Disclaimer: Okay, I own nothing in this fic. It’s a pairing of Chris Chelios and Penguins’ Defenseman Andrew Ference. Don’t ask where the idea came from. I have a demented mind. Flame if you’d like, but as a warning, I’ll most likely add a review that would make fun of you, though. Enjoy!

-Chris-

            Every sunrise is different. That knowledge is probably what possessed me to wake up before dawn at least once a week during the summer. That and the fact that, if you were up early enough, you could see dolphins in the Pacific Ocean. It had only been two weeks since I’d skated around Joe Louis Arena with the Stanley Cup, but it seemed like a million miles away while I stood on that remote cliff, watching the waves surging against the sand.

            As I sat there, soaking up the cool, salty sea breeze, I started to notice the sound of an engine. No one knew about the view from here, so I had no idea who it would be. As it got closer, I realized it wasn’t a car, and then a Harley Fat Boy came into view, and parked on the other side of the dusty road. The young guy driving it stood and pulled off his helmet, then walked in my direction.

            “Beautiful morning,” he commented. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place the name. But he knew mine. “Chris Chelios, right?” he asked, offering a hand.

            I shook it, “Yeah, that’s me. You’re…” I started, wishing I could remember where I’d seen him before.

            “Andrew Ference,” he answered, and it dawned on me. He was on Mario’s team.

            “Nice bike,” I commented, “I’ve been thinking about getting one myself; McCarty’s always bragging about his.”

            He smiled, a very nice, warm smile, “I’ve had it for about two years, I bought it with my signing bonus. It’s been across the United States three times now. I love it,” he paused, glancing out at the water for a moment. It was just light enough that I could see him, but the sun hadn’t risen yet. “Do you want to go for a ride on it?”

            I thought about it for less than five seconds, “Definitely.”

            This was freedom. I was sitting behind Andrew, hands resting loosely at his waist, and he was cruising down Interstate 10. The wind was assaulting my face, but it felt incredible; it had long ago left my hair permanently windblown, and I would probably have a nasty burn on my cheeks later. The power of the engine vibrated underneath me and gave me a sense of strength that only a strong hit during a game had done before. Andrew was obviously used to operating the motorcycle, and I was able to just relax against him and breathe in his smell—like salt water and sweat and soap and something musky that I couldn’t quite place. It didn’t hurt that his hips and backside were pressed against the insides of my thighs, and I could feel every move that he made.

            When the ride eventually came to an end, and we were back on the cliff, I reluctantly got off of the bike, breaking the physical contact that we’d been sharing. Just as quickly as the heat of his body had left me, I felt a chill run over me. I ignored it and tried to make conversation again. “I definitely have to get one of those,” I told him, laughing and attempting to fix my disheveled hair, “Thanks for the ride.”

            He nodded, “No problem, Chris,” he replied, avoiding my eyes. He looked scared, like I was going to be mad at him for something, and it made me feel bad. I hoped I hadn’t done anything to cause it. I watched him for a moment, willing him to look at me again. When he didn’t, I took matters into my own hands.

            I slid my thumb under his chin, making him jump, but I smiled at him, and he relaxed a little. Then I leaned down and kissed him.

            Remember how I said that riding on his motorcycle was freedom? Well…I was wrong.

-Andy-

            Holy hell, I thought, Chris Chelios—my role model and hero—is kissing me. As fast as the thought entered my mind, he was gone. I blinked up at him, then licked the taste of him from my lips. He grinned slightly, just a curl of one side of his mouth. It was almost like he was inviting me to return the favor. So I did.

            I stood up from my bike and grabbed his hand, pulling him close. I pressed my lips to his, and he moaned in appreciation. His free hand slipped around my waist, resting at the small of my back. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, and he nibbled gently on it until I shuddered from the sensation. As soon as he released it, I slid my tongue out, teasing the seam of his lips until he opened them for me. I licked all along his front teeth, then let his tongue swirl around mine. I ran my fingers through his hair, which had been blown in every direction during the motorcycle ride. He kissed away from my mouth, across my jaw and then down my neck, pulling my shirt back so that he could graze his teeth over my collarbone. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep myself from moaning his name.

            “You’re good at this, kid,” he said, pausing long enough to tug at my T-shirt. He pulled it up over my head, then stared at my chest appreciatively. “Damn,” he murmured, “tattooed and everything.”

            I blushed when he kept staring, and then distracted him by pulling at the buttons of his shirt. “My turn to look,” I explained, running my fingers over the skin that I was exposing, all the way down the front of him until I could just remove the fabric completely, tossing it over the handlebars of my bike. He was chiseled and muscled and masculine, and I couldn’t resist tracing the lines of his abs with my fingertips, sighing over his perfection.

            He kissed me again, leading my backwards towards my Harley. “You’ve got the bike and the tattoos,” he panted, “now do you want to be a really bad boy?”

            I nodded emphatically, reaching out to unbutton his pants. He laughed for a moment, then allowed me to strip them away, and then he discarded mine as well. I straddled my bike, leaning backwards against the handlebars, breathing heavily and feeling my body swell, anticipating the contact of his bare skin against my own.

            He stood with one leg on either side of the motorcycle, leaning over me, pressing the bulge in his boxers against the tent forming in mine, and I growled in my throat. He was apparently very good at torture. I grabbed him around the waist, holding his body against mine, feeling the strength of him pressing against me, making me even harder and stealing away any chance I had of looking at him. The sensations surrounding me were too strong to take; I had to close my eyes against some of it. He slipped his hands into the opening of my shorts, wrapping his hands around my shaft, first sliding them down to the base, and then up to the head, pulling it out from under the cloth, letting the chilly air touch me, making me shake from the need for him.

            Then he stripped my shorts off and leaned in close, pressing his lips to the tip of my penis, then engulfing it completely in his mouth. I nearly came as soon as his tongue came into contact with me, but I bit my lip and held off, wanting to experience as much of him as possible. He licked all underneath, then grazed his teeth along it, grinning when I shuddered from the intensity of it. Then he pulled away from me and grabbed his pants. My heart sank, but then he reached into his pocket, and pulled a condom and a tiny tube from his wallet. I decided not to ask why he carried lube around with him—I didn’t really care. I just wanted to feel him inside of me.

            He rolled on the condom and let me cover his cock in lube, then he kissed me and lifted my hips up off of the seat. “Ready?” he asked breathlessly, and I just nodded, I couldn’t find the words to explain it. And then he was burning inside of me, stretching me; and it was heat and pain and mind-blowing pleasure and before I knew it, I was coming, yelling his name, and then he exploded, burying his face in my neck.

            We just rested then, him still inside of me, and waited until the sun came up. The cool, salty breeze dried the sweat from our skin and made the moment more perfect than any fantasy I’d ever thought up. When we finally parted, and he kissed me goodbye, I knew that this was an event that would never be repeated.

            It didn’t need to be. The first and only time was fulfillment enough.