Into the Unknown (1/4) NC-17, co-authored with sheesusnat
Title: Into the Unknown
Authors: sheesusnat and cradle_song
Rating: NC-17
Players: Sidney Crosby/Gilbert Brule
Summary: We’re crashing into the unknown; we’re lost in this, but it feels like home. [First Time, Lifehouse]
Written in alternating viewpoints, starts with Sidney and progresses as Sidney-Gilbert-Sidney-Gilbert, etc. Hope it doesn’t get confusing. *g*
Also, the entire fic is about 40 pages long, so we're going with a part every bite-size ten pages.
Nat's fic is at simplewords_fic. Go read her stuff. She rocks. Like woah. *nod*
~*~
Recchi skated towards the red line, just passing it to avoid an icing, and then dumped the puck into the Blue Jackets zone. Sidney nearly got off the ice.
Nearly.
But there was a number seventeen in a white jersey heading towards the puck, and Sidney could never bear to back down from a competition, even an unspoken one. He followed Brule into the zone, into the corner to retrieve the puck, and shoved him into the glass.
"Fucking pretty boy," Gilbert growled as he tried to shove Sidney away from him. "Go take your fucking line change, bitch."
"Can't fucking handle it when a pretty boy hits you, Bru?" Sidney said in reply, a smirk on his full lips. Gilbert was sufficiently distracted by the response that Sidney got away with the puck, but the Blue Jacket followed close behind.
"I can fucking handle anything you dish out, pretty boy. Fucking bring it on."
A challenge. Cut and dried.
Sidney never backed down from a challenge.
~*~
Before I came to Pittsburgh, I'd never been to a club. And I never went to them as often last season as I have this year--I blame that on our resident drunk, Jordan Staal. Since he came to town, we've been regular patrons of Diesel, which, as he always says, "is the hippest fucking place around."
In all honesty, I think he just loves knowing that they'll serve him, despite being just a month over eighteen.
In any case, I've gotten used to it. We show up around ten, and within a few short minutes, Malone has at least one or two girls hanging all over him on the dance floor, Jordan has a bottle of vodka (or rum, or whiskey, or whatever he feels like drinking on any given night) in one hand, and Malkin is using his translator to try to pick up girls.
I suppose I have my own routine--it generally consists of standing in a corner with a beer and watching my teammates make themselves look like assholes. It's worked quite well so far, and it's surprisingly easy to blend in when a club is dark and the music is loud.
Tonight, though, it seems as if someone else is trying to do exactly that, and it isn't working. Off to the side of the bar, another person stands away from the crowd of writhing, drunken, dancing bodies, wearing a dark shirt, a black jacket, and jeans that are probably navy but look just as black as the rest of his clothing in the failing light.
His hair is deep brown, short, combed forward. His eyes are intense, steely. He's drinking a beer and watching the dance floor. I don't know if he's even seen me. But he will.
"I can fucking handle anything you dish out, pretty boy. Fucking bring it on."
Oh yeah, he'll notice me. I'll make sure of that.
He's still distracted when I walk up to him, so much that he doesn't realize when I step up behind him. If he's so sure he can handle me, well then, I'm going to give him a challenge.
I haven't had anyone resist me yet.
He doesn't even recognize that someone's moved so close to him until I lean in and whisper against his ear.
"So, Gilbert, are you ready to back up your words on the ice?"
-
Dark but for the flashing strobe lights that illuminated the dance floor, music pounding through the walls and through my veins, the bar Rusty had chosen for tonight had actually, for once, fit my tastes. He and Rick had disappeared over an hour ago, probably to one of the back rooms where there were cushioned divans with the scent of sex and stale sweat permeating the cloth. Not that quality ever really matters to those two; they'd fuck in the back alley if that was all that was open to them. Anywhere they could lose themselves in order to forget the brutal losses that marked our season.
Sometimes, I envied them.
Other times I just wanted them to shut the hell up and stop fucking each other against the paper-thin hotel walls.
I took another gulp of my beer, the familiar taste of Labatt going smooth down my throat as I watched the horde of people writhing on the dance floor. Beer and nicotine, a cigarette lit in my free hand; my two favorite vices. I took a drag, inhaling the acrid smoke, filling my lungs with it and exhaling slowly as I idly scanned the crowd. A familiar face stood out and I frowned, looking closer.
Sure enough, there was Ryan Malone, forward of the Pittsburgh Penguins, a girl on either arm, down at the end of the bar. He seemed quite happy--a 5-2 win does that to people, I'm told--and another quick scan of the throng showed me Jordan Staal, tall and blond and tipsy, attempting to dance but failing miserably in his inebriated state.
My eyes narrowed.
Was the whole fucking Pittsburgh team here tonight? And if they were...
I automatically started searching for that one person, that one guy that could, inevitably, ruin my night. Already had, in fact--I'd barely held off laying him out during the game, and now I wished that I had. That smug little bitch always was too high on himself...
"So, Gilbert, are you ready to back up your words on the ice?"
The shock that rippled up my spine made me freeze, but other than that I made no action that would betray my startlement. There was no way I would give him the satisfaction. Not him. Not ever.
So instead, coolly, I turned to face him, gritting my teeth at seeing that smug smirk, that familiar mop of tousled curls he called hair; those overly confident hazel eyes. He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt that glowed under the black lights, illuminating skin which was already pale. The fabric of his jeans hugged the contours of his thighs as if they had been painted on and he was close, close enough that I could almost feel his breath against my skin, and I wondered how in the hell he had gotten so close without me noticing.
I eyed him flatly, imperceptibly tightening my grip on my beer bottle, my cigarette mashing against it.
"Aren't you a little out of your element here, pretty boy?" I sneered.
-
The bastard had "vice" written all over him. The beer, the dark clothing, the slight smell of nicotine wafting in the air around him. He was the seven deadly sins wrapped into one short--but ultimately sexy as hell--package.
"Out of my element?" I echoed, stepping around to face him. His shirt was tighter than I'd realized, the faint outline of sinewy muscle and the ridge of collarbone just barely perceptible under the flickering strobe lights of the club. "Actually, I am right in my element, Bru. You issued a challenge earlier. I'm just holding you to your word."
I stepped closer, purposefully invading his personal space. Forcing him to face me, forcing him to look at me, forcing him to acknowledge that I was here, and not going away anytime soon.
"I want to know if you really can handle me."
-
I hadn't thought that Sid could get any closer but he surprised me, stepping right up into my face, close enough that we were almost touching. To an observer it could almost look as if we were close enough to be lovers, and my skin was absolutely crawling at the personal intrusion. Was he trying to get under my skin?
...stupid question.
But I wasn't going to back down from this. I bared my teeth in a grimace of a smile, narrowing my eyes.
"Not much to handle, Sid," I taunted, keeping my voice soft; the jeer meant for him, only for him. The sound around us lessened to a dull white noise in my ears as I focused on him, solely on him, keeping my anger and my resentment and--admittedly--my curiosity under a tight leash as I met his gaze without backing down. My heart was racing with alcohol, with nicotine, with anticipation, my already hair-trigger nerves on edge with the possibility of a confrontation. Here and now, at last, inevitable.
"And if I recall correctly," I whispered, leaning close, "You were the one who backed down..."
-
Close. Christ, he was close.
I could smell the smoke, the beer on his breath, the smell of whatever soap he'd used after the game. I could practically taste him. And damned if that didn't sound like a fun way to make this challenge even more interesting.
"I was winning," I reminded him. "I had no reason to confront you then, because I'd already won."
This time I did lean closer. Pressed a hand to the center of his chest. I pushed him firmly against the wall, held him there with some pressure from my arm, but more with a look in my eye. Dark, determined, confident.
I could sense the electricity building between us, could sense the undercurrent of annoyance and hatred and...lust that was taking over.
"And I'm going to win this round too."
-
My back hit the wall and I felt something coil in my belly, something heated and dark and intense rearing its head like a wakened animal. It was anger, lord it was anger, but it was also an emotion more subtle; more tenuous and difficult to grasp. It was lust in its blackest form.
I wanted to tear Sidney apart. I wanted to rake my fingers across that flawless skin, mar that perfection that was always associated with him. This wunderkind, this genius, this reshaper of the NHL--pah! I wanted to open him up and see if the adoration given to him was really so well-earned.
I snapped my arm out, snaking my hand around his neck, yanking him close to me. His body pressed against mine and I felt his body heat through our clothes, felt him tense, felt him breathe. I brushed my lips against his ear in a snarl - in mimicry of an intimate gesture.
"You never beat me," I growled. "And you never will, Crosby, off the ice or on."
-
I've heard it said that victory is sweet. Sometimes, though, the competition is just as exciting.
Right now, I'd say the latter is very true.
Gilbert's body is solid, his hand at my neck is strong, his breath is hot against my ear. He might think he has the upper hand--but this is exactly what I wanted. He's getting frustrated.
Often when someone was frustrated, he’d give up control without ever realizing it. I had him right where I wanted him.
"I never will, Brule? Is that so?"
I slid my hand down from his chest, over his stomach, then grasped at his hip and pulled him tight against me. So tight our thighs aligned and he could feel my now hardening cock pressed against his. I wanted to make sure he knew exactly where this was headed.
I looked into his eyes, from only a few inches away. My voice was low, just a bit breathless, but demanding nonetheless. "Prove it. Prove that you can beat me. Because I don't think you can."
-
Sid's chest, his shoulders, his legs, his body fit against me perfectly, and I felt the lust burning in my blood mirrored in the fast pace of his breath; the pounding of his heart that I could feel, even through the layers of cloth. But where my arousal was fueled my anger grew even more at his words, taunting in challenge.
The cocky little fucker!
The rage that had been simmering within me since Sid had decided he was too good to show for the Top Prospects game, the anger that had been forgotten, pushed aside until tonight, finally boiled over. I grabbed him by the throat and spun him around, reversing our positions; slamming him against the wall with my fingers digging into that pale skin. The alcohol and the cigarettes I rarely indulged in, the music and the atmosphere all combined to push me over the edge--the fucking smarmy bastard pushed me over the edge.
I pinned him in place and crushed my mouth against his, my teeth cutting into those oh-so-fuckable lips; marring their perfection and bringing me a bone-deep satisfaction that was only enhanced by the taste of him: like ice, like hockey, like iron in my mouth.
"Just name the place, pretty boy," I hissed.
-
Oh fuck, I thought, but didn't say. I wasn't about to let him know how fucking good that felt. But Christ, I wasn't expecting that. At all. The hand at my throat, the teeth puncturing my lip...Maybe I'd finally met my match.
Nah.
"Follow me, Bru, and we'll get this little competition started."
I slipped away from his grasp, walking towards the exit of the bar. I didn't bother telling any of my teammates--they would be too busy either drinking or having sex to notice I was gone anyway. I simply made my way to the door of the club, strutting and sauntering in the most blatantly sexual way that I could.
When I reached the door, it was raining. It was perfect.
I stepped into the rain, not quite a downpour, but not drizzling either. A moderate rain, splashing from the sidewalks and creating puddles in the alley behind the club, enough to soak through the fabric of my clothes.
It was just enough to cool the fire in my belly, to ease the desperate lust I'd felt only moments before when he'd held me against the wall. It was time to get down to business, and I needed to be as focused as possible.
I was not going to lose this round. Not if it killed me.
-
Jesus fuck.
I stared openly, admiringly, as Sidney sauntered toward the exit. The way he moved... I may hate the bastard but he was damn graceful both on and off the ice, and right then he dripped sex, leaving a trail of open-mouthed drunks behind him as he walked off, not even looking back to see if I was following.
I just barely held myself together enough to not run after him.
Instead I left my beer on the bar with a few bills and walked--casually, calmly--after him, drawing another inhalation of sweet nicotine as I did. My pack was in my back pocket and if the night went like I imagined it might, I would need at least one of those later.
It was raining when I stepped outside and I swore, cupping my hands over my cigarette, trying futilely to keep the water from putting it out. I smoked so rarely it was a damn waste to lose half a cigarette, but nature didn't seem to care so I spat it out in disgust, rubbing it against the sidewalk to make sure it was fully doused.
When I raised my gaze, my breath caught in my throat.
Sid was standing with his back toward me, in the rain, his head tilted just a little up toward the murky sky. His shirt--his shirt, goddamn him for wearing white--was plastered against the toned curves of his back, his flesh visible through the thin layer of cloth. The raging want that I had been trying to suppress came back in full force and this time I didn't even try to stop it, stepping up behind him, pressing against his back and wrapping my arms around him. I slid one hand beneath his shirt, seeing his nipples hard from the cold, slipping my other unabashedly down the front of those so-tight jeans.
If he wanted a challenge...I would deal him one.
"How about here, Sidney?" I purred against his skin, licking the water that slicked his neck. "I could fuck you right here, poster boy. How would you like that? Out here, right now...where anyone could see you begging me to fuck that sweet little ass of yours... Any of your adoring fans..."
-
I got what I wanted--Gilbert was certainly losing control. His hands were everywhere, roughened skin rubbing over my chest, my nipples, my pelvis...fuck. Oh yeah, he lost control a while ago. The only problem was that I was dangerously close to doing the same.
"Fuck," I muttered quietly, hoping he didn't hear, but pretty sure that he did. I arched into his touch involuntarily and let my head fall to one side to give him better access. That mouth was going to be my fucking undoing, I could tell already.
We couldn't do it here--the risk was too great, everyone in this fucking city knew me. But God damn, I wanted it. Right here, in the rain, up against the rough brick wall of a noisy club.
But I wasn't quite that far gone yet.
"You'd fucking love that, to get this on neutral territory. Fuck no, we're doing this on MY home turf," I explained, reluctantly extracting myself from his grasp, sliding my hand around the buckle of his belt and pulling him towards the parking garage.
My car was parked on the top floor, outside, the rain still pouring down. It was dark, and wet, and the hour was far too early for anyone to be leaving the club, but too late for anyone other than revelers to be around.
It was just the right place for down and dirty, rough and angry, lust fueled sex.
At least, for the first round of it.
-
As Sidney pulled me--quite willingly--toward the parking garage, I couldn't help but let a smirk curl my lips. I had known that he wouldn't--couldn't--accept that challenge even before I had said it, but it still brought me some measure of satisfaction. If he wanted to go and be the face of the franchise, face of the NHL poster-boy star, fine. But fame has its prices, and with the anonymity I may have comes a freedom that he'll never obtain.
Why the fuck he had to park all the way on the top floor, however, I didn't know.
When I knew which car was his--a Silver Range Rover whose lights flashed as he used the remote unlock--I took a few quick steps to overtake him, pressing him against the side door of his own car, rubbing wantonly against his back. I roamed my hands all over his body; his back, his chest, his thighs; biting at the base of his neck as I teased his nipples through his shirt. The rain pounded down on us and there was no one in sight; only a flickering, dying lamp and the lights of Pittsburgh illuminating us in the dark.
-
I should've been pushing back, I should've been trying to gain the upper hand. But fuck, it felt too good to stop. He was hard, pressing insistently at my hip, and his hands were everywhere, teasing and pinching and holding me tight against him.
Rather than stop him, I gave in. Just a little. I let my head fall forward, resting my forehead against the cool metal of my car, and pressed my ass back against him. It wasn't a complete show of submission, but it was more than I'd planned to give. But if he was going to lose control, then fuck it, I was going to lose a little control too.
I let out a soft curse and bit down on my lower lip, then reached a hand back to thread through Gilbert's hair, tugging it hard for just the briefest instant, earning a low growl and a hard pinch of my nipple for it.
"You can't fucking wait until we get somewhere else?" I asked, my voice rough with need. I wanted it to come out more strongly, but Christ, what he was doing to my neck should be illegal.
-
The rain was cold but our bodies were hot, defying the chill, and the heat in my blood only grew as Sid pressed back against me, his head falling forward and his spine curving beneath my touch as he gave in, just a little; let go just a bit.
It was absolutely perfect.
I couldn't deny the fact that Sid was beautiful, even in my angriest, most hateful moments. That smooth skin, the toned abs, the lips that just begged to be fucked... Yes, his body was some level of divine. And I had that body hard beneath my touch, forcing him to lose the calm that he had tried to keep. That I wouldn't let him keep.
A calm that I didn't even possess right now.
"No," I whispered harshly, sinking my teeth into his ear. I cupped him between his legs, using my grip to move him aside, enough to get the door open and shove him face-first onto the seat. He landed on his hands and knees and I took a moment to admire that finely sculpted, rounded ass, grinning; licking my lips with a barely-suppressed chuckle as I climbed in after him.
The door slammed closed behind us.
-
This was not the position I had in mind for this. This was the polar opposite of what I had in mind. I needed to get it together, and fast. I turned quickly--as quickly as I could, anyway--in the back seat, facing him now, growling low in my throat as I took in the sight.
His skin was flush with desire, his cheek pink and his eyes darkened to nearly black in the dim light inside the car. His clothing was soaked from the rain, clinging to his slim, but solid body. His jeans weren't terribly loose to begin with, and they were even more snug now, thanks to the raging hard-on he was sporting.
Jesus, this was a pretty win-win situation.
"Fine, you can't wait? We won't wait," I said deviously, a wicked grin curling my lips, and I pulled him down against me, my hands fisted in his shirt.
I kissed him then, forcefully, biting at his lip, my tongue demanding entrance into his mouth. Whether from shock or desire, he let his lips part and he sucked my tongue in, his teeth grazing it, coaxing a soft moan from me. He settled between my legs, a warm weight against me, his hands gripping my hips hard, his breath coming in hot gasps over my cheek.
I yanked his shirt up, and I wasn't quite sure if I was doing it to try to throw him for a loop, or if it was just out of pure desperation on my part, but as long as he kept sucking on my tongue and nibbling at my lip, I didn't really care.
-
Fuck Sid tasted good. Soft, surprisingly sweet, his tongue tangling with my own as if we had done this before in some previous life. He was tugging at my shirt insistently, his hands trying to guide me to do things his way, on his terms, and I just couldn't let that happen. I let him pull my shirt over my head but that was it before I grabbed his wrists, pinning them above him against the side of the seat, growling right in his face. His eyes were lit and his pupils were dilated, dark as sin, and I lowered my mouth to his throat, licking at the bared skin there before moving downward.
The noise Sidney made when I began undoing the buttons of his shirt with my teeth had me wondering just how long I could keep this teasing up before I broke.
But I was nothing if not determined; nothing if not obnoxiously obstinate, and I tried to regulate my breathing in an attempt to calm myself as I parted the cloth of Sid's shirt, nudging it aside with my nose, sucking at the bared skin of his abs and stomach. He was trying to break free of my grip on his wrists, ever the dominant one, but I tightened my grip and brought my hand between his legs, rubbing him firmly, kneading his balls through the tight denim of his jeans. He was hot, hard, heavy, and I could almost feel my mouth watering as I ached to taste him there as well.
-
Jesus.
I knew I was stronger than Gilbert. I knew that I could probably force my hands free if I really tried. But God damn. His mouth was too damn talented, leaving lines of wet fire all over my chest and stomach.
Just as I was about to push back, about to yank my wrists free, then his hand was on me, squeezing, kneading, massaging my crotch through my pants. A low growl ripped from my throat and I arched into the touch instinctively. It was positively un-fucking-fair, because it was nearly impossible to push away from that. It just felt that fucking good.
"Mother...fucker," I gasped softly, forcing my eyelids to open so I could watch him. "Fucking let my hands go..."
It came out weak, breathless, and I suddenly realized that maybe this once, I'd gotten in over my head. And it was getting harder and harder to give a damn about that.
-
I chuckled at Sidney's half-formed plea, pressing a wet kiss just below his bellybutton as my fingers tugged open the button of his jeans, pulling down the zipper. I slipped my hand inside without waiting, grasping him through the thin material of his briefs, feeling the precum that wet the white cloth. I didn't hesitate, didn't think; just lowered my mouth to that spot of dampness, sucking and licking and nuzzling at him hungrily.
But it wasn't enough; wasn't enough to see his mouth drop open as he sucked in a gasp for air, wasn't enough to hear the harsh panting of him breathing. I tugged his briefs down below his balls, gratified to see him long and thick, the head of his cock slicked with precum. I ran my tongue along that leaking slit, just once, and Sid bucked beneath me, letting out a keening sound that went straight to my dick, and I raised my head to smile at him wickedly.
"What, Sid?" I taunted softly, turning his own words on him. "Can't handle me?"
-
Authors: sheesusnat and cradle_song
Rating: NC-17
Players: Sidney Crosby/Gilbert Brule
Summary: We’re crashing into the unknown; we’re lost in this, but it feels like home. [First Time, Lifehouse]
Written in alternating viewpoints, starts with Sidney and progresses as Sidney-Gilbert-Sidney-Gilbert, etc. Hope it doesn’t get confusing. *g*
Also, the entire fic is about 40 pages long, so we're going with a part every bite-size ten pages.
Nat's fic is at simplewords_fic. Go read her stuff. She rocks. Like woah. *nod*
~*~
Recchi skated towards the red line, just passing it to avoid an icing, and then dumped the puck into the Blue Jackets zone. Sidney nearly got off the ice.
Nearly.
But there was a number seventeen in a white jersey heading towards the puck, and Sidney could never bear to back down from a competition, even an unspoken one. He followed Brule into the zone, into the corner to retrieve the puck, and shoved him into the glass.
"Fucking pretty boy," Gilbert growled as he tried to shove Sidney away from him. "Go take your fucking line change, bitch."
"Can't fucking handle it when a pretty boy hits you, Bru?" Sidney said in reply, a smirk on his full lips. Gilbert was sufficiently distracted by the response that Sidney got away with the puck, but the Blue Jacket followed close behind.
"I can fucking handle anything you dish out, pretty boy. Fucking bring it on."
A challenge. Cut and dried.
Sidney never backed down from a challenge.
~*~
Before I came to Pittsburgh, I'd never been to a club. And I never went to them as often last season as I have this year--I blame that on our resident drunk, Jordan Staal. Since he came to town, we've been regular patrons of Diesel, which, as he always says, "is the hippest fucking place around."
In all honesty, I think he just loves knowing that they'll serve him, despite being just a month over eighteen.
In any case, I've gotten used to it. We show up around ten, and within a few short minutes, Malone has at least one or two girls hanging all over him on the dance floor, Jordan has a bottle of vodka (or rum, or whiskey, or whatever he feels like drinking on any given night) in one hand, and Malkin is using his translator to try to pick up girls.
I suppose I have my own routine--it generally consists of standing in a corner with a beer and watching my teammates make themselves look like assholes. It's worked quite well so far, and it's surprisingly easy to blend in when a club is dark and the music is loud.
Tonight, though, it seems as if someone else is trying to do exactly that, and it isn't working. Off to the side of the bar, another person stands away from the crowd of writhing, drunken, dancing bodies, wearing a dark shirt, a black jacket, and jeans that are probably navy but look just as black as the rest of his clothing in the failing light.
His hair is deep brown, short, combed forward. His eyes are intense, steely. He's drinking a beer and watching the dance floor. I don't know if he's even seen me. But he will.
"I can fucking handle anything you dish out, pretty boy. Fucking bring it on."
Oh yeah, he'll notice me. I'll make sure of that.
He's still distracted when I walk up to him, so much that he doesn't realize when I step up behind him. If he's so sure he can handle me, well then, I'm going to give him a challenge.
I haven't had anyone resist me yet.
He doesn't even recognize that someone's moved so close to him until I lean in and whisper against his ear.
"So, Gilbert, are you ready to back up your words on the ice?"
-
Dark but for the flashing strobe lights that illuminated the dance floor, music pounding through the walls and through my veins, the bar Rusty had chosen for tonight had actually, for once, fit my tastes. He and Rick had disappeared over an hour ago, probably to one of the back rooms where there were cushioned divans with the scent of sex and stale sweat permeating the cloth. Not that quality ever really matters to those two; they'd fuck in the back alley if that was all that was open to them. Anywhere they could lose themselves in order to forget the brutal losses that marked our season.
Sometimes, I envied them.
Other times I just wanted them to shut the hell up and stop fucking each other against the paper-thin hotel walls.
I took another gulp of my beer, the familiar taste of Labatt going smooth down my throat as I watched the horde of people writhing on the dance floor. Beer and nicotine, a cigarette lit in my free hand; my two favorite vices. I took a drag, inhaling the acrid smoke, filling my lungs with it and exhaling slowly as I idly scanned the crowd. A familiar face stood out and I frowned, looking closer.
Sure enough, there was Ryan Malone, forward of the Pittsburgh Penguins, a girl on either arm, down at the end of the bar. He seemed quite happy--a 5-2 win does that to people, I'm told--and another quick scan of the throng showed me Jordan Staal, tall and blond and tipsy, attempting to dance but failing miserably in his inebriated state.
My eyes narrowed.
Was the whole fucking Pittsburgh team here tonight? And if they were...
I automatically started searching for that one person, that one guy that could, inevitably, ruin my night. Already had, in fact--I'd barely held off laying him out during the game, and now I wished that I had. That smug little bitch always was too high on himself...
"So, Gilbert, are you ready to back up your words on the ice?"
The shock that rippled up my spine made me freeze, but other than that I made no action that would betray my startlement. There was no way I would give him the satisfaction. Not him. Not ever.
So instead, coolly, I turned to face him, gritting my teeth at seeing that smug smirk, that familiar mop of tousled curls he called hair; those overly confident hazel eyes. He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt that glowed under the black lights, illuminating skin which was already pale. The fabric of his jeans hugged the contours of his thighs as if they had been painted on and he was close, close enough that I could almost feel his breath against my skin, and I wondered how in the hell he had gotten so close without me noticing.
I eyed him flatly, imperceptibly tightening my grip on my beer bottle, my cigarette mashing against it.
"Aren't you a little out of your element here, pretty boy?" I sneered.
-
The bastard had "vice" written all over him. The beer, the dark clothing, the slight smell of nicotine wafting in the air around him. He was the seven deadly sins wrapped into one short--but ultimately sexy as hell--package.
"Out of my element?" I echoed, stepping around to face him. His shirt was tighter than I'd realized, the faint outline of sinewy muscle and the ridge of collarbone just barely perceptible under the flickering strobe lights of the club. "Actually, I am right in my element, Bru. You issued a challenge earlier. I'm just holding you to your word."
I stepped closer, purposefully invading his personal space. Forcing him to face me, forcing him to look at me, forcing him to acknowledge that I was here, and not going away anytime soon.
"I want to know if you really can handle me."
-
I hadn't thought that Sid could get any closer but he surprised me, stepping right up into my face, close enough that we were almost touching. To an observer it could almost look as if we were close enough to be lovers, and my skin was absolutely crawling at the personal intrusion. Was he trying to get under my skin?
...stupid question.
But I wasn't going to back down from this. I bared my teeth in a grimace of a smile, narrowing my eyes.
"Not much to handle, Sid," I taunted, keeping my voice soft; the jeer meant for him, only for him. The sound around us lessened to a dull white noise in my ears as I focused on him, solely on him, keeping my anger and my resentment and--admittedly--my curiosity under a tight leash as I met his gaze without backing down. My heart was racing with alcohol, with nicotine, with anticipation, my already hair-trigger nerves on edge with the possibility of a confrontation. Here and now, at last, inevitable.
"And if I recall correctly," I whispered, leaning close, "You were the one who backed down..."
-
Close. Christ, he was close.
I could smell the smoke, the beer on his breath, the smell of whatever soap he'd used after the game. I could practically taste him. And damned if that didn't sound like a fun way to make this challenge even more interesting.
"I was winning," I reminded him. "I had no reason to confront you then, because I'd already won."
This time I did lean closer. Pressed a hand to the center of his chest. I pushed him firmly against the wall, held him there with some pressure from my arm, but more with a look in my eye. Dark, determined, confident.
I could sense the electricity building between us, could sense the undercurrent of annoyance and hatred and...lust that was taking over.
"And I'm going to win this round too."
-
My back hit the wall and I felt something coil in my belly, something heated and dark and intense rearing its head like a wakened animal. It was anger, lord it was anger, but it was also an emotion more subtle; more tenuous and difficult to grasp. It was lust in its blackest form.
I wanted to tear Sidney apart. I wanted to rake my fingers across that flawless skin, mar that perfection that was always associated with him. This wunderkind, this genius, this reshaper of the NHL--pah! I wanted to open him up and see if the adoration given to him was really so well-earned.
I snapped my arm out, snaking my hand around his neck, yanking him close to me. His body pressed against mine and I felt his body heat through our clothes, felt him tense, felt him breathe. I brushed my lips against his ear in a snarl - in mimicry of an intimate gesture.
"You never beat me," I growled. "And you never will, Crosby, off the ice or on."
-
I've heard it said that victory is sweet. Sometimes, though, the competition is just as exciting.
Right now, I'd say the latter is very true.
Gilbert's body is solid, his hand at my neck is strong, his breath is hot against my ear. He might think he has the upper hand--but this is exactly what I wanted. He's getting frustrated.
Often when someone was frustrated, he’d give up control without ever realizing it. I had him right where I wanted him.
"I never will, Brule? Is that so?"
I slid my hand down from his chest, over his stomach, then grasped at his hip and pulled him tight against me. So tight our thighs aligned and he could feel my now hardening cock pressed against his. I wanted to make sure he knew exactly where this was headed.
I looked into his eyes, from only a few inches away. My voice was low, just a bit breathless, but demanding nonetheless. "Prove it. Prove that you can beat me. Because I don't think you can."
-
Sid's chest, his shoulders, his legs, his body fit against me perfectly, and I felt the lust burning in my blood mirrored in the fast pace of his breath; the pounding of his heart that I could feel, even through the layers of cloth. But where my arousal was fueled my anger grew even more at his words, taunting in challenge.
The cocky little fucker!
The rage that had been simmering within me since Sid had decided he was too good to show for the Top Prospects game, the anger that had been forgotten, pushed aside until tonight, finally boiled over. I grabbed him by the throat and spun him around, reversing our positions; slamming him against the wall with my fingers digging into that pale skin. The alcohol and the cigarettes I rarely indulged in, the music and the atmosphere all combined to push me over the edge--the fucking smarmy bastard pushed me over the edge.
I pinned him in place and crushed my mouth against his, my teeth cutting into those oh-so-fuckable lips; marring their perfection and bringing me a bone-deep satisfaction that was only enhanced by the taste of him: like ice, like hockey, like iron in my mouth.
"Just name the place, pretty boy," I hissed.
-
Oh fuck, I thought, but didn't say. I wasn't about to let him know how fucking good that felt. But Christ, I wasn't expecting that. At all. The hand at my throat, the teeth puncturing my lip...Maybe I'd finally met my match.
Nah.
"Follow me, Bru, and we'll get this little competition started."
I slipped away from his grasp, walking towards the exit of the bar. I didn't bother telling any of my teammates--they would be too busy either drinking or having sex to notice I was gone anyway. I simply made my way to the door of the club, strutting and sauntering in the most blatantly sexual way that I could.
When I reached the door, it was raining. It was perfect.
I stepped into the rain, not quite a downpour, but not drizzling either. A moderate rain, splashing from the sidewalks and creating puddles in the alley behind the club, enough to soak through the fabric of my clothes.
It was just enough to cool the fire in my belly, to ease the desperate lust I'd felt only moments before when he'd held me against the wall. It was time to get down to business, and I needed to be as focused as possible.
I was not going to lose this round. Not if it killed me.
-
Jesus fuck.
I stared openly, admiringly, as Sidney sauntered toward the exit. The way he moved... I may hate the bastard but he was damn graceful both on and off the ice, and right then he dripped sex, leaving a trail of open-mouthed drunks behind him as he walked off, not even looking back to see if I was following.
I just barely held myself together enough to not run after him.
Instead I left my beer on the bar with a few bills and walked--casually, calmly--after him, drawing another inhalation of sweet nicotine as I did. My pack was in my back pocket and if the night went like I imagined it might, I would need at least one of those later.
It was raining when I stepped outside and I swore, cupping my hands over my cigarette, trying futilely to keep the water from putting it out. I smoked so rarely it was a damn waste to lose half a cigarette, but nature didn't seem to care so I spat it out in disgust, rubbing it against the sidewalk to make sure it was fully doused.
When I raised my gaze, my breath caught in my throat.
Sid was standing with his back toward me, in the rain, his head tilted just a little up toward the murky sky. His shirt--his shirt, goddamn him for wearing white--was plastered against the toned curves of his back, his flesh visible through the thin layer of cloth. The raging want that I had been trying to suppress came back in full force and this time I didn't even try to stop it, stepping up behind him, pressing against his back and wrapping my arms around him. I slid one hand beneath his shirt, seeing his nipples hard from the cold, slipping my other unabashedly down the front of those so-tight jeans.
If he wanted a challenge...I would deal him one.
"How about here, Sidney?" I purred against his skin, licking the water that slicked his neck. "I could fuck you right here, poster boy. How would you like that? Out here, right now...where anyone could see you begging me to fuck that sweet little ass of yours... Any of your adoring fans..."
-
I got what I wanted--Gilbert was certainly losing control. His hands were everywhere, roughened skin rubbing over my chest, my nipples, my pelvis...fuck. Oh yeah, he lost control a while ago. The only problem was that I was dangerously close to doing the same.
"Fuck," I muttered quietly, hoping he didn't hear, but pretty sure that he did. I arched into his touch involuntarily and let my head fall to one side to give him better access. That mouth was going to be my fucking undoing, I could tell already.
We couldn't do it here--the risk was too great, everyone in this fucking city knew me. But God damn, I wanted it. Right here, in the rain, up against the rough brick wall of a noisy club.
But I wasn't quite that far gone yet.
"You'd fucking love that, to get this on neutral territory. Fuck no, we're doing this on MY home turf," I explained, reluctantly extracting myself from his grasp, sliding my hand around the buckle of his belt and pulling him towards the parking garage.
My car was parked on the top floor, outside, the rain still pouring down. It was dark, and wet, and the hour was far too early for anyone to be leaving the club, but too late for anyone other than revelers to be around.
It was just the right place for down and dirty, rough and angry, lust fueled sex.
At least, for the first round of it.
-
As Sidney pulled me--quite willingly--toward the parking garage, I couldn't help but let a smirk curl my lips. I had known that he wouldn't--couldn't--accept that challenge even before I had said it, but it still brought me some measure of satisfaction. If he wanted to go and be the face of the franchise, face of the NHL poster-boy star, fine. But fame has its prices, and with the anonymity I may have comes a freedom that he'll never obtain.
Why the fuck he had to park all the way on the top floor, however, I didn't know.
When I knew which car was his--a Silver Range Rover whose lights flashed as he used the remote unlock--I took a few quick steps to overtake him, pressing him against the side door of his own car, rubbing wantonly against his back. I roamed my hands all over his body; his back, his chest, his thighs; biting at the base of his neck as I teased his nipples through his shirt. The rain pounded down on us and there was no one in sight; only a flickering, dying lamp and the lights of Pittsburgh illuminating us in the dark.
-
I should've been pushing back, I should've been trying to gain the upper hand. But fuck, it felt too good to stop. He was hard, pressing insistently at my hip, and his hands were everywhere, teasing and pinching and holding me tight against him.
Rather than stop him, I gave in. Just a little. I let my head fall forward, resting my forehead against the cool metal of my car, and pressed my ass back against him. It wasn't a complete show of submission, but it was more than I'd planned to give. But if he was going to lose control, then fuck it, I was going to lose a little control too.
I let out a soft curse and bit down on my lower lip, then reached a hand back to thread through Gilbert's hair, tugging it hard for just the briefest instant, earning a low growl and a hard pinch of my nipple for it.
"You can't fucking wait until we get somewhere else?" I asked, my voice rough with need. I wanted it to come out more strongly, but Christ, what he was doing to my neck should be illegal.
-
The rain was cold but our bodies were hot, defying the chill, and the heat in my blood only grew as Sid pressed back against me, his head falling forward and his spine curving beneath my touch as he gave in, just a little; let go just a bit.
It was absolutely perfect.
I couldn't deny the fact that Sid was beautiful, even in my angriest, most hateful moments. That smooth skin, the toned abs, the lips that just begged to be fucked... Yes, his body was some level of divine. And I had that body hard beneath my touch, forcing him to lose the calm that he had tried to keep. That I wouldn't let him keep.
A calm that I didn't even possess right now.
"No," I whispered harshly, sinking my teeth into his ear. I cupped him between his legs, using my grip to move him aside, enough to get the door open and shove him face-first onto the seat. He landed on his hands and knees and I took a moment to admire that finely sculpted, rounded ass, grinning; licking my lips with a barely-suppressed chuckle as I climbed in after him.
The door slammed closed behind us.
-
This was not the position I had in mind for this. This was the polar opposite of what I had in mind. I needed to get it together, and fast. I turned quickly--as quickly as I could, anyway--in the back seat, facing him now, growling low in my throat as I took in the sight.
His skin was flush with desire, his cheek pink and his eyes darkened to nearly black in the dim light inside the car. His clothing was soaked from the rain, clinging to his slim, but solid body. His jeans weren't terribly loose to begin with, and they were even more snug now, thanks to the raging hard-on he was sporting.
Jesus, this was a pretty win-win situation.
"Fine, you can't wait? We won't wait," I said deviously, a wicked grin curling my lips, and I pulled him down against me, my hands fisted in his shirt.
I kissed him then, forcefully, biting at his lip, my tongue demanding entrance into his mouth. Whether from shock or desire, he let his lips part and he sucked my tongue in, his teeth grazing it, coaxing a soft moan from me. He settled between my legs, a warm weight against me, his hands gripping my hips hard, his breath coming in hot gasps over my cheek.
I yanked his shirt up, and I wasn't quite sure if I was doing it to try to throw him for a loop, or if it was just out of pure desperation on my part, but as long as he kept sucking on my tongue and nibbling at my lip, I didn't really care.
-
Fuck Sid tasted good. Soft, surprisingly sweet, his tongue tangling with my own as if we had done this before in some previous life. He was tugging at my shirt insistently, his hands trying to guide me to do things his way, on his terms, and I just couldn't let that happen. I let him pull my shirt over my head but that was it before I grabbed his wrists, pinning them above him against the side of the seat, growling right in his face. His eyes were lit and his pupils were dilated, dark as sin, and I lowered my mouth to his throat, licking at the bared skin there before moving downward.
The noise Sidney made when I began undoing the buttons of his shirt with my teeth had me wondering just how long I could keep this teasing up before I broke.
But I was nothing if not determined; nothing if not obnoxiously obstinate, and I tried to regulate my breathing in an attempt to calm myself as I parted the cloth of Sid's shirt, nudging it aside with my nose, sucking at the bared skin of his abs and stomach. He was trying to break free of my grip on his wrists, ever the dominant one, but I tightened my grip and brought my hand between his legs, rubbing him firmly, kneading his balls through the tight denim of his jeans. He was hot, hard, heavy, and I could almost feel my mouth watering as I ached to taste him there as well.
-
Jesus.
I knew I was stronger than Gilbert. I knew that I could probably force my hands free if I really tried. But God damn. His mouth was too damn talented, leaving lines of wet fire all over my chest and stomach.
Just as I was about to push back, about to yank my wrists free, then his hand was on me, squeezing, kneading, massaging my crotch through my pants. A low growl ripped from my throat and I arched into the touch instinctively. It was positively un-fucking-fair, because it was nearly impossible to push away from that. It just felt that fucking good.
"Mother...fucker," I gasped softly, forcing my eyelids to open so I could watch him. "Fucking let my hands go..."
It came out weak, breathless, and I suddenly realized that maybe this once, I'd gotten in over my head. And it was getting harder and harder to give a damn about that.
-
I chuckled at Sidney's half-formed plea, pressing a wet kiss just below his bellybutton as my fingers tugged open the button of his jeans, pulling down the zipper. I slipped my hand inside without waiting, grasping him through the thin material of his briefs, feeling the precum that wet the white cloth. I didn't hesitate, didn't think; just lowered my mouth to that spot of dampness, sucking and licking and nuzzling at him hungrily.
But it wasn't enough; wasn't enough to see his mouth drop open as he sucked in a gasp for air, wasn't enough to hear the harsh panting of him breathing. I tugged his briefs down below his balls, gratified to see him long and thick, the head of his cock slicked with precum. I ran my tongue along that leaking slit, just once, and Sid bucked beneath me, letting out a keening sound that went straight to my dick, and I raised my head to smile at him wickedly.
"What, Sid?" I taunted softly, turning his own words on him. "Can't handle me?"
-