***
<2001>
“-only the beginning!” Steve says. I’m not sure what he’s talking about, since I can only hear bits and pieces of his conversation with Brendan. He and Shanny are sitting a few rows ahead of me and to my right on Redbird. We’re flying to Dallas for a game, and we’re only a few hours ahead of a win in Raleigh, so everyone is still pretty excited. Steve’s probably talking about the goal he got tonight. I lean forward a teeny bit, trying hard to listen without it looking like I’m listening, and watch without it looking like I’m watching.
“I’m telling you, this is it. This is the year. This is the year we take the Cup.”
Suddenly, my focus is gone with that loud voice in my ear. It’s from the person sitting next to me, who also scored a goal tonight. Well, sort of; it was only an empty netter, and he’s far more proud of it than he has any right to be.
I turn and glare at Kris, who just stares blankly back at me.
“What?” He asks. “You don’t think so?”
I collect myself. To tell him to shut the fuck up so I can pay attention to Steve is impossible.
“I didn’t say that. But you say the same thing every year. What makes this one so special?” I carefully make my voice sound annoyed (which isn’t hard, because I am) and bored (harder, because my mind is certainly occupied).
“What are you, fucking blind? Can’t you see that this year…” Kris continues to expand on what is new about this season’s Red Wings as opposed to last season’s, where we’re going, how we’re getting there, and so on and so forth. I’m not really listening. He’s had the same story to tell since training camp. I’d only asked the question so that Kris could keep himself busy with his own voice. He hardly ever needs answers when he’s off and running on his topic, and that allows me to turn my attention back to my Captain.
As Steve continues to talk and laugh, my only wish is that I was sitting in a better place to watch him. Well, that’s not my only wish, but it will do for now. From where I’m sitting, I can only see his profile. That’s enough to catch the sparkle in his deep brown eyes, the ones that make me catch my breath when they look at me. And I’m close enough to hear the low-pitched voice that makes me shiver, and wish it was whispering unrepeatable things in my ear while he strokes me. I wish it was moaning my name, and then I’d kiss him, and say-
“OW!” Okay, I wouldn’t say that. But while I was busy watching and listening to Steve, Kris slammed his fist into my shoulder. I rub it and turn my glare back to my line mate. “What the fuck was that for?”
“For not answering me the first three times I asked you,” retorts Kris. “I said, did Mac call you before we left on the road trip?”
“Oh… yeah. He didn’t have too much to say. Mostly bitching about his knee.” Darren wasn’t on the road trip with us because of his injured-reserve status. Kris and I both miss him a lot, on the ice and off. Of course, off the ice, Kris misses him more; the two of them are much more than friends. In fact, both of them feel it’s their duty to traumatize me at least once a day by giving me the details of their nightly activities. Usually during practice, the bastards. They don’t seem to realize that I really can go the rest of my life without hearing what position my two best friends were in the night before.
Plus, it just makes me jealous. I want what they have, and I know who I want it with. Without meaning to, my eyes turn to Steve again. Kris doesn’t notice; now he’s on the topic of Darren, and his various flaws. At the moment he’s complaining about how Mac never calls when he’s supposed to, but Kris will move on from there. He’ll talk forever when it comes to Darren. And that’s just fine with me, because all I have to do is smile and frown and nod and shake my head at the appropriate times. It leaves me free to wish I could find a way to change seats with Brendan.
I want to trade more than seats with Brendan, I’ll admit it. They’ve never said they’re together, but they have to be. It’s like that one song, they stand just a little too close, they laugh just a little too loud. At least they don’t talk about their sex life twenty-four-seven like Kris and Darren, but… I just know that I don’t stand a chance. Every time I look at Brendan, this sense of just hopelessness hits me right in the gut. I’m jealous of him, yeah, but I’m not mad. I mean, I know if I had Steve, I’d never let him go in a million years. So I can’t blame him, I guess. I just can’t help wishing he’d never come to the team, and just when my crush was forming, too.
And every time I look at Steve… it’s a big mix of lust and longing. Christ, I’m so fucking pathetic.
But I can’t stop looking.
I’m right as it turns out. Kris only stops talking about Darren when the plane lands at DFW. As we taxi to the gate, everyone starts getting their shit together, and there is some good-natured chatter. Well, mostly good-natured, I suppose Cheli’s doesn’t count. But then, if I had Brett drooling on me the whole trip, I’d be bitching at top volume, too.
I stand up and stretch, wincing as my back cracks.
“Kirk?” Kris asks. I look down. He’s still sitting, and his face is strangely nervous.
“What?” I say, looking down at him curiously. His mood seems to have taken a turn for the serious.
He hesitates a moment, and opens his mouth.
“Kirk, I was-”
“Motherfuckers!” A voice suddenly roars across the plane, and I whirl around. It’s Brendan, and he is clearly furious. I look toward the front of the plane and I instantly can see why. Boyd and Dandy are standing near the door, giggling, and waving scraps of cloth tauntingly. On closer inspection, it appears to be pairs of underwear. My face breaks into a grin.
“Boyd, Dandy, I’m warning you…” Brendan grows. Next to him, Steve gives a loud cough that sounds suspiciously like it’s trying to cover up a laugh, but he says nothing. “Give those back NOW.”
“Guess you should have locked your bag, eh?” Dandy is wearing a smirk so wide it’s in danger of breaking his face. Actually, he’s in danger of having his face broken anyway, as Brendan takes a threatening step forward. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, and I’m a little worried for him. Maybe the goal he got earlier tonight went to his head, and made him forget for the moment that Brendan could easily kill him.
“I’m going to kill you!” Brendan warns, confirming my thoughts.
Choosing to ignore the threat, Dandy makes a great show of stretching out the material he’s holding. I have to bite back a laugh. It turns out to be bright red boxers with “Horny Devil” written on the front. Complete with horns, of course.
“VERY nice, Brendan…” Dandy giggles. “But you’re on the Red Wings, remember? Coach won’t be happy to see you supporting another team…”
Brendan growls again, and mocking laughter greets his response. “Give them BACK!”
“Give back the pictures, first,” Boyd breaks in. “Then we’ll talk.”
Now it’s Brendan’s turn to smirk. “Ohh, no. No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”
“Fine,” Boyd shrugs. He looks around the still mostly-full plane. “Okay, who wants to see what else was in Brendan’s bag? We found a videotape in there that looks very promising. In fact, it’s labeled ‘Adventures on the Road, me and-’”
With another enraged roar, Brendan dives at the pair of young players, who immediately scatter. All I can do is shake my head, still grinning, as nearly everyone else on the plane breaks into applause for the show they were just treated to. I’m sure the fight over pictures and videotapes will go on well into the night. Steve will eventually have to step in.
I glance at him, half-hoping he’s looking in my direction, but he’s gathering his things, his eyes focused on his bags. Guys walking off the plane keep blocking my view, but as I catch glimpses of him, he never looks up.
With a sigh, I shoulder my own bags and set off for the front of the plane.
“Kirk, wait!”
I freeze.
It’s him.
Okay, Kirk, play it cool, play it cool…!
I turn slowly around, trying hard to appear casual, like the man of my dreams calls my name all the time.
Sure enough, there he is, smiling that warm smile that lights up his beautiful, gorgeous eyes. And he’s actually walking toward me!
“Yes?” I’m a little breathless, and I curse myself for it.
“You forgot this,” he says, and now I notice that he’s handing me my jacket. “You must have dropped it, it was on the floor.”
“Oh!” I say, flushing a bit. “Thanks, Stevie.”
As he passes me my jacket, his hand touches mine. And maybe it’s my imagination, but it seems like he lets the touch linger. For a few seconds, my skin is electrified by the contact. We make eye contact. His eyes are so dark, they just draw me in… I don’t want to think what embarrassing expression I’ve got on my face, but his is serious. His smile is gone.
Then the moment that seemed so very long is over. He’s smiling again (did he ever stop? Did that really happen? Or did I imagine it?), and picks up his stuff. Speechless, I move aside to let him pass, and he leaves the plane.
I let my breath out explosively. Well, that was… I don’t know WHAT that was, actually. I have the feeling that something important took place, but really, it was hardly anything. Just a look and a touch. Meaningless.
A movement catches my eye and I realize that it’s Kris. He just rose to his feet and is pulling his belongings together. We’re the last ones still on board. I quickly pull myself together as we walk off the plane.
“So?” I say, arching my eyebrows at him.
“So what?” He’s fiddling with his bag as he walks, not looking at me.
“So what were you going to ask me? We got interrupted by Brendan’s underpants, remember?”
“Oh…” Kris says. He looks up, but not at me. He stares off into the distance instead. “Oh, that. It was nothing important. Forget about it.”
I frown at him. That’s not like Kris. I try to think what might be wrong, as the memory of Steve’s touch and intense gaze dance in the back of my mind.
“Are you-”
<2002>
“-sure you shouldn’t take a break?”
I look at Steve worriedly. He’s sitting on a bench in the exercise room, wincing as he lifts a carefully calculated amount of weight with his so recently-ripped-open right leg. He’s the only one here; practice ended hours ago, and everyone else has gone home.
I only stayed behind to finish my screaming match with Kris.
I don’t know what the hell his problem is. He’s been more and more irritable lately; in fact I can’t remember the last time he was in a good mood. The fight started over something so incredibly stupid, too: he said I was passing the puck more to Darren than to him.
“That’s fucking ridiculous!” I snapped at him, which maybe wasn’t the most tactful way to put it. “I give the puck to whoever looks like they got the best chance of putting it in!”
“Shut up!” he hissed back, glancing around at the locker room, which was rapidly emptying as people drifted out the door. He continued in a whisper. “You were passing it to him all night! What, you think I can’t handle myself?”
“Oh, I definitely think you can,” I drawled sarcastically back at him. I didn’t bother to lower my voice, despite the curious looks shooting in our direction. I’d been taking his shit calmly for months now, and I was finally sick of it. “Considering you’re here throwing a bitch fit at me instead of going home with Darren, I guess you’re going to be spending the night handling yourself, huh?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I went too far. Kris narrowed his eyes and then it was on.
“I know what I’m doing,” Steve replies in a strained voice, and I snap back to the present.
I bite my lip. Maybe it’s not my place to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do. After Kris had screamed himself hoarse and stomped away, I needed to cool off. As pissed off as I was, it wasn’t a good idea for me to get behind the wheel of my car. It was like all the stress had finally snapped in me. The bullshit Kris kept giving me, the pressure of being a defending Stanley Cup champion, adjusting to a new coach, all of it had been grating on me all season. Not only that, but…
I look down at Steve again, watching the sweat roll off his forehead. Being without Steve on the ice was wearing all of us down in one way or another. It just was not the same when he wasn’t out there on the ice with us. We beat San Jose the night before, 3-2, but that didn’t thrill us half as much as what happened before that.
Steve skated. For the first time since his surgery in August, yesterday, our Captain was on skates.
I know the other guys on the team were happy. I was ecstatic.
After a halfway decent practice today, I was hoping Kris would be in a more tolerable mood. Clearly I was wrong. And as I was wandering moodily through the back of the Joe, I made my way to the exercise room. I thought maybe I could get on a bike, burn off some rage.
Instead, I found Steve, working tirelessly.
Maybe it isn’t my place to say it, but I just can’t help it.
“Steve, are you sure you aren’t rushing it just a bit? I mean, yesterday was a big step…”
“I said, I know what I’m doing, Kirk!” Steve snaps his eyes up at me, and they’re angry. He’s angry. I cringe a bit. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. “So, just… just…”
He shakes his head; he can’t seem to get the words out. Which are, no doubt, “get the fuck away from me.” Calling myself every name in the book, I back away, and turn toward the door.
“Kirk.” With my hand on the doorknob, I turn around. He’s still looking at me, but he’s not angry anymore. He just looks tired. “Don’t go. I’m sorry I got mad.”
I walk back over to him as he scoots away from the weight lifts. He sits on the bench and looks up at me, brushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. I smile sympathetically. “You have enough to deal with without me nagging at you.”
“I do appreciate the thought, though.” A flicker of a smile skips across his face, and then he sighs. “What are you still doing here?”
“Oh…” I shift uncomfortably. “I had a… a talk with Kris.”
“Just a talk?” Steve looks up at me shrewdly.
“Well… we didn’t so much talk, as scream.”
Steve nods. “I thought it might be something like that.” He carefully massages his knee while he’s sitting, and a sudden thought occurs to me.
“Do you know?” I ask, and Steve glances up. “Do you know what’s bothering him?”
“I know some of it,” Steve said. He leaves his knee alone and looks up at me. “He confided in me a little while ago.”
Some feeling unknown makes my stomach roll over for a few seconds before I realize that it’s jealousy. Kris is my best friend, and he hasn’t confided in me. He’s done nothing with me but take out his anger.
Steve’s still watching, so I shrug and say what’s on my mind. “I wish he’d tell ME what’s wrong.”
“He can’t,” Steve says.
I blink at him, and he hesitates, as if he just said something he didn’t mean to. “Why not?”
“Can’t you guess?” is his less than helpful answer.
I sigh and look at the ceiling for inspiration. No, I fucking CAN’T guess. If I could guess, I wouldn’t be HAVING this problem. So Kris is really upset about something, and he won’t, or can’t, tell me what it is. Well, that’s because he’s a fucking asshole. Obviously. Unless he isn’t. And then…
I look back down at Steve. “He can’t tell me because… it has something to do with me?”
He nods. “You guys need to talk it out. Talk, not yell.”
“Easier said than done,” I say glumly, thinking of the things Kris had screamed at me before walking out of the locker room.
Steve chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
He shifts his weight, and with help from his arms, quickly stands up. But for whatever reason, I don’t know why, he stumbles a bit, and his weight lands on his bad leg. With a gasp of pain, he tips forward.
My arms move before I can think. I grab him before he falls, and gently lower his body back onto the bench. I collapse next to him.
“Steve!” I gasp, a little stunned at how quickly he’d almost fallen. His face is screwed up with pain, and it twists my heart to see it. I relax my death grip on his arms, and stroke my hands up and down on his shoulders instead. “Are you okay?”
“Y.. yeah…” Steve spits the word out from between gritted teeth, and turns to face me. “Tried to stand up too fast… it’s hard to remember sometimes…”
“I understand,” I say, not having the least idea what he must be going through. Gradually it dawns on me that I’m sitting very close to Steve, stroking his arms with my hands. A shudder of electricity runs through my body before I can help it.
I’d been watching Steve from afar, as they say, for quite a long time now. And being that I’m on the same team as he is, it’s not hard to be around him. But other than the occasional thrilling touch, nothing has ever happened between us. I’ve come to accept that fact that nothing ever will.
Even if Steve wasn’t with Brendan, we just weren’t meant to be. Over the last few months, I’ve stopped watching him like a lost fucking puppy dog. I’ve stopped thinking about him when I jerk off. I’ve even stopped dreaming about him. We’re just teammates, nothing more.
But now his eyes are locked on me, and he’s putting his hands over mine. I freeze in the middle of an upward stroke. I’m trapped in his gaze and his touch. There are feelings washing over me that should NOT be there and I immediately open my mouth to apologize for... fuck, for imposing on him, I guess.
But before I can do that, I look at him again, not into his deep brown eyes, but at him. His face is relaxed again, the pain that must have been burning though his body gone, but not completely. The pain is still there underneath, I can tell, because it’s written itself into the lines of his face. How, I wonder, have I looked at his face for all this time and not seen before how tired he looks? How old he looks?
Even though I still can’t really understand how it feels to have a knee ripped open, sawed apart, and put back together, I get some feeling of the pressure that Steve Yzerman has to live with every day. Pressure to not only get through an injury that could have crippled him, but pressure to recover as soon as possible, and to join a team that’s struggling without him, must be with him every waking moment. Also with him is the knowledge that that pressure comes from all sides: coaches, teammates, media, fans, and himself.
And instead of apologizing, I move my hand out from under his, pull his head down, and kiss him. It’s not fair that he should have to deal with so much. Maybe I can give him a few minutes’ time to forget.
His lips tense; I keep mine soft. My eyes are closed, so I can’t see what his reaction is as I open my mouth, and slide my tongue gently across where his lips are pressed together.
He hesitates.
And when he lets me slip my tongue into his mouth, I can’t help sending my moan in along with it.
Hardly daring to believe my good luck, I taste him, sliding my tongue over every crevice of his mouth. A small shift in the air around me tells me that he’s moving; sure enough, his hand cups the back of my neck, holding me in place as his tongue moves against mine. Steve is actually kissing me back! Through the shock this thought brings, I feel him pulling his tongue away, and sucking at my lower lip instead. I move my hand from his head and slide it over his cheek, stroking his face with my thumb. Lines, some fine and others deep, beneath scratchy stubble.
He gasps when I break the kiss, and I frame his face in my hands. I push his hair back from his brow and stroke him softly, trying to smooth away all the lines of care and worry. My hands are shaking a bit.
“Kirk-” he whispers, but my lips are on his again, and he finishes his sentence with a small “mmm” of pleasure. Is it pleasure? I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck. He’s letting me kiss him and that’s all that matters right now; I’m getting what I’ve wanted for so long and that’s all that matters.
I have a strong suspicion that I’m letting my cock do my thinking for me. As I tug at his shirt, pulling it up to reveal his flat stomach, I’m pretty sure this suspicion is correct. But I must not be the only one, because Steve’s hands clash with mine in my efforts to get his shirt off. In the end, we both lift it over his head. While his arms are still tangled in it, I take the opportunity to kiss him again. Not a slow, gentle kiss like the ones before, but rough, crushing, claiming. And now Steve, his arms trapped behind his back, is moaning into me.
Steve can be the one to struggle with the shirt. I have better things to do. I leave his lips, and kiss each side of his face. I touch my lips quickly to his forehead, his chin, and nibble along his jaw. My lips vibrate with the breath rasping in Steve’s throat as I slide my way lower. I trail my tongue across his collarbone, biting gently as I go. I can feel Steve’s chest rising and falling rapidly under my touch, and sliding off the bench, I drop to my knees. This could all end at any minute, and I want to make him feel as good as possible before it does. He’s not mine… but he’s mine right now.
I suck my way down the line of his abs, and I’m pleased to feel Steve arch against my mouth. He must have gotten rid of his shirt by now, because he plants both hands onto the bench, and scoots forward into me. I slide my fingers into the waist of his running pants, stroking his sides and flicking my tongue into his navel. The touch of him, the salty taste of his skin, the sound of his harsh breathing, are all taking me over. I’m dizzy from too much sensation, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve slid his pants down to his ankles, and I’m faced with his fully erect cock.
My own cock is so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t burst its way through my jeans yet, and aching to be released. It’s screaming at me to take Steve deep in my throat, and suck him until he comes calling my name. But something else stops me. It’s pretty rare that I listen to anything besides my cock during sex, but deep inside, I know that this isn’t right. It’s not my place to comfort him. Steve already has someone to do that for him.
“What?” The breathless voice is Steve. I look up, and my cock strains at the hungry look in his eyes. I try to control it.
“I can’t do this, Steve.” My breath catches in my throat, and I realize my breathing has been alternating between moans and gasps. “We can’t do this.”
“Like fuck we can’t,” says Steve in a soft growl. I’ve never heard him like this before, and shivers of desire race through me. “Please, Kirk, I need you…”
I have to clench my fists to stop myself from reaching for him.
“I just wanted to make you feel better…” It’s almost impossible to explain with Steve’s cock so close to me, so close in fact that I can see the drops of pre-come leaking out of the tip. “I wanted to help you forget the pain… but this isn’t right. I can’t do this to you and Brendan…”
“Brendan?” A look of confusion makes its way across Steve’s flushed face. He frowns. “What does Brendan have to do with anything?”
I blink. “Well… but… you’re together… I mean, you’re lovers.”
His eyes widen. “No, no we’re not.”
My jaw drops, and I brace myself against the bench to avoid falling over. And before I can help myself, out the secret comes. “You mean… you mean I’ve been watching you guys together and kicking myself for wanting you all this time, for nothing??”
He throws his head back and laughs, and laughs, until finally he winces.
“Don’t do that, Kirk,” he says, catching his breath. “It hurts to laugh that hard!”
Despite the throbbing heat in my pants, I glare at him. Fucker.
“Aww…” He takes my hand in his, and wraps both loosely around his cock. “I’m sorry I laughed. Why didn’t you ask someone if Brendan and I were together? Anyone could have told you…”
“Sorry to be the one to tell you, Stevie,” I say, trying to stay cool, though really, staying cool and jerking off Steve are two things that are impossible to do at once. “But damn near everyone on this team thinks you two are a happy couple.”
His eyes widen again. “What an amazing thing…” he says softly.
“You really didn’t know?”
“No,” he says. His voice is suddenly deeper, and he speeds up our stroking. My heart starts to pound again.
“And…” I swallow and try again, because Steve is thrusting his hips gently into our hands. “And you’re really not sleeping with Brendan?”
“No,” he says again, and he lets go of my hand, letting me stroke him freely. He tilts his head back, eyes half-closed. “Brendan has someone. I don’t. We’re just…” he groans as I tighten my grip on him. “Friends!”
And that’s all the encouragement I need. I pass my other hand gently over his heavily bandaged knee.
“Then let me help you forget this,” I whisper.
“Oh, God!” cries Steve as his cock hits the back of my mouth. With a move I’ve become pretty proud of over the years, I swallow him whole. Having him hurt himself worse would be the opposite of what I’m trying to do here, so I hold his hips still. Instead of letting him fuck my throat, I let my tongue and mouth go to work.
I try to go slow, to make this last as long I can make it. I don’t know if I’ll ever have another chance with Steve, so I pull out all the stops. I give every inch of him careful attention, and soon after I start rolling his balls in my hand, I feel him tense.
“Kirk!” Steve makes a sound between a cry and a moan, and then spurts of hot come are hitting my throat as quickly as I can swallow them. I keep him in my mouth until he stops shuddering, and I’m pretty proud of that too, because there’s another extremely pressing issue in the front of my jeans.
“Kirk,” Steve says again, this time in a low, pleased purr. “Do you want…?”
“I’m about to shoot in my pants just from tasting you,” I gasp out. I’m already fumbling at the button of my jeans. “Do you-”
“Stand up,” Steve says, and never let it be said that I don’t do what my captain tells me to do. I rise shakily to my feet, what blood that isn’t in my cock rushing below my knees. With one quick motion, Steve takes my cock into his mouth. I let out a strangled groan that I’ve never heard come from me before.
“Holy…” I’ve found the limit, I can’t possibly feel any better than this.
He reaches for my balls and pulls them. I was wrong.
“Holy fuck!” I shout, and I’m coming and coming and oh God it feels so fucking good…
And when I’m back down on the bench, back where I’d been sitting before this all started, my body still tingling, my spent cock starting to go soft, I can hardly believe what just happened was real. I want to ask Steve if I’m dreaming, but I’m not THAT much of a dork.
I grin at him instead. “Wow.”
“Wow,” Steve agrees, and he grins back at me.
We’re silent for a second. It’s one of the most awkward moments of my life so far, and I’m glad when Steve is the first one to talk.
“You know, if you really need proof that I’m not with Brendan,” Steve says, still grinning, “you could have a look at that videotape Boyd and Dandy are passing around. Don’t you have a copy yet?”
I shrug. “No, I figured it was you and him. Wanted to save myself the pain.” I try to sound like I’m joking, but I have a feeling I failed, because the smile is quickly wiped from Steve’s face.
“Oh,” he says softly. “No, it’s of Brendan and his boyfriend, who he’s managed to keep a secret from you nosy fuckers until now.” He shakes his head. “And I really should stop them from giving out copies, but hey, that’s what Brendan gets for being stupid enough to make video and carry it with him. Plus, they’re giving half the proceeds to charity, and how can I argue with that?”
“They’re selling it?” I wouldn’t have suspected Boyd and Dandy as the ones to come up with such a great idea.
“Oh, yeah. It’s not selling cheap, though. It’s actually pretty good,” Steve says, and laughs. I make a mental note to find a copy of this tape so I can see it for myself.
Steve ends his laugh with another wince, and rubs at his leg. The situation we’re in comes rushing back to me, and I quickly fix my pants. I can’t believe I’ve just been standing here chatting with Steve right after we… well…
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I ask nervously.
“Not at all,” Steve says. “I feel very, very good.”
“That’s what I wanted. I wanted to help you forget the pain, the pressure, you know, all of it,” and oh great, I’m babbling at him now. What was that I said about not being a dork? Fuck that shit. I’m shy now and it’s not a familiar feeling for me. I’m not sure where I stand with him, and I have even less idea of what to say now.
“Oh, you did that all right.” Steve doesn’t seem to mind my insane babbling, in fact, he’s still smiling.
And I smile back. “Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Steve says, and the purr in his voice makes me shiver again. “Yes, that was-”
<2003>
“-un-FUCKING-believable!!!” Steve is roaring at the top of his voice, and if I wasn’t so fucking pissed off right now, I’d sit back and watch. Steve gets angry just like everyone else, but he doesn’t get totally fucking pissed off very often.
That fucking game tonight would be enough to piss anyone the fuck off. Fucking Nashville, fucking refs, motherfucking fuckheads, all of them! The reason Steve is storming around the locker room and not out on the ice is that he’s been thrown off. I’ll say this about the fucking situation, though: if someone had told me a year ago that our Captain would not only be playing games, but getting ejected from them, I’d have said they were full of shit.
Oh yeah. I’m in here watching him currently smashing a water jug onto the floor because I’ve been ejected, too. I prefer to seethe in silence, and as I pace up and down the room, I can hear Steve muttering under his breath. That’s the way his rage is going; he’ll mutter for awhile, before finally building to a roaring crescendo of profanity. Not surprisingly, since we’re both having the same murderous intentions toward everyone out on that ice right now, my thoughts seem to flow into his.
Motherfucking fuckheaded sons of fucking-
“BITCHES!” roars Steve, and he slams both fists into a locker.
It’s like his anger is fueling mine. I snarl and pace a little faster, clenching my fists. Suddenly, all the breath is taken from me as I’m grabbed from behind and slammed up against the wall. I don’t have any time to catch my breath, because Steve is yanking me around to face him. Then his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me harshly.
I moan. It’s been a few weeks since the last time we were together. Our on-and-off occasional sex has been going for about a year now, and I for one am very pleased with it. He’s not-quite my boyfriend, I guess. We’re keeping things very light, very open… though as far as I know, Steve hasn’t been with anyone else.
I sure as fuck haven’t. Steve Yzerman is here with me, growling in my ear and shoving his hands up inside my shirt to pull at my nipples… why would I want to look for another man again?
“Showers,” is the only word he gives me.
After managing to get our skates off, we struggle to the showers, shedding jerseys and shoulder pads and shirts along the way. When we get to the room, I’m so fucking horny that I don’t even bother getting my pants off all the way.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to Steve. “Now!”
With a low growl, Steve takes out his cock and pulls us down to the cold tile floor. I give a yelp that is swallowed up as Steve kisses me again. It’s rough, he bites my lip and I can taste my blood. I bite him back, and now I can taste his blood, too. Not so much as a wince of pain from Steve kneeling on a hard floor, and my grin of triumph is swallowed by his bloody kisses.
Steve yanks my pants down out of his way, pulls down my jock, and spreads me open. Without any preparation at all, he’s pushing inside of me. I cry out in pain, but I don’t want him to stop. Even with his teeth bared in a grin of lust and anger, he stops halfway in, and looks down at me. He’s silently asking if he’s being too rough.
I bare my own teeth back, and arch into him. “That all you got, Yzerman?”
Steve’s eyebrows raise up almost off his head, and he gives me a predatory grin that makes me shiver.
“Oh, I’ll show you what I got, Maltby,” he says. He grips my ass, lifting me up. We both moan as his cock shifts inside of me. “I’ll show you right the fuck NOW.”
And without saying anything else, shoves himself completely inside, stretching and filling. Before I can adjust, he’s pounding into me.
It’s never been like this before, I love it! I’m arching my hips off the ground to meet his every thrust, angling him so that he hits the sweet spot every time. My nerves are on fire, and there is a rising, growling moaning in the air around us. I’m not sure if I’m making the noise or he is; I think it’s a sound we’re making together, and I grip his waist with my legs, trying to bring him even deeper.
It doesn’t take long; we’ve got too much fire in us. Steve’s whole body goes rigid, and he buries his face in my neck while he fills me. As he’s still giving growling gasps, he jerks roughly on my cock. I can’t stop my voice from echoing off the tile walls as I spurt in his hand, covering my stomach in come.
Steve pulls out, and I hiss.
“Did I hurt you?” He’s concerned, all traces of his rage gone. I’m not mad anymore either… I guess we took out our frustrations and energy on each other.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a bad kind of hurt,” I grin at him, but he still looks upset. “Relax Steve, I’m okay…”
He helps me to my feet, and he smiles uncertainly back. “Well, if you-”
“Dude…” Kris is in the doorway, staring at us. Steve hurriedly puts himself back in his pants. I pull mine up, but there’s no way I can hide the shiny puddle dripping down my body, no way we can hide our flushed, just-got-fucked appearance, topped off by the blood on our lips.
“Kris…” Steve and I begin at the same time.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says quickly. He flashes a knowing grin. “Quick, strip and give me your stuff. I’ll buy you some time before the other guys get in here.”
More grateful than I can say, I take off the rest of my gear and throw it to Kris, and Steve does the same.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“Don’t mention it.” I can hardly see him behind the pile of clothing and pads he has in his arms, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. “But guys, next time be a little more discreet, okay? You wrecked the fucking room and left a trail of clothes straight here.”
He leaves, and Steve and I can only shake our heads at each other, and turn on the water.
“Damn, I’m sore,” I tell him in a low voice, as other guys start to drift in. I rub at my back.
Steve smirks. “You’re damn right you are.”
“You don’t have to be so proud of yourself, Yzerman.”
“Oh, really? So you’re walking like that for some other reason?”
“Shut up, Steve.”
He laughs. He knows that when I tell him to shut up, he’s won.
As we leave the showers, Steve says in a low voice, “we can trust Kris, right?”
“Oh, definitely,” I say with confidence.
“Weren’t you guys having some problems, though? You were fighting with each other all last year…”
I heave a big sigh, and check to make sure no one’s listening in.
“I found out the reason he was so on edge,” I tell Steve. “It was Darren. You know he came out with the problems he’s been having, well… last year it was really bad between him and Kris. Kris wanted him to get help, but he wouldn’t… you know how Mac gets when he feels like he’s backed into a corner. He started bringing me into it, saying that if Kris kept pissing him off, he’d start hanging out with me instead.”
“Kris thought you and Darren were together,” says Steve. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He nodded. “Kris told me so last year, when we had our talk. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before; Kris made me promise not to tell anyone. I tried to tell him just to come to you and talk about it, but he wouldn’t listen. I guess he finally did?”
“Yeah,” I say grimly. “This past summer, Kris came to me and told me everything. He told me he’d been wanting to talk about Darren’s problem for the last two years. I made sure to let him know that Darren and I have never been together, and he was so relieved. Poor guy’s had to worry about losing Darren in more ways than one. Then the both of us talked to Mac… and he agreed to get help.”
“You’re a very good friend,” Steve is smiling at me now as we’re getting dressed.
I shake my head. “I should have found out what the problem was sooner. Both of them have had to suffer more than they should have because of me.”
Steve reaches out and squeezes my arm for just a second, and I know that he’s trying to tell me not to blame myself. I don’t know if I can accept that, but I smile back at him, and just watch as he pulls on his shirt.
I look around at the room. Some of the guys are still muttering about the game, but most of them are trying hard to put it in the past, and are talking and laughing. Brendan is laughing especially hard. Hank, on his orders, went up to Boyd and Dandy and asked to see “the photo-graphs.” Dandy is scowling, and Boyd is in the middle of denying that such pictures exist. Like hell they don’t. I have a few copies hidden away in my desk at home. Brendan can feel free to laugh, because he doesn’t have to worry about retaliation from those two. Everyone in this room has seen the infamous tape already, and Boyd and Dandy have nothing else on him. That’s what happens when you get too impatient to show off your blackmail. These young players, they don’t know how to hold onto their cards long enough to win the pot.
Laughter, cursing, fun, and insanity, and Steve right in the middle of it, as he should be. It’s a normal sight, nothing out of the ordinary… but it won’t always be like this. Memories come rushing back of the last year we won the Cup, and then of the times I was sure we’d never see Steve in here again… and I start wondering about the future.
Where will we be a year from now? Where will I be? More importantly, where will Steve be? This is quite possibly his final year playing in the NHL, and I sigh as I look at him. I try hard to memorize his form, freeze the picture of Captain Steve Yzerman in my thoughts. Because no matter if we’re still together, once Steve is gone from this room, it’ll never be the same again.
“What is it?” Steve asks. He’s finished getting dressed, and I must look pretty stupid, sitting here with only one leg of my pants on, staring at him. “What’s wrong? You look so sad.”
“I was just thinking…” I bite my lip. “I just… I…”
He waits patiently, and in that second I decide there’s no real point in spilling my worries onto Steve. They’re my worries, not his. Tomorrow will come, and I’ll just have to deal with it when it does.
“I was just thinking about how much I’ll miss all this, you know, when it’s over,” I finish. It’s a lame statement, and it’s about half-true, but it’s all I’ve got.
Steve smiles, and from the look in his eyes, I’m pretty sure he sees right through me, into my heart, and everything I’m really thinking about.
“Don’t worry, Kirk.” His voice is more gentle than I’ve ever heard it before. “It won’t be the end, this is-”
***
