SATISFIED - Glen Murray/Patrice Bergeron

[holdeverysong.livejournal.com]

Title: Satisfied
Author: geekintehpink 
Pairing/Characters: Glen Murray/Patrice Bergeron
Rating: NC17
Summary: It's basically PWP, lol.  It's unbeta'd, so be kind, eh?
Word Count: 2,861
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Kthxbai.
Dedication: honeybee718 for essentially planting the idea in my head.

Glen's POV

To be totally honest, you aren't even sure how you got to this point. You'd always sort of looked at him as unobtainable. Young and gorgeous, brilliant and everything you wished you could be when you were his age, and god were you ever enthralled with him. You take a glance over at him and run a hand over your hair, suddenly wishing you hadn't shaved it a few months ago, so you had something to cling to. Instead, when you reach the base of your neck, you rub it nervously and look him up and down as he's leaning back against the seat of his car calmly. God, how can he be so damn calm? How can he not know what he's doing to you? Because you sure as hell know.

He closes the short distance between the two of you, and when you feel his breath against your cheek, your groin twitches. Your brain is screaming. He's twenty-two. Fourteen years younger than you. That's all three of your kids' ages added up and then some. But god damn it, you don't fucking care. You grab his face and close the distance between the two of you, taking the breath from his mouth and sucking it into yours, as well as his tongue.

For the love of Christ, you had wanted to do this since the first time you saw him four years ago. Had you been thinking clearly, you'd realize how creepy that sounded, seeing as how he was eighteen at the time, but right then? You didn't give a damn. You'd watched him grow from a boy (well, you're not really sure if he ever actually was a boy, because when you met him, he was the most mature eighteen-year-old you had ever seen, including yourself) to a man, and you'd be damned if he wasn't the most irresistible looking man you'd ever seen. You break the kiss, and you're already breathing erratically. Your body is pleading for more of him, since your midnight fantasies had always consisted of this moment. But your mind was saying that in his car was not the right place to do this.

“Patrice...inside...please. Can we go...inside...” you manage to speak, but just barely.

He nods, sending those shaggy brown strands of hair down in front of his eyes, and as much as you want to sweep them away, you don't, because you know that this is more or less a one night stand, and showing too much of the desire that you felt for the man would make it so that it wasn't even that. Pausing for a second to catch your breath, you open the car door and follow him to the front door of his apartment building. And honestly, you didn't remember the stairs, or the color of the walls or anything like that. All you remembered was watching him make his way up the stairs. Watching his ass wiggle in those slacks and how much you wanted in there.

He slides the key into the lock and opens the door, and you follow him in, expecting more pretense, more foreplay or something, but hell, are you ever wrong. No sooner had the door closed behind him, than you feel your body being crushed to the door, and his lips crushing against yours. And the breath that had been making it's way from your lungs got caught. Your stream of thought has been reduced to expletives and different variants of the word 'amazing.' You're about to slide your hands into his pockets to feel the curve of his ass beneath your fingers, when you hear him speak.

“You have no idea how hard I've had to try to stop myself from doing this in the locker room, Glen...” he says, rasping.

You laugh, because it's exactly what you'd been thinking when you saw him in the locker room after practice a couple days ago, for the first time since the incident. Skinnier and maybe a bit weaker, but still so beautiful. “I really think I do...” you say as you slide your hands into his back pockets, carefully and scientifically, like the last drop in a chemistry formula that may explode if something is done wrong. Because you might. Running your fingers along the curve of the toned muscles beneath you, you moan a little. Even better than you expected, even with the muscle mass lost in the time he'd had to spend away from workouts and training.

He looks at you after you speak, a bit surprised. “You've wanted me, too?” he asks, his accent dripping a bit of québécois sex over each word. But you try your best to ignore that.

How oblivious could he be? You suppose it could be chalked up as his humbleness, but even that couldn't mask, to anyone, how much you've always wanted him. “For so long...” you say with a grin, and you watch as that somewhat shy grin crosses his face. After you say it, though, you realize that he said 'too,' and it dawns on you that he's actually wanted you for longer than just tonight. And suddenly, that last bit of nervousness dissolves from your body, into the door and out into the Boston night.

You take advantage of the position the two of you were in and pull him by the ass, closer to you, grinding your hips together. And you grin when you realize that he wasn't lying; he really did want you. Reaching up to the front of his dress shirt, you pull at the buttons, and smirk as he starts pulling you toward his bedroom. No matter how many fantasies you'd had about this moment, the real thing was just...so much better, you realize now. You see him smirk at you and take a seat on the edge of his bed, awaiting the next move from you, and you smirk at the fact that even though you were willing to let him take the wheel, he's willing to sit in the passengers seat this time around.

Just a taste...you say to yourself as you don't do what he probably expected and straddle in front of him. You take a knee on the floor in front of him, grateful for the soft carpeting there, and let your other hit as well when you realized that it would be comfortable, then look up into his eyes. “Patrice, you're beautiful...”

Patrice's POV

No one calls you Patrice anymore. Well, except for your mother, but that's kind of a given. It's always Bergy or Berg or some variant of your last name and you've almost managed to forget how good it feels to be called Patrice. It's been laughed at by some of the ignorant American players, sure. Ridiculed and whatnot, but you don't care, because it's your name and you're tied to it. And you kind of like that fact. Almost as much as you like the fact that Glen calls you by your given name. Almost.

But then, Glen Murray could call you anything. He could call you Mother Theresa for all you care, because he is Glen Murray, and he is in your bedroom with you, as he has been in your fantasies for four years. But it's real now, as he slowly gets down on his knees before you. And while the idea was appealing, you'd invited him back to make love. To feel him inside of you and just play out everything that you'd had going on in your head for however long. You're about to tell him that too. Until you feel his fingers beneath the hem of your slacks, untucking your shirt, and the suddenly air-tight restriction of your slacks being released. You let out a breath and smile down at him.

But, when you look, he's taken a pause. “You okay?” he asks you, the softest of looks in his eyes, and you have all you can do not to tackle him to the floor.

Are you okay? You'd been fantasizing about this very moment for three years. Fuck porn, fuck pay per view. Fuck all of it. You had your imagination and things you'd heard Joe Thornton talking about to some of the other guys. Late nights alone weren't spent with your right hand. Not in your mind. They were spent with the man knelt before you right then, laying entangled in the sheets and forgetting losses or celebrating wins. Which made this whole moment all that much more surreal. And here he is, asking if it's okay. He really has no idea, does he?

You nod and smile shakily, because the mere thought of what's on it's way is getting to your body in a way you never thought possible. “I'm better than okay, Glen...” you tell him, reaching your hand down to touch his cheek.

You see him smile and you all but melt, raising your hips when you see that he's trying to lower your slacks a little. Your boxer shorts are still annoyingly present, but Glen realizes this and slides them out of the way, and you're suddenly exposed to him in a way that you'd never expected to be. And you feel self-conscious. Even more-so when you realize that he's been with Joe Thornton. 'Jumbo Joe,' who is Jumbo in more than one sense of the word, or so you've heard. You feel a blush creeping up, and you avert your eyes away from him, but when you hear him speak again, you're drawn back.

“I can't wait to taste you,” he says in a husky voice, his hands brushing along your thighs slowly and softly, and your body shudders beneath the touch.

You're about to plead with him to just taste you then, because you don't know how much more of this torment you can take. Your lips form the first syllable in 'please,' when you feel his lips wrap around your head and all that comes out is a sharp exhalation of breath. You fight with your hips, begging them not to move, but it seems that he can read your every move, because you feel his hands there, keeping you in place. How he's able to read all your movements, you have no idea, but you're so glad. You reach a hand down and put it atop his, just because you so desperately want the contact with him. What would have been words rapidly turn to groans and incoherent mumbles as you feel the wet heat of his tongue lap along your head.

He begins to move downward along your length, and you let out a soft, ecstatic cry. Whatever you'd been picturing in thoughts and fantasies? Paled in comparison to what it actually felt like to be with him. He hasn't even fully taken you in yet and you're already a whimpering mass, sitting at the foot of your bed, so you wonder what you'll be like when he actually gets there. Or more importantly when he's fucking you. If this feels this good, then you can't wait for that.

When he has you all the way in his mouth, he pauses, and you look down, and decide that the look of him with his lips around you is fucking unbelievable. You're about to tell him that when you see him hollow his cheeks and draw back, and you cry out loud and throw your head back in a blinding, mind numbing pleasure. And from there, it only gets better. You're left gasping for air and moaning like a virgin on prom night as Glen proceeds to give you the most amazing head you have ever received in your life, and when you finally come, it's harder, deeper than you have ever come before. You collapse back to the bed and you're pretty sure you've discovered that it's possible to see fireworks when you come, because Jesus H. Christ, that's all you can see.

When the world finally comes back into focus and the bright flashes finally begin to subside, you see Glen crawling up to look at you, and he's smiling. And you're not sure you've ever felt this amazing in your life.

Glen's POV

After swallowing every bit that he had to offer you, you crawl up to the bed with a smirk. Those cries, crumbling to the bed as he did when you were finished, you have to say, that was the best reaction you've ever gotten from having given head before. You smile at him, smoothing that piece of hair from his face finally, and even though you're fully content to wait until he's had a little time to catch his breath, and just watch him lay there for a second, you feel him tugging you forward for a kiss. He doesn't wince at his own taste, and for a second, you're shocked, but that goes away when you realize that this is Patrice, not some kid who didn't know what he was doing. You feel him tugging at your shirt, impatiently undoing the buttons and tossing both that and your suit-jacket to the floor in a heap, then removing the remainder of his own clothes.

You join him, and in a haste, kick off your shoes and socks, and your slacks, and lean in for another kiss. He smiles and lays back, allowing you to crawl atop him. You see him reaching into the drawer in his bedside table, and he produces the necessary supplies in a condom and a bottle of lubricant, and you smile at him. God, this is really happening. And you can't get over it. You and he seem to just be on the same page, as you see him glance up and down your body, waiting for you to roll the condom on and just get started. Which is more than fine with you. You smirk and chuckle at the look in his eyes, then reach down to slide the rubber onto your hungrily attentive dick, then generously lubricate yourself, and look at him with a lopsided grin.

He props his calves up against your shoulders so that the angle is perfect, and you grin as you press against him, slowly, carefully pushing inside, though you pause momentarily, to make sure the groans that he's letting out are good ones. When you realize that he's smiling, you let out a groan of your own as you finally make it beyond the uncomfortable stage for him, and you can both get into it. And that's exactly what you both do. You rock your hips, groaning and crying out, because no matter how many fantasies you'd had in the past about this, really feeling it? Really being buried inside of him? Was incomparable. Leaning down, you press your lips to his again, and lock eyes with him, smoothing his hair back from his eyes as you continued to bring yourself closer to the sweet release that you so desperately craved right then.

After awhile, you feel his muscles clench around you, and let out a gasp and a groan as that gives you the last little push you need, and you're exploding inside of him, all those years of pent up desire and lust for the man beneath you finally coming true in that final moment. And God damn, was it ever better than what you thought it would be. You groan from deep in the pit of your stomach, and you hear him let off one of his own, and then, you're left breathless, leaning against him to keep you grounded.

Letting out a breath when you finally find gravity, you pull out of him slowly, then roll off to lay beside him, taking the condom off and finding the waste basket beside his bed. You take a glance over at him and smirk. “Mind if I crash here tonight? I don't think I have the energy to walk out to the car...” you say with a laugh.

It's a lie. You know it, and from the smirk on his face, you're pretty sure he does too, but neither of you ask any questions, and he just nods. “I don't think I have the energy to drive you, either...” he lies right back, and as you both smirk evilly at one another, he reaches over and caresses your face with his palm, then reaches back over to his bedside table for a Kleenex. And it's only then that you realize that he'd gotten there again. You'd been able to bring Patrice off twice in one go. Maybe he wasn't so out of your league after all. You smirk as you take the tissue from him and toss it into the waste basket when he's finished cleaning up, then lean in for yet another kiss.

He grin at you when the kiss breaks. “Night, Glen.”

“Night, Patrice...” you say, mimicking his grin.

You don't know if this is the first of many times this will happen, or the one and only, but either way? You're pretty sure you're satisfied.

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/_goldenroad_/]

I just cried.

That was so precious.

Patrice is back!

[holdeverysong.livejournal.com]

Oh thank you! =)

Well, on his way back, but yeah! XD

[abw92.livejournal.com]

Good job on this.

[holdeverysong.livejournal.com]

=) Thank you!

[inmycrease.livejournal.com]

"Fuck porn, fuck pay per view. Fuck all of it. You had your imagination and things you'd heard Joe Thornton talking about to some of the other guys. Late nights alone weren't spent with your right hand. Not in your mind. They were spent with the man knelt before you right then, laying entangled in the sheets and forgetting losses or celebrating wins. Which made this whole moment all that much more surreal. And here he is, asking if it's okay. He really has no idea, does he?"

LOVE IT! Such an amazing storyline and your writing is flawless! I felt like I was there or something.

[holdeverysong.livejournal.com]

OMG, wow. Thank you! XD

[ks-writes.livejournal.com]

...

~throws bucket of water over self~ Holy guh. I can't even... words... ~explodes~

That. Was. Awesome. Times 356695, omfg.

[holdeverysong.livejournal.com]

JKDHGUHK THANK YOU! OMG I thought people were gonna be like 'ick.'

*dies*

[honeybee718.livejournal.com]

....

Hello, you've reached honeybee's brain... she can't form coherent thoughts right now... so please leave a message after the beep and she'll get back to you.

Beep!

(and weeee! dedication! *flails about* That made me :D )

[holdeverysong.livejournal.com]

Well it IS all your fault! =P

And Bergy's.

And Glen's.

And his wife's.

And...yeah. Okay. Mine too. <>

[slaveforbenji.livejournal.com]

Oh good morning to me!

Lovely, lovely, lovely!

[holdeverysong.livejournal.com]

Why thank you! XD