Exhaustion: G, Fluff
The light was still on when I crept into the hotel room, easing the door open and closing it softly behind me. It didn’t turn out to be indicative of any wakefulness, however; the still form sprawled across the far bed was out cold, still clad in suit and tie. An indulgent smile touched my lips as I let my bag slide onto the free bed, next to the one already there, and as I walked across the room I loosened the cuffs of my dress shirt, leaning down and rubbing my palm down a strong spine.
“Sergei,” I murmured, stroking his shoulders. He stirred a little, mumbling, caught in that half-aware state between slumber and wakefulness with a small frown creasing his forehead as I shook him gently. He was stretched across the length of the bed, head pillowed on his folded arms, shoes still on his feet and hair floppily mussed.
“Love, you can’t sleep in your suit. Sergei...”
“Mmrmph nrgh,” came the less-than coherent reply. Foggy blue eyes fluttered open as Sergei blinked at me sleepily, uncomprehendingly; and then he buried his face back in his arm with a soft whine.
I had to stifle the urge to grab him in my arms and thus force him into wakefulness. God, but Sergei could be too damn adorable sometimes.
Games against Anaheim always tended to be brutal and tonight had been no different, except for the fact that Sergei, my defensively-minded forward, had instead been an offensively-minded defenseman. Hitch had absolutely flayed him for icetime, throwing him out there nearly every third shift, pairing him with either Rusty or Ron, sticking him on the penalty kill, the power play-he’d played more minutes than anyone but Rusty. Sergei is amazing but he’s not indestructible, and he’s not the same youthful forward he had been back in Detroit when Scotty Bowman stuck him on defense. On the way back to the hotel he’d nearly fallen asleep on my shoulder in the bus, the adrenalin of the game worn off and the fatigue in his body kicking in. I’d sent him up to the room ahead of me while I checked in with Hitch for the both of us, wanting him to have more time to rest; to get undressed and curl up in bed with his arms wrapped around the pillow as he always did when he was exhausted.
Clearly, he hadn’t gotten that far.
I allowed myself a few moments to enjoy having Sergei lying there with me, rubbing his back, listening to his soft breathing. The weariness he felt was palpable and I brushed some of the hair away from his face, leaning down to press my lips against his temple. He didn’t open his eyes but he did murmur a little, quietly sighing into his sleeve in contentment. I couldn’t worry about him, not when he was so happy playing, but I could at least take care of him.
I shrugged off my suit jacket and laid it on the back of a chair, toeing my shoes off into the corner before starting in on Sergei’s. First shoes, then socks; rolling him onto his back and ignoring the sleepy grumbling, picking open the buttons of his jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned next and both were pulled off his shoulders, down his arms and tossed onto the floor haphazardly (it was a horrible shirt, really). Belt followed shoes, pants followed shirt, and I took a minute to strip down to my boxers before attempting to tuck him beneath the blankets, sliding in beside.
Almost immediately a strong arm hooked around my waist. A lean body pressed close against me, Sergei nestling close and tucking his face into the crook of my shoulder and neck. I smiled, stroking his bare back, running my fingertips across the lines of scars and smoothing my palm across smooth unblemished skin. He was completely trusting like this: exhausted, drained, allowing me to take care of him in a way he let no one else. He took comfort in having me with him, and it made me absolutely ecstatic that I could provide it. So very strong…I cupped my hand against his hip, turning off the lamp, plunging the room into quiet darkness as I reveled in the feel of him against me; still new, still novel and wonderfully exhilarating.
“Go’asleep, Nikky,” Sergei mumbled.
I smiled.
“Da.”
-
“Sergei,” I murmured, stroking his shoulders. He stirred a little, mumbling, caught in that half-aware state between slumber and wakefulness with a small frown creasing his forehead as I shook him gently. He was stretched across the length of the bed, head pillowed on his folded arms, shoes still on his feet and hair floppily mussed.
“Love, you can’t sleep in your suit. Sergei...”
“Mmrmph nrgh,” came the less-than coherent reply. Foggy blue eyes fluttered open as Sergei blinked at me sleepily, uncomprehendingly; and then he buried his face back in his arm with a soft whine.
I had to stifle the urge to grab him in my arms and thus force him into wakefulness. God, but Sergei could be too damn adorable sometimes.
Games against Anaheim always tended to be brutal and tonight had been no different, except for the fact that Sergei, my defensively-minded forward, had instead been an offensively-minded defenseman. Hitch had absolutely flayed him for icetime, throwing him out there nearly every third shift, pairing him with either Rusty or Ron, sticking him on the penalty kill, the power play-he’d played more minutes than anyone but Rusty. Sergei is amazing but he’s not indestructible, and he’s not the same youthful forward he had been back in Detroit when Scotty Bowman stuck him on defense. On the way back to the hotel he’d nearly fallen asleep on my shoulder in the bus, the adrenalin of the game worn off and the fatigue in his body kicking in. I’d sent him up to the room ahead of me while I checked in with Hitch for the both of us, wanting him to have more time to rest; to get undressed and curl up in bed with his arms wrapped around the pillow as he always did when he was exhausted.
Clearly, he hadn’t gotten that far.
I allowed myself a few moments to enjoy having Sergei lying there with me, rubbing his back, listening to his soft breathing. The weariness he felt was palpable and I brushed some of the hair away from his face, leaning down to press my lips against his temple. He didn’t open his eyes but he did murmur a little, quietly sighing into his sleeve in contentment. I couldn’t worry about him, not when he was so happy playing, but I could at least take care of him.
I shrugged off my suit jacket and laid it on the back of a chair, toeing my shoes off into the corner before starting in on Sergei’s. First shoes, then socks; rolling him onto his back and ignoring the sleepy grumbling, picking open the buttons of his jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned next and both were pulled off his shoulders, down his arms and tossed onto the floor haphazardly (it was a horrible shirt, really). Belt followed shoes, pants followed shirt, and I took a minute to strip down to my boxers before attempting to tuck him beneath the blankets, sliding in beside.
Almost immediately a strong arm hooked around my waist. A lean body pressed close against me, Sergei nestling close and tucking his face into the crook of my shoulder and neck. I smiled, stroking his bare back, running my fingertips across the lines of scars and smoothing my palm across smooth unblemished skin. He was completely trusting like this: exhausted, drained, allowing me to take care of him in a way he let no one else. He took comfort in having me with him, and it made me absolutely ecstatic that I could provide it. So very strong…I cupped my hand against his hip, turning off the lamp, plunging the room into quiet darkness as I reveled in the feel of him against me; still new, still novel and wonderfully exhilarating.
“Go’asleep, Nikky,” Sergei mumbled.
I smiled.
“Da.”
-