(no subject)
Title: To Keep Alive a Moment at a Time
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Characters: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, Evgeni Malkin/Sidney Crosby, Mike Richards/Jeff Carter, Danny Briere/Claude Giroux, Megan Knuble/Mike Knuble
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Work of fiction. Never really happened.
Summary: Five couples coping
Author's Notes: Written over the first two rounds of the playoffs. One fic written for an anon meme prompt, two more as sequels to my earlier fics, This May Never Start & All The Miles That Separate.
They were all still a little in shock when they left the United Center, though the news that Hossa was doing well was some comfort. But Jon was still shaking, to the point that by the time they were on the road, Patrick’s chief worry had become him. There was no question they were going to his place together that night, if only because Patrick didn’t entirely want to leave him alone in his current state.
Even as he went down the roads faster than he usually drove, he was muttering to himself, and Patrick was fighting the impulse to yell at him to keep his eyes on the road. Jon would probably snap back that Patrick needed to do that himself. Which he probably did, but dammit, he was nervous right now, and the recklessness with which Tazer was changing lanes and swerving around corners was scary simply because he didn’t usually do it, and he wanted some assurance he wasn’t going mad, at least.
They were both silent through the whole trip, Jon lost in his stewing, Patrick trying to think of a way to snap him out of it. When it continued into his flat, Patrick couldn’t stand it. “Jonny,” he started, “Please.”
“Kaner...” he started, then stopped, and shook his head in frustration, and swiped at his coffee table, knocking a remote to the floor. He growled something incoherent and hit the table again, hard enough that everything on it shook.
Patrick had seen him like this once before, during their losing streak a couple of months back. Recognizing familiar behavior actually made him less anxious, though; made him unafraid to walk up to him and try to take his arm. It didn’t work, though; Jon wrenched himself away so violently he nearly ran into his couch. Undeterred, he said, “Please,” again.
“Please what?” Jon snapped at him, and started walking around the coffee table. Patrick wondered if he might try boxing him between his TV and the wall. Could he manage to move a chair in for the purpose?
“Look.” He tried to gather words together, but it was hard in his current mood, “Okay, they murdered Hoss and totally got away with it, and it sucks. But...”
“But you shouldn’t have gotten involved at the end of the second,” Jonny cut him off, which was not at all what Patrick was expecting him to say. He was briefly tempted to make a crack about Jonny’s inability to fight, or maybe just ask what the hell that had to do with anything, but had still said nothing when Jon concluded, “You should’ve just left it,” and stomped out of the room.
He was a real idiot if he thought Patrick wasn’t going to follow him after that. And he ran too, and grabbed Jon’s wrist tight as he could. He couldn’t hold on long before the taller man would pull himself free, so he had to talk quick. “We had to do something,” he reminded Jonny, “and...”
“And you’re lucky they didn’t take the chance to punch you out onto the ice too!” Even as Jonny successfully yanked away he stumbled around, and for the first time Patrick saw the terrible fear in his face. “You’re an obvious target, and I don’t know how we’re going to keep you from getting attacked next game; it doesn’t matter what we do after, not when we can’t keep it from being worth their while, and by then you’ll already be...” Then he couldn’t say it.
Patrick hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet, but of course Tazer had. Of course he’d probably formed a hundred gruesome scenarios in his head already, and he’d probably done so for Crow and Duncs and Seabs and Sharpie and all the other guys too, but for Patrick himself especially.
And there he was, languishing in all of them, trapped in his terrors, and Patrick seized his head and forced their foreheads together so that Jonny had to see him there. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m safe. We’re safe.” He didn’t realize until he said it out loud how much he’d needed to hear it himself, as confirmation that that game was over, that there wasn’t need to be nervous anymore, but some part of their heads was still caught up in utter rage and just couldn’t stop.
When Jonny just kept staring, Patrick kissed him. Lightly, then harder, then Jonny responded and seized the back of Patrick’s hands as they nearly bit at each other’s mouths, each touch a desperately needed reassurance. When Jonny shoved him against the wall and started mauling his mouth Patrick was happy to go with it, pulling Johnny’s body in just to feel the warm and heavy weight of him, over 200 pounds of crazy, still raging hockey captain who Patrick sometimes thought he should be scared of, but never would be, with big hands that settled deliciously on Patrick’s back and made the world and the playoffs and the stupid loss and even the injustice and anxiety fall away.
He finally pushed himself back, grabbing Patrick’s shoulders to keep the smaller man from moving; he could only watch him pant with his eyes screwed shut, trying to regain control of himself. Patrick knew better than to push him; much more of this and he might invoke the sex ban he had during the playoffs. Though honestly, Patrick didn’t really give a shit whether their dicks got involved in this or not, just so long as he never had to let go of Jonny, ever.
“I’m here,” he said again. “I’m here, we’re here, and they’ll have to suspend Torres, and then we’ll make the Coyotes sorry they ever signed him.”
Jonny opened his eyes, and really looked at Patrick for the first time since leaving the arena. “I know,” he said, and he spoke as a man no longer absolutely consumed by anger and fear. “I know.” Inside his chest, Patrick felt an almost painful spasm, as the knot of his own fear dissolved.
***
As Geno understood it, locker cleanout was always the worst day of the year for Sidney. It had been so even the year they’d won the Cup. And when they’d played badly and lost to the Flyers in the first round, it had to be especially so.
So when he woke the morning of it, before Sid as usual, he found himself looking at Sid, his features beset even in sleep, and considered his options. He could wait until he woke up, aware the entire time there wasn’t anything he could do to help him, but try anyway when he did wake, which would end with him feeling useless and Sid feeling guilty as well as miserable. He could slip out and try to head for the shower, which would leave him feeling like a coward and probably wake Sid up anyway and maybe even get him angry. He could turn his thoughts on the series that had just passed over in his head for the hundredth time, in hopes of having some good speech prepared when Sid stirred, which would probably backfire because he wasn’t sure his own disappointment wouldn’t take over, and all that would happen was he would be glum and desolate, and that was the last thing Sid needed to wake up to.
Or he could take matters into his own hands.
He first glanced down the bedclothes and confirmed Sid had a morning erection; that would make this easier. He took another moment to consider how to play this; the more he moved the bed clothes, the closer he would come to waking Sidney up, and while he wanted him awake for most of this, he didn’t want him awake until he was experiencing sensation enough to distract him from any immediate thoughts. Part of his chest and one nipple was exposed; he’d have to make use of that. His lips were parted and his head slightly tilted back on the pillow; it looked as if he was starting up at the heavens through the ceiling, asking God what he had done wrong.
Geno had to take a moment to press his nose into his neck and breath him in, feel the heat from his skin warm his cheek, and close his eyes against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him; he needed to concentrate. He had to time this exactly right. He moved his hand to Sid’s chest and started to lightly stoke, then lifting his head, he started pressing kisses to Sid’s jawline, then to those sweet lips, until he felt his breathing alter and his body start to stir.
Another moment and Geno’s tongue was on his bared nipple. He heard Sid groan as he teased it, then pushed the blankets aside to draw patterns on his stomach before reaching down, running his fingers along his erection, then pressing harder, wanting to give him newer and stronger sensations to focus on as he came to full consciousness.
He heard his name gasped as he looked down at Sid’s dick; it was time to really surprise him. One of the difficulties of their sex lives, especially since Sid in general disapproved of anal during the season, was that Geno still had issues giving blowjobs. He’d simply heard too many comments in the locker rooms growing up in Russia, and the first guy he’d blown there in the showers had repeated a few too many of those words, and he always feared not being able to keep them from his mind. Geno felt the shock run through Sid’s body, when, a moment after lifting his eyes and seeing his fully open, he dipped down and without hesitation wrapped his mouth around his cock.
One of the taunts from an opponent came back to him for the fleetest of seconds, but it was still worth it just for the knowledge of what it was doing to Sid, and he was sure to express his appreciation, with his loud moans and exclamations, which drowned Geno’s brain out, and with his hands carefully cradling Geno’s head, stuttering in his hair as Geno made himself take it deeper until his hands could cover the rest. He’s now done this to Sid enough, too, that he knew where to put his tongue to drive him out of his mind, and if he’d needed more distraction then Sid started begging, big, powerful thighs shaking, crying to him please more, don’t stop, fuck don’t stop, oh God, Geno...
When he yelled out he was going to come Geno was even tempted to finish what he’d started. But he wanted to see Sid’s face, so he pulled her head up to watch his features turn slack with ecstasy as his hands finished him off; it was a sight he would never get tired of.
For a moment then, his eyes closed, Sid even smiled. But then those eyes opened, and the love and gratitude Geno saw in them couldn’t hide the deepset sadness.
“Thanks for trying,” he said, and drew him down for a heated kiss, his hands traveling down Geno’s chest.
“I try more,” Geno whispered into the kiss, struggling to remember his English. “I try more hard. You maybe let me fuck you before we go home?” He wanted to, badly. His own hard dick throbbed at just the thought of it.
“Oh God, yes,” groaned Sidney just as his hand wrapped about Geno, and that was it; he shuddered and spilled all over the blanket.
“Then I try tonight?” he asked when he had his breath back, and when they could bring themselves to stop kissing for long enough.
“Yes,” whispered Sidney back, but the sadness was in his voice, in his eyes, even in his hands as they drew Geno closer, and Geno doubted his chances of success.
***
In retrospect, maybe it would’ve been easier if they hadn’t gone back to Mike’s place together. But Mike had been driving, and he wanted Jeff to stay with him; he didn’t know when he wanted to be left alone, but he knew he didn’t want to be yet. Had he thought about it, which he was not doing, he might have admitted to himself he kind of didn’t want Jeff to ever leave him at all.
He had admitted to himself by the time he pulled into his garage that he was still shaking. It wasn’t even the game, or even just the series, or even just the playoffs so far; it was the entire year. They’d just swept another team, and all Mike could think about was when they themselves had been swept, and everything that had happened after that. The change of city, the loss of Jeff, the months where he also admitted to himself, now, that he’d pretty much lived for hearing Jeff over the phone, and then getting him back, and now this.
The scary thing was Mike was having more and more trouble remembering a time when he hadn’t felt like this around Jeff, like it was incomplete, like he couldn’t get close enough to him. Basic insecurity about his being there, that was an obvious enough explanation for why he was feeling this way, but having a reason for it didn’t lessen the need any.
Less than two months since he’d brought Jeff back here from the airport. Mike remembered how when the front door had been safely closed behind them he’d pulled Jeff into a tight hug, how they’d just stood there for a few minutes, breathing each other in, the brush of Jeff’s hair against his skin and the grip with which he’d returned Mike’s embrace, as he’d tried to convince himself this was real, that Jeff was really there with him once again.
But that at least they hadn’t had to talk about any, or even wonder about any. They’d just missed each other, that was all.
Now, as they approached that dangerous door, Mike became aware for the first time he was about to do something that couldn’t be shrugged off so simply.
They were stepping inside when he started to reach the boiling point. He briefly wondered if he was going crazy. “Jeff...” he started, but he had no words.
Jeff took off his suit jacket and took a step towards him, and that was it; the door wasn’t even shut, but Mike was already going for Jeff and seizing him and kissing him hard, because he couldn’t wait another moment.
He moved so fast he toppled them both to the floor, and then Jeff was underneath him, and Mike pressed his body down, slid his hands under Jeff’s shirt to claim bare skin, the warmth of it against his palms enough to make him painfully hard. The best breasts of the hottest blonde in the world couldn’t have felt like this.
Jeff kissed back. Mouth opening up, tongue aggressive against Mike’s, hands in Mike’s hair. He moaned into Mike’s mouth when their cocks met through the layers of clothing. It all made Mike want more, left him unable to stop touching Jeff, unable to stop moving against him, pushing his hips again and again, loving how Jeff bucked back with every shove.
When they finally had to come up for air, Jeff gasped out, “Mike...Mike...” Mike found himself pressing kisses down his neck where the collar of his shirt was undone, licking at every inch of skin he could get at, Jeff’s tiny whimpers ringing in his ears.
He moved upwards to kiss him again, and stopped dead at the desire and terror warring for control of Jeff’s face. “Mike,” he murmured again, grabbing a quick kiss. Mike chased his lips with more.
“It’s all right,” he whispered frantically. “It’s all right. We’ve won, and we’re...it’s all right.” That was putting it mildly, but if he tried to say any more at that moment, he thought Jeff might freak out, and he knew he himself would. He nudged them slightly so he could wrap his arms around Jeff properly, while still whispering to him in between kisses. “It’s all right.”
***
The night after it ended the two of them found themselves in Claude’s apartment together. Danny suspected that unconsciously, at least, he’d made it that way on purpose. He’d let Sylvie keep the kids on a night where he might have argued with her about it usually, and he’d very strongly not felt like going out for a drink, and suddenly been unable to remember if he had any alcohol at his own place. Danny had become aware this past year that Claude was more comfortable dealing with him here in his apartment, on his own ground.
Maybe Brayden suspected something, given how quickly he’d cleared out once learning Claude would be having Danny over. The two of them were alone, and Claude brought his beer out with a lot of haste, perhaps so less because they’d just crashed out of the playoffs than simply so they could feel less the awareness that hung in the air between them. Still Danny drank slowly, and when he did, Claude did the same. They shared the couch, but kept a few feet between themselves.
They kept the conversation to safe topics at first: the boys, their immediate plans, Brayden and Sean. Though Claude asked if Danny thought Sean could find a place over the summer. “I know he’s looking already,” Danny answered. Then, more carefully, “I might take in another rookie next year. I like doing it. I like having another guy around the house. At least for a couple more years; it’ll probably work less well when Caelan’s their age.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Claude, and Danny wasn’t too disappointed. He hadn’t expected to get Claude back the next year anyway.
They went on to other teammates, and even ex-teammates, stumbling all too quickly onto the topic of Mike and Jeff. “Who would’ve thought,” Danny found himself laughing.
“The conference finals, maybe not,” shrugged Claude. “But you know, I’m not that surprised they ended up back together. I think two people who mean that much to each other will find themselves back with each other eventually.”
He sounded pretty nervous as he said that last sentence. Danny took notice, but told himself not to push at it. Not yet. Maybe at the end of the evening, when they were both properly drunk.
Or maybe the next morning, since if they drank that much it would probably be better for Danny to stay over. He’d done that for the first time just before the playoffs had started, and they had very much felt the milestone the next morning when he’d seen Claude, as adorably rumpled as he’d always been just after getting up, and the younger man’s smile had been nervous, but very, very far from unhappy.
The subject of Pronger seemed harmless enough as well. Even when Claude said, “If he’s not ready to play next season, they should give you the C.”
He must have seen the look Danny gave him, because he added, “Yeah, if they offer it to me, I’ll take it and I’ll do the thing. But it still should be you.”
“Thanks,” Danny managed, but he was suddenly aware that when Claude was gazing at him like that, he really didn’t know what to say.
“Danny...” Claude started, then trailed off. It was hardly the first time he’d done that in the past year. It was a good thing Danny had a father’s patience; he’d found a whole new use for it.
It was a good thing also that they weren’t too worried about being traded anymore. At least Claude was now completely safe from it, and Danny was fairly confident that he too would get to stay here in Philadelphia.
“You’ll have earned it if you get it,” Danny found himself saying, as he thought the reminder might be good after losing like they had. “You’ve had a wonderful year. I’m proud of you.”
He was by this time slightly tipsy, enough that when he leaned over to tell Claude this, he saw no reason to move back when he didn’t want to. He wasn’t even that close, and he wouldn’t have given chase if Claude had moved away.
But Claude did not move away. Instead he sat up straight, tried to stare Danny down but wavered a bit, then finally reached forward and placed his hands at the side of his face.
Danny could only close his eyes, and make himself keep breathing. He wondered if Claude even really comprehended what his touch could do to the older man. He was so used to living with this feeling day in and day out that most of the time he didn’t even notice it anymore, but then at times like this it got so strong he could barely stand it.
But he stayed still, barely allowing his lips even to part a little, as Claude closed the distance between them.
He moaned a little as Claude’s tongue slid into his mouth, placed a hand on Claude’s head and let himself stroke his hair, savoring the curls bouncing around his fingers, just one of many things he’d thought about this past year. Just enough to let Claude know he was enjoying the kiss, but he was still terrified of frightening him off.
His control started to strain when Claude made a noise himself, a hungry little whimper that Danny was going to be dreaming about for days. Fingers and toes clenched; Claude felt the former, no doubt, as they pressed into an ear and caressed the skin of his neck. He was way too erect from this little when he was under the influence.
Heads and hands remained in place as they parted. Danny thought he might have happily stayed where they were right then the entire night.
Then Claude said softly, “This is the longest courtship I have ever heard of.”
“I don’t mind long,” Danny murmured. “Only other courtship I’ve ever been involved in was done really quickly. Might as well try the opposite.”
Claude’s soft, warm laughter was beautiful, Danny found himself thinking as he heard it. He really was pretty far gone, he supposed.
“We should both go to sleep, I think,” said Claude, and there was nothing Danny could do but agree to that.
Claude actually kissed him a second time that night, too, albeit barely, the most hasty peck on the lips which he jerked back from for fear that if they started really kissing again, one of them might not be able to stop. Still Danny’s lips were warm and his body tingling as he slid under the covers in the guest bedroom, to sleep under the same roof as Claude Giroux for the second time since the younger man had left Danny’s own roof.
***
The whiteboard and all four sharpies were on the backseat, in case Mike wanted the distraction, though they were covered with Anna’s spare lacrosse jersey. The kids, Megan was fairly certain, were planning a Mother’s Day surprise for her back home, which was good timing, because she’d always done this drive alone and she wasn’t breaking custom this late in Mike’s career. This was his time, when he didn’t have to worry about their children seeing him upset.
She’d talked to him very briefly on the phone already, to confirm that at least this wasn’t going to be as bad as last year, when she’d taken the long way home because he’d needed the extra time to make himself look presentable again, or the year before, when they’d lost at home and he hadn’t had this time at all, but had needed to keep himself up and composed for over twelve hours. As she pulled into the parking lot, however, she wondered if this would have felt better or worse had he been traded those three months ago, as they’d thought he would have been. Ironically he’d been told the Rangers had been interested in him. Not interested enough, unfortunately. She gladly would have done without him until June to avoid this.
Her timing really was very good. Three minutes after parking Mike came within her sight, walking with Jason. When they saw her car, the two of them patted each other on the back, and he came over alone.
He was starting to sag even before he opened the door, and without any words, she reached out and pulled him in. She’d already put the seats back, and they just fit between driver’s seat and steering wheel as he sank into her, finally able to let go of the tough guy act and feel the pain. Megan herself did the same; tears sprung to her eyes, tears she’d had to hold back the previous night because the kids had been upset enough as it was, and she felt her heart was screaming with pain, feeling now every stab she’d forced herself not to feel for days and weeks and months on his behalf. She couldn’t remember having wanted it this much for him before, when he might not have the chance at it again and even if he did, it wouldn’t be with the team he’d put three long years of work and heart and dedication into.
There were tears from him too; she felt them on her neck. But of course they didn’t last too long, and he made very little noise; they were both of them quiet in their grief. As she ran her hands up and down his body, she could feel where the bruises were new. He hadn’t shaved yet either, which she was less sorry for; that could wait until tomorrow. Before then, she knew, they would make love that night the way they did every year he’d made the playoffs, with her caressing him anywhere she could without causing him serious pain, arching her body into his beard, letting him know without the words that would make it cheesy how no matter the outcome, or how old they were, her feelings were always the same for her warrior after his battles. Except this year she would wonder if it would be the last time she would ever receive him.
It might not be, though, she reminded herself. Especially when his first words, when he was finally ready to speak, were, “I’m not ready for this to end yet.”
There would be questions she would have for him later. What they would do if he signed somewhere else for only a year, if he was even willing to go to Europe if no one in the NHL signed him, and what on Earth they would do then(she kind of felt it would do the kids a disservice to not take the opportunity to expand their world having them live in Europe for a year, but then there were the complications). But there in the car, all thoughts were overwhelmed by the pride that rose in Megan then, and she could only cradle him closer, let herself love him all the more.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” Mike added when he had calmed further. She craned her head down to press her lips to his warm brow. “What do you think the kids are planning?”
“I’ve left the schedule open in case of emergency.” She thought of that whiteboard only a few feet away. There was nothing to put on there for Mike at the moment beyond the following day. There would be again that evening, when she started working on the carpool schedule. Today, however, he might have even needed to nap; he often did the day after the season; especially if it ended with a seventh game.
“That sounds good.” He moved against her, made a noise, and a moment later thought the jersey might have gotten jostled while she’d been moving the seat back and left the board just visible. For a moment she worried about his reaction, but then she could hear his smile as he said, “Let me see the board, and we’ll get home.” He kissed her very gently, a single moment of intense warmth as a hand cupped her ear, and when he pulled away, his face, though still worn, looked much more contented, and very loving. Then he slid off into the passenger’s seat, clearly ready to get back on with his life.
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Characters: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, Evgeni Malkin/Sidney Crosby, Mike Richards/Jeff Carter, Danny Briere/Claude Giroux, Megan Knuble/Mike Knuble
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Work of fiction. Never really happened.
Summary: Five couples coping
Author's Notes: Written over the first two rounds of the playoffs. One fic written for an anon meme prompt, two more as sequels to my earlier fics, This May Never Start & All The Miles That Separate.
They were all still a little in shock when they left the United Center, though the news that Hossa was doing well was some comfort. But Jon was still shaking, to the point that by the time they were on the road, Patrick’s chief worry had become him. There was no question they were going to his place together that night, if only because Patrick didn’t entirely want to leave him alone in his current state.
Even as he went down the roads faster than he usually drove, he was muttering to himself, and Patrick was fighting the impulse to yell at him to keep his eyes on the road. Jon would probably snap back that Patrick needed to do that himself. Which he probably did, but dammit, he was nervous right now, and the recklessness with which Tazer was changing lanes and swerving around corners was scary simply because he didn’t usually do it, and he wanted some assurance he wasn’t going mad, at least.
They were both silent through the whole trip, Jon lost in his stewing, Patrick trying to think of a way to snap him out of it. When it continued into his flat, Patrick couldn’t stand it. “Jonny,” he started, “Please.”
“Kaner...” he started, then stopped, and shook his head in frustration, and swiped at his coffee table, knocking a remote to the floor. He growled something incoherent and hit the table again, hard enough that everything on it shook.
Patrick had seen him like this once before, during their losing streak a couple of months back. Recognizing familiar behavior actually made him less anxious, though; made him unafraid to walk up to him and try to take his arm. It didn’t work, though; Jon wrenched himself away so violently he nearly ran into his couch. Undeterred, he said, “Please,” again.
“Please what?” Jon snapped at him, and started walking around the coffee table. Patrick wondered if he might try boxing him between his TV and the wall. Could he manage to move a chair in for the purpose?
“Look.” He tried to gather words together, but it was hard in his current mood, “Okay, they murdered Hoss and totally got away with it, and it sucks. But...”
“But you shouldn’t have gotten involved at the end of the second,” Jonny cut him off, which was not at all what Patrick was expecting him to say. He was briefly tempted to make a crack about Jonny’s inability to fight, or maybe just ask what the hell that had to do with anything, but had still said nothing when Jon concluded, “You should’ve just left it,” and stomped out of the room.
He was a real idiot if he thought Patrick wasn’t going to follow him after that. And he ran too, and grabbed Jon’s wrist tight as he could. He couldn’t hold on long before the taller man would pull himself free, so he had to talk quick. “We had to do something,” he reminded Jonny, “and...”
“And you’re lucky they didn’t take the chance to punch you out onto the ice too!” Even as Jonny successfully yanked away he stumbled around, and for the first time Patrick saw the terrible fear in his face. “You’re an obvious target, and I don’t know how we’re going to keep you from getting attacked next game; it doesn’t matter what we do after, not when we can’t keep it from being worth their while, and by then you’ll already be...” Then he couldn’t say it.
Patrick hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet, but of course Tazer had. Of course he’d probably formed a hundred gruesome scenarios in his head already, and he’d probably done so for Crow and Duncs and Seabs and Sharpie and all the other guys too, but for Patrick himself especially.
And there he was, languishing in all of them, trapped in his terrors, and Patrick seized his head and forced their foreheads together so that Jonny had to see him there. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m safe. We’re safe.” He didn’t realize until he said it out loud how much he’d needed to hear it himself, as confirmation that that game was over, that there wasn’t need to be nervous anymore, but some part of their heads was still caught up in utter rage and just couldn’t stop.
When Jonny just kept staring, Patrick kissed him. Lightly, then harder, then Jonny responded and seized the back of Patrick’s hands as they nearly bit at each other’s mouths, each touch a desperately needed reassurance. When Jonny shoved him against the wall and started mauling his mouth Patrick was happy to go with it, pulling Johnny’s body in just to feel the warm and heavy weight of him, over 200 pounds of crazy, still raging hockey captain who Patrick sometimes thought he should be scared of, but never would be, with big hands that settled deliciously on Patrick’s back and made the world and the playoffs and the stupid loss and even the injustice and anxiety fall away.
He finally pushed himself back, grabbing Patrick’s shoulders to keep the smaller man from moving; he could only watch him pant with his eyes screwed shut, trying to regain control of himself. Patrick knew better than to push him; much more of this and he might invoke the sex ban he had during the playoffs. Though honestly, Patrick didn’t really give a shit whether their dicks got involved in this or not, just so long as he never had to let go of Jonny, ever.
“I’m here,” he said again. “I’m here, we’re here, and they’ll have to suspend Torres, and then we’ll make the Coyotes sorry they ever signed him.”
Jonny opened his eyes, and really looked at Patrick for the first time since leaving the arena. “I know,” he said, and he spoke as a man no longer absolutely consumed by anger and fear. “I know.” Inside his chest, Patrick felt an almost painful spasm, as the knot of his own fear dissolved.
***
As Geno understood it, locker cleanout was always the worst day of the year for Sidney. It had been so even the year they’d won the Cup. And when they’d played badly and lost to the Flyers in the first round, it had to be especially so.
So when he woke the morning of it, before Sid as usual, he found himself looking at Sid, his features beset even in sleep, and considered his options. He could wait until he woke up, aware the entire time there wasn’t anything he could do to help him, but try anyway when he did wake, which would end with him feeling useless and Sid feeling guilty as well as miserable. He could slip out and try to head for the shower, which would leave him feeling like a coward and probably wake Sid up anyway and maybe even get him angry. He could turn his thoughts on the series that had just passed over in his head for the hundredth time, in hopes of having some good speech prepared when Sid stirred, which would probably backfire because he wasn’t sure his own disappointment wouldn’t take over, and all that would happen was he would be glum and desolate, and that was the last thing Sid needed to wake up to.
Or he could take matters into his own hands.
He first glanced down the bedclothes and confirmed Sid had a morning erection; that would make this easier. He took another moment to consider how to play this; the more he moved the bed clothes, the closer he would come to waking Sidney up, and while he wanted him awake for most of this, he didn’t want him awake until he was experiencing sensation enough to distract him from any immediate thoughts. Part of his chest and one nipple was exposed; he’d have to make use of that. His lips were parted and his head slightly tilted back on the pillow; it looked as if he was starting up at the heavens through the ceiling, asking God what he had done wrong.
Geno had to take a moment to press his nose into his neck and breath him in, feel the heat from his skin warm his cheek, and close his eyes against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him; he needed to concentrate. He had to time this exactly right. He moved his hand to Sid’s chest and started to lightly stoke, then lifting his head, he started pressing kisses to Sid’s jawline, then to those sweet lips, until he felt his breathing alter and his body start to stir.
Another moment and Geno’s tongue was on his bared nipple. He heard Sid groan as he teased it, then pushed the blankets aside to draw patterns on his stomach before reaching down, running his fingers along his erection, then pressing harder, wanting to give him newer and stronger sensations to focus on as he came to full consciousness.
He heard his name gasped as he looked down at Sid’s dick; it was time to really surprise him. One of the difficulties of their sex lives, especially since Sid in general disapproved of anal during the season, was that Geno still had issues giving blowjobs. He’d simply heard too many comments in the locker rooms growing up in Russia, and the first guy he’d blown there in the showers had repeated a few too many of those words, and he always feared not being able to keep them from his mind. Geno felt the shock run through Sid’s body, when, a moment after lifting his eyes and seeing his fully open, he dipped down and without hesitation wrapped his mouth around his cock.
One of the taunts from an opponent came back to him for the fleetest of seconds, but it was still worth it just for the knowledge of what it was doing to Sid, and he was sure to express his appreciation, with his loud moans and exclamations, which drowned Geno’s brain out, and with his hands carefully cradling Geno’s head, stuttering in his hair as Geno made himself take it deeper until his hands could cover the rest. He’s now done this to Sid enough, too, that he knew where to put his tongue to drive him out of his mind, and if he’d needed more distraction then Sid started begging, big, powerful thighs shaking, crying to him please more, don’t stop, fuck don’t stop, oh God, Geno...
When he yelled out he was going to come Geno was even tempted to finish what he’d started. But he wanted to see Sid’s face, so he pulled her head up to watch his features turn slack with ecstasy as his hands finished him off; it was a sight he would never get tired of.
For a moment then, his eyes closed, Sid even smiled. But then those eyes opened, and the love and gratitude Geno saw in them couldn’t hide the deepset sadness.
“Thanks for trying,” he said, and drew him down for a heated kiss, his hands traveling down Geno’s chest.
“I try more,” Geno whispered into the kiss, struggling to remember his English. “I try more hard. You maybe let me fuck you before we go home?” He wanted to, badly. His own hard dick throbbed at just the thought of it.
“Oh God, yes,” groaned Sidney just as his hand wrapped about Geno, and that was it; he shuddered and spilled all over the blanket.
“Then I try tonight?” he asked when he had his breath back, and when they could bring themselves to stop kissing for long enough.
“Yes,” whispered Sidney back, but the sadness was in his voice, in his eyes, even in his hands as they drew Geno closer, and Geno doubted his chances of success.
***
In retrospect, maybe it would’ve been easier if they hadn’t gone back to Mike’s place together. But Mike had been driving, and he wanted Jeff to stay with him; he didn’t know when he wanted to be left alone, but he knew he didn’t want to be yet. Had he thought about it, which he was not doing, he might have admitted to himself he kind of didn’t want Jeff to ever leave him at all.
He had admitted to himself by the time he pulled into his garage that he was still shaking. It wasn’t even the game, or even just the series, or even just the playoffs so far; it was the entire year. They’d just swept another team, and all Mike could think about was when they themselves had been swept, and everything that had happened after that. The change of city, the loss of Jeff, the months where he also admitted to himself, now, that he’d pretty much lived for hearing Jeff over the phone, and then getting him back, and now this.
The scary thing was Mike was having more and more trouble remembering a time when he hadn’t felt like this around Jeff, like it was incomplete, like he couldn’t get close enough to him. Basic insecurity about his being there, that was an obvious enough explanation for why he was feeling this way, but having a reason for it didn’t lessen the need any.
Less than two months since he’d brought Jeff back here from the airport. Mike remembered how when the front door had been safely closed behind them he’d pulled Jeff into a tight hug, how they’d just stood there for a few minutes, breathing each other in, the brush of Jeff’s hair against his skin and the grip with which he’d returned Mike’s embrace, as he’d tried to convince himself this was real, that Jeff was really there with him once again.
But that at least they hadn’t had to talk about any, or even wonder about any. They’d just missed each other, that was all.
Now, as they approached that dangerous door, Mike became aware for the first time he was about to do something that couldn’t be shrugged off so simply.
They were stepping inside when he started to reach the boiling point. He briefly wondered if he was going crazy. “Jeff...” he started, but he had no words.
Jeff took off his suit jacket and took a step towards him, and that was it; the door wasn’t even shut, but Mike was already going for Jeff and seizing him and kissing him hard, because he couldn’t wait another moment.
He moved so fast he toppled them both to the floor, and then Jeff was underneath him, and Mike pressed his body down, slid his hands under Jeff’s shirt to claim bare skin, the warmth of it against his palms enough to make him painfully hard. The best breasts of the hottest blonde in the world couldn’t have felt like this.
Jeff kissed back. Mouth opening up, tongue aggressive against Mike’s, hands in Mike’s hair. He moaned into Mike’s mouth when their cocks met through the layers of clothing. It all made Mike want more, left him unable to stop touching Jeff, unable to stop moving against him, pushing his hips again and again, loving how Jeff bucked back with every shove.
When they finally had to come up for air, Jeff gasped out, “Mike...Mike...” Mike found himself pressing kisses down his neck where the collar of his shirt was undone, licking at every inch of skin he could get at, Jeff’s tiny whimpers ringing in his ears.
He moved upwards to kiss him again, and stopped dead at the desire and terror warring for control of Jeff’s face. “Mike,” he murmured again, grabbing a quick kiss. Mike chased his lips with more.
“It’s all right,” he whispered frantically. “It’s all right. We’ve won, and we’re...it’s all right.” That was putting it mildly, but if he tried to say any more at that moment, he thought Jeff might freak out, and he knew he himself would. He nudged them slightly so he could wrap his arms around Jeff properly, while still whispering to him in between kisses. “It’s all right.”
***
The night after it ended the two of them found themselves in Claude’s apartment together. Danny suspected that unconsciously, at least, he’d made it that way on purpose. He’d let Sylvie keep the kids on a night where he might have argued with her about it usually, and he’d very strongly not felt like going out for a drink, and suddenly been unable to remember if he had any alcohol at his own place. Danny had become aware this past year that Claude was more comfortable dealing with him here in his apartment, on his own ground.
Maybe Brayden suspected something, given how quickly he’d cleared out once learning Claude would be having Danny over. The two of them were alone, and Claude brought his beer out with a lot of haste, perhaps so less because they’d just crashed out of the playoffs than simply so they could feel less the awareness that hung in the air between them. Still Danny drank slowly, and when he did, Claude did the same. They shared the couch, but kept a few feet between themselves.
They kept the conversation to safe topics at first: the boys, their immediate plans, Brayden and Sean. Though Claude asked if Danny thought Sean could find a place over the summer. “I know he’s looking already,” Danny answered. Then, more carefully, “I might take in another rookie next year. I like doing it. I like having another guy around the house. At least for a couple more years; it’ll probably work less well when Caelan’s their age.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Claude, and Danny wasn’t too disappointed. He hadn’t expected to get Claude back the next year anyway.
They went on to other teammates, and even ex-teammates, stumbling all too quickly onto the topic of Mike and Jeff. “Who would’ve thought,” Danny found himself laughing.
“The conference finals, maybe not,” shrugged Claude. “But you know, I’m not that surprised they ended up back together. I think two people who mean that much to each other will find themselves back with each other eventually.”
He sounded pretty nervous as he said that last sentence. Danny took notice, but told himself not to push at it. Not yet. Maybe at the end of the evening, when they were both properly drunk.
Or maybe the next morning, since if they drank that much it would probably be better for Danny to stay over. He’d done that for the first time just before the playoffs had started, and they had very much felt the milestone the next morning when he’d seen Claude, as adorably rumpled as he’d always been just after getting up, and the younger man’s smile had been nervous, but very, very far from unhappy.
The subject of Pronger seemed harmless enough as well. Even when Claude said, “If he’s not ready to play next season, they should give you the C.”
He must have seen the look Danny gave him, because he added, “Yeah, if they offer it to me, I’ll take it and I’ll do the thing. But it still should be you.”
“Thanks,” Danny managed, but he was suddenly aware that when Claude was gazing at him like that, he really didn’t know what to say.
“Danny...” Claude started, then trailed off. It was hardly the first time he’d done that in the past year. It was a good thing Danny had a father’s patience; he’d found a whole new use for it.
It was a good thing also that they weren’t too worried about being traded anymore. At least Claude was now completely safe from it, and Danny was fairly confident that he too would get to stay here in Philadelphia.
“You’ll have earned it if you get it,” Danny found himself saying, as he thought the reminder might be good after losing like they had. “You’ve had a wonderful year. I’m proud of you.”
He was by this time slightly tipsy, enough that when he leaned over to tell Claude this, he saw no reason to move back when he didn’t want to. He wasn’t even that close, and he wouldn’t have given chase if Claude had moved away.
But Claude did not move away. Instead he sat up straight, tried to stare Danny down but wavered a bit, then finally reached forward and placed his hands at the side of his face.
Danny could only close his eyes, and make himself keep breathing. He wondered if Claude even really comprehended what his touch could do to the older man. He was so used to living with this feeling day in and day out that most of the time he didn’t even notice it anymore, but then at times like this it got so strong he could barely stand it.
But he stayed still, barely allowing his lips even to part a little, as Claude closed the distance between them.
He moaned a little as Claude’s tongue slid into his mouth, placed a hand on Claude’s head and let himself stroke his hair, savoring the curls bouncing around his fingers, just one of many things he’d thought about this past year. Just enough to let Claude know he was enjoying the kiss, but he was still terrified of frightening him off.
His control started to strain when Claude made a noise himself, a hungry little whimper that Danny was going to be dreaming about for days. Fingers and toes clenched; Claude felt the former, no doubt, as they pressed into an ear and caressed the skin of his neck. He was way too erect from this little when he was under the influence.
Heads and hands remained in place as they parted. Danny thought he might have happily stayed where they were right then the entire night.
Then Claude said softly, “This is the longest courtship I have ever heard of.”
“I don’t mind long,” Danny murmured. “Only other courtship I’ve ever been involved in was done really quickly. Might as well try the opposite.”
Claude’s soft, warm laughter was beautiful, Danny found himself thinking as he heard it. He really was pretty far gone, he supposed.
“We should both go to sleep, I think,” said Claude, and there was nothing Danny could do but agree to that.
Claude actually kissed him a second time that night, too, albeit barely, the most hasty peck on the lips which he jerked back from for fear that if they started really kissing again, one of them might not be able to stop. Still Danny’s lips were warm and his body tingling as he slid under the covers in the guest bedroom, to sleep under the same roof as Claude Giroux for the second time since the younger man had left Danny’s own roof.
***
The whiteboard and all four sharpies were on the backseat, in case Mike wanted the distraction, though they were covered with Anna’s spare lacrosse jersey. The kids, Megan was fairly certain, were planning a Mother’s Day surprise for her back home, which was good timing, because she’d always done this drive alone and she wasn’t breaking custom this late in Mike’s career. This was his time, when he didn’t have to worry about their children seeing him upset.
She’d talked to him very briefly on the phone already, to confirm that at least this wasn’t going to be as bad as last year, when she’d taken the long way home because he’d needed the extra time to make himself look presentable again, or the year before, when they’d lost at home and he hadn’t had this time at all, but had needed to keep himself up and composed for over twelve hours. As she pulled into the parking lot, however, she wondered if this would have felt better or worse had he been traded those three months ago, as they’d thought he would have been. Ironically he’d been told the Rangers had been interested in him. Not interested enough, unfortunately. She gladly would have done without him until June to avoid this.
Her timing really was very good. Three minutes after parking Mike came within her sight, walking with Jason. When they saw her car, the two of them patted each other on the back, and he came over alone.
He was starting to sag even before he opened the door, and without any words, she reached out and pulled him in. She’d already put the seats back, and they just fit between driver’s seat and steering wheel as he sank into her, finally able to let go of the tough guy act and feel the pain. Megan herself did the same; tears sprung to her eyes, tears she’d had to hold back the previous night because the kids had been upset enough as it was, and she felt her heart was screaming with pain, feeling now every stab she’d forced herself not to feel for days and weeks and months on his behalf. She couldn’t remember having wanted it this much for him before, when he might not have the chance at it again and even if he did, it wouldn’t be with the team he’d put three long years of work and heart and dedication into.
There were tears from him too; she felt them on her neck. But of course they didn’t last too long, and he made very little noise; they were both of them quiet in their grief. As she ran her hands up and down his body, she could feel where the bruises were new. He hadn’t shaved yet either, which she was less sorry for; that could wait until tomorrow. Before then, she knew, they would make love that night the way they did every year he’d made the playoffs, with her caressing him anywhere she could without causing him serious pain, arching her body into his beard, letting him know without the words that would make it cheesy how no matter the outcome, or how old they were, her feelings were always the same for her warrior after his battles. Except this year she would wonder if it would be the last time she would ever receive him.
It might not be, though, she reminded herself. Especially when his first words, when he was finally ready to speak, were, “I’m not ready for this to end yet.”
There would be questions she would have for him later. What they would do if he signed somewhere else for only a year, if he was even willing to go to Europe if no one in the NHL signed him, and what on Earth they would do then(she kind of felt it would do the kids a disservice to not take the opportunity to expand their world having them live in Europe for a year, but then there were the complications). But there in the car, all thoughts were overwhelmed by the pride that rose in Megan then, and she could only cradle him closer, let herself love him all the more.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” Mike added when he had calmed further. She craned her head down to press her lips to his warm brow. “What do you think the kids are planning?”
“I’ve left the schedule open in case of emergency.” She thought of that whiteboard only a few feet away. There was nothing to put on there for Mike at the moment beyond the following day. There would be again that evening, when she started working on the carpool schedule. Today, however, he might have even needed to nap; he often did the day after the season; especially if it ended with a seventh game.
“That sounds good.” He moved against her, made a noise, and a moment later thought the jersey might have gotten jostled while she’d been moving the seat back and left the board just visible. For a moment she worried about his reaction, but then she could hear his smile as he said, “Let me see the board, and we’ll get home.” He kissed her very gently, a single moment of intense warmth as a hand cupped her ear, and when he pulled away, his face, though still worn, looked much more contented, and very loving. Then he slid off into the passenger’s seat, clearly ready to get back on with his life.