(fic) Intentions
Title: Intentions
Pairing: Jason Smith / Craig Mactavish (player-coach fic)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction
Intentions
“Fuck.” Craig groans it out. Jason moans the word like it is a prayer and a curse all at the same time.
Craig slides in slowly, by millimeters. Jason’s breath catches in the back of his throat and stalls in his mouth. He’s dizzy and lightheaded and wants more so much that he’d scream it if he could get the words out.
Craig is all the way inside Jason and stops dead resting his forehead on the back of Jason’s neck.
Jason rubs Craig’s hands softly when they are clutching his hips. He decodes the message that Craig is mouthing against his skin.
“Love you to.” He says. “We gonna fuck?”
***
Jason leans over the desk and puts two fingers from each hand over Craig’s lips.
“Are you fucking sure you want to say that? Cause I think I know what you are going to say, and you might want to make sure you are really fucking sure.”
Craig nods slowly and Jason smiles. “And I am going to agree with you.”
***
“So go.” Craig rolls over in bed and laughs at Jason. “Dumb fuck you’re never off-duty, go. Tell Brew to remember he plays defense not forward.”
“Not Eric. Ethan. You could buy me a less high maintenance team.”
Jason flips his phone closed and stretches as he gets up from the bar stool.
“Yeah? Send me a memo. And tell that prick to score.”
***
Jason doesn’t shave carefully, just swipes around half-heartedly with a razor a few times without bothering to clear the stream off the mirror.
“When we actually win the Cup I am fucking shaving you for the parade.” Craig tells him stepping out of the shower and stealing the towel from around Jason’s waist.
***
“Brewer is such a fucking woman.”
“Only you could say that with someone’s cock up your ass.” Jason would maybe laugh but it was all the spare breath he had to get the words out.
Craig shoves back at the some time Jason pushes forward.
***
“Yeah Steve medicates on beer and blondes with big tits when things are going shitty for him.”
Craig nods and undoes the top button of Jason’s jeans. They are old enough that the buttonhole is almost to big.
“I did too, when I was in the league.”
“You’re still in the league.” Jason points out untying the tie that Craig had had to wear for the dinner after the game.
***
“Yeah? Well fuck you ‘cause I’m the fucking C. And yeah I thought it was the best thing at the time.”
Craig folds his fingers tighter together and rests his elbows on the bar; he rests his chin there and looks carefully at Jason, stupid sweater jeans old enough to qualify as vintage.
“I never said you didn’t do the right thing. I’m pissed you were too careless to remember to lock the fucking door.”
Jason nods. “That was stupid. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Craig nods slowly. “And get one for yourself.”
***
Jason looks up from marking the scorecard. His foursome has been going slowly and Mac’s has caught up to it.
“It’s only the tenth hole and I want to kill the fat guy with a nine iron.”
Craig smiles slightly. “Use the putter and weight the body down with rocks before you tip it in the water hazard.”
***
Eric’s in bed and Craig has to look at him, as much as he can see in the dark room. Bad idea, Eric isn’t wearing anything, at least Jason pulled on jeans when he heard Craig walking through the hotel room.
In the light from the lamp behind him Craig can see Eric in relief. His back against the wall and the sheet over his waist. Craig can see the unbroken line of his skin from his knee up his hip across his chest to his the hard line of his shoulders.
Eric looks down and Craig shrugs.
“Don’t forget we have the golf tournament. Either of you.”
Jason smiles and takes the paper the older man is holding out to him.
“Are we playing together tomorrow?” Jason asks and Craig shrugs.
“I don’t set those lines.”
***
Craig looked tired.
More than tired, he looked played out. Turned inside out like pockets when you prove there is nothing left in them. Most people can’t tell Jason guesses. Most people probably think he is pissed off at losing, or upset. But Jason sees bone deep exhaustion.
Close close close. To close last season and not close at all when it mattered. Craig is pushing papers around on his desk not even bothering to look busy when Jason puts his head around the door.
“Buy you a drink?” He asks and isn’t surprised when his coach doesn’t answer him straight away. Craig props his head on the back of his fingers, his hands laced together his elbows resting on the desk.
“Sure. I’ll get one for you as well.”
Pairing: Jason Smith / Craig Mactavish (player-coach fic)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction
Intentions
“Fuck.” Craig groans it out. Jason moans the word like it is a prayer and a curse all at the same time.
Craig slides in slowly, by millimeters. Jason’s breath catches in the back of his throat and stalls in his mouth. He’s dizzy and lightheaded and wants more so much that he’d scream it if he could get the words out.
Craig is all the way inside Jason and stops dead resting his forehead on the back of Jason’s neck.
Jason rubs Craig’s hands softly when they are clutching his hips. He decodes the message that Craig is mouthing against his skin.
“Love you to.” He says. “We gonna fuck?”
***
Jason leans over the desk and puts two fingers from each hand over Craig’s lips.
“Are you fucking sure you want to say that? Cause I think I know what you are going to say, and you might want to make sure you are really fucking sure.”
Craig nods slowly and Jason smiles. “And I am going to agree with you.”
***
“So go.” Craig rolls over in bed and laughs at Jason. “Dumb fuck you’re never off-duty, go. Tell Brew to remember he plays defense not forward.”
“Not Eric. Ethan. You could buy me a less high maintenance team.”
Jason flips his phone closed and stretches as he gets up from the bar stool.
“Yeah? Send me a memo. And tell that prick to score.”
***
Jason doesn’t shave carefully, just swipes around half-heartedly with a razor a few times without bothering to clear the stream off the mirror.
“When we actually win the Cup I am fucking shaving you for the parade.” Craig tells him stepping out of the shower and stealing the towel from around Jason’s waist.
***
“Brewer is such a fucking woman.”
“Only you could say that with someone’s cock up your ass.” Jason would maybe laugh but it was all the spare breath he had to get the words out.
Craig shoves back at the some time Jason pushes forward.
***
“Yeah Steve medicates on beer and blondes with big tits when things are going shitty for him.”
Craig nods and undoes the top button of Jason’s jeans. They are old enough that the buttonhole is almost to big.
“I did too, when I was in the league.”
“You’re still in the league.” Jason points out untying the tie that Craig had had to wear for the dinner after the game.
***
“Yeah? Well fuck you ‘cause I’m the fucking C. And yeah I thought it was the best thing at the time.”
Craig folds his fingers tighter together and rests his elbows on the bar; he rests his chin there and looks carefully at Jason, stupid sweater jeans old enough to qualify as vintage.
“I never said you didn’t do the right thing. I’m pissed you were too careless to remember to lock the fucking door.”
Jason nods. “That was stupid. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Craig nods slowly. “And get one for yourself.”
***
Jason looks up from marking the scorecard. His foursome has been going slowly and Mac’s has caught up to it.
“It’s only the tenth hole and I want to kill the fat guy with a nine iron.”
Craig smiles slightly. “Use the putter and weight the body down with rocks before you tip it in the water hazard.”
***
Eric’s in bed and Craig has to look at him, as much as he can see in the dark room. Bad idea, Eric isn’t wearing anything, at least Jason pulled on jeans when he heard Craig walking through the hotel room.
In the light from the lamp behind him Craig can see Eric in relief. His back against the wall and the sheet over his waist. Craig can see the unbroken line of his skin from his knee up his hip across his chest to his the hard line of his shoulders.
Eric looks down and Craig shrugs.
“Don’t forget we have the golf tournament. Either of you.”
Jason smiles and takes the paper the older man is holding out to him.
“Are we playing together tomorrow?” Jason asks and Craig shrugs.
“I don’t set those lines.”
***
Craig looked tired.
More than tired, he looked played out. Turned inside out like pockets when you prove there is nothing left in them. Most people can’t tell Jason guesses. Most people probably think he is pissed off at losing, or upset. But Jason sees bone deep exhaustion.
Close close close. To close last season and not close at all when it mattered. Craig is pushing papers around on his desk not even bothering to look busy when Jason puts his head around the door.
“Buy you a drink?” He asks and isn’t surprised when his coach doesn’t answer him straight away. Craig props his head on the back of his fingers, his hands laced together his elbows resting on the desk.
“Sure. I’ll get one for you as well.”