osgood_asitgets / [Hockey RPS - Accidental - Kronwall/Stuart - R

kink_bingo card. | unbeta'd. | Sometimes, it's in the accidents of life that you learn something about yourself.

Accidental

Sometimes, it's in the accidents of life that you learn something about yourself. That's how it happens, this crazy thing that you don't always want to touch, that you prefer to hide in the deepest places of your heart except when you're with the one person who understands.

It is, not to put to fine a point on it, really his fault. You've been called the 'Bruise Brothers' among other things, and it's not unexpected for one or both of you to leave a game or a practise covered in splashes of black and blue.

The blood, too, is natural and expected.

But you didn't expect what happened the first time you kissed Kronner: he was sweaty and half-in, half-out of his gear. His hair was falling into his eyes in that endearing way that always made you want to run your fingers through it.

But you'd seen all that before, and it had never moved you the way the blood smudged on his lower lip moved you.

It wasn't really confined to his bottom lip, actually: it was a scarlet smear, beginning on the swell of his lip and curving down underneath, kissing the edge of his scar.

And that's what you were doing all of a sudden: leaning forward and balancing one hand on his chest, the heat of his skin palpable through his UnderArmor shirt, your mouth settling over his like it belonged there; you were kissing Kronner, and he wasn't yanking away, wasn't punching you in your traitorous mouth. Or maybe it was in your heart, that betrayal that led to this.

You licked at the stripe of blood and found that the taste of Kronner's blood in your mouth was different than the flavour of your own. It was almost sweet, even though you knew that made no sense. It was sticky under your tongue, and you were sucking his underlip into your mouth and trying to pull every last drop of it into your mouth.

By doing that, you found yourself prodding at the cut that had produced the blood, urging it to bleed more.

Which was when Kronner moaned into your mouth and then his hands were in your hair, tugging hard, dragging your body as close to his as you could get through all that gear, kissing back ferociously.

The next morning, when you opened your eyes, Kronner was stretched out, long and lean and gorgeous, on the bed beside you. His skin was marked by your teeth, his ribs shadowed by bruises from your fingers, his stomach decorated with the shape of your mouth.

You, too, when you got up to use the bathroom, were adorned with bruises and bitemarks and places where the skin had broken open and bled.

By the time Kronner left, after one last coffee-flavoured kiss, you understood that no-one would be surprised by the marks left behind.

So sometimes it's those accidents; the way he'd split his lip open, the way that first kiss had gone. Had he not taken a fist in the mouth, maybe you wouldn't be here now, dragging the pads of your fingers up and down his sides, watching him shiver, watching his hard stomach muscles flutter.

"I don't want to hurt you." The words slip unbidden from your mouth, but Kronner grabs your wrist, pulls your hand close to his belly. The knife in your hand grazes his flesh, and it leaves a thin, quavering line of red behind it.

It's as much as you can make yourself do; you toss the knife onto the bedside table and lean down next to him, eye-level with his hip, and press your fingertip into the cut, watching the way his skin whitens around the pressure, making the blood when it pools all the more vivid.

"It doesn't hurt," Kronner murmurs, and you slide over, licking at his abdomen, seeking out the droplets of blood.

You wipe your mouth when you lift your head, and you know you've smeared the blood across your own face.

With your fingers dredging the blood out of the cut and spreading it across his belly, you balance on your elbow and kiss Kronner.

And just like you did that first time, Kronner sucks at the blood on your lips.

end.