Perfect Cities 2/?
Title: Hockey Things
Characters: Étienne, Isabella
Genre: Humour, romance
Rating for this chapter: K+
Pairings: ÉtiennexIsabella
Summary: Isabella doesn't understand hockey. Étienne will show her the way.
Perfect Cities
Hockey Things
2
Isabella = Sao Paolo
Mentions of sex and nudity.
Perfect Cities
Hockey Things
Isabella had “business” in Montreal, and as always, she conveniently did not make hotel reservations. Her goal was always to find a nice hotel, once she got to destination, but she had such good friends, who would always let her crash with them. It made her save money, which she could spend more in the shops. It really was a win-win situation.
Of course, there never was an ulterior motive to visiting Montreal, other than her errands she had to run and the fact that Étienne always had her stay over, or the fact that they slept together, had absolutely nothing to do with it.
She expected this visit to be like any other. Étienne would pick her up, they’d grab a few drinks on the way to his place, they’d get to his place, have sex, share a bottle of wine, go out and repeat the whole process in no particular order.
However, this time, Étienne had seemed a little preoccupied and a little hurried. He had rushed her out of the airport and instead of taking the bus and métro back to his place; he had hailed a cab and thrown a twenty to the driver to hurry it up.
The driver had been more than happy to oblige and thought for sure he had an eager honeymooning couple in his car, but that was far from the truth. She may have been seeing more and more of Étienne, but it did not mean there was anything else between them.
In retrospect, Étienne’s hockey jersey should have set a bell off in her head, but the man always had something Habs on him. And really, how was she supposed to know that Étienne’s beloved Habs had made it to the third round of the playoffs and that tonight was a critical game?
When they got home, Étienne ran to the television and plopped himself on his couch, telling her to get comfortable and make herself at home. Isabella did just that, however after freshening up and making herself a drink, the lack of action got to her.
She lay on her back, on the couch, with her hands folded on her stomach, bored to tears, watching Étienne enthusiastically watch the television screen and not her. She pouted. She had not flown all the way here to be ignored.
“Étienne, I’m bored.” She tried.
“You can watch TV in my room, if you want.”
“I don’t want to watch TV.”
“You can go for a walk, if you want.” He replied, his eyes glued on the screen.
“Alone? No.”
“Do whatever, Isa. You don’t need my permission.”
“Fine then. Let’s have sex.” And it wasn’t even that she found the bastard attractive, but she now just noticed the scruff on his face and she had spent the better part of her flight to Montreal recalling the last time they had been together and exactly what they had done.
“Not now. Game’s still on.”
Isabella nearly screamed.
Instead, she sat up.
“Excuse me?!”
“Isa. The game is on. Not now. Later.” Étienne told her firmly.
“Are you dismissing me for a stupid hockey game?”
“I’m not dismissing you, but this is important.”
“So watching overpaid burly men chase after a rubber disk is more interesting than sex with me?” She asked to be sure that she understood his logic.
“Right now, yes. It’s like you and soccer. You wouldn’t want to miss the final match of the season, or your playoffs. Well, it’s the same right now. We can have sex after the game. Just gimme a few more minutes.”
“How could you even compare the two?!” She couldn’t believe she was being put aside for hockey, of all things.
“Because I can!” Étienne shouted, clearly more engrossed in the game than in his conversation. Isabella wouldn’t have any of this. She stood up, removing her shirt and bra, before stepping in front of Étienne, effectively blocking his view from the screen.
“Are you really sure you’d rather watch the game than have sex with me?” Étienne looked up at her and she was glad to notice that his cheeks flushed a dark shade of red and that he gulped rather thickly. He stared at her and for a moment, she could see the struggle in his eyes. She smirked and took one of his hands, bringing it to her breast.
“Are you really sure you don’t want to hit record and fuck me on this very couch...” She murmured, bending close, toying with the buckle of his pants. She could feel his resolve crumbling. She could see it in the way he looked at her and the way his lips curved into that familiar smirk. She had him. She had him right where she wanted.
“Et c’est le but!”/ “He scores!”
And the magic was gone. The spell was broken. Étienne pushed her aside and cursed that he had missed the goal, but cheered that the Habs were now in the lead. Isabella gave a frustrated growl.
“Fine. Watch your stupid hockey game. See if I care. I’m going to bed.” She stomped off to the bedroom and Étienne didn’t even look back to her or tell her anything. She had never felt so insulted.
--
What felt like an eternity later of lying on the bed observing the ceiling, she heard Étienne run through the apartment, calling out her name. She tried to feign sleep, but Étienne seemed adamant to speak with her now.
“Isa! Isa, we won!” He jumped onto the bed, making her body bounce a little and she then realised that she had never put her shirt back on.
“Isa! Habs live another day!” He near shouted, enthusiasm rolling off his body in waves, as he pinned her down and kissed her deeply. She wanted to push him away and tell him to shove a hockey stick up his ass, but instead her body responded back, pulling him down to her, moulding her lips to his.
“Isa, we won!” He told her breathlessly, pressing another hungry kiss. She wrapped a leg around his waist and she was sure she could feel the excitement of his people coursing through his body.
“Isa...” The way he said her name was enough to drive her mad. His hand cupped one of her breasts and she let go of his hair to undo his belt buckle. This is what she had been waiting for all night long. Étienne’s exuberance and desire for her were hers and hers alone and she found out that night, much to her advantage, that a win for the Habs was a very good thing. She hadn’t known that Étienne could be even more passionate and eager, when it came to sex.
--
The following morning, she woke up before Étienne, still feeling the effects of her trip. She sat up in bed and observed the slumbering man beside her. Étienne was sprawled on his back, snoring slightly, a content and sated smile on his lips. She smiled to herself, knowing that she was one of the causes for that smile.
She stretched luxuriously, before getting out of bed. Isabella then looked through their hastily strewn clothes, on the floor, looking for her shirt, to put something on her bare body, but then she remembered her shirt was still in the living room. Instead, she found Étienne’s jersey. She picked it up and slipped it on, grinning mischievously.
The jersey fell on her frame and hung loosely around her shoulders. It was too big and too long, reaching her thighs, and she had to roll up the sleeves, but it would do. She headed off to the kitchen, humming to herself, with the intention of making some coffee.
--
When Étienne woke up, he curled around the spare pillow, convinced he had had the most wonderful of dreams. However, when he caught the very familiar scent of Isabella on his sheets, he knew that it had been no dream. He grinned and sat up in bed, the sheets pooling by his stomach. He was about to call out to the older woman, but then Isabella stepped into his room.
His heart stilled in his chest, at the sight of her.
“Well, hello there. About time you got up.” She smirked and walked over to him. Étienne watched her move towards him and couldn’t remember ever being so turned on in his life. He hadn’t realised how absolutely sexy Isabella looked wearing his Habs jersey and he wondered why he hadn’t ever thrown one on her.
“Hello yourself. If you missed my company so much, you could’ve just woken me up.” He pulled her to him and she fell easily on his lap. He passed a hand under the jersey, to rub her back, but he was pleasantly surprised to find out that she had nothing else underneath. Isabella noticed and pushed the sheets back.
“I see there’s something else that’s up as well...” She teased, pushing him back.
“What can I say, there’s a sexy woman, wearing a sexy uniform, sitting on my lap.” Isabella started moving against him and he was powerless to her ministrations.
“Shall I keep the jersey on then?”
“You better fucking believe it.”
--
“Remind me again, what is the point in this exercise?” Isabella asked Étienne, a few weeks later, as she sat in front of the television, confused and bored.
“Educating you.”
“Étienne Marie Maisonneuve, are you implying that I am uneducated?! I will have you know that I am a highly educated woman and that I can whoop your immature young chicken ass from here to kingdom come!” Étienne put up his hands in defence, trying to prevent Isabella from slapping him.
“Calm down, calm down, I’m not saying you’re uneducated. I’m just saying that your knowledge in hockey could be worked on. That’s all. We’re gonna watcha a game together. I’ve explained everything to you already.” Isabella’s anger fizzled out and she sat back down against Étienne.
“I still don’t see the point.”
“Humour me.”
She did just that. She still couldn’t really grasp the game, but she had to admit that it was fast paced. She could see why so many of these poor fools stuck in this frozen wasteland would willingly spend so much of their time watching the skaters zoom by from one side of the field to the other, but it still didn’t match up to her beloved soccer.
She took most of her cues from Étienne and when he cheered, she cheered and when he yelled at the TV, she did the same.
However, after an hour of doing that, she got bored and fell quiet, trying to find something entertaining about this sport. It was then that there was a particularly nice zoom in on a particularly nice player and she got an idea.
“Oh, number 17 is pretty hot.”
“That’s not the point, Isa.” She ignored him and went on.
“Oh, but so’s 81.”
“Isa...”
“I bet you 22 looks really hot without all that padding.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Maybe I didn’t give hockey its rightful chance. These guys are sexy as hell.”
“You’re missing the point of the game.”
“You said so yourself that you’d willingly let number 52 fuck you against a locker. With number 31.”
“That is not the point!” Étienne flushed red. The woman could remember the worst possible things.
“Personally, 35 looks mighty damn fine. I’d let him take me to bed and do whatever he wanted to me.” She looked at Étienne and smirked, when he pouted, clearly jealous.
“Y’know, if you find hockey players so hot, I’ll have you know that I also play hockey.” He told her rather proudly. Isabella looked at him for a moment and then laughed loudly.
“What?” Étienne asked, confused.
“Oh, you poor, innocent, idiot. Oh, Étienne, you precious, stupid, child. You have the best sense of humour. Please, as if you could look anywhere near as hot as these fine specimens do. If anything, you’d look like a pudgy potato.” She teased. Étienne huffed and decided to keep his plans of role-playing and joint masturbation at hockey player fantasy for another time, when Isabella wasn’t poking fun at him.
--
As a last effort to get Isabella to appreciate hockey, Étienne invited her to one of his games, with his friends. It was an informal, almost street game, but it was played on a local outside rink, so at least he could show off his skills.
He made sure Isabella was dressed appropriately for the weather, told her not to meander away, before he laced up his skates, and got on the ice.
Isabella wasn’t expecting much. It wasn’t that she doubted Étienne could play the sport, but to her, he was her little chubby boy toy. As much as he walked and biked everywhere, all that fine, exotic, gourmet food and takeout kept him a little plump, no matter what. She found it appealing and still found him to her taste, but she wasn’t convinced that he could pull the full “hockey player sexiness” being so small and pudgy.
However, she soon found out that she had been gravely mistaken. Étienne on the ice was a different Étienne than the one she bantered with and bedded. He was like a wild animal in his just domain. He was graceful, fast, dominating and Isabella felt her breath stop short, as she watched Étienne own the game.
He used his size to his advantage and her heart sped wildly every time he whizzed past her. Once he looked her way and she felt heat rise to her cheeks, while something else stirred in her loins.
This was not supposed to happen. Like with everything concerning the man, watching Étienne play hockey was not supposed to be a turn on. Where was her pudgy little potato sack she loved to tease? Étienne was not supposed to look this good, when he played and she wasn’t supposed to feel so turned on, but she was and it must have shown, for when Étienne got off the ice, in what was her opinion, too soon, he smirked at her and grabbed her hand, leading her home.
She was on him the moment the door was locked. The sex that night was particularly good and satisfying, for they were both ridding their own adrenaline highs.
Perhaps, hockey had some merit, after all.
OWARI
I do accept anonymous reviews.
Started writing: November 4th 2014, 9:50pm
Finished writing: November 4th 2014, 11:48pm
Started typing: December 14th 2014, 1:51pm
Finished typing: December 15th 2014, 12:12pm
Characters: Étienne, Isabella
Genre: Humour, romance
Rating for this chapter: K+
Pairings: ÉtiennexIsabella
Summary: Isabella doesn't understand hockey. Étienne will show her the way.
Perfect Cities
Hockey Things
2
Isabella = Sao Paolo
Mentions of sex and nudity.
Perfect Cities
Hockey Things
Isabella had “business” in Montreal, and as always, she conveniently did not make hotel reservations. Her goal was always to find a nice hotel, once she got to destination, but she had such good friends, who would always let her crash with them. It made her save money, which she could spend more in the shops. It really was a win-win situation.
Of course, there never was an ulterior motive to visiting Montreal, other than her errands she had to run and the fact that Étienne always had her stay over, or the fact that they slept together, had absolutely nothing to do with it.
She expected this visit to be like any other. Étienne would pick her up, they’d grab a few drinks on the way to his place, they’d get to his place, have sex, share a bottle of wine, go out and repeat the whole process in no particular order.
However, this time, Étienne had seemed a little preoccupied and a little hurried. He had rushed her out of the airport and instead of taking the bus and métro back to his place; he had hailed a cab and thrown a twenty to the driver to hurry it up.
The driver had been more than happy to oblige and thought for sure he had an eager honeymooning couple in his car, but that was far from the truth. She may have been seeing more and more of Étienne, but it did not mean there was anything else between them.
In retrospect, Étienne’s hockey jersey should have set a bell off in her head, but the man always had something Habs on him. And really, how was she supposed to know that Étienne’s beloved Habs had made it to the third round of the playoffs and that tonight was a critical game?
When they got home, Étienne ran to the television and plopped himself on his couch, telling her to get comfortable and make herself at home. Isabella did just that, however after freshening up and making herself a drink, the lack of action got to her.
She lay on her back, on the couch, with her hands folded on her stomach, bored to tears, watching Étienne enthusiastically watch the television screen and not her. She pouted. She had not flown all the way here to be ignored.
“Étienne, I’m bored.” She tried.
“You can watch TV in my room, if you want.”
“I don’t want to watch TV.”
“You can go for a walk, if you want.” He replied, his eyes glued on the screen.
“Alone? No.”
“Do whatever, Isa. You don’t need my permission.”
“Fine then. Let’s have sex.” And it wasn’t even that she found the bastard attractive, but she now just noticed the scruff on his face and she had spent the better part of her flight to Montreal recalling the last time they had been together and exactly what they had done.
“Not now. Game’s still on.”
Isabella nearly screamed.
Instead, she sat up.
“Excuse me?!”
“Isa. The game is on. Not now. Later.” Étienne told her firmly.
“Are you dismissing me for a stupid hockey game?”
“I’m not dismissing you, but this is important.”
“So watching overpaid burly men chase after a rubber disk is more interesting than sex with me?” She asked to be sure that she understood his logic.
“Right now, yes. It’s like you and soccer. You wouldn’t want to miss the final match of the season, or your playoffs. Well, it’s the same right now. We can have sex after the game. Just gimme a few more minutes.”
“How could you even compare the two?!” She couldn’t believe she was being put aside for hockey, of all things.
“Because I can!” Étienne shouted, clearly more engrossed in the game than in his conversation. Isabella wouldn’t have any of this. She stood up, removing her shirt and bra, before stepping in front of Étienne, effectively blocking his view from the screen.
“Are you really sure you’d rather watch the game than have sex with me?” Étienne looked up at her and she was glad to notice that his cheeks flushed a dark shade of red and that he gulped rather thickly. He stared at her and for a moment, she could see the struggle in his eyes. She smirked and took one of his hands, bringing it to her breast.
“Are you really sure you don’t want to hit record and fuck me on this very couch...” She murmured, bending close, toying with the buckle of his pants. She could feel his resolve crumbling. She could see it in the way he looked at her and the way his lips curved into that familiar smirk. She had him. She had him right where she wanted.
“Et c’est le but!”/ “He scores!”
And the magic was gone. The spell was broken. Étienne pushed her aside and cursed that he had missed the goal, but cheered that the Habs were now in the lead. Isabella gave a frustrated growl.
“Fine. Watch your stupid hockey game. See if I care. I’m going to bed.” She stomped off to the bedroom and Étienne didn’t even look back to her or tell her anything. She had never felt so insulted.
--
What felt like an eternity later of lying on the bed observing the ceiling, she heard Étienne run through the apartment, calling out her name. She tried to feign sleep, but Étienne seemed adamant to speak with her now.
“Isa! Isa, we won!” He jumped onto the bed, making her body bounce a little and she then realised that she had never put her shirt back on.
“Isa! Habs live another day!” He near shouted, enthusiasm rolling off his body in waves, as he pinned her down and kissed her deeply. She wanted to push him away and tell him to shove a hockey stick up his ass, but instead her body responded back, pulling him down to her, moulding her lips to his.
“Isa, we won!” He told her breathlessly, pressing another hungry kiss. She wrapped a leg around his waist and she was sure she could feel the excitement of his people coursing through his body.
“Isa...” The way he said her name was enough to drive her mad. His hand cupped one of her breasts and she let go of his hair to undo his belt buckle. This is what she had been waiting for all night long. Étienne’s exuberance and desire for her were hers and hers alone and she found out that night, much to her advantage, that a win for the Habs was a very good thing. She hadn’t known that Étienne could be even more passionate and eager, when it came to sex.
--
The following morning, she woke up before Étienne, still feeling the effects of her trip. She sat up in bed and observed the slumbering man beside her. Étienne was sprawled on his back, snoring slightly, a content and sated smile on his lips. She smiled to herself, knowing that she was one of the causes for that smile.
She stretched luxuriously, before getting out of bed. Isabella then looked through their hastily strewn clothes, on the floor, looking for her shirt, to put something on her bare body, but then she remembered her shirt was still in the living room. Instead, she found Étienne’s jersey. She picked it up and slipped it on, grinning mischievously.
The jersey fell on her frame and hung loosely around her shoulders. It was too big and too long, reaching her thighs, and she had to roll up the sleeves, but it would do. She headed off to the kitchen, humming to herself, with the intention of making some coffee.
--
When Étienne woke up, he curled around the spare pillow, convinced he had had the most wonderful of dreams. However, when he caught the very familiar scent of Isabella on his sheets, he knew that it had been no dream. He grinned and sat up in bed, the sheets pooling by his stomach. He was about to call out to the older woman, but then Isabella stepped into his room.
His heart stilled in his chest, at the sight of her.
“Well, hello there. About time you got up.” She smirked and walked over to him. Étienne watched her move towards him and couldn’t remember ever being so turned on in his life. He hadn’t realised how absolutely sexy Isabella looked wearing his Habs jersey and he wondered why he hadn’t ever thrown one on her.
“Hello yourself. If you missed my company so much, you could’ve just woken me up.” He pulled her to him and she fell easily on his lap. He passed a hand under the jersey, to rub her back, but he was pleasantly surprised to find out that she had nothing else underneath. Isabella noticed and pushed the sheets back.
“I see there’s something else that’s up as well...” She teased, pushing him back.
“What can I say, there’s a sexy woman, wearing a sexy uniform, sitting on my lap.” Isabella started moving against him and he was powerless to her ministrations.
“Shall I keep the jersey on then?”
“You better fucking believe it.”
--
“Remind me again, what is the point in this exercise?” Isabella asked Étienne, a few weeks later, as she sat in front of the television, confused and bored.
“Educating you.”
“Étienne Marie Maisonneuve, are you implying that I am uneducated?! I will have you know that I am a highly educated woman and that I can whoop your immature young chicken ass from here to kingdom come!” Étienne put up his hands in defence, trying to prevent Isabella from slapping him.
“Calm down, calm down, I’m not saying you’re uneducated. I’m just saying that your knowledge in hockey could be worked on. That’s all. We’re gonna watcha a game together. I’ve explained everything to you already.” Isabella’s anger fizzled out and she sat back down against Étienne.
“I still don’t see the point.”
“Humour me.”
She did just that. She still couldn’t really grasp the game, but she had to admit that it was fast paced. She could see why so many of these poor fools stuck in this frozen wasteland would willingly spend so much of their time watching the skaters zoom by from one side of the field to the other, but it still didn’t match up to her beloved soccer.
She took most of her cues from Étienne and when he cheered, she cheered and when he yelled at the TV, she did the same.
However, after an hour of doing that, she got bored and fell quiet, trying to find something entertaining about this sport. It was then that there was a particularly nice zoom in on a particularly nice player and she got an idea.
“Oh, number 17 is pretty hot.”
“That’s not the point, Isa.” She ignored him and went on.
“Oh, but so’s 81.”
“Isa...”
“I bet you 22 looks really hot without all that padding.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Maybe I didn’t give hockey its rightful chance. These guys are sexy as hell.”
“You’re missing the point of the game.”
“You said so yourself that you’d willingly let number 52 fuck you against a locker. With number 31.”
“That is not the point!” Étienne flushed red. The woman could remember the worst possible things.
“Personally, 35 looks mighty damn fine. I’d let him take me to bed and do whatever he wanted to me.” She looked at Étienne and smirked, when he pouted, clearly jealous.
“Y’know, if you find hockey players so hot, I’ll have you know that I also play hockey.” He told her rather proudly. Isabella looked at him for a moment and then laughed loudly.
“What?” Étienne asked, confused.
“Oh, you poor, innocent, idiot. Oh, Étienne, you precious, stupid, child. You have the best sense of humour. Please, as if you could look anywhere near as hot as these fine specimens do. If anything, you’d look like a pudgy potato.” She teased. Étienne huffed and decided to keep his plans of role-playing and joint masturbation at hockey player fantasy for another time, when Isabella wasn’t poking fun at him.
--
As a last effort to get Isabella to appreciate hockey, Étienne invited her to one of his games, with his friends. It was an informal, almost street game, but it was played on a local outside rink, so at least he could show off his skills.
He made sure Isabella was dressed appropriately for the weather, told her not to meander away, before he laced up his skates, and got on the ice.
Isabella wasn’t expecting much. It wasn’t that she doubted Étienne could play the sport, but to her, he was her little chubby boy toy. As much as he walked and biked everywhere, all that fine, exotic, gourmet food and takeout kept him a little plump, no matter what. She found it appealing and still found him to her taste, but she wasn’t convinced that he could pull the full “hockey player sexiness” being so small and pudgy.
However, she soon found out that she had been gravely mistaken. Étienne on the ice was a different Étienne than the one she bantered with and bedded. He was like a wild animal in his just domain. He was graceful, fast, dominating and Isabella felt her breath stop short, as she watched Étienne own the game.
He used his size to his advantage and her heart sped wildly every time he whizzed past her. Once he looked her way and she felt heat rise to her cheeks, while something else stirred in her loins.
This was not supposed to happen. Like with everything concerning the man, watching Étienne play hockey was not supposed to be a turn on. Where was her pudgy little potato sack she loved to tease? Étienne was not supposed to look this good, when he played and she wasn’t supposed to feel so turned on, but she was and it must have shown, for when Étienne got off the ice, in what was her opinion, too soon, he smirked at her and grabbed her hand, leading her home.
She was on him the moment the door was locked. The sex that night was particularly good and satisfying, for they were both ridding their own adrenaline highs.
Perhaps, hockey had some merit, after all.
OWARI
I do accept anonymous reviews.
Started writing: November 4th 2014, 9:50pm
Finished writing: November 4th 2014, 11:48pm
Started typing: December 14th 2014, 1:51pm
Finished typing: December 15th 2014, 12:12pm