Flights of Angels: NC-17, Romance/Angst
You know, I can take the benchings. I can take the implications that I haven’t played well enough; that I haven’t tried hard enough. Those I can understand, because it is true I haven’t been scoring-even if the reason is because I’ve been stuck on the fourth line. If they expect me to make money out of manure every night that I play for less than five minutes, then clearly I’m not fulfilling expectations. So all that, I can take. It stings, but I can take it.
But when the sweetest, gentlest, most caring guy I have ever known and who I live and breathe for comes home with his eyes hollow and crushed-that’s when I want to start smashing things.
Nikolai slipped into the apartment sometime past midnight, stirring me from my book-induced slumber. I had tried to stay up to wait for him, getting back into town after a short road trip in which I had been blandly informed of my non-participation in. It was the start of the season and we weren’t doing well-of our last five games we’d won only one and lost the rest, two of which were at home.
Hamlet fell open onto my stomach as I struggled into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes and watching Nik blearily from the living room couch. It was dark and I could barely see his face, but the weary language of his body told a significant story.
His shoulders were slumped. The black material of his suit stretched across the strong length of his shoulders as he slowly opened the foyer closet and placed his bag carefully inside, trying to stay quiet for the sleeping me-who-wasn’t-actually-sleeping. His head was bowed and the overall appearance of his composure struck me as dead-tired; as defeated. He stood in the doorway and leaned against the wall, fingers slowly undoing the buttons of his suit-jacket, tilting his head back, his eyes closed and just enough light casting over his face to reveal the turmoil twisting his features. He looked like he was struggling to keep from screaming, or crying, or both; a war of emotions taking place in the sharp contours of his face.
“Nikky?” I called, softly, my voice modulated as if I were trying to soothe a wounded animal. He froze but he didn’t open his eyes, didn’t turn to look at me; so I got up from the couch and padded across the room to his side. I could smell the scent of stale sweat beneath hastily-applied cologne as I slid my arms around his waist, searching his face for a change in expression. His eyes slowly slid open and they were sunken and weary, black in the gloom and nearly unreadable.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. Nik tilted his head down and I pressed another to his lips, arching my neck to nuzzle the sensitive spot beneath his ear.
“Tired,” he whispered hoarsely. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his face against my shoulder; even though he had to lean down to do so. “’m so tired, Gilbert…”
I stroked my hands down his back soothingly as a little worry bubbled up inside of me. I’d never before seen Nikolai this tense, this wound up. Tension was fairly humming through his body, and yet his stance was that of a man completely and utterly exhausted.
I slid my hand into his and twined our fingers together, tugging a little.
“Take a shower,” I suggested, gently caressing his cheek.
“No, ‘bear…I just wanna go to sleep…” Nikky mumbled the words into my shirt. His words slurred together, and I squeezed his hand in mine.
‘No, you don’t. You want to try and go to sleep. But you’re so on edge, Nikky; so on edge that I’m afraid you’re about to shatter into little pieces. Your mind is tired but your body isn’t, and it won’t do you any good to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling...’
“Come on, you’ll feel better,” I coaxed, pulling him forward. He stumbled a little, dragging his feet as I guided him in the direction of the bathroom, vaguely mumbling protests. I turned on the water in the shower, helping Nik out of his clothes as it warmed up. He barely resisted, but didn’t do much to help, either; I took his face in my hands, looking into his eyes.
They were tired and nearly broken, and that just scared me so fucking badly.
Wordlessly, I stripped out of my own clothes and pulled Nik into the shower, sliding the glass door shut behind us. It fogged up almost immediately, the hot steam condensing and forming a hazy wall to our side. I stood with the showerhead at my back, focusing the spray on Nikky; picking up his little bottle of green tea shampoo and squeezing some into my hand.
Nik moaned a little as I rubbed my fingers against his scalp, gently massaging the shampoo into his hair. A bit of the tension between his shoulder blades loosened, his chin dipping closer to his chest, and I raked my fingers through the sudsy mess of curls in firm but gentle strokes. A little sigh escaped him and I kissed the back of his neck, tasting him and the soap and the water running down his body.
Nikolai is…well, competitive isn’t really the word for it. He doesn’t compete against anyone; he’s just driven. If he’s involved in something he’ll give it everything he’s got, always at 110%-never stopping to slow down or give a thought to how it’s affecting himself. He’ll push and push until he drops to his knees from exhaustion, only then satisfied with his effort. And what’s worse is that he tries to take all of the responsibility, all of the blame, onto himself; instead of leaving it at the feet of the people it truly belongs to.
It isn’t so much that he hates losing, as much as it is that he hates letting people down.
I soaped Nik up with quick, efficient strokes, washing away the accumulated grime from hockey and roadtrips and cabs that just refused to be clean. He stood there, numbly, letting me handle him like a doll as I turned off the water, reaching out of the shower and patting around for the towels hanging on the rack. One went around my own waist, the other went to patting him dry, and his lack of response concerned me. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor as I fairly led him out of the bathroom, looking very lost and small within his six-foot frame; that stressed feel still radiating from his body.
I bit my lip, watching him for a moment before coming up with an idea.
“Lay down,” I murmured, rubbing small circles into his hip as I guided him to the bed. He wordlessly obeyed, crawling onto the mattress and lying with his head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed in bone-deep weariness. I kept my eyes on him as I went to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of boxers, discarding the towel and pulling them on; picking out a bottle of oil from the desk drawer as I returned. I stood at the foot of the bed and gently nudged Nikky’s thighs apart, pausing as he lifted his head to look back at me with a tired protest on his lips.
“’bear, I’m not…”
“It’s okay, Nikky,” I soothed, brushing my fingers down his leg, eliciting a shudder; turning the bottle so he could see that it was oil, not lube. “I know you’re tired. I just want to help you relax.”
After a heartbeat Nik slowly nodded, and laid his head back down again. I climbed onto the bed; sitting cross-legged between his spread legs as I popped open the cap of the oil. It was light and smelled of only a hint of jasmine, and I poured some into my hands, rubbing them together to warm it before lowering my palms to Nikolai’s body.
He tensed at the initial contact. But as I smoothed my hands across his skin, stroking gently down his back, he slowly relaxed, letting out a little sigh that was both breathy and exhausted. I worked the oil into his skin with tender rubs, not even trying to get to the knotted, bunched-up muscles below just yet. This wasn’t about expediency, or even pleasure; it was about Nikolai-about the frightening slump of his shoulders and the beaten look in his silver-gray eyes that was just so worrying to see. He ached, his pain palpable in the lines of his body, and my heart ached for him because I loved him; loved him so much, loved him too much to let him be swallowed by that weary defeat.
I started with the muscles of his legs first, pressing the base of my palm into the back of his thigh and kneading the oil-slick flesh, feeling the lines of tension running from his calf to his knee to his thigh. He moaned softly, shifting beneath my touch as I worked his thighs, his calves, his feet; pressing my thumbs to his soles and rubbing out the accumulated stress of skating and walking and even just standing. His body spasmed when I moved up his spine, grinding out the tautness curving his lower back and the rigid set in his shoulders. They were the worst, his shoulders; knots of tension deep below the skin from the weight of responsibility, the weight of loss. I spent a long time on his neck and shoulders, pulling his arms out from under his head and placing a pillow beneath it instead so I could work on them as well. Nikolai’s eyes were still closed but they were active beneath fluttering eyelids, his beautiful face twisted in some expression that was neither pleasure nor pain, but some indescribable emotion caught between.
He mumbled a little when I gently eased him onto his back, though his eyes remained closed. The tension was gradually, slowly easing out of his body: leaving in sharp painful cracks as I massaged the joints of his fingers; in long soothing pulls as I kneaded his chest. The little moans of pleasure were coming almost nonstop, now, rumbling noises from deep within his chest vibrating against my palms as I stroked his skin. I settled back between his legs and pushed his knees farther apart, rubbing my thumbs across the sinewy muscles that connected thigh to pelvis, feeling him shiver with the sensitivity of the skin there. I kept my eyes on his face, watching his expression, as I lowered my head and slipped the head of his soft penis into my mouth.
Eyes wide shut. I’d never before understood what that saying really meant. But as Nikolai’s eyes snapped open, wide and glazed and completely unseeing of the world in front of him, I thought it had a little more merit than I had previously given it credit for. Nikky whimpered as I laved his dick with my tongue in gentle, curling strokes, reveling at the feel of him growing hard inside of my mouth. I worked my throat around him even as I caressed his trembling legs; he tried to reach for me, tried to respond, but the massage had been deep and I’d left no strength to be had in those powerful muscles. Just loose pliability, and Nik could only curl his fingers in the sheets, arching up against me with a low, throaty moan.
His hips began pumping, little jerky thrusts into my mouth as he sought for a control that I was working hard to make him lose. I pressed my palms up beneath his knees, pulling them over my shoulders into a more comfortable position as I bobbed my head, sliding my lips down his cock and up again until just the tip was pressed between my lips. I moved unhurriedly, with lazy licks and easy sucks as I stroked his hips and thighs; bringing him up gradually, sequentially, stringing him along and listening to his gasps as I progressively increased both pressure and speed.
His knuckles were white; white against white sheets as a hoarse, keening cry escaped him. His eyes had closed again, face twisted in ecstasy as he lost his inhibitions-and lost the check on his emotions. I watched the expressions play across his features as he convulsed beneath me, hips rocking feverishly as his cock slid in and out of my mouth. Pain, pleasure, loss, guilt, worry, joy-tears leaked from the corners of eyes as the dizzying contrast of sentiments tore through him; the intensity of his orgasm attesting to the amount of inner turmoil he was experiencing. I swallowed all that I could, working my throat around him and lapping at what leaked from my mouth. I licked him clean and nuzzled the inside of his thigh, gently easing his trembling legs from my shoulders, splaying them on either side of my head.
When his eyes finally opened, they were wet silver and tearfully wanting.
“Gilbert…”
Without a word I crawled up the bed. His arms wrapped around me tight and I held him close, stroking his back as he shook like a leaf in the wind caught and held steady only by my embrace. People sweat to lose heat and Nikolai shivered to lose all his bottled up emotions, and I wrapped the blankets around us as if to form a cocoon that was safe from the world. Safe from a sport that consumed our souls, safe from a society that would turn on us if they knew that we loved; safe from friends and fans and family; safe from all the misfortunes that came with being human.
“Love you,” I murmured into the damp tangles of his hair. “Here for you.”
“I know,” he whispered back shakily. His lips brushed against my chest as he spoke, chapped skin rough against my bare skin. “I know.”
Later there would be time for explanations. Later, when we would curl up on the couch with hot tea and blini, resting against each other and supporting each other, he could tell me all his pains. Later, when he wasn’t so overcome with stress and anxiety that he was reduced to an emotional wreck in my arms, we could talk about this and figure out what to do about it.
But for now he was exhausted, spent and weary, and even if it was only a mental band-aid for now, I could be content. If I had brought him peace for just this night, I could be happy. The lines of tension in his body were gone, soothed away, and as he drifted into slumber I kissed his forehead tenderly, brushing the messy locks of hair from his eyes.
“Good night, sweet prince…and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
-
But when the sweetest, gentlest, most caring guy I have ever known and who I live and breathe for comes home with his eyes hollow and crushed-that’s when I want to start smashing things.
Nikolai slipped into the apartment sometime past midnight, stirring me from my book-induced slumber. I had tried to stay up to wait for him, getting back into town after a short road trip in which I had been blandly informed of my non-participation in. It was the start of the season and we weren’t doing well-of our last five games we’d won only one and lost the rest, two of which were at home.
Hamlet fell open onto my stomach as I struggled into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes and watching Nik blearily from the living room couch. It was dark and I could barely see his face, but the weary language of his body told a significant story.
His shoulders were slumped. The black material of his suit stretched across the strong length of his shoulders as he slowly opened the foyer closet and placed his bag carefully inside, trying to stay quiet for the sleeping me-who-wasn’t-actually-sleeping. His head was bowed and the overall appearance of his composure struck me as dead-tired; as defeated. He stood in the doorway and leaned against the wall, fingers slowly undoing the buttons of his suit-jacket, tilting his head back, his eyes closed and just enough light casting over his face to reveal the turmoil twisting his features. He looked like he was struggling to keep from screaming, or crying, or both; a war of emotions taking place in the sharp contours of his face.
“Nikky?” I called, softly, my voice modulated as if I were trying to soothe a wounded animal. He froze but he didn’t open his eyes, didn’t turn to look at me; so I got up from the couch and padded across the room to his side. I could smell the scent of stale sweat beneath hastily-applied cologne as I slid my arms around his waist, searching his face for a change in expression. His eyes slowly slid open and they were sunken and weary, black in the gloom and nearly unreadable.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. Nik tilted his head down and I pressed another to his lips, arching my neck to nuzzle the sensitive spot beneath his ear.
“Tired,” he whispered hoarsely. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his face against my shoulder; even though he had to lean down to do so. “’m so tired, Gilbert…”
I stroked my hands down his back soothingly as a little worry bubbled up inside of me. I’d never before seen Nikolai this tense, this wound up. Tension was fairly humming through his body, and yet his stance was that of a man completely and utterly exhausted.
I slid my hand into his and twined our fingers together, tugging a little.
“Take a shower,” I suggested, gently caressing his cheek.
“No, ‘bear…I just wanna go to sleep…” Nikky mumbled the words into my shirt. His words slurred together, and I squeezed his hand in mine.
‘No, you don’t. You want to try and go to sleep. But you’re so on edge, Nikky; so on edge that I’m afraid you’re about to shatter into little pieces. Your mind is tired but your body isn’t, and it won’t do you any good to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling...’
“Come on, you’ll feel better,” I coaxed, pulling him forward. He stumbled a little, dragging his feet as I guided him in the direction of the bathroom, vaguely mumbling protests. I turned on the water in the shower, helping Nik out of his clothes as it warmed up. He barely resisted, but didn’t do much to help, either; I took his face in my hands, looking into his eyes.
They were tired and nearly broken, and that just scared me so fucking badly.
Wordlessly, I stripped out of my own clothes and pulled Nik into the shower, sliding the glass door shut behind us. It fogged up almost immediately, the hot steam condensing and forming a hazy wall to our side. I stood with the showerhead at my back, focusing the spray on Nikky; picking up his little bottle of green tea shampoo and squeezing some into my hand.
Nik moaned a little as I rubbed my fingers against his scalp, gently massaging the shampoo into his hair. A bit of the tension between his shoulder blades loosened, his chin dipping closer to his chest, and I raked my fingers through the sudsy mess of curls in firm but gentle strokes. A little sigh escaped him and I kissed the back of his neck, tasting him and the soap and the water running down his body.
Nikolai is…well, competitive isn’t really the word for it. He doesn’t compete against anyone; he’s just driven. If he’s involved in something he’ll give it everything he’s got, always at 110%-never stopping to slow down or give a thought to how it’s affecting himself. He’ll push and push until he drops to his knees from exhaustion, only then satisfied with his effort. And what’s worse is that he tries to take all of the responsibility, all of the blame, onto himself; instead of leaving it at the feet of the people it truly belongs to.
It isn’t so much that he hates losing, as much as it is that he hates letting people down.
I soaped Nik up with quick, efficient strokes, washing away the accumulated grime from hockey and roadtrips and cabs that just refused to be clean. He stood there, numbly, letting me handle him like a doll as I turned off the water, reaching out of the shower and patting around for the towels hanging on the rack. One went around my own waist, the other went to patting him dry, and his lack of response concerned me. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor as I fairly led him out of the bathroom, looking very lost and small within his six-foot frame; that stressed feel still radiating from his body.
I bit my lip, watching him for a moment before coming up with an idea.
“Lay down,” I murmured, rubbing small circles into his hip as I guided him to the bed. He wordlessly obeyed, crawling onto the mattress and lying with his head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed in bone-deep weariness. I kept my eyes on him as I went to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of boxers, discarding the towel and pulling them on; picking out a bottle of oil from the desk drawer as I returned. I stood at the foot of the bed and gently nudged Nikky’s thighs apart, pausing as he lifted his head to look back at me with a tired protest on his lips.
“’bear, I’m not…”
“It’s okay, Nikky,” I soothed, brushing my fingers down his leg, eliciting a shudder; turning the bottle so he could see that it was oil, not lube. “I know you’re tired. I just want to help you relax.”
After a heartbeat Nik slowly nodded, and laid his head back down again. I climbed onto the bed; sitting cross-legged between his spread legs as I popped open the cap of the oil. It was light and smelled of only a hint of jasmine, and I poured some into my hands, rubbing them together to warm it before lowering my palms to Nikolai’s body.
He tensed at the initial contact. But as I smoothed my hands across his skin, stroking gently down his back, he slowly relaxed, letting out a little sigh that was both breathy and exhausted. I worked the oil into his skin with tender rubs, not even trying to get to the knotted, bunched-up muscles below just yet. This wasn’t about expediency, or even pleasure; it was about Nikolai-about the frightening slump of his shoulders and the beaten look in his silver-gray eyes that was just so worrying to see. He ached, his pain palpable in the lines of his body, and my heart ached for him because I loved him; loved him so much, loved him too much to let him be swallowed by that weary defeat.
I started with the muscles of his legs first, pressing the base of my palm into the back of his thigh and kneading the oil-slick flesh, feeling the lines of tension running from his calf to his knee to his thigh. He moaned softly, shifting beneath my touch as I worked his thighs, his calves, his feet; pressing my thumbs to his soles and rubbing out the accumulated stress of skating and walking and even just standing. His body spasmed when I moved up his spine, grinding out the tautness curving his lower back and the rigid set in his shoulders. They were the worst, his shoulders; knots of tension deep below the skin from the weight of responsibility, the weight of loss. I spent a long time on his neck and shoulders, pulling his arms out from under his head and placing a pillow beneath it instead so I could work on them as well. Nikolai’s eyes were still closed but they were active beneath fluttering eyelids, his beautiful face twisted in some expression that was neither pleasure nor pain, but some indescribable emotion caught between.
He mumbled a little when I gently eased him onto his back, though his eyes remained closed. The tension was gradually, slowly easing out of his body: leaving in sharp painful cracks as I massaged the joints of his fingers; in long soothing pulls as I kneaded his chest. The little moans of pleasure were coming almost nonstop, now, rumbling noises from deep within his chest vibrating against my palms as I stroked his skin. I settled back between his legs and pushed his knees farther apart, rubbing my thumbs across the sinewy muscles that connected thigh to pelvis, feeling him shiver with the sensitivity of the skin there. I kept my eyes on his face, watching his expression, as I lowered my head and slipped the head of his soft penis into my mouth.
Eyes wide shut. I’d never before understood what that saying really meant. But as Nikolai’s eyes snapped open, wide and glazed and completely unseeing of the world in front of him, I thought it had a little more merit than I had previously given it credit for. Nikky whimpered as I laved his dick with my tongue in gentle, curling strokes, reveling at the feel of him growing hard inside of my mouth. I worked my throat around him even as I caressed his trembling legs; he tried to reach for me, tried to respond, but the massage had been deep and I’d left no strength to be had in those powerful muscles. Just loose pliability, and Nik could only curl his fingers in the sheets, arching up against me with a low, throaty moan.
His hips began pumping, little jerky thrusts into my mouth as he sought for a control that I was working hard to make him lose. I pressed my palms up beneath his knees, pulling them over my shoulders into a more comfortable position as I bobbed my head, sliding my lips down his cock and up again until just the tip was pressed between my lips. I moved unhurriedly, with lazy licks and easy sucks as I stroked his hips and thighs; bringing him up gradually, sequentially, stringing him along and listening to his gasps as I progressively increased both pressure and speed.
His knuckles were white; white against white sheets as a hoarse, keening cry escaped him. His eyes had closed again, face twisted in ecstasy as he lost his inhibitions-and lost the check on his emotions. I watched the expressions play across his features as he convulsed beneath me, hips rocking feverishly as his cock slid in and out of my mouth. Pain, pleasure, loss, guilt, worry, joy-tears leaked from the corners of eyes as the dizzying contrast of sentiments tore through him; the intensity of his orgasm attesting to the amount of inner turmoil he was experiencing. I swallowed all that I could, working my throat around him and lapping at what leaked from my mouth. I licked him clean and nuzzled the inside of his thigh, gently easing his trembling legs from my shoulders, splaying them on either side of my head.
When his eyes finally opened, they were wet silver and tearfully wanting.
“Gilbert…”
Without a word I crawled up the bed. His arms wrapped around me tight and I held him close, stroking his back as he shook like a leaf in the wind caught and held steady only by my embrace. People sweat to lose heat and Nikolai shivered to lose all his bottled up emotions, and I wrapped the blankets around us as if to form a cocoon that was safe from the world. Safe from a sport that consumed our souls, safe from a society that would turn on us if they knew that we loved; safe from friends and fans and family; safe from all the misfortunes that came with being human.
“Love you,” I murmured into the damp tangles of his hair. “Here for you.”
“I know,” he whispered back shakily. His lips brushed against my chest as he spoke, chapped skin rough against my bare skin. “I know.”
Later there would be time for explanations. Later, when we would curl up on the couch with hot tea and blini, resting against each other and supporting each other, he could tell me all his pains. Later, when he wasn’t so overcome with stress and anxiety that he was reduced to an emotional wreck in my arms, we could talk about this and figure out what to do about it.
But for now he was exhausted, spent and weary, and even if it was only a mental band-aid for now, I could be content. If I had brought him peace for just this night, I could be happy. The lines of tension in his body were gone, soothed away, and as he drifted into slumber I kissed his forehead tenderly, brushing the messy locks of hair from his eyes.
“Good night, sweet prince…and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
-