Hockey RPS; Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers; NC-17
Disclaimer: Not true in the slightest. No offense intended. Title from the album by The National.
Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers
Steve Yzerman/Vince Lecavalier; Tampa Bay Lightning; NC-17
University AU! A supposed disastrous interview morphs into a rather pleasant, but unexpected encounter for grad student Vince.
Warnings: comeplay, dirty talk
This is all a certain someone's fault. And she knows why. Yes, I'm well aware this is probably a total crack pairing, but whatever.
Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers
"Stop worrying so much, Vince. You'll be fine. You are going to ace this interview," Brad said, patting his best friends shoulder.
Vince adjusted his silver and black striped tie - his lucky tie - took one more cursory glance at his appearance, before he exhaled dramatically. "And if I don't?"
"Drinks are on me tonight," Brad promised. "Now, you better get going, or you'll be late."
"Drinks are on you regardless of the outcome," Vince teased, as he playfully punched Brad's shoulder, before he gathered up his keys and ran out their apartment door.
Vince drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his car as he weaved in and out of Miami traffic. Downtown Miami was always alive and abuzz, and now, even in the late afternoon, the streets were still bustling. Vince was actually quite glad when he neared his exit.
He glanced at his car's dash, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he was not as far behind schedule as he thought. The last thing he wanted was to arrive late.
"Not exactly the best first impression," he muttered, as he continued to navigate the streets. Coral Gables was a beautiful city, Vince thought, as he saw a sign that indicated the University of Miami campus was near.
Finding parking in the lot went smoothly enough, as he climbed out of his car.
After locking up, he set off at a brisk pace towards the campus.
"Here goes nothing," Vince thought, as he found a campus directory and made his way off towards the Sociology department.
Steve Yzmeran was having what could only be classified as a 'please shoot me in the face' type of day. He knew he shouldn't have let Guy drag him out last night, considering the amount of work he still had to finish. But, really, he had no-one to blame but himself for that extra beer he had, or that he had gone home, and thought it would be brilliant to see how much more of his assessments he could get finished before turning in for the night. Too bad he had fallen asleep at his desk, and woken up with an awful pain in his back, and a crick in his neck.
Of course, his kitchen appliances picked today of all days to act up as well. So, he opted against eating breakfast at home, seeing as how he was running late enough as it was. Then, traffic was absolutely horrendous, the coffee shop was packed, and by the time he arrived on U of Miami's campus parking lot he wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel. He was late for his first class, and nearly spilled coffee all over himself during the staff meeting. And, of course, Guy just had to remind him he had to conduct interviews for the rest of the afternoon.
He had just finished his second to last interview of the day, and after putting a red line through the name on his list, and writing 'NO WAY IN HELL' next to the name, he threw his red pen down on his desk, and brought his hands to his face, and let out an overdramatic sigh.
Steve glanced at his door as he heard it open. "No more interviews, Guy, I beg of you."
Guy Boucher chuckled, before he slid the file down onto Steve's desk. "Lighten up. Last one of the day."
"I'm holding you personally responsible if this candidate turns out to be as worse, if not worse than the last one I interviewed."
"This department needs a new TA, and you need a new research assistant," Guy pointed out. "And, no, you cannot keep saying no to everyone you interview because they are not Martin St. Louis."
"But Marty was the best!"
"He also accepted another job in Fort Lauderdale."
"Details, details, details," Steve said dismissively. He sighed and flipped open the folder. "So, who's next?"
"Vincent Lecavalier," Guy said.
Steve scanned the file, for what felt like the umpteenth time, just to get himself re-familiarized with the prospective candidate.
'I'll let you know when he's here."
Guy let himself out of Steve's office just as silently as he had come in.
He tapped his pen on his desk, before gripping both ends and leaning back in his chair. "Vincent Lecavalier," Steve said, "I have a good feeling about this one."
"You can go in whenever you're ready."
Vince turns from examining the wall of plaques, and eyes Guy Boucher wordlessly. "Thanks."
"Good luck."
He takes one more deep breath, and turns the door handle.
"You must be Vincent Lecavalier." Vince watches as the other man makes his way around his desk, his hand outstretched. "Steve Yzerman. Head of the Sociology department."
Steve Yzerman, Vince soon realizes must have been put on this earth to torment him. One look at him and Vince was sure he was his own personal sexual fantasy from hell. The thought had been a small niggling 'hey, your interviewer is kind of good looking, and you haven't gotten laid in a fuckass long time'. Of course, now, watching as Steve gestures for him to take a seat, and makes his way to his seat, the only thing Vince can really think about is how the lines of his suit cling to his form very nicely, and how when Steve smiles, it crinkles the skin around his eyes slightly. It's rather endearing.
Mind out of the gutter, Vince. Focus.
"So, Vincent -"
"Actually, Vince is fine," Vince corrects him, with a small smile.
Steve's lip twitches in amusement. "All right. Vince it is." He leans forward on his desk, and interlaces his fingers. "So, tell me about yourself."
Vince clears his throat, before he begins talking. "Well, I did my undergraduate in Sociology at the University of Central Florida. I graduated summa cum laude, and moved to Miami when I was accepted at U of Miami for my Masters. I'm hoping to get into the Ph.D program, and I -"
"I'm going to stop you right there, Vince," Steve says, leaning back in his chair. "Everything you've just told me is everything I could find by merely requesting your academic transcripts." He flipped the file folder open, and winked at Vince. "Besides, it's all here in this file. No, Vince, what I want to know, is why should I hire you? What sets you apart from the twelve other applicants I've interviewed?" He let his dark eyes pierce into Vince's for a full minute, before he shifted in his seat. "So, Vince, tell me a story. Impress me. Wow me."
"All right," Vince agrees, before proceeding to do as instructed.
It takes Vince a good ten minutes or so. The words begin to flow easier as he goes over everything. By the middle of his explanation, the words flow like syrup. Practicing with Brad really had paid off.
He finishes, breathless, and eyes Steve hopefully.
Steve looks vaguely amused, or so Vince hoped. The room is silent for a few moments, before Steve finally gets up from his seat. "Well, that was … insightful, Vince. Thanks for coming out. I'll be in touch."
Vince blinks, but stumbles to his feet. "Uh, sure."
"I'll walk you out," Steve says, as he gestures towards his office door.
It's silent the whole way. Vince still trying to process what he could possibly have said that would have offended, or otherwise convince Steve not to hire him. He was about to ask, and even half-turned toward Steve, before he heard Steve opening the door.
"Thank you for your time," Vince manages to get out, before he retreats into the hall.
He hears his phone buzz in his pocket, and pulls it out.
How'd it go? - Brad.
Vince begins to type in his reply. I think it went badly. You owe me a round tonight.
Vince was downing what had to be his fourth shot of the night, but he ordered two more, and turned to look at Brad, who was still nursing his beer.
"I'm sure it didn't go as badly as you're making it out to be," Brad said reassuringly.
"Easy for you to say. You weren't in the room." Vince knocks back his shots, and is about to order another, when he feels Brad pulling his hand down.
"I'm cutting you off now, Vince."
"Oh, come on. I'm wallowing," Vince argues.
"Yeah, well, you'd never let me hear the end of it tomorrow." Brad pats his arm, and helps him stand up. "Trust me, you'll thank me later."
Vince is about to protest, when he hears a voice that makes him stop dead.
"I'd be inclined to agree with your friend."
He looks up, and narrows his eyes slightly. "What are you doing here?"
Steve shrugs. "I was having drinks with a colleague."
"Out of all the bars in Miami, and you have to come to this one," Vince mutters.
"Well, since you're here, I was hoping we could talk. It'll save me a phone call tomorrow," Steve says, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants.
Brad shrugs. "You can come find me later." He wanders off, leaving Vince with Steve.
"You've got five minutes," Vince says, before he follows Steve toward a quieter area of the bar.
Steve waits until Vince has settled in his seat, before he starts talking. "I suppose you wondered why I was so … vague about my impression of you during the interview."
"I think that's putting it mildly."
Steve pushes a glass of water towards Vince. "You'll thank me later. Drink it."
Vince frowns, but accepts the glass. "So, are you always like that during interviews?"
A quick glance at Steve's face, the slight twinkle in his eyes, and the crinkle around his eyes tells Vince he was quite amused. "I was having a bad day, which is no excuse, really."
"So," Vince begins, taking another long sip from his glass, "did you decide?"
"Actually, I did," Steve replied, before he steepled his fingers, and eyed Vince curiously. "I'm just not sure if who I picked is going to want the position."
"Why's that?"
"Well, you see, I was kind of an asshole during our interview." Steve reaches a hand out and places it on top of Vince's. "I'm not too sure if he'll want the position after that."
Vince may be kind of buzzed, but he has a pretty good idea who Steve is referring to. Wanting to test his theory, he slides his hand out from under Steve's palm, and tucks them in his lap, before he looks directly at Steve. "I hope you plan on making this up to him or her."
Steve stands up then, and hovers silently next to Vince for a full minute or so. Finally, he leans down and whispers against Vince's ear. "Better tell your friend not to expect you home for a few hours or so."
It takes him a few moments to process what Steve just said to him, and when Vince looks up, he realizes Steve is already heading towards the exit. Quickly, Vince pulls out his phone and sends off a quick text to Brad, before he hurries for the door.
It feels like a long ride to Steve's house, or maybe it was because they were both silent the whole way. Steve pulls into his driveway, and cuts the engine. Vince looks out into the quiet stillness; the outside lights are dim, a balmy breeze tickles the hairs on his neck. The night is quiet, peaceful, and calm; it relaxes him slightly.
He eventually realizes Steve has opened his door, and is standing, just standing there, watching him. He holds onto the metal door frame with a loose grip, while his feet kick the ground lazily. His head is bowed towards Vince's. The house lights catching the lighter areas in his hair.
Vince feels it like water flooding his lungs, the overwhelming urge to run his hands through Steve's hair, and kiss him until he's breathless fills his chest to near bursting. His breath catches in his throat as he finally climbs out of the car. He follows Steve up the walkway, keeping his hands tucked in his pockets.
He lets Steve open the door, and crosses the threshold. It's only when Steve turns on the lights that Vince finally trusts himself enough to speak.
"Why'd you drag me all the way back to your place?" Vince asks.
"Well, we couldn't very well go to your place." Steve takes a step closer to Vince, backing him up against the wall. Vince shifts his position slightly, his knee bumping against Steve's leg.
"I see," Vince finally replies. He is mindful of how little space is between them, and the charged way Steve is looking at him. Vince really wants to kiss Steve then. Fall against him, into him, forgetting time and space. He raises a hand and lets it slide down Steve's cheek, and watches in fascination as a pink blush creeps up into his cheeks.
He doesn't have much time to think on the subject of how well he imagines Steve kisses, before he feels Steve leaning in and their lips meet. And, oh, Steve kisses exactly like he imagined. Slow, and cautious at first, like he's testing the waters. Vince slides his arms around Steve's shoulders, and holds on.
Vince feels as Steve curls an arm around his waist, and he stumbles slightly on his feet, causing Steve to chuckle.
"Is this your idea of making it up to me?"
"Is it working?"
Vince tugs the neckline of Steve's shirt open, his mouth moving over his collarbones, as his hands skim down Steve's arms. "I'll tell you later."
"In that case," Steve whispers, as he tugs Vince's shirt up, until it's pooled around Vince's chest, "you won't mind if I continue?" He grips Vince's hips in a gesture that tells Vince to hold still. Steve lets his tongue run lazily down Vince's torso, and he nips at his hipbones, before he dips his tongue into Vince's bellybutton, causing Vince's hips to jerk, and him to half-gasp at the sensation it kicks through his system.
Vince hears the hiss of his zipper as it's lowered, and oh, damn, he's already hard. His eyes snap open when he feels a warm gust of air hit his cock. When he looks down, he sees Steve looking up at him, eyebrow half-raised, a smirk on his lips.
When Steve finally does close his mouth over the head, Vince can't stop the moan that escapes his mouth, and he jerks his hips at the contact of Steve's lips on his cock. And, when Steve presses his tongue to the underside of his cock, Vince stops thinking all together and he lets out a shameless moan. He's quite sure Steve's neighbours can hear them, but who the fuck cares.
"Oh, fuck, Steve," Vince gasps out, as he tangles his hands in Steve's hair. He forces himself to look down; has to watch, because he's quite sure he'll go out of his mind if he doesn't.
He watches as Steve pulls off his dick to watch the pre-come bead at the tip. Vince moans as Steve's tongue swipes through it.
"You look so hot like this," Steve murmurs, before he sucks Vince back into his mouth, deeper this time, his fingers curling around the base of Vince's shaft. He jerks him in time with each slide of his mouth on his shaft, his lips puffy, his cheeks hollow as he continues to suck him off.
Vince tries to stave off his orgasm, but he feels it like an oncoming train. The pressure spirals to rest in his lower stomach, and he shuts his eyes, and gasps out, "Fuck, shit, Steve, fuck … I'm gonna come … fuck -"
His grip tightens in Steve's hair as he comes, and he feels his hips buck, fingers clawing at Steve's hair. As he finally begins to come down from his high, he glances down just in time to see Steve sliding his cock from his mouth. There's a thin, wet line stretching from Steve's lips to the head of Vince's cock. And, damn, if that isn't the hottest thing Vince has ever seen in his life.
He's about to comment to Steve that he's more than made up for his asshole like behaviour earlier that day, when he sees Steve standing up, grasping the back of his head, and hauling his lips to his. Vince's eyes widen when he realizes Steve still has his come in his mouth, and is currently shoving it back into his.
"You like the way you taste, Vince?" Steve asks, pulling back, breathlessly. He's currently tugging Vince's shirt the rest of the way off, and is tugging the fly on his pants down.
Vince barely has time to register that Steve has moved his hand to his crotch. It takes his mind about a minute longer to catch up to what it is exactly he is doing.
Steve grips Vince's shoulder tightly, biting his bottom lip as Vince jerks him hard. "Fuck, don't stop. Shit, Vince, that feels so fucking good." He turns Vince's face to look at him. "Where do you want me to come?"
"My stomach."
Steve groans, and shoves Vince's hand aside, as he jerks his cock, before he lets out a strangled gasp, and comes in a long, hot spurt on Vince's stomach.
Vince watches as Steve finally opens his eyes and shakes out his shoulders. He lets his eyes settle on the white mess currently coating Vince's stomach. "Sorry 'bout that."
Steve gestures for him to follow. He leads Vince into the kitchen, where he hands him a damp towel. "So, did I manage to make up for being a first class asshole?"
Vince swipes the towel across his midsection, before he looks up at Steve. "Yes. Does that mean I got the job?"
Steve smirks that infuriating, toe-curling smirk. "You did."
Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers
Steve Yzerman/Vince Lecavalier; Tampa Bay Lightning; NC-17
University AU! A supposed disastrous interview morphs into a rather pleasant, but unexpected encounter for grad student Vince.
Warnings: comeplay, dirty talk
This is all a certain someone's fault. And she knows why. Yes, I'm well aware this is probably a total crack pairing, but whatever.
Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers
"Stop worrying so much, Vince. You'll be fine. You are going to ace this interview," Brad said, patting his best friends shoulder.
Vince adjusted his silver and black striped tie - his lucky tie - took one more cursory glance at his appearance, before he exhaled dramatically. "And if I don't?"
"Drinks are on me tonight," Brad promised. "Now, you better get going, or you'll be late."
"Drinks are on you regardless of the outcome," Vince teased, as he playfully punched Brad's shoulder, before he gathered up his keys and ran out their apartment door.
Vince drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his car as he weaved in and out of Miami traffic. Downtown Miami was always alive and abuzz, and now, even in the late afternoon, the streets were still bustling. Vince was actually quite glad when he neared his exit.
He glanced at his car's dash, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he was not as far behind schedule as he thought. The last thing he wanted was to arrive late.
"Not exactly the best first impression," he muttered, as he continued to navigate the streets. Coral Gables was a beautiful city, Vince thought, as he saw a sign that indicated the University of Miami campus was near.
Finding parking in the lot went smoothly enough, as he climbed out of his car.
After locking up, he set off at a brisk pace towards the campus.
"Here goes nothing," Vince thought, as he found a campus directory and made his way off towards the Sociology department.
Steve Yzmeran was having what could only be classified as a 'please shoot me in the face' type of day. He knew he shouldn't have let Guy drag him out last night, considering the amount of work he still had to finish. But, really, he had no-one to blame but himself for that extra beer he had, or that he had gone home, and thought it would be brilliant to see how much more of his assessments he could get finished before turning in for the night. Too bad he had fallen asleep at his desk, and woken up with an awful pain in his back, and a crick in his neck.
Of course, his kitchen appliances picked today of all days to act up as well. So, he opted against eating breakfast at home, seeing as how he was running late enough as it was. Then, traffic was absolutely horrendous, the coffee shop was packed, and by the time he arrived on U of Miami's campus parking lot he wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel. He was late for his first class, and nearly spilled coffee all over himself during the staff meeting. And, of course, Guy just had to remind him he had to conduct interviews for the rest of the afternoon.
He had just finished his second to last interview of the day, and after putting a red line through the name on his list, and writing 'NO WAY IN HELL' next to the name, he threw his red pen down on his desk, and brought his hands to his face, and let out an overdramatic sigh.
Steve glanced at his door as he heard it open. "No more interviews, Guy, I beg of you."
Guy Boucher chuckled, before he slid the file down onto Steve's desk. "Lighten up. Last one of the day."
"I'm holding you personally responsible if this candidate turns out to be as worse, if not worse than the last one I interviewed."
"This department needs a new TA, and you need a new research assistant," Guy pointed out. "And, no, you cannot keep saying no to everyone you interview because they are not Martin St. Louis."
"But Marty was the best!"
"He also accepted another job in Fort Lauderdale."
"Details, details, details," Steve said dismissively. He sighed and flipped open the folder. "So, who's next?"
"Vincent Lecavalier," Guy said.
Steve scanned the file, for what felt like the umpteenth time, just to get himself re-familiarized with the prospective candidate.
'I'll let you know when he's here."
Guy let himself out of Steve's office just as silently as he had come in.
He tapped his pen on his desk, before gripping both ends and leaning back in his chair. "Vincent Lecavalier," Steve said, "I have a good feeling about this one."
"You can go in whenever you're ready."
Vince turns from examining the wall of plaques, and eyes Guy Boucher wordlessly. "Thanks."
"Good luck."
He takes one more deep breath, and turns the door handle.
"You must be Vincent Lecavalier." Vince watches as the other man makes his way around his desk, his hand outstretched. "Steve Yzerman. Head of the Sociology department."
Steve Yzerman, Vince soon realizes must have been put on this earth to torment him. One look at him and Vince was sure he was his own personal sexual fantasy from hell. The thought had been a small niggling 'hey, your interviewer is kind of good looking, and you haven't gotten laid in a fuckass long time'. Of course, now, watching as Steve gestures for him to take a seat, and makes his way to his seat, the only thing Vince can really think about is how the lines of his suit cling to his form very nicely, and how when Steve smiles, it crinkles the skin around his eyes slightly. It's rather endearing.
Mind out of the gutter, Vince. Focus.
"So, Vincent -"
"Actually, Vince is fine," Vince corrects him, with a small smile.
Steve's lip twitches in amusement. "All right. Vince it is." He leans forward on his desk, and interlaces his fingers. "So, tell me about yourself."
Vince clears his throat, before he begins talking. "Well, I did my undergraduate in Sociology at the University of Central Florida. I graduated summa cum laude, and moved to Miami when I was accepted at U of Miami for my Masters. I'm hoping to get into the Ph.D program, and I -"
"I'm going to stop you right there, Vince," Steve says, leaning back in his chair. "Everything you've just told me is everything I could find by merely requesting your academic transcripts." He flipped the file folder open, and winked at Vince. "Besides, it's all here in this file. No, Vince, what I want to know, is why should I hire you? What sets you apart from the twelve other applicants I've interviewed?" He let his dark eyes pierce into Vince's for a full minute, before he shifted in his seat. "So, Vince, tell me a story. Impress me. Wow me."
"All right," Vince agrees, before proceeding to do as instructed.
It takes Vince a good ten minutes or so. The words begin to flow easier as he goes over everything. By the middle of his explanation, the words flow like syrup. Practicing with Brad really had paid off.
He finishes, breathless, and eyes Steve hopefully.
Steve looks vaguely amused, or so Vince hoped. The room is silent for a few moments, before Steve finally gets up from his seat. "Well, that was … insightful, Vince. Thanks for coming out. I'll be in touch."
Vince blinks, but stumbles to his feet. "Uh, sure."
"I'll walk you out," Steve says, as he gestures towards his office door.
It's silent the whole way. Vince still trying to process what he could possibly have said that would have offended, or otherwise convince Steve not to hire him. He was about to ask, and even half-turned toward Steve, before he heard Steve opening the door.
"Thank you for your time," Vince manages to get out, before he retreats into the hall.
He hears his phone buzz in his pocket, and pulls it out.
How'd it go? - Brad.
Vince begins to type in his reply. I think it went badly. You owe me a round tonight.
Vince was downing what had to be his fourth shot of the night, but he ordered two more, and turned to look at Brad, who was still nursing his beer.
"I'm sure it didn't go as badly as you're making it out to be," Brad said reassuringly.
"Easy for you to say. You weren't in the room." Vince knocks back his shots, and is about to order another, when he feels Brad pulling his hand down.
"I'm cutting you off now, Vince."
"Oh, come on. I'm wallowing," Vince argues.
"Yeah, well, you'd never let me hear the end of it tomorrow." Brad pats his arm, and helps him stand up. "Trust me, you'll thank me later."
Vince is about to protest, when he hears a voice that makes him stop dead.
"I'd be inclined to agree with your friend."
He looks up, and narrows his eyes slightly. "What are you doing here?"
Steve shrugs. "I was having drinks with a colleague."
"Out of all the bars in Miami, and you have to come to this one," Vince mutters.
"Well, since you're here, I was hoping we could talk. It'll save me a phone call tomorrow," Steve says, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants.
Brad shrugs. "You can come find me later." He wanders off, leaving Vince with Steve.
"You've got five minutes," Vince says, before he follows Steve toward a quieter area of the bar.
Steve waits until Vince has settled in his seat, before he starts talking. "I suppose you wondered why I was so … vague about my impression of you during the interview."
"I think that's putting it mildly."
Steve pushes a glass of water towards Vince. "You'll thank me later. Drink it."
Vince frowns, but accepts the glass. "So, are you always like that during interviews?"
A quick glance at Steve's face, the slight twinkle in his eyes, and the crinkle around his eyes tells Vince he was quite amused. "I was having a bad day, which is no excuse, really."
"So," Vince begins, taking another long sip from his glass, "did you decide?"
"Actually, I did," Steve replied, before he steepled his fingers, and eyed Vince curiously. "I'm just not sure if who I picked is going to want the position."
"Why's that?"
"Well, you see, I was kind of an asshole during our interview." Steve reaches a hand out and places it on top of Vince's. "I'm not too sure if he'll want the position after that."
Vince may be kind of buzzed, but he has a pretty good idea who Steve is referring to. Wanting to test his theory, he slides his hand out from under Steve's palm, and tucks them in his lap, before he looks directly at Steve. "I hope you plan on making this up to him or her."
Steve stands up then, and hovers silently next to Vince for a full minute or so. Finally, he leans down and whispers against Vince's ear. "Better tell your friend not to expect you home for a few hours or so."
It takes him a few moments to process what Steve just said to him, and when Vince looks up, he realizes Steve is already heading towards the exit. Quickly, Vince pulls out his phone and sends off a quick text to Brad, before he hurries for the door.
It feels like a long ride to Steve's house, or maybe it was because they were both silent the whole way. Steve pulls into his driveway, and cuts the engine. Vince looks out into the quiet stillness; the outside lights are dim, a balmy breeze tickles the hairs on his neck. The night is quiet, peaceful, and calm; it relaxes him slightly.
He eventually realizes Steve has opened his door, and is standing, just standing there, watching him. He holds onto the metal door frame with a loose grip, while his feet kick the ground lazily. His head is bowed towards Vince's. The house lights catching the lighter areas in his hair.
Vince feels it like water flooding his lungs, the overwhelming urge to run his hands through Steve's hair, and kiss him until he's breathless fills his chest to near bursting. His breath catches in his throat as he finally climbs out of the car. He follows Steve up the walkway, keeping his hands tucked in his pockets.
He lets Steve open the door, and crosses the threshold. It's only when Steve turns on the lights that Vince finally trusts himself enough to speak.
"Why'd you drag me all the way back to your place?" Vince asks.
"Well, we couldn't very well go to your place." Steve takes a step closer to Vince, backing him up against the wall. Vince shifts his position slightly, his knee bumping against Steve's leg.
"I see," Vince finally replies. He is mindful of how little space is between them, and the charged way Steve is looking at him. Vince really wants to kiss Steve then. Fall against him, into him, forgetting time and space. He raises a hand and lets it slide down Steve's cheek, and watches in fascination as a pink blush creeps up into his cheeks.
He doesn't have much time to think on the subject of how well he imagines Steve kisses, before he feels Steve leaning in and their lips meet. And, oh, Steve kisses exactly like he imagined. Slow, and cautious at first, like he's testing the waters. Vince slides his arms around Steve's shoulders, and holds on.
Vince feels as Steve curls an arm around his waist, and he stumbles slightly on his feet, causing Steve to chuckle.
"Is this your idea of making it up to me?"
"Is it working?"
Vince tugs the neckline of Steve's shirt open, his mouth moving over his collarbones, as his hands skim down Steve's arms. "I'll tell you later."
"In that case," Steve whispers, as he tugs Vince's shirt up, until it's pooled around Vince's chest, "you won't mind if I continue?" He grips Vince's hips in a gesture that tells Vince to hold still. Steve lets his tongue run lazily down Vince's torso, and he nips at his hipbones, before he dips his tongue into Vince's bellybutton, causing Vince's hips to jerk, and him to half-gasp at the sensation it kicks through his system.
Vince hears the hiss of his zipper as it's lowered, and oh, damn, he's already hard. His eyes snap open when he feels a warm gust of air hit his cock. When he looks down, he sees Steve looking up at him, eyebrow half-raised, a smirk on his lips.
When Steve finally does close his mouth over the head, Vince can't stop the moan that escapes his mouth, and he jerks his hips at the contact of Steve's lips on his cock. And, when Steve presses his tongue to the underside of his cock, Vince stops thinking all together and he lets out a shameless moan. He's quite sure Steve's neighbours can hear them, but who the fuck cares.
"Oh, fuck, Steve," Vince gasps out, as he tangles his hands in Steve's hair. He forces himself to look down; has to watch, because he's quite sure he'll go out of his mind if he doesn't.
He watches as Steve pulls off his dick to watch the pre-come bead at the tip. Vince moans as Steve's tongue swipes through it.
"You look so hot like this," Steve murmurs, before he sucks Vince back into his mouth, deeper this time, his fingers curling around the base of Vince's shaft. He jerks him in time with each slide of his mouth on his shaft, his lips puffy, his cheeks hollow as he continues to suck him off.
Vince tries to stave off his orgasm, but he feels it like an oncoming train. The pressure spirals to rest in his lower stomach, and he shuts his eyes, and gasps out, "Fuck, shit, Steve, fuck … I'm gonna come … fuck -"
His grip tightens in Steve's hair as he comes, and he feels his hips buck, fingers clawing at Steve's hair. As he finally begins to come down from his high, he glances down just in time to see Steve sliding his cock from his mouth. There's a thin, wet line stretching from Steve's lips to the head of Vince's cock. And, damn, if that isn't the hottest thing Vince has ever seen in his life.
He's about to comment to Steve that he's more than made up for his asshole like behaviour earlier that day, when he sees Steve standing up, grasping the back of his head, and hauling his lips to his. Vince's eyes widen when he realizes Steve still has his come in his mouth, and is currently shoving it back into his.
"You like the way you taste, Vince?" Steve asks, pulling back, breathlessly. He's currently tugging Vince's shirt the rest of the way off, and is tugging the fly on his pants down.
Vince barely has time to register that Steve has moved his hand to his crotch. It takes his mind about a minute longer to catch up to what it is exactly he is doing.
Steve grips Vince's shoulder tightly, biting his bottom lip as Vince jerks him hard. "Fuck, don't stop. Shit, Vince, that feels so fucking good." He turns Vince's face to look at him. "Where do you want me to come?"
"My stomach."
Steve groans, and shoves Vince's hand aside, as he jerks his cock, before he lets out a strangled gasp, and comes in a long, hot spurt on Vince's stomach.
Vince watches as Steve finally opens his eyes and shakes out his shoulders. He lets his eyes settle on the white mess currently coating Vince's stomach. "Sorry 'bout that."
Steve gestures for him to follow. He leads Vince into the kitchen, where he hands him a damp towel. "So, did I manage to make up for being a first class asshole?"
Vince swipes the towel across his midsection, before he looks up at Steve. "Yes. Does that mean I got the job?"
Steve smirks that infuriating, toe-curling smirk. "You did."