Sense: Romance, R
Sergei likes how Nikolai appeals to all five of his senses.
When they’re together, close and joined at the hip, Sergei finds he’s inescapably lulled into an almost blissful peacefulness with Nikolai around. On the bus, with Nikolai’s head resting on his shoulder, hair tickling his neck; on the plane, when Nik curls up tiredly on the two seats next to Sergei’s own, his head resting in Sergei’s lap-showering close together after a game, exchanging quick kisses and touches that make their teammates roll their eyes and pitch bars of soap in their direction. Nikolai freshly showered, soap and shampoo over that elusive masculine scent that he always exudes, or even sweating after a game or sweating after sex just always gets to Sergei, tugging on his heartstrings with every memory associated with it. Every recollection of Nikolai cradled in his arms, head tucked against his collarbone-every recollection of being held himself, Nik murmuring soft and soothing words during times he was so overwhelmed that he fell apart in his lover’s arms. Nikolai is safety, security, and though he’ll never admit to it, Sergei stole one of his ties last season while he was out with an ankle injury, in order to have that instant sense of serenity to salve his soul while away. Nikolai is his lover, his mate, and there’s nothing that warms his heart so much as burying his nose in soft dark hair and inhaling the scent of the person he cares the most about; the person who returns his feelings with a passion equal to his own.
And then there’s the way Nikolai tastes. Without being too vulgar, Sergei would say that Nik is like an exotic spice: tangy and fiery, and completely irresistible. (Being completely vulgar, he would say that having Nikolai’s cock sliding across his tongue as the younger man moans and clutches the sheets is one of the most pleasurable things in the world, and yes, he tastes damn good.) The flavor of Nik after a hard practice as Sergei scrapes his teeth down his neck; the flavor of him clean after a shower when he licks away the little droplets of water still dotting the back of his neck. Whether Nik’s skin is salty sweaty or spicy smooth, Sergei loves it all-especially when considering Nikolai also has those incongruously sweet lips that Sergei takes advantage of to ravish every chance he gets.
There’s sight, of course, which just might be Sergei’s most-utilized method of awareness. He had seen Nik before any of his other senses kicked in-and what a sight he had been. Even after the trial of flights and delays his first day arriving in Columbus, Sergei still had stopped to take the time to appreciate that firm, lithe build; those long legs bared by a pair of barely-there running shorts, powerful thighs and calves tensed in effort as Nikolai had exercised with the weights. The sweat from his workout had slicked his skin a golden sheen and with his eyes closed, jaw clenched in concentration, Sergei could honestly say that Nikolai was the best thing he’d seen that entire day. That progressed to Nikolai being the best thing he’d seen in his entire lifetime, especially after he was able to witness the young Ukrainian’s neck arched in supplication, soulful grey eyes wide and glazed in pleasure as he orgasmed. The sight of Nikolai with his chest heaving, his limbs slack, his lips parted as he pants for air after coming might very well be one of the most enthralling things Sergei’s ever witnessed. And that doesn’t even take into account the raw appeal of Nikolai: of that endearing mop of curls he insists is hair, of those grey eyes so knowledgeable of life yet so innocent themselves, of the unassuming way he carries himself or even the shy, happy smile he has that crinkles his eyes at the corners and lights his entire face up like a sweet child’s. Sergei could content himself with just watching Nik all day, and sometimes he does: especially in the mornings when his lover is curled up asleep at his side, peaceful and unaware.
And if seeing Nikolai wasn’t enough, the feel of him just pleases all the more. If Sergei were charged to physically describe Nikolai in one word, it would be ‘soft’. Soft caramel skin, soft locks of brown-black hair; soft pink lips that part unquestioningly when he brushes against them with his tongue. Acres of smooth flesh for him to tease with his mouth; gentle curves of strong hips that he can rest his palms against. Hot, slick pleasure as he slides into that willing body, fingers curling against his shoulders and then nails digging in as Nik loses control and arches against him. He loves touching his lover: loves to run his fingers though those messy locks of hair, loves to drag his fingertips across skin scarred and skin unblemished; loves the feel of Nikolai pressed against his chest as they sit on the couch watching the television, a movie, reading a book or even just staying still, lost in each other’s arms. He loves Nikolai’s strong body lying next to him at night; loves the feel of toned muscle beneath his hands and the suggestion of power that lies within that supple frame.
And hearing him. God, but he could listen to Nikolai for hours on end. His voice fervent and passionate when he talks about his joys and dreams, or soft and sad when he speaks of the trials he’s faced in his life-anything. Sergei finds it mesmerizing when Nikolai actually breaks his unconscious desire to keep quiet, so very shy normally. When he really gets going on a subject Sergei rarely interrupts, too caught up in listening to that smooth, gentle baritone. And being able to hear that same voice husky and rough in arousal, moaning, pleading, gasping… Sergei quite unashamedly considers himself to be one of the most fortunate men on the planet. And he uses that position with an equal amount of shamelessness-keeping his lover on the cusp of orgasm, letting him beg and groan and whimper as long as possible so that he gets to hear that throaty voice just a bit longer. When Nikolai finally does come, depending on what they’ve done it’s with a hoarse shout, or a soft keening; even a breathless, drawn-out moan if Sergei plays his cards right. The variety of sounds Nik makes in bed is nearly endless, and he pleases himself with trying to hear every single one of them.
But the appeal that Nikolai has to Sergei, the draw that keeps them inextricably bound together, doesn’t just rest on his five senses alone. If there were a sixth sense-which he scoffs at the mere idea of, intangible as it is-it would have to do with the tug he feels in his chest when he sees Nik lying asleep, or the protective fury that rises in his throat any time his lover is checked on ice. That feeling of terror when the idea of Nikolai leaving him ever crosses his mind-that would be his sixth sense. The sense that tells him this is right, this is good; that this is what is meant to be, and to lose it would destroy him.
And that sense of assured purpose is what drives him, despite all the issues it might raise and the people it might offend (not that Sergei cares), to get down on one knee and ask a wide-eyed Ukrainian hockey player if he’ll consent to marry him.
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When they’re together, close and joined at the hip, Sergei finds he’s inescapably lulled into an almost blissful peacefulness with Nikolai around. On the bus, with Nikolai’s head resting on his shoulder, hair tickling his neck; on the plane, when Nik curls up tiredly on the two seats next to Sergei’s own, his head resting in Sergei’s lap-showering close together after a game, exchanging quick kisses and touches that make their teammates roll their eyes and pitch bars of soap in their direction. Nikolai freshly showered, soap and shampoo over that elusive masculine scent that he always exudes, or even sweating after a game or sweating after sex just always gets to Sergei, tugging on his heartstrings with every memory associated with it. Every recollection of Nikolai cradled in his arms, head tucked against his collarbone-every recollection of being held himself, Nik murmuring soft and soothing words during times he was so overwhelmed that he fell apart in his lover’s arms. Nikolai is safety, security, and though he’ll never admit to it, Sergei stole one of his ties last season while he was out with an ankle injury, in order to have that instant sense of serenity to salve his soul while away. Nikolai is his lover, his mate, and there’s nothing that warms his heart so much as burying his nose in soft dark hair and inhaling the scent of the person he cares the most about; the person who returns his feelings with a passion equal to his own.
And then there’s the way Nikolai tastes. Without being too vulgar, Sergei would say that Nik is like an exotic spice: tangy and fiery, and completely irresistible. (Being completely vulgar, he would say that having Nikolai’s cock sliding across his tongue as the younger man moans and clutches the sheets is one of the most pleasurable things in the world, and yes, he tastes damn good.) The flavor of Nik after a hard practice as Sergei scrapes his teeth down his neck; the flavor of him clean after a shower when he licks away the little droplets of water still dotting the back of his neck. Whether Nik’s skin is salty sweaty or spicy smooth, Sergei loves it all-especially when considering Nikolai also has those incongruously sweet lips that Sergei takes advantage of to ravish every chance he gets.
There’s sight, of course, which just might be Sergei’s most-utilized method of awareness. He had seen Nik before any of his other senses kicked in-and what a sight he had been. Even after the trial of flights and delays his first day arriving in Columbus, Sergei still had stopped to take the time to appreciate that firm, lithe build; those long legs bared by a pair of barely-there running shorts, powerful thighs and calves tensed in effort as Nikolai had exercised with the weights. The sweat from his workout had slicked his skin a golden sheen and with his eyes closed, jaw clenched in concentration, Sergei could honestly say that Nikolai was the best thing he’d seen that entire day. That progressed to Nikolai being the best thing he’d seen in his entire lifetime, especially after he was able to witness the young Ukrainian’s neck arched in supplication, soulful grey eyes wide and glazed in pleasure as he orgasmed. The sight of Nikolai with his chest heaving, his limbs slack, his lips parted as he pants for air after coming might very well be one of the most enthralling things Sergei’s ever witnessed. And that doesn’t even take into account the raw appeal of Nikolai: of that endearing mop of curls he insists is hair, of those grey eyes so knowledgeable of life yet so innocent themselves, of the unassuming way he carries himself or even the shy, happy smile he has that crinkles his eyes at the corners and lights his entire face up like a sweet child’s. Sergei could content himself with just watching Nik all day, and sometimes he does: especially in the mornings when his lover is curled up asleep at his side, peaceful and unaware.
And if seeing Nikolai wasn’t enough, the feel of him just pleases all the more. If Sergei were charged to physically describe Nikolai in one word, it would be ‘soft’. Soft caramel skin, soft locks of brown-black hair; soft pink lips that part unquestioningly when he brushes against them with his tongue. Acres of smooth flesh for him to tease with his mouth; gentle curves of strong hips that he can rest his palms against. Hot, slick pleasure as he slides into that willing body, fingers curling against his shoulders and then nails digging in as Nik loses control and arches against him. He loves touching his lover: loves to run his fingers though those messy locks of hair, loves to drag his fingertips across skin scarred and skin unblemished; loves the feel of Nikolai pressed against his chest as they sit on the couch watching the television, a movie, reading a book or even just staying still, lost in each other’s arms. He loves Nikolai’s strong body lying next to him at night; loves the feel of toned muscle beneath his hands and the suggestion of power that lies within that supple frame.
And hearing him. God, but he could listen to Nikolai for hours on end. His voice fervent and passionate when he talks about his joys and dreams, or soft and sad when he speaks of the trials he’s faced in his life-anything. Sergei finds it mesmerizing when Nikolai actually breaks his unconscious desire to keep quiet, so very shy normally. When he really gets going on a subject Sergei rarely interrupts, too caught up in listening to that smooth, gentle baritone. And being able to hear that same voice husky and rough in arousal, moaning, pleading, gasping… Sergei quite unashamedly considers himself to be one of the most fortunate men on the planet. And he uses that position with an equal amount of shamelessness-keeping his lover on the cusp of orgasm, letting him beg and groan and whimper as long as possible so that he gets to hear that throaty voice just a bit longer. When Nikolai finally does come, depending on what they’ve done it’s with a hoarse shout, or a soft keening; even a breathless, drawn-out moan if Sergei plays his cards right. The variety of sounds Nik makes in bed is nearly endless, and he pleases himself with trying to hear every single one of them.
But the appeal that Nikolai has to Sergei, the draw that keeps them inextricably bound together, doesn’t just rest on his five senses alone. If there were a sixth sense-which he scoffs at the mere idea of, intangible as it is-it would have to do with the tug he feels in his chest when he sees Nik lying asleep, or the protective fury that rises in his throat any time his lover is checked on ice. That feeling of terror when the idea of Nikolai leaving him ever crosses his mind-that would be his sixth sense. The sense that tells him this is right, this is good; that this is what is meant to be, and to lose it would destroy him.
And that sense of assured purpose is what drives him, despite all the issues it might raise and the people it might offend (not that Sergei cares), to get down on one knee and ask a wide-eyed Ukrainian hockey player if he’ll consent to marry him.
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