(fic) Vistas
Title: Vistas
Pairing: Ken Holland / Chris Osgood and Darren McCarty / Chris Osgood.
Rating NC-17 (violence)
Disclaimer: This is all fiction, it is all made up.
Dedication: Alex asked for this pairing.
Thanks a million for the help Chrissy.
A/N's Chris is about 22, Ken 39-ish. Set in the 94-95 season.
Vista = a scenic or panoramic view
A view seen through a long narrow opening, such as, between a row of buildings or trees.
A mental picture covering a wide range of objects or a long succession of events in the past or the future.
Chris's POV
"What is the view like from the edge of the world?" Ken rolls over to his side and looks at me.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you do." I pushed him, verbally at least. "Your birthday is soon. You are on the edge of years and decades and dreams. On the winning edge of the season. On the outside edge with your wife when she finds out about this. We are all on the edge of war. What is the view like? Is there bad weather? What can you see that I don't?"
"Clouds." He tells me and climbs off the bed and walks to the bathroom.
"What kind of clouds?"
He ignores me, and starts washing his arms and chest off in the cold water of the motel bathroom.
"You ask more questions than a child."
"I am a child. You are old enough to be my father. What do the clouds look like papa?"
"Don't call me that."
"Yes Mr Holland sir."
"They are rain clouds."
"What colour?" I roll on my side and look at the window. But the curtains are pulled so all I see is fabric.
"Stop asking stupid questions." He scrubs at the wet patches on his chest with the towel, it is old and rough and his white skin turns red, and then white again, leaving streaky trails of pink on his chest. I could soothe them away, but won’t.
He puts on his shirt and I roll over on the bed. I am still naked and I like the idea that I look obscene and used here, with his come drying on the back of my legs, dribbling down the inside of my thighs.
I do not have anywhere I particularly have to be. The mattress, which is sure to be soaked with plenty of others illicit, illegally spilled come, is only a threadbare sheet away from my nose. I think I can smell him a little bit; his cologne at least is clinging stubbornly to the pillows. It is empty, old, and expensive.
"I'm leaving now Chris." He says from someplace near the door.
I raise one arm off the bed and hold it in the air for several seconds before I let it fall down.
He sighs and climbs back on the bed. He kisses my shoulder.
"Grey rain clouds." He whispers: "so that you can see nothing but grey and have no idea what is underneath."
"Is that all?"
"No the sun is setting and the clouds are red."
"Will you jump?" I ask him.
He laughs and kisses the back of my neck. "I'll parachute in on my day with the Cup. I will see you this evening."
I shrug and have managed to fall asleep by the time he closes the door
I am late to the arena.
No one really notices, I am not playing and it can be put down to goalie sulk. I let them take shots on me in practise and try to care at the ones that get past me. I see the red light glowing in the top of the net like a beacon leading me through dark clouds.
I see Ken beckon to me in the hallway before the game and as everyone files into the dressing room I follow him.
"Don't think screwing me will help you." He hisses. "Don't be late again, that is the third time this month."
"Traffic." I say without looking at him, staring over his shoulder at the bank of vending machines.
"Don't give me that shit." He snarls, "stop fucking sulking and be prepared for your job."
"Traffic Mr GM sir. Traffic was bad on the highway sir." I salute him standing straight and still looking over his shoulder.
"You're fined for being late."
"Sir, yes sir." I say to the Pepsi and packets of chips.
"Steve will tell you how much."
"Can I get an advance on my allowance daddy?" I ask the Snickers bars.
Ken swings around and punches me in the face. I feel the area burn and throb and finally look at him.
He is breathing hard. "You are your own worst enemy Chris." He says.
"Sir, yes sir, Mr GM sir."
I leave the game half way though. Vernon is a train wreck, and even worse might win. The viewing audience of hundreds is told that I have the flu and am still dressed in the locker room but am not on the bench so I don't contaminate the other Wings with my germs.
Ken jokes to the announcers that if I go on I have been instructed to get close to the opposition forwards and pass on all my diseases.
"Ozzie could be the most dangerous when he is just breathing." Ken says and they all laugh.
I lie down on the bench in the dressing room and let my head fall off to the side, feeling all the blood run into my brain and pound there like a metal beat. My pulse slows down and the blood fills out the bruise so I can feel my jaw swelling up and growing grotesque.
My padding is heavy across my chest, and slips to my neck, and will eventually fall over my face.
I think of nothing but red blood, I feel it filling up my head and keep my mouth closed so the blood does not spill out.
"How did you get that bruise?" Darren's voice interrupts me. I only saw blood up to my eyes, the rest of my head had yet to be filled. I sit up and the blood flows back down the hourglass. I feel dizzy and I smile.
"I was dozzy from flu drugs, smacked into a wall." I say watching at the starbursts I see in front of my eyes.
"Ok." Darren says. "I got tossed for fighting."
I look, and indeed his knuckles are bruised from fighting. "I don't know why you bother."
"Because it's my job. The period doesn't finish for twenty minutes at least."
And when he says that I remember one of my jobs. One that I enjoy, that I volunteered for. My secret job that only a few people in the locker room know.
"Come with me." Darren says and I look at him, and he is high from fighting.
We walk into the trainer's room, and he helps me take off my gear, because I can't make my fingers work out what to do with blood rushing around doing 360's in my head.
Darren helps me onto the bench and laughs when his finger slides easily into me.
"Damn were you fucking someone today?"
"s why I was late." And I wiggle around enough on the bench to know it will not hurt when he is in me.
"Worth that fine you are going to have to pay?"
"Sure." I tell him. "Sho' 'nuff."
"Well?" Darren is careful and I hear the silver foil of the condom wrapper.
"Fuck me." I tell him. Darren pushes his dick into me, slowly, carefully in, and I rest my head on my hands with my ass in the air pushing back against him.
Darren leans forward to hold me, and stroke me, and to whisper in my ear. Something about the game, or the fight, or how those things fit together.
I come first, surprising myself, and Darren comes with a horse cry soon after.
I feel him kiss the small of my back above my ass.
"Damn Chris." He says. "So fucking hot."
""Hot damn." I say back. Mumbling into my hands. "Red hot fucking hell damn."
I laugh and let his hands roll me over. He is making a pattern in the come on my stomach, like a kiddie with finger paints.
"What do you draw on me?" I ask looking at the ceiling fan spinning around.
"Wings logo." Darren replies.
I look down suddenly interested; "you will need red for that."
"Some other time." He says and helps me off the bench, swiping off the come with the wipes that are generally used for sweat and blood and other bodily secretions.
"Bad bruise." He says touching my chin.
"Yours are worse." I tell him and touch the cut in his eyebrow. "One day there will be nothing there but scar tissue."
He shrugs. "It comes with the territory."
We both shower, Darren helps wash me, I like it and I am surprised that I do. He honestly thinks that I am sick and could pass out at any moment. I like his hands, they are almost soft from sweating in hockey gloves and they are hard from calluses. When his hands are near my face I think I can smell blood.
The team files in when they are done. Three-two loss late in the third.
Which happens, can't win them all and all that jazz. Vernon scowls and I do not go anywhere near him.
I sleep that night and I dream about being a red angel and living on a grey cloud when I feel his hands wake me. He has his own key.
"Would you have won that game?" He asks and kisses me.
"Yes." I tell him and kiss back. "It was a soft goal." I say this with assurance even though I did not see much of the game and none of the end.
"Liar." Ken replies. "No one could have stopped that shot."
"Liar, liar pants on fire." I tell him and laugh.
"Be serious." Ken glares at me in the dark. He drags my hips up his legs.
"Aren't' you going to get me to turn over? So you can fuck me from behind? Pretend I am Stevie or something?"
"I want to see you."
"Ain't nothing to see here, move along folks."
"Don't make everything a fucking joke." He spits out and slaps me. "See what happens?"
"Well you can't make an omelette without cracking some eggs." I say and smile in the darkness.
He snarls shoves himself into me.
I hiss in the dark and laugh. "Step on a crack and you marry a rat."
He slaps me. "Be serious." He demands. "Say something serious, don't do that babbling shit, it makes me angry. I love you."
"Ken and Chris." I stop when he hits me again. "In a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G."
Ken laughs and puts his hands against my neck. "Be serious." He says.
"Bite me." I reply and feel his teeth sink into the fleshy part at the bottom of my ear.
I feel the red for Darren's wings logo trickle out my nose in the dark and I laugh as his arm falls across my neck as he tries to fill me with himself.
And it goes fuzzy and dim, and it's like being in the grey cloud and it is raining.
"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to." I wheeze out.
"Shut up Chris." His voice is very low.
"Don't rain on my parade." I tell him and laugh as it goes black.
where the sun sets
Pairing: Ken Holland / Chris Osgood and Darren McCarty / Chris Osgood.
Rating NC-17 (violence)
Disclaimer: This is all fiction, it is all made up.
Dedication: Alex asked for this pairing.
Thanks a million for the help Chrissy.
A/N's Chris is about 22, Ken 39-ish. Set in the 94-95 season.
Vista = a scenic or panoramic view
A view seen through a long narrow opening, such as, between a row of buildings or trees.
A mental picture covering a wide range of objects or a long succession of events in the past or the future.
Chris's POV
"What is the view like from the edge of the world?" Ken rolls over to his side and looks at me.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you do." I pushed him, verbally at least. "Your birthday is soon. You are on the edge of years and decades and dreams. On the winning edge of the season. On the outside edge with your wife when she finds out about this. We are all on the edge of war. What is the view like? Is there bad weather? What can you see that I don't?"
"Clouds." He tells me and climbs off the bed and walks to the bathroom.
"What kind of clouds?"
He ignores me, and starts washing his arms and chest off in the cold water of the motel bathroom.
"You ask more questions than a child."
"I am a child. You are old enough to be my father. What do the clouds look like papa?"
"Don't call me that."
"Yes Mr Holland sir."
"They are rain clouds."
"What colour?" I roll on my side and look at the window. But the curtains are pulled so all I see is fabric.
"Stop asking stupid questions." He scrubs at the wet patches on his chest with the towel, it is old and rough and his white skin turns red, and then white again, leaving streaky trails of pink on his chest. I could soothe them away, but won’t.
He puts on his shirt and I roll over on the bed. I am still naked and I like the idea that I look obscene and used here, with his come drying on the back of my legs, dribbling down the inside of my thighs.
I do not have anywhere I particularly have to be. The mattress, which is sure to be soaked with plenty of others illicit, illegally spilled come, is only a threadbare sheet away from my nose. I think I can smell him a little bit; his cologne at least is clinging stubbornly to the pillows. It is empty, old, and expensive.
"I'm leaving now Chris." He says from someplace near the door.
I raise one arm off the bed and hold it in the air for several seconds before I let it fall down.
He sighs and climbs back on the bed. He kisses my shoulder.
"Grey rain clouds." He whispers: "so that you can see nothing but grey and have no idea what is underneath."
"Is that all?"
"No the sun is setting and the clouds are red."
"Will you jump?" I ask him.
He laughs and kisses the back of my neck. "I'll parachute in on my day with the Cup. I will see you this evening."
I shrug and have managed to fall asleep by the time he closes the door
I am late to the arena.
No one really notices, I am not playing and it can be put down to goalie sulk. I let them take shots on me in practise and try to care at the ones that get past me. I see the red light glowing in the top of the net like a beacon leading me through dark clouds.
I see Ken beckon to me in the hallway before the game and as everyone files into the dressing room I follow him.
"Don't think screwing me will help you." He hisses. "Don't be late again, that is the third time this month."
"Traffic." I say without looking at him, staring over his shoulder at the bank of vending machines.
"Don't give me that shit." He snarls, "stop fucking sulking and be prepared for your job."
"Traffic Mr GM sir. Traffic was bad on the highway sir." I salute him standing straight and still looking over his shoulder.
"You're fined for being late."
"Sir, yes sir." I say to the Pepsi and packets of chips.
"Steve will tell you how much."
"Can I get an advance on my allowance daddy?" I ask the Snickers bars.
Ken swings around and punches me in the face. I feel the area burn and throb and finally look at him.
He is breathing hard. "You are your own worst enemy Chris." He says.
"Sir, yes sir, Mr GM sir."
I leave the game half way though. Vernon is a train wreck, and even worse might win. The viewing audience of hundreds is told that I have the flu and am still dressed in the locker room but am not on the bench so I don't contaminate the other Wings with my germs.
Ken jokes to the announcers that if I go on I have been instructed to get close to the opposition forwards and pass on all my diseases.
"Ozzie could be the most dangerous when he is just breathing." Ken says and they all laugh.
I lie down on the bench in the dressing room and let my head fall off to the side, feeling all the blood run into my brain and pound there like a metal beat. My pulse slows down and the blood fills out the bruise so I can feel my jaw swelling up and growing grotesque.
My padding is heavy across my chest, and slips to my neck, and will eventually fall over my face.
I think of nothing but red blood, I feel it filling up my head and keep my mouth closed so the blood does not spill out.
"How did you get that bruise?" Darren's voice interrupts me. I only saw blood up to my eyes, the rest of my head had yet to be filled. I sit up and the blood flows back down the hourglass. I feel dizzy and I smile.
"I was dozzy from flu drugs, smacked into a wall." I say watching at the starbursts I see in front of my eyes.
"Ok." Darren says. "I got tossed for fighting."
I look, and indeed his knuckles are bruised from fighting. "I don't know why you bother."
"Because it's my job. The period doesn't finish for twenty minutes at least."
And when he says that I remember one of my jobs. One that I enjoy, that I volunteered for. My secret job that only a few people in the locker room know.
"Come with me." Darren says and I look at him, and he is high from fighting.
We walk into the trainer's room, and he helps me take off my gear, because I can't make my fingers work out what to do with blood rushing around doing 360's in my head.
Darren helps me onto the bench and laughs when his finger slides easily into me.
"Damn were you fucking someone today?"
"s why I was late." And I wiggle around enough on the bench to know it will not hurt when he is in me.
"Worth that fine you are going to have to pay?"
"Sure." I tell him. "Sho' 'nuff."
"Well?" Darren is careful and I hear the silver foil of the condom wrapper.
"Fuck me." I tell him. Darren pushes his dick into me, slowly, carefully in, and I rest my head on my hands with my ass in the air pushing back against him.
Darren leans forward to hold me, and stroke me, and to whisper in my ear. Something about the game, or the fight, or how those things fit together.
I come first, surprising myself, and Darren comes with a horse cry soon after.
I feel him kiss the small of my back above my ass.
"Damn Chris." He says. "So fucking hot."
""Hot damn." I say back. Mumbling into my hands. "Red hot fucking hell damn."
I laugh and let his hands roll me over. He is making a pattern in the come on my stomach, like a kiddie with finger paints.
"What do you draw on me?" I ask looking at the ceiling fan spinning around.
"Wings logo." Darren replies.
I look down suddenly interested; "you will need red for that."
"Some other time." He says and helps me off the bench, swiping off the come with the wipes that are generally used for sweat and blood and other bodily secretions.
"Bad bruise." He says touching my chin.
"Yours are worse." I tell him and touch the cut in his eyebrow. "One day there will be nothing there but scar tissue."
He shrugs. "It comes with the territory."
We both shower, Darren helps wash me, I like it and I am surprised that I do. He honestly thinks that I am sick and could pass out at any moment. I like his hands, they are almost soft from sweating in hockey gloves and they are hard from calluses. When his hands are near my face I think I can smell blood.
The team files in when they are done. Three-two loss late in the third.
Which happens, can't win them all and all that jazz. Vernon scowls and I do not go anywhere near him.
I sleep that night and I dream about being a red angel and living on a grey cloud when I feel his hands wake me. He has his own key.
"Would you have won that game?" He asks and kisses me.
"Yes." I tell him and kiss back. "It was a soft goal." I say this with assurance even though I did not see much of the game and none of the end.
"Liar." Ken replies. "No one could have stopped that shot."
"Liar, liar pants on fire." I tell him and laugh.
"Be serious." Ken glares at me in the dark. He drags my hips up his legs.
"Aren't' you going to get me to turn over? So you can fuck me from behind? Pretend I am Stevie or something?"
"I want to see you."
"Ain't nothing to see here, move along folks."
"Don't make everything a fucking joke." He spits out and slaps me. "See what happens?"
"Well you can't make an omelette without cracking some eggs." I say and smile in the darkness.
He snarls shoves himself into me.
I hiss in the dark and laugh. "Step on a crack and you marry a rat."
He slaps me. "Be serious." He demands. "Say something serious, don't do that babbling shit, it makes me angry. I love you."
"Ken and Chris." I stop when he hits me again. "In a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G."
Ken laughs and puts his hands against my neck. "Be serious." He says.
"Bite me." I reply and feel his teeth sink into the fleshy part at the bottom of my ear.
I feel the red for Darren's wings logo trickle out my nose in the dark and I laugh as his arm falls across my neck as he tries to fill me with himself.
And it goes fuzzy and dim, and it's like being in the grey cloud and it is raining.
"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to." I wheeze out.
"Shut up Chris." His voice is very low.
"Don't rain on my parade." I tell him and laugh as it goes black.
where the sun sets