as he felt the surge move under his fingers. Bernie’s breath was quickened, his lips slightly parted, and he continued to look at Milan, not looking away, nor closing his eyes.
“Come here,” Cheech whispered from the other bed, and more creaking from movement to comply.
Milan wasn’t sure what motivated him, whether hormones clouded his judgment or something unspoken passed between them in that moment, but he slid towards Bernie as quietly as he could. Bernie still didn’t look away or move, his breath flowing in warm, rapid puffs over Milan’s face. And then Milan leaned in and kissed him, putting his lips on those parted, slightly yielding lips. It was like kissing a live wire. He choked back a cry from the current of need that ripped through him, heard Bernie swallow a sob, and then nearly lost control again as he felt the tip of Bernie’s tongue brush against his lips. He opened his mouth and it slid in, meeting his own tongue to taste and touch and twine together, and his eyes slid shut once more against the waves of exhilaration crashing through him.
“I want you naked against me,” Cheech said with yearning, amidst the loud breathing and tiny moans and groans of both of them.
So difficult to stay quiet, to not let the other two occupants of the room know that not only were Milan and Bernie awake, but nearly losing themselves in kissing gently. Milan’s hand was still over his groin, and he began moving it, feeling the coruscation of pleasure radiating down the shaft then out to the rest of his body, joining with the external stimulation of Bernie’s lips on his. Then Bernie was edging even closer towards him, and he felt another jolt at the twin sensations of touching himself and the back of his hand brushed up against the obvious sign of Bernie’s arousal. Bernie stifled a moan against his mouth.
“Down,” Cheech was demanding breathily. “Farther…farther…yes,” the final word went up sharply at the end, cut off in a crying grunt. The noises coming from mid-bed were popping air noises from a vacuum broken, a susurrus of damp skin against skin.
Milan didn’t even think about it, shifting his hand from himself to Bernie, feeling the hard knot of flesh slide under the layer of his shorts, feeling a suppressed whimper resonate through their kiss, and then having to suppress his own needy groan as Bernie’s hand slithered down to touch him in return.
The noises coming from the other bed were inarticulate now, masking anything they were doing under the blanket of squeaking bedsprings and undiminished expressions of their increasing ardor.
It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, like masturbating, the feelings coursing through his hands and through his body familiar, but the knowledge that it was another penis he touched, Bernie rubbing his large hand up and down his own in increasing frequency, of their mouths conjoined in a kiss that could last an eon, pushed him deeper and faster towards the brink. He wanted to feel bare skin, and slipped his hand under the waistband of Bernie’s shorts, beginning to stroke from base to tip as his hips began pushing eagerly against the feel of his own capture. A gasp escaped Bernie, but he readily followed suit, and Milan was rewarded by the sudden shock of feeling Bernie’s fingers enclose his engorged penis, the delicious friction eliciting a soft moan.
The pair on the other bed were oblivious, as Cheech was wheezing out, “Now, now, oh, fuck me now.” And after a pause, there was a low, mingled cry of pleasure, followed by the rhythmic gruntings of coupling.
Milan was nearly beyond himself, from the kiss, feeling Bernie’s hardness in his hand, Bernie pushing into him with increasing insistence that fell into sync with the sounds emanating from the other bed. He let himself fall into it as well, abandoning himself to the pattern, feeling the crest climb higher and higher. He couldn’t kiss Bernie anymore, as much as he wanted to, because he couldn’t catch his breath, could only rest his cheek against Bernie’s and pant into his ear, feel Bernie do the same, to hear the tiny whine of need thread through it, that drove him even higher. He felt the pressure building, how rock hard he felt, how hard Bernie was, felt the contractions that presaged orgasm building.
The two voices grunted explosively next to them.
And with it, he hit the pinnacle, went soaring into the sky, release coming wet and sticky, bit back the shout he wanted to voice and nearly bit his lip to bleeding. Bernie convulsed, thrust towards him, and came silently as well, creating a pool that oozed and began immediately congealing between them. They relaxed heavily into the bed, trying to catch their breaths, trying to still their breathing so to not betray themselves, even while Cheech and Jimmy did the same.
In the darkness, Milan opened his eyes to look at Bernie. Bernie’s eyes were closed, and Milan could see the sheen of sweat on his linemate’s round cheeks. But then Bernie’s dark eyes opened once more and looked at him, and he smiled, a tired, satiated smile.
He wanted to speak to him, but he couldn’t, not yet. They lay there still and quiet, listening to Cheech and Jimmy catch their breaths, to chuckle intimately, to kiss caringly. Then Jimmy saying, “I should get back to my room.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m going to take a shower. Night, Jimmy.”
Another kiss, quicker but still lingering, and Jimmy said, “Night.” Cheech disappeared into the bathroom, the light spilling out into the room briefly before he shut the door, light leaking around the sides to dimly illuminate the room enough for Jimmy to gather up his clothing and dress by. Water hissing in an enclosed space as Cheech turned on the shower, and Jimmy snuck out of the room.
Only after the door clicked shut did Milan speak, but in a murmur, almost afraid that Cheech might still hear them through the walls and through the waterfall of showering. “You should probably go, too, before Cheech realizes you were here.”
“Yeah,” Bernie agreed with reluctance, pulling his shorts back up around his hips.
Impulsively, Milan stretched out a hand to rest across Bernie’s cheek, giving him another slow, sweet kiss, of which he was delighted to note Bernie returned in full measure. “Thank you.”
Bernie’s response was shy. “For what?”
“For…what happened,” Milan answered in a hushed voice, equally shy. “I…liked it. I liked being with you like that.” He realized now why things before hadn’t bothered him.
In the gray light coming from the bathroom door, he saw Bernie smile. “I liked it, too,” he admitted, then dove in to give Milan a kiss that left him light-headed, and promised more. “Good night, Milan,” he whispered tenderly, the French making it, “Bon nuit, Milan.”
“Bon nuit, Bernie.”
(Both fics crossposted to zdarovyeh)
Disclaimer: I do not know these people. I do not know anything about what they do in the privacy of their hotel rooms. Made up. Fiction.
Characters: Milan Michalek, Mark Smith (Smitty), Jonathan Cheechoo (Cheech) [yes, THAT Jonathan Cheechoo], Jim Fahey (Jimmy), Steve Bernier (Bernie), a mention of “Josh” (Josh Gorges)
Title: Crank Call
Author: Zdarovyeh
Rating: PG-13, for language and sexual innuendo
Written: April 4, 2006
Author’s Note: harleymae threw down a gauntlet: to write a fic that begins with the line "[player] has a boner so big it's going to take my eye out!" Heavily inspired by her story, "How Not to Get Laid", I have, with permission, blessing, and orders of "DO IT!", written a variation on it. :). In real life, Milan Michalek and Jonathan Cheechoo are (or were at one point this season) roommates on the road; Mark Smith and Jim Fahey are/were roommates on the road. Milan (Czech) and Bernie (Quebecois) are both in the process of trying to learn/improve their English, and an eyewitness to a Sharks practice reported that they talk to each other in French.
"Jimmy has a boner so big it's going to take my eye out!"
Milan Michalek pulled the handset of the hotel phone away from his ear to stare at it. He was pretty sure it was English being spoken, but putting the words together in his head made no sense whatsoever. He brought the phone back to his head and asked uncomprehendingly, "What?"
"This is room 228, right?" the man on the other end of the line suddenly asked seriously.
"Yes, but--"
He wasn't given the opportunity to finish. The man interrupted merrily, "Cheech, it's threatening me! You need to come over here right now and take care of th--Ow!" The last sound was accompanied by a peal of laughter and a *clang* as if something had hit the phone, and another voice in the background saying, "I sweah to GAWD, Smitty..."
He figured out from that other voice, Jim Fahey’s characteristic Boston accent coming through, who he was talking to. "This is not Cheech, Mark" Milan said carefully into the phone.
"Oh, Jesus," Mark Smith said, suddenly sounding mortified. "Is that you Milan?""
"Yes."
"Oh, fucking hell," Smitty said in embarrassment. "Is Cheech there?"
"No," he answered simply. Simple was still best for him. "He is in room with Josh playing Xbox."
"Oh, hell. Hell," Smitty repeated apologetically. "I'm sorry, Milan, it was supposed to be a joke with Cheech. And it's not what you might think."
The words tumbled out of the ear piece like dice which he had to sort through carefully to understand. When he did, he said, "It okay. Good night, Smitty."
"Night, Milan."
Milan re-cradled the phone receiver, then looked over to find Bernie, stretched out on the bed next to him, looking up.
"Not even tempted?" Bernie asked teasingly in much easier to understand French.
Milan flopped back down, pillowing his head on his muscular linemate's arm, mouth curling up into a knowing smile. "Why should I be?"
Title: Bon Nuit
Author: Zdarovyeh
Rating: NC-17
Written: April 15, 2006
Author’s Note: Dialogue between Steve Bernier and Milan Michalek is all in French. The rest of the dialogue is in English. This is slightly AU of ‘my world’, wherein I write Bernie and Milan (who I call ‘Bernalek’ or ESL!love) serially; this was written as an exercise to figure out what might get Bernie and Milan past flirting with each other, and...well, why don’t you read. :)
Milan cradled the phone receiver, then looked over to find Bernie, stretched out on the bed next to him, looking up.
"Not even tempted?" Bernie asked teasingly in French.
Milan flopped back down, mouth curling up into a knowing smile. "Why should I be?"
Bernie shrugged his shoulder. “Hey, you never know.”
Milan grabbed the pillow out from under his right shoulder and whumped Bernie across the chest with it. Bernie oofed under the attack, laughing as Milan re-settled the pillow back in its place.
They resumed watching the movie, French language track on, and it only vaguely crossed Milan’s mind that he should maybe be troubled by their arrangement. Even with Cheech gone, they were stretched out together on his bed, Bernie’s arm under his head. He heard Bernie yawn hugely, and relax even further next to him. But even though one part of him thought he should be bothered by it, the better part of it felt like this was the most natural thing in the world.
The movie came to an end, and Milan looked over to find Bernie’s eyes closed, fast asleep. “Hey, Bernie,” he said softly. He was loathe to disturb him. They were all so tired this road trip.
Bernie’s response was to hiccough an inhale, then let his breath out, sinking even more deeply into sleep.
Milan sighed. He didn’t have the heart to wake him. The bed was big enough for two, he decided. After stripping down to t-shirt and boxers, he crawled under the covers of the bed, to fall quickly asleep, listening to Bernie’s soft breathing.
*CRASH*
The door of the hotel room slammed into the wall, waking Milan up with a start. What followed was the sound of Cheech…giggling? as he stumbled in behind it.
“Shhhh,” another drunken-male-voice said loudly. “You’ll wake him up.”
“Milan?” Cheech slurred, “He sleeps through the alarm when it’s six inches from his head.”
“You sure?”
And with those words, Milan recognized Jim Fahey’s voice again.
“For sure,” Cheech assured him.
The door was shut, and the light pouring in from the hallway cut off to plunge the room back into semi-darkness.
And then he heard a body, possibly two bodies, thump up against the wall, and the tell-tale sounds of…kissing? It definitely sounded like kissing, the increased breath rate, the softly smacking noises made by two mouths moving against one another, and he detected the whisper of moving cloth, sliding against itself, against the stippled walls, against skin.
Cheech and Jimmy were kissing?
Milan wasn’t quite sure what to do. Part of him recoiled in revulsion at what he could only guess as to what they were doing. Part of him wanted to curl up in embarrassment that he was an unintentional voyeur into this illicit assignation, when they obviously thought he would sleep through it. Part of him thought he should speak up, let them know he was awake, so they wouldn’t continue in front of him, but part of him thought of how they’d react, how everyone would be even more mortified than Smitty had been on the phone earlier, and did he really want to deal with that? Part of him said he should just shut up, continue pretending to be asleep, and then not talk about it to anyone. When he ran through the options like that, he decided the last one sounded best.
Cheech yelped. “You bit my tongue!”
“Sorry,” Jimmy apologized, before the kissing noises resumed. They sounded like they were moving away from the wall, towards Cheech’s bed closest to the door, confirmed when the bedsprings creaked under weight.
Milan faced that bed. Even though his eyes were tightly closed, he didn’t want to be facing that bed, with the perfect acoustics. In a last ditch effort to try to prompt them to change their minds, he made a show of stirring in his sleep as he rolled over to his other side, so his back was to them. The sounds paused for a few seconds, but his relief survived only briefly, slain when he heard some piece of clothing splat on the floor.
“Careful,” Cheech breathed out softly in warning, as another piece of clothing joined the first. A rattling sigh came next, perhaps an answer.
The worst of it for Milan was that despite the initial revulsion and the embarrassment, he found another part of himself reacting at an unconscious level to the sounds coming from the other bed. The soft panting, the wet rasp of a tongue against taut skin, a slight gasp, and his body stirred, aroused. It was like listening to the soundtrack of a porno, with his imagination supplying the video feed, except it was real, and going on in the same room less than two meters from him.
“Easy,” Cheech instructed, voice already strained.
The bedsprings creaked, as someone shifted, moving and he could hear breathing coming from high on the bed as well as the middle. A scuffing sound, like skin against hair from lower down, accompanied a quiet moan from higher up, and Milan felt himself harden further, beginning to strain against the fabric of his boxers. He wished he could stop his ears and not hear anything more, but now both of them were making little small gasps amidst their noisy breathing.
“Yes,” Cheech breathed out in encouragement.
His groin ached. It had been a long roadtrip, and he wasn’t the type to pick up women on the road, and now he had his own personal Cheechoo Does Columbus going on in his room. Both of them were being loud enough and were drunk enough, from the sounds of things when they came in, that he doubted either of them would hear him or even pay attention if he was to move. He needed release, that was it, and it was their faults he needed it now. He moved his free hand under the covers as stealthily as possible, stuttering a breath as his fingers slid over his erection.
He heard another breath catch, and his eyes flew open.
He saw Bernie looking back at him in the gloaming of the room, only able to tell by the two pools of darkness that were his open eyes, rather than the white skin of closed eyelids. He was awake and had remained silent, too. This close, Milan could pick out the same mix of reactions affecting Bernie as him: fear, but arousal as well. That last sent a thrill of desire through him that surprised him, and he nearly gasped as he felt the surge move under his fingers. Bernie’s breath was quickened, his lips slightly parted, and he continued to look at Milan, not looking away, nor closing his eyes.
“Come here,” Cheech whispered from the other bed, and more creaking from movement to comply.
Milan wasn’t sure what motivated him, whether hormones clouded his judgment or something unspoken passed between them in that moment, but he slid towards Bernie as quietly as he could. Bernie still didn’t look away or move, his breath flowing in warm, rapid puffs over Milan’s face. And then Milan leaned in and kissed him, putting his lips on those parted, slightly yielding lips. It was like kissing a live wire. He choked back a cry from the current of need that ripped through him, heard Bernie swallow a sob, and then nearly lost control again as he felt the tip of Bernie’s tongue brush against his lips. He opened his mouth and it slid in, meeting his own tongue to taste and touch and twine together, and his eyes slid shut once more against the waves of exhilaration crashing through him.
“I want you naked against me,” Cheech said with yearning, amidst the loud breathing and tiny moans and groans of both of them.
So difficult to stay quiet, to not let the other two occupants of the room know that not only were Milan and Bernie awake, but nearly losing themselves in kissing gently. Milan’s hand was still over his groin, and he began moving it, feeling the coruscation of pleasure radiating down the shaft then out to the rest of his body, joining with the external stimulation of Bernie’s lips on his. Then Bernie was edging even closer towards him, and he felt another jolt at the twin sensations of touching himself and the back of his hand brushed up against the obvious sign of Bernie’s arousal. Bernie stifled a moan against his mouth.
“Down,” Cheech was demanding breathily. “Farther…farther…yes,” the final word went up sharply at the end, cut off in a crying grunt. The noises coming from mid-bed were popping air noises from a vacuum broken, a susurrus of damp skin against skin.
Milan didn’t even think about it, shifting his hand from himself to Bernie, feeling the hard knot of flesh slide under the layer of his shorts, feeling a suppressed whimper resonate through their kiss, and then having to suppress his own needy groan as Bernie’s hand slithered down to touch him in return.
The noises coming from the other bed were inarticulate now, masking anything they were doing under the blanket of squeaking bedsprings and undiminished expressions of their increasing ardor.
It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, like masturbating, the feelings coursing through his hands and through his body familiar, but the knowledge that it was another penis he touched, Bernie rubbing his large hand up and down his own in increasing frequency, of their mouths conjoined in a kiss that could last an eon, pushed him deeper and faster towards the brink. He wanted to feel bare skin, and slipped his hand under the waistband of Bernie’s shorts, beginning to stroke from base to tip as his hips began pushing eagerly against the feel of his own capture. A gasp escaped Bernie, but he readily followed suit, and Milan was rewarded by the sudden shock of feeling Bernie’s fingers enclose his engorged penis, the delicious friction eliciting a soft moan.
The pair on the other bed were oblivious, as Cheech was wheezing out, “Now, now, oh, fuck me now.” And after a pause, there was a low, mingled cry of pleasure, followed by the rhythmic gruntings of coupling.
Milan was nearly beyond himself, from the kiss, feeling Bernie’s hardness in his hand, Bernie pushing into him with increasing insistence that fell into sync with the sounds emanating from the other bed. He let himself fall into it as well, abandoning himself to the pattern, feeling the crest climb higher and higher. He couldn’t kiss Bernie anymore, as much as he wanted to, because he couldn’t catch his breath, could only rest his cheek against Bernie’s and pant into his ear, feel Bernie do the same, to hear the tiny whine of need thread through it, that drove him even higher. He felt the pressure building, how rock hard he felt, how hard Bernie was, felt the contractions that presaged orgasm building.
The two voices grunted explosively next to them.
And with it, he hit the pinnacle, went soaring into the sky, release coming wet and sticky, bit back the shout he wanted to voice and nearly bit his lip to bleeding. Bernie convulsed, thrust towards him, and came silently as well, creating a pool that oozed and began immediately congealing between them. They relaxed heavily into the bed, trying to catch their breaths, trying to still their breathing so to not betray themselves, even while Cheech and Jimmy did the same.
In the darkness, Milan opened his eyes to look at Bernie. Bernie’s eyes were closed, and Milan could see the sheen of sweat on his linemate’s round cheeks. But then Bernie’s dark eyes opened once more and looked at him, and he smiled, a tired, satiated smile.
He wanted to speak to him, but he couldn’t, not yet. They lay there still and quiet, listening to Cheech and Jimmy catch their breaths, to chuckle intimately, to kiss caringly. Then Jimmy saying, “I should get back to my room.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m going to take a shower. Night, Jimmy.”
Another kiss, quicker but still lingering, and Jimmy said, “Night.” Cheech disappeared into the bathroom, the light spilling out into the room briefly before he shut the door, light leaking around the sides to dimly illuminate the room enough for Jimmy to gather up his clothing and dress by. Water hissing in an enclosed space as Cheech turned on the shower, and Jimmy snuck out of the room.
Only after the door clicked shut did Milan speak, but in a murmur, almost afraid that Cheech might still hear them through the walls and through the waterfall of showering. “You should probably go, too, before Cheech realizes you were here.”
“Yeah,” Bernie agreed with reluctance, pulling his shorts back up around his hips.
Impulsively, Milan stretched out a hand to rest across Bernie’s cheek, giving him another slow, sweet kiss, of which he was delighted to note Bernie returned in full measure. “Thank you.”
Bernie’s response was shy. “For what?”
“For…what happened,” Milan answered in a hushed voice, equally shy. “I…liked it. I liked being with you like that.” He realized now why things before hadn’t bothered him.
In the gray light coming from the bathroom door, he saw Bernie smile. “I liked it, too,” he admitted, then dove in to give Milan a kiss that left him light-headed, and promised more. “Good night, Milan,” he whispered tenderly, the French making it, “Bon nuit, Milan.”
“Bon nuit, Bernie.”
(Both fics crossposted to zdarovyeh)