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↪ gobblegoals: i guess i’m first in line… but i’ve never been happier to be proven wrong

Dylan crawled over to where Henri lay boneless on a hotel bed in—where? He couldn’t even remember, which made him chuckle. Or try to chuckle. He might not have made any noise at all.

They’d beaten the…someone with yellow…New Jersey, maybe? Philly? And a few other teams in their division had lost their respective games, giving the Turkeys the little push they’d needed to make the playoffs. The team had celebrated with beers in the locker room (unclear who’d acquired the beers) and then shots at the hotel. And then more beer followed by more shots. They hopefully had nowhere important to be tomorrow, because none of them were in any shape to function like human beings.

And then, to make sure Henri was completely dead, Dylan had pushed him onto the bed and blown him until his brain had forgotten everything. Hockey, English, how to move, all of it gone.

Drunk and fucked out, Henri practically purred when Dylan leaned over him and nuzzled his cheek. This was heaven, truly.

“Mon coeur,” he slurred. When they kissed, he could taste himself. He licked into Dylan’s mouth and groaned, felt Dylan’s answering moan ripple through him. “Are you going to fuck me?”

“Wasn’t English, Hen.” He kissed Henri’s nose. His eyes were so blue, Henri wanted to dive into them and swim to the bottom. “Not even sure that was French.”

Since words and, quite frankly, concentrating enough to produce them weren’t his friends right now, he tried something else: he reached for Dylan’s cock.

“Oh, you gonna help me with that?” Dylan laughed when Henri nodded. But instead of letting Henri stroke him, he gently grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, then nudged Henri onto his side. Henri’s body was so heavy and limp, he felt unbalanced until Dylan lay behind him and supported his weight. He rolled his hips, dragging his dick along the cleft of Henri’s ass. Just once, but it made Henri shudder. He wished he hadn’t already come.

“You still with me?” Dylan asked as he kissed along Henri’s neck. “How much did you drink, baby?”

Henri nearly died at the endearment. Actually fucking died. Melted into a puddle on the bed.

“Hen, answer me.”

Dylan’s tone was sharp, and Henri knew he had to get his shit together, or Dylan would do something terrible like making him drink water or stop.

“I’m here,” he said, hopefully in something resembling English. “I’m fine. Don’t stop, please.”

“You promise?” He sucked at Henri’s collarbone. Unfair. That would be distracting even if Henri weren’t five drinks in.

He nodded, then added, “I promise. Please, Dylan. I need you.”

“You already had me,” Dylan teased. There was a plastic pop! before Dylan whispered in his ear, “You always have me, Hen.”

The next time he thrust against Henri, his cock was slick with lube. Henri gasped, goosebumps dancing up his arms, and he ground back in encouragement. They moved against each other, sloppy and wet, until Dylan’s hands stilled Henri’s hips. Henri wanted to protest until Dylan lifted his leg and slipped his dick between Henri’s thighs.

“Oh!” he gasped.

“Is this okay?” Dylan asked. He gave a single, slow thrust that ran along Henri’s taint and balls. It was like an electric shock. Surprising and strange, but delightful. He clenched the sheets. His own dick gave a valiant attempt to harden again, but he ignored it.

I’ve never done this before, the thought somehow headier than the act. Something new with Dylan and only Dylan. It was probably better that Henri had already been taken apart. This might’ve wrecked him otherwise.

“Again,” he begged.

Dylan nipped his shoulder, mouthed at the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, his pace steady. Henri blindly reached back for him. Grabbed at his ass, then his hair, anything he could grasp until Dylan’s hand found his and he laced their fingers together.

“I’m gonna win you a Cup,” Dylan promised. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Like those two were equal considerations. Given the choice, Henri knew which he wanted more.

“I—” He barely swallowed the words down in time. Henri felt them, felt his heart bursting with them every time he looked at Dylan. Or thought about him. Or felt him unraveling like he was now, his movements more desperate as he fucked Henri’s thighs.

I love you. So fucking much.

But he couldn’t say them first. He’d break if they said them at all and then his contract got cast aside. If they didn’t say them and he had to leave, he might be able to hold himself together.

“Henri,” Dylan said, over and over. “Henri, Henri, Henri…”

And Henri pretended he didn’t hear what was lurking beneath his name.