[Fic: Hockey RPS] Fold Myself Away Before it Burns me Numb; Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards; NC-17
I. can't. stop. writing. this. damn. series. Gah ... someone stop me! Follow-up to Floors are Falling Out from Everybody I Know, and is the fourth in the Hide the Night-verse. Also a challenge fulfillment for writerverse (Prompt: blowing off steam).
Disclaimer: Real people, somewhat real events. No harm or offense intended. Title is lyrics from the song Nothing Without You by Vienna Teng.
Warnings: Google-translated Swedish, rimming
Fold Myself Away Before it Burns me Numb
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards (mention of Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier); New York Rangers; 1219 words; NC-17
Brad wants to blow off some steam after their shootout win to Buffalo.
Fold Myself Away Before it Burns me Numb
His hotel room was quiet, which he normally paid no attention to. Hank found it slightly disconcerting; the silence that is. Their flight back to New York was leaving in the morning. The win against the Sabres was a hard-fought one. Thank god, Cally had ended it finally.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and ignored how his muscles screamed at him as he stretched. When he settled back against the pillows, his eyes stared up at the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling, he had to admit. The perfectly shaped squares as they stretched across the space. Hank isn't sure how long he's been laying on the bed, just staring at the ceiling, counting the tiles, and marvelling at the perfectly symmetrical squares.
The atmosphere in the dressing room after their win was electric; much like it always is after a win. There were plenty of hugs, pats on the head, and general chiding going around. He had felt Brad's presence in front of him long before he looked up.
Brad didn't say anything. He just reached a hand out to brush back a stray lock of Hank's hair, before he offered him a small smile.
"Nice job on the win," Brad said, before he slipped away.
Hank stumbled over his words in that moment. Ever since Brad had shown up on his doorstep when he got back from Ottawa, Hank had been meaning to broach the subject of what it was they were doing. Except, when he had looked over at Brad, he was struck speechless. Brad was asleep on his stomach, the sheet riding low on his hips. Hank resisted the urge to reach out and run a finger along the faint bruises delineating his body. In the end, he settled for letting his hand rest on the edge of his pillow, half-wondering if he should reach for Brad's hand.
They left for New Jersey the next day. Torts gave him the night off. After the loss to New Jersey, and boarding their fight to Buffalo, Hank actively searched out Brad, but in the end, too exhausted to bother, and figuring they might stand a better chance at dissecting their 'arrangement' after the Buffalo game, Henrik fell asleep.
He hears a faint knock on his door. He rises and opens his door. Hank finds Brad standing in the dim light of the hallway, dressed in a faded pair of jeans, a button down shirt, and shoes. He looks up, and blinks, before sliding his hands into his pockets.
"I wasn't sure if you'd still be awake," Brad says.
"Why are you here?"
"I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, debating whether or not getting rip-roaring drunk was a good life choice." Brad steps inside Hank's hotel room, turns his back to him, and shuts the door with a small click. "So, anyway, in the end, I opted against going out for drinks, and decided I'd come here to make sure you weren't getting celebratory sex from someone else, because I really, really, need to blow off some steam."
"Brad -" Hank started, tone warning. "I've been meaning to -"
"Hank." Brad sighs, the tone sounding like silk over skin. "Whatever you are going to say, don't say it." He starts unbuttoning his shirt, and stops when all the buttons are undone. Brad turns his eyes up to Henrik then. "I'm still running on adrenaline over our win. I miss you … I miss your hands and what they did to me. So, please, Hank, just for tonight, let's not talk."
Before he can say anything else, Hank feels as Brad steps closer, slides an arm around his waist, and kisses him. Brad pulls Hank in close, chest to thigh, and looks up into Henrik's face, his eyes challenging.
"This isn't a game," Hank whispers against Brad's lips.
"I know," Brad says.
Hank knows it's a lie the moment Brad's words leave his lips, but he still lets his hands slide Brad's shirt from his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor, the cotton pooling at Brad's feet.
He kisses Brad again, desperate, searching, needy. Hank kisses him like he's trying to dispel the last remaining vestiges of Vince from Brad's mind. He's not sure if it works, but he's not complaining. And when Brad curls his fingers into Hank's hair, and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, Hank stops thinking all together.
Brad whimpers into Hank's mouth, and trembles slightly under Hank's exploring hands.
"Come to bed, Brad," Hank says, tone inviting, before he leads him towards the bed.
Brad pushes Hank down, before they get tangled up in the sheets. He undresses Hank slowly, mouth kissing every patch of bare skin he can find, before he gets Hank's wrists pinned above his head. Brad straddles Hank, and circles his hips against Hank's. He smirks as Hank shudders underneath him, and grips Brad's hips.
"Shh -" Brad whispers, voice low, and full of promise. He bends his head, nibs at Hank's bottom lip, before he licks a trail from Hank's chin to his abdomen.
Hank forcefully tugs Brad back up then, and hauls his mouth against his. Brad barely manages to slip a hand between their bodies, before he rubs his knuckles over Hank's tight, puckered hole. Hank jumps slightly at the contact, his eyes blinking rapidly.
"Hank -" Brad forces himself off of Hank before he rifles through Hank's suitcase, and comes back with a condom and lubricant. His hands are shaking so badly, he isn't quite sure how he manages to get the foil packet ripped open. But, he's sliding the condom on soon after, and slicking his cock, the lube dripping down his arm, and onto the sheets. "Turn over for me," Brad says.
Hank groans, before he turns over, legs slightly apart. He has his head hanging down between his shoulders, and swears in Swedish when he feels Brad's tongue against his hole. Brad fucks him open with his tongue, and fingers, until Hank's a quivering mess. He pushes in, slowly at first, allowing Hank time to adjust. On every stroke inside him, Hank begins to loosen around his dick. Brad bites his bottom lip as he sets the pace, trying desperately to stave off his orgasm.
When Brad eventually does feel his climax hitting, he has his hand curled around Hank's cock, feeling as Hank pulses in his fist, before he spills all over Brad's hand. Brad sags forward, his mouth against Hank's ear, his fingers gripping Hank's hips so hard he's sure there will be bruises there.
Brad doesn't realize he is holding his breath in until he collapses on his side, Henrik curled up against his back. He hears as Hank whispers against his ear.
"Du går så långt bort …" and "Jag saknar dig" running together it makes Brad dizzy as he tries to discern where one sentence ends, and the other begins.
Hank's words seem to pulse with the rhythm of Brad's slowing pulse. Brad has no idea what Hank is saying, but he can't bring himself to ask, knowing he may not like what Hank tells him.
They fall asleep with Hank's arm across Brad's waist, and their fingers intertwined.
→ ←
- Du går så långt bort - You go so far away
- Jag saknar dig - I miss you
Disclaimer: Real people, somewhat real events. No harm or offense intended. Title is lyrics from the song Nothing Without You by Vienna Teng.
Warnings: Google-translated Swedish, rimming
Fold Myself Away Before it Burns me Numb
Henrik Lundqvist/Brad Richards (mention of Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier); New York Rangers; 1219 words; NC-17
Brad wants to blow off some steam after their shootout win to Buffalo.
Fold Myself Away Before it Burns me Numb
His hotel room was quiet, which he normally paid no attention to. Hank found it slightly disconcerting; the silence that is. Their flight back to New York was leaving in the morning. The win against the Sabres was a hard-fought one. Thank god, Cally had ended it finally.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and ignored how his muscles screamed at him as he stretched. When he settled back against the pillows, his eyes stared up at the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling, he had to admit. The perfectly shaped squares as they stretched across the space. Hank isn't sure how long he's been laying on the bed, just staring at the ceiling, counting the tiles, and marvelling at the perfectly symmetrical squares.
The atmosphere in the dressing room after their win was electric; much like it always is after a win. There were plenty of hugs, pats on the head, and general chiding going around. He had felt Brad's presence in front of him long before he looked up.
Brad didn't say anything. He just reached a hand out to brush back a stray lock of Hank's hair, before he offered him a small smile.
"Nice job on the win," Brad said, before he slipped away.
Hank stumbled over his words in that moment. Ever since Brad had shown up on his doorstep when he got back from Ottawa, Hank had been meaning to broach the subject of what it was they were doing. Except, when he had looked over at Brad, he was struck speechless. Brad was asleep on his stomach, the sheet riding low on his hips. Hank resisted the urge to reach out and run a finger along the faint bruises delineating his body. In the end, he settled for letting his hand rest on the edge of his pillow, half-wondering if he should reach for Brad's hand.
They left for New Jersey the next day. Torts gave him the night off. After the loss to New Jersey, and boarding their fight to Buffalo, Hank actively searched out Brad, but in the end, too exhausted to bother, and figuring they might stand a better chance at dissecting their 'arrangement' after the Buffalo game, Henrik fell asleep.
He hears a faint knock on his door. He rises and opens his door. Hank finds Brad standing in the dim light of the hallway, dressed in a faded pair of jeans, a button down shirt, and shoes. He looks up, and blinks, before sliding his hands into his pockets.
"I wasn't sure if you'd still be awake," Brad says.
"Why are you here?"
"I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, debating whether or not getting rip-roaring drunk was a good life choice." Brad steps inside Hank's hotel room, turns his back to him, and shuts the door with a small click. "So, anyway, in the end, I opted against going out for drinks, and decided I'd come here to make sure you weren't getting celebratory sex from someone else, because I really, really, need to blow off some steam."
"Brad -" Hank started, tone warning. "I've been meaning to -"
"Hank." Brad sighs, the tone sounding like silk over skin. "Whatever you are going to say, don't say it." He starts unbuttoning his shirt, and stops when all the buttons are undone. Brad turns his eyes up to Henrik then. "I'm still running on adrenaline over our win. I miss you … I miss your hands and what they did to me. So, please, Hank, just for tonight, let's not talk."
Before he can say anything else, Hank feels as Brad steps closer, slides an arm around his waist, and kisses him. Brad pulls Hank in close, chest to thigh, and looks up into Henrik's face, his eyes challenging.
"This isn't a game," Hank whispers against Brad's lips.
"I know," Brad says.
Hank knows it's a lie the moment Brad's words leave his lips, but he still lets his hands slide Brad's shirt from his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor, the cotton pooling at Brad's feet.
He kisses Brad again, desperate, searching, needy. Hank kisses him like he's trying to dispel the last remaining vestiges of Vince from Brad's mind. He's not sure if it works, but he's not complaining. And when Brad curls his fingers into Hank's hair, and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, Hank stops thinking all together.
Brad whimpers into Hank's mouth, and trembles slightly under Hank's exploring hands.
"Come to bed, Brad," Hank says, tone inviting, before he leads him towards the bed.
Brad pushes Hank down, before they get tangled up in the sheets. He undresses Hank slowly, mouth kissing every patch of bare skin he can find, before he gets Hank's wrists pinned above his head. Brad straddles Hank, and circles his hips against Hank's. He smirks as Hank shudders underneath him, and grips Brad's hips.
"Shh -" Brad whispers, voice low, and full of promise. He bends his head, nibs at Hank's bottom lip, before he licks a trail from Hank's chin to his abdomen.
Hank forcefully tugs Brad back up then, and hauls his mouth against his. Brad barely manages to slip a hand between their bodies, before he rubs his knuckles over Hank's tight, puckered hole. Hank jumps slightly at the contact, his eyes blinking rapidly.
"Hank -" Brad forces himself off of Hank before he rifles through Hank's suitcase, and comes back with a condom and lubricant. His hands are shaking so badly, he isn't quite sure how he manages to get the foil packet ripped open. But, he's sliding the condom on soon after, and slicking his cock, the lube dripping down his arm, and onto the sheets. "Turn over for me," Brad says.
Hank groans, before he turns over, legs slightly apart. He has his head hanging down between his shoulders, and swears in Swedish when he feels Brad's tongue against his hole. Brad fucks him open with his tongue, and fingers, until Hank's a quivering mess. He pushes in, slowly at first, allowing Hank time to adjust. On every stroke inside him, Hank begins to loosen around his dick. Brad bites his bottom lip as he sets the pace, trying desperately to stave off his orgasm.
When Brad eventually does feel his climax hitting, he has his hand curled around Hank's cock, feeling as Hank pulses in his fist, before he spills all over Brad's hand. Brad sags forward, his mouth against Hank's ear, his fingers gripping Hank's hips so hard he's sure there will be bruises there.
Brad doesn't realize he is holding his breath in until he collapses on his side, Henrik curled up against his back. He hears as Hank whispers against his ear.
"Du går så långt bort …" and "Jag saknar dig" running together it makes Brad dizzy as he tries to discern where one sentence ends, and the other begins.
Hank's words seem to pulse with the rhythm of Brad's slowing pulse. Brad has no idea what Hank is saying, but he can't bring himself to ask, knowing he may not like what Hank tells him.
They fall asleep with Hank's arm across Brad's waist, and their fingers intertwined.
→ ←
- Du går så långt bort - You go so far away
- Jag saknar dig - I miss you