Go Blue (1/1)
Title: Go Blue
Author: missy7280
Character: Kevin Porter
Rating: PG-13 (language and solo!sex ~wink~)
Word Count: 806
Summary: Kevin has been passed around like a cheap whore so much, he doesn't even know what city he's in anymore.
Notes: Written for into_outerspace who requested Kevin Porter fic a looong time ago. Sorry it took me so long, bb <3 This is set during the 09-10 season when Kevin went back and forth between the Rampage and Yotes, poor guy. (also see what I did there, with the title? haha, Michigan alum ♥)
He is back in San Antonio again.
Wait, maybe it’s Dallas. Or maybe it is not a city in Texas at all, but another state entirely. Kevin can’t really be sure anymore. He’s been moved around like a cheap whore so much in the past few weeks, he’s surprised he even remembers his own name.
All he knows for sure is that he’s in another fucking dirty hotel room and he’s so sick of dirty hotel beds. The bedding is itchy, the pillows flat, everything about it is the exact opposite of comfortable. His roommate is already asleep in the bed next to him, snoring like he has a plug in his nose and has to be as loud as a jet plane to get air through his nostrils. Kevin takes his one extra pillow and shoves it over his own face, anything to try to block out that horrible noise. It is to no avail.
If he doesn’t get to sleep soon, he will be a zombie on the ice the next day. That’s just what he needs, to play like shit because his roommate won’t let him get any fucking sleep, and then have absolutely no chance of making the team any time soon. Yep, that would just be fucking perfect. Kevin sighs. His own morbid humor is going to drive him crazy one of these days.
So, sleep is necessary, and he’s currently not getting any, so there’s really only one solution. The one thing that can finally bring him some fucking sleep. The one thing that works like a charm every time.
Jacking off. If that wasn’t obvious.
He puts his hand inside his boxers and he’s barely even hard. This is going to take a while, he realizes. It’s hard to think of anything sexual when his roommate sounds like a freight train next to him and he’s uncomfortable as hell, but he’s a young guy and he figures it shouldn’t take him long to start thinking about sex, right? Maybe.
Normally dudes have this rule when rooming together to be quiet when jacking off, so as not to make the other person uncomfortable. Well fuck that, Kevin thinks to himself. There should also be a rule about excessive snoring.
He thinks about the last girl who sucked him off. He thinks about the last guy who fucked him. He thinks about one of his old roommates and their drunken adventures. He even thinks about some random hot supermodel he saw on television for all of a couple minutes. None of them are turning him on, though.
This fucking blows, and not the good, pleasurable kind either. Just the this sucks in a monumental fashion kind of way. His skin is too dry, his hand too rough. Kevin brings his palm up to his mouth and spits, subsequently making an obscene wet sound as he strokes up and down his length. He pulls out all the stops, going hard and fast until finally he begins to stiffen and most of his blood rushes southward.
Now that’s more like it.
It’s not the most elegant of masturbation sessions, but it is sufficient.
It is over far too quickly, so fast that it’s barely even pleasurable. But in the end it ends up doing the trick. His hand falls away from his skin and collapses at his side, and his eyes close shut at the ending of his ministrations.
In only a couple more minutes, he falls into a blissful sleep, uninterrupted by the sound of snoring roommates or anything else. Somehow, even after all of that, he goes into dreamland where an intense wet dream occurs, making him wake up to sticky sheets and a mess in his underwear.
He hasn’t had a problem controlling himself like that since he was ten years old. God damn.
That day, he goes to the coach and makes a request for a roommate change. He does whatever he can not to specify the reason, but explains that it will be the best possible course of action for the entire team. Coach looks back at him and rolls his eyes, uncaring of his plight.
To Kevin’s amusement, he gets the call the next day that he’s being asked to fly back to Phoenix once more. His teammates think he’s thrilled to be transported back to the NHL, but really that’s the last thing on his mind.
He’s just so fucking happy to get a single, private hotel room for once. Even if it is just for one night, and the whole cycle will most surely begin again the next day.
He sleeps like a baby the entire flight. The plane touches down, and the sudden jolt of the wheels touching down on the pavement jerks him out of his sleep.
He is back in Phoenix again.
Author: missy7280
Character: Kevin Porter
Rating: PG-13 (language and solo!sex ~wink~)
Word Count: 806
Summary: Kevin has been passed around like a cheap whore so much, he doesn't even know what city he's in anymore.
Notes: Written for into_outerspace who requested Kevin Porter fic a looong time ago. Sorry it took me so long, bb <3 This is set during the 09-10 season when Kevin went back and forth between the Rampage and Yotes, poor guy. (also see what I did there, with the title? haha, Michigan alum ♥)
He is back in San Antonio again.
Wait, maybe it’s Dallas. Or maybe it is not a city in Texas at all, but another state entirely. Kevin can’t really be sure anymore. He’s been moved around like a cheap whore so much in the past few weeks, he’s surprised he even remembers his own name.
All he knows for sure is that he’s in another fucking dirty hotel room and he’s so sick of dirty hotel beds. The bedding is itchy, the pillows flat, everything about it is the exact opposite of comfortable. His roommate is already asleep in the bed next to him, snoring like he has a plug in his nose and has to be as loud as a jet plane to get air through his nostrils. Kevin takes his one extra pillow and shoves it over his own face, anything to try to block out that horrible noise. It is to no avail.
If he doesn’t get to sleep soon, he will be a zombie on the ice the next day. That’s just what he needs, to play like shit because his roommate won’t let him get any fucking sleep, and then have absolutely no chance of making the team any time soon. Yep, that would just be fucking perfect. Kevin sighs. His own morbid humor is going to drive him crazy one of these days.
So, sleep is necessary, and he’s currently not getting any, so there’s really only one solution. The one thing that can finally bring him some fucking sleep. The one thing that works like a charm every time.
Jacking off. If that wasn’t obvious.
He puts his hand inside his boxers and he’s barely even hard. This is going to take a while, he realizes. It’s hard to think of anything sexual when his roommate sounds like a freight train next to him and he’s uncomfortable as hell, but he’s a young guy and he figures it shouldn’t take him long to start thinking about sex, right? Maybe.
Normally dudes have this rule when rooming together to be quiet when jacking off, so as not to make the other person uncomfortable. Well fuck that, Kevin thinks to himself. There should also be a rule about excessive snoring.
He thinks about the last girl who sucked him off. He thinks about the last guy who fucked him. He thinks about one of his old roommates and their drunken adventures. He even thinks about some random hot supermodel he saw on television for all of a couple minutes. None of them are turning him on, though.
This fucking blows, and not the good, pleasurable kind either. Just the this sucks in a monumental fashion kind of way. His skin is too dry, his hand too rough. Kevin brings his palm up to his mouth and spits, subsequently making an obscene wet sound as he strokes up and down his length. He pulls out all the stops, going hard and fast until finally he begins to stiffen and most of his blood rushes southward.
Now that’s more like it.
It’s not the most elegant of masturbation sessions, but it is sufficient.
It is over far too quickly, so fast that it’s barely even pleasurable. But in the end it ends up doing the trick. His hand falls away from his skin and collapses at his side, and his eyes close shut at the ending of his ministrations.
In only a couple more minutes, he falls into a blissful sleep, uninterrupted by the sound of snoring roommates or anything else. Somehow, even after all of that, he goes into dreamland where an intense wet dream occurs, making him wake up to sticky sheets and a mess in his underwear.
He hasn’t had a problem controlling himself like that since he was ten years old. God damn.
That day, he goes to the coach and makes a request for a roommate change. He does whatever he can not to specify the reason, but explains that it will be the best possible course of action for the entire team. Coach looks back at him and rolls his eyes, uncaring of his plight.
To Kevin’s amusement, he gets the call the next day that he’s being asked to fly back to Phoenix once more. His teammates think he’s thrilled to be transported back to the NHL, but really that’s the last thing on his mind.
He’s just so fucking happy to get a single, private hotel room for once. Even if it is just for one night, and the whole cycle will most surely begin again the next day.
He sleeps like a baby the entire flight. The plane touches down, and the sudden jolt of the wheels touching down on the pavement jerks him out of his sleep.
He is back in Phoenix again.