Happy Birthday Frala! My Lancemuse wants to say thank you for having birthdays, because when you have birthdays, he gets sex with hot hockey players *G*. I want to say thank you too, because I had all kinds of fun writing this. My Cookiemuse is...quite interesting to write *Giggles*. But he was oh so much fun. He was definitely influenced by my dreams, and much hilarity ensued from that. And as you well know, I have huge amounts of Cookie!lust, and some of that definitely transferred into Lance for this *G*. I had fun with this, the musi definitely enjoyed it, and I hope you do as well. I don't know yet if this will become the "Lance Storm Does the NHL" series, but if it does, it's so being dedicated to you *hugs*. I didn't say it in last year's fic, but thank you for ever introducing me to hockey fic (through your fic picks wayyyyy back when.) I can't imagine my life without hockey fic anymore, so thank you *hugs*. But before I get all sappy and this note turns into a Hallmark card, I'll shut up and let you get to your ficcage *G*. Happy Birthday!!!
Love,
James
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Actual Fic Title: C is for Cookie
Rating: NC-17
Original Date of Completion: July 2003
Pairing: Lance Storm/Matt Cooke
Disclaimer: Don't own them, and if I did, I would give them to Frala. This is all fiction, conjured in the confines of my demented little mind. So please, don't sue me.
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Lance wondered at times why he'd ever married. Sure, his wife was a great person. She provided him with love, compassion, understanding, and companionship. For 15 days a year. The other 350, he was on the road wrestling, away from her. It was a strain on the relationship, to say the least. Most conversations they had while he was away resulted in arguments, some worse than others. For the minor arguments, a short timeout was taken, for both to cool off; one of them would call a few hours later to smooth everything out, and the rest of the night would be spent cooing, professing their love, and longing to be together. For the major arguments, a much different timeout was needed; a timeout that took he and friends out to the nearest local bar, where he could forget his troubles, one way or another...
One way, the trusty standby for most wrestlers, was alcohol. It served its purpose, but Lance had never been a big fan. No matter what amount he consumed at night, he always awoke the next morning with a hangover. That tended to turn him away, from "one way" to "another". Another had always proved to be more fun for him anyway, dating back a year ago to his unexpected encounter with hockey player Sean Avery. That night remained a vivid memory in Lance's mind, not just because of his encounter with Avery, but from the unexpected surprise given to him by his friends Trish and Dawn Marie. That night "one way" had been "another" and "another" had been the five most Earth shattering orgasms he’d ever had. He knew that nothing could ever top that night, but the hope was there every time he stepped out onto the town with Dawn and Trish flanking his side.
Of course, most times, they were more interested in each other than in him. Tonight proved to be no different; the two of them walking off to the dance floor the second they entered the bar, leaving Lance to travel to the bar by himself. He never minded, the sight of them on the dance floor, thrashing around, grinding against each other, was a good distraction away from any feelings of loneliness he may encounter. And more often than not, he was able to find something else besides watching them, and drowning himself in alcohol to occupy his time. His encounter with Sean Avery had opened his eyes, and mind to a whole new, exciting world. Before that night, Lance had never entertained even a sexual thought about another man. Now, that was all he went looking for in these situations. There was something more exciting about bedding a man than some random ring rat; it seemed somehow less like cheating, which worked wonders on keeping his conscience silent. He found that the less he thought about his actions, the more he enjoyed them.
That was why he often spent a drink or two at the bar before making his move. It never took him long to scope out possible conquests, and to make a decision on whom to move on. From then on he just bided his time, like a jungle cat waiting to strike. His approach was slow and methodical, but it had never failed him. When the perfect opportunity presented itself, he pounced, but not a moment before. In the meantime, he sat back and watched. Or in tonight's case, sat back and listened, as his prey for the evening sat just a few stools away.
His prey was, unbeknownst to Lance, none other than Matt Cooke, center for the Vancouver Canucks. He and teammate Artem Chubarov had went out on the town, to celebrate Matt's 10th goal of the season. Various bars and clubs were left standing in their wake, as they'd made their way to the bar where they currently were. Both had consumed their fair share of alcohol as the night went on; they'd chosen this bar as the place to wind down. That had worked for Artem, but Matt had't been so successful. When they'd sat down at the bar, Matt found himself directly in front of the Drink Specials Menu. The words 'Sex on the Beach' had immediately caught his eyes, and after a short fit of giggling, he'd ordered one. Three of them later, the giggles had done nothing but increased. It was that which had first garnered Lance's attention; from there he'd taken in the man's appearance and decided immediately on his prey for the evening. From that moment on, he'd sat leaned slightly toward the men, listening in on their conversation, and waiting for the moment to make his move.
"It can do tricks, want to see?" Cooke asked Chubarov, unaware of Lance listening in. "They are magical, spectacular, awe-inspiring,"
Chubarov took a quick swig of his drink, slamming it back down onto the bar with a burp. He laughed loudly, shaking his head and patting the other man on the shoulder.
"I think I'll pass on that one, buddy," He laughed.
"Come on, Chubey," Cooke whined, turning in his stool. "My magical dick wants to put on a show for you,"
Chubarov rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Cookie. I don't care about your dick,"
"I love my dick,"
"I'm sure you do, Cookie. But I don't, so you're just going to have to find someone else to entertain,"
Chubarov turned in his stool, shaking his head as he stood up. He turned to Cooke, and softly patted him on the back. Cooke turned toward him briefly, flashing a quick smile, then returning his attention to the drink in front of him. Chubarov laughed, reaching into his pocket and producing a handful of money. He slapped it down onto the bar, whistling to get the bartender's attention. A rather surly looking man, clad in a tattered flannel shirt grunted toward them in acknowledgment.
"See to it that he gets another one of those....whatever the hell that is. I'll be back in a few," Chubarov spoke, motioning toward Cooke's drink as he walked backward, away from the bar.
"Will do," The bartender nodded, then turned back to his earlier task.
Lance watched with a muted grin as Chubarov turned and made his way to the exit. Cooke never seemed to notice his companion's disappearance, paying more attention to the straw in his drink than anything else. Lance licked his lips as he further took the Cooke in, studying his lips, bitten and red, his eyes, slightly glazed over, and his hair, a mess of curls atop his head. Lance wondered for a fleeting moment who he was, with a name like Cookie. But that thought was quickly chased away with the slurping of liquid through a straw, and amused mumbling of "Sex on the Beach." Lance snickered at the sounds, taking a quick swig from his beer. That caught the attention of the man called Cookie, and he turned slightly to face Lance. Lance smiled, nodding his head in a friendly gesture. Cooke flashed him a grin in return and leaned forward, clinging to the bar for support. On the inside, Lance grinned at the sight before him; things suddenly looked a whole lot easier.
"How's it going?" Lance asked plainly, turning his head to wince at the lameness of the statement.
Cooke seemed unaffected by the lameness, giggling and laying his head sideways on the bar. "Do YOU want to see my magical dick?"
Lance chuckled and turned in his stool, letting his feet hit the floor. He stretched his arms above his head as he stood, then walked the short distance to where Cooke sat. Grinning, he sat down beside him, resting a leg on the other man's stool. He leaned in close to him, slipping his arm around Cooke's back, and brought his mouth to his ear.
"I'd want to see it even if it weren't magical," Lance whispered, licking slowly along Cooke's earlobe.
Cooke turned toward Lance, a devious grin lighting up his face. "My magical dick likes you. He wants to say hi," He giggled drunkenly, slapping Lance playfully on the thigh.
"Well then," Lance spoke, grinning as Cooke's hand lingered on his thigh. "I think he should definitely say hi. In some place private,"
Cooke grinned, nodding eagerly as slowly he got to his feet. He jerked his head in the direction of the exit, then without a word stumbled off toward it. Lance followed quickly behind him, rushing through the bar and out the door before Cooke had even made it down the steps. He walked just feet behind Cooke until his feet hit the pavement, then stepped out in front of him. Cooke stumbled forward with a smirk, slipping his arms around Lance's neck.
"Somebody's eager," He giggled, driving his lips hard onto Lance's.
Lance gasped into the kiss as Cooke pressed tightly against him, bringing his lips to Lance's neck. A slight shiver coursed down his spine as Cooke licked at his neck, and wrapping his arms around the other man's waist, he pressed his lips against collarbone. Cooke moaned softly, grinding his hips against Lance, pressing his hard flesh against the other man's hip. Lance grinned at the feeling, and from the scent playing at his nostrils; a musky mixture of sweat and soap, mingled with the acquired odor of the bar and something smelling vaguely of sandalwood. He couldn't fully identify the smell, as far as he was concerned it was pheromones, serving their purpose and driving him mad with lust. He would've been more than content to stay standing as they were, and for any possible activity to occur in that spot. But it was Cooke, even through his drunken haze, who realize such a thing wasn't plausible, and with light growl and a nip to his neck, he pushed Lance away.
"Find us a car," He instructed, grazing his hand across Lance's crotch.
Lance whimpered softly as Cooke pulled his hand away. "We came in a taxi,"
Cooke grinned, glancing around them at the surrounding cars. "Who said we had to be IN the car?"
It took only seconds for Cooke's words to sink in, and with a smirk Lance grabbed him by the hand and dragged him toward the nearest car. Growling, he pushed Cooke back onto the hood then crawled up between his legs and united their lips in a punishing kiss. Cooke moaned against the other man's lips, wrapping his legs around Lance's waist and pulling him closer. Hurriedly, Lance's hands slipped beneath Cooke's shirt, pushing the fabric up across milky skin. As his fingers brushed against a nipple, Cooke moaned loudly and arched up, pressing his hard cock, still hidden beneath his denim jeans, against Lance's taut stomach. Lance moaned himself from the feeling, and ground his hips against Cooke, pulling his lips away only long enough to discard Cooke's shirt. He tossed it onto the roof of the vehicle, then drove his lips back onto Cooke's, rubbing his hands heatedly along Cooke's chest, pinching roughly at his nipples. Cooke growled, biting down onto Lance's bottom lip, tugging at it as he pulled away. Lance whimpered slightly, pinching hard onto a nipple as he got himself to a kneeling position.
"What's the matter? Don't you want this?" Lance asked, gasping for breath, continuing to pinch at Cooke's chest.
Cooke growled again, writhing slightly beneath Lance's touch. "Believe me, I want it. But I thought you wanted to see my magical dick?"
Lance nodded with a grin, and quickly his hands found the waistband of Cooke's jeans. With lightning speed both button and zipper were undone, and Lance began to tug the denim from Cooke's hips. As the material began its migration downward, pale skin appeared in its place, bringing a grin across Lance's lips; Cooke wore no underwear, making things just a little bit easier than they already had been. When the denim was thoroughly vanquished, tossed with Cooke's shirt to the roof of the car, Lance wrapped his hand eagerly around Cooke's mammoth erection, jerking at it roughly. Cooke growled, arching up against Lance's hand, moaning as his touch turned gentle. Lance jerked slowly at the other man's cock, easing slowly down the hood until his knees were on the bumper. Then, leaning quickly forward, he engulfed Cooke's dick in his mouth.
"Fuck," Cooke moaned loudly, thrusting upward. "My magical dick really likes you,"
Lance snickered around Cooke's cock, swirling his tongue lazily around the head. He began to suck softly at the rigid shaft, jerking what inches he couldn't swallow with his hand. Cooke began to moan loudly, writhing wildly and thrusting up slightly with each bob of Lance's head. Hesitantly, Lance began to snake his hand downward, sucking more of Cooke's throbbing cock down his throat, and softly massaging his balls. Cooke's moans only grew more boisterous, and encouraged, Lance pressed a finger to Cooke's opening. Slowing his bobbing speed, and increasing his suction, Lance pressed his finger slowly into Cooke. That alone was enough to push Cooke past the breaking point, and with a loud moan he exploded deep down Lance's throat, clenching tight around the probing finger. Lance sucked heartily until he felt the last drop of cum hit his throat, then gradually he let Cooke, still throbbing hard, slip from his mouth.
"In...fucking...credible," Cooke said slowly, gasping for breath. "My magical dick REALLY likes you,"
Grinning, Lance unbuttoned his jeans and quickly tugged the zipper down. The noise caused Cooke to sit up, and he grinned as Lance freed his cock through the opening of his boxers. The two men locked eyes as Lance crawled back up between Cooke's legs. Immediately Cooke's legs wrapped around Lance's waist, bringing a smirk to Lance's face.
"So, if your magical dick likes me," Lance stated, pressing himself to Cooke's opening. "What about your other parts?"
Cooke grinned, lifting his hips and pushing back against Lance. "They like you too, a lot. Maybe you should formally introduce them,"
Without another word, Lance thrust himself into Cooke, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. Cooke cried out, arching up and clenching tightly around Lance's intruding cock. Lance stilled for only a moment before he began a slow thrusting, Cooke whimpering with each thrust. The whimpers quickly faded, however, replaced by soft, pleasured moans as his body adjusted to the girth of Lance thrusting deep inside him. As he further adjusted, he began to clench firmly with each thrust Lance made, squeezing a loud moan from the other man. That sent Lance's motions into overdrive, his thrusting speed increasing vastly, and his hands returning to their earlier post at Cooke's nipples. His fingers worked gently at the hardened nubs this time, sending goosebumps down Cooke’s sweat slicked skin, shivers coursing down his spine. That served only to intensify the sensations shooting through Lance's body, his thrusting speed further increasing. He could last only seconds of that before he lost it, shooting deep inside Cooke with a moaned growl. He thrust in hard one final time, coaxing a moan from the both of them, then reluctantly he pulled himself from the tight confines surrounding his still throbbing shaft.
"Hey," Cooke spoke, pulling Lance to him for a brief kiss. "Thanks for that," He licked quickly down Lance's cheek, grinning at the surprised look on the other man's face. "There's nothing better to work off alcohol,"
Lance laughed softly as he tucked his dick back into his boxers. He watched Cooke intently as he pulled his clothes from the hood, and bending over pulled his jeans back on. Distractedly Lance re-fastened his own jeans, grabbing his dick through the fabric to better adjust himself. Cooke saw this, chucking softly as he pulled his t-shirt back over his head. Lance grinned as he took the man in; looking more than slightly disheveled, his skin gleaming with sweat, just the way Lance liked his prey to look when he was finished. Tonight's prey had been a good choice, he was leaving with his hunger beyond satiated. There was just one thing that bothered him...
"Hey," Lance yelled as Cooke began to walk away.
Cooke grinned, scratching at the bit of goatee on his chin. "Just call me C," He yelled in reply, walking backward toward the bar.
"C is for..."
"C is for Cookie," He giggled, then turned and walked back into the bar.
Lance laughed, shaking his head as he pushed himself off the car. "And that's good enough for me."
END
© 2003 Triple X
