Sizzle

Rating: NC-17

Original Date of Completion: April 2008

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Alex Ovechkin

Disclaimer: I own nothing, though man I would be rich as HELL if I did. This is all fiction, conjured in the confines of my demented little mind (or in this case, my demented subconscious.) That means fake, so no suing.

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I shouldn’t be here. I know I shouldn’t be here, lurking in the shadows, waiting for him. I shouldn’t be here waiting for him, thinking of doing what I’m thinking of doing. Yet here I am. Waiting, knowing I’m going to do every single thought in my mind, and more. It’s all I’ve thought of for days. It, HE, has consumed my every brain activity. I came here to change that, so my thoughts can be mine again and not his. He is the cause of it, but he’s also the cure, the tonic for my troubled mind.

But when he steps off the ice, into the corridor where I hide, I have my first serious doubt that he’ll be a remedy, and not just cause further inflammation.

He stops in his tracks when he sees me, fixing me with a quizzical, critical stare. I don’t smile in return, swept up in the steely gaze that had captured my mind days ago. That look gives me a powerful shove right back to the thoughts that had brought me here: why I as here, what I wanted, what I needed from him. Now that I was here, there was no fighting those thoughts, even if I wanted to. My mind was set, my body was here, and I was never one for unfinished business.

He doesn’t flinch when I step closer to him, his eyes stay on mine, his feet stay firmly planted. That is exactly what I expected, and exactly what I wanted. An immobile cure is easier to get than one I’d have to run after. Even if I had proven to myself by being here how far I would go to get it.

“Why are you here?” He asks when I take another step toward him, his deep voice booming in the small hallway.

I say nothing in response, even as my next step brings us inches apart. He still doesn’t move, neither body nor gaze; standing this close to him I can feel the post-game heat radiating from him, and it’s almost enough to make me step back. I don’t let myself, though, this heat is the kind of fire you can’t help but touch, just to see how hot it really is. I knew it would be, that was why I was here. That fire had burned inside my mind for what feels like eternity. It was my body’s turn to feel it now.

I take another step forward, this one bringing our bodies together. To my surprise, he still doesn’t move, his expression doesn’t change, even as my hand finds his shoulder, even as my eyes slowly scan his face. Any thoughts that I shouldn’t be here are gone as I see his lips, just in time to see his tongue dart out, licking away a drop of sweat from the soft pink of his top lip. That’s no real form of encouragement, but it’s enough to goad me into auto-pilot, and let my thoughts take full control of their vessel that is my body.

Leaning forward, I press my lips firmly against his, and be it him or me, I feel a gasp against them. It could’ve been me, because the heat from his lips is almost more than I can stand; I can feel my skin sear from the first touch. It could’ve been him in surprise, but that seems unlikely, or at least quite short lived; he’s quick to return the kiss, and even quicker to snake his arm around my back and pull me tighter against him. Who really did it becomes an immediate after thought, it doesn’t stop the kiss, it doesn’t impede my thoughts from guiding my body to where they've wanted to go for so long.

I deepen the kiss urgently as the heat from his mouth overtakes me. I can feel him growl as my tongue touches his, his hand slipping beneath my shirt, burning my skin in a whole other place, in a whole other way. I can feel myself melting against him, burning up in a heat hotter than I ever expected. I am quickly a slave to the flame, pulled to it like a moth, thoughtless to anything else. I want nothing more than to be near it, to keep touching it, feeling it, everywhere. I can’t get enough, even as his hand rubs its way up my spine, my hand rubbing over his stomach on a slow trek lower. He is instant addiction, and I needed a harder hit; my hand slides into his pants, pushing the cup aside, and gripping him firmly.

His growl at that touch is fierce, his kisses become hungry. His teeth capture my bottom lip, nibbling, biting over the already sensitive skin, coaxing soft whimpers from me. My hand tightens further around him with that treatment,and he thrusts forward urgently into my hand; he needs this as much as I want it, as much as I need to feel his heat.

I stroke him tightly to match his thrusts, twisting my wrist along his shaft, reveling in his moans against my lips just as much as I revel in the feel of his burning flesh in my hand. I keep our lips together even then, desperate to feel that burning everywhere that I possibly could, for as long as I could. His thrusts grow more insistent, his breathing grows shallow, his grip on my back clamps tighter; he is a mirror of the same desperation I felt. I can feel him throbbing in my hand, his moans tumbling from trembling lips against mine. His larger frame leans against mine, and I can feel him shiver, his thrusts going more erratic with each moment. When I twist my wrist over the head of his cock, smearing precum along the shaft, he growls low against my lips, biting hard into the bottom one as he floods over my hand.

My grip tightens around him as he comes, he shuddered against me but never releases my lip from his teeth. My strokes slow gradually, but never stop, my grip never loosening. His cum in my hand feels almost scorching, almost a blissful sizzle against my skin. That had been the burn my mind had wanted, to feel the singe of his lips on mine, to feel the sear of his orgasm as I pushed him to the brink. I had hoped this feeling would be enough to satiate my mind, that feeling that fire would be enough to cure me. But even now with his cum hot against my hand, I only want more, the ultimate heat...

“Fuck me, Alex...”

* * *

I awoke with a jolt, in a sweat that was anything but cold, gasping for breath. I felt like my entire body was on fire, swear pouring down my face, down my chest. The sheets beneath me were damp to the touch, covered in sweat from the heat of the dream. I had never felt a dream so vivid in my life, the effect of it was evident around me, on me; my cock was painfully hard in my boxerbriefs, precum soaking through the white fabric. I rubbed a hand down over my sweat slicked stomach, grazing it over my crotch and giving a quick squeeze. I could feel myself throb in my hand, and a breathy moan tumbled from my lips as my head fell back. I glanced to my left then, at the clock on the nightstand, and read the bright red display aloud to myself.

“5:04.”

I could be in Washington by 8:00.

END