[Fic: Hockey RPS] We Can Take it All Apart; Richards/Lecavalier; Lundqvist/Richards; NC-17
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended.
Notes: Slightly after the Rangers game versus the New Jersey Devils (02/27/2012). Ninth in the Hide the Night-verse
We Can Take it All Apart
past Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
What happens when you're no longer guarded?
We Can Take it All Apart
The end is never like one would expect. It never ends quite like one imagines it will. Brad thinks people avoid talking about a situation's possible end as a way to avoid having to let their guard down. Because, no one likes doing that.
Letting their guard down that is.
The truth is, or at least the way Brad sees it, trying to ignore the end, or pretend it will never happen, never works. Because, ignoring, or pretending is foolish.
And, the worst part is, in the end, one usually ends up letting their guard down anyway. Which, is the exact moment when one gets the rug yanked out from them.
Brad's not even sure how many ends he's had with Vinny over the years. Only that every time it felt like an end, it never actually was. There was always something - in some cases, someone - pulling them back to each other.
He wonders if the constant pull between them would even still exist if Vince hadn't crawled into his bed on that long ago afternoon at Athol Murray. Brad still wants to double over in a fit of laughter when he thinks of what the dear Sisters - not to mention Priests - would have thought of two male students at a Catholic boarding school groping and sucking each other off in their dorm.
His first time with Vinny had been one of those blissful, suspended in time, type of memories. The moment Vinny yanked the corner of Brad's bed linens, before he was curled up against Brad's back was the moment where everything kind of just … stopped.
Brad can still feel the dying rays of sunlight filtering in through their dorm window, warming his and Vinny's skin. Vinny, with his pale limbs and hot breath against his ear. Brad swore he could feel his skin shake, his pulse as it quickens when Vinny runs his palm over the patch of bare skin where his shirt has ridden up.
"What are you … what are you doing, Vinny?" Brad mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
"I want to try something," he replies simply, and pulls on Brad's arm lightly. He waits until Brad's on his back. Brad has one hand flat on his bare stomach, the other curled underneath his head. Vinny can't help but think about how particularly vulnerable Brad looks in that moment. Eventually he lies down on top of Brad, Brad's breath comes out in a whoosh.
Brad blinks up at Vinny, his breath coming out of him in a little gurgling gasp. "What …"
Vinny halts Brad's line of speech by pressing his index finger to his lips. He shifts slightly, aligning their legs, hips and ribcages. He looks down at Brad, eyes running over Brad's face, down his neck, and across his torso. "Have you ever thought about this, Brad?"
"What?" Brad chokes out, his free hand curling tightly into Vinny's shoulders, digging his fingers in to the point of pain. If the pressure was too much, Vinny didn't say anything. He just continued to stare down at Brad's brown eyes - watching the way the sun lit up the flecks of amber running through them - seeing his own face mirrored back at him in Brad's matching amber depths.
Brad thinks it's slightly odd how their bodies just seem to fit. Like those last two pieces of a puzzle. Vinny squirms above him, and he has to gasp out Vinny's name. "You're crushing my hand," he hisses.
Vinny pushes himself off Brad a bit, waits until Brad gets his hand free, before he's leaning over him again, his arms frame Brad's face, as he leans in slightly, mouth hovering over Brad's. "Come on, Brad. What do you think I'm referring to?"
"Do you really think … I mean, should we?"
"We should," Vinny whispers, before he kisses Brad.
Brad has his lips sealed shut for a moment. More out of a last ditch effort at resistance, instead of shock. Eventually, he gives in, and opens his mouth to Vince's. Vince smells like finely milled French soap and poplin. He tastes like cinnamon, and mint, and has the softest lips Brad thinks he's ever kissed. Not that he's kissed many. That is to say … there was the time in grade six, on a dare, when he kissed the girl down the street … but does that even count? Oh hell, why couldn't he just turn off his brain?
Because this is your dorm mate, and he's a guy! his brain screamed at him.
Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He kind of had a feeling this was going to happen from the very first moment he and Vinny had met. And, talk about messing with a teenager's already fragile sexual orientation psyche, and well … Brad was quite sure psychologists would have a field day with them.
Brad's hands loosen on Vinny's shoulders, and he moans softly when they break apart for air. Vince is grinning down at him, as he brushes the hair off Brad's face. "Been wanting to do that for a long time," he mumbles.
"Why didn't you?" Brad tilts his chin up, his lips catching on Vinny's jaw.
Vince shrugs. "Wasn't sure if I was just imagining things, or if you wanted to." He sits up then, runs a hand down Brad's shirt, before he pulls his own shirt up and over his head.
Brad could not help but stare. Watching the way the sun played over Vinny's form. The dying rays making Vinny's pale long limbs look golden, like melted butter. He glimpsed the little golden crucifix on Vince's neck - a gift from his parent's before he left - watching how it settled in to the hollow of his throat. Brad gulped, and with a tentative hand he reached out and placed his palm on Vinny's chest.
Vinny's sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement Brad needed to continue his exploration of Vince's skin. He traced a finger over Vinny's chest, across his hips, down his arms, across his stomach. Brad felt like he was creating his own map of hairline fissures, and rivers with his finger over Vinny's skin. A map meant only for the two of them.
He felt Vinny curl his own hand around Brad's; the warmth from Vinny's palm was maddening. Vinny gave an experimental roll of his hips and smirked when he felt Brad shudder, and jack his hips up against him.
As far as first times go, they both seemed to catch on quickly. Brad tugs Vinny down to him, his lips searching for his. They both have their eyes screwed tightly shut, Brad has his hands locked across Vinny's back, and he can feel as Vinny's cock twitches against his belly.
He thinks it may be more comfortable if they both didn't have their boxers on, but Brad figures it's a passing, irrelevant thought, seeing as how he's quite sure neither of them will last that long anyway.
Vinny grinds his hips down against Brad's, and Brad grapples desperately at something to hold on to. Vinny swore he could hear Brad's veins pulse, as the blood rushed through them. The throbbing of their erections as they brushed against the other, thrumming like the metal of a railroad track when a train approaches.
Vinny comes with his mouth pressed against Brad's, breathing the same air he is. He pants and shakes apart in Brad's arms, as he comes down from the high.
Brad doesn't say anything, and really, he finds words fail him. Even when Vinny slides down his torso, his hand tugging on Brad's boxers as he went, Brad still couldn't form words.
Brad's cock is red and wet, his breathing erratic as he felt Vinny lick a slow line up his inner thigh.
"You ever done this before?" he finally chokes out.
"No," Vinny replies, before he curls his tongue over the head of Brad's cock.
Brad's hips jump slightly at the contact. And, oh Jesus fuck … this is what he was going to be thinking about from now on when he jerks off.
Vinny gets lost in it, the taste of Brad against his tongue, the way he smells like the soap from the showers. Brad's pale limbs like sugar and cream. He feels as Brad tangles his hands in his hair, tugging to the point of pain. He eventually manages to get his lips wrapped around Brad's dick, and slides down his length experimentally.
Vinny is rewarded by Brad bucking his hips, and moaning out unintelligible things. He flicks his eyes up to Brad, watching as he panted and came undone around his mouth.
"Motherfucking fuck," Brad said softly. Then, in a warning tone, "Vinny, I'm … Vinny!"
Vinny felt as Brad came in his mouth, loving the way Brad sounded as he came, feeling as his legs shook, and his stomach contracted.
Brad pushed Vinny off his cock soon after, and pulled him up, until their foreheads were pressed against each other.
It's a few long moments before either of them speak. And, when Brad does it's a slight lilting laugh, which earns him a questioning look from Vinny.
"Can't imagine this is on a person's list of things to do while at boarding school."
Vinny shrugs. "Le cœur a ses raisons," he mumbles.
"The heart has it's reasons," Brad replies. Vinny looks over at him, startled. "Yes, I know how to speak French," Brad answers, in reply to the look Vinny was giving him.
Vinny reaches a hand out and brushes the hair off Brad's face. "Le cœur a ses raisons," he repeats.
Brad bites his bottom lip, chews on it thoughtfully, as he tries to come up with what to say to Vinny in return.
"Que la raison ne connaît pas …" Brad mumbles, voice trailing off on the last word.
Vince shifts, face pressed against Brad's chest. "Nice choice of response."
"Thanks."
-x-
The win to the Devils was a perfect way to end trade deadline day. The relief on the biggest rumour mill players was evident in the locker room. Both before the pre-game skate, and after.
They leave the locker room pretty quickly. Most talking about tomorrow night. Casino night.
Brad manages to slip away from his teammates, and heads down to the parking garage. He's too tired, and doesn't realize Hank is beside him until he nears his car.
Hank doesn't say anything. He looks at him, blue eyes stormy and searching. Brad stuffs his equipment into his trunk, and glances up at him.
"In Buffalo …" Brad stops, searching for words. "I mean, I …" he forks a hand through his hair, tries again: "Thank you."
"For what?"
Brad shrugs. "It was the first time in a long time that I …" he chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I slept better than I have in weeks." He flicks his eyes up to Hank then. "I've been trying to figure out why."
"Why what?"
"Why I was more rested than I have been in, well … forever." Brad steps forward then, chest almost touching Hank's. "Then it hit me. The only time I've ever been able to sleep as well as I did on our last road trip is when I -"
"Brad," Hank starts, tone warning, "you don't have to …"
"Explain myself?" Brad shrugs. "Maybe, not. But don't you think I should?" He eyes Hank speculatively. "You said something to me that night, right before I dozed off."
Hank feels as his heart skips a beat. "What are you talking about?"
"You know, Hank."
Hank's heart was hammering violently against his chest. "Stanna hos mig för alltid," he finally whispers.
"Yeah, that."
"It's nothing. Not important."
Brad chuckles. "Wouldn't have said it if it meant nothing."
Finally, Hank reaches his hands out, bracing them on Brad's upper arms, as he presses him against the cool metal of his car. "Stay with me forever," he breathes.
"Oh." A soft exhalation of air that tickles the stubble on Hank's chin.
"Yeah," he agrees.
And then Brad's lips are there, his hands curling around Hank's neck, pressing against his neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses against Hank's neck, breathes in the generic soap from the locker room and Hank's cologne.
-x-
Brad's not sure how they end up at his place until Hank touches him. Until he's on his mattress, and Hank's hands are under his shirt. His hands are warm, and slightly calloused. Hank strips Brad's clothing away. Piece by piece. Inch by inch. Until he's naked underneath him. It's then that Hank sits back on his heels to undress. His hair is still damp, and Brad pulls him down towards him. Hank puts his mouth on Brad's shoulder, follows the curve of Brad's arm with his tongue. Brad shivers beneath him.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig," Hank murmurs against Brad's hipbone. His voice is low, and raspy. It makes Brad shiver, and his cock twitch.
Hank's mouth is pressing kisses against his flesh, the skin of his shoulders is smooth beneath Brad's fingers.
His mind is spinning, and Brad closes his eyes. Gets lost in the feel of Hank's mouth against his heated skin, the way Hank's hands move over his limbs.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig …"
"What does it mean?" Brad gasps, as he hears Hank rustle around in the nightstand drawer.
Brad leans up on his elbows, watches as Hank slides on a condom and slicks his cock with lube. He bites his bottom lip as he watches Hank, and can't stop himself from sliding his own hand over his cock, fingers collecting the pre-come beading on the tip. He dips his hand and pushes his pre-come soaked fingers into the pink pucker between his legs. He gasps and mutters Hank's name, as his fingers breech his own ass.
He feels his bed as it shifts, and feels Hank drag his wrist away. "You don't want to know, Brad," Hank says as his way of response.
Hank sinks into Brad then, biting on his bottom lip, as he allows Brad time to adjust. "It's been awhile," Hank murmurs, and watches as Brad nods.
"Please," Brad moans eventually, shifting beneath Hank.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig," Hank murmurs again, staring down at Brad, as he thrusts. Long, steady, relentless thrusts that have Brad clawing at Hank's arms, and him eventually pushing back.
"Maybe I want to know," Brad sobs, teeth biting on his lips so hard, Hank's sure he will draw blood eventually.
"You don't," Hank breathes, mouth hovering over Brad's, as he fucks him harder, one of his hands working Brad's cock, until he feels Brad come undone around him. Brad comes so violently, he pulls Hank down against him, fingers making crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.
"Fuck, Brad," Hank chokes out, before he comes with a muffled groan.
-x-
Brad rolls over about an hour later, curls the blanket around them, and pushes the stray hair off Hank's face.
"I sleep better when I let my guard down," Brad whispers cryptically.
Hank's eyelids flutter, before he blinks and brings Brad's face into focus. "You don't let your guard down often."
It's a statement. Not a question.
Brad still answers it though. "The last time was …"
"With Vince."
Brad chews on his bottom lip, not quite sure what to say. "I want to know what you said to me that night backstage."
He can feel as Hank shakes his head, and rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "You don't want to know. It's not important."
Brad curls his body closer to Hank's, traces a line down his chest with his finger. "Is this you being guarded, as well?"
Hank laughs. "You're still guarded, as well, Brad."
"What a pair we make," Brad mutters, nuzzling his nose against Hank's cheek. "If I guess, will you tell me?"
Hank's quiet, his breathing shallow. "It's not something you're ready to hear."
Brad's hand stills. "When?"
Hank shrugs. "You'll see."
"Promise?" Brad shifts so he's laying on top of Hank. Dark eyes staring down at him. Hank can see the hints of gold and amber in Brad's eyes. He nearly gets lost in them, as he reaches up with his hand, runs it through the loose strands of hair, before he brings Brad's mouth to his.
"I promise."
As their lips touch, Hank feels his chest tighten slightly. Brad's mouth is sweet, and he still tastes like mint. He pulls back slightly to look at Brad.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig," Hank whispers.
Brad is silent, before he claims Hank's lips again.
Notes: Slightly after the Rangers game versus the New Jersey Devils (02/27/2012). Ninth in the Hide the Night-verse
We Can Take it All Apart
past Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
What happens when you're no longer guarded?
We Can Take it All Apart
The end is never like one would expect. It never ends quite like one imagines it will. Brad thinks people avoid talking about a situation's possible end as a way to avoid having to let their guard down. Because, no one likes doing that.
Letting their guard down that is.
The truth is, or at least the way Brad sees it, trying to ignore the end, or pretend it will never happen, never works. Because, ignoring, or pretending is foolish.
And, the worst part is, in the end, one usually ends up letting their guard down anyway. Which, is the exact moment when one gets the rug yanked out from them.
Brad's not even sure how many ends he's had with Vinny over the years. Only that every time it felt like an end, it never actually was. There was always something - in some cases, someone - pulling them back to each other.
He wonders if the constant pull between them would even still exist if Vince hadn't crawled into his bed on that long ago afternoon at Athol Murray. Brad still wants to double over in a fit of laughter when he thinks of what the dear Sisters - not to mention Priests - would have thought of two male students at a Catholic boarding school groping and sucking each other off in their dorm.
His first time with Vinny had been one of those blissful, suspended in time, type of memories. The moment Vinny yanked the corner of Brad's bed linens, before he was curled up against Brad's back was the moment where everything kind of just … stopped.
Brad can still feel the dying rays of sunlight filtering in through their dorm window, warming his and Vinny's skin. Vinny, with his pale limbs and hot breath against his ear. Brad swore he could feel his skin shake, his pulse as it quickens when Vinny runs his palm over the patch of bare skin where his shirt has ridden up.
"What are you … what are you doing, Vinny?" Brad mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
"I want to try something," he replies simply, and pulls on Brad's arm lightly. He waits until Brad's on his back. Brad has one hand flat on his bare stomach, the other curled underneath his head. Vinny can't help but think about how particularly vulnerable Brad looks in that moment. Eventually he lies down on top of Brad, Brad's breath comes out in a whoosh.
Brad blinks up at Vinny, his breath coming out of him in a little gurgling gasp. "What …"
Vinny halts Brad's line of speech by pressing his index finger to his lips. He shifts slightly, aligning their legs, hips and ribcages. He looks down at Brad, eyes running over Brad's face, down his neck, and across his torso. "Have you ever thought about this, Brad?"
"What?" Brad chokes out, his free hand curling tightly into Vinny's shoulders, digging his fingers in to the point of pain. If the pressure was too much, Vinny didn't say anything. He just continued to stare down at Brad's brown eyes - watching the way the sun lit up the flecks of amber running through them - seeing his own face mirrored back at him in Brad's matching amber depths.
Brad thinks it's slightly odd how their bodies just seem to fit. Like those last two pieces of a puzzle. Vinny squirms above him, and he has to gasp out Vinny's name. "You're crushing my hand," he hisses.
Vinny pushes himself off Brad a bit, waits until Brad gets his hand free, before he's leaning over him again, his arms frame Brad's face, as he leans in slightly, mouth hovering over Brad's. "Come on, Brad. What do you think I'm referring to?"
"Do you really think … I mean, should we?"
"We should," Vinny whispers, before he kisses Brad.
Brad has his lips sealed shut for a moment. More out of a last ditch effort at resistance, instead of shock. Eventually, he gives in, and opens his mouth to Vince's. Vince smells like finely milled French soap and poplin. He tastes like cinnamon, and mint, and has the softest lips Brad thinks he's ever kissed. Not that he's kissed many. That is to say … there was the time in grade six, on a dare, when he kissed the girl down the street … but does that even count? Oh hell, why couldn't he just turn off his brain?
Because this is your dorm mate, and he's a guy! his brain screamed at him.
Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He kind of had a feeling this was going to happen from the very first moment he and Vinny had met. And, talk about messing with a teenager's already fragile sexual orientation psyche, and well … Brad was quite sure psychologists would have a field day with them.
Brad's hands loosen on Vinny's shoulders, and he moans softly when they break apart for air. Vince is grinning down at him, as he brushes the hair off Brad's face. "Been wanting to do that for a long time," he mumbles.
"Why didn't you?" Brad tilts his chin up, his lips catching on Vinny's jaw.
Vince shrugs. "Wasn't sure if I was just imagining things, or if you wanted to." He sits up then, runs a hand down Brad's shirt, before he pulls his own shirt up and over his head.
Brad could not help but stare. Watching the way the sun played over Vinny's form. The dying rays making Vinny's pale long limbs look golden, like melted butter. He glimpsed the little golden crucifix on Vince's neck - a gift from his parent's before he left - watching how it settled in to the hollow of his throat. Brad gulped, and with a tentative hand he reached out and placed his palm on Vinny's chest.
Vinny's sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement Brad needed to continue his exploration of Vince's skin. He traced a finger over Vinny's chest, across his hips, down his arms, across his stomach. Brad felt like he was creating his own map of hairline fissures, and rivers with his finger over Vinny's skin. A map meant only for the two of them.
He felt Vinny curl his own hand around Brad's; the warmth from Vinny's palm was maddening. Vinny gave an experimental roll of his hips and smirked when he felt Brad shudder, and jack his hips up against him.
As far as first times go, they both seemed to catch on quickly. Brad tugs Vinny down to him, his lips searching for his. They both have their eyes screwed tightly shut, Brad has his hands locked across Vinny's back, and he can feel as Vinny's cock twitches against his belly.
He thinks it may be more comfortable if they both didn't have their boxers on, but Brad figures it's a passing, irrelevant thought, seeing as how he's quite sure neither of them will last that long anyway.
Vinny grinds his hips down against Brad's, and Brad grapples desperately at something to hold on to. Vinny swore he could hear Brad's veins pulse, as the blood rushed through them. The throbbing of their erections as they brushed against the other, thrumming like the metal of a railroad track when a train approaches.
Vinny comes with his mouth pressed against Brad's, breathing the same air he is. He pants and shakes apart in Brad's arms, as he comes down from the high.
Brad doesn't say anything, and really, he finds words fail him. Even when Vinny slides down his torso, his hand tugging on Brad's boxers as he went, Brad still couldn't form words.
Brad's cock is red and wet, his breathing erratic as he felt Vinny lick a slow line up his inner thigh.
"You ever done this before?" he finally chokes out.
"No," Vinny replies, before he curls his tongue over the head of Brad's cock.
Brad's hips jump slightly at the contact. And, oh Jesus fuck … this is what he was going to be thinking about from now on when he jerks off.
Vinny gets lost in it, the taste of Brad against his tongue, the way he smells like the soap from the showers. Brad's pale limbs like sugar and cream. He feels as Brad tangles his hands in his hair, tugging to the point of pain. He eventually manages to get his lips wrapped around Brad's dick, and slides down his length experimentally.
Vinny is rewarded by Brad bucking his hips, and moaning out unintelligible things. He flicks his eyes up to Brad, watching as he panted and came undone around his mouth.
"Motherfucking fuck," Brad said softly. Then, in a warning tone, "Vinny, I'm … Vinny!"
Vinny felt as Brad came in his mouth, loving the way Brad sounded as he came, feeling as his legs shook, and his stomach contracted.
Brad pushed Vinny off his cock soon after, and pulled him up, until their foreheads were pressed against each other.
It's a few long moments before either of them speak. And, when Brad does it's a slight lilting laugh, which earns him a questioning look from Vinny.
"Can't imagine this is on a person's list of things to do while at boarding school."
Vinny shrugs. "Le cœur a ses raisons," he mumbles.
"The heart has it's reasons," Brad replies. Vinny looks over at him, startled. "Yes, I know how to speak French," Brad answers, in reply to the look Vinny was giving him.
Vinny reaches a hand out and brushes the hair off Brad's face. "Le cœur a ses raisons," he repeats.
Brad bites his bottom lip, chews on it thoughtfully, as he tries to come up with what to say to Vinny in return.
"Que la raison ne connaît pas …" Brad mumbles, voice trailing off on the last word.
Vince shifts, face pressed against Brad's chest. "Nice choice of response."
"Thanks."
-x-
The win to the Devils was a perfect way to end trade deadline day. The relief on the biggest rumour mill players was evident in the locker room. Both before the pre-game skate, and after.
They leave the locker room pretty quickly. Most talking about tomorrow night. Casino night.
Brad manages to slip away from his teammates, and heads down to the parking garage. He's too tired, and doesn't realize Hank is beside him until he nears his car.
Hank doesn't say anything. He looks at him, blue eyes stormy and searching. Brad stuffs his equipment into his trunk, and glances up at him.
"In Buffalo …" Brad stops, searching for words. "I mean, I …" he forks a hand through his hair, tries again: "Thank you."
"For what?"
Brad shrugs. "It was the first time in a long time that I …" he chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I slept better than I have in weeks." He flicks his eyes up to Hank then. "I've been trying to figure out why."
"Why what?"
"Why I was more rested than I have been in, well … forever." Brad steps forward then, chest almost touching Hank's. "Then it hit me. The only time I've ever been able to sleep as well as I did on our last road trip is when I -"
"Brad," Hank starts, tone warning, "you don't have to …"
"Explain myself?" Brad shrugs. "Maybe, not. But don't you think I should?" He eyes Hank speculatively. "You said something to me that night, right before I dozed off."
Hank feels as his heart skips a beat. "What are you talking about?"
"You know, Hank."
Hank's heart was hammering violently against his chest. "Stanna hos mig för alltid," he finally whispers.
"Yeah, that."
"It's nothing. Not important."
Brad chuckles. "Wouldn't have said it if it meant nothing."
Finally, Hank reaches his hands out, bracing them on Brad's upper arms, as he presses him against the cool metal of his car. "Stay with me forever," he breathes.
"Oh." A soft exhalation of air that tickles the stubble on Hank's chin.
"Yeah," he agrees.
And then Brad's lips are there, his hands curling around Hank's neck, pressing against his neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses against Hank's neck, breathes in the generic soap from the locker room and Hank's cologne.
-x-
Brad's not sure how they end up at his place until Hank touches him. Until he's on his mattress, and Hank's hands are under his shirt. His hands are warm, and slightly calloused. Hank strips Brad's clothing away. Piece by piece. Inch by inch. Until he's naked underneath him. It's then that Hank sits back on his heels to undress. His hair is still damp, and Brad pulls him down towards him. Hank puts his mouth on Brad's shoulder, follows the curve of Brad's arm with his tongue. Brad shivers beneath him.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig," Hank murmurs against Brad's hipbone. His voice is low, and raspy. It makes Brad shiver, and his cock twitch.
Hank's mouth is pressing kisses against his flesh, the skin of his shoulders is smooth beneath Brad's fingers.
His mind is spinning, and Brad closes his eyes. Gets lost in the feel of Hank's mouth against his heated skin, the way Hank's hands move over his limbs.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig …"
"What does it mean?" Brad gasps, as he hears Hank rustle around in the nightstand drawer.
Brad leans up on his elbows, watches as Hank slides on a condom and slicks his cock with lube. He bites his bottom lip as he watches Hank, and can't stop himself from sliding his own hand over his cock, fingers collecting the pre-come beading on the tip. He dips his hand and pushes his pre-come soaked fingers into the pink pucker between his legs. He gasps and mutters Hank's name, as his fingers breech his own ass.
He feels his bed as it shifts, and feels Hank drag his wrist away. "You don't want to know, Brad," Hank says as his way of response.
Hank sinks into Brad then, biting on his bottom lip, as he allows Brad time to adjust. "It's been awhile," Hank murmurs, and watches as Brad nods.
"Please," Brad moans eventually, shifting beneath Hank.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig," Hank murmurs again, staring down at Brad, as he thrusts. Long, steady, relentless thrusts that have Brad clawing at Hank's arms, and him eventually pushing back.
"Maybe I want to know," Brad sobs, teeth biting on his lips so hard, Hank's sure he will draw blood eventually.
"You don't," Hank breathes, mouth hovering over Brad's, as he fucks him harder, one of his hands working Brad's cock, until he feels Brad come undone around him. Brad comes so violently, he pulls Hank down against him, fingers making crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.
"Fuck, Brad," Hank chokes out, before he comes with a muffled groan.
-x-
Brad rolls over about an hour later, curls the blanket around them, and pushes the stray hair off Hank's face.
"I sleep better when I let my guard down," Brad whispers cryptically.
Hank's eyelids flutter, before he blinks and brings Brad's face into focus. "You don't let your guard down often."
It's a statement. Not a question.
Brad still answers it though. "The last time was …"
"With Vince."
Brad chews on his bottom lip, not quite sure what to say. "I want to know what you said to me that night backstage."
He can feel as Hank shakes his head, and rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "You don't want to know. It's not important."
Brad curls his body closer to Hank's, traces a line down his chest with his finger. "Is this you being guarded, as well?"
Hank laughs. "You're still guarded, as well, Brad."
"What a pair we make," Brad mutters, nuzzling his nose against Hank's cheek. "If I guess, will you tell me?"
Hank's quiet, his breathing shallow. "It's not something you're ready to hear."
Brad's hand stills. "When?"
Hank shrugs. "You'll see."
"Promise?" Brad shifts so he's laying on top of Hank. Dark eyes staring down at him. Hank can see the hints of gold and amber in Brad's eyes. He nearly gets lost in them, as he reaches up with his hand, runs it through the loose strands of hair, before he brings Brad's mouth to his.
"I promise."
As their lips touch, Hank feels his chest tighten slightly. Brad's mouth is sweet, and he still tastes like mint. He pulls back slightly to look at Brad.
"Jag tror att jag älskar dig," Hank whispers.
Brad is silent, before he claims Hank's lips again.