ext_350792 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
maalivahti.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
2minsforslashing2005-01-24 09:16 am
maalivahti.livejournal.com) wrote in 2minsforslashing2005-01-24 09:16 am
post, redux...
i wanted to get this to !pat's handler before i posted for the whole world. that done, commence reading, if you missed it yesterday.
Title: Stolen Moments
Pairing: Steve Eminger/Alex Ovechkin
Rating: NC-18
A/N: Eminger POV. Based in F!W. For Lisa25, and the !AlexMuse ...
Quietly, I push open the door to the bathroom. Steam hits me, enveloping me in its warmth. I step inside, closing the door equally quiet behind me. He's in there, in the shower, naked, the hot water streaming down his well defined chest and ab muscles, drenching his hair, running rivulets down his face that drip from his chin. I've been semi-hard all the way upstairs to the bathroom, but now, picturing him wet, naked, his olive skin glistening, my cock is raging against the fly of my cargos.
I bite back a moan, not wanting him to know I am here, and undo my pants, sliding them quietly off. It's then that I hear him, hear his own soft moan. I draw in a shaky breath and shed my shirt, then quietly slide the shower door open. His eyes are closed, and he has one arm cocked, leaning it up against the tile wall as the water pounds him, pounds him the way I have, the way he's pounded me. He works his hand on his cock, leaning his head against his arm, his abs contracting as his lips form my name. I can barely hear his voice over the pounding of the water on the plexiglass shower.
In answer, I step in, my hand joining his. He jerks, eyes opening, cock jumping in our hands.
"Serzhya," he moans again, and I silence him with a kiss, stepping closer, brushing my cock against his, stroking us together. His hand finds my shaft, and we both angle our heads, as if on cue, to deepen the kiss. His tongue explores my mouth, a territory already familiar. I curl my tongue around his as my other hand slides around his waist to squeeze his ass.
I feel him tense, and I pull back to watch his face as he comes in my hand, on my stomach, splattering my skin and moaning my name, cords in his neck standing out. It's only a matter of moments before I come in response. I can't contain it, not knowing I've done that to him, that he finds me so hot, he can only take a few moments of me before he explodes. I grind my cock against his, captured between our abs, as I shoot hot and hard onto him. He's got his hands tight around my waist, holding me against him, and I can feel my heartbeat in my cock. Can he? Can he feel the pulsing, rapid, uneven, against his stomach? Does he know how he makes my blood pound? His tongue dives into my mouth again, frantic at first, wild, and I think he must know, must feel the same. Then the kiss gentles. Water pounds our mingled faces as we taste and tease, caress and explore.
His hand moves slowly up my back, fingers follow the path of my spine to hair, then tangle there. I move to cup his cheeks, hands slide back to cradle his head, thumbs brushing his strong cheekbones. We pull apart, slowly, and all I see are big brown eyes, heavy with so many thoughts and worries and wants. He reaches back, gaze not moving from mine, and shuts off the water. We stare at each other for a long moment.
So many thoughts in my head right now. I want him. Again. I love Pat. I can't hurt him again. I'm falling for Alex. I can't give up what Pat and I have. Things are so easy with Alex. I'm so in love with Pat. My thoughts would destroy Pat if he ever knew them. Not only what they are, but that they're about Alex. All of this, the love making, the wicked showers, the stolen glances, and conflicted thoughts, they would kill him on their own. But that they're about Alexander Ovechkin, the one person on the ice he completely regards as a total threat, considers his biggest enemy.
I am the worst husband ever.
He sees the change in my eyes as I think these things, and he knows, he can read me, already. After such a short time, he catches those small things and knows how to interpret them. It makes me melt even more.
"We should get out," he says, his voice soft, accent so exotic. I step onto the bathmat, grab towels, and hand him one. We dry off as we look at one another. We won't talk about it, about how much we want to be together, how much we love the person we're cheating on, how we are consumed with trying to find a way to make it work, but unwilling, and unable, to hurt anyone else involved. Conversations have become like this, so awkward, so forced as we dance around the one thing we most need to discuss. Anything but the situation at hand. Weather, hockey, television, and then some how, we're making allusions to ... us. I struggle, wanting him to know how strongly I feel for him, but unwilling to make the situation worse. He fights to protect himself, harden his heart and think us just friends.
I tie the towel around my hips, and reach behind me to open the door. The steam rushes out as I do, and he steps forward quickly, his palm to the wood, and he shuts it again, pressing me against it in the process. He leans in close, watching my eyes as he softly brushes his lips on mine. My arms slide around his waist, spread to cover his back as I hug him tightly. He drops his hand from the door and holds me, our cheeks cradled together, bodies pressing against each other, hearts beating together.
Can a stolen moment become a lifetime?
I don't want to open the door.
Title: Stolen Moments
Pairing: Steve Eminger/Alex Ovechkin
Rating: NC-18
A/N: Eminger POV. Based in F!W. For Lisa25, and the !AlexMuse ...
Quietly, I push open the door to the bathroom. Steam hits me, enveloping me in its warmth. I step inside, closing the door equally quiet behind me. He's in there, in the shower, naked, the hot water streaming down his well defined chest and ab muscles, drenching his hair, running rivulets down his face that drip from his chin. I've been semi-hard all the way upstairs to the bathroom, but now, picturing him wet, naked, his olive skin glistening, my cock is raging against the fly of my cargos.
I bite back a moan, not wanting him to know I am here, and undo my pants, sliding them quietly off. It's then that I hear him, hear his own soft moan. I draw in a shaky breath and shed my shirt, then quietly slide the shower door open. His eyes are closed, and he has one arm cocked, leaning it up against the tile wall as the water pounds him, pounds him the way I have, the way he's pounded me. He works his hand on his cock, leaning his head against his arm, his abs contracting as his lips form my name. I can barely hear his voice over the pounding of the water on the plexiglass shower.
In answer, I step in, my hand joining his. He jerks, eyes opening, cock jumping in our hands.
"Serzhya," he moans again, and I silence him with a kiss, stepping closer, brushing my cock against his, stroking us together. His hand finds my shaft, and we both angle our heads, as if on cue, to deepen the kiss. His tongue explores my mouth, a territory already familiar. I curl my tongue around his as my other hand slides around his waist to squeeze his ass.
I feel him tense, and I pull back to watch his face as he comes in my hand, on my stomach, splattering my skin and moaning my name, cords in his neck standing out. It's only a matter of moments before I come in response. I can't contain it, not knowing I've done that to him, that he finds me so hot, he can only take a few moments of me before he explodes. I grind my cock against his, captured between our abs, as I shoot hot and hard onto him. He's got his hands tight around my waist, holding me against him, and I can feel my heartbeat in my cock. Can he? Can he feel the pulsing, rapid, uneven, against his stomach? Does he know how he makes my blood pound? His tongue dives into my mouth again, frantic at first, wild, and I think he must know, must feel the same. Then the kiss gentles. Water pounds our mingled faces as we taste and tease, caress and explore.
His hand moves slowly up my back, fingers follow the path of my spine to hair, then tangle there. I move to cup his cheeks, hands slide back to cradle his head, thumbs brushing his strong cheekbones. We pull apart, slowly, and all I see are big brown eyes, heavy with so many thoughts and worries and wants. He reaches back, gaze not moving from mine, and shuts off the water. We stare at each other for a long moment.
So many thoughts in my head right now. I want him. Again. I love Pat. I can't hurt him again. I'm falling for Alex. I can't give up what Pat and I have. Things are so easy with Alex. I'm so in love with Pat. My thoughts would destroy Pat if he ever knew them. Not only what they are, but that they're about Alex. All of this, the love making, the wicked showers, the stolen glances, and conflicted thoughts, they would kill him on their own. But that they're about Alexander Ovechkin, the one person on the ice he completely regards as a total threat, considers his biggest enemy.
I am the worst husband ever.
He sees the change in my eyes as I think these things, and he knows, he can read me, already. After such a short time, he catches those small things and knows how to interpret them. It makes me melt even more.
"We should get out," he says, his voice soft, accent so exotic. I step onto the bathmat, grab towels, and hand him one. We dry off as we look at one another. We won't talk about it, about how much we want to be together, how much we love the person we're cheating on, how we are consumed with trying to find a way to make it work, but unwilling, and unable, to hurt anyone else involved. Conversations have become like this, so awkward, so forced as we dance around the one thing we most need to discuss. Anything but the situation at hand. Weather, hockey, television, and then some how, we're making allusions to ... us. I struggle, wanting him to know how strongly I feel for him, but unwilling to make the situation worse. He fights to protect himself, harden his heart and think us just friends.
I tie the towel around my hips, and reach behind me to open the door. The steam rushes out as I do, and he steps forward quickly, his palm to the wood, and he shuts it again, pressing me against it in the process. He leans in close, watching my eyes as he softly brushes his lips on mine. My arms slide around his waist, spread to cover his back as I hug him tightly. He drops his hand from the door and holds me, our cheeks cradled together, bodies pressing against each other, hearts beating together.
Can a stolen moment become a lifetime?
I don't want to open the door.
no subject
So is this for the wolves game or for the all star skills? ;)
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
We should get out," he says, his voice soft, accent so exotic.
That's the best part about Alex, his voice is pure seduction.