Reveal a Fascination

[vamm_goda]

Title: Reveal a Fascination
Part: 1/1
Author: vamm_goda
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Pairing: Matt Duchene/Jeff Skinner
Rating: Mature/NC-17
Warnings: Faily sex, first time.
Disclaimer: If you got here by googling yourself, your best friend, your teammates, or your dog, I suggest you click the back button and walk away slowly. We’d all be happier that way.
These are lies, and I make no profit from these lies and I don’t own any of the people featured here, because slavery is illegal.
Summary: Matt Duchene has never done this before, but something about Jeff Skinner makes him want to.
Author’s Notes: Written for this prompt at hockeykink anon meme. Reader requested Dutchy/Skinner first time bad sex. I set it at the All Star Game instead of Worlds, though.

Title/cut line from The Distillers “Love is Paranoid”, my songmuse.

||

The first time they meet where they’re actually able to talk to each other is the All Star Weekend in Raleigh. Matt’s sticking close to Paul for the time being, tolerating the older man’s jibes about wide eyed pre teens in exchange for the certain knowledge that he will drive him everywhere and probably also buy him souvenirs if he asks. Paul’s weirdly accommodating like that. So the first time he really runs into Jeff Skinner it’s pretty brief and short, just a sort of awkward head nod across the room like he’s been sharing with what sometimes feels like every other player ever.

So it’s a little bit of a surprise when Jeff actually seeks him out, doesn’t precisely hang out but is just sorta . . . there. Persistently there, always in the periphery but too close to miss throughout all the rest of the day. Behind his shoulder when he’s getting interviewed, in the background of promo photos.

“Hey, so.”

Matt looks up, blinks with a lot of effort. It’s the first night, a mix and mingle going on all around them. Kaner and Paul are trying to convince him that even more vodka is an excellent idea and he’d totally buy into that if he could work his tongue enough to say yes.

And there’s Jeff again, except this time Jeff is talking to him instead of lurking creepily. “Wow, you’re really drunk.” Jeff looks sorta thrown off by that fact, his eyes getting even bigger than they already are, like they might fall out of his head. He giggles to himself. That’s actually funny.

“I. I guess I’ll ask you later,” he says, eyes getting even bigger if that’s possible, and Matt’s giggling and he just keeps going because that shit is hilarious.

“I like your d’mples.”

Jeff looks confused and a little horrified, he has to work hard not to start giggling even more at the expression. “Excuse me?”

“Th’r nice. Pretty.” He looks to Paul for confirmation, but the other man has gone mysteriously scarce. And, well. He’s not good at multitasking right now. Paul could have tattooed his new location on his shoulder and he might not have noticed.

“What are you doing?” He actually sounds vaguely horrified as Matt spins around, trying to get a look at his own back.

He pauses when the spinning makes the world keep revolving around him for a few minutes. “T’ying to see ‘f Stas left me a note.” He knows he sounds crushed when it’s not there. “He d’n’t.”

“Uh, no.” But Jeff’s starting to smile a little, his eyes going all crumpled at the corners as his lips lift up, and Matt watches him because he likes watching him smile. It’s a little bit of a surprise for him to realize, but nothing he can’t handle. He’s never been able to smile like that, he always just looks like a complete goof.

Not that Skinner doesn’t, but. It’s a matter of degrees, of charm, and Matt’s weirdly okay with not having that. It means he gets to watch Jeff smile and all Jeff gets to see is his answering smile that always squeezes his eyes closed and makes him look like he’s just been caught mid sneeze.

Jeff’s laughing, laughing at him, and Matt makes a face before slumping back, stomach quivering. “Shh’t.”

Even he’s not fully sure what he meant by that, but apparently Jeff gets it. “That’s what you get for leaving Kaner and P-Booze in charge of your alcohol consumption.”

“Hey. He’s. Only we call him thas.” He tries to look menacing and from the expression on Jeff’s face he must fail. “D’n’t make fun’a my Paul.”

“Maybe they should have sent Foote, he might do a better job looking after you.” Jeff’s leaning back, just watching him with that same little amused smile as though Staaler is doing such a stellar job in comparison. He’s not actively trying to get Jeff drunk, so maybe he is.

He tries to think about that for a second. “Footer’s . . . Captain’s good, Paul’s g’na be nesht.” It’s not widely public yet, but in the locker room it’s right there, hovering. Footer’s gonna retire for real, like Patrick and not Peter, and go to wherever good defensemen go when they leave. Valhalla, or maybe just Toronto.

“You look like you’re gonna be sick any moment now.”

The room is spinning suspiciously. He’d kinda thought that maybe it was doing that for everyone, but no. Apparently he’s the only one taking this little ride right now. Except for Lindstrom, he looks a little green even for a Red Wing. Matt feels like he should hate him on principle even here, but all he can manage is nausea that's more or less probably the alcohol talking.

“I gotta tell Kaner to play ‘um to the ground,” he mumbles absently, then looks up to see Jeff. “Oh, hi. Jeff.”

“Did they seriously leave you alone like this?” He’s casting his eyes around like he’s gonna drag someone older and more responsible into the fray, except there’s really no one who isn’t drunk anywhere around. So Matt just offers him the bottle, smile a little shy because he’s pretty sure here in the US this isn’t technically legal, but whatever.

Jeff doesn’t get wasted, but he drinks steady and Matt slows down and by the end of the evening they’ve met each other somewhere in the middle of drunkenness where everything is mellow and easy and things just get said because there’s really no reason not to say them. Matt gets the feeling he’s gonna regret that in the morning, but it’ll be a tossup between regretting the vodka and regretting telling Jeff that he thinks he’s cute. And besides, Jeff is sharing his vodka and tells him that he's cute right back so it isn’t like they aren’t in the same mildly tipsy, oversharing boat.

“Like, y’re cute,” he promises him with all the earnest sincerity of the thoroughly drunk. “Cute. Like.”

“Yu’r cute. S’t up,” Jeff orders, adding a brilliant blush along his cheekbones to the already stunningly adorable smile and Matt just sorta keeps watching him because flushed and giggly Jeff is hilarious. At the moment Jeff can’t stop laughing and Matt can’t stop telling people how much he loves them. It works out great.

"We should. I dunno. I h'v a room?" Matt's not really sure what he's asking, but Jeff nods as if he totally gets it, gets Matt, and they stumble to their feet with a lot of giggles and hands all over each other as they try to manage the really, really complex task of standing on their own three feet.

Four. Matt has to recount. Or one of them lost a limb. He’d probably notice that, though. He’s a hockey player.

Somehow Jeff’s hands are under the edge of his shirt, and he kinda has his face pressed to Jeff’s neck, and that’s excellent, now he’s close enough to lick him and keep his balance, which is exactly what he’d been hoping for all along, or for at least as long as he’s had his face in Jeff’s neck.

“I love you, Skins,” he mumbles against his neck, and Jeff laughs and shoves him away. They tangle and somehow end up falling over with what feels like the entire NHL staring at them as they flop around like caught fish.

Jeff starts giggling at roughly the same time Matt declares his epic love for every single one of them, and everything gets back to normal as they find their feet and try to figure out which one belongs to which. Jeff struggles as he tries to support the other boy. Well, not so much support but whatever. Mutual leaning and stumbling totally counts as supporting in its own way.

“Whatever,” he says, arm settling around Jeff’s waist. “Y’r awsum. And cute. Awsum ‘n cute.”

“We’re so wasted.” Jeff says it like he’s a little shocked about it, and Matt laughs because they are so not wasted. Wasted was Ovechkin, dancing with a bemused Tazer and drunkenly calling him Sidney. They are. They’re tipsy, maybe. Fumbly, kinda awkward. Not wasted, not at all.

Somehow he manages to remember where his and Paul’s room is, and by another fluke he actually finds his key to let himself and Jeff in. It’s like a night of miracles.

Jeff’s still being his tripod, or maybe it’s vice versa. It’s really hard to tell quite frankly, and it doesn’t much matter because they end up in Matt’s room anyway, and when Jeff drops him onto the bed he accidentally drops himself into the bed as well and they laugh about that for at least a minute or two before they’re kissing.

It’s sorta aimless and messy, all teeth and tongues and wet as Jeff winds his hands into Matt’s hair and sucks the residual alcohol off his tongue, and it’s great. Matt really, really likes the way their lips slot together, the heat of Jeff’s skin against his palms as he slides his hands under his shirt. Jeff’s hand does this tickling thing against his hip and he’s got a hand tangled in his curls. They end up making out on Matt’s bed, and it’s awesome. Jeff’s cheeks are soft and smooth like a chick’s, and Matt’s totally not fooling himself because he’s sorta suspiciously beardless, too. Good thing there’s like, no shot at a Cup this year, maybe he can do something to grow a decent beard during the offseason. Does Rogaine work on faces? Should it really matter when he’s got Jeff Skinner’s lips parted under his?

After a few seconds Jeff nips his lip and no, playoff beards don't matter at all, really.

At some point they must pass out, because he wakes up to Jeff's head pillowed on his belly and Paul standing over him looking both slightly horrified and not at all hung over.

“If you debauched the rookie, Eric’s gonna kill you.”

He turns to glare, and his head splits open. Stas is probably standing in the sunlight just to spite him. He says something that may or may not be in English, it's sorta hard for Matt to tell.

Paul just keeps looking at him for a few seconds, waiting for an answer, then shakes his head and wanders off to take a shower as though he’s so fucking mature compared to Matt.

“Hey. Hey, Jeff.” He pokes at his curls with one finger, and Jeff stirs against his belly, nuzzling at his hipbone with his cheek. Matt bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, and reminds himself he’s not sixteen anymore, he’s not allowed to pop inappropriate boners. “Hey. Jeff. Wake up. Eric’s probably . . .” not worried, not Eric. “Concerned.”

Jeff’s eyes open slowly at Eric’s name, and he blinks up at Matt a couple times, his hand tightening and loosening convulsively in the fabric of his track pants. Seriously, if he had known he probably would have dressed better, only he’s not really sure what he means by known. Known Jeff would follow him back? Known that they’d . . .

Jeff has a hickey tracing the line of his collarbone, and Matt blushes a little. Okay, maybe he’s secretly still a middle schooler after all.

“Oh, right.” He looks entirely too unaffected by the vodka, though Matt has to admit that he probably drank more than Jeff so maybe he looks perfectly affected. “Hey, um.”

They both suck at this. “Yeah. We should hang out again.”

Jeff looks like he’s appraising him, looking over him and then nodding slowly. “Yeah, totally. Sometime soon, right?”

“Right,” he agrees, because it’s not like they’re gonna have unlimited time to hang out. They play the ‘Canes once a year, it’s just not likely. “Cool.”

“Matty, your boyfriend better be gone when I get out,” Paul yells, and Matt rolls his eyes, poking Jeff.

“He’s seen dick before, you’re nothing special,” he calls back, but he’s busy trying to rush Jeff to his feet while also not puking, so it’s not his best comeback ever.

Actually, it might be, and that’s sorta pathetic.

Jeff looks determined to linger, and Matt’d be okay with that except for Paul sounded like he sorta meant it about clearing Jeff out. And he's also a step away from puking and that's not conducive to whatever they did last night at all.

Jeff’s barely out the door before Matt’s in the bathroom throwing up everything he’s eaten in the past week, and Paul’s standing over him wrapped in a towel, lecturing him about water consumption and maybe something about shellfish, the acoustics inside a toilet fuck with his comprehension.

"Bite me, Stazzle Dazzle," he moans, and Paul slaps him in the back of his head with a wet towel. Probably the towel that was around his waist, so Matt's sorta glad his face is buried in the toilet right now so he doesn't have to see that.

When he manages to get his head out Paul’s dressed and handing him a glass of water and some aspirin, sitting on the counter while he showers and just generally making sure he doesn’t accidentally die in an embarrassing shower related incident, which feels painfully likely at the moment.

They manage to get where they need to be at roughly the right moment, and Matt is seriously in debt with the draft committee because if Paul ever so much as mentions last night again he’s got a pocket of “Weren’t you almost the last pick?”s all lined up and ready to use, like a smattering of skills shots.

||

Turns out talking to Jeff while sober is a little different, probably because he’s actually aware of what his tongue is saying, and it’s exactly as stupid as what he said while drunk. Except he’s totally aware of how stupid it is, and that makes him self-conscious and therefore stupider.

Jeff’s smiling at him, though, and he appears to be as nervous as Matt so there’s that to keep him from getting too weird about everything.

“I um. I know you’re sharing your room with Paul and all.”

Matt nods, doesn’t trust himself to say anything because if he does, it’ll be dumb.

“I. Um. I live here, y’know? And I. Uh. I have my own place, if you want to?”

Now he’s moved on to staring, watching that red flush move over Jeff’s collarbone and up his neck to settle on his face. He’s pretty sure Jeff’s waiting for him to say something.

“I have an xBox?” The red’s reaching a really intriguing shade, and he can see a sheen of sweat forming over the front of his throat.

He’s suddenly reminded of how nice it was licking that off. “Yeah, that’d be fun.” For some reason his brain then supplies “I like xBox.” He tries to salvage that little pearl of wisdom and somehow ends up finishing with “But I like you more.”

He’s pretty sure he should shut up.

They stand there and stare at each other for a few seconds during which time Jeff looks confused and Matt wishes very earnestly to die.

But all Jeff says is “I have a car,” like that’s some sort of revelation, and he keeps getting redder while Matt laughs nervously because he doesn’t. He trusted Paul to drive, for reasons he doesn’t fully understand right now.

So they end up inside Jeff’s car, Matt slouched low in the passenger seat as though anyone in Raleigh would know who the hell he is while he texts Paul to let him know not to wait up. Saying ‘Because I’m probably hopefully gonna be having sex with Jeff Skinner’ feels a little presumptuous, so he doesn’t bother to explain.

Paul knows, though. Because Paul always fucking knows when it comes to Matt. condoms r ur buddy, ericll kill u if u knock him up.

His teammates are the worst human beings ever.

“So.” He looks up from furiously punching out a response. Jeff’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, gripping it tight enough that Matt can hear the leather creaking under his palm. “Um. I really do have an xBox.”

Matt feels his face fall, but he just nods. Clearly he misread everything, and he’s doomed to an evening of orgasmless gaming. His life is disappointingly chaste like that. “I. I really do like playing xBox. Paul’s better’n me, though. He says college is good for that.”

Jeff sorta looks over at him, and his mouth gapes just a little and Matt tries not to notice how nice that looks because they’re just gonna be playing xBox, apparently.

“No. I mean. I really do, but. That’s not. Not why . . .” He trails off, turning his eyes back to the road and taking a slightly illegal turn that has Matt scrambling for the Oh Shit Handle and bracing his legs on the floorboard.

Once the car is back on four wheels Jeff continues. “That’s not . . . we made out last night.”

“Yes,” Matt agrees, trying to keep his voice level. He’s watched enough cop shows with Footer, he knows how to talk in a hostage situation. If Jeff’s gonna freak out about last night he’d really like it if he didn’t kill them both while doing it.

“Um.” Jeff bites his lip and looks over at Matt again. He almost begs him to watch the road, but he also sorta likes the way Jeff looks when he’s biting his lip and looking at him. Even though he has to remind himself again that he’s not 16 anymore. “I. I’ve never done that.”

“Um. You were really good at it?”

Jeff punches his shoulder and he flinches away just a little. “No, Jesus. I mean. With a guy.”

Oh. “Well, me neither.” He sorta feels like he should be pretending to be worldly or something, but Liles’s told him often enough to stick with that straight up Canadian honesty thing. “The guy thing.”

There’s a bit of quiet in the car while Matt fiddles with his hands and Jeff fiddles with the steering wheel, and then Matt sighs and leans back in his seat. “But. I want to. I like it.”

“Yeah.” Jeff’s voice is so quiet it almost disappears.

“Okay, so.” He tries to sound more self assured than he feels, tries to sound confident and prepared and totally on top of it even though he can feel his heart jackhammering in a loud and not entirely pleased sort of way. “We, uh. When we get to your . . .”

“We’re here.”

Matt looks out the window. He was sorta hoping for more time to psych himself up. “That was quick.”

Jeff shrugs, palming his keys and looking over at Matt with eyes bordering on popping again, so Matt leans over and kisses him.

It seemed like a really great plan at the second he’d had it, but the angle’s weird and he’s got Jeff’s parking brake jammed into his belly. Still, he’s a hockey player, he knows how to work with less than ideal angles. It’s just that his lips are not a puck and Jeff is not an open net, so rather than actually working it just ends up with him smushing his lips half into Jeff’s, half into the side of his face. In fact, he narrowly avoids planting one on the seat rest through sheer luck.

When he pulls back Jeff looks torn between amused and intrigued, and so the second kiss totally works out a lot better because he’s leaning into it and so Matt can lean back and release some of that pressure from the parking brake.

Turns out that kissing Jeff while sober is harder than when he was drunk. Misjudging the distance, bumping noses like they’re both ten and trying to figure this out for the first time, their teeth knock a little bit and Jeff kinda gets the short end of the stick there because Matt is not exactly lacking in teeth.

They have to readjust again and again before it really works, but once they get it right it's really nice, actually. Jeff kisses like he enjoys it, like it's something he wants to do rather than just a prelude to sex, and Matt's apparently into that. Jeff tastes nice and his lips are soft but a little bit chapped, and he can actually feel a little bit of a burn on his face when he nips across his jaw, so it's great. Their tongues slide together, Jeff stroking at the roof of his mouth, petting.

“House,” he whispers into Jeff’s lips, except they both have lunch breath so it’s the opposite of as sexy as he had hoped it would be. But Jeff just nods, eyes going huge again and he laughs because, yeah. That’s never not gonna be funny, sober or not.

It’s not until he’s getting out of the car that it dawns on him that kissing Jeff in a car on a public street was sorta . . . not subtle at all. It’s sorta painfully obvious, actually. Apparently he really sucks at clandestine dude hookups.

. . . Not that this is something he’s given a lot of thought about being good at.

Jeff’s hands are shaking a little bit as he works the door open, and Matt slouches into his shoulders as he follows him in, toeing off his shoes. Jeff reaches for him once he’s got his hat off and he goes into it because he has no reason not to.

Apparently practice makes better. This time their lips slot easily, only a little knocking and Jeff laughs, leaning into him. They’re near the same size, Matt has some weight on him and that’s about it, but something about Jeff feels weirdly fragile. Maybe it’s what Matt’s feeling, it’s hard to tell. There’s a million things he’s thinking about and not a single one that he’s actually put into practice, it’s like suddenly needing to figure out a complex play after only seeing it once on screen. Maybe he shouldn’t be comparing sex with hockey, but. Well, it’s the one thing they both know, it feels safe.

Kissing is nice, though. It’s something they’re getting better at, so maybe there’s something like hope for them if they just keep at it.

Jeff’s busy swallowing his tongue when his hands find their way to his butt, and he can feel the younger boy going still and anxious. So he strokes his tongue in his mouth, trying to keep him from pulling away because, yeah. He liked how Jeff’s ass looked in his slacks and he really likes how it feels in his hands.

He’s into dudes, or at least Jeff Skinner. He can totally roll with that, though, just as long as Jeff keeps making those whimpering sounds into his mouth and rubbing against him with sharp little unconscious movements. He’s 100% into that, dude or not.

When they pull apart Jeff’s lips are cherry red, a faint flush covering his cheeks and jaw line and Matt leans forward to nip at him gently.

“So? You? Uh,” Jeff starts, but then his face turns to a shade Matt’s never seen human skin turn before, like instant lobster caliber sunburn, and he giggles a little bit which is apparently the wrong answer because Jeff starts to back away, face wary.

“Hey, hey. No, no stay.” He reaches forward, fingers digging into Jeff’s forearm and he yelps. “Sorry.”

“ ‘skay,” he offers, voice soft, but then he looks at Matt, eyes straight across and level . “Have you? With. With a guy?”

“No.” It’s honesty, and he can see Jeff starting to relax by degrees, so of course he opens his mouth and offers “Paulie says we have to use a condom, though.”

Jeff looks like he’s just seen his mother walk into the house behind him. Matt almost checks over his shoulder, except he’s facing the front door. So unless Jeff’s mom is a ninja and came in a window, it’s probably not that. “You talk about sex with your team mates?”

Oh, gross. “Hell, no. He guessed.”

“That doesn’t help.”

He shrugs, relaxing so his hands settle on the high curve of Jeff’s ass. “We weren’t exactly sly last night, dude.”

He has a point, and Jeff concedes his point with a sigh, leaning into him. “Can we please not talk about Stastny?”

Matt looks at him, a little perplexed. He always talks about Paul. “Um. Okay. We could. We could make out some more, that was pretty awesome.”

It’s sorta awkward and weird, and maybe that’s how sex is supposed to be, but he’s pretty sure it’s not.

Jeff finally nods shyly, so he leans forward and slots their lips together, soft and easy like a good pass. He seems willing to let Matt take charge, as though his year advance makes him some sort of expert in the gay hookup department. And that’d be awesome, except he has zero clue what he’s doing, and now he feels like he has to bluff some sort of experience, unless Jeff is the sorta guy who’d get weirded out by too much experience, in which case . . .

“Ow.” Jeff’s licking at his lower lip. “You bit me.”

Thinking and kissing don’t mix, apparently. “Um, sorry. That seems way sexier in movies and stuff.”

“No, it’s. Maybe not like you’re trying to give me a lip ring.”

“Sure.” He shrugs, blushing, leans in and licks the hurt away, tongue teasing over him until Jeff’s making pleased little sounds into his mouth, arching into him. Matt totally approves of anything that has Jeff rubbing against him, so he starts kissing him deeper, letting himself relax into the sensation and just appreciate the teeth and tongue and wetness without tacking the word ‘guy’s’ onto all of them. He’d probably be okay doing this all day, really, except Jeff shifts just right and makes this little curious sound into his mouth, like he’s busy learning something, and suddenly he’d really like it if they could find a bedroom or something.

Unfortunately Jeff’s the only one who knows where it is, so Matt has to let him lead him. Except Jeff’s still kissing him and making those ‘huh’ sounds into his mouth, and it sorta feels like he’s not planning on heading that way nearly soon enough for Matt.

He noses at his throat, leaving a series of soft bites that Jeff whimpers at, then pulls back and mumbles “Bedroom?” He feels sorta stupid putting it like that, but Jeff seems okay with it, tugging him along with little rumbling sounds. They trip over each other and their teeth knock each time they do, and it hurts pretty bad a few times, but they’re hockey players. Those teeth’ll be gone soon enough. Stupid teeth, anyway.

Their legs feel clumsy and stupid but that’s okay, especially when they no longer need to be supporting them as they sorta tumble in a heap onto Jeff’s bed. The nearby furniture survives the wipeout with the exclusion of a kicked over computer chair. Matt tries to make it look like he meant to do that, but really he’d mostly just not been paying attention and wiped out on it, taking Jeff down with him with a little grunt of surprise.

Once they’re here it’s a little easier. It’s more like last night, and Jeff climbs onto him and starts kissing him deeper. It doesn’t work great when they’re near the same damn size, but it’s good enough. He can’t help sorta jerking spastically against Jeff, hips jumping and stuttering against him as grinds down on him. It’s nice, really nice, but eventually it’s not enough.

“Can I blow you?”

Jeff moans. It’s low and deep and fucking sexy and Matt watches him hopefully, waits for the word go.

Finally he gets it, Jeff gasping and moaning it out. Matt’s fingers fumble with his pants a little, tangling on the belt. He’s never taken one off from this side before, angle’s strange but he works it out, working them down. It’s a graceless mess, Jeff’s arching to try and help him out and mistiming it horribly, but eventually he’s got them down, eyes settling on Jeff. His shirt is twisted up, muscles in his thighs and belly trembling.

He licks his lips, allows himself to look down.

Thing is? Matt’s never done this before. It’s happened to him, a few times. Not as many times as he’d like, but his mama raised him not to take advantage and since there’s not a whole lot of time for dating when you’re married to hockey . . .

Another breath, pushed out through his nose, and then he licks his lips again. But, really, how hard can it be? Drunk people manage it, and he’s totally not drunk. Anymore.

He’s hesitant, he knows he is, because it’s a little bit gross when he really thinks about it. But also Jeff is hot, and that should probably trump the vague grossness of the idea, so he leans forward and licks over his cock, just a light touch to decide if he’s really capable of doing this.

Jeff groans, fingers fisting in the sheets, and Matt tries it again, pressing a little harder and a little longer with his tongue, tracing the head. Okay, he can probably do this. Then he looks up at Jeff and decides he has to, because he’s not gonna go down in Jeff’s memory as a cocktease. He has a reputation to maintain. Develop. Whatever.

It’s a lot harder than it looks, it takes coordination he wasn’t aware of and Jeff keeps thrusting just a little, just enough that it scares him off and he pulls away before trying again. He knows the basic concept, but it’s a lot to remember when he’s also getting into it, listening to the sounds Jeff’s making and pressing himself into the bed in an effort to take the edge off. This would be a lot easier if Jeff would just settle down and stop moving. But it’d probably be a bad sign if Jeff acted any different. At least with the thrusting and the moaning he knows he's doing a good job of it.

Jeff is making these ridiculous little sounds that would never actually be hot in normal circumstances, but with Jeff’s cock in his mouth he’s really, really into them. He finally settles down into doing it, into blowing Jeff, and he sucks experimentally, listening to the sounds he makes and adjusting himself accordingly.

He’s working his tongue over Jeff, sucking and trying to develop something like a rhythm as he goes. He can’t take him deep or anything, but Jeff seems totally into being licked and sucked, jacked when Matt has to take a breath. He’ll figure out how to breathe while doing it, he promises himself and Jeff silently as he works his tongue over him, teasing the vein on the underside. Jeff thrusts a little and he tries to relax his throat and jaw, opening up enough to let Jeff move a little, fuck his mouth, and of course Jeff takes advantage.

“Fuck, Matt,” he moans, hands falling to his hair and petting a little hard. “Fuck, you’re so. God, hot shit, harder.”

His jaw is starting to ache so he complies, sucking at Jeff with increased vigor, taking the pearly drops of precome into his mouth. After that it’s seconds, Jeff is shouting and coming and Matt’s pulling away to work him with his hand while he spills wet and messy all over his hand and maybe a little on his jaw, he’s not sure because suddenly everything is pain.

Jeff leans forward to kiss him, and Matt’s moving back and the universe conspires in a perfectly sadistic way and he ends up with dick where dick does not ever belong.

“Ow!” He sits up and Jeff turns even redder, trying to sit up and grab for him.

“I’m sorry!” he yelps, hands reaching for Matt’s face.

“That was my eye.” And if there was anything Matt was expecting, a dick in his eye wasn’t one of them. He needs both his eyes to play, he can’t exactly have his career ended like this, he’ll never even be able to tell people how it happened. Dick related injury is not a great story to tell people.

His eye is watering when he lowers his hands to look at Jeff, and Jeff giggles just a little before getting serious, reaching out to swipe something off his jaw. “I’m sorry!” he promises, even through the laugh. “I’m really sorry! I didn’t . . . how’s your eye?”

“Watering,” he replies, blinking morosely. He can still see okay, but it stings. “For that, you should totally let me fuck you.”

Jeff goes still and quiet, and Matt would laugh it off except his eye really hurts.

“I’d be okay with that,” he murmurs, after a second of watching Matt closely. “I mean. Yeah. I’m good with that.”

Matt had mostly been joking. He’s never . . . whatever, he totally knows how it works in theory, it can’t be any harder than learning to skate for the first time. Probably.

Except his parents aren’t here to help.

. . . Thank God.

“It’s creepy, you’re looking at me like a play,” Jeff mumbles, hair in disarray and dick starting to perk up against his belly. Clearly he’s lying, because his dick seems totally on board with being looked at like a play.

“This might be easier with play diagrams,” he admits, and if it were Paul he’d never live that down, but it’s Jeff, so he just gets it. He looks so stupidly serious, so totally devoted to figuring this out alongside Matt, and it’s not like it’d normally be hot, but right now it is.

Jeff reaches over to the nightstand, fumbles it open and after some digging comes up with condoms and lube. He offers them to Matt, as though Matt has any fucking clue what to do with them.

“You’re the one with the supplies,” Matt offers stupidly.

“You’re the one who wants to fuck me. I’d be into that,” Jeff admits, his voice tapering off to paper softness. “I’ve. It’s what we need, right?”

“I guess?” He’s eyeing it a little sideways, but Jeff just pushes them into his hands.

“Here.” He wiggles all the way out of his pants, pulling his shirt off. It’s all very no nonsense, he’s not even trying to make it look sexy, but Matt can’t seem to take his eyes away. It’s not hot like it’s porn, or anything, but it’s still hot.

Jeff lays back, settling himself and sorta blushing. “You should not be wearing all that.”

Matt looks down at his - dammit, jizz stained - shirt. “I. Oh, right.” And maybe he tries to make a little bit of a show of it, but Jeff starts stroking himself as he watches and once he starts doing that Matt could care less about how sexy he looks getting out of his clothes, he just wants them off.

They sit there for a second, neither moving, and Matt blushes. “I don’t . . .”

“I did research,” Jeff blurts out, then blushes.

Matt might be staring. A lot. “How, by watching porn?”

“. . .Maybe?”

Matt has to remind himself that the image of Jeff watching gay porn on his TV downstairs isn’t hot, it’s sorta creepy. Fortunately for Jeff, his dick disagrees. His dick is totally into Jeff watching porn for research, and would be okay with Matt joining him, maybe.

Jeff hands him the lube first, and he’s blushing but he mumbles “Use a lot, okay? And. One by one.”

Matt looks down at his fingers. There is no way this is gonna work.

Except Jeff looks so stubborn he can’t say no. It’s not exactly hot, not objectively, but right then it’s doing something for him.

The lube is slick and sorta cold, that seems uncomfortable so he lets it warm on his fingers for a few seconds before he reaches for Jeff.

His legs snap closed like a trap, and Matt yelps and jumps backward, almost falling off the bed.

“Sorry!” Jeff’s painfully red, and he tries to spread himself out again. “Sorry, I’m nervous.”

So is Matt, but he’s not going anywhere near that death trap again. “Um, maybe not . . .”

“I can do it.” He looks so serious, so determined, and he spreads his legs a little wider like he’s waiting for Matt to situate himself there.

Maybe if he’s careful. And doesn’t spook him.

He creeps close, and when Jeff doesn’t do it again he settles himself between his legs. He read somewhere that the femur is really strong. Probably Jeff won’t break his legs if he panics again. “I haven’t even touched you.”

“I know. Sorry.” He leans back. “Just. Warn me.”

“Like when I’m about to touch you?”

“Yeahhhh.” Jeff’s breath comes out on a sigh, and Matt shrugs.

“Sorry. I figured better to just do it.”

Jeff wriggles around on his finger. It’s weird, it feels too tight for him to imagine his dick ever getting in there. But apparently it can happen, who is he to question the experts. He sorta wriggles his finger while Jeff slowly relaxes. When he doesn’t feel like his finger might fall off from lack of circulation anymore he starts to thrust shallowly. Jeff relaxes pretty well after that, and after a few minutes Matt risks adding a second finger. He’s not 100% positive how to know when it’s time, but Jeff takes it with just a little groan, a slight hitch in his hips before he’s rolling down on him.

He seems good with it, but he’s also getting soft, and that makes Matt panic a little. “You okay?”

Jeff cracks his eyes. “What? It’s weird, but it’s not bad.” Unspoken not yet. “Keep going.”

Matt does, thrusting a little more, trying to space his fingers out to give a stretch, but he has to reach up and jack Jeff off as he does. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna be enjoying this. He’ll never forgive himself if Jeff doesn’t.

Third finger goes in a little harder, Jeff gasps so he jerks him harder, working all three of his fingers until Jeff’s panting and moving around and pressing himself back onto Matt. He figures that’s a good sign, pulls out and has to wipe his hands on the sheets so that he can get the foil open. He could have planned that better, maybe. Next time.

He has to get more lube, and he’s not skimpy because Jeff told him not to be, and Jeff’s apparently the one who knows a little bit about this. Jeff’s watching him with huge eyes, and he feels a little smug except he’s pretty sure he’d have freaked out at a single finger, so he’s doing great.

“You’re doing great,” he promises, then bites his lip. Maybe using a coach’s encouraging words is not the best possible thing to do. But Jeff just arches his hips a little and waits, so Matt lines up and pushes into him as slow as he can manage.

It’s really, really difficult. Jeff feels about as amazing as he could ever wish for, but he’s also making sounds like he’s in pain so he has to restrain himself from going as fast as he’d like. He has to give him time to adjust, and he’s halfway to bored by the time he finally nods. Jeff nods, whispers “Yeah, go,” in a breathy voice that isn’t all pain, and so Matt starts to move.

He’s not exactly bringing any experience at all to the table, but judging from the sounds Jeff’s okay with that. He’s starting to breathe faster, exhales coming on a whine, and he sorta sounds like one of those annoying lady’s tennis players. It’s not even sexy but right now it’s the best sound ever.

He might be putting bruises into Jeff’s hips. He hopes not, he really doesn’t, because that’ll be embarrassing for both of them tomorrow. Jeff for having them, Matt for the staring he’d be guaranteed to do.

Jeff’s panting and groaning, and Matt reaches to jerk him off as he finally manages to work out a rhythm in and out of him. It feels good, it feels amazing, he’s having a hard time thinking about anything except heat and pressure and movement. He’s gonna come embarrassingly fast from this, and when Jeff leans forward and catches his lips as he spills over Matt’s fist for the second time it’s only a matter of moments before he’s exploding, turning inside out and shaking and blissing. It’s fire and rave lights and overwhelming comfort all at once and he sorta crushes Jeff under himself when his arm’s no longer capable of supporting him.

The only time Jeff makes even a sound of discomfort is when Matt pulls out. He whines then, and Jesus Matt’s sorta half hard again at the idea Jeff didn’t want him to go.

“That was great,” Matt manages when he comes back, wrapping his arms around Jeff. Jeff blushes, leans in and kisses him.

“I dunno, I thought we could use some practice.”

He pulls back, watches him with eyes slowly returning to their normal size. “Practice?”

Jeff shrugs. “We play hockey. How else can you get better, if not practice?”

“. . . My eye barely survived the last time.”

In retrospect, he should totally expect the pillow hitting him in the face. But it ends with Jeff pinning him to the bed as he rolls up against him and yeah.

Maybe it was sorta awkward and weird, but he’d be into seeing if practice made perfect with Jeff.

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