Hockey RPS: Glossolalia, or Speaking in Tongues
I'm un-anoning. *sighs* This is all a certain someone's fault for showing me the Hockey kink meme.
Glossolalia
Alex Burrows/Mason Raymond; Vancouver Canucks; Hockey RPS; NC-17
Kink meme fill.
Prompt: Okay, so we know that MayRay and Burrows room when they're on the road, so this is what I want ... Raymond overhears Burrows speaking French to his wife on the phone and gets more than a little hot under the collar. Sexy times ensue. Bonus points for Burrows speaking french to Raymond during sex and that's what gets Raymond off.
Glossolalia
If there was a way to describe the feeling one has when a truck has run over them, then Mason would sure as hell like to know what the word is. He’s not exactly sure what possessed him to let Glass and Tambo drag him out after their latest game wrapped up.
Lately Mason had been feeling pretty low. His point total was still mediocre, at best. His shots never seemed to connect, and he’d been moved around on the lines so much he felt like a fucking yo-yo. He felt dizzy just thinking about it.
He seriously thought Gillis would’ve traded him at the deadline. What with all the pressure from the media, and the fans. Sometimes, Mason welcomed that call. The one that would have him packing up and moving to a new town, new city.
Sometimes he thought maybe he should just pack it all in. But, that would be like quitting, and Mason was no quitter.
He sighed as the elevator slowed to a halt on his floor. With a quick glance at his watch, Mason exhaled loudly. Alex would most likely be asleep by now. Which was a good thing. He really wasn’t looking forward to talking to his roommate, and rehashing the details of their most recent game. The papers would do a pretty good job of ripping into his performance tomorrow.
Mason slides his card into the door, watching for the green light to blink before he opens the door.
“Oui,”
Damn, why was he still awake?
Alex catches his eye, and cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder as he mouths the words: Almost done.
Mason just nods and collapses on his bed, not even bothering to pull back the top sheet. He was too damn tired.
“Non …”
He knew better than to eavesdrop on Burr’s conversation, but his French was crap, and besides, he was pretty sure if Burr asked him to move it wouldn’t work out too well.
Mason’s not exactly sure how long Burr stays on the phone, only that the longer he stays on the phone with Nancy the harder and harder he can feel his stomach coiling in knots. Because damn if hearing Alex speaking French isn’t one of the hottest things he can think of. He turns on his side in an effort to avoid having to look at Alex. At the expression Burrows always gets when he speaks French.
Finally, he hears Alex say, “Fais de beaux rêves, Nancy.”
The phone clicks off, and Mason can feel Alex sigh as he stretches. Mason feels his bed shift as Alex takes a seat on the edge. His hand is warm against his hip as he shakes him.
“Mase,” Burr begins, “come on, I know you’re awake.”
“I don’t want to talk, Burr,” Mason murmurs, keeping his head turned away from him. “I’m too tired.”
That’s when Mason feels Alex tug on his hip lightly, so that Mason is on his back, staring up into Alex’s face. Alex has both of Mason’s hand gripped tightly in his, and is watching Mason’s face intently.
“It wasn’t a bad game tonight, Mase.”
Mason struggles lightly against the grip Alex has on his hands, and resists the urge to scream; because that’s about the only thing he can do at the moment. Either that or kick, but he’s pretty sure Alex would stop him if he tried that. Besides, he wasn’t really angry at Alex, he was angrier with himself.
It’s really the grip Alex has on his hands that is fogging Mason’s brain. It’s the heat from Alex’s hands that has Mason’s body feeling like it’s on fire. It was the way Alex was shifting his position so that he was straddling Mason’s hips that has all the blood rushing straight to his groin.
Mason groans. Loudly. Obscenely. And he really, honestly, doesn’t care if Alex hears, or whether or not he actually cares.
“Arrête,” Alex orders. “Mase, come on, it wasn’t that bad of a game. At least we won.”
“I still suck,” Mason whispers back, and he feels Alex’s grip on his wrists relax a touch.
“You don’t suck, Mase. We all have off days.”
“For a good two-thirds of the season?”
Alex sighs, and leans back on his heels. “Don’t let it get you down. We’ve all been there.”
Mason slides his eyes away from Alex, and whispers what he’s never said to anyone. “Maybe it would’ve been better if Gillis had traded me.”
He feels it like a shot to his gut. It’s a swift move, and if he had blinked he probably would have missed it. Mason turns his eyes back to Alex, eyes blazing, but his retort for Alex smacking him dies on his lips at Alex’s expression.
“À coeur vaillant rien d'impossible,” Alex breathes, brushing a stray strand of curly hair from Mason’s face. His finger lingering on Mason’s blazing red cheek.
“English, Burr.”
“Nothing is impossible for a willing heart,” Alex whispers, lips so close to Mason’s ear he shivers.
Mason has only a second really to think about what sort of damage this could do to their teammate relationship before he mutters fuck it, and grips Alex’s head in his hands, and kisses him. He waits for Alex’s next move, which he’s sure will be to push him away.
So, it’s a surprise when Alex presses his hands against Mason’s shoulders, and presses him into the mattress, hands framing Mason’s face as he kisses back.
Mason’s hands drag Alex’s away from his face, and their fingers interlace, as he rolls his hips against Alex. Suddenly his dress pants and boxers seem like entirely way too much clothing, and damn, if he doesn’t wish Alex was naked. He nearly cries out when he realizes Alex is just as hard as he is. Alex breaks their contact roughly.
“Shit, Mase … I’m … shit …”
Mason thinks he’ll go out of his mind if Alex leaves, so he fists his hand on the front of Alex’s shirt, not caring if the material gets wrinkled, because damn it if he didn’t need this. “Whatever it is you’re going to say, don’t say it.”
And, finally, Alex stops talking all together and pulls Mason up into a sitting position, so he can unbutton buttons, and undo Mason’s pants. Mason busies himself with Alex’s shirt, fumbling over a few buttons before he grows irritated and rips it, sending buttons scattering across the carpeted floor.
“You owe me a shirt, mon petit,” Alex breathes, as Mason’s hand runs down his chest.
“I’ll buy you one when we’re back home,” Mason gasps.
Alex manages to get Mason’s shirt off, but the material ends up scrunched between them. Their skin is slick and sticky where their bare skin presses together. Alex maneuvers his hand inside Mason’s pants to grip his cock.
Alex’s hand on his cock causes Mason’s mind to stop functioning all together. And when Alex jerks him hard, he forgets his name. Alex presses his lips to Mason’s, effectively silencing any lingering whimper or groan Mason may have wanted to utter. Mason tastes of mint and beer, and has the softest lips Alex has ever kissed. Softer than Nancy’s even.
Mason barely has time to register that Alex has ridded him of his pants and boxers, and has pushed him back against the sheets, before he feels Alex’s dick brush against his.
Oh shit.
Oh fuck.
Damn.
Mason moans at the contact and arches his back. Alex grinds his hips down into Mason’s, smirking at the shudder Mason makes at the contact. He reaches his hand between their bodies to grip Mason tightly. His palm is sweaty as he runs his hand up and down Mason’s dick. Alex continues to thrust down into Mason, and it takes Mason’s mind about a minute longer to catch up to Alex’s movements. And then his hand curls around Alex’s cock, and he hears Alex hiss.
Mason feels Alex biting at his neck, his tongue running over the pulse points in his throat, his free hand tangling in his hair, as he continues to thrust into Mason’s hand. Mason is arched up off the bed like a bow being pulled back. Alex grinding his hips down against him, his hand moving over his shaft in long strokes that send vibrations through Mason’s body, that cause Mason’s body to thrum with a heady combination of want and need. And Mason thinks he’ll go out of his mind at the feel, the taste, the smell of Alex surrounding him. He can’t do anything more but run his hands down Alex’s back, his nails digging into skin, and he wants to apologize to Alex for the marks he’s sure will be there in the morning, but he comes up short when he feels Alex’s breath against his ear.
“Baiser …”
Mason’s French may be crap, but he knows enough to know it has to be a bad word that Alex keeps repeating over and over. But really, he could care less, because oh fuck, if it wasn’t causing all the blood in his body to rush straight to his groin.
Mason bites down on his bottom lip so hard he can taste blood, and he tangles his hand in Alex’s hair, his eyes screwed tightly shut. When he comes his legs are locked around the backs of Alex’s knees, his free hand gripping Alex, shuddering and gasping against Alex’s ear.
“Alex,” he chokes out as Alex continues to thrust down into his hand, until he’s coming too. White, hot, sticky ropes that coat their stomachs, and hands.
It’s a long time before they finally move. Mason moves his hand to brush Alex’s hair out of his eyes, and he presses a kiss against his forehead. Alex just smiles and rolls to the side, come drying on his stomach.
“So, do you still feel like Gillis should’ve traded you?”
Mason has to smile at that, and he rolls over, curling himself against Alex’s side. “No.”
Alex chuckles. “You cuddle?”
“Shut up, Alex.”
“Fais de beaux rêves, Mase. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“It is indeed,” Mason mutters back, before he lets his eyes flutter close.
Glossolalia
Alex Burrows/Mason Raymond; Vancouver Canucks; Hockey RPS; NC-17
Kink meme fill.
Prompt: Okay, so we know that MayRay and Burrows room when they're on the road, so this is what I want ... Raymond overhears Burrows speaking French to his wife on the phone and gets more than a little hot under the collar. Sexy times ensue. Bonus points for Burrows speaking french to Raymond during sex and that's what gets Raymond off.
Glossolalia
If there was a way to describe the feeling one has when a truck has run over them, then Mason would sure as hell like to know what the word is. He’s not exactly sure what possessed him to let Glass and Tambo drag him out after their latest game wrapped up.
Lately Mason had been feeling pretty low. His point total was still mediocre, at best. His shots never seemed to connect, and he’d been moved around on the lines so much he felt like a fucking yo-yo. He felt dizzy just thinking about it.
He seriously thought Gillis would’ve traded him at the deadline. What with all the pressure from the media, and the fans. Sometimes, Mason welcomed that call. The one that would have him packing up and moving to a new town, new city.
Sometimes he thought maybe he should just pack it all in. But, that would be like quitting, and Mason was no quitter.
He sighed as the elevator slowed to a halt on his floor. With a quick glance at his watch, Mason exhaled loudly. Alex would most likely be asleep by now. Which was a good thing. He really wasn’t looking forward to talking to his roommate, and rehashing the details of their most recent game. The papers would do a pretty good job of ripping into his performance tomorrow.
Mason slides his card into the door, watching for the green light to blink before he opens the door.
“Oui,”
Damn, why was he still awake?
Alex catches his eye, and cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder as he mouths the words: Almost done.
Mason just nods and collapses on his bed, not even bothering to pull back the top sheet. He was too damn tired.
“Non …”
He knew better than to eavesdrop on Burr’s conversation, but his French was crap, and besides, he was pretty sure if Burr asked him to move it wouldn’t work out too well.
Mason’s not exactly sure how long Burr stays on the phone, only that the longer he stays on the phone with Nancy the harder and harder he can feel his stomach coiling in knots. Because damn if hearing Alex speaking French isn’t one of the hottest things he can think of. He turns on his side in an effort to avoid having to look at Alex. At the expression Burrows always gets when he speaks French.
Finally, he hears Alex say, “Fais de beaux rêves, Nancy.”
The phone clicks off, and Mason can feel Alex sigh as he stretches. Mason feels his bed shift as Alex takes a seat on the edge. His hand is warm against his hip as he shakes him.
“Mase,” Burr begins, “come on, I know you’re awake.”
“I don’t want to talk, Burr,” Mason murmurs, keeping his head turned away from him. “I’m too tired.”
That’s when Mason feels Alex tug on his hip lightly, so that Mason is on his back, staring up into Alex’s face. Alex has both of Mason’s hand gripped tightly in his, and is watching Mason’s face intently.
“It wasn’t a bad game tonight, Mase.”
Mason struggles lightly against the grip Alex has on his hands, and resists the urge to scream; because that’s about the only thing he can do at the moment. Either that or kick, but he’s pretty sure Alex would stop him if he tried that. Besides, he wasn’t really angry at Alex, he was angrier with himself.
It’s really the grip Alex has on his hands that is fogging Mason’s brain. It’s the heat from Alex’s hands that has Mason’s body feeling like it’s on fire. It was the way Alex was shifting his position so that he was straddling Mason’s hips that has all the blood rushing straight to his groin.
Mason groans. Loudly. Obscenely. And he really, honestly, doesn’t care if Alex hears, or whether or not he actually cares.
“Arrête,” Alex orders. “Mase, come on, it wasn’t that bad of a game. At least we won.”
“I still suck,” Mason whispers back, and he feels Alex’s grip on his wrists relax a touch.
“You don’t suck, Mase. We all have off days.”
“For a good two-thirds of the season?”
Alex sighs, and leans back on his heels. “Don’t let it get you down. We’ve all been there.”
Mason slides his eyes away from Alex, and whispers what he’s never said to anyone. “Maybe it would’ve been better if Gillis had traded me.”
He feels it like a shot to his gut. It’s a swift move, and if he had blinked he probably would have missed it. Mason turns his eyes back to Alex, eyes blazing, but his retort for Alex smacking him dies on his lips at Alex’s expression.
“À coeur vaillant rien d'impossible,” Alex breathes, brushing a stray strand of curly hair from Mason’s face. His finger lingering on Mason’s blazing red cheek.
“English, Burr.”
“Nothing is impossible for a willing heart,” Alex whispers, lips so close to Mason’s ear he shivers.
Mason has only a second really to think about what sort of damage this could do to their teammate relationship before he mutters fuck it, and grips Alex’s head in his hands, and kisses him. He waits for Alex’s next move, which he’s sure will be to push him away.
So, it’s a surprise when Alex presses his hands against Mason’s shoulders, and presses him into the mattress, hands framing Mason’s face as he kisses back.
Mason’s hands drag Alex’s away from his face, and their fingers interlace, as he rolls his hips against Alex. Suddenly his dress pants and boxers seem like entirely way too much clothing, and damn, if he doesn’t wish Alex was naked. He nearly cries out when he realizes Alex is just as hard as he is. Alex breaks their contact roughly.
“Shit, Mase … I’m … shit …”
Mason thinks he’ll go out of his mind if Alex leaves, so he fists his hand on the front of Alex’s shirt, not caring if the material gets wrinkled, because damn it if he didn’t need this. “Whatever it is you’re going to say, don’t say it.”
And, finally, Alex stops talking all together and pulls Mason up into a sitting position, so he can unbutton buttons, and undo Mason’s pants. Mason busies himself with Alex’s shirt, fumbling over a few buttons before he grows irritated and rips it, sending buttons scattering across the carpeted floor.
“You owe me a shirt, mon petit,” Alex breathes, as Mason’s hand runs down his chest.
“I’ll buy you one when we’re back home,” Mason gasps.
Alex manages to get Mason’s shirt off, but the material ends up scrunched between them. Their skin is slick and sticky where their bare skin presses together. Alex maneuvers his hand inside Mason’s pants to grip his cock.
Alex’s hand on his cock causes Mason’s mind to stop functioning all together. And when Alex jerks him hard, he forgets his name. Alex presses his lips to Mason’s, effectively silencing any lingering whimper or groan Mason may have wanted to utter. Mason tastes of mint and beer, and has the softest lips Alex has ever kissed. Softer than Nancy’s even.
Mason barely has time to register that Alex has ridded him of his pants and boxers, and has pushed him back against the sheets, before he feels Alex’s dick brush against his.
Oh shit.
Oh fuck.
Damn.
Mason moans at the contact and arches his back. Alex grinds his hips down into Mason’s, smirking at the shudder Mason makes at the contact. He reaches his hand between their bodies to grip Mason tightly. His palm is sweaty as he runs his hand up and down Mason’s dick. Alex continues to thrust down into Mason, and it takes Mason’s mind about a minute longer to catch up to Alex’s movements. And then his hand curls around Alex’s cock, and he hears Alex hiss.
Mason feels Alex biting at his neck, his tongue running over the pulse points in his throat, his free hand tangling in his hair, as he continues to thrust into Mason’s hand. Mason is arched up off the bed like a bow being pulled back. Alex grinding his hips down against him, his hand moving over his shaft in long strokes that send vibrations through Mason’s body, that cause Mason’s body to thrum with a heady combination of want and need. And Mason thinks he’ll go out of his mind at the feel, the taste, the smell of Alex surrounding him. He can’t do anything more but run his hands down Alex’s back, his nails digging into skin, and he wants to apologize to Alex for the marks he’s sure will be there in the morning, but he comes up short when he feels Alex’s breath against his ear.
“Baiser …”
Mason’s French may be crap, but he knows enough to know it has to be a bad word that Alex keeps repeating over and over. But really, he could care less, because oh fuck, if it wasn’t causing all the blood in his body to rush straight to his groin.
Mason bites down on his bottom lip so hard he can taste blood, and he tangles his hand in Alex’s hair, his eyes screwed tightly shut. When he comes his legs are locked around the backs of Alex’s knees, his free hand gripping Alex, shuddering and gasping against Alex’s ear.
“Alex,” he chokes out as Alex continues to thrust down into his hand, until he’s coming too. White, hot, sticky ropes that coat their stomachs, and hands.
It’s a long time before they finally move. Mason moves his hand to brush Alex’s hair out of his eyes, and he presses a kiss against his forehead. Alex just smiles and rolls to the side, come drying on his stomach.
“So, do you still feel like Gillis should’ve traded you?”
Mason has to smile at that, and he rolls over, curling himself against Alex’s side. “No.”
Alex chuckles. “You cuddle?”
“Shut up, Alex.”
“Fais de beaux rêves, Mase. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“It is indeed,” Mason mutters back, before he lets his eyes flutter close.