Annulus: Romance, PG-13, hockey_fc challenge
His protégé.
Always there to explain when I need him to. Gesticulating and translating, never resenting my lack of understanding or endless inquiries.
His companion.
Driving toward the net as I race close behind. A deke, a drop-and a distraction. I cradle the puck he left me and burst around him, snapping a shot through the legs of the surprised defenseman and over the goalie’s shoulder. He turns back to look at me and the grin on his face is wide and bright as I tackle him against the boards in jubilation.
His artwork.
His breath panting soft and fast against my neck. Lips press against my shoulder, a hand smoothing across my belly to cup my hip, fingers curling around my length. His touch wrings hoarse moans from my throat, pleasure exploding in white-hot stars beneath my eyelids; my existence a culmination of the array of rapturous constellations his fingertips paint across my flesh.
His lover.
The sunrise peeks through the closed curtains, playing light across the bed and our entwined bodies. The gentle glow softens his pale skin, sheening his blond hair a silky gold and throwing into sharp relief the curves and contours of his body. I curl my arm around his waist and nuzzle closer to that source of pure energy, of radiant life; tucking my face against his neck and reveling in the warmth he manages to fill me with even while he sleeps.
His.
-
Always there to explain when I need him to. Gesticulating and translating, never resenting my lack of understanding or endless inquiries.
His companion.
Driving toward the net as I race close behind. A deke, a drop-and a distraction. I cradle the puck he left me and burst around him, snapping a shot through the legs of the surprised defenseman and over the goalie’s shoulder. He turns back to look at me and the grin on his face is wide and bright as I tackle him against the boards in jubilation.
His artwork.
His breath panting soft and fast against my neck. Lips press against my shoulder, a hand smoothing across my belly to cup my hip, fingers curling around my length. His touch wrings hoarse moans from my throat, pleasure exploding in white-hot stars beneath my eyelids; my existence a culmination of the array of rapturous constellations his fingertips paint across my flesh.
His lover.
The sunrise peeks through the closed curtains, playing light across the bed and our entwined bodies. The gentle glow softens his pale skin, sheening his blond hair a silky gold and throwing into sharp relief the curves and contours of his body. I curl my arm around his waist and nuzzle closer to that source of pure energy, of radiant life; tucking my face against his neck and reveling in the warmth he manages to fill me with even while he sleeps.
His.
-