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“Damn, that left defense got you good.”
Dew scoffs at the comment, wincing as he shucks off the rest of his gear. The bruise along his right side reveals itself further as he takes off his neck guard, shoulder pads, and elbow pads. He hadn’t worn a shirt under his gear this game, and he was regretting it now, the rough backing fabric scraping against his bruised and broken skin. The lower half is worse, having to bend over to undo his shin guards and peel off his socks, body screaming at him the entire time. He forces the hockey pants and jock strap off in one move, sighing as he regains full motion of his limbs.
He yanks out his mouth guard, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, but did you see how that fucker bled?”
Aether side-eyes him. “You’re lucky you only got the one penalty. You looked like you wanted to kill him.”
“Kinda did.”
He couldn’t help it. The left defense—Swiss, he thinks, #7—dug the heel of his stick into the back of his knee at the goal line. That paired with his incessant checking and chirping sent Dew over the edge, dropping his stick in favor of punching him square in the face.
The fight escalated quickly, Swiss, nose already bloodied, backing him into the nearest plexi-glass panel and wailing on Dew’s side with his fists. Dew had scrabbled to punch and kick at whatever weak point he could find—the gap between his hip pad and where the shoulder pads meet, the side of the knee, the sliver of neck exposed. The refs had to pry them apart, aided by their fellow teammates.
“Don’t you fucking touch me again.”
“I’ll knock your teeth out, you stupid bitch.”
“Cool it,” Aether had hissed in Dew’s ear. They both earned a five minute penalty, and both spent the entire time snarling and huffing at the other through the box glass. Swiss took his mouth guard out and spat at him, and a ref had to pull him back to the opposite end of the bench, blood-tinged saliva dripping down the glass in front of Dew’s nose. Swiss spent the remainder of the penalty holding a towel to his face, head tipped back and eyes screwed shut, much to the delight of Dew who shot him a shit-eating grin. But he didn’t miss the way Swiss side-eyed him first, eyes looking him up and down like a predator to prey. He tried his best not to shift uncomfortably, despite the pain in his knee and his ribs.
Aether had cornered him during the first timeout post-penalty, threatening low in his ear: “Don’t think I don’t see that fucking look on your face. For the love of god, think with your brain and not your dick for the rest of the game, okay? I swear if you fuck up our winning streak, I’m punching you next.” Dew managed to avoid contact the rest of the game, not even a hint of obscenities to be had.
Until the last thirty seconds. Dew had slammed Swiss into the wall trying to intercept a pass, a full-body check into the plexi-glass. He really didn’t do it on purpose, but Dew saw the way it sent him reeling, physically holding himself back from retaliating. He skated away shooting daggers into Swiss’ eyes—it was the end of the game, he couldn’t fuck it up now. But he thought about it, amongst other things.
Dew scrubs his face as the memories flood his brain in quick succession. He’s worn out and needs a shower, and the image of that fucker’s expression when he pressed the towel to his bloody face is making him light-headed.
He stalks over to the showers, only a towel in hand. He just wants the sweat and frustration rinsed off, he can take an actual shower later. Dew doesn’t bother to close the curtain on the stall, immediately turning the water to the hottest setting and chucking his boxer briefs into the corner. He hisses as the first sputters of water come out cold, but soon the tension in his shoulders lessens with the heat of the spray. He closes his eyes and hangs his head, watching the water droplets fall from the strands of blonde hair.
Dew barely has time to sigh with relief before his reprieve is broken by a hand clamping over his mouth, one grabbing his throat, and a body pressing itself roughly against his back.
“God, you’re such a tiny bitch, aren’t you, 13? Could snap you right in half. How do you not drown in all that gear?” The voice whispers right against his ear and makes his blood run cold. Dew tries to bite at his hand, scratch at his sides, anything, but he just keeps talking, putting pressure on Dew’s jaw, his pulse.
“I saw how you writhed like a bitch in heat. Tried to hide it from me, but I saw it.” Swiss yanks his hand away from Dew’s mouth, clamping his arm over his torso instead like an iron bar.
“Shut the fuck up, you sore losing bastard,” Dew hisses, quiet enough to be drown out by the spray of the shower. “You’re just mad you can’t dodge and got your pretty little face all marred.”
“Oh, but you liked it, didn’t you? Got you all hot under the collar in that penalty box.” Dew hates that he’s right, that he doesn’t dare shout to alert anyone else, because he’s secretly been fantasizing about this the entire game. The desire hits him all at once at the feeling of Swiss dragging his calloused hands down his arm, at the way he so effortlessly holds onto his squirming body.
“Aww, look at that, someone’s interested,” Swiss coos meanly, hand ghosting over his hip next to his half-chubbed cock. He brings it up the length of his torso, flicking at a nipple piercing on the way up. “Aren’t those nice?”
“Fuck off,” he bites back, digging his nails into Swiss’ wrist, suddenly too weak to do anything else.
“You really wanna fight, fireball?” Swiss purrs into his ear, digging his fingers into the blooming bruise over Dew’s side, smirking at the bitten-back moan it earns him. Dew nods his head, almost imperceptibly, curling his toes at the sick spike of pleasure the pain brings.
“I’ll show you a fucking fight.”
Swiss drops his hand to Dew’s cock, stroking it to full hardness without preamble. Dew knocks the showerhead away so it’s not spraying directly on them, catching himself against the cool tile wall. He grinds his ass back into Swiss, mouth open in a silent gasp.
“Don’t you dare make a sound,” Swiss whispers in his ear.
“Could say the same to you,” Dew shoots back, feeling how hard he is against his ass.
“Shut up.” Swiss shoves two fingers in Dew’s mouth and grabs his jaw roughly. Dew curls his hands into fists against the wall, clenching and unclenching. “Get ‘em sloppy or I’ll make it hurt more.”
Dew coats his fingers in as much saliva as he can, quickly working his mouth over the digits as Swiss strokes him briskly. It’s so deliciously rough and forceful it makes Dew’s head spin. The way Swiss’ body almost fully encompasses his own, the pain in his side and in his joints, the way his body aches to be owned—it’s sinful to the core.
Swiss pulls his fingers back and knocks Dew’s legs further apart. Dew grunts as he hits the same spot he had dug his stick into earlier, knee nearly buckling out from underneath him.
“Bastard,” he spits.
“Language,” Swiss chides, shoving his slick fingers into Dew’s hole, straight up to the third knuckle. The sudden stretch burns, a sting as hot as the water now filling the room with steam. He hits his fist against the tile, biting hard on his lower lip.
“Look at you, hungry for it. And that long pretty hair? Just like a whore.”
Dew huffs hard through his nose, arching at his words. Who the hell is this fucker to push all his buttons immediately? He doesn’t get to ponder the thought for long, because Swiss starts scissoring his fingers, and his brain goes silent. He’s already leaking precum, cock hot and heavy in Swiss’ hand.
Swiss yanks his fingers out of Dew’s hole, spits on them, and teases them around the ring of muscle before pushing in again. Dew pushes back against his fingers, muscles fluttering eagerly around them. He tips his head back against Swiss’ shoulder as his eyes quickly become heavy, unfocused.
“Thatta girl, take ‘em,” Swiss whispers against his temple. Not long after he puts a third finger in, pressing and pulling until the shorter man is quivering beneath him, bucking helplessly back and forth.
“Not so tough now, are you? Are you always such a slut for a few fingers?” Swiss adds insult to injury by pulling his hand off Dew’s cock and digging his fingers into the space above his hipbone again, pressing right at the heart of the bruise at the same time he takes his other hand away and leaves him empty. The mix of sensations makes him fold, chest landing against the wet tile and knees buckling.
Swiss catches him with a steady arm across his chest, pushing Dew firmly into the wall with his body as he lines up the head of his cock. He doesn’t know at what point Swiss pulled it out of his shorts, but he doesn’t care. He takes it without complaint, every last burning inch of it.
“You put up a good fight on the ice, but damn if you don’t look like a little doll on my cock.” With that, he sets a brutal pace, fully intending to wreck, to own. It’s a miracle Dew keeps quiet, only allowing himself breathless whines and silent, slack-jawed gasps. If it weren’t for Swiss’ grip on him, he’d be a puddle on the floor.
His thrusts are hard and fast, slamming against Dew’s prostate with each snap of his hips. He continues to press into that sore spot under his ribs, abandoning Dew’s cock completely. The only stimulation is rough and cold when the head of it slides against the shower wall. It’s maddening.
“P-please,” he breathes, out of his mind. God dammit to hell for begging. “Can’t take it, I—”
Swiss pulls sharply on his hair, the pinpricks of pain against his scalp making him see stars. He pulls Dew’s neck far enough that he can see Swiss face to face, see the snarl on his face and the dark desperation in his eyes. And the spots of dried blood. It nearly makes him cum right there.
“If you say one more word I’ll punch your fucking teeth in and leave you dirty and used on this shower floor. Got it?” Dew does his best to nod as his eyes roll back at the threat. Swiss resumes his pace, grabbing Dew at the hips and using the new leverage to slam into him as hard as possible. The angle sends spikes of pleasure straight up Dew’s spine.
It’s embarrassing how quickly after that Dew starts to feel the heat blooming in his gut, how fast his thighs start to shake, how his stomach jumps with every thrust. Swiss can feel it too, smirking behind Dew’s back. But he doesn’t remain unaffected; Dew’s clenching around him with that tight little ass, fisting his hands into nothing, and the blush that creeps along his neck and shoulders is delicious in contrast to the purpling bruise on his side and the new crimson marks along his neck. He’s a fit, beautiful man, but Swiss won’t give him the satisfaction of telling him so.
“Gonna cum so soon, doll?” he says with a little effort, pressing himself against Dew’s back and thumbing at the head of his cock, swiping the precum down the shaft.
The sudden change of angle and unexpected stimulation to his cock sends him right over the edge, fattening up impossibly harder and spilling over Swiss’ hand with a choked groan.
“Thatta girl,” Swiss breathes, biting at the junction of Dew’s neck as he clenches around him. Swiss buries himself as deep as possible, sinking his teeth in further as his hips start to stutter. He cums soon after, cock kicking deep inside Dew’s ass.
Somehow, Swiss manages to keep them both upright, even with Dew’s lax, almost dead weight. He’s panting hard against the tile, cheek smooshed against it and eyes screwed shut. Swiss pulls out and Dew has to white-knuckle the shower knobs to keep from crying out.
Swiss doesn’t linger. He smooths his now damp hair away from his face and tucks his softening cock back into his shorts. He hasn’t heard any movement around them since sneaking in, which means he can probably sneak right back out without being noticed. His teammates will probably give him weird looks, but he doesn’t give a shit.
Dew sucks in a shaky breath and peeks behind him at the other man, like he needs to see him with his own eyes, lest he imagined the entire thing. He doesn’t know what to say, if he dares to say anything.
Swiss smirks as he looks at the mess before him. There’s a fresh drop of blood hovering on his upper lip, which he wipes away with the back of his hand. “See you on the ice, spitfire.”
Dew turns the shower ice cold as soon as he’s gone.
EDIT: now with art from @/arkeusruin
