[Fic: Hockey RPS] Your Sacred Heart; Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; NC-17
Uh, this is not how I had originally envisioned this at all, but I actually think I like this better than my original vision. Um, please don't yell at me (you'll find out what I'm talking about). I'm sorry! I tried, I really did! Don't worry, I promise to redeem him. ♥
Also, I'm only kind of-sort of sorry for the cliffhanger type ending. You may want to grab some tissues (I'm just saying!).
Fifteenth in the Hide the Night-verse.
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended.
Your Sacred Heart
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; implied past Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; NC-17
What will become of us ...
Your Sacred Heart
Waking up the next morning knowing Brad had stayed the night in his bed felt like some kind of blissful, worn out dream. The morning sunlight streamed in through his window, leaving a thin, trembling line across the bed. Hank blearily opened his eyes, and shifts slightly to get some movement back in his limbs.
His limbs were sore, but his body felt … satiated. He sighed, and drew in another deep, satisfying breath, stretching his arms above his head. His arm reaches over instinctively, half-expecting his hand will brush against Brad's body.
Brad's side of the bed is empty, but his scent still lingers on the sheets and the pillow. A reminder to Hank that he had not just dreamt up last night. He rolls onto his side, nose pressed against the pillow, and inhales deeply. Hank's eyes flit to the nightstand, where the clock's green numbers tell him the time. Eventually, he sits up, tugs his jeans on and shuffles out of his bedroom.
Brad is sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless, hands busily typing on his phone. His hair is dishevelled, eyes full of concentration. Hank walks over and leans in to press a kiss to Brad's shoulder.
"Sleep well?" Hank whispers, lips pressed to Brad's ear.
"Better than I have in a long time," Brad confesses, before he clicks his phone off.
"Good to hear," Hank says, taking Brad's face in his hands, and covering his mouth in a warm, but gentle kiss.
Brad sighs against Hank's lips, and threads his fingers into his hair, deepens the kiss. When they break apart, he brushes the hair from Hank's face, stares at him for a long moment, before he presses a kiss to his forehead. "I made coffee."
"Brad?" Hank's voice was hoarse, but clear in the silence of his kitchen. He shifted so he was kneeling in front of him.
"What?"
"What I said last night? I meant it."
"You said a lot last night," Brad pointed out, eyes holding Hank's stare. The bright lights of the kitchen made Hank's already startlingly blue eyes gleam brighter.
"I did," Hank agreed. "I meant every word."
Brad bites his bottom lip, his chest tightening at Hank's omission. "Every word?"
"Every word," Hank agreed.
"I … I can't … I don't want …" Brad finally let his eyes drop from Hank's to stare at the floor.
Hank curled his arms around Brad, drawing him close. "You don't have to say anything."
Brad shook his head. "It's not that," he whispered against Hank's skin. He forced himself to lean away from Hank, and stare at him. "I didn't think you'd want me, after everything I'd … after everything I did." He pressed a kiss to Hank's throat. "I'm sorry."
"Brad, shh …" Hank's voice was calm, and soothing.
"What if … what if this is all a mistake?" Brad mumbles.
"It's a mistake I'd make again if it would lead me back to you," Hank answered earnestly. "Sometimes we have to make mistakes in order to find out what it is we're missing."
Brad bit his bottom lip. "When you say it like that, it makes it hard to argue with you."
Hank laughed, and curled his fingers into Brad's hair, before bringing Brad's face to his, and kissing him. "Good."
Brad has one hand rested on Hank's shoulder, the other brushing the hair away from Hank's face. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
Hank cups Brad's head in his hands, as he leans up and kisses his forehead, eyes closing briefly as he lets out a shaky breath. "Don't be silly, Brad."
"And, despite everything I've done over these past few months, you love me?"
Hank can't help it, he laughs. "Yes."
Brad gets to his feet, tugs Hank up, and then his fingers are slipping through Hank's hair, before they travel down and flit across his bare chest. His lips are warm as they press against Hank's throat.
"Brad …" Hank breathes.
It sounds like the last breath of a dying man. A last plea to the heavens.
Brad's mouth is hot, and soft as he whispers against Hank's ear. "Come and shower with me."
Hank watches as Brad slips from his arms, watches as he pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, before he slips from the room. Brad's phone chirps happily from its spot on Hank's kitchen table.
"Can you answer that?" Brad's voice calls from down the hall. "I was expecting a call from someone."
Without looking to see who was calling, Hank picked up the phone.
"Hello?" he said.
Silence for a beat, before he hears Vince's voice on the other end. "Henrik?"
Hank is still, phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah."
"Why do you have Brad's phone?"
"Figure it out, Vincent."
The line went dead for a few moments, until Vince's voice comes back to the line. "You're with him?"
"Yes."
"Are you telling me this to hurt me, Henrik?"
"Vincent," Hank started, "this isn't about wanting to hurt you."
"Clearly," Vince said.
Hank sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Why are you calling?"
"Two weeks or so ago, Brad said something to me I can't get out of my mind."
"And you wait two weeks to call him about it?"
"What goes on between Brad and me is none of your business."
"Maybe. But, I'm making it my business," Hank said.
"Why? Because you're fucking him now?"
"No," Hank snapped, "because this isn't what you both want."
"And you know what we want?"
He knew he should feel worse about this, but at that particular moment, Hank really did not care. He was just so tired of watching Brad slough off another piece of himself. Watching as Brad had tried over the years to piece his life back together, only to have everything he tried to correct break all over again.
"Vincent," he sighed. "I'm not trying to make you the bad guy in all this."
"I'll bet."
"I'm not," Hank insisted. "Let me ask you something … why?"
"Why what?"
"You have a wife who obviously loves you, and who you must feel something for. You have two children, and what looks like this picturesque life, and yet, you're not happy."
"Who says I'm not happy?"
"Is that why you keep this up with Brad?"
"What Brad and I have is -"
"- is self-destructive," Hank finishes. "If you care about Brad as much as you claim you do, wouldn't it be best to let go?"
"It's none of your business," Vince whispers. "Tell Brad I called."
The line goes dead.
Hank sets the phone back down on the table before he heads to the bathroom. Brad is waiting in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. His hair is still rumpled, and he has a towel slung low on his waist.
"Took you long enough," Brad says, eyes bright.
"Sorry," Hank replies. He slides one hand into Brad's hair, and presses a kiss to his throat.
"Come on," Brad says, tugging at the loops on Hank's jeans, as Hank manages to get the towel on Brad's waist undone.
Brad shoves Hank back against the tiled wall of the shower, as the spray hits their naked flesh. He licks a slow line up the insides of Hank's thighs, fucks him open with his tongue, and listens as Hank makes desperate noises above him.
Hank swore he was a lost man as soon as Brad's lips encircled his dick, swallowing him deep.
As he comes, legs shaking, fingers grasped tightly in his hair, Brad is sure he hears his name spill from Hank's lips. But, he's not sure.
-x-
They towel off, before Brad tugs Hank towards the bedroom. Brad curls up against Hank, presses a kiss to his forehead. Hank tucks them into bed, brushes a hand over Brad's cheek, eyes him silently.
"Is this really happening?" Brad mumbles.
"Is what really happening?"
"All of this. You. Me. Playoffs."
Hank presses a kiss to his cheek. "Yes."
Brad sighs. "Who called?"
"Hm?"
"Who was it that called just now?"
Hank kisses the crown of Brad's hair, listens to the quiet rumble of the New York streets, and Brad's quiet, steady breathing.
"Hank?"
Hank is still, half-wondering what will become of them, as he breathes against Brad's hair one name: "Vince."
Also, I'm only kind of-sort of sorry for the cliffhanger type ending. You may want to grab some tissues (I'm just saying!).
Fifteenth in the Hide the Night-verse.
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended.
Your Sacred Heart
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; implied past Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; NC-17
What will become of us ...
Your Sacred Heart
Waking up the next morning knowing Brad had stayed the night in his bed felt like some kind of blissful, worn out dream. The morning sunlight streamed in through his window, leaving a thin, trembling line across the bed. Hank blearily opened his eyes, and shifts slightly to get some movement back in his limbs.
His limbs were sore, but his body felt … satiated. He sighed, and drew in another deep, satisfying breath, stretching his arms above his head. His arm reaches over instinctively, half-expecting his hand will brush against Brad's body.
Brad's side of the bed is empty, but his scent still lingers on the sheets and the pillow. A reminder to Hank that he had not just dreamt up last night. He rolls onto his side, nose pressed against the pillow, and inhales deeply. Hank's eyes flit to the nightstand, where the clock's green numbers tell him the time. Eventually, he sits up, tugs his jeans on and shuffles out of his bedroom.
Brad is sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless, hands busily typing on his phone. His hair is dishevelled, eyes full of concentration. Hank walks over and leans in to press a kiss to Brad's shoulder.
"Sleep well?" Hank whispers, lips pressed to Brad's ear.
"Better than I have in a long time," Brad confesses, before he clicks his phone off.
"Good to hear," Hank says, taking Brad's face in his hands, and covering his mouth in a warm, but gentle kiss.
Brad sighs against Hank's lips, and threads his fingers into his hair, deepens the kiss. When they break apart, he brushes the hair from Hank's face, stares at him for a long moment, before he presses a kiss to his forehead. "I made coffee."
"Brad?" Hank's voice was hoarse, but clear in the silence of his kitchen. He shifted so he was kneeling in front of him.
"What?"
"What I said last night? I meant it."
"You said a lot last night," Brad pointed out, eyes holding Hank's stare. The bright lights of the kitchen made Hank's already startlingly blue eyes gleam brighter.
"I did," Hank agreed. "I meant every word."
Brad bites his bottom lip, his chest tightening at Hank's omission. "Every word?"
"Every word," Hank agreed.
"I … I can't … I don't want …" Brad finally let his eyes drop from Hank's to stare at the floor.
Hank curled his arms around Brad, drawing him close. "You don't have to say anything."
Brad shook his head. "It's not that," he whispered against Hank's skin. He forced himself to lean away from Hank, and stare at him. "I didn't think you'd want me, after everything I'd … after everything I did." He pressed a kiss to Hank's throat. "I'm sorry."
"Brad, shh …" Hank's voice was calm, and soothing.
"What if … what if this is all a mistake?" Brad mumbles.
"It's a mistake I'd make again if it would lead me back to you," Hank answered earnestly. "Sometimes we have to make mistakes in order to find out what it is we're missing."
Brad bit his bottom lip. "When you say it like that, it makes it hard to argue with you."
Hank laughed, and curled his fingers into Brad's hair, before bringing Brad's face to his, and kissing him. "Good."
Brad has one hand rested on Hank's shoulder, the other brushing the hair away from Hank's face. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
Hank cups Brad's head in his hands, as he leans up and kisses his forehead, eyes closing briefly as he lets out a shaky breath. "Don't be silly, Brad."
"And, despite everything I've done over these past few months, you love me?"
Hank can't help it, he laughs. "Yes."
Brad gets to his feet, tugs Hank up, and then his fingers are slipping through Hank's hair, before they travel down and flit across his bare chest. His lips are warm as they press against Hank's throat.
"Brad …" Hank breathes.
It sounds like the last breath of a dying man. A last plea to the heavens.
Brad's mouth is hot, and soft as he whispers against Hank's ear. "Come and shower with me."
Hank watches as Brad slips from his arms, watches as he pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, before he slips from the room. Brad's phone chirps happily from its spot on Hank's kitchen table.
"Can you answer that?" Brad's voice calls from down the hall. "I was expecting a call from someone."
Without looking to see who was calling, Hank picked up the phone.
"Hello?" he said.
Silence for a beat, before he hears Vince's voice on the other end. "Henrik?"
Hank is still, phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah."
"Why do you have Brad's phone?"
"Figure it out, Vincent."
The line went dead for a few moments, until Vince's voice comes back to the line. "You're with him?"
"Yes."
"Are you telling me this to hurt me, Henrik?"
"Vincent," Hank started, "this isn't about wanting to hurt you."
"Clearly," Vince said.
Hank sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Why are you calling?"
"Two weeks or so ago, Brad said something to me I can't get out of my mind."
"And you wait two weeks to call him about it?"
"What goes on between Brad and me is none of your business."
"Maybe. But, I'm making it my business," Hank said.
"Why? Because you're fucking him now?"
"No," Hank snapped, "because this isn't what you both want."
"And you know what we want?"
He knew he should feel worse about this, but at that particular moment, Hank really did not care. He was just so tired of watching Brad slough off another piece of himself. Watching as Brad had tried over the years to piece his life back together, only to have everything he tried to correct break all over again.
"Vincent," he sighed. "I'm not trying to make you the bad guy in all this."
"I'll bet."
"I'm not," Hank insisted. "Let me ask you something … why?"
"Why what?"
"You have a wife who obviously loves you, and who you must feel something for. You have two children, and what looks like this picturesque life, and yet, you're not happy."
"Who says I'm not happy?"
"Is that why you keep this up with Brad?"
"What Brad and I have is -"
"- is self-destructive," Hank finishes. "If you care about Brad as much as you claim you do, wouldn't it be best to let go?"
"It's none of your business," Vince whispers. "Tell Brad I called."
The line goes dead.
Hank sets the phone back down on the table before he heads to the bathroom. Brad is waiting in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. His hair is still rumpled, and he has a towel slung low on his waist.
"Took you long enough," Brad says, eyes bright.
"Sorry," Hank replies. He slides one hand into Brad's hair, and presses a kiss to his throat.
"Come on," Brad says, tugging at the loops on Hank's jeans, as Hank manages to get the towel on Brad's waist undone.
Brad shoves Hank back against the tiled wall of the shower, as the spray hits their naked flesh. He licks a slow line up the insides of Hank's thighs, fucks him open with his tongue, and listens as Hank makes desperate noises above him.
Hank swore he was a lost man as soon as Brad's lips encircled his dick, swallowing him deep.
As he comes, legs shaking, fingers grasped tightly in his hair, Brad is sure he hears his name spill from Hank's lips. But, he's not sure.
-x-
They towel off, before Brad tugs Hank towards the bedroom. Brad curls up against Hank, presses a kiss to his forehead. Hank tucks them into bed, brushes a hand over Brad's cheek, eyes him silently.
"Is this really happening?" Brad mumbles.
"Is what really happening?"
"All of this. You. Me. Playoffs."
Hank presses a kiss to his cheek. "Yes."
Brad sighs. "Who called?"
"Hm?"
"Who was it that called just now?"
Hank kisses the crown of Brad's hair, listens to the quiet rumble of the New York streets, and Brad's quiet, steady breathing.
"Hank?"
Hank is still, half-wondering what will become of them, as he breathes against Brad's hair one name: "Vince."