(fic) The fall of falling
Title: The fall of falling
Pairing Mike Comrie / Mike York
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction it is untrue
The fall of falling
Mike York realizes he’s hit absolute rock fucking bottom when he starts sleeping with Mike Comrie.
Not that there is that much wrong with Comrie, well he’s too fucking short and a bit full of himself and is almost joined at the hip to his fucking brother. But, aside from all that he’s ok. Smart, not clinging, not inhibited when sober.
Gets it. Gets travel and how that fucks you up. Gets that sometimes twelve noon is really a light-skinned twelve midnight and that the ice here is almost as the ice under your skates when you were a kid.
Mike looks down at his coffee cup. If Comrie was here, and he has every right to be it’s his kitchen, he’d be hyper and swiping Mike’s drink right out of his hand. Ignoring the fifteen identical mugs in the kitchen, or talking about what they should put in Paul’s coffee then making him drink it.
Or whining about Mike making coffee to weak and insisting on giving him another demonstration of how the fucking espresso machine worked.
Or, and this happened yesterday, taking the coffee out of Mike’s hand, thinking hard about drinking it and then just giving Mike a blowjob while he sat at the kitchen table. Happily just sucked him off while the curtains were open and the door was unlocked, Mike had checked afterwards, and the phone rang and people left messages on the machine.
No one that Mike knew thank god. He’d have gone soft for the rest of his life if MacT had called or something.
And there’s nothing exactly wrong with Comrie’s kitchen apart from being a bit too stuffed with shiny appliances and TV’s. His place is certainly bigger than Mike’s and his bed is fucking huge. Which, given what Comrie likes to do with it isn’t a bad thing.
The problem isn’t even going out after the game last night and getting drunk and being not-very-subtle around everyone. Cause they had been sitting next to a couple of guys whose last names were Smith who had alternated between smiling indulgently, making sure no one else could see the two of them, and, making sickening suggestions for pairing names ‘like Edmonton’s Bennifer.’
Mike scowled at his coffee like it was the coffee’s fault ‘Mike-squared’ didn’t sound too bad at all.
No rock bottom isn’t fucking Comrie; rock bottom is wanting to fuck Comrie again and again. In his bed; in Mike’s bed; on the road.
It’s wanting to call the annoying little fucker by his name and attend pointless concerts with him. It’s not Comrie’s fault, hell half the time Comrie does things that should make Mike walk out the door. Touchy-feely moments, harassing him when he’s watching TV, talking to him about the future and using ‘our’.
Taking to him about the off-season and making Mike think that going somewhere other than hanging around by his family might be a good idea.
No, the problem is that he likes it. That he wants it. That he’s starting to -god he can only admit this in his head - he’s starting to crave it.
It’s not the fucking, who wouldn’t want to fuck Comrie? Cute and eager and impossible to shame. It’s the sleeping next to each other. It’s the waking up next to each other.
It’s the falling. And instead of being scared about where he’s going to land, just enjoying the breeze on his skin.
Pairing Mike Comrie / Mike York
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction it is untrue
The fall of falling
Mike York realizes he’s hit absolute rock fucking bottom when he starts sleeping with Mike Comrie.
Not that there is that much wrong with Comrie, well he’s too fucking short and a bit full of himself and is almost joined at the hip to his fucking brother. But, aside from all that he’s ok. Smart, not clinging, not inhibited when sober.
Gets it. Gets travel and how that fucks you up. Gets that sometimes twelve noon is really a light-skinned twelve midnight and that the ice here is almost as the ice under your skates when you were a kid.
Mike looks down at his coffee cup. If Comrie was here, and he has every right to be it’s his kitchen, he’d be hyper and swiping Mike’s drink right out of his hand. Ignoring the fifteen identical mugs in the kitchen, or talking about what they should put in Paul’s coffee then making him drink it.
Or whining about Mike making coffee to weak and insisting on giving him another demonstration of how the fucking espresso machine worked.
Or, and this happened yesterday, taking the coffee out of Mike’s hand, thinking hard about drinking it and then just giving Mike a blowjob while he sat at the kitchen table. Happily just sucked him off while the curtains were open and the door was unlocked, Mike had checked afterwards, and the phone rang and people left messages on the machine.
No one that Mike knew thank god. He’d have gone soft for the rest of his life if MacT had called or something.
And there’s nothing exactly wrong with Comrie’s kitchen apart from being a bit too stuffed with shiny appliances and TV’s. His place is certainly bigger than Mike’s and his bed is fucking huge. Which, given what Comrie likes to do with it isn’t a bad thing.
The problem isn’t even going out after the game last night and getting drunk and being not-very-subtle around everyone. Cause they had been sitting next to a couple of guys whose last names were Smith who had alternated between smiling indulgently, making sure no one else could see the two of them, and, making sickening suggestions for pairing names ‘like Edmonton’s Bennifer.’
Mike scowled at his coffee like it was the coffee’s fault ‘Mike-squared’ didn’t sound too bad at all.
No rock bottom isn’t fucking Comrie; rock bottom is wanting to fuck Comrie again and again. In his bed; in Mike’s bed; on the road.
It’s wanting to call the annoying little fucker by his name and attend pointless concerts with him. It’s not Comrie’s fault, hell half the time Comrie does things that should make Mike walk out the door. Touchy-feely moments, harassing him when he’s watching TV, talking to him about the future and using ‘our’.
Taking to him about the off-season and making Mike think that going somewhere other than hanging around by his family might be a good idea.
No, the problem is that he likes it. That he wants it. That he’s starting to -god he can only admit this in his head - he’s starting to crave it.
It’s not the fucking, who wouldn’t want to fuck Comrie? Cute and eager and impossible to shame. It’s the sleeping next to each other. It’s the waking up next to each other.
It’s the falling. And instead of being scared about where he’s going to land, just enjoying the breeze on his skin.