Hockeyfic: That Look On Your Face
This is, by far, the most Canadian fannish thing I've ever done. Also, we'll file a copy of this under M for My life, my choices.
Title: That Look On Your Face
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Cory Schneider/Henrik Sedin
Word Count: 1238
Summary: Drunken door porn. Idek. IDEK.
Notes: Written for a very kind anon at hockeyanonmeme for this prompt.
He must have started getting that look on his face. The one with the pursed mouth and the high-eyebrowed squint. He must have, because Henrik has started herding him. Nothing extreme, just pushing his elbow or hip sometimes when he tilts too far to the side. It’s okay, he doesn’t mind. The hotel’s nice but the floor’s probably not so clean. He should stay up here.
His balance isn’t the best but he can still see and hear and speak. He knows this because he’s giving Edler what-for about Canadian snacks. He refuses to acknowledge how good Hickory Sticks are.
“Come on, man. You have to give it to the Canadians. Those little sticks are good.”
Edler shakes his head and starts talking about probably some kind of disgusting fish-paste treat. He doesn’t know. Cory knows a lost cause when he sees one.
He must start squinting again because Henrik says something and slips two fingers between his elbow and his ribs, pulling him along. Cory drifts with him, across the tile floor, past the shiny door, out into the warm, dewy hotel courtyard. Henrik’s fingers leave him, Henrik sliding to sit on a stone bench. Cory walks in a long circle but comes back around.
“You should get me some Hickory Sticks,” he says, wavering in front of Henrik.
Henrik looks up at him. “You’re obsessed.”
Cory sits down beside him. “They’re,” he says, “just so good.”
Henrik nods easily enough. “Sure.”
Cory soups up his best glare. “You probably eat fish paste like Edler.”
Henrik snorts. “Only once in a while.”
Cory leans back, bored of this and fish paste. He can see the moon, bright white and blurry, although that must be his eyesight. He leans back further, as far as he can, until his arms threaten to give out. Then he leans all the way forward in a whoosh. It feels like he left his brain behind.
Henrik has his hands folded loosely between his knees. He looks over. “Better?”
Cory blinks, everything settling back into place. “Can I ask you something?”
Henrik straightens a bit, his fingers flexing.
“Yes,” he says, carefully.
Cory takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out. “Who,” he asks, “has the bigger dick, you or Dank?”
Henrik makes a weird noise, a snort-laugh. “I couldn’t tell you.” He wipes his thumb on his jeans.
Cory knocks against his shoulder, pushing against his bicep. “I bet mine is bigger than both of yours.”
Henrik looks at him, his face close. “What makes you say that?”
“Have you seen my stick. It’s huge.”
Hank laughs. “Isn’t it the other way? Are you overcompensating?”
“No way!” Cory gets up, weaves once but rights himself, imagining long fingers pushing him. “I will show you the business.” He thumbs open the loose button his jeans, fumbling for his zipper.
Hank scoots forward on the stone, almost coming to his feet. His fingers wrap around Cory’s, cool and brushing low. His eyes are as bright as the moon and much sharper.
“Wait,” he says in his soft blank voice, his fingers curling. “Wait.”
*
The door is cool, cold on his cheek, his palms, the tips of his fingers. The air conditioning rattles beside the window, blowing cold air everywhere. He shivers in the light from the bathroom when Henrik opens the door, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. Henrik smiles at him, but doesn’t say anything about the place he’s waiting.
Henrik's hands are warm on his back, sliding up his shirt and around his ribs. His skin sparks from that and when Henrik rakes his nails down his front he moans, his neck twisting.
Sometimes Henrik talks, but most times he doesn't. He says it's not necessary, which is strange since all he does when they skate is talk, his stick at his waist, pointing at their weak spots. Here he prefers to touch, drawing up Cory's shirt in inches to let the cold air in. Cory squirms, his hand going down to fumble at his jeans again. This time Henrik doesn't stop him.
He's hard, so hard and he didn't even know it. Luckily the elevator was empty, although he doesn't think Henrik would have let anyone see, if he was hard then. When he grips his cock it throbs in his hand and his breath catches.
Henrik holds his shirt up around his shoulder blades with one hand and rubs his back with the other, fingers skirting around his spine, the waist of his jeans.
Cory swallows, stroking clumsily. This is the time when he usually speaks - asks Hank to suck him or fuck him or opens his thighs for Hank's tongue. Tonight his fingernails catch in the wood of the door and touch the tip of his cock but he’s too gone to ask.
But even without being asked, Henrik moves, his mouth brushing against Cory's back. His beard scrapes, prickly, a little painful and hot. Cory thinks there will probably be a mark, but no one will ask. For whatever reason they never do.
He keeps stroking, squeezing the tip of his cock, a tiny drop coming out. It's hot and he chokes on a moan. Behind him Henrik drops to his knees, reaching for him. He passes his hand back, his wet finger pointed. Henrik sucks on it strongly, grunting like he's the one being sucked.
Cory says something. It's probably stupid and pointless, drunk mouth talking, but Henrik grins around his finger, his teeth sharp. Cory pulls his finger free and rubs Henrik's spit on his cock.
Henrik bites him, his teeth sinking into the bit of excess around his hip he can't get rid of. Cory squeaks, and then squeaks again when Henrik's hand tugs on his cock.
He scratches at the door with both hands helplessly, begging with an empty mouth. Henrik bites him again and squeezes hard right under the tip of his cock. Cory whines, the muscles in his thighs locking up, everything inside of him surging out his cock, white spatters on cheap wood.
He breathes hard against the door, his breath coming back to him moist and smelling like rum. He scuffed the middle nail on his right hand sometime and he's on the edge of a Charley horse. He has to concentrate on relaxing his leg.
Henrik bites him one more time, very gently, sucking a little. Another mark with no questions. Cory can sense him leaning back, hear him sucking on his fingers. His cock twitches pathetically.
Hank laughs at him, a low, horny noise that has Cory trying to turn. But Hank doesn't let him, holding his nape with one hand, his other coming around to hold his cock, his fingers spanning the length of him. If Cory wasn’t such a wreck, only focused on getting fucked, he might try to find a joke. Instead his head bobs drunkenly, his neck close to Hank’s mouth.
Just for a second Hank covers him bodily. Cory presses back as much as he can and Henrik says something to him, asks him something quietly, his voice still touched by laughter. He might be joking now, reminding Cory about something stupid he said. Cory doesn’t care. He turns a little and Henrik lets him, his mouth touches Cory’s neck as he pulls Cory away from the door, guiding him toward the bed with light fingers and a hard body.
So there's that. If I'm not on fire in the next hour or so I'm pretty sure I'm invincible. Also, happy joining of the three, Canada. You are my favourite home. I love you, our money, a fair amount of our laws, our spelling and our amazing snack foods. ♥
Title: That Look On Your Face
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Cory Schneider/Henrik Sedin
Word Count: 1238
Summary: Drunken door porn. Idek. IDEK.
Notes: Written for a very kind anon at hockeyanonmeme for this prompt.
He must have started getting that look on his face. The one with the pursed mouth and the high-eyebrowed squint. He must have, because Henrik has started herding him. Nothing extreme, just pushing his elbow or hip sometimes when he tilts too far to the side. It’s okay, he doesn’t mind. The hotel’s nice but the floor’s probably not so clean. He should stay up here.
His balance isn’t the best but he can still see and hear and speak. He knows this because he’s giving Edler what-for about Canadian snacks. He refuses to acknowledge how good Hickory Sticks are.
“Come on, man. You have to give it to the Canadians. Those little sticks are good.”
Edler shakes his head and starts talking about probably some kind of disgusting fish-paste treat. He doesn’t know. Cory knows a lost cause when he sees one.
He must start squinting again because Henrik says something and slips two fingers between his elbow and his ribs, pulling him along. Cory drifts with him, across the tile floor, past the shiny door, out into the warm, dewy hotel courtyard. Henrik’s fingers leave him, Henrik sliding to sit on a stone bench. Cory walks in a long circle but comes back around.
“You should get me some Hickory Sticks,” he says, wavering in front of Henrik.
Henrik looks up at him. “You’re obsessed.”
Cory sits down beside him. “They’re,” he says, “just so good.”
Henrik nods easily enough. “Sure.”
Cory soups up his best glare. “You probably eat fish paste like Edler.”
Henrik snorts. “Only once in a while.”
Cory leans back, bored of this and fish paste. He can see the moon, bright white and blurry, although that must be his eyesight. He leans back further, as far as he can, until his arms threaten to give out. Then he leans all the way forward in a whoosh. It feels like he left his brain behind.
Henrik has his hands folded loosely between his knees. He looks over. “Better?”
Cory blinks, everything settling back into place. “Can I ask you something?”
Henrik straightens a bit, his fingers flexing.
“Yes,” he says, carefully.
Cory takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out. “Who,” he asks, “has the bigger dick, you or Dank?”
Henrik makes a weird noise, a snort-laugh. “I couldn’t tell you.” He wipes his thumb on his jeans.
Cory knocks against his shoulder, pushing against his bicep. “I bet mine is bigger than both of yours.”
Henrik looks at him, his face close. “What makes you say that?”
“Have you seen my stick. It’s huge.”
Hank laughs. “Isn’t it the other way? Are you overcompensating?”
“No way!” Cory gets up, weaves once but rights himself, imagining long fingers pushing him. “I will show you the business.” He thumbs open the loose button his jeans, fumbling for his zipper.
Hank scoots forward on the stone, almost coming to his feet. His fingers wrap around Cory’s, cool and brushing low. His eyes are as bright as the moon and much sharper.
“Wait,” he says in his soft blank voice, his fingers curling. “Wait.”
*
The door is cool, cold on his cheek, his palms, the tips of his fingers. The air conditioning rattles beside the window, blowing cold air everywhere. He shivers in the light from the bathroom when Henrik opens the door, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. Henrik smiles at him, but doesn’t say anything about the place he’s waiting.
Henrik's hands are warm on his back, sliding up his shirt and around his ribs. His skin sparks from that and when Henrik rakes his nails down his front he moans, his neck twisting.
Sometimes Henrik talks, but most times he doesn't. He says it's not necessary, which is strange since all he does when they skate is talk, his stick at his waist, pointing at their weak spots. Here he prefers to touch, drawing up Cory's shirt in inches to let the cold air in. Cory squirms, his hand going down to fumble at his jeans again. This time Henrik doesn't stop him.
He's hard, so hard and he didn't even know it. Luckily the elevator was empty, although he doesn't think Henrik would have let anyone see, if he was hard then. When he grips his cock it throbs in his hand and his breath catches.
Henrik holds his shirt up around his shoulder blades with one hand and rubs his back with the other, fingers skirting around his spine, the waist of his jeans.
Cory swallows, stroking clumsily. This is the time when he usually speaks - asks Hank to suck him or fuck him or opens his thighs for Hank's tongue. Tonight his fingernails catch in the wood of the door and touch the tip of his cock but he’s too gone to ask.
But even without being asked, Henrik moves, his mouth brushing against Cory's back. His beard scrapes, prickly, a little painful and hot. Cory thinks there will probably be a mark, but no one will ask. For whatever reason they never do.
He keeps stroking, squeezing the tip of his cock, a tiny drop coming out. It's hot and he chokes on a moan. Behind him Henrik drops to his knees, reaching for him. He passes his hand back, his wet finger pointed. Henrik sucks on it strongly, grunting like he's the one being sucked.
Cory says something. It's probably stupid and pointless, drunk mouth talking, but Henrik grins around his finger, his teeth sharp. Cory pulls his finger free and rubs Henrik's spit on his cock.
Henrik bites him, his teeth sinking into the bit of excess around his hip he can't get rid of. Cory squeaks, and then squeaks again when Henrik's hand tugs on his cock.
He scratches at the door with both hands helplessly, begging with an empty mouth. Henrik bites him again and squeezes hard right under the tip of his cock. Cory whines, the muscles in his thighs locking up, everything inside of him surging out his cock, white spatters on cheap wood.
He breathes hard against the door, his breath coming back to him moist and smelling like rum. He scuffed the middle nail on his right hand sometime and he's on the edge of a Charley horse. He has to concentrate on relaxing his leg.
Henrik bites him one more time, very gently, sucking a little. Another mark with no questions. Cory can sense him leaning back, hear him sucking on his fingers. His cock twitches pathetically.
Hank laughs at him, a low, horny noise that has Cory trying to turn. But Hank doesn't let him, holding his nape with one hand, his other coming around to hold his cock, his fingers spanning the length of him. If Cory wasn’t such a wreck, only focused on getting fucked, he might try to find a joke. Instead his head bobs drunkenly, his neck close to Hank’s mouth.
Just for a second Hank covers him bodily. Cory presses back as much as he can and Henrik says something to him, asks him something quietly, his voice still touched by laughter. He might be joking now, reminding Cory about something stupid he said. Cory doesn’t care. He turns a little and Henrik lets him, his mouth touches Cory’s neck as he pulls Cory away from the door, guiding him toward the bed with light fingers and a hard body.
So there's that. If I'm not on fire in the next hour or so I'm pretty sure I'm invincible. Also, happy joining of the three, Canada. You are my favourite home. I love you, our money, a fair amount of our laws, our spelling and our amazing snack foods. ♥