(fic) Home again, across the sea
Title: Home again, across the sea
Pairing: Bryan McCabe/ Brett Lindros
Disclaimer: Fiction means this is made up
Rating: NC-17
Their bedroom - their bedroom, unsullied as it has been by any other partner or lover- window faces west, robbing them of the drowsy warmth of a sunrise. So they have to make the light and heat of a new day from what is available between the two of them. The air is freezing, and the room is darker than it should be at this time of the day. But it's balmy enough under the sheets, with a pile of blankets on top of them. Tropical almost. As close as you can get to that on this part of the continent.
This is the nowhere time between awake and alert. Somewhat apart from Greenwich Mean Time, seconds last hours and it is really a time of their creation. The beat between the squawking radio and the snooze button being firmly employed, the ten minutes until the radio clucks to life again that is their magic time. They know the day is starting, they know they have to move to get up for the day but….. But not quite yet.
Brett sprawls over Bryan, his mouth hot on his neck. Are you awake? Ready to face the day?
Yes and no. More no than yes. Bryan runs the palm of his hand down Brett's body, far too cool to be healthy Bryan thinks and holds his hand over the small of Brett's back to warm him up.
I'll wake you up. Brett nods and grins. Leaning over he stretches his hand over to the radio flicking the alarm to 'off' with the tips of his fingers.
It's not like we have to be anyway today.
Nowhere special. Bryan agrees and stretches under Brett working the sleep kinks out of his body.
Brett grins and sucks his fingers briefly before pushing his hand between the two of them,
Ok? He whispers.
Yeah. Good. Bryan chokes out. He could still be asleep he knows. This could be some kind of peculiar dream; He won't wake up he thinks. Not until the end.
The bed is shifting slightly under them, and Bryan knows it's because of him, digging his heels into the bed, and pushing his hips up against Brett's hand, gone from sleepy to needy a slim reed of desire against another icy sunrise, forcing the fingers in deeper, squeezing down around them when Brett tries to twist his hand around.
He can think, he's sure of it, something more than oh god yeah but it's first thing in the morning, and Brett's teeth are attacking that bit of skin under his chin, so Bryan just leans his head back to bare more of his neck.
Just do it already. Bryan growls shoving at Brett and rolling over on the bed.
Now already. He repeats
Brett just laughs. He whispers and scrapes his morning beard against Bryan's shoulder blade. But Bryan can't quite hear what is being said; it's lost in the waves. Then Brett's gone, and it's cold as Bryan waits for him to stop fucking about with condoms and lube and fuck him already.
Bryan tucks his fingers under the mattress and rises up on his knees and elbows, silently encouraging Brett along.
Brett tangles his fingers in Bryan's hair, and slides in. The first shock of water is always cold; no matter how prepared you think you are. It's the perfect early morning rhythm slow and deep, and all the thoughts in Bryan's head 'yes' and 'morning' and the time flicking over in bright green inches from his nose just come out as more more more and Brett laughs drives into him harder, one hand still in Bryan's hair, the other curled over his hip, and it's so fucking good that Bryan can only bite his lip and drop his forehead to the mattress.
Wait, Bryan says, and runs his hand up over Brett's ribs to press his palm to Brett's back. Closer like this, and he presses down on Brett's back. Not hard enough to move him, just enough to let him know what he wants. Brett leans down, resting his hands on top of the headboard for support and Bryan smiles so it is almost a grimace, shaking a little with the new angle, with the weight of Brett pressed to his back with the feel of Brett full length against him.
He digs his fingers harder into the top of the mattress, so hard that he knows they are going to hurt when this is over. He can smell the clean sheets under his nose and when he tilts his head up all he can smell is the sleepy odour of the bedroom and the sharp tart salt of sweat and semen from last night.
He takes a deep breath until it feels like he is going to black out. Holding his breath underwater, and he can't break the surface until, it's just out of his reach.
He puffs out slow bubbles of breath, as Brett, his legs are trembling, his back impossibly arched, as Brett sinks deeper into him. He squeezes his muscles and Brett gasps, and like that he is above water and taking deep breaths, gulping the air down. It sneaks up on him, sweet release and he can't even hear what he is whispering any more over the roar in his ears. He's one of those greedy gulls more more more It's like being sucked under for a second in a rip and then surfing along with the tide. He could be anywhere, he could be dying. He could be drowning.
Brett is kissing a path of sunshine over the back of neck face buried into his hair.
It is the sun, traveling far enough abound the house to lick the floor of the hallway, to ease into their doorway.
You come. Bryan whispers permission into the sheets and Brett's voice catches on another half-moan. He holds his hands, palms flat down, against the wall and rocks back into Brett, harder and faster. Do it, come for me.
His cheek resting against the inside of his arm is hot, his arm is hot, the day, announcing itself with it's glide across the mat at the base of the bed is going to be hot.
Bryan's weight on his back is warming not burning him, his mouth is warmer still breathing out a rolling litany of Bryan's name.
Sleep?
God yes.
They roll together and dream about swimming in the ocean. It's hot and salty in the room this morning. Tropical almost. Pacific.
an's a lamentable pretension of style. I went back to speech marks.
Pairing: Bryan McCabe/ Brett Lindros
Disclaimer: Fiction means this is made up
Rating: NC-17
Their bedroom - their bedroom, unsullied as it has been by any other partner or lover- window faces west, robbing them of the drowsy warmth of a sunrise. So they have to make the light and heat of a new day from what is available between the two of them. The air is freezing, and the room is darker than it should be at this time of the day. But it's balmy enough under the sheets, with a pile of blankets on top of them. Tropical almost. As close as you can get to that on this part of the continent.
This is the nowhere time between awake and alert. Somewhat apart from Greenwich Mean Time, seconds last hours and it is really a time of their creation. The beat between the squawking radio and the snooze button being firmly employed, the ten minutes until the radio clucks to life again that is their magic time. They know the day is starting, they know they have to move to get up for the day but….. But not quite yet.
Brett sprawls over Bryan, his mouth hot on his neck. Are you awake? Ready to face the day?
Yes and no. More no than yes. Bryan runs the palm of his hand down Brett's body, far too cool to be healthy Bryan thinks and holds his hand over the small of Brett's back to warm him up.
I'll wake you up. Brett nods and grins. Leaning over he stretches his hand over to the radio flicking the alarm to 'off' with the tips of his fingers.
It's not like we have to be anyway today.
Nowhere special. Bryan agrees and stretches under Brett working the sleep kinks out of his body.
Brett grins and sucks his fingers briefly before pushing his hand between the two of them,
Ok? He whispers.
Yeah. Good. Bryan chokes out. He could still be asleep he knows. This could be some kind of peculiar dream; He won't wake up he thinks. Not until the end.
The bed is shifting slightly under them, and Bryan knows it's because of him, digging his heels into the bed, and pushing his hips up against Brett's hand, gone from sleepy to needy a slim reed of desire against another icy sunrise, forcing the fingers in deeper, squeezing down around them when Brett tries to twist his hand around.
He can think, he's sure of it, something more than oh god yeah but it's first thing in the morning, and Brett's teeth are attacking that bit of skin under his chin, so Bryan just leans his head back to bare more of his neck.
Just do it already. Bryan growls shoving at Brett and rolling over on the bed.
Now already. He repeats
Brett just laughs. He whispers and scrapes his morning beard against Bryan's shoulder blade. But Bryan can't quite hear what is being said; it's lost in the waves. Then Brett's gone, and it's cold as Bryan waits for him to stop fucking about with condoms and lube and fuck him already.
Bryan tucks his fingers under the mattress and rises up on his knees and elbows, silently encouraging Brett along.
Brett tangles his fingers in Bryan's hair, and slides in. The first shock of water is always cold; no matter how prepared you think you are. It's the perfect early morning rhythm slow and deep, and all the thoughts in Bryan's head 'yes' and 'morning' and the time flicking over in bright green inches from his nose just come out as more more more and Brett laughs drives into him harder, one hand still in Bryan's hair, the other curled over his hip, and it's so fucking good that Bryan can only bite his lip and drop his forehead to the mattress.
Wait, Bryan says, and runs his hand up over Brett's ribs to press his palm to Brett's back. Closer like this, and he presses down on Brett's back. Not hard enough to move him, just enough to let him know what he wants. Brett leans down, resting his hands on top of the headboard for support and Bryan smiles so it is almost a grimace, shaking a little with the new angle, with the weight of Brett pressed to his back with the feel of Brett full length against him.
He digs his fingers harder into the top of the mattress, so hard that he knows they are going to hurt when this is over. He can smell the clean sheets under his nose and when he tilts his head up all he can smell is the sleepy odour of the bedroom and the sharp tart salt of sweat and semen from last night.
He takes a deep breath until it feels like he is going to black out. Holding his breath underwater, and he can't break the surface until, it's just out of his reach.
He puffs out slow bubbles of breath, as Brett, his legs are trembling, his back impossibly arched, as Brett sinks deeper into him. He squeezes his muscles and Brett gasps, and like that he is above water and taking deep breaths, gulping the air down. It sneaks up on him, sweet release and he can't even hear what he is whispering any more over the roar in his ears. He's one of those greedy gulls more more more It's like being sucked under for a second in a rip and then surfing along with the tide. He could be anywhere, he could be dying. He could be drowning.
Brett is kissing a path of sunshine over the back of neck face buried into his hair.
It is the sun, traveling far enough abound the house to lick the floor of the hallway, to ease into their doorway.
You come. Bryan whispers permission into the sheets and Brett's voice catches on another half-moan. He holds his hands, palms flat down, against the wall and rocks back into Brett, harder and faster. Do it, come for me.
His cheek resting against the inside of his arm is hot, his arm is hot, the day, announcing itself with it's glide across the mat at the base of the bed is going to be hot.
Bryan's weight on his back is warming not burning him, his mouth is warmer still breathing out a rolling litany of Bryan's name.
Sleep?
God yes.
They roll together and dream about swimming in the ocean. It's hot and salty in the room this morning. Tropical almost. Pacific.
an's a lamentable pretension of style. I went back to speech marks.