[Fic: Hockey RPS] Break my Arms around the One I Love; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
Last planned part in the Hide the Night-verse. Yeah, took long enough.
Don't worry, I have a couple outtakes left to post, and the playlist, but otherwise, this is it. So, um ... enjoy?
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title is lyrics from a song by The National.
Break my Arms around the One I Love
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; NC-17
When all the pieces fit ...
Break my Arms around the One I Love
Brad slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. His hair is windblown, his clothes rumpled, a slight hint of salt water clinging to the edges of his clothes. His eyes finally slide to the passenger side of his car where he sees Hank has finally climbed out. Hank makes his way to the hood of Brad's car, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants.
There is a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, and in the hollow of his throat. It's enough to rob Brad of breath, and he looks away. He wonders if he will ever be fully adjusted to the idea. The idea of him and Hank. He wonders if it will ever ...
"Should've worn cooler clothes," Hank says conversationally, leaning against the hood of the car, arms crossed over his chest, as he stares straight ahead.
"It's been a pretty warm summer," Brad agrees, forcing himself out his reverie.
Hank's eyelids flicker and he turns his face to Brad, tucking his index finger under Brad's chin. His lips curve up at the corners, and Brad thinks he sees a hint of sadness tucked into the blue depths of his eyes. He thinks Hank looks just as sad as he feels in that instant. It's a sadness he can't quite shake though. Almost as if it's imbedded in the fibre of his being.
Brad used to dream about seeing The Hamptons up close; never fully convinced at how beautiful it could be, but now, standing by his car, gazing out at the seemingly endless miles of sand, and ocean, he could not help but be taken aback by the beauty of it all.
He could not wait until he could feel the sand between his toes, and a cooling breeze on his cheeks. Brad ran a hand through his hair, the feel of sticky salt in his fine hair.
Brad feels as Hank presses his lips to the sensitive skin behind his ear, his hand sliding down his shoulder, before his fingers come back up to stroke through Brad's hair. The heat of Hank's hand on his shoulder lingers for a few moments after he slides his hand away. It causes Brad to shiver slightly despite the sun beating down on them.
"Show me the place you rented," Hank whispers.
Brad laughs; he thinks it sounds like a nervous little titter, but he doesn't think too long on it, because Hank is reaching for him then, sliding a hand into his hair, the other curving around Brad's waist, his fingers running down Brad's spine. Brad cannot quite help the sense of yearning that tickles his heart as Hank's thumb brushes across his cheek, before he leans forward and kisses him.
Brad's lips part slightly, as he turns so his back is pressed against the car, his arms coming up to curve around Hank's neck, deepening the kiss. He can taste mint, and salt in Hank's mouth. His hair like silk against his fingers as he lets them get tangled in his hair. Hank dips his fingers slightly into the waistband of Brad's jeans, hauling him closer.
"Unless you want to put on a show for the residences," Hank says against the shell of Brad's ear, "maybe it'd be best to show me the house."
Brad cannot help but laugh as he pulls away from Hank, and heads for the trunk to collect their belongings. "Have it your way, Hank."
-»«-
They manage to get their belongings inside, before Hank is taking Brad by the hand, and heading up the stairs. Brad shuts the door, before Hank is shoving him against the wall, dragging his fingers through Brad's hair, and fumbling on the tiny plastic buttons of Brad's shirt. Brad's hands are equally as clumsy as they fumble on the button of Hank's jeans. Hank has his mouth pressed to Brad's throat, like he is starved for him, like he cannot get enough of him. Eventually, they stumble towards the bed, and Hank's tugging Brad's jeans off, before Brad is naked, and sprawled across his lap. Brad's mouth is slightly parted as he grinds down against him. Hank slides his hands down his back, palming his ass. Brad whimpers, and trembles against him.
"Shh," Hank whispers, pushing his fingers into Brad's mouth, watching as Brad sucks the digits in. It sends a jolt through his whole system, it causes his cock to twitch, and he hears as Brad swears, and grinds down harder against him. "Bradley …" Hank says as he slips his fingers from his mouth, before he trails his hand down Brad's torso, past his balls. "Jag älskar dig," he whispers before he thrusts a finger into Brad.
Brad lets out a soft cry, and his grip tightens in Hank's hair as he rocks against Hank's hand. "Hank, please … more … please …"
Hank slips another finger into him, watches as Brad's head falls back, and he rocks against his fingers. Brad's eyes are screwed tightly shut, his teeth biting so hard on his bottom lip, Hank is sure there will be blood. "Bradley … look at me."
He has his fingers tangled in Brad's hair, as he watches Brad's eyes flutter, before his amber eyes lock on Hank's. "Hank, please," Brad whispers, pressing their foreheads together, trembling slightly as Hank's fingers continue to stroke into the tight, unbearable heat of him.
"I don't think I can …" Hank starts, as his hand busily gets the zip on his own jeans down, before he's fisting his own cock, smearing his shaft with pre-come. "I don't think I can wait any longer, Bradley."
"Oh, fuck, Hank, please …"
Hank withdraws his fingers, before he nudges the head of his cock into Brad's ass. He bites his lip as Brad sinks down onto him. His hands sliding down Brad's back, before they come to rest on his hips. He lets Brad set the pace, as his hands hold him steady.
"Hank," Brad chokes out, nails digging into Hank's shoulder blades.
"Shh, Brad … shh." Hank slides his hands down Brad's thighs, pressing against the muscles and sinew of his legs, as he watches the way Brad moves above him. "Take as much as you need," he whispers over and over again against Brad's throat.
Brad bites his bottom lip as he rocks against Hank. Eventually, he slides his hand down to his cock, manipulating the rigid flesh as he continues to rock against Hank. Brad gasps out something, it sounds vaguely like Hank's name, combined with something else, as he eventually loses his rhythm. When he feels his release approaching, he has his head thrown back, fighting the urge to slam his eyes shut.
"Brad," Hank says, forcing his head down, so their foreheads are pressed together again, "it's okay. I'm not going anywhere."
"Hank, I can't …" Brad says.
"You can close your eyes, Bradley …" Hank says, tone reassuring. "I'm not going anywhere."
Brad says nothing else then, as he screws his eyes shut, his hand on his cock losing rhythm as he finally comes, his free hand digging into Hank's shoulder blade. He shudders as he comes, the tremors crashing over him in wave after wave, until Brad is boneless and slumped against Hank's chest. He is only half-aware of Hank holding him, his hands running soothingly up and down his spine.
Hank kisses the tip of Brad's nose. "Still here," he whispers.
Brad cannot help but smile.
-»«-
The next couple of days blur into the next. Lazy summer days full of running along the sprawling sand, floating in the ocean, tanning by the pool. Dinner's are equally as enjoyable.
As is the sex.
Brad is standing on the balcony, watching the surf, listening as the waves crash against the shoreline. A bottle of red wine and two glasses sit on the ledge next to him. He feels Hank curl his arms around his waist, and press against him. His lips pressed to his ear.
"Happy fourth of July," Hank whispers.
Brad glances at his watch, and laughs lightly. "Not for at least another ten minutes or so."
"So, I'm a bit early. You wouldn't hold it against me," Hank jokes.
Brad is about to say something when he hears his phone chirp happily from its spot on the ledge. He picks it up, and checks who it is from before he answers the call.
He listens as his lawyer starts to talk. Brad can barely hear him over the roar in his ears. Hank watches intently, as Brad finally says goodbye and disconnects the call.
"Sounded important," Hank finally says.
Brad sets his phone down, turns so his back is facing the surf. "That was my lawyer." He runs a hand up to Hank's face, pushes a stray strand of hair off his face. "My house in Tampa? The deal went through."
Hank curls his arms around Brad then, pulls him close, mouth pressed against his hair. "Hur kan jag säga om din röst är vacker," Brad hears him whisper.
"Hm?"
"It's a Swedish poem," Hank breathes.
"How does it go?"
Hank pushes Brad away slightly, keeps his eyes locked on him as he recites the rest of the poem to him. "Jag vet ju bara, att den genomtränger mig … och kommer mig att darra som ett löv … och trasar sönder mig och spränger mig. Vad vet jag om din hud och dina lemmar … Det bara skakar mig att de är dina, … så att för mig finns ingen sömn och vila, … tills de är mina …"
Brad stares unblinkingly at Hank for a few moments.
"How can I tell if your voice is beautiful. I only know, that it penetrates me, and makes me shake like a leaf … and tears me to shreds and splits me. What do I know about your skin and limbs. It makes me tremble that they are yours, so for me there is no sleep or rest, till they are mine," Hank translates.
Brad covers Hank's mouth in a kiss then, hands balled into fists on Hank's shirt front. When he finally does pull back, he stares up into Hank's eyes, the blue so pure and undiluted, he swears he could get lost for days in them.
"Is this really happening?" he finally says.
"Is what really happening?"
"All of this," Brad says. "You, me, us. Everything."
Hank runs his hands through Brad's hair, leans his forehead against his. "Yes."
Brad leans his head on Hank's chest, and remains silent in the warmth of Hank's arms.
It is a long time before Hank finally speaks, and when he does, it is not the words Brad was expecting to hear.
"Brad, when you look at me, who do you see?"
Brad pulls back slightly, eyes assessing as they run over Hank. "The man that saved me when I thought I was wasting away. The one who never asked me for anything beyond what I could give at the time. The one who never questioned anything. The man I love."
Hank shook his head, eyes sad. "No, that's not what I meant."
"I know what you mean," Brad says, hands coming up, cupping Hank's face in his hands, as their eyes locked. "I see Hank."
Don't worry, I have a couple outtakes left to post, and the playlist, but otherwise, this is it. So, um ... enjoy?
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title is lyrics from a song by The National.
Break my Arms around the One I Love
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; NC-17
When all the pieces fit ...
Break my Arms around the One I Love
Brad slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. His hair is windblown, his clothes rumpled, a slight hint of salt water clinging to the edges of his clothes. His eyes finally slide to the passenger side of his car where he sees Hank has finally climbed out. Hank makes his way to the hood of Brad's car, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants.
There is a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, and in the hollow of his throat. It's enough to rob Brad of breath, and he looks away. He wonders if he will ever be fully adjusted to the idea. The idea of him and Hank. He wonders if it will ever ...
"Should've worn cooler clothes," Hank says conversationally, leaning against the hood of the car, arms crossed over his chest, as he stares straight ahead.
"It's been a pretty warm summer," Brad agrees, forcing himself out his reverie.
Hank's eyelids flicker and he turns his face to Brad, tucking his index finger under Brad's chin. His lips curve up at the corners, and Brad thinks he sees a hint of sadness tucked into the blue depths of his eyes. He thinks Hank looks just as sad as he feels in that instant. It's a sadness he can't quite shake though. Almost as if it's imbedded in the fibre of his being.
Brad used to dream about seeing The Hamptons up close; never fully convinced at how beautiful it could be, but now, standing by his car, gazing out at the seemingly endless miles of sand, and ocean, he could not help but be taken aback by the beauty of it all.
He could not wait until he could feel the sand between his toes, and a cooling breeze on his cheeks. Brad ran a hand through his hair, the feel of sticky salt in his fine hair.
Brad feels as Hank presses his lips to the sensitive skin behind his ear, his hand sliding down his shoulder, before his fingers come back up to stroke through Brad's hair. The heat of Hank's hand on his shoulder lingers for a few moments after he slides his hand away. It causes Brad to shiver slightly despite the sun beating down on them.
"Show me the place you rented," Hank whispers.
Brad laughs; he thinks it sounds like a nervous little titter, but he doesn't think too long on it, because Hank is reaching for him then, sliding a hand into his hair, the other curving around Brad's waist, his fingers running down Brad's spine. Brad cannot quite help the sense of yearning that tickles his heart as Hank's thumb brushes across his cheek, before he leans forward and kisses him.
Brad's lips part slightly, as he turns so his back is pressed against the car, his arms coming up to curve around Hank's neck, deepening the kiss. He can taste mint, and salt in Hank's mouth. His hair like silk against his fingers as he lets them get tangled in his hair. Hank dips his fingers slightly into the waistband of Brad's jeans, hauling him closer.
"Unless you want to put on a show for the residences," Hank says against the shell of Brad's ear, "maybe it'd be best to show me the house."
Brad cannot help but laugh as he pulls away from Hank, and heads for the trunk to collect their belongings. "Have it your way, Hank."
-»«-
They manage to get their belongings inside, before Hank is taking Brad by the hand, and heading up the stairs. Brad shuts the door, before Hank is shoving him against the wall, dragging his fingers through Brad's hair, and fumbling on the tiny plastic buttons of Brad's shirt. Brad's hands are equally as clumsy as they fumble on the button of Hank's jeans. Hank has his mouth pressed to Brad's throat, like he is starved for him, like he cannot get enough of him. Eventually, they stumble towards the bed, and Hank's tugging Brad's jeans off, before Brad is naked, and sprawled across his lap. Brad's mouth is slightly parted as he grinds down against him. Hank slides his hands down his back, palming his ass. Brad whimpers, and trembles against him.
"Shh," Hank whispers, pushing his fingers into Brad's mouth, watching as Brad sucks the digits in. It sends a jolt through his whole system, it causes his cock to twitch, and he hears as Brad swears, and grinds down harder against him. "Bradley …" Hank says as he slips his fingers from his mouth, before he trails his hand down Brad's torso, past his balls. "Jag älskar dig," he whispers before he thrusts a finger into Brad.
Brad lets out a soft cry, and his grip tightens in Hank's hair as he rocks against Hank's hand. "Hank, please … more … please …"
Hank slips another finger into him, watches as Brad's head falls back, and he rocks against his fingers. Brad's eyes are screwed tightly shut, his teeth biting so hard on his bottom lip, Hank is sure there will be blood. "Bradley … look at me."
He has his fingers tangled in Brad's hair, as he watches Brad's eyes flutter, before his amber eyes lock on Hank's. "Hank, please," Brad whispers, pressing their foreheads together, trembling slightly as Hank's fingers continue to stroke into the tight, unbearable heat of him.
"I don't think I can …" Hank starts, as his hand busily gets the zip on his own jeans down, before he's fisting his own cock, smearing his shaft with pre-come. "I don't think I can wait any longer, Bradley."
"Oh, fuck, Hank, please …"
Hank withdraws his fingers, before he nudges the head of his cock into Brad's ass. He bites his lip as Brad sinks down onto him. His hands sliding down Brad's back, before they come to rest on his hips. He lets Brad set the pace, as his hands hold him steady.
"Hank," Brad chokes out, nails digging into Hank's shoulder blades.
"Shh, Brad … shh." Hank slides his hands down Brad's thighs, pressing against the muscles and sinew of his legs, as he watches the way Brad moves above him. "Take as much as you need," he whispers over and over again against Brad's throat.
Brad bites his bottom lip as he rocks against Hank. Eventually, he slides his hand down to his cock, manipulating the rigid flesh as he continues to rock against Hank. Brad gasps out something, it sounds vaguely like Hank's name, combined with something else, as he eventually loses his rhythm. When he feels his release approaching, he has his head thrown back, fighting the urge to slam his eyes shut.
"Brad," Hank says, forcing his head down, so their foreheads are pressed together again, "it's okay. I'm not going anywhere."
"Hank, I can't …" Brad says.
"You can close your eyes, Bradley …" Hank says, tone reassuring. "I'm not going anywhere."
Brad says nothing else then, as he screws his eyes shut, his hand on his cock losing rhythm as he finally comes, his free hand digging into Hank's shoulder blade. He shudders as he comes, the tremors crashing over him in wave after wave, until Brad is boneless and slumped against Hank's chest. He is only half-aware of Hank holding him, his hands running soothingly up and down his spine.
Hank kisses the tip of Brad's nose. "Still here," he whispers.
Brad cannot help but smile.
-»«-
The next couple of days blur into the next. Lazy summer days full of running along the sprawling sand, floating in the ocean, tanning by the pool. Dinner's are equally as enjoyable.
As is the sex.
Brad is standing on the balcony, watching the surf, listening as the waves crash against the shoreline. A bottle of red wine and two glasses sit on the ledge next to him. He feels Hank curl his arms around his waist, and press against him. His lips pressed to his ear.
"Happy fourth of July," Hank whispers.
Brad glances at his watch, and laughs lightly. "Not for at least another ten minutes or so."
"So, I'm a bit early. You wouldn't hold it against me," Hank jokes.
Brad is about to say something when he hears his phone chirp happily from its spot on the ledge. He picks it up, and checks who it is from before he answers the call.
He listens as his lawyer starts to talk. Brad can barely hear him over the roar in his ears. Hank watches intently, as Brad finally says goodbye and disconnects the call.
"Sounded important," Hank finally says.
Brad sets his phone down, turns so his back is facing the surf. "That was my lawyer." He runs a hand up to Hank's face, pushes a stray strand of hair off his face. "My house in Tampa? The deal went through."
Hank curls his arms around Brad then, pulls him close, mouth pressed against his hair. "Hur kan jag säga om din röst är vacker," Brad hears him whisper.
"Hm?"
"It's a Swedish poem," Hank breathes.
"How does it go?"
Hank pushes Brad away slightly, keeps his eyes locked on him as he recites the rest of the poem to him. "Jag vet ju bara, att den genomtränger mig … och kommer mig att darra som ett löv … och trasar sönder mig och spränger mig. Vad vet jag om din hud och dina lemmar … Det bara skakar mig att de är dina, … så att för mig finns ingen sömn och vila, … tills de är mina …"
Brad stares unblinkingly at Hank for a few moments.
"How can I tell if your voice is beautiful. I only know, that it penetrates me, and makes me shake like a leaf … and tears me to shreds and splits me. What do I know about your skin and limbs. It makes me tremble that they are yours, so for me there is no sleep or rest, till they are mine," Hank translates.
Brad covers Hank's mouth in a kiss then, hands balled into fists on Hank's shirt front. When he finally does pull back, he stares up into Hank's eyes, the blue so pure and undiluted, he swears he could get lost for days in them.
"Is this really happening?" he finally says.
"Is what really happening?"
"All of this," Brad says. "You, me, us. Everything."
Hank runs his hands through Brad's hair, leans his forehead against his. "Yes."
Brad leans his head on Hank's chest, and remains silent in the warmth of Hank's arms.
It is a long time before Hank finally speaks, and when he does, it is not the words Brad was expecting to hear.
"Brad, when you look at me, who do you see?"
Brad pulls back slightly, eyes assessing as they run over Hank. "The man that saved me when I thought I was wasting away. The one who never asked me for anything beyond what I could give at the time. The one who never questioned anything. The man I love."
Hank shook his head, eyes sad. "No, that's not what I meant."
"I know what you mean," Brad says, hands coming up, cupping Hank's face in his hands, as their eyes locked. "I see Hank."