Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/953604.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      OMC/OMC
  Series:
      Part 4 of throw_up_your_fists,_throw_out_your_wits
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-03 Words: 2074
****** you deserve less ******
by youcouldmakealife
Summary
     Luke can be forgiven for thinking that sounded romantic. He was a
     kid.
Notes
     Title's from Xiu Xiu's 'Rose of Sharon'.
Everyone splits when they get back in town, practically running, because the
trip lasted two weeks and no one wants to wait any longer to see their loved
ones. Luke’s looking forward to sleeping in his own bed, had practically been
dreaming of it, by the end of things, so he gets that longing, sort of dimly.
He guesses.
He forgot to clean out his fridge properly, so he has to chuck half its
contents, more take-out boxes than anything, gone so rancid that Luke can’t
even tell what was originally in them. He calls his mom and puts her on
speakerphone while he’s doing it, gets his chat with his mom and his disgusting
chores all done at the same time, which is pretty impressive, he thinks.
The Jets are in town the next day, hopping down from Edmonton, whose sorry
asses they just kicked in a matinee game. Ben left him a disgruntled message
that ended with him deciding he hated Sidorchuk too, because he went after
Fitzy and Brouwer had to put him down, and Luke smiled faintly and only chirped
him a little for the loss when he texted him.
It’s not like he’s cleaning the fucking place in anticipation of Sidorchuk
being there; he tends to see some hallway, the living room, and once, once,
Luke’s bedroom, but he doesn’t want to give him any extra ammo, ever, he’s got
enough, he knows Luke too well, he knows where it will hurt the most. He’s
stayed away from those spots, mostly, used fists instead of words, but Luke
isn’t going to let his guard down.
It’s ten when he gets a knock on the door, and he didn’t order anything, so
that narrows it down to no one, pretty much. Maybe his neighbour, who gets
pissy when Luke turns his music up even a bit, and has gotten on his case about
recycling, though he hasn’t done anything, he doesn’t think. Hell, he hasn’t
even been here.
Instead he opens the door on Sidorchuk, and this, this is why Luke should never
have taken him home, forget the girlfriend, forget everything, Sidorchuk is
clearly smarter than him because Luke has no idea where he lives and so he
could never do this. Luke is always prepared when he sees Sidorchuk because he
pumps himself up for the game, then the fight, and the fight leaves him
adrenaline filled and looking for relief. This isn’t like that, Luke’s spent
the evening cleaning his place, is in his boxers and a ragged t-shirt. He
doesn’t fucking deserve this.
Sidorchuk looks like shit, which means Ben wasn’t really exaggerating about
Brouwer putting him down, has a butterfly bandage just under his brow and his
lip’s split, fat with blood. Seriously, fucking Brouwer, he makes them all look
incompetent. Luke can’t wait until he retires. But that’s clearly not his
biggest problem, here.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Luke asks.
”We are staying in Calgary tonight,” Sidorchuk says.
“That’s nice,” Luke says. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“We fly right after we play you,” Sidorchuk says. “Thanksgiving.”
Thanksgiving, something Luke tends to forget right until everywhere he wants to
order food from closes its doors and he’s stuck microwaving himself something.
Every fucking year.
This logic he gets. They haven’t missed a post-game fuck in years, barring the
time Sidorchuk was on the injured reserve. Once the schedule comes out, Luke
could put sex with Sidorchuk in his fucking calendar, it’s so guaranteed. But
that doesn’t mean they fucking plan them. Or admit that they’re inevitable.
They don’t acknowledge things, the second they acknowledge things shit goes
from rough to mean.
But he’s still got to weigh it, either he lets Sidorchuk in like a fucking
moron, an admission of failure, or all that aggression has nowhere to go. Can’t
even trawl in one of Calgary’s rare gay bars, bad as that idea already is, not
on fucking Thanksgiving.
“Luke?” Sidorchuk asks.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” Luke snaps, then giving in, opens the door and
lets him inside.
*
They don’t talk about the sex this time either, but Luke feels more like
they’re keeping a secret than that Nikita just forgot it. Sits on the bus next
to him once they’re headed home, arm touching his, and knows what they were
doing, knows Nikita knows, knows no one else does. He feels like he got away
with something, that they both did, that while everyone was sleeping Luke was
coming all over them both.
The third time he readjusts in his seat, Nikita’s hand clenches around his
bicep, and while that does absolutely jack all to calm down Luke’s erection, he
does stay still, focuses more on every finger sunk into his skin through his
thin hoodie instead of the throb of his cock in his jeans. Though they’re
pretty connected.
Fuck, it’s like everything Nikita does is foreplay, now. He hands Luke a pen in
class and Luke gets hard. He passes Luke the puck and Luke gets hard. He
smiles, and Luke nearly comes in his fucking pants. He doesn’t think he’s ever
jerked off so much or so hard, and he’s still horny all the time, counts down
the days until they have another road trip because it’s not like he can ask
Nikita on a date or anything, so he has to have patience. Even though he’s not
very good at patience.
Their next trip, as soon as they’ve gotten naked Nikita produces lube magically
from somewhere in the room, and Luke thinks, a little hysterically, about how
awkward that drugstore trip must have been, and then about what Nikita thinks
Luke’s willing to do (he probably is, he wants everything, but
Nikita’s...intimidating, cock-wise, and even two fingers sting a little when
Luke fingers himself), and he’s halfway worked himself into a panic when Nikita
gets his mouth around him, and then Luke isn’t thinking about anything but
that, hot and wet around him, Nikita’s hair sandy brown between his fingers, a
scrape of his teeth, light but enough of a warning, when Luke tries to tug him
down more.
He’s almost forgotten about the lube completely when Nikita’s fingers are
sliding between his cheeks, slick, wet, first one in him, so slow that any
awkwardness is more than made up for by Nikita’s mouth, and then another, which
stings, a little, like always, until it’s making everything better, Luke trying
to get his fingers deeper, squirming until Nikita holds him down with his other
hand, holds him still and takes his mouth off Luke, which Luke misses, but then
he’s focused completely on the fingers in him, breath hitching when Nikita
curls his fingers. He’s so exposed, Nikita’s between his spread thighs just
watching the way he takes it, eyes intent on where Luke’s getting fucked, and
Luke wants to hide and give him a better show, all at once, settles for getting
a hand around himself, but learns his lesson when Nikita bites his thigh,
chiding.
He isn’t ready to get fucked, he doesn’t think he is, but that doesn’t stop him
from asking, Nikita’s clever, thick fingers in him, mouth occasionally brushing
his balls, just a tease. He’s begging by the end of it, really, just a stream
of, “fuck me,” that he doesn’t even mean, probably, when Nikita’s edging a
third finger just past his rim, dry, catching on his skin, and Luke comes all
over himself, didn’t even have to touch himself, just thought of it, Nikita
three fingers deep, Nikita in him, splitting him open, fucking breaking him,
and he wants it, he doesn’t care if he’s ready or not, he wants it.
“Fuck me,” he says again, when he catches his breath.
“No,” Nikita says, but he keeps his fingers in Luke, moving slow, while Luke
squirms beneath him, oversensitive, and Nikita doesn’t hold him down because
his other hand’s on his cock, his eyes intent on how Luke’s just taking it.
Like a fucking slut.
The thrusts in Luke become shorter, almost brutal, and Luke can hear how fast
Nikita’s jerking it, how fucking hot it makes him, watching Luke take it,
watching Luke push back against it, even though he’s too sensitive, even though
it hurts, because he fucking wants it, and he wants Nikita to keep looking at
him like that. Nikita comes against the sheets, and they’re completely a lost
cause, lube dripped on them and Nikita’s come, come dripping from Luke’s side,
so that’s the first night they sleep together, and Nikita falls asleep almost
immediately, but Luke can’t, so caught in the warmth of Nikita’s body tucked
behind his, all the skin he wants to touch until he knows it all.
*
After that, it’s like a dam breaks. Nikita just suddenly appears by Luke’s
locker on a rare day they don’t have practice after school, says, “When do your
billets come home?”
Luke frowns a little. “Five?” he says, finally.
Nikita looks thoughtful for a minute, before he says, “I come over,” not a
question, and then disappears, leaving Luke hoping, freaking praying that means
blowjobs and not English homework.
It does. Nikita’s kind of quiet on the ten minute walk from school, but once
the door’s shut behind them he’s just everywhere, ends up leaving a mark on
Luke’s collarbone that everyone teases him about after, makes Luke come around
three fingers this time, spread out on his bed with his hand in Nikita’s hair
and Nikita’s mouth hot around him.
Now, if Luke’s not studying, or playing hockey, or nudging up against Nikita on
the bus, it’s a pretty good bet that he’s in some state of undress, biting his
lip so he doesn’t make noise. It’s all he can think about, all the time, the
second he loses focus his thoughts are on Nikita, his thick, clever fingers,
his grey blue eyes taking everything in, the way his lips quirk into a smile.
Luke starts begging for Nikita to fuck him, babbled out when he’s on the verge
of coming, because he wants it so badly he can’t see straight, he wants Nikita
inside him, he wants to see how Nikita looks when he’s inside him.
“No,” Nikita says, mouth brushing Luke’s thigh, fingers crooking. “When we have
more time. I want to do proper.”
Luke can be forgiven for thinking that sounded romantic. He was a kid.
*
Sidorchuk stands in Luke’s living room, taking everything in. This is awkward,
this isn’t the way they do things, they’re usually so hopped up on adrenaline
that they’re drunk with it, and the second a door shuts they’re on each other,
like back when Luke couldn’t get enough of him, not ever. But not like that at
all. Luke doesn’t even know how to start this. The punching’s foreplay, but
that’s something left on the ice.
“Is nice place,” Sidorchuk says, finally.
“Did you come over to fuck or to talk about my decorating?” Luke snaps.
Sidorchuk looks at him placidly, which makes Luke look like he’s acting fucking
hysterically, which only pisses him off more. Luke punches, Sidorchuk punches
back, it’s practically a rule, whether it’s fists or words. This isn’t right.
He’s not playing fair.
“Come here,” Sidorchuk says, and Luke does, looks him straight in the eye. If
he tries to kiss him Luke will bite that cut right open again. The first time
Sidorchuk ever tried to kiss him on the mouth was long after that was something
Luke wanted from him. He’s had enough parodies of fucking intimacy.
He doesn’t kiss Luke, though, just puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder, and when he
pushes, light, Luke goes down to his knees, gets his hands on his belt, because
this he can take, he’s not ashamed to want this, and if Sidorchuk thinks Luke
being the one kneeling means he’s got any less power here, Luke will let him
continue with that mistaken assumption.
“Luke,” Sidorchuk says, palming the back of his skull, his hair still too short
to pull, always too short, he’s never going to give anyone somewhere to hold
onto him, not when half the time he’s in the middle of fistfights and the other
half of the time he’s on his knees.
“I told you not to fucking call me that,” Luke says, almost rote by now, and
takes him inside.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!