[Fic: Hockey RPS] Burning Oneself Out; Ryan Malone/Mike Smith; NC-17
For boltschick2612, who is responsible for giving me Ryan Malone/Mike Smith *feelings*. Takes place in her Everyone Has a Secret-verse, and encompasses that story, as well as Hello, Hello, Remember Me?, and I'm Everything you Can't Control. I suppose this could be read as a stand alone, but I think it works better as a companion piece.
Title has been taken from an Adrienne Rich poem.
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended.
Warnings: profanity, hints of rimming, barebacking, mild comeplay
Burning Oneself Out
Ryan Malone/Mike Smith; NC-17
It's about moments in your life ...
Burning Oneself Out
There was a moment shortly after spending hours wrapped up in the others arms, when Ryan rolls onto his side, and sees the thin line of Mike's back. He takes in the curve of his spine, notices how the sheet dips just below Mike's tailbone, covering the lower half of his body. The attempt at modesty is not lost on Ryan, considering what they had been engaged in a few minutes prior.
Mike's breathing is steady, and rhythmic. Ryan wants to reach a hand out, run his index finger down Mike's spine, commit each vertebrae to memory. Marvel at how each connects to the next.
He holds back.
Instead, he just stares.
Stares at the pale skin of Mike's back, and the lily white sheet where it keeps part of him clothed, chaste even. The dim lighting from the hotel room lamp hits the tips of Mike's hair, creating a halo-like effect around his head. It robs Ryan of breath.
It's a thought that both electrifies and terrifies him.
Terrifies him enough that Ryan doesn't even realize he is slipping from the bed, and tugging on his jeans soon after. He buttons up his shirt, his hands fumbling on the small, plastic buttons as he watches Mike's slumbering form.
"This isn't going to happen again," Ryan whispers, before he turns the doorknob and exits the room.
He knew it was a lie the moment he exited the hotel and climbed into his car.
-»«-
Mike was never one to dwell on the past. Never really saw the point, which is why it annoys him to no end that he keeps thinking about that night with Ryan Malone over and over again.
He recalls desperate images of Ryan's body. Remembers the almost deafening thrum of blood running through Ryan's veins, as Mike put his mouth on him. The rush of air roaring in his ears, as Ryan's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly on the strands. All Mike seemed to be able to think about in that instant was how it would be so easy to have Ryan take him everywhere, and anywhere …
Mike vaguely remembers the initial press of Ryan's lips against his. How it was like being suspended in time. It was an odd sort of limbo. Ryan kisses like last call in a bar. The moment where all the chairs are stacked on top of table tops, and the bartender is busy swiping a damp towel over the counters.
Ryan's hands skimming over his arms. Every glide of his palms on Mike's skin building, and building, until Mike was dizzy. He kisses Ryan back like how he thinks Ryan wants to be kissed. Overdone, overdramatic, with just a tinge of sweetness lacing his tongue as he dips it into Ryan's mouth.
"I hate you for being right," Mike whispers against the hollow at the base of Ryan's throat.
They're both naked soon after. Mike feels Ryan fucking him open. First with his tongue, then his fingers, until Mike is a quivering mess on the bed.
"I want you inside me … now," he remembers moaning, before rolling over, and pinning Ryan to the bed.
Mike scrambles for a bit to get into position, pushing down just a little, so just the head of Ryan's cock is enveloped in him. His eyes never leave Ryan's - stormy, and oh, so blue, they rob Mike of breath - as he sinks down a bit further on Ryan's dick. He remembers how his eyes had fluttered closed as he finally slides down onto Ryan, until he's completely buried inside him.
"Oh, fuck," Mike whispered, fighting to keep Ryan's face in frame through half-lidded eyes. "Fuck, you feel so good - oh, fuck, this feels so good."
Ryan braces his hands on Mike's hips, and moves slightly under him. Mike's breath catches in his throat when Ryan moves.
Mike tightens around Ryan, writhing and gasping above him as their rhythm starts to spiral out of control. He thinks he has probably bitten his bottom lip in two by now.
"Open your eyes," Ryan commands.
Mike doesn't think he will ever be able to deny him anything ever. Ryan's hot, bright, blue eyes piercing his, as he shudders his release, leaving sticky white streaks across Ryan's stomach. He is still shaking as he feels Ryan groaning out his own release.
He felt the weight of his bed shift afterwards. Heard Ryan's whispered This isn't going to happen again, before he had left his room silently.
Mike wanted to believe him. After all, maybe some things were better left to be a one night only thing.
Except, for every night after that Pittsburgh night, Ryan is all he thinks about.
-»«-
He thinks about Ryan when he masturbates.
Recalls each and every moment of that night like a silent film playing over and over, until he's sure the film reel will eventually run out.
This isn't going to happen again …
Mike has come numerous times with Ryan's words echoing in his mind. He watches the shower wash away his release as many times.
"You were right," Mike mutters, as he finally turns off the shower.
-»«-
A year passes from that long ago Pittsburgh night. Mike forces himself to stop being love sick over Ryan Malone. Locks away that part of his heart. Builds wall, on top of wall around said part of his heart.
Until …
There is another moment …
"Oh good, Smitty's here. You get to meet our … your ... goalie."
He wants the ground to swallow him up in that instant. His lungs burn. The carefully constructed walls he built around his heart crumble. Seeing Ryan standing in the Forum is enough. Mike swears the ground in front of him split apart like a wound.
"You two know each other?"
"Nah. Nice to meet you though." Mike's lungs burn the whole time he utters those words to Vince.
He brushes past Ryan and Vince, not trusting himself to glance back.
-»«-
Ryan was always known for his persistence. Which probably explained why he could never seem to leave well enough alone.
He knew Mike remembered who he was. He feels his world spinning out of control every time he is on the ice with him.
He drowns himself in Abby, easy road trip lays, thinking eventually Mike would become nothing more than just a teammate. It works for a while. Sex is sex. Good sex is even better. But the sex with Mike was …
Like coming out of some kind of half-suspended fog.
Memories of Mike are almost spectral. The edges of the memories nipping at Ryan's heels. He could hardly tell where one memory left off and another began. The memories always leave him reeling.
And, every time he asks Mike How long are you going to pretend it never happened? all he gets in return is a vacant expression accompanied by: I don't know what you're talking about.
Ryan grows more and more frustrated each and every time Mike denies him. It eventually coalesces into one moment after a home game. He corners Mike in the parking garage, pins him to his car bodily, and whispers hotly against Mike's ear: I remember the way you tasted that night in Pittsburgh.
He turns and is about five steps away from Mike before he hears Mike half-yell: "How long are you going to make me pay for that mistake?"
Ryan whirls around, a retort on his lips, but Mike has already climbed into his car. The roar of the engine cutting off all forms of speech.
-»«-
There is another moment ...
Ryan supposes when Mike finally admits what happened in Pittsburgh actually happened, it should have been a relief.
Except, of course, Ryan ended up hating himself even more for even bothering to let himself give in to Mike again.
"This can't happen again."
"Pittsburgh wasn't a write off," Ryan says as way of an explanation.
He watches Mike's skin disappear as he pulled on his dress shirt, wrinkled now after being dropped on the floor. He eyes Ryan as he does up the buttons on the cuff. There's a vulnerability in Ryan's gaze.
"I have a girlfriend … and you … you have a wife."
"You don't get anything out of this?"
"We're going to do this now?" Mike challenged.
Ryan bites his bottom lip, chews thoughtfully at it as he tries to come up with an answer to Mike's question.
"That's what I thought," Mike whispers, zipping up his bag, as he averts his eyes from Ryan's cornflower blue ones, and slips from the locker room.
-»«-
Every night after the one in the locker room blends into the next. Nights filled with road trips, good liquor, and plenty of women ready and willing to suck him off, but it does nothing to calm the ache in his chest.
Abby senses the uneasiness around him. His thoughts are violent and all-consumed with thoughts of Mike.
He eventually breaks down and tells Abby. Which, in hindsight, he supposes he should have done sooner. She was more than accommodating, considering their marriage and mutual understanding.
He lets her leave for a couple days. She cites that she needs some time to cool off. Ryan knows she'll be back.
-»«-
There is another moment: Mike telling him he told his girlfriend; Brigitte is her name.
And another moment: Mike's eyes communicating everything he could not say aloud.
I'm yours for as long as you can give me …
And even another moment …
Mike pushing past the open doorway of Ryan's house, pushing him flush against the nearest wall, and leans in, until their lips are hovering just mere inches from the other.
Then, there's nothing left except the feel of Mike's slightly calloused hand on the back of Ryan's neck, dragging him the last remaining inches until their lips finally touch.
Mike sways against Ryan.
He still kisses like he did that night in Pittsburgh.
Last call …
You win, Mike thinks, dragging his fingers through Ryan's slightly damp, and curly hair.
"I can't deny it anymore. Can't deny you …" Mike finally says when they break apart.
And …
One more moment …
"I love you." Mike is still surprised at the speed at which the simple phrase leaves his lips.
Ryan looks down into Mike's dark, expressive eyes, and says, "I know. I love you too."
Title has been taken from an Adrienne Rich poem.
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended.
Warnings: profanity, hints of rimming, barebacking, mild comeplay
Burning Oneself Out
Ryan Malone/Mike Smith; NC-17
It's about moments in your life ...
Burning Oneself Out
There was a moment shortly after spending hours wrapped up in the others arms, when Ryan rolls onto his side, and sees the thin line of Mike's back. He takes in the curve of his spine, notices how the sheet dips just below Mike's tailbone, covering the lower half of his body. The attempt at modesty is not lost on Ryan, considering what they had been engaged in a few minutes prior.
Mike's breathing is steady, and rhythmic. Ryan wants to reach a hand out, run his index finger down Mike's spine, commit each vertebrae to memory. Marvel at how each connects to the next.
He holds back.
Instead, he just stares.
Stares at the pale skin of Mike's back, and the lily white sheet where it keeps part of him clothed, chaste even. The dim lighting from the hotel room lamp hits the tips of Mike's hair, creating a halo-like effect around his head. It robs Ryan of breath.
It's a thought that both electrifies and terrifies him.
Terrifies him enough that Ryan doesn't even realize he is slipping from the bed, and tugging on his jeans soon after. He buttons up his shirt, his hands fumbling on the small, plastic buttons as he watches Mike's slumbering form.
"This isn't going to happen again," Ryan whispers, before he turns the doorknob and exits the room.
He knew it was a lie the moment he exited the hotel and climbed into his car.
-»«-
Mike was never one to dwell on the past. Never really saw the point, which is why it annoys him to no end that he keeps thinking about that night with Ryan Malone over and over again.
He recalls desperate images of Ryan's body. Remembers the almost deafening thrum of blood running through Ryan's veins, as Mike put his mouth on him. The rush of air roaring in his ears, as Ryan's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly on the strands. All Mike seemed to be able to think about in that instant was how it would be so easy to have Ryan take him everywhere, and anywhere …
Mike vaguely remembers the initial press of Ryan's lips against his. How it was like being suspended in time. It was an odd sort of limbo. Ryan kisses like last call in a bar. The moment where all the chairs are stacked on top of table tops, and the bartender is busy swiping a damp towel over the counters.
Ryan's hands skimming over his arms. Every glide of his palms on Mike's skin building, and building, until Mike was dizzy. He kisses Ryan back like how he thinks Ryan wants to be kissed. Overdone, overdramatic, with just a tinge of sweetness lacing his tongue as he dips it into Ryan's mouth.
"I hate you for being right," Mike whispers against the hollow at the base of Ryan's throat.
They're both naked soon after. Mike feels Ryan fucking him open. First with his tongue, then his fingers, until Mike is a quivering mess on the bed.
"I want you inside me … now," he remembers moaning, before rolling over, and pinning Ryan to the bed.
Mike scrambles for a bit to get into position, pushing down just a little, so just the head of Ryan's cock is enveloped in him. His eyes never leave Ryan's - stormy, and oh, so blue, they rob Mike of breath - as he sinks down a bit further on Ryan's dick. He remembers how his eyes had fluttered closed as he finally slides down onto Ryan, until he's completely buried inside him.
"Oh, fuck," Mike whispered, fighting to keep Ryan's face in frame through half-lidded eyes. "Fuck, you feel so good - oh, fuck, this feels so good."
Ryan braces his hands on Mike's hips, and moves slightly under him. Mike's breath catches in his throat when Ryan moves.
Mike tightens around Ryan, writhing and gasping above him as their rhythm starts to spiral out of control. He thinks he has probably bitten his bottom lip in two by now.
"Open your eyes," Ryan commands.
Mike doesn't think he will ever be able to deny him anything ever. Ryan's hot, bright, blue eyes piercing his, as he shudders his release, leaving sticky white streaks across Ryan's stomach. He is still shaking as he feels Ryan groaning out his own release.
He felt the weight of his bed shift afterwards. Heard Ryan's whispered This isn't going to happen again, before he had left his room silently.
Mike wanted to believe him. After all, maybe some things were better left to be a one night only thing.
Except, for every night after that Pittsburgh night, Ryan is all he thinks about.
-»«-
He thinks about Ryan when he masturbates.
Recalls each and every moment of that night like a silent film playing over and over, until he's sure the film reel will eventually run out.
This isn't going to happen again …
Mike has come numerous times with Ryan's words echoing in his mind. He watches the shower wash away his release as many times.
"You were right," Mike mutters, as he finally turns off the shower.
-»«-
A year passes from that long ago Pittsburgh night. Mike forces himself to stop being love sick over Ryan Malone. Locks away that part of his heart. Builds wall, on top of wall around said part of his heart.
Until …
There is another moment …
"Oh good, Smitty's here. You get to meet our … your ... goalie."
He wants the ground to swallow him up in that instant. His lungs burn. The carefully constructed walls he built around his heart crumble. Seeing Ryan standing in the Forum is enough. Mike swears the ground in front of him split apart like a wound.
"You two know each other?"
"Nah. Nice to meet you though." Mike's lungs burn the whole time he utters those words to Vince.
He brushes past Ryan and Vince, not trusting himself to glance back.
-»«-
Ryan was always known for his persistence. Which probably explained why he could never seem to leave well enough alone.
He knew Mike remembered who he was. He feels his world spinning out of control every time he is on the ice with him.
He drowns himself in Abby, easy road trip lays, thinking eventually Mike would become nothing more than just a teammate. It works for a while. Sex is sex. Good sex is even better. But the sex with Mike was …
Like coming out of some kind of half-suspended fog.
Memories of Mike are almost spectral. The edges of the memories nipping at Ryan's heels. He could hardly tell where one memory left off and another began. The memories always leave him reeling.
And, every time he asks Mike How long are you going to pretend it never happened? all he gets in return is a vacant expression accompanied by: I don't know what you're talking about.
Ryan grows more and more frustrated each and every time Mike denies him. It eventually coalesces into one moment after a home game. He corners Mike in the parking garage, pins him to his car bodily, and whispers hotly against Mike's ear: I remember the way you tasted that night in Pittsburgh.
He turns and is about five steps away from Mike before he hears Mike half-yell: "How long are you going to make me pay for that mistake?"
Ryan whirls around, a retort on his lips, but Mike has already climbed into his car. The roar of the engine cutting off all forms of speech.
-»«-
There is another moment ...
Ryan supposes when Mike finally admits what happened in Pittsburgh actually happened, it should have been a relief.
Except, of course, Ryan ended up hating himself even more for even bothering to let himself give in to Mike again.
"This can't happen again."
"Pittsburgh wasn't a write off," Ryan says as way of an explanation.
He watches Mike's skin disappear as he pulled on his dress shirt, wrinkled now after being dropped on the floor. He eyes Ryan as he does up the buttons on the cuff. There's a vulnerability in Ryan's gaze.
"I have a girlfriend … and you … you have a wife."
"You don't get anything out of this?"
"We're going to do this now?" Mike challenged.
Ryan bites his bottom lip, chews thoughtfully at it as he tries to come up with an answer to Mike's question.
"That's what I thought," Mike whispers, zipping up his bag, as he averts his eyes from Ryan's cornflower blue ones, and slips from the locker room.
-»«-
Every night after the one in the locker room blends into the next. Nights filled with road trips, good liquor, and plenty of women ready and willing to suck him off, but it does nothing to calm the ache in his chest.
Abby senses the uneasiness around him. His thoughts are violent and all-consumed with thoughts of Mike.
He eventually breaks down and tells Abby. Which, in hindsight, he supposes he should have done sooner. She was more than accommodating, considering their marriage and mutual understanding.
He lets her leave for a couple days. She cites that she needs some time to cool off. Ryan knows she'll be back.
-»«-
There is another moment: Mike telling him he told his girlfriend; Brigitte is her name.
And another moment: Mike's eyes communicating everything he could not say aloud.
I'm yours for as long as you can give me …
And even another moment …
Mike pushing past the open doorway of Ryan's house, pushing him flush against the nearest wall, and leans in, until their lips are hovering just mere inches from the other.
Then, there's nothing left except the feel of Mike's slightly calloused hand on the back of Ryan's neck, dragging him the last remaining inches until their lips finally touch.
Mike sways against Ryan.
He still kisses like he did that night in Pittsburgh.
Last call …
You win, Mike thinks, dragging his fingers through Ryan's slightly damp, and curly hair.
"I can't deny it anymore. Can't deny you …" Mike finally says when they break apart.
And …
One more moment …
"I love you." Mike is still surprised at the speed at which the simple phrase leaves his lips.
Ryan looks down into Mike's dark, expressive eyes, and says, "I know. I love you too."