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2minsforslashingThis is my first venture into hockeyslash (hopefully not my last)
Basically it's an exercise in writing hockey slash in hockey terms. :D it's been a labor of love, and it's officially the longest fic i've ever written.
Enjoy!
Title: Faceoff in the Defensive Zone
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brodeurbunny30
Pairing: Rhett Warrener/Roman Hamrlik
Rating: R for explicit metaphors?
Summary: Rhett is determined to bed Roman. Roman has his own plans. 3000 words of explicit use of hockey metaphors, terms, phrases and jargon.
Disclaimer: I wouldn't reccomend reading this while drinking or eating anything you could choke on. Read this fic at your own risk. Side effects may include, incessant laughing during regularily scheduled hockey broadcasts, and the inability to say five-hole without giggling. Do not read if you don't like slash or easily lose control of your bladder while laughing.
Author's notes: my deepest gratitude goes out tocaras_galadhon for first proposing that i take on this exercise, then continuing to encourage me throughout its progress. thanx again for the lovely beta, you are truly the best.
Ever since Roman Hamrlik joined the roster he was a marked man, both on and off the ice. Rhett Warrener knew better than to believe that sweet little east-coast all-star defenseman bit. No one was that polite and that eager to cozy up to his line mates without wanting to get a little ice-time in return.
Not that Rhett minded a new task. He relished the opportunity to shadow a new man, a man to keep pressed up against the boards between plays. Best of all, Rhett was good at studying the competition, good at keeping to the task at hand, and the most skilled at keeping his man covered.
***
Dark, noisy and hazy. Yep, that's how Rhett would remember the little club he was in now. Dark, and definitely noisy. Just like at the Saddledome, sorta. Only with a lot more techno music and a helluva lot more glow sticks.
Why Roman felt the need to come to this club of all places was beyond him. Sure, Rhett preferred a sly little country bar back in Calgary where the women and men wore denim instead of rubber, but he wasn't here for the entertainment. He was here to take a shot at the hard-hitting Euro, and nothing was going to keep him from his target.
***
Roman sat at the bar, sipping at a vodka, casually tuning into the highlights on the little flat screen hanging in the corner of the bar. With his attention elsewhere, he never saw his fellow rearguard take the seat next to him.
"Sure look like you could use a line change, my friend." Rhett ran a hand through his unruly tresses and flashed the former-islander one of his ice-melting smiles.
The muscled Czech gave his fellow D-man a quick glance before returning his attention to the highlight reel.
"I think it is *you* who needs a 'line' change, my friend." He smirked as he lazily returned to nursing his drink.
It was the first time in a long while that Rhett felt genuinely left behind on a play. He didn't know what to say, so he ordered a drink. Perhaps a little swig from the theoretical water bottle would get him back into the game. Well, he hoped, anyway. His offensive strategies usually involved keeping his man covered and jumping into the rush as soon as he got the chance. It'd been a long time since he'd been caught off-guard in the neutral zone.
Roman must have sensed the other man's anxiety, so he finished his vodka and ordered them another round.
"I thought you were a stay at home defenseman, Rhett." The Canadian sucked in a noticeable breath as the smooth Czech spoke his name, rolling his R's just so, just enough to make his toes curl. "And shouldn't you be back at the hotel, looking after your own end?"
Euros usually knew how effective their accents were on the locals, and Roman was no different. The way he spoke was sinfully slow and purposeful. He was fully aware that a short string of on-ice commands was enough to garnish a few off-ice requests.
"I *am* looking after my own end, Roman." Rhett flicked his tongue along his lips salaciously. It was time to go on the offensive, even if he felt a little mis-matched.
Roman just smiled. It was soft, knowing and dripping with animal attraction. If Rhett didn't feel like he was on display at center ice, he woulda come right there, just staring at that sexy smile.
"Is that so, Rhett?"
This time there was no mistaking the glint of playful flirtation in those chocolate colored eyes as he gave Warrener a very slow once over. Rhett was sure that he was trying to assess whether it was worth crossing the red line to get a shot at the crease. East coasters were, after all, usually reluctant about leaving the neutral zone unless there was a good chance to score.
Not that Rhett minded. He was a good Canadian boy; the joy of playing the game itself was enough to keep him happy. Though having a shift with the hulking Czech would make him a lot happier.
"You know, I like your style, Rhett." Damn. There he was again, using his name. If he didn't stop soon Rhett would have to pin him against the bar, and put his stick to some good use.
"Oh? Well, you've got a pretty good style too." He responded almost shyly. Damn that Euro for being so attractive. Rhett bit his lip as Roman stood up from his seat, and took away any space that was between them. Roman casually fiddled with the collar of Rhett's shirt. The Canadian let out a small hiss as his only response to the Czech's well-calculated teasing.
"You westerners play with fire in your bellies. A little run-and-gun, you could say. And you're certainly the most aggressive men I've ever had the pleasure to play with. Especially when they check so *hard*." Roman leaned in to whisper that last part, his warm breath setting Rhett's skin on fire.
Damn. He hadn't seen that change in strategy. No wonder this guy was an all-star. He had just managed to go from protecting his net, to an all-out-attack in less than five minutes. But that was the game. His game. He didn't have any problems with a little give and take, a little back and forth kind of action.
His tight jeans were now uncomfortably restricting, and unless he wanted to go down with a groin pull during the opening face-off he'd find a way to get Roman back to the hotel, or the back seat of a taxi. Hell he'd take him in a dark alley at this point. Anything but this torture.
Roman musta been reading his thoughts or noticing the growing bulge in his pants because Rhett felt soft hands on his gear, slow and discreet with their stroking and touching.
The tanned Czech blue-liner let his soft lips curl into a self-satisfied grin as he heard Rhett moan softly, audible only to them. Warrener's mouth was a thin line of determination, determined not to let himself get undressed by the offensive play in front of the crowd.
"Let's be honest, Rhett. You figured you'd stroll into my end and expect me to shoot a one-timer off your quick pass, then write the game off as a victory." All the Canadian could manage was another moan as Roman's hands slipped under his shirt and began to explore the expanse of skin underneath.
Roman lowered his eyes to stare at Rhett intensely before planting a soft peck on his stubbled cheek.
"Well, I'll be honest too." He trailed his lips along Warrener's jaw line, ending with a quick nip at his ear lobe before whispering, "That's what I was hoping you would do, Rhett."
Getting his point across, Roman backed away immediately, as if they had not just shared what had seemed like only an inch of space. The Czech shouldered his leather jacket and threw the bartender a generous tip, stepping around the flabbergasted defenseman in the process of heading for the exit.
Rhett worried his bottom lip as he took a moment to gather himself and settle his blood pressure before he took off in a jog in the direction of the exiting Czech.
He wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened, and certainly wasn't sure what kind of game Roman had planned for them, but what he was sure of was simple. He had never been that lucky on the forecheck. Ever.
***
Rhett was shocked at how quickly they made it to Roman's hotel room. It seemed as if Fate had given their little rendezvous its blessing because there was seemingly no traffic on the usually hectic downtown Detroit streets. Neither were there any eager fans out for an autograph. Not that Rhett would have stopped to sign anything anyways. It was difficult enough to hide his erection without having to stop to take a photo.
Where Rhett was uncomfortable and anxious, Roman was strangely relaxed, gazing quietly out the taxi window. This of course made Rhett even more tense. Men who were that silent on the attack usually caught you with your head down, shoving you into a corner when you weren't expecting it. Though on occasion that strategy turned out to be a lot of fun.
***
Both men slipped into the hotel unnoticed, which happened only very rarely. Normally being out past curfew was against the team's rules of conduct, but they had a two day layover and Coach Sutter had promised to give the team their freedom for the one night, and the one night only. That is, under the agreement that no one ended up in jail or in the emergency room.
And Rhett was more than happy to conclude that late night stick work with his fellow team mate didn't fall under either of those categories.
***
Rhett hadn't been standing for much longer than a minute inside the muscled European's hotel room before he was shoved aggressively against the door. Hell, he barely had a moment to get some air back in his lungs before Roman covered his lips in a smoldering kiss. Roman's kiss was hard and bruising like his body-checks, and both left you breathless and disoriented.
He tried getting his footing, but Roman was too strong, pinning the Westerner with his muscled torso and legs. Rhett felt himself on the edge of madness as Roman rubbed his toned thigh against Warrener's erection, bringing him to a seemingly new level of hardness.
Just when Rhett felt that he was going to pass out from sensory overload, Roman detached himself from Rhett's lips and began kissing a trail down his neck, leaving Warrener a few seconds to return his breathing to almost normal capacity. That is, before Roman found that soft spot near his collar-bone and robbed him of breath once more.
The Czech had soft hands, but Rhett couldn't imagine just how soft and sensual they were. Finding out firsthand was an experience and a half as Roman tore away at the Canadian's jacket, proceeding to yank Rhett's sweater over his head with only slight difficulty before tossing it onto the floor.
Warrener closed his eyes and moaned loudly as Roman explored his body with lips, teeth and tongue. He ran his hands through Roman's silky chestnut colored hair as the Czech ravished his left nipple.
As difficult as it was to try and focus while Roman was making him squirm with sweet torture, Rhett tried to compose himself enough to speak. He had come to Roman's hotel room with the intentions of deking him out of his shorts, and instead the European had sidestepped his attack and beaten him to the puck.
Hamrlik must have sensed Rhett's need for them to progress to the next stage of the game, because he quickly unbuttoned Rhett's jeans and shoved them, along with the plaid boxers underneath, to the floor. Within a flash, Roman's shirt, pants and briefs also joined the growing pile of cast aside clothing. There was no longer a chance to change strategy. The play was set.
Rhett had to take a moment to admire the beauty of Roman’s skillfully honed athletic body; everything from his naturally bronzed body to the small trail of smooth chestnut hair that led down from his belly to his groin. And if Rhett didn’t want to lay down and surrender as Roman crashed the net in front of him, he would take matters into his own hands and chase his own damn puck.
Within seconds of making his mental decision to go full-throttle for his victory, Rhett had the all-star pinned to the hotel room bed, their lips pressed tightly together in a kiss that would make porn stars jealous.
Roman broke away to catch his breath, a little taken aback by the turnover of power.
“You’re pretty forward for a defenseman, Rhett.” Those chocolate eyes were half-mocking him, half-challenging him to keep up with this new pace he had just established.
“Haven’t you heard, Roman, that the best defense is a good offense?” His lips were on the Czech’s neck, making the larger man shudder noticeably.
“True, but you didn’t have to blow the whistle on my power play.”
Rhett continued to lick at the European’s skin, pausing momentarily to whisper in his ear. “I haven’t blown anything yet.”
“If you don’t do something soon, I’m going to give you a taste of my high stick whether you’re ready for the interference or not.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
And that was it. Rhett’s hands were all over Roman, exploring each muscle with sinful consideration. Roman’s breath hitched audibly as Rhett dragged his hot tongue along his hip bone, arriving to lick the tip of his painfully erect cock.
Shivers of pleasure rippled through the European’s body as Rhett took his cock into the hot, wet depths of his mouth, his long tresses tickling the soft skin of his thighs and belly.
Roman couldn’t help but think that it felt like the adrenaline rush that you get when you make that first great outlet pass mixed with the anxiety of being down a man with a minute left on the clock. The seconds ticked away with slow torture, his sanity teetering over an invisible cliff, just waiting for sweet release.
An animal growl escaped his throat as he yanked Rhett up, pulling him close for a bruising kiss. Roman took no notice of the taste of his own cock on his lips as he ravished the Westerner, shoving him down into the bed and settling between the Canadian’s muscled thighs.
“Good God, Roman. I’d say that was roughing.” The words seemed to have stumbled out of his mouth of their own accord. Rhett’s entire body felt as if it was melting in liquid fire, but there still was a part of him that didn’t want to lay down to the opposition.
“I’d say you like it rough, Rhett.” Roman smothered any protest by placing another oppressive kiss upon the helpless rearguard’s mouth.
Rhett was so taken with the European’s ministrations that he took no notice of the other man reaching over to grab some lube from the nightstand.
As soon as he felt the poke-check against his five hole, Rhett tore away from Roman’s hungry lips, breaking their kiss and allowing both men to catch their breath.
Rhett reached down between their sweat slicked bodies to fondle Roman’s swollen erection, pausing him momentarily to capture his attention.
“Not like this.” He saw flashes of anger, frustration and disappointment in Roman’s warm brown eyes.
“You’re not going to block my shot are you?“ There was a hint of boyish self-consciousness in his response.
Rhett lifted a roughened hand up to caress Roman’s cheek, stroking his jaw line with soft strokes.
“I usually don’t like that much protection or anything, usually slows me down. But I just realized I’m not that familiar with your equipment or your game strategy, and I sure’s hell don’t know who’ve you trained with. Besides, a screened shot is just as good as a regular shot as long as you still get to score.”
Roman looked to be suffering from a momentary battle of wills before giving in and taking a condom from the nightstand drawer. He rolled it on with only a minor grimace before placing his stick to the center of the crease. With one quick shot, his stick slid five-hold to the back of the net; this of course elicited quite the string of animalistic moans from the Canadian blue-liner.
“You’re lucky that I wanted to pound you into the ice this bad.” He spoke quietly into Rhett’s ear as he began to thrust with slow but purposeful strokes, like a zamboni driving its path across the ice, knowing where the weak and troublesome spots were and exactly how to melt them into smooth submission.
Despite his mind’s resistance to letting himself be bested, Rhett couldn’t help but let himself give in to the overload of pleasure that the strapping rearguard was offering him, akin only to the euphoric sense that one got from an important on-ice victory.
Soon thereafter Roman’s breath came in staccato bursts as he thrust his hips madly, bringing both to what each could only later describe as being the Stanley Cup of orgasms.
Then there was that short moment of awkwardness as they untangled their limbs and lay back on the soft hotel bed, tired, worn, but completely satisfied.
There was silence. Heavy, oppressive silence as they re-played the events of the evening in their minds, putting together their very own highlight reel.
Still, neither man budged, each still too lost in his own thoughts to actually process the repercussions of their actions.
But after five minutes, five very long minutes (longer than the five minutes Rhett spent killing a slashing penalty in the finals the year previous, but that was another story altogether) Rhett turned over to look directly into Roman’s heavy-lidded gaze.
“How ‘bout we take two minutes for holding.” He said it in his cheesiest voice, making sure to bat his eyelashes just so. This made Roman burst out with warm, hearty laughter before he reached over to pull Rhett towards the comforting heat of his chest.
“I’ll give you two minutes for holding as long as you give me five minutes for overtime. I’m not finished with you yet, you know.” Roman spoke with a wild glint in his eyes, bending forward to leave a jovial kiss on the tip of Rhett’s nose.
The Canadian defenseman laughed as he reached low to give Roman’s softening member a playful squeeze.
“It’s a deal, my friend. As long as you promise me a shootout.”
At that, they both just laughed, content and satisfied with their unsportsmanlike conduct.
FIN
Basically it's an exercise in writing hockey slash in hockey terms. :D it's been a labor of love, and it's officially the longest fic i've ever written.
Enjoy!
Title: Faceoff in the Defensive Zone
Author:
brodeurbunny30Pairing: Rhett Warrener/Roman Hamrlik
Rating: R for explicit metaphors?
Summary: Rhett is determined to bed Roman. Roman has his own plans. 3000 words of explicit use of hockey metaphors, terms, phrases and jargon.
Disclaimer: I wouldn't reccomend reading this while drinking or eating anything you could choke on. Read this fic at your own risk. Side effects may include, incessant laughing during regularily scheduled hockey broadcasts, and the inability to say five-hole without giggling. Do not read if you don't like slash or easily lose control of your bladder while laughing.
Author's notes: my deepest gratitude goes out to
caras_galadhon for first proposing that i take on this exercise, then continuing to encourage me throughout its progress. thanx again for the lovely beta, you are truly the best.Ever since Roman Hamrlik joined the roster he was a marked man, both on and off the ice. Rhett Warrener knew better than to believe that sweet little east-coast all-star defenseman bit. No one was that polite and that eager to cozy up to his line mates without wanting to get a little ice-time in return.
Not that Rhett minded a new task. He relished the opportunity to shadow a new man, a man to keep pressed up against the boards between plays. Best of all, Rhett was good at studying the competition, good at keeping to the task at hand, and the most skilled at keeping his man covered.
***
Dark, noisy and hazy. Yep, that's how Rhett would remember the little club he was in now. Dark, and definitely noisy. Just like at the Saddledome, sorta. Only with a lot more techno music and a helluva lot more glow sticks.
Why Roman felt the need to come to this club of all places was beyond him. Sure, Rhett preferred a sly little country bar back in Calgary where the women and men wore denim instead of rubber, but he wasn't here for the entertainment. He was here to take a shot at the hard-hitting Euro, and nothing was going to keep him from his target.
***
Roman sat at the bar, sipping at a vodka, casually tuning into the highlights on the little flat screen hanging in the corner of the bar. With his attention elsewhere, he never saw his fellow rearguard take the seat next to him.
"Sure look like you could use a line change, my friend." Rhett ran a hand through his unruly tresses and flashed the former-islander one of his ice-melting smiles.
The muscled Czech gave his fellow D-man a quick glance before returning his attention to the highlight reel.
"I think it is *you* who needs a 'line' change, my friend." He smirked as he lazily returned to nursing his drink.
It was the first time in a long while that Rhett felt genuinely left behind on a play. He didn't know what to say, so he ordered a drink. Perhaps a little swig from the theoretical water bottle would get him back into the game. Well, he hoped, anyway. His offensive strategies usually involved keeping his man covered and jumping into the rush as soon as he got the chance. It'd been a long time since he'd been caught off-guard in the neutral zone.
Roman must have sensed the other man's anxiety, so he finished his vodka and ordered them another round.
"I thought you were a stay at home defenseman, Rhett." The Canadian sucked in a noticeable breath as the smooth Czech spoke his name, rolling his R's just so, just enough to make his toes curl. "And shouldn't you be back at the hotel, looking after your own end?"
Euros usually knew how effective their accents were on the locals, and Roman was no different. The way he spoke was sinfully slow and purposeful. He was fully aware that a short string of on-ice commands was enough to garnish a few off-ice requests.
"I *am* looking after my own end, Roman." Rhett flicked his tongue along his lips salaciously. It was time to go on the offensive, even if he felt a little mis-matched.
Roman just smiled. It was soft, knowing and dripping with animal attraction. If Rhett didn't feel like he was on display at center ice, he woulda come right there, just staring at that sexy smile.
"Is that so, Rhett?"
This time there was no mistaking the glint of playful flirtation in those chocolate colored eyes as he gave Warrener a very slow once over. Rhett was sure that he was trying to assess whether it was worth crossing the red line to get a shot at the crease. East coasters were, after all, usually reluctant about leaving the neutral zone unless there was a good chance to score.
Not that Rhett minded. He was a good Canadian boy; the joy of playing the game itself was enough to keep him happy. Though having a shift with the hulking Czech would make him a lot happier.
"You know, I like your style, Rhett." Damn. There he was again, using his name. If he didn't stop soon Rhett would have to pin him against the bar, and put his stick to some good use.
"Oh? Well, you've got a pretty good style too." He responded almost shyly. Damn that Euro for being so attractive. Rhett bit his lip as Roman stood up from his seat, and took away any space that was between them. Roman casually fiddled with the collar of Rhett's shirt. The Canadian let out a small hiss as his only response to the Czech's well-calculated teasing.
"You westerners play with fire in your bellies. A little run-and-gun, you could say. And you're certainly the most aggressive men I've ever had the pleasure to play with. Especially when they check so *hard*." Roman leaned in to whisper that last part, his warm breath setting Rhett's skin on fire.
Damn. He hadn't seen that change in strategy. No wonder this guy was an all-star. He had just managed to go from protecting his net, to an all-out-attack in less than five minutes. But that was the game. His game. He didn't have any problems with a little give and take, a little back and forth kind of action.
His tight jeans were now uncomfortably restricting, and unless he wanted to go down with a groin pull during the opening face-off he'd find a way to get Roman back to the hotel, or the back seat of a taxi. Hell he'd take him in a dark alley at this point. Anything but this torture.
Roman musta been reading his thoughts or noticing the growing bulge in his pants because Rhett felt soft hands on his gear, slow and discreet with their stroking and touching.
The tanned Czech blue-liner let his soft lips curl into a self-satisfied grin as he heard Rhett moan softly, audible only to them. Warrener's mouth was a thin line of determination, determined not to let himself get undressed by the offensive play in front of the crowd.
"Let's be honest, Rhett. You figured you'd stroll into my end and expect me to shoot a one-timer off your quick pass, then write the game off as a victory." All the Canadian could manage was another moan as Roman's hands slipped under his shirt and began to explore the expanse of skin underneath.
Roman lowered his eyes to stare at Rhett intensely before planting a soft peck on his stubbled cheek.
"Well, I'll be honest too." He trailed his lips along Warrener's jaw line, ending with a quick nip at his ear lobe before whispering, "That's what I was hoping you would do, Rhett."
Getting his point across, Roman backed away immediately, as if they had not just shared what had seemed like only an inch of space. The Czech shouldered his leather jacket and threw the bartender a generous tip, stepping around the flabbergasted defenseman in the process of heading for the exit.
Rhett worried his bottom lip as he took a moment to gather himself and settle his blood pressure before he took off in a jog in the direction of the exiting Czech.
He wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened, and certainly wasn't sure what kind of game Roman had planned for them, but what he was sure of was simple. He had never been that lucky on the forecheck. Ever.
***
Rhett was shocked at how quickly they made it to Roman's hotel room. It seemed as if Fate had given their little rendezvous its blessing because there was seemingly no traffic on the usually hectic downtown Detroit streets. Neither were there any eager fans out for an autograph. Not that Rhett would have stopped to sign anything anyways. It was difficult enough to hide his erection without having to stop to take a photo.
Where Rhett was uncomfortable and anxious, Roman was strangely relaxed, gazing quietly out the taxi window. This of course made Rhett even more tense. Men who were that silent on the attack usually caught you with your head down, shoving you into a corner when you weren't expecting it. Though on occasion that strategy turned out to be a lot of fun.
***
Both men slipped into the hotel unnoticed, which happened only very rarely. Normally being out past curfew was against the team's rules of conduct, but they had a two day layover and Coach Sutter had promised to give the team their freedom for the one night, and the one night only. That is, under the agreement that no one ended up in jail or in the emergency room.
And Rhett was more than happy to conclude that late night stick work with his fellow team mate didn't fall under either of those categories.
***
Rhett hadn't been standing for much longer than a minute inside the muscled European's hotel room before he was shoved aggressively against the door. Hell, he barely had a moment to get some air back in his lungs before Roman covered his lips in a smoldering kiss. Roman's kiss was hard and bruising like his body-checks, and both left you breathless and disoriented.
He tried getting his footing, but Roman was too strong, pinning the Westerner with his muscled torso and legs. Rhett felt himself on the edge of madness as Roman rubbed his toned thigh against Warrener's erection, bringing him to a seemingly new level of hardness.
Just when Rhett felt that he was going to pass out from sensory overload, Roman detached himself from Rhett's lips and began kissing a trail down his neck, leaving Warrener a few seconds to return his breathing to almost normal capacity. That is, before Roman found that soft spot near his collar-bone and robbed him of breath once more.
The Czech had soft hands, but Rhett couldn't imagine just how soft and sensual they were. Finding out firsthand was an experience and a half as Roman tore away at the Canadian's jacket, proceeding to yank Rhett's sweater over his head with only slight difficulty before tossing it onto the floor.
Warrener closed his eyes and moaned loudly as Roman explored his body with lips, teeth and tongue. He ran his hands through Roman's silky chestnut colored hair as the Czech ravished his left nipple.
As difficult as it was to try and focus while Roman was making him squirm with sweet torture, Rhett tried to compose himself enough to speak. He had come to Roman's hotel room with the intentions of deking him out of his shorts, and instead the European had sidestepped his attack and beaten him to the puck.
Hamrlik must have sensed Rhett's need for them to progress to the next stage of the game, because he quickly unbuttoned Rhett's jeans and shoved them, along with the plaid boxers underneath, to the floor. Within a flash, Roman's shirt, pants and briefs also joined the growing pile of cast aside clothing. There was no longer a chance to change strategy. The play was set.
Rhett had to take a moment to admire the beauty of Roman’s skillfully honed athletic body; everything from his naturally bronzed body to the small trail of smooth chestnut hair that led down from his belly to his groin. And if Rhett didn’t want to lay down and surrender as Roman crashed the net in front of him, he would take matters into his own hands and chase his own damn puck.
Within seconds of making his mental decision to go full-throttle for his victory, Rhett had the all-star pinned to the hotel room bed, their lips pressed tightly together in a kiss that would make porn stars jealous.
Roman broke away to catch his breath, a little taken aback by the turnover of power.
“You’re pretty forward for a defenseman, Rhett.” Those chocolate eyes were half-mocking him, half-challenging him to keep up with this new pace he had just established.
“Haven’t you heard, Roman, that the best defense is a good offense?” His lips were on the Czech’s neck, making the larger man shudder noticeably.
“True, but you didn’t have to blow the whistle on my power play.”
Rhett continued to lick at the European’s skin, pausing momentarily to whisper in his ear. “I haven’t blown anything yet.”
“If you don’t do something soon, I’m going to give you a taste of my high stick whether you’re ready for the interference or not.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
And that was it. Rhett’s hands were all over Roman, exploring each muscle with sinful consideration. Roman’s breath hitched audibly as Rhett dragged his hot tongue along his hip bone, arriving to lick the tip of his painfully erect cock.
Shivers of pleasure rippled through the European’s body as Rhett took his cock into the hot, wet depths of his mouth, his long tresses tickling the soft skin of his thighs and belly.
Roman couldn’t help but think that it felt like the adrenaline rush that you get when you make that first great outlet pass mixed with the anxiety of being down a man with a minute left on the clock. The seconds ticked away with slow torture, his sanity teetering over an invisible cliff, just waiting for sweet release.
An animal growl escaped his throat as he yanked Rhett up, pulling him close for a bruising kiss. Roman took no notice of the taste of his own cock on his lips as he ravished the Westerner, shoving him down into the bed and settling between the Canadian’s muscled thighs.
“Good God, Roman. I’d say that was roughing.” The words seemed to have stumbled out of his mouth of their own accord. Rhett’s entire body felt as if it was melting in liquid fire, but there still was a part of him that didn’t want to lay down to the opposition.
“I’d say you like it rough, Rhett.” Roman smothered any protest by placing another oppressive kiss upon the helpless rearguard’s mouth.
Rhett was so taken with the European’s ministrations that he took no notice of the other man reaching over to grab some lube from the nightstand.
As soon as he felt the poke-check against his five hole, Rhett tore away from Roman’s hungry lips, breaking their kiss and allowing both men to catch their breath.
Rhett reached down between their sweat slicked bodies to fondle Roman’s swollen erection, pausing him momentarily to capture his attention.
“Not like this.” He saw flashes of anger, frustration and disappointment in Roman’s warm brown eyes.
“You’re not going to block my shot are you?“ There was a hint of boyish self-consciousness in his response.
Rhett lifted a roughened hand up to caress Roman’s cheek, stroking his jaw line with soft strokes.
“I usually don’t like that much protection or anything, usually slows me down. But I just realized I’m not that familiar with your equipment or your game strategy, and I sure’s hell don’t know who’ve you trained with. Besides, a screened shot is just as good as a regular shot as long as you still get to score.”
Roman looked to be suffering from a momentary battle of wills before giving in and taking a condom from the nightstand drawer. He rolled it on with only a minor grimace before placing his stick to the center of the crease. With one quick shot, his stick slid five-hold to the back of the net; this of course elicited quite the string of animalistic moans from the Canadian blue-liner.
“You’re lucky that I wanted to pound you into the ice this bad.” He spoke quietly into Rhett’s ear as he began to thrust with slow but purposeful strokes, like a zamboni driving its path across the ice, knowing where the weak and troublesome spots were and exactly how to melt them into smooth submission.
Despite his mind’s resistance to letting himself be bested, Rhett couldn’t help but let himself give in to the overload of pleasure that the strapping rearguard was offering him, akin only to the euphoric sense that one got from an important on-ice victory.
Soon thereafter Roman’s breath came in staccato bursts as he thrust his hips madly, bringing both to what each could only later describe as being the Stanley Cup of orgasms.
Then there was that short moment of awkwardness as they untangled their limbs and lay back on the soft hotel bed, tired, worn, but completely satisfied.
There was silence. Heavy, oppressive silence as they re-played the events of the evening in their minds, putting together their very own highlight reel.
Still, neither man budged, each still too lost in his own thoughts to actually process the repercussions of their actions.
But after five minutes, five very long minutes (longer than the five minutes Rhett spent killing a slashing penalty in the finals the year previous, but that was another story altogether) Rhett turned over to look directly into Roman’s heavy-lidded gaze.
“How ‘bout we take two minutes for holding.” He said it in his cheesiest voice, making sure to bat his eyelashes just so. This made Roman burst out with warm, hearty laughter before he reached over to pull Rhett towards the comforting heat of his chest.
“I’ll give you two minutes for holding as long as you give me five minutes for overtime. I’m not finished with you yet, you know.” Roman spoke with a wild glint in his eyes, bending forward to leave a jovial kiss on the tip of Rhett’s nose.
The Canadian defenseman laughed as he reached low to give Roman’s softening member a playful squeeze.
“It’s a deal, my friend. As long as you promise me a shootout.”
At that, they both just laughed, content and satisfied with their unsportsmanlike conduct.
FIN
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Date: 2005-10-11 08:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-11 08:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-11 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-11 08:46 pm (UTC)me too.
and now with so many superstars changing hands, there's opportunity for a lot of interesting canon pairings.
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Date: 2005-10-11 08:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-11 08:52 pm (UTC)god bless the nhl.
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Date: 2005-10-12 04:51 am (UTC)Amen to that!
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Date: 2005-10-12 04:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-12 04:59 am (UTC)awwwww. thanx soooo much! i worked on this for a solid week, fine tuning, cause i've never written hockey slash before. (i've written slash before, so the smut wasn't as difficult to write *G*)
i certainly feel more confident about writing more, thanx again :D
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Date: 2005-10-12 01:10 pm (UTC)but Eee your fic was so good! rocking keep writing! you got a talent!
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Date: 2005-10-16 07:54 pm (UTC)