[Hockey RPS - Heart Wide Open - Ty Conklin/Chris Osgood - pass_shoot_porn]

[annabeth.livejournal.com]

Heart Wide Open
Hockey RPS/Detroit Red Wings. | Chris Osgood/Ty Conklin [goalie!porn!]. | barebacking. power imbalance [but not necessarily the way you'd think]. | 1664 words. | NC-17. | written for pass_shoot_porn for the prompt breakfast. | cut-tag from Britney Spears.


Heart Wide Open

"Undo my zipper, please." Ty's voice is hushed, almost level with the ambient noise around them--the TV, the faucet dripping in the bathroom, the wind outside the window--but Chris is so attuned to it that Ty barely has to speak to get his attention.

Chris isn't supposed to be here right now. How Ty got rid of his roommate for the night is less important than the fact that he's a coach now--goalie consultant--and this isn't what they asked him to teach the goalies.

He's not on the same level as Ty any longer, but that doesn't mean that he can deny his old friend anything. After all, they'd been lovers two years ago, until trade and injury had separated them.

If he'd had any doubt that Ty still wanted him, it had gone when he'd received the text: meet me 302.

"I can't," he whispers back, feeling the blush warm his cheeks. This isn't something... but Ty just gives him that beautiful, crooked smile and shoves his curls off his forehead impatiently.

"Nothing's changed, Oz," he murmurs back, dipping his head down until Chris can see the top of his head, the mess of curls there.

Ty kisses his collarbone, open-mouthed and messy, but it sends a thrill down Chris's spine. His skin goes from normal to hyper-sensitive in seconds, and he feels that pumping of his heart and blood he used to feel when he played goal: the sharp rush of adrenaline; the thud of his heart impossibly loud in his ears; the instinctive jerk to get out of the way of the onrushing puck.

He feels it all now: the urge to get out of the way of the speeding train that is Ty, a guy he used to count among his best friends until their team colours changed.

But Ty's breath is hot against his throat, and his hands are planted on Chris's hips, and Chris can't deny the way he feels. Already his cock is beginning to go hard in his jeans.

"Ozzie," Ty says, dragging his attention back. "Go on. Undo my zipper."

It's no longer a request. It's an order. Chris feels the flush spread from his face down his chest, and his cock swells up further. Ty hasn't forgotten a thing. Apparently the only thing he's forgotten--is choosing to forget--is that now Chris is considered a teacher, not a player.

It should give him pause, send him packing as fast as he can from the room, but instead it just causes heat to thread through his body until he feels like he's burning up.

Ty lifts his head, and in the light from the bedside lamp, his lips are shining and swollen. His eyes are very blue, but so different from Nick's... Chris swallows and focuses on them. Ty throws his leg over Chris's thighs and straddles him, leaning back so that his crotch is jutted forward, and waits.

Chris takes the tab of the zipper between forefinger and thumb and gently, slowly, tugs it downward.

Ty's boxer-briefs are navy blue, and they outline the hard, swollen line of his dick perfectly. Chris sucks in a deep, fortifying breath--as if he's really forgotten how to do this--and reaches inside, cupping his hand over the impossible heat of Ty.

He could just die, right here, right now, and be happier than he's been in ages. Which is strange, but retiring took something out of him, dragged something away from him, and he didn't even know quite what was missing until now, holding Ty's cock in his hand, feeling it throb hotly against his palm.

He strokes Ty's length slowly, thumbing over the slit, swiping some of the fluid beginning to pool there out and over Ty's shaft.

Ty shudders, and Chris can feel his thighs tremble and clench against his own body.

"Are you going to let me in?" Ty asks. Chris lifts his cock out of his underwear and swallows hard, staring at Ty's bare skin. He nods, a quick movement, almost afraid he'll stick to his better judgement and say no to this.

But he doesn't want to say no to this. He doesn't want to say no to Ty. He's never, ever, wanted to say no to Ty--not even when Ty was slowly, inexorably turning the longing in his heart from Nick to himself.

Back then he'd been scared, used to one thing, one lover, and Ty had changed all that. It had broken his heart in ways he couldn't vocalise to anyone when Ty had left.

"Yes," he squeezes out, voice hoarse and ragged.

"Then let me in," Ty says. He thrusts into the circle of Chris's fist. His heart is throbbing in time with Ty's cock, and he's really afraid that at any moment, he'll either wake up to his own lonely room, or Ty will change his mind and take away--

He jabs at the thought until it wafts away. And then he licks his lip, bites the lower one, soaks in the way that Ty's eyes darken and his pupils blow out as he watches him.

"You sure you want to do this?" Ty asks, masking his desire with a breathless laugh. "Let me score on you?"

"Can't score on you," Chris mumbles, panting a little now. "Can't break up the shutout streak."

Ty laughs a little bit harder, with a little less breath even, and ducks down to kiss Chris directly on the mouth this time.

Every cliché applies: the drowning man finding oxygen, the dying man in the desert being given water--it's all true as Ty kisses him again for the first time in what has been much too long.

As Ty kisses him, he's almost able to distract Chris from where his hands are fumbling Chris's jeans open, and then he's lifting up off Chris's thighs so that he can tug them down, over his hips and off his legs and if he's surprised by the absolutely bare skin that greets him, well, he shouldn't be, really--Ty probably hasn't forgotten Chris's propensity for a lack of underwear, either.

"Condom?" Ty asks, breaking the kiss. It might be unsexy, but Chris doesn't care. This time he goes against his better judgement with more conviction and shakes his head.

"As long as you've got lube," he says, and Ty smiles. Oh, that crooked tilt of his lips just undoes Chris.

"Of course," he says, and reaches for the bedside table.

And the first stroke wakes Chris from his sleepy complacence and reminds him of what's happening, what they're doing--who he's doing it with.

"Conks," he gasps, reaching up, grasping for something to hold on to. Ty hooks Chris's legs over his shoulders and Chris winds up with a handful of his curls as he cants his hips up to take Ty in as deeply as possible.

"No, Ozzie," Ty pants back, hands under his ass, holding him up.

"Ty," Chris moans, and Ty rewards him with a sleek, smooth drive inward that grabs his prostate and sends his mind reeling.

"Yes," Ty breathes, and he thrusts harder. Chris links his hands together around the back of Ty's neck and Ty obligingly lowers his head so that they can kiss, and kill two birds with one stone as Chris hangs on for the ride.

He'd forgotten how five minutes in Ty's arm could result in the ride of a lifetime.

He'd forgotten how Ty felt encased in his body. Forgotten just how much he loved this man.

How could he have forgotten? It's clear Ty hasn't: every movement hits Chris just right, whether he's stimulating his prostate or just filling him up completely. Ty knows every kink he has and every way to touch him to wring the most amount of pleasure out of him.

"Fuck me," he demands raspily, unable to help how loud his voice sounds in the near-silent room. The drip of the faucet has been drowned out by Ty's breathing, and the TV is chattering on about something meaningless in this moment between the two of them.

"Don't forget this," Ty tells him, and lets one of Chris's legs drop. He shakes his head until Chris releases his neck and then he's muscling Chris onto his side, holding his leg high so that he can thrust even more deeply from this new angle, and Chris grunts, moans, pushes back against Ty's pelvis.

This position only lends itself to small thrusts, keeping Ty's cock mostly buried in his ass, and Chris tries to take a deep breath, his heart pounding, Ty pounding his ass, the blood pounding in his ears...

Ty reaches around him and runs his fingertips up Chris's cock, swirling them over the head until Chris's breath catches, and then he fists him totally and begins to jerk hard and fast.

"Come for me," Ty orders, and Chris mumbles his name, bites his own fist, and comes into Ty's hand.

"Good," Ty says. He slams all the way home, balls-deep, and holds that way as Chris's body convulses around him, and Chris can tell the exact moment Ty comes because he makes his signature sound--a strangled cross between a grunt and a cry--and his cock throbs hard and fast as it spasms and he shoots deep inside.

"I'm not leaving," Chris says as they come down, as his heart finds a more regular rhythm. "I'm staying."

It's an answer to the question Ty just asked.

Ty bites down on his shoulder, then soothes the mark with his tongue before smiling against his skin.

"I'm holding you to that," he says. "Taking you down to breakfast as soon as it opens."

Chris smiles and closes his eyes, feeling the emptiness as Ty's cock slowly leaves him, but not regretting it.

Going down to breakfast together means he has all night to relearn everything he can about Ty.

End.