Author: Bernie
Pairing: Jason Smith / Steve Staois
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Fake
Steve's POV
"Slower." That word is killer. Because, with
Jason it is not /slower/. It is harder, or faster, or more. But it fucking is
not, /slower/.
It's not like the two of us are the touchy-feely
emotions type guys anyway, and it's not like it started on a moment of beauty.
"We should just screw, and have it out of the way."
Two players drunk, check. Two players horny? Check.
Two players loose morals, don't care about tomorrow? Check and check.
Fine, it's not like being called a whore was something
that I had never heard before.
And, the screwing, just what you would want after a
hockey game. Well, if you were either of us. It was hard and probably
borderline barbaric, and probably something that would kill the kids or at the
very least scar them for life, but; worked for us.
"Slower." Where the fuck did that come from,
and what makes me slow down? The shock of the words, or the words themselves?
We don't drag this out, we get off, in fact, we aren't even like sluts about
this, sluts do it because someone wants them, whores do it cause they get paid,
what are we, objects to the other one. If you can jerk off fucking another
person, that is what we do.
"Who's screwing who?" I said in respond to
his observation we should just fuck each other.
"Both." And he shrugs and his grin would be
wolfish if this was a romance novel, but romance novels don't have people
substituting some kind of budget store Vaseline for lube, and they don't have
teeth, and they don't have the other guy shoving back into you like what you
could give him wasn't enough.
And after a night of "fuck, harder"
breakfast is normal, and talking about the game is expected, and it happening
the night after that and that on a long road trip is nothing as well. Or it is
something it is just better than jerking off in the shower actually alone.
But slower? That screams out that tomorrow there is
going to be an uncomfortable air of 'why the fuck did we do this?'
And other times, when it was harder, faster, it was a
drunk dream; it was being to fucking drunk to come until it was starting to
fucking hurt. It was shoving against each other since you are both to drunk to
get up and collapse on the other bed. But that was drunk, that was hang-over
draped over each other in bed together.
And oddly, my sneaking out that morning before he woke
up, the night after 'slower' doesn't seem to faze him, and he ignores all
attempts to be uncomfortable and shoves off all my efforts to make space
between the two of you.
I'm sleeping, mostly, to fucking tired from over-time
to move from the bed and Jason is on top of me, and my mouth is open without my
permission and I'm saying back to him a day later, "slower. harder.
"Slower."
End
