[identity profile] annabeth.livejournal.com in [community profile] osgood_asitgets
Friends with Benefits
Hockey RPS/Detroit Red Wings. | Darren Helm/Justin Abdelkader. | barebacking. language. slight angst. | NC-17. | 990 words. | unbeta'd. | I started writing this in Michigan at the beginning of the year. :D

Friends with Benefits

"Harder," Justin gasped, arching his back and clawing at Helm's bony hipbones as if he could get enough purchase to pull Helm up and deeper into his body.

Helm didn't so much thrust upwards harder, or try to push deeper, but he did reach up with both hands and wind them through Justin's curls, tugging his hair until Justin went, almost bonelessly, into a heap on top of Helm, sweaty chests slicked up together.

Helm turned Justin's head and jerked their lips together, sucking on Justin's lower lip until it hurt, so swollen and hot.

"You suck at this," Justin growled against Helm's lips. "Fuck me like you mean it, you dick."

Helm yanked on his hair, so hard it felt like some strands pulled loose, and then he scored Justin's back with his nails, all the way down to the cheeks of his ass, which he separated and then grabbed and held tight as he slammed home.

Justin stuttered on top of him, his breath shivering out of his lungs almost painfully, and he ground down onto Helm's cock, his ass snug against the cradle of Helm's pelvis.

"I've never done it with a guy before," Helm confessed after a moment, his body going still—Justin was going to complain, curse at him again for stopping, when he realised that Helm's eyes were shuttered, that his body was strained taut from forehead to his thighs beneath Justin and probably all the way down to his toes.

"Are you coming? You asshole, you really do suck at this," Justin panted, giving up on waiting for Helm to get on with it—he levered himself up enough to draw out a long moan as Helm's cock stroked against his prostate, and then he sat back down, jamming Helm's cock within. Helm grunted and his dick jerked within Justin's body, and the hot splash of come was evident.

"It's so much tighter than a girl," Helm mumbled, hands still digging fingernail marks into the cheeks of his ass. Justin rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, it is, but that doesn't excuse you from reciprocating," Justin said. "At least touch my dick, come on, Helmer, get me off."

Helm wrapped his hand around Justin's cock, flicking his wrist in a practised motion, and Justin smothered a moan, felt his body move on Helm's, a ripple-effect through his muscles—Helm might never have done it with a guy before, but he sure knew what to do when it came to jacking a guy off.

"Girls are hot," Justin commented as he leaned back again, one hand on the floor, bracing himself even as Helm began to hiss from the sensitivity of his dick. "And you wouldn't believe some of the things you can get them to do," he added conversationally.

"I don't want another girl," Helmer muttered. "What do you take me for?"

"You're fucking me," Justin pointed out. He took pity on Helm and slid off his cock, but he crawled upwards a little, still straddling Helm's hips, one hand on either side of Helm's head now, waiting for Helm to finish him off. "I only said yes because I wanted the real thing this time."

If Helmer picked up on the fact that this meant Justin'd been fucked by a girl before, he didn't mention it. Instead, he went on with,

"I've got another guy off before, but I've never done this with a guy before."

"All right, stop being such a pussy," Justin grumbled. "I don't need to hear about all the feelings involved. I just wanna get off."

But he had a sneaking suspicion that Helmer wasn't fucking Justin just because it was convenient. For all he knew, Helm was doing him because of some misguided, misplaced emotion—and Justin was going to have to disabuse him of that notion, and quick.

"Don't get the wrong idea," Justin said, even as his breath came in short spurts as Helm continued to twist his wrist, thumb over his slit, do everything he needed to do to get Justin there. "I still like chicks, I am so not ready to give that up."

"Just come, Abby," Helmer said, and he did something indescribable with his hand and wrist that wrung a yell right out of Justin—and his spunk, too.

He kissed Helmer sloppily, trying not to take note of the scratch of his facial hair, or the fact that his cock was limp against Justin's hip, but he couldn't help it.

Maybe Helm had a bit of a scoring touch after all, Justin mused as he rolled away onto the carpeted floor of the locker room.

"I wonder how many other come-stains are on this carpet," Helm said suddenly.

Justin bit his own lip. "I don't know if anyone else is stupid enough to do it in here," he said weakly in return, hoping that Helm wouldn't realise that, sometimes when Justin needed a good, thorough fucking, he found a willing teammate.

"I wonder how many of them are yours," Helm said. He sat up and snagged a towel from nearby, used it to wipe at the sweat on his chest, the come on his belly, the shine of lube and jizz on his spent dick.

"Not as many as you'd think," Justin said uneasily.

Helmer looked at him, and his confused expression was still there, but now undercut by something almost sad.

"It doesn't matter," Helm finally said. He got to his feet and began to walk towards the showers.

Justin hung back, still sitting naked on the carpet, careful to avoid the Winged Wheel in the center, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet.

What just happened? When did a simple fuck turn into something big and emotional—and Justin might not be in love with his teammate (or hell, anyone) but that is his best friend and he might as well have just kicked his puppy.



February 2014

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