(no subject)
For: lilac_one
Title: Revelate
Author: Kat (katrin)
Fandom and Pairing: Men With Brooms/Wilby Wonderful: Neil Bucyk/Duck MacDonald
Summary: Neil had the sob story and the sad eyes and for the first time in his life was getting the chicks.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1630.
Author’s Notes: It’s meant to take place after MWB but before WW. Many many thanks go to shihadchick for the beta. The title is from the song “Revelate” by The Frames.
Neil sort of liked being divorced. It was an excuse to leave the funeral home and, well, North Bay. Linda and the boys and the business had been the only things keeping him there. Now he saw the boys when he was in town and Linda had the business (as well as Ronald, brain trust that he was).
Also the divorced thing, or at least the "my wife left me for another man and took my kids and my job" thing? It worked. It was like being in high school again, with Linda (back when her hair was a dark honey colour, and maybe a little frizzy, and she smiled with pink-painted lips) telling him he had sad eyes and letting him touch her breasts. He didn’t even really try (except whenever he went anywhere with Lennox, because Lennox was competitive and also not over that time that Neil stole his girlfriend), and still was getting laid more than he had in the ten years before his divorce (not that that was saying much).
Curling isn’t exactly a sexy sport, but ladies do like men who win, and the Cutter rink won a lot, which meant that any ladies who did find curling sexy always ended up finding them at the end of the day. And Neil had no illusions about his own appeal or lack thereof - not to beat a dead horse, but his wife left him for Ronald -- but Cutter was a romantic (thank Christ; everyone went after him first), and Eddie’d never looked at anyone but Lily, and Lennox was… Lennox. Neil had the sob story and the sad eyes and for the first time in his life was getting the chicks.
Maybe Neil was competitive too, because winning at that felt even better than winning at curling.
Though only sometimes. The sob story wasn’t just a story, it was his life. He never missed the business, but sometimes he missed the boys. Sometimes he even missed Linda - not the Ronald-fucking cold bitch she became, but the soft, pretty girl with bad eighties hair and makeup he’d fell in love with because she liked him back when he had bad eighties hair of his own.
They ended up at tournaments all over Canada, even some in the States, and some in places Neil had never heard of. Like the First Annual Wilby Island Bonspiel - who knew there was even a place called Wilby Island?
Apparently the town council had decided Wilby needed some tourist attractions, or so the very earnest and harried-looking woman organizing it all had told Neil before rushing away to deal with the latest of what she assured him was a long list of problems with the whole affair.
They won, obviously - this wasn’t exactly the Briar, or even the Golden Broom, and they were the only rink from outside the Maritimes. They ended up in the only bar on the entire island, crowded with curlers (most of whom were willing to buy the winning rink a round) and locals who, despite not giving a shit about curling, were thrilled to have new people to talk to. Neil had several beers and got halfway through telling the “my wife left me woe” story to an empty-headed and overblown blonde named Deena before becoming vaguely disgusted with himself. He threw some money on the bar and looked around for his teammates. Lennox was already sidling up to Deena (she was just his type, if a bit old) and Cutter and Eddie were both already deeply drunk and bemoaning the distance between them and their loves. He told them he was going to take a walk. Eddie sniffed, hard, and Cutter made several expansive hand gestures. Good enough.
It was chilly enough to clear his head a bit but not cold enough to make the walk uncomfortable or really destroy his buzz, and though Neil didn’t really care about Wilby’s share of the tourist dollar, he figured that if people weren’t going there for the pretty small-town charm, then bonspiels weren’t going to do it either.
He tried to remember which way the ocean was, before heading towards the stand of trees he could see - it was an island, after all; the ocean was every way.
Neil was almost at the trees (picturesquely snow-covered, standing behind a sign that said "Wilby Watch") before he noticed the blond guy who’d been walking behind him. He wasn’t following Neil exactly; more like going to the same place, but Neil was tipsy and feeling uncharacteristically friendly, and waved at him.
Blond guy waved back and got closer, smiling white and sharp and kind. Up close, he was good-looking in a strange way, kind of rough (stubble) and pretty (eyes) at the same time. "I saw you out there today," he said when he was close enough. "You were really good."
Neil smiled back, because they had been really good. "Thanks," he said. "I didn’t think anyone was watching." No one’s ever watching, except in North Bay.
"Well, you know, I curled a little when I was on the mainland. No one around here to go against, though. Maybe now there’ll be some interest."
"Hmm," Neil said, because for all the happy drunk he had, he didn’t actually know how to talk to people. And then, because it seemed relevant, or at least something to say, "I’m Neil."
"I’m Duck," said the blond guy, and Neil couldn’t tell if that was actually a weird name or just seemed that way because he’d been drinking. They shook hands, and Duck’s grip was firm and lingering. Or maybe Neil imagined that part.
Neil didn’t know where else this conversation could go. Duck fidgeted a bit, then said, trying to be smooth, "Look, you probably don’t know, but the thing about the Watch is. It’s where men go to." He didn’t finish the sentence, just shifted from foot to foot.
Neil, blinked, frowned, and then got it. Oh, he thought. It made sense; this Duck guy was so good-looking that even Neil noticed. “Oh,” Neil said, looking at his shoes. "Oh, you’re. I should just. Go. I’ll let you. Um."
"Well," Duck said, and Neil accidentally looked him in the eye. "You don’t have to?"
Neil wasn’t. Well. He’d never been the kind of guy who would punch someone out for that, but he’d never done anything; he’d never so much as looked at another guy like that (except for Cutter, and everyone thought about Cutter like that).
The thing about marrying your high school sweetheart is that you miss out on experimentation and flings, and it seems like everyone else has far more experience than you ever will (especially if you stay married to the frigid cheating bitch).
The thing about divorcing your high school sweetheart is that no one gives two shits who you fuck.
Neil was just drunk enough for it to seem like a good idea, because he liked Duck’s smile and Duck’s eyes, and he was leaving in the morning, anyway. "Okay," he said, meeting Duck’s eyes square on. He thought he should probably have been more worried or hesitant or something. He wasn’t so drunk that anything would have seemed like a good idea. For instance, while -- say it, Bucyk -- gay sex might seem like a good idea, gay sex outside didn’t, actually. "Just. Is there someplace we can go? The hotel isn’t - I have a roommate." Eddie was probably passed out somewhere, dreaming happily of Lily.
Duck shifted some more, and it was clear that he didn’t really want or expect the question. "Sure," he said after a minute. "My place is just -"
Neil started following him.
Duck’s house was small and sparse and tidy, like he didn’t spend much time there. "Sorry about the place," he said, shrugging out of his jacket.
"No, it’s fine," Neil said, taking his own coat off, folding it carefully. And then: "I’ve never actually - I got married right out of high school and -" There was really nothing else to say there. He’d quickly learned that pretending skill and having no follow-through was far more humiliating than admitting to a lack of experience from the get-go. Plus, the couple of women he’d tried the "only been with my wife" line on had seemed to really go for it, and maybe guys weren’t that different.
"That’s fine," Duck said quietly. He took Neil’s coat and placed it carefully on a chair, and then touched Neil’s jaw very deliberately. His hand was dry and cool; a little rough. "Just tell me if something’s not okay, or if you want something different. Okay?"
Some things were almost the same with a man as a woman - kissing is kissing, though Duck went at it harder with teeth and with tongue than any woman Neil had been with. Some things, though - Neil wasn’t used to scratchy body hair, or to bony angles, but it turned out they felt as good against his dick as soft smooth curves. Duck let Neil rub himself off slowly before asking, breathy and polite, "Would you mind -"
Neil didn’t mind. He took hold of Duck’s cock - the first time he’d touched another guy like that, and it was different and familiar at the same time. He used his own favourite rhythm, slow and hard, and that must have worked, because it took almost no time for him to come, right on Neil’s hand, and that was another new thing.
"I need to get back," Neil said, and kissed Duck again.
"Mmmm," Duck said, and "Thank you," and "I hope that was…?"
"Yeah," Neil said. "It was," and he didn’t think about Linda at all as he walked back to the hotel. It was snowing.
Title: Revelate
Author: Kat (katrin)
Fandom and Pairing: Men With Brooms/Wilby Wonderful: Neil Bucyk/Duck MacDonald
Summary: Neil had the sob story and the sad eyes and for the first time in his life was getting the chicks.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1630.
Author’s Notes: It’s meant to take place after MWB but before WW. Many many thanks go to shihadchick for the beta. The title is from the song “Revelate” by The Frames.
Neil sort of liked being divorced. It was an excuse to leave the funeral home and, well, North Bay. Linda and the boys and the business had been the only things keeping him there. Now he saw the boys when he was in town and Linda had the business (as well as Ronald, brain trust that he was).
Also the divorced thing, or at least the "my wife left me for another man and took my kids and my job" thing? It worked. It was like being in high school again, with Linda (back when her hair was a dark honey colour, and maybe a little frizzy, and she smiled with pink-painted lips) telling him he had sad eyes and letting him touch her breasts. He didn’t even really try (except whenever he went anywhere with Lennox, because Lennox was competitive and also not over that time that Neil stole his girlfriend), and still was getting laid more than he had in the ten years before his divorce (not that that was saying much).
Curling isn’t exactly a sexy sport, but ladies do like men who win, and the Cutter rink won a lot, which meant that any ladies who did find curling sexy always ended up finding them at the end of the day. And Neil had no illusions about his own appeal or lack thereof - not to beat a dead horse, but his wife left him for Ronald -- but Cutter was a romantic (thank Christ; everyone went after him first), and Eddie’d never looked at anyone but Lily, and Lennox was… Lennox. Neil had the sob story and the sad eyes and for the first time in his life was getting the chicks.
Maybe Neil was competitive too, because winning at that felt even better than winning at curling.
Though only sometimes. The sob story wasn’t just a story, it was his life. He never missed the business, but sometimes he missed the boys. Sometimes he even missed Linda - not the Ronald-fucking cold bitch she became, but the soft, pretty girl with bad eighties hair and makeup he’d fell in love with because she liked him back when he had bad eighties hair of his own.
They ended up at tournaments all over Canada, even some in the States, and some in places Neil had never heard of. Like the First Annual Wilby Island Bonspiel - who knew there was even a place called Wilby Island?
Apparently the town council had decided Wilby needed some tourist attractions, or so the very earnest and harried-looking woman organizing it all had told Neil before rushing away to deal with the latest of what she assured him was a long list of problems with the whole affair.
They won, obviously - this wasn’t exactly the Briar, or even the Golden Broom, and they were the only rink from outside the Maritimes. They ended up in the only bar on the entire island, crowded with curlers (most of whom were willing to buy the winning rink a round) and locals who, despite not giving a shit about curling, were thrilled to have new people to talk to. Neil had several beers and got halfway through telling the “my wife left me woe” story to an empty-headed and overblown blonde named Deena before becoming vaguely disgusted with himself. He threw some money on the bar and looked around for his teammates. Lennox was already sidling up to Deena (she was just his type, if a bit old) and Cutter and Eddie were both already deeply drunk and bemoaning the distance between them and their loves. He told them he was going to take a walk. Eddie sniffed, hard, and Cutter made several expansive hand gestures. Good enough.
It was chilly enough to clear his head a bit but not cold enough to make the walk uncomfortable or really destroy his buzz, and though Neil didn’t really care about Wilby’s share of the tourist dollar, he figured that if people weren’t going there for the pretty small-town charm, then bonspiels weren’t going to do it either.
He tried to remember which way the ocean was, before heading towards the stand of trees he could see - it was an island, after all; the ocean was every way.
Neil was almost at the trees (picturesquely snow-covered, standing behind a sign that said "Wilby Watch") before he noticed the blond guy who’d been walking behind him. He wasn’t following Neil exactly; more like going to the same place, but Neil was tipsy and feeling uncharacteristically friendly, and waved at him.
Blond guy waved back and got closer, smiling white and sharp and kind. Up close, he was good-looking in a strange way, kind of rough (stubble) and pretty (eyes) at the same time. "I saw you out there today," he said when he was close enough. "You were really good."
Neil smiled back, because they had been really good. "Thanks," he said. "I didn’t think anyone was watching." No one’s ever watching, except in North Bay.
"Well, you know, I curled a little when I was on the mainland. No one around here to go against, though. Maybe now there’ll be some interest."
"Hmm," Neil said, because for all the happy drunk he had, he didn’t actually know how to talk to people. And then, because it seemed relevant, or at least something to say, "I’m Neil."
"I’m Duck," said the blond guy, and Neil couldn’t tell if that was actually a weird name or just seemed that way because he’d been drinking. They shook hands, and Duck’s grip was firm and lingering. Or maybe Neil imagined that part.
Neil didn’t know where else this conversation could go. Duck fidgeted a bit, then said, trying to be smooth, "Look, you probably don’t know, but the thing about the Watch is. It’s where men go to." He didn’t finish the sentence, just shifted from foot to foot.
Neil, blinked, frowned, and then got it. Oh, he thought. It made sense; this Duck guy was so good-looking that even Neil noticed. “Oh,” Neil said, looking at his shoes. "Oh, you’re. I should just. Go. I’ll let you. Um."
"Well," Duck said, and Neil accidentally looked him in the eye. "You don’t have to?"
Neil wasn’t. Well. He’d never been the kind of guy who would punch someone out for that, but he’d never done anything; he’d never so much as looked at another guy like that (except for Cutter, and everyone thought about Cutter like that).
The thing about marrying your high school sweetheart is that you miss out on experimentation and flings, and it seems like everyone else has far more experience than you ever will (especially if you stay married to the frigid cheating bitch).
The thing about divorcing your high school sweetheart is that no one gives two shits who you fuck.
Neil was just drunk enough for it to seem like a good idea, because he liked Duck’s smile and Duck’s eyes, and he was leaving in the morning, anyway. "Okay," he said, meeting Duck’s eyes square on. He thought he should probably have been more worried or hesitant or something. He wasn’t so drunk that anything would have seemed like a good idea. For instance, while -- say it, Bucyk -- gay sex might seem like a good idea, gay sex outside didn’t, actually. "Just. Is there someplace we can go? The hotel isn’t - I have a roommate." Eddie was probably passed out somewhere, dreaming happily of Lily.
Duck shifted some more, and it was clear that he didn’t really want or expect the question. "Sure," he said after a minute. "My place is just -"
Neil started following him.
Duck’s house was small and sparse and tidy, like he didn’t spend much time there. "Sorry about the place," he said, shrugging out of his jacket.
"No, it’s fine," Neil said, taking his own coat off, folding it carefully. And then: "I’ve never actually - I got married right out of high school and -" There was really nothing else to say there. He’d quickly learned that pretending skill and having no follow-through was far more humiliating than admitting to a lack of experience from the get-go. Plus, the couple of women he’d tried the "only been with my wife" line on had seemed to really go for it, and maybe guys weren’t that different.
"That’s fine," Duck said quietly. He took Neil’s coat and placed it carefully on a chair, and then touched Neil’s jaw very deliberately. His hand was dry and cool; a little rough. "Just tell me if something’s not okay, or if you want something different. Okay?"
Some things were almost the same with a man as a woman - kissing is kissing, though Duck went at it harder with teeth and with tongue than any woman Neil had been with. Some things, though - Neil wasn’t used to scratchy body hair, or to bony angles, but it turned out they felt as good against his dick as soft smooth curves. Duck let Neil rub himself off slowly before asking, breathy and polite, "Would you mind -"
Neil didn’t mind. He took hold of Duck’s cock - the first time he’d touched another guy like that, and it was different and familiar at the same time. He used his own favourite rhythm, slow and hard, and that must have worked, because it took almost no time for him to come, right on Neil’s hand, and that was another new thing.
"I need to get back," Neil said, and kissed Duck again.
"Mmmm," Duck said, and "Thank you," and "I hope that was…?"
"Yeah," Neil said. "It was," and he didn’t think about Linda at all as he walked back to the hotel. It was snowing.