Chapter Text
Jeff Skinner is numb.
He never thought that this could be his life. He is the youngest rookie since Stevie Y to be invited to the game and now he's on stage at the All Star draft, in front of the home crowd, sitting alongside some of the best players in the world. And he’s wearing a Team Staal sweater, the creamy fabric stretched across his chest and shoulders a heavy reminder of who he belongs to.
Team Staal.
He doesn’t belong to just any Staal. No, he’s Eric’s. For this weekend, at least, Jeff belongs to his beautiful blond captain. Eric and Green and Kesler could have chosen anyone from the crowd, but Eric chose him. It didn’t matter that Kesler looked completely indifferent and Green appeared half-comatose, because they didn’t matter. Only Eric mattered and Eric wanted Jeff.
Jeff bites down on his bottom lip and lets himself remember the way Eric looked right before he called Jeff’s name. Eric found him in the audience, eyes blazing with the kind of heat that made Jeff's cock thicken whether he was in a suit or weighed down with hockey gear. Their eyes met, gazes holding and melding into something sticky and wonderful and right, something that made Jeff’s whole body go tight with anticipation. Eric’s thick pink tongue had slipped out, stroking and slicking the corner of his mouth, looking like porn created just for Jeff. And then...and then he called Jeff’s name.
Jeff lets out a little moan as he thinks about how Eric's tongue had slipped between his perfect pink lips, thick and probing against the edge of his smile. He wants to believe that the slutty movement of his captain’s tongue was Eric’s way of beckoning to him, flirting with him a little bit before he was drafted, a come-on disguised by a nervous tic to make it look like everything was just fine.
He can't help the things he thinks about his captain. Jeff is, to be blunt, stupid over Eric Staal.
He knows he shouldn't feel the way he does about Eric. They're eight years apart; Eric's closer to 30 than he is to 20 and Jeff is just 18. Eric is his captain, the captain of the Carolina Hurricanes in the damn National Hockey League, for fuck's sake, and having feelings for Eric is not just dumb, it's dangerous.
But it's also love.
Jeff loves, and is in love with, Eric Staal.
He doesn’t have to question it or dissect it; he knows what he feels is love, knows it right down to the marrow in his bones. It's greater than the heady, bittersweet sting of first love, and bigger than a foolish case of puppy love. It’s scary and exhilarating and beautiful and maybe the stupidest thing he’s ever done or ever will do, and he doesn’t think he could stop how he felt if he tried.
The sudden jab of a sharp elbow to the ribs yanks Jeff from his thoughts. He jerks and pads the wounded spot between his ribs with one hand. From the corner of his eye, he can see Carey Price, owner of the offending pointy elbow, looking at him with a curious look on his face.
"Okay?" asks Carey with a smile. Jeff blushes and nods, making Carey laugh and add, "It's a lot to take in, man. Try and enjoy it. You only get one first time."
The words ‘first time’ and all their connotations--especially the sexual ones--make Jeff glance up at Eric, who catches him looking. Eric grins and winks, like he likes Jeff looking at him, and Jeff's face absolutely burns with embarrassment until Eric looks away.
"I plan to enjoy it," Jeff says, finally responding to Carey, even though he’s more interested in the smooth glide of Eric’s shoulders beneath his All Star sweater than he is in having a conversation. "It's gonna be great."
*
The draft drags on until both sets of chairs are occupied and the rosters are set. When it’s finally over, and Jeff is ready to crawl into his hotel bed and sleep for a hundred years, a familiar hand drops to rest on the slope of Jeff’s neck where it slopes into his shoulder. When a calloused thumb boldy strokes lazily behind Jeff's ear he doesn't pull away, he just digs his teeth into his lip instead and tries to keep from making an embarrassing sound.
Blunt nails scratch gently at the nape of his neck, sending chills up and down Jeff's spine, and the entire world narrows to a pinprick of awareness of just himself and the man behind him.
“Hey, Skinny,” Eric says, his voice warm and thick like honey against Jeff’s ear, “you look ready to drop.”
“I’m okay,” Jeff answers, tipping his face up and back to look at Eric, who just grins at him. Jeff's tired, having tapped out his last reserves of teenage enthusiasm an hour or two before, but he can keep going for a decade or two more as long as Eric keeps smiling at him like that. “Let’s party.”
“You’re not even old enough to party properly in this country,” Eric teases, tugging on a curl of Jeff’s hair. “Some of us are going back to the hotel to change before heading out. Wanna come?”
Jeff feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment as he thinks about just how much he wants to “come” with Eric. He swallows and tries to speak, but words are hard to form when Eric’s fingers are sliding subtly into his hair and swirling against his scalp.
“Y-yeah. P-please. I, uh, gotta be in before curfew, you know,” Jeff answers, taking a dig at his own age and inexperience.
Eric laughs and then his tongue is working the corner of his mouth again. Jeff wants to do something stupid like turn his head, wrap his lips around Eric’s tongue, and suck it into his mouth. The only thing that stops him from saying ‘fuck it’ and pulling Eric’s tongue into his mouth is the vague awareness that they're surrounded by hockey players, and hockey players gossip worse than teenaged girls and little old ladies put together.
“Get your things together, Skinny,” instructs Eric, his fingers twining in Jeff’s hair one final time before falling away, “and meet us out front in ten. We’ll go back to the hotel.”
“Yeah. Sounds good. Thank you.” Jeff grins. He can pretend for just a second that ‘we’ means ‘you and me’ not ‘a group of us’, and that he and Eric are going back to the hotel to hook up. That would never happen in any reality, let alone this one, but Jeff figures there’s no harm in pretending.
“Awesome. See you in a few.” Eric gives his ass a playful slap before stepping away and Jeff stares after the blond as he goes.
This little game between he and Eric-- the playful, flirtatious push-and-pull of their interactions--makes him think of one of those carnivorous plants he’s seen on TV, a Venus flytrap. Eric is the prickly, dangerous flytrap, waiting to strike, and Jeff is the helpless little fly that gets captured and waits to be consumed. Except, Jeff doesn’t want to escape. He wants to be consumed, get lost in Eric, touch him and taste him and know that he’s there, luxuriate in him until Jeff can feel Eric in every pore of his body and he doesn’t know where Eric ends and Jeff himself begins. If that makes him a helpless little fly, then so be it.
“Skins, you’re fucking pathetic,” someone says as a heavy arm drapes across Jeff’s shoulders. “Could you be any more desperately lame about having a crush on your captain?"
“Oh, fuck you,” Jeff half-laughs, half-moans. He swats at the arm weighing him down; after having Eric so close, having P.K. step up behind him is awkward and really unwanted. “You’re the enemy, Pernell. You shouldn't be cuddling me.”
P.K. laughs and moves so he’s standing next to Jeff instead of behind him. “Good point. I don’t want your captain and his brother to kick my ass for trespassing on Eric's territory.”
“You’re not trespassing,” Jeff says, and if P.K. can pick up the slight hint of sadness there, then he is way more observant than Jeff has ever given him credit for. “And I’m not Eric’s territory. That makes me sound like a piece of land waiting to be conquered or something.”
“Right, because you’re totally not ready and waiting to be conquered, just like a piece of land.” P.K. snorts derisively. “Dude. Jeff. Skinny. Eric giving you that sweater tonight was pretty much the equivalent of peeing on your leg. Drafting your ass was the only time all night Staal didn’t look all pinched and constipated.”
Jeff is quiet for a minute. He wants it to be like that, the way P.K. says it was. He wants to ask P.K. exactly what other people think about him and Eric, wants to know if other people can see his feelings as easily as P.K. does, but instead he says, “That’s how his face always looks. And he wasn’t ‘pinched’, he was focused.”
Before P.K. can come up with a response, Jeff’s phone vibrates in his pocket and both boys turn their attention to the phone. Jeff works the cell out of his hip pocket and unlocks the screen with a single thumb-swipe.
There’s a text from Eric waiting for him.
Hurry up. Captain’s orders ;)
“Aw, he used a little winky face, that’s so cute!” P.K. teases as he reads over Jeff’s shoulder. He makes a few kissy noises as Jeff tries to shield his phone with a cupped hand. "Send him back one of those sex face emojis!"
"Shut up, you're being a dick." Jeff rolls his eyes and protects the screen from P.K., his thumb keeping a steady rhythm against the screen while he thinks of what to say. After a second, he just shrugs and types what he wanted to say all along: what if i don’t hurry?
Eric’s reply comes in seconds and the words on the screen make Jeff shiver a little bit: then as ur captain i will have to take matters into my own hands :D :D
Jeff just stares down at the screen, mouth hanging open in shock, and scrambles to explain what Eric's doing. Is Eric actually flirting with him? He has to be. He has to be testing the waters, seeing if Jeff's interested. It can't be a joke, because Eric isn't cruel-hearted and even if Jeff's as obvious as PK claims he is, Eric still wouldn't lead Jeff on just to turn him down.
“He’s way too into smiley faces for an old guy,” P.K. says from where's looking over Jeff's shoulder at the screen that Jeff is no longer hiding with his hand. He nudges Jeff in the back, grabbing Jeff's attention. “I take it this means you're out, eh?”
“Yeah, I need to go. Eric’s my ride,” he squeaks, jamming his phone in his pocket before looking up at P.K., who’s laughing big and loud and vibrating against Jeff’s back.
"He's your ride, huh? Yeah, I think one of you's gonna get a ride tonight." Subban shoves him toward the door. “Make sure he gloves up!”
“I hate you!” Jeff yells back, and P.K.’s delighted laughter follows him down the hallway.
He takes off through the bowels of the building and ends up on the front walk. Cam, Marc and Eric are standing on a curb near the entrance, talking while a cab idles on the street in front of them, puffing gray-blue exhaust into the night.
Jeff pauses with one foot on the sidewalk. He wasn’t expecting Cam and Marc, and seeing them kind of sucks all of the excitement and momentum from him. Whatever he thought was happening with Eric--whatever P.K. thought was happening with Eric--isn’t happening, not since Marc and Cam are there, and staying with P.K. suddenly looks like a much better idea.
“Hey, kiddo,” Cam says, his voice warm and relaxed. He doesn’t sound particularly playful or teasing; he just sounds nice and kind of amused. “Eric was about to send a search party.”
"I was not." Eric blushes and ducks his head as he slugs Cam in the arm. “Shut up, Wardo, and get in the cab before I trade you to Kaner's team.”
Cam grumbles a bit and gets in the cab with Marc close behind, leaving Eric alone on the sidewalk. When Jeff approaches, Eric puts an arm around him and ruffles his hair. Jeff leans unabashedly into the touch, pressing himself against Eric’s side, wanting more and asking for it with his body. It feels different than being cuddled up next to P.K.--it feels better and more real, somehow.
“Cold?” asks Eric, sliding his hand down from Jeff’s hair to rest on his side. His touch is like a hot coal, every finger an ember that stokes a fire low in Jeff’s belly that flickers to life right above his groin.
Jeff coughs nervously and nods as Eric’s hand moves up and down in an attempt to warm him. “A little.”
Eric hums and his hand continues to slide along the length of Jeff’s arm. While Cam and Marc get into the cab, Eric ducks down and brushes his cheek against Jeff’s temple, lips grazing Jeff's ear like he's about to tell a secret.
“I think I’ll have a little talk with Subban about being too friendly. He needs a reminder about whose team you’re on,” Eric murmurs, his hand never wavering in its track along Jeff's side. “You’re not on his team. You're mine. You should be with me.”
Eric’s words make Jeff forget how to breathe or swallow. He coughs and makes a sound, a low whimpering moan, at the way Eric’s tongue had wrapped around the word ‘mine’. He wants to be Eric's more than he’s ever wanted anything, more than he wanted to be drafted, more than he wanted to move up from Charlotte to join the ‘Canes. He wants to belong to Eric, but he's never, ever let himself think Eric wanted the same thing.
Jeff turns his head just slightly, wanting to say something, anything to Eric in return, but then Marc sticks his head out the window and asks, “Would you two stop with the frottage and get in the fucking cab? Hank keeps texting me. He’s getting impatient.”
“Relax. You have at least 45 minutes until Lundqvist is done molding his hair into shape and kissing his reflection in the mirror," chirps Eric, moving from Jeff’s side to get onto the back bench seat.
Jeff approaches the car door and stops. Geometry was never his thing in school, but even he can tell that there isn’t enough room for the three hockey players currently cramped in the cab, let alone four. Cam is wedged into the front seat, folded like an accordion with an elbow, knee, and shoulder spilling across the center console, while Eric and Marc are squeezed into the back seat like sardines.
He looks at Eric, praying that the raw disappointment on his face isn’t too obvious, and starts, "P.K. can take me--"
Eric waves a large hand, cutting Jeff off, and gives him a look that clearly says 'stop being an idiot'. He drops his hand down to his thigh and Jeff watches as Eric lazily smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric with his long fingers.
“C’mon, Skinny, get in,” Eric urges, his palm gliding up to run along the inseam of his pants. “It will be a tight squeeze, so you’re going to have to sit on my lap.”
All Jeff can do is make a choked little laughing noise. Reality has apparently detoured into Jeff Skinner Fantasy Land. “E-Eric, I’ll find another way back. It’s okay.”
Eric’s hand shoots out and winds around Jeff’s wrist, strong fingers holding him tight. A rough thumb rubs against Jeff’s pulse point once, twice, before the fingers give a quick tug and pulll Jeff off-balance. Jeff stumbles into the backseat and when Eric impatiently pulls the door shut, Jeff ends up spread half on Eric's lap and half across the armrest attached to the cab door.
Jeff holds still, desperately trying not to make things any more awkward. Eric apparently isn’t into having Jeff ride the armrest all the way back to the hotel, because he begins manhandling Jeff and moving him around until Jeff is sitting on his captain's lap with his captain's fingers pressing against his narrow hips to keep him steady.
“You weren’t going to catch a ride home with P.K.,” Eric growls in his ear, “that wasn’t gonna happen.”
“Right, no, that would be...bad team spirit. I’m totally here now, so I shouldn’t get out of the cab at the stoplight and wait for him or anything,” agrees Jeff.
He wiggles around a bit on Eric’s lap, perching himself on the very edge of Eric’s bony knees. He wants to lean back and rest against Eric, maybe have Eric wrap an arm around his waist, but he won’t do it. He won’t let Eric hold him, and he certainly won’t curl up against Eric’s chest like they’re together, even if that's what he really, really wants to do.
“Relax,” Eric commands in a whisper.
Jeff wants to relax, he really does, but he can't because he's sitting on Eric's lap with Cam and Marc next to them, shooting the shit like they're in someone's living room, while Jeff is dedicating a large portion of his brain space to not getting an awkward erection while perched on Eric's knees. Relaxation is not really one of Jeff's top priorities.
"Skins," Eric tries again, his voice a little sharper, a little closer to what he uses on the ice. The hands on his hips tighten and then release. "Breathe. We're cool here. Just be chill."
Jeff nods and relaxes just a little bit, loosening the tension in his shoulders and back. "Right. We're cool. Got it. Sorry. Will be chilling now."
"Good. That's good. It's just me, Skinny," Eric says, his breath soft and warm against Jeff 's ear. Eric’s hands settle back on Jeff’s hips, his calloused fingers teasing the inch of flesh exposed between the waistband of Jeff’s low-slung jeans and the hem of his now-untucked, rumpled dress shirt.
Jeff closes his eyes and tries to let himself just exist and enjoy the light touch of Eric’s fingers on the angles of his hips. It isn’t much of a touch at all, just the soft pressure of ten rough fingers on long-neglected skin, but it’s enough to raise a fire on Jeff’s flesh, and tendrils of that sweet, lazy heat are enough to pull a satisfied little sound from the hollow of Jeff’s throat.
“Skins--” Eric begins, only to be cut off when the cab driver brakes too hard at a red light.
The car skids to a ragged stop and Jeff, already on the edge of Eric's lap and not wearing anything resembling a seatbelt, pitches forward and almost face-plants into Cam’s headrest, before Eric locks a strong arm around his waist and hauls him back. Jeff collides with Eric’s chest and an instant later the rest of him follows, his ass sliding backward across Eric’s thick, wide lap only to land against the fly of Eric’s pants.
Something presses against Jeff’s ass and that something...is Eric’s dick. Eric is hard because Jeff’s sitting sprawled on his lap with his thick hockey ass digging into Eric’s zipper, and the only thing Jeff can do is let out a short, garbled squeak. When the arm around his waist tightens, pressing him down more firmly against the bulge straining in Eric's dress pants, Jeff whines.
“You’re teasing me with your little noises,” Eric whispers against Jeff’s cheek.
Jeff wants to laugh. Eric can’t be serious. If anyone is teasing, it’s Eric, and Jeff tells him so in a raspy voice that sounds unfamiliar to Jeff’s own ears.
Laughing, Eric gently moves his hand from Jeff’s hip to his thigh, settling in the hot crease of Jeff’s groin.
“Oh fuck, that’s n-not f-fair,” Jeff whispers. His erection is throbbing in his boxers, aching for Eric’s touch. If Eric would move his hand just a bit, he could guide his palm along Jeff’s dick and bring a little bit of sweet relief.
“This isn’t teasing,” Eric says as the cab rolls to a stop outside the hotel.“This is...more of a preview of things to come."
Jeff feels his brain practically grind to a halt and smack into his skull. All of this, everything that’s happened in the cab, it’s a preview. A preview of what, Jeff isn’t sure, but as long as it involves Eric’s erection pressed up against him, he is more than willing to play along until the main attraction.
Cam and Marc spill out of the cab and onto the sidewalk right away, but Eric doesn’t push Jeff off of his lap right away, not even after Marc pays the driver. It’s weird for them to just sit in the backseat with Jeff perched on Eric’s lap like he’s visiting Santa Claus at the mall, but neither of them move.
When the driver drums his fingers impatiently on the meter, Jeff sighs and reaches for the door handle. He opens the door but Eric squeezes the inside of his thigh and stops him from getting out, even as Cam and Marc shoot amused glances at them through the window.
“You should come upstairs with me,” Eric murmurs, catching the curve of Jeff’s ear with his bottom lip in a fleeting fragment of a kiss.
“Okay,” Jeff answers softly. Going upstairs with Eric is a bad idea and will probably end in heartbreak, but Jeff doesn't care. If this is his only chance to be with Eric, then Jeff's going to take that chance and embrace it with open fucking arms. “Yeah. I’d like that, Eric.”
Eric makes a sound, almost like a little sigh of relief. “Okay. Good. Now, c'mon, we need to get out of here before the guy starts running the meter again."
Eric gives him a little push and Jeff gets out of the cab. When he's on his feet again, Jeff yanks at the front of his sweater, trying to pull it down to cover his half-hard cock and save himself a little ribbing from Marc and Cam, only to find that Marc and Cam are both very interested in their phones.
“Do I need to give you anything for the cab, Marc?” he asks. His voice is unsteady, and shit, he’s going to be teased to hell and back for all of this in the morning.
Marc snorts and looks Jeff up and down, his thin lips screwing into a smirk when he sees Jeff's half-concealed erection. “No, I think you’re gonna be giving enough to the Staal family tonight as it is.”
Cam laughs, loud and obnoxious, and Jeff wants to die. He wants to melt into the sidewalk and disappear.
“It—it’s not like that,” Jeff protests over Cam’s laughter, “Eric isn’t…he wouldn’t…we’re not…oh, fuck it, like you’d believe me anyway.”
“You’re not like that yet,” Cam teases, clapping a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “Make sure Staalsy gloves it before he loves it, Jeff. You’re too young and pretty to be a dad.”
“I hate you so much right now, Cam Ward,” hisses Jeff, ducking out from under Cam’s hand and shoving him away with a gloveless facewash.
Cam grins and bats Jeff’s hand away like it’s nothing. “I know you do, and it’s so cute.” He lowers his voice and stage whispers, “Lucky for you, Eric’s into cute.”
“All right, asshole, that's enough,” Eric says, amusement seeping into his voice. He steps up behind Jeff and reaches around him to cuff Cam on the side of the head.
Jeff looks away from Cam, who’s adequately distracted by talking a bit of shit to Eric, and watches in horror as Marc reaches into his shirt pocket, withdraws a foil square, and throws it at him.
“Cam’s right. Have Eric wrap it before he taps it, Jeff. You don’t wanna lose that girly figure my big brother likes so much," teases Marc as the condom arcs through the night air.
Jeff just gawks at him and uses his hockey reflexes to grab the condom before it can land on the sidewalk. Before he can even make a reply—everything he thinks of saying, he would never say to one of Eric's brothers because he values his continued existence on earth—Eric steps up behind him as casual as can be and plucks the condom from Jeff’s hand.
“Isn’t this same condom you carried in high school, Marc?” Eric teases, turning the condom wrapper over in his hand before flinging it back at Marc. “Yeahhh. Looks like this one’s gone bad. Jeff and I will just have to find some other way to keep ourselves occupied tonight.”
Jeff stares up at Eric, drinking in his slick smile and the way his hair burns golden in the streetlights. Eric dips his head down and meets Jeff’s eyes, anchoring Jeff in place with the thick emotion twisting in his dark, glassy eyes. Jeff knows that look; he recognizes that look from when Jeff gave him an All Star Sweater. What Jeff sees in Eric’s eyes is pride and need and desire and the weight of it all slams into him like a puck to the chest.
Eric Staal wants him.
That sudden knowledge, that revelation, shocks Jeff down to his bones.
Somehow, for some reason, the gold-medal owning, Stanley Cup-winning hockey player Eric Staal wants to touch Jeff, see him naked, make him come. He’s never let himself consider for even a second what it would be like if Eric wanted him back, but maybe he should have. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be so stunned by the way Eric’s looking at him, smouldering down at him like Jeff's something Eric wants, something he needs the way he needs air.
“Yeah,” Jeff agrees, his eyes never leaving Eric’s face. “We’ll have to find something else. I'm sure, ah, something will come up."
"Oh, I bet it will," Cam hoots. He whacks both of them in some twisted way of giving his blessing and says congenially, “Get a fucking room already. Nobody wants to see this shit.”
“I’m trying, but some people just can’t stop running their mouths. Get lost, assholes,” Eric shoots back, shoving Cam away. He looks at Jeff, then at Cam and Marc, and finally points at the hotel entrance. “Hotel’s that way, boys.”
The pair of hockey players yell insults as they go, shouting until the doors enclose them in the hotel lobby, and then Jeff and Eric are alone. Jeff has no idea what’s supposed to happen next, so he does what he always does when he’s out on the ice and doesn’t know what the next play is—he turns to his captain.
Eric catches Jeff’s gaze and smiles. The smile is something soft and sweet, a beautiful thing that Jeff dares to think is just for him.
“Sorry about that, Skins,” says Eric. “Cam’s a dick and I should have tried harder to kill Marc as a kid, I guess.”
“It’s okay, Eric,” Jeff says, smiling and looking up at Eric through his eyelashes.
It really is okay. He’s embarrassed, but no harm’s been done. He’s used to the ribbing, the teasing, the all-out verbal warfare that comes with being a hockey player, and Jeff knows that in a strange way, Marc and Cam were welcoming Jeff into the fold, giving Eric their approval for whatever the night still holds.
“So. You don’t have anything planned for tonight, right?” Eric asks.
Jeff shakes his head. “Nothing except for, you know, going upstairs with you.” He blushes and steps a little closer to Eric. “‘Cause I wanna, if you wanna.”
“Yeah. Let’s do that. Let’s go upstairs,” Eric says. He dips his head down and Jeff rises up on his toes, almost asking for a kiss. Instead of kissing him, Eric bumps their noses and foreheads together. “Hands to yourself in the lobby, rookie. Gotta be on your best behavior, since we're representing our city and everything."
“I should say the same thing to you, captain,” Jeff replies. Their faces are so close now that he’s practically writing his words on Eric’s bottom lip with his tongue. “You were the one who couldn’t keep your hands off of me in the cab.”
Eric snorts. “Yeah, well, I’m the captain; I don’t have to lead by example. Be cool or I’ll drop you off with Cam and Marc, and they won’t do with you any of the things I’m thinking of.”
Jeff just gawks at him, mouth a little bit agape, and watches Eric make a line for the door. He jogs to catch up and when he passes into the front foyer, Eric settles his hand against the small of his back, guiding Jeff toward the elevator without a word. Eric's hand keeps Jeff's movements steady, even though on the inside he's lit up like a live wire has replaced his heart and he’s working off of pure, mad electricity.
They finally reach the elevator bay and Jeff's hand shakes as he slaps the “up” button. He should probably be playing it cool, looking calm and stoic like Eric, but he can’t manage it. They’ve been building toward this all night, or all season, or maybe even since the first time they met, and the anticipation has Jeff about to burst apart at the seams like a virgin on prom night.
The elevator arrives and the doors open. Eric guides Jeff inside, pressing the "12" button as the doors close. Before Jeff can even look at their reflections in the mirrored gold doors, Eric hooks his fingers in the hem of Jeff’s All Star sweater and presses Jeff against the far wall. Jeff swallows hard and tips his face up, offering himself to his captain.
“You’re coming to my room, but I want you to come my bed, too.” Eric lifts a thumb and presses it to the side of Jeff’s face, outlining a dimple.
“To your bed?” Jeff echoes in disbelief. Joining Eric in his room was one thing, a familiar thing Jeff knew well from the road, but Eric's bed? That was brand new and enough to make Jeff stumble over his words. “W-why? Are you...are sure, Eric?”
Eric just grins and presses his thumb against Jeff's cheek. “Yes, my bed. I want you there. And yes, I’m sure.” He steps away, looking cool and collected like they weren’t just seconds from kissing, and pats Jeff’s cell phone through his hip pocket. “Text your roommate, tell him he's got the place to himself tonight."
The elevator stops at Eric’s floor and Jeff stumbles out into the hall, feeling a little bit punch-drunk with adrenaline. He leans against the first wall he finds and texts his roommate as quickly as he can manage with shaking fingers. As soon as Jeff slides his phone back into his pocket, Eric grabs his fingers and tugs Jeff down the corridor.
“The hallway is so long,” Jeff babbles as Eric pulls him along, fingers still entwined, “they should fire the hotel designer because this is dumb. It has to be a mile long.”
Eric laughs, looking so attractive as he does it that Jeff kind of hates him for it, and stops in front of the last door on the left. He unlocks the door and pulls Jeff into the room, then practically closes the door on Jeff as soon as he’s inside. Their bodies are flush and the entryway feels tight, like it’s forcing them against each other until they meld into one person.
“Tell me I’m not wrong,” Eric whispers, his voice soft. There's no more teasing, no more jokes. It's just them and the sweet, soft something blooming between their bodies. Eric brushes the side of Jeff’s face with his left hand, pausing to cup his cheek, and his touch is so gentle, so careful, that it makes Jeff ache. “Tell me you want this."
"I want this," Jeff breathes. His heart is so high and heavy in his throat that he can barely speak around it. He presses his lips to the side of Eric's hand, needing Eric to know he’s not the only one who’s wanting. "You're so stupid, Eric, if you think that I don’t. I feel like I’ve been so obvious about wanting you. I want you, want this, so much. I just...didn't think you would ever want me back."
Eric sighs and his mouth hitches up into a tiny smile. He presses their foreheads together and Jeff leans in so closely that he can taste a hint of sweet mint on Eric’s lips and tongue.
"And you just called me stupid. Of course I want you, Jeff.” Eric makes a little noise, like his words are hurting him, and Jeff presses his hand to Eric’s heart. Eric gives him a watery little smile and continues.
"I can’t believe you thought that I’d never want you back. Really, Skins? God, you have no idea, no idea at all how long I’ve wanted you, or how much. I like everything about you...the way you skate, the way you smile, the way you laugh. I’d be crazy not to want all of that. Fuck, the only thing I’ve wanted for months is to get you naked and feel you underneath me, and...and I’m your captain. You’re eighteen, you're my rookie, my responsibility--I should take my hands off of you and kick you out of here, but I can’t. I’d rather rip the fucking C off of my chest than ask you to leave, Jeff.”
"I wouldn’t go, Eric. I won't. I can't." Jeff shakes his head and curls his fingers against Eric's chest. “Everything you said you like about me is everything I like about you, and more. You’re my captain, but you’re more than that. I think that we could maybe...be more than captains and rookies and hockey, like we could be bigger than all of that. Unless...unless you really think it's better if I go, and then--"
"Jeff, stop." Eric presses his thumb against Jeff's lips, silencing him. "The only thing I care about tonight is getting what I refuse to give up, what I have to have before I lose my fucking mind--you. All I want is you, Jeff. Can I have you?"
*
To Be Continued in Chapter No. 2...