[Hockey RPS - Lovegame - Lidström/Osgood - watersports - R]

[annabeth.livejournal.com]

Lovegame
Hockey RPS/Detroit Red Wings. | Nicklas Lidström/Chris Osgood. | watersports [desperation]. | ~1600 words. | R. | unbeta'd. | written for the anon hockey meme: prompt | Takes place during the 2009 Stanley Cup Finals, not long after Nicklas Lidström had testicular surgery. And, of course, Ty Conklin is mentioned because he did provide the... inspiration, if you will. :3 Title stolen from Lady Gaga.


Lovegame

It might be a side effect of the surgery. Really, he wants to believe that, because otherwise he has to believe that it's his prostate or that he's getting older—wouldn't that be something for his teammates to prank him about!—but there's got to be a reason.

At first, he had to pee three times before the start of each game. He'd come in and stretch and then, a trip to the bathroom.

He'd get half his gear on, and he'd have to make a quick, rather undignified rush back to the bathroom, where some of his gear had to come off so he could pee.

And then he'd get the rest of his gear on, but just before puck drop he'd find himself in the bathroom again.

Whatever the cause, it was getting tedious, embarrassing... and much worse. Now he barely makes it through a period, and he's not about to make like Conks and disappear during a TV break—how would it look, to draw that attention to himself?

Not good, considering he's supposed to be setting a good example.

He's so lost in thought as he laces up his skates that he doesn't, at first, notice the shadow of a teammate has sprawled over him.

"For sure, are you sick?" asks Homer, and Nick glances up, can feel the blush as it pools in his cheeks.

"Of course not; I'm fine," Nick immediately says. But Homer's blue eyes are softened with concern, and more than that, the understanding that Nick is lying. "Don't worry about it," he says, finishing up knotting the laces. He gets to his feet and pats Homer on the shoulder.

"If you're sure," Homer answers. Nick gives him a pained grin. He already has to pee again. It's like his body is punishing him for drinking so much all that time.

Homer shakes his head, but he heads back to his own stall to snag his helmet, and before Nick can make a getaway to the bathroom, Oz is blocking his path.

In an extremely low voice, his lover leans in and says, "No. I want you to wait."

Nick had already known that Oz would have noticed before anyone else; they often share a hotel room, after all. But he still feels caught-out, exposed, in the spotlight of Ozzie's scrutiny and the knowledge that Ozzie knows.

He'd make an attempt to play it off, but Oz isn't exactly going to be fooled. They've known each other too long.

"I won't be able to," Nick murmurs back. He's already feeling the burn, the pressure building, his belly uncomfortable underneath all his gear. It's like he's filling up at an alarming rate and he's suddenly aware that he's giving Oz a pleading look, desperate and hopeful, but Ozzie quickly glances around, then reaches out and lays his hand over the lower portion of Nick's jersey. Even beneath padding and fabric and UnderArmour shirt, Nick can feel the heat of his lover's hand, and even though it's slight, the pressure placed on his bladder makes him shiver.

"Trust me," Ozzie says, and strokes Nick's lower abdomen in circles before stepping back.

Puck drop, and Nick's on the ice first, facing up against the Penguins top line and trying to ignore the pain still throbbing in his balls.

Although, as he leans over, stick at the ready, waiting for the draw, he wonders how much of that is actually pain and how much is pleasure.

Because Ozzie is right about one thing, there's a tingle there, something in the back of his mind suggesting it might feel good. Signals sent to his brain that describe the pressure and the way it throbs in his lower body as pleasure.

Of course, as he skates backwards, defending against Sidney Crosby, flying towards the goal with the puck and Malkin on his other side, Nick acknowledges that he's in some trouble.

His ability to break up the two-on-one is evident, but what no-one (except maybe Oz) knows is how much Nick is clenching his teeth as he lunges to knock the puck away from Crosby's stick.

Yeah, he saves a goal, but his entire body has tightened in protest, every instinct dragging against the need to let go, every tenet he's been taught reminding him that you just don't piss yourself at age thirty-nine.

There's a heavy coat of sweat on his forehead and a flush in his cheeks that he can feel as he opens the door to the bench—he hopes no-one notices, but he's not sure he can climb over the boards without losing it.

His stomach is actually fluttering, and his muscles are aching with holding it in.

Nick glares at Ozzie from the bench, but his goalie is, of course, blasé and not paying any attention to him at all.

It's cruel the way Oz would make him hold it so soon after the surgery.

Nick is jostled by Helmer as he comes over the boards, and he hisses, body going taut in protest—or maybe the protest is that he won't empty his bladder like biology so obviously needs him to do.

Helmer gives him a quick, concerned look, but then it's Nick's turn to get back out there.

He throws his legs over the side of the boards and winces when he loses it just a little. He remembers, again, the way that Conks would steal bathroom breaks during TV time-outs, but Nick can't imagine what's going to happen if he loses control on the ice.

Skating up towards the defensive blueline, making a crisp pass to Z, who is practically behind the defence and going fast towards Fleury's goal, Nick clenches every muscle in his lower body and just prays, concentration lost for just a split second as he takes in how much time is left in the period.

He has to piss so bad now he's cursing under his breath, unable to contemplate the torture of waiting out even the two minutes remaining.

Nick's not going to make it. He can already feel it battering against his control, the dam about to burst, and he wants to skate over to Oz and curse him out, but he's still being equally bombarded by sensations of pleasure that are as piercing and acute as the desperation driving him towards the edge.

The horn sounds suddenly to end the period, and Nick, finishing up his last shift, skates off and hustles his way through his teammates towards the locker.

But then Oz's hand is on his shoulder, pulling him away from the others; Nick wonders where his blocker and glove have gone, but Oz's lips are close to his and his hot breath is an aphrodisiac against his sweat-rich skin.

"Did you make it, baby?" Ozzie asks. Nick can barely nod; he made it, for the most part. His hockey pants are slightly damp at the crotch, but he's pretty sure no-one can tell.

"Come with me," Oz says, and gently guides Nick towards the bathroom.

But once there, Oz doesn't let him take any of his gear off, doesn't give him the opportunity to find the release he so desperately craves—that he needs.

"Ozzie, please," Nick says, hating this feeling, and then, with a hot, red flush of total embarrassment, Nick loses it entirely.

It floods his cup, swells up over his belly, soaking his UnderArmour and his shorts, underwear, jock-strap; it drenches his hockey pants and turns his hockey-hose sodden.

Oz's hand is just above his belly button, and Nick is afraid to look down at his white jersey, to see if the evidence of his accident is conspicuously painted across the material.

Fuck, it's even in his skates. He opens his mouth, but Ozzie covers his lips with his other palm.

"Let it go," Ozzie whispers. Nick can hear the undercurrents in his words, and they line up with the current of piss still flowing from his poor, over-taxed body.

Ozzie's hands are holding him in place, and Nick hates being out of control: the fact that Oz has been calling the shots here, and doubly underlined by the utter, humiliating loss of control of his bladder.

"You're so fucking amazing," Ozzie is murmuring against his cheek now. Nick is getting awfully cold, and the acrid scent of his accident is overflowing in the air around them.

But if Ozzie minds, he's not giving any indication. He's just holding Nick now.

"I'm..."

"...the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Ozzie strokes the back of his palm over Nick's cheek, still hot from embarrassment.

"It's all right," Ozzie says. "I think you have time for a shower before period three starts. Come on, I'll shower with you."

Oz is pressed so close that Nick wonders if his own goalie gear escaped unscathed.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Oz whispers, a fleeting kiss to Nick's earlobe, and then they're heading for the showers.

It's only after Oz is helping to wash the evidence away that Nick realises that beneath the mortification, and the guilt over breaking a societal construct, he actually enjoyed the experience.

And that Oz enjoyed it too. That his lover may just have found them yet another kink to explore more often in private.

Nick finds that, suddenly, his little issue might be something he's totally okay with after all.

end.