In Vancouver (Pt. 2)
Title: Younger
Characters: Drew Doughty / Shea Weber
Summary: Drew knows what he wants and how to get it
Rating: Hard R like Rihanna
Disclaimer: Don't own and don't sue fucktards
Shea doesn’t want to say that he only likes boys younger him. But it sure as hell seems that way.
First, it was Luke at only fifteen and their four-year age difference.
Now, Shea’s twenty-four and he can’t help but get flustered whenever Drew Doughty, the baby on the team at twenty, says hello to him.
He almost wants to smack the kid, warn him to bug someone else because he shouldn’t bite off more than he can chew. But something tells him that the kid wouldn’t stop anyway.
But for Shea, it’s always almost.
It might be the way that Drew bites the side of his lip when he’s thinking.
It might be the way that he doesn’t lose his cool during two-on-ones.
It might be the way that every smile reaches his eyes.
In the locker room, Shea shakes his head to clear it as Drew dresses next to him. It feels like his skin is crawling, he’s giving himself the creeps.
But Drew grins at him, asking a question about who he thinks he will be paired with in the next game.
Shea clears his throat, “I don’t know, maybe Duncs?” And shrugs nonchalantly.
Drew looks at Shea from the side and he doesn’t look twenty. He looks like he’s older, experienced and Shea has to shake another image from his brain.
“Oh, I was hoping it would be you. I think we would be great together.” Then Drew really drives his point home, “Temporary of course.”
Shifting his eyes to look at Drew, Shea swallows and it’s loud in his ears.
Maybe that’s how they ended up in the bathroom between their rooms. Maybe that’s how Shea gave himself the reputation for fancying the younger boys.
But in this moment, he doesn’t care. Drew’s mouth is better than any twenty-year-old’s should be. He’s got the right rhythm, the right amount of pressure.
Shea’s biting down hard on the palm of his hand, trying to keep quiet. His right hand is tangled in the dark curls of the boy doing this to him.
A shirtless Drew leaned against the doorway, teeth biting down on his bottom lip coyly.
He asked Shea what he was doing then said that what he had in mind was better than reading that stupid magazine.
And it’s not like Shea’s downstairs brain would or could say no to Drew.
Characters: Drew Doughty / Shea Weber
Summary: Drew knows what he wants and how to get it
Rating: Hard R like Rihanna
Disclaimer: Don't own and don't sue fucktards
Shea doesn’t want to say that he only likes boys younger him. But it sure as hell seems that way.
First, it was Luke at only fifteen and their four-year age difference.
Now, Shea’s twenty-four and he can’t help but get flustered whenever Drew Doughty, the baby on the team at twenty, says hello to him.
He almost wants to smack the kid, warn him to bug someone else because he shouldn’t bite off more than he can chew. But something tells him that the kid wouldn’t stop anyway.
But for Shea, it’s always almost.
It might be the way that Drew bites the side of his lip when he’s thinking.
It might be the way that he doesn’t lose his cool during two-on-ones.
It might be the way that every smile reaches his eyes.
In the locker room, Shea shakes his head to clear it as Drew dresses next to him. It feels like his skin is crawling, he’s giving himself the creeps.
But Drew grins at him, asking a question about who he thinks he will be paired with in the next game.
Shea clears his throat, “I don’t know, maybe Duncs?” And shrugs nonchalantly.
Drew looks at Shea from the side and he doesn’t look twenty. He looks like he’s older, experienced and Shea has to shake another image from his brain.
“Oh, I was hoping it would be you. I think we would be great together.” Then Drew really drives his point home, “Temporary of course.”
Shifting his eyes to look at Drew, Shea swallows and it’s loud in his ears.
Maybe that’s how they ended up in the bathroom between their rooms. Maybe that’s how Shea gave himself the reputation for fancying the younger boys.
But in this moment, he doesn’t care. Drew’s mouth is better than any twenty-year-old’s should be. He’s got the right rhythm, the right amount of pressure.
Shea’s biting down hard on the palm of his hand, trying to keep quiet. His right hand is tangled in the dark curls of the boy doing this to him.
A shirtless Drew leaned against the doorway, teeth biting down on his bottom lip coyly.
He asked Shea what he was doing then said that what he had in mind was better than reading that stupid magazine.
And it’s not like Shea’s downstairs brain would or could say no to Drew.