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Mack had been staring in the mirror for entirely too long. It was the same face: same shaggy brown hair, same green eyes. Even the maple leaf on his chest wasn’t entirely new to him.
What was new was the letter resting over his heart. A C. The C. He was the motherfucking captain of motherfucking Team Canada. He grinned at his own reflection, letting the title roll around in his head.
Captain.
Insane. Actually insane. His phone buzzed where he’d put it on the counter, screen lighting up with a familiar name.
Smitty: looks good superstar
will look even better in teal next season
Mack’s stomach flipped at the nickname, at the surety he could feel from Will even over text.
Captain. Captain of the San Jose Sharks.
Will’s captain.
Mack shook his head and shucked off the jersey. He’d put it on to send a picture to Will, at his insistence. He flopped back onto the hotel bed, a grin still stretching his face. He couldn’t entirely believe he’d kept the C. He’d been ready to give it up, hell, he’d even wanted to– It was Sidney Crosby. He’d been Captain Canada ever since Mack could remember. But he’d sat in that office, with Sid’s heavy gaze on him, and been told in no uncertain terms to keep the letter.
He could still feel Crosby’s piercing stare, like he was testing his mettle right there in the coach’s office. Mack knew what this was: an acknowledgement of his skill, a passing of the torch, a test.
It was also really fucking cool.
When the meeting was over, the first thing he did was text Will. The thought made him wince a little; how much he wanted his friend’s validation. Or… whatever they were. They’d been doing this… thing for a year now. It’s not really anything, but Mack thinks it could be if he pushed it. They were constantly testing the boundaries of whatever it was; a joke with an undertone, a hand on a thigh in the locker room that lingers a little too long before they blink and pretend nothing happened.
But it is happening.
Mack just… has never done that before. He’s had girlfriends, but he knows it’s different, and he’s not good at not being good at things. He doesn’t want to, can’t, mess it up.
He blows out a breath and shoves his hand through his hair, sitting up to get ready for the next team meeting. He does his best to push Will from his mind.
He’s Captain now, he needs to focus.
☆
The meeting goes as well as it can, he only stumbles over his words once when he addresses the group and does his best to prevent an embarrassed flush.
He lingers to chat with some of the younger guys he’s a little closer to, he’s played with Minten before and catching up has been fun.
“Mack.” He hears the voice from across the room, and knows who it is before he turns. Sid is sitting at one of the tables, waving him over with one hand. Mack's stomach flips involuntarily before he steels himself. He nods his goodbyes to the boys before making his way across the room, reminding himself that even though this is Sidney Freaking Crosby, they’re friends now, and it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine.
“Hey kid,” Sid says as Mack approaches. “Just wanted to check in, how’re you doin’?”
Mack shrugs as he takes a seat at the table. “Alright. Still getting used to being expected to speak. Missed the ref line at the last game. I dunno, little things like that.”
Sid chuckles slowly at that. Mack had rushed over to him as soon as he’d realized he’d forgotten, flushed from the game and worried he’d committed some cardinal sin. Sid had pulled him to the side and reminded him to breathe before telling him it was fine, and just to apologize when he shook their hands later.
Mack may have gone overboard in taking that advice but hey, better to be safe than sorry.
“Yeah, you’re alright. You’re doing good, just don’t forget that you’re the leader for a reason. Stop shuffling your feet when you’re talking, okay? Makes you look nervous.”
Mack’s stomach flutters at the praise, and he tries to push the sensation away and nod solemnly at the advice. He and Sid have been working closer than usual because of the transition and it’s been going… okay…
Look, Mack thinks he’d be hard pressed to find a single kid in all of Canada that didn’t have a crush on Crosby growing up. And in person he was just so… Sidney Crosby. All big brown eyes and piercing gaze. Easy smiles and dotted gray hair and yup, just the picture of Mack’s teenage shower fantasies, except this time, its full power was directed at Macklin himself.
Honestly, he was proud of how normal he was being. Especially considering…
Sid had this habit of getting so, so close to Mack when talking about plays. On the bench, pulling him to the side of the locker room. He’d stand close enough that Mack could smell him; a mix of sweat, and cologne, and something just so man that he had to remind himself that burrowing his face in the curve of Sid’s neck probably wouldn’t be looked upon well.
One time, before their first game, Mack had been staring into middle distance in the locker room, trying to dial in, when Sid had put his hand on Mack’s upper thigh and squeezed. His hand was so big that Mack could feel his fingers brushing the edge of his jock before he jumped. He hadn’t been expecting the touch, especially not that touch.
He’d whipped his head to the side to look at him, with God knows what written all over his face, and Sid had told him to stop bouncing his leg, something like the ghost of a smile on his face. Mack had stuttered out… something before walking away to get a cold drink, trying to subtly adjust himself in his jock as he went. Glancing back was definitely a bad idea, Sid was still watching him, his lips slightly turned up like he knew exactly what he was doing.
After the game he’d been doing media, standard questions, nothing like he hadn’t already done a million times. Except Sid was changing out in the stall next to him, and when the reporter turned her questions to the infamous Crosby-Celebrini connection and asked “do you see him in you at all?” Mack could’ve sworn he heard Sid huff out a laugh. The question was innocent, about his gameplay, but Mack stumbled so badly over his answer, he flashed back to when he said “his Canada” before the Olympics. He recovered well enough, and the rest of the questions went smoothly, but the hint of a smirk on Sid’s face was enough to make him feel insane.
So yeah, Mack thought he was being pretty chill, considering. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on; if it was some kind of weird Captain hazing, or if everything was entirely in his head. He truthfully didn’t let himself think about it too long. The first night Sid had been there, had locked those eyes on Mack across the room and told him firmly, with no room for argument, that he was keeping the C, Mack had ended up in the shower with his hand around his dick, gasping Sid’s name at the wet tile.
That was… not ideal. Not if he wanted to learn from the man without popping a boner every time he got close. So yeah. He was normal. He pushed that teenage fantasy away, didn’t respond to the hand on his thigh or the softly muttered praise that made him feel like he’d swallowed lightning. He didn’t even respond when Will sent him a voice note about his first goal, voice pitched low and gravelly, the way he knew made Mack sit up and pay attention.
Fucking ass.
Speaking of…
“How’s your boy?”
Mack snapped out of his thoughts at the question, half smiling. “He’s good. He says he’s watching our games when he can. He’s in Boston right now.”
Sid smiles softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I remember that. And things are… good? With him?”
Mack’s brow furrows at the question. There’s something in the tone of Sid’s voice that has Mack feeling like he’s missing something. “Yeah? I mean… yeah. Things are good.”
Sid nods before slapping his hands on his thighs and standing up. “Good. Good. Let me know if you,” He half shrugs. “Need anything. Alright kid?”
Mack nods without understanding. “Yeah, yeah of course. You’ve already been great.”
Sidney looks at him steadily for a few seconds, long enough that Mack swallows and opens his mouth, feeling like he needs to fill the silence. Sid beats him to it. “You know my room number, right?”
A non sequitur.
“Yeah. Yeah, you gave it to me on the first day.” As if he could forget. Sid had been grinning at him over dinner looking, well, fucking incredible(Mack could admit that), in his suit and tie. The just in case you need it said lowly under the chatter of the rest of the team was enough for Mack to stutter and flush. He hoped the low dinner lights had hidden most of it.
“What is it?” Sid pushed.
“8787.” He’d laughed at it later, once the flush subsided, and Sid had shrugged, superstitious until the end.
“Good.” Sid stepped away from the table, brushing his hand along Mack’s shoulder in goodbye before walking away, leaving Mack feeling entirely too many things at once.
☆
The night does not get any easier. After dinner, Mack mistakenly picks up a Facetime call from Will. He’s blazing drunk on a golf course, disregarding the fact that it’s barely mid afternoon.
“There he is! There’s my hottttt-shot captain!” Will slurs. “Look, look, look, I’m playing the worst fucking game my life right now dude. Gabe is beating me. Gabe!” He flaps his hand at Gabe’s squawk of displeasure before continuing. “I need my good luck charm, okay? I need him for this shot.”
“Will, what—”
“Just beeeee him, okay Mackie? Please? Help meeee.” Will is all but pouting into the phone and Mack can’t help but grin at his forced patheticness.
“Thank you! Okay, hang on!” Mack is passed to someone to hold, presumably Gabe, although all he can really see is a lot of green grass and the edge of Will’s golf bag. He listens to the telltale whoosh and clack of someone hitting a golf ball, before Will’s whoop rings out.
“That’s what I’m fucking talking about! See Mack, that is why I need you! I keep telling Gabe how much I want you but you won’t fucking listen and I—” Will has his phone back in his hand and is rambling at the camera, breathing heavily through his mouth. Most of it is incoherent between his slurring and the wind that’s muffling the mic, but Mack nods along, trying desperately not to fixate on Will’s word choice.
I want you.
That’s what he said. Mack sighs deep in his chest, the all too familiar worries pressing back up. What if it wasn’t good. He knows Will’s had experience. Not that they’ve talked about it but—. Mack just knows. And he wants so badly to be good for Will, he couldn’t stand failing. Not at that.
He’s distracted most of the rest of the call, although there’s no way Will is sober enough to notice. Eventually Gabe wrestles the phone from his hand, grins into the camera and tells Mack he’ll text him the final score, and hangs up. Mack immediately rolls over and groans into a pillow.
He needs help. Smitty is going to be the death of him otherwise.
He needs… he needs…
Guidance. The word pops into his head, along with memories of a strong hand on his thigh, the feeling of a calculating look, before he shoves it firmly away.
No.
He did say for anything though.
Mack groans again.
It’s a crazy idea. An insane one. But once it’s there, Mack can’t let it go. He damn near wears a hole in the carpet thinking about it.
It’s just advice. I’ll just… ask him.
There have been enough rumors that Mack doesn’t think he’s entirely off base.
Ohhhhh fuck it.
Just for good measure, he grabs a shot of vodka out of the stocked minibar before leaving his room. All of Team Canada is on the eighth floor, and Mack isn’t sure if that was a coincidence that just worked out really well for Crosby, or if it was on purpose. Knowing what he knows about Sid’s superstitions though, Mack wouldn’t be surprised.
He finds himself outside door 8787 after burying the empty shooter in a planter for some poor hotel employee to find. He refuses to let himself think before raising his hand and knocking.
He waits just long enough to convince himself that Sid’s asleep before the door opens. If he’s surprised to see Mack outside his door he doesn’t show it, just leans against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
His shirtless chest.
Whatever Mack had prepared to get himself in the door shorts out as his mind fills with ‘don’tlookdowndon’tlookdowndon’tlookdown’. He doesn’t know how many people have gotten to see Sidney Crosby in nothing but worn grey sweatpants, but he can’t imagine it’s been many.
Sid raises an eyebrow before stepping to the side, a clear invitation. Mack takes it, stepping into the hotel room.
It’s neat to a fault, a crease in the pillow the only indication of where Sid was when Mack knocked. The TV is on at low volume, showing hockey highlights. Of course.
Mack starts talking before he turns around to face Sid, figuring it’s his best chance to get anything out at all.
“Okay so, I’m aware this is crazy, but you did say I could ask you about anything and well. I guess I’m really about to test the anything because this is crazy and honestly, I don’t even really know why I’m here except that I feel like I’m going insane and I think you could maybe help—”
“Mack.”
“And again, you don’t have to, you can totally kick me out, it’s just that—”
“Macklin!” Sid’s voice cuts through the noise in Mack’s head. “Sit. Down.”
The tone of his voice, the order there, zips right up Mack’s spine. He sits.
Sid is leaning against the desk, arms still folded, looking at Mack with the same steadiness that Mack is trying so hard to emulate. Failing miserably, at least at the moment.
“Spit it out.”
Another order, spoken with the confidence of a man used to being listened to. Mack swallows.
“I want to sleep with Will. Or like, I want him to— anyway I just—” Mack can’t get the tangle of his thoughts in order. He looks down at his hands. “I’ve never done anything with a guy before. And. I want to be good. I want it to be good. And I was just hoping… you could help me.”
He dares to look up then, to try and read Sid’s face. It’s carefully blank.
“You… you did say anything.” Comes Mack’s weak attempt at a joke. Sid is scanning his face, his eyes looking like they do before a face off, like he’s trying to read the next play.
“What exactly are you looking for here, kid?” The nickname makes Mack straighten his shoulders, lift his chin.
“Advice? I guess?” At this point Mack isn’t sure himself.
“Advice.”
Mack nods. “Like… how to do it, I guess.”
Sid uncrosses his arms, leaning his weight onto them as he adjusts his stance against the desk. “What exactly do you want to do?”
“I—.” Mack hadn’t thought that far. “I want—.”
Sid has a small smile on his face, expectant.
He forces it out, tries for confidence. “I want to suck him off.” A flash of himself, on his knees. “I don’t want to gag though.”
Sidney chuckles. “You will. Is he big?” He tilts his head condescendingly at Mack’s look. “You’re telling me you want him bad enough that you’re here in my hotel room asking for advice but you’ve never snuck a peek? C’mon Mack.”
Mack flushes. He can feel the heat in his ears. “He’s big.” He’d seen him in more than just the shower, although Sid couldn’t possibly know that. One of the many jokes that went too far, were exchanged dick pics, Will’s still saved somewhere in the depths of Mack’s phone for those nights when his self control is at an all time low.
“You’ll gag.” He confirms. “But that’s okay, he’ll probably like it. Do you want him to fuck your face?”
“I…” This conversation was overwhelming Macklin in so many different ways. The thought of being on his knees in front of Will, of taking him as deep as he could, of firm hands deep in his hair holding him still while tears and drool ran down his face flashed through his mind until words felt lost to him. The fact that he was talking about this with Sidney Fucking Crosby was just another layer of what the hell is going on. “Yeah, I think so.” The words come out breathless.
Sid shifts slightly in his stance, adjusting his legs. “That’s part of it then, the gagging. You just need to relax. Make… make sure you have an out. Tap his leg or something if you need air or the gagging gets too much. Make sure he’ll stop.”
“What if I don’t want him to stop?” Mack's words slip out before he can stop them.
Sid hesitates before swallowing, running a hand over the scruff on his face. “Fucking hell kid. Then I guess he doesn’t have to.”
Mack has no idea what’s going on anymore. He’s half hard in his sweats, shifting slightly in his spot on the edge of the bed, and there’s an undercurrent of… something in the air. Sid is still staring him down, something almost like a dare in his gaze.
“What else?”
It must be right then that the hit of vodka kicks in, because Mack decides fuck it. Maybe he wasn’t crazy about the closeness and the touches. He looks Sid right in the face and says, “I want him to fuck me.”
Even in the dimly lit hotel room, Mack gets to watch his expression change. His eyes darken, something like hunger taking over at the edges. His knuckles whiten where they were resting on the edge of the desk before smoothing back out almost forcefully.
“Be careful what you wish for, kid.” His voice has pitched down, almost filthy in its implications. Mack shivers.
“Why?”
He pushes away from his seat, stepping closer to Mack. He reaches out, stretching his hand along Mack’s jaw, holding him still so he can look down into his eyes. “What are you asking for?”
He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to talk around it for long.
Mack shrugs, going for a nonchalance that neither of them believe. “Practice.”
“Practice.”
“You’re the Captain.” He watches Sid blink at the name. “Teach me.” Sid's fingers tighten on Mack’s jaw, bordering on the edge of pain, and Mack leans into the touch. He looks up at Sid through his eyelashes, the way he does when he wants to get his way, and watches Sid’s jaw clench. The hand on his jaw tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. Mack goes easily. He wants to move, wants to look and see what his easy submission does to the look on Sidney’s face. But he wants to learn; he wants to be good. So he stays still, sucking in a breath as he feels Sid lean down, and run the flat of his tongue up Mack’s throat. Right over his jugular.
His head is tilted back down so Sid can make eye contact. “You want this?”
Mack’s yes is barely a breath, audible only in the stillness of the room. Sid nods once before stepping back, out of Mack’s reach. Mack holds back a groan at the loss of contact, although the look in Sid’s eye makes him think he knows exactly what noise he wanted to make.
Sid settles back against the desk again, hands at his sides. “Take your clothes off.”
Mack hesitates only a second before moving, stripping off his shirt before gently folding it and putting it next to him on the bed. Next goes the sweats, set neatly on top. He’s not sure why he’s being so careful, but it gives him something to do with his hands, a way to avoid the doe eyed stare threatening to buckle his knees. And who is he to mess up Sidney Crosby’s room?
He hesitates, with his fingers brushing the elastic hem of his boxers, glancing up to read Sid’s expression. Mack huffs out a breath when Sid raises his eyebrows expectantly, pulling them down as well. He half expected to be going soft at the vulnerable feeling curling in his gut, but something about this, about Sid’s easy command of the room, of being fully naked while he watched, was clearly working for him.
Sid’s eyes ran appreciatively over Mack’s body, before gesturing at the bed. “Touch yourself. I want to watch.” An order.
A shiver ran down Mack’s spine. He looked at the headboard, the inherent embarrassment that came with exposure warring with the heat that pooled in his stomach at the thought.
“You want to. I can see it.” Sid’s low voice, almost a croon, makes Mack’s head feel like it’s being filled with cotton. He slides onto the bed and settles at the headboard, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking. His usual picture, Will’s head thrown back, curls like a halo around his head while Mack is between his legs fills his mind almost on reflex. A false image, sure, but a well-worn one.
Until he looks up into Sid’s molten gaze and the golden curls turn black and speckled with grey. He wonders if Sid would let him suck him off after a game, what he’d smell and taste like after 60 minutes of hard work. Wonders if he’d let him get down on his knees in the shower, clean him up and get him dirty all over again. A groan escapes Mack almost involuntarily and he quickly pulls his hand away.
“Gonna come already kid? I haven’t even touched you yet.”
A whimper escapes Mack as he shifts on the sheets, pushing away the looming feeling in his gut. He’s already so hard it’s almost painful, feeling like if anything touched him, he’d explode.
Sid takes pity on him, crooking a finger to beckon him closer. Mack steps cautiously off the bed to stand in front of him, waiting for instructions. Sid reaches out, running his thumb over Mack’s bottom lip before pushing his mouth open and pressing the pad of it to Mack’s tongue. Mack closes his mouth without being asked, sucking gently. And Sid… well, Sid looks like he wants to eat Mack alive. He pulls his thumb out and gets his hand into Mack’s hair, using the leverage to push Mack down to his knees.
“You want it?”
Mack nods, drool pooling in his mouth as he watches Sid’s big hands play with the ties on his sweats.
“Words Macklin.”
“Yes. Yes sir.” Mack says, testing the waters.
A sound that could almost be described as a growl comes out of Sid then, before he pushes his sweats and briefs down in one smooth motion, not bothering to take them all the way off. He wraps one hand around himself, stroking up and down dry while Mack watches.
Of course he’s huge.
Because yeah, of course. It’s Sidney Crosby. Captain Canada, God on Ice, and so big Mack can’t decide whether he needs to tap out or feel it in his stomach more.
“Open.”
Sid taps the head against Mack’s bottom lip, encouraging him to open wider, before sliding the tip into his mouth.
He’s warm and slightly salty and Mack is instantly addicted. He slides down and immediately gags when Sid hits the back of his throat.
“Easy, kid.” The hand in Mack’s hair slides him back and he whines. The sound must reverberate through the inch of Sid’s dick that’s still in Mack’s mouth because he hears a bitten back groan above him. “Take your time. Get used— fuck. Get used to it before you go that fast, okay?”
Mack nods as much as he can before sliding back down, slower this time.
“Good boy, such a good listener.”
Mack whines again, the hand in his hair tightening, and slides back to suck at the tip again. He’s guessing at what to do, but he’s gotten blowjobs before and he knows what he likes. He wraps his hand around what he can’t fit (a ridiculous amount, by the way) and flattens his tongue against the vein running along the bottom of it, letting his spit smooth the glide of his hand.
“Jesus Christ Mack, are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
Mack shakes his head slightly, pushing back down.
“Relax your throat baby, like you’ve just swallowed.”
Mack reflexively swallows, and the tightness must be insane because Sid’s hips stutter, forcing another inch into Mack’s mouth. He doesn’t gag this time, instead pressing closer, until his nose is brushing Sid’s pubic bone. A shaky fuuuuck from above lets him know exactly the effect he’s having.
He pushes back into Sid’s hand, trying to communicate what he wants. Sid chuckles. “What is it baby? You want me to fuck your face? I should’ve known you’d be ambitious for your first time.” He pulls out all the way to the tip before pushing fully back in in one smooth stroke. “Here you are, on your knees, gagging for my cock and you want more? Greedy boybaby aren’t you?”
Mack whines again, nodding hard. Sid huffs out a breath before saying, “If you need me to stop you tap my thigh, okay? Do it.” Mack runs his hand over Sid’s thighs, which, Jesus Christ, and taps on the side twice. “Good.”
Sid adjusts his grip on Mack’s hair and starts moving his hips, slowly at first as Mack gets used to it, building to an almost punishing rhythm. Mack… Mack just sits there and takes it, breathing out of his nose, drool running down his chin onto his bare chest. He gags once, twice, but doesn’t tap out, not wanting him to stop. Tears pool in his eyes, joining the drool smeared across his cheeks.
“God Macklin, you’re so fucking good, Jesus—” Sid gets out through gritted teeth, rhythm not stopping for a second. “I’m gonna come baby, okay? I’m gonna come in your mouth, don’t swallow, okay Mack?”
Mack taps on Sid’s thigh, gasping for air when Sid immediately pulls out. “I want—” his voice comes out gravelly, throat thoroughly fucked. “I want you… inside me.”
Sid huffs out a laugh, running his hand through his hair, sweat beading on his bare chest. “Oh baby, I will, don’t worry. But this first. Okay?”
Mack nods with a soft smile, before leaning forward again, pressing kitten licks to the tip of Sid’s dick where his pre and Mack’s saliva have combined. Sid’s shaky breath and a tightening of the hand in his hair is all the warning Mack gets before Sid shoves him back down until his nose is pressed to skin. He holds him there for a second, two, his free hand reaching down to loop gently around Mack’s throat, pressing lightly.
“I can feel myself in your throat baby. Look at you, taking it so well.” Mack goes lightheaded. He reaches up with one hand to his own throat, breathing heavily through his nose, and presses his fingers where Sid’s were. And yeah. He can feel the distinct outline of Sidney Crosby’s fucking dick in his throat.
Jesus fucking Christ. Mack’s moan comes from deep in his chest, right as Sid resumes his pace, slamming in and out of Mack’s open, willing mouth. Mack is whimpering almost nonstop now, his own dick so hard against his stomach.
“Gonna— fuck.” Sid hips stutter slightly, the only break in his punishing rhythm, before he’s spilling into Mack’s mouth. Mack gags again, the feeling of Sid’s come hitting the back of his throat an entirely new sensation. But he holds most of it, involuntarily swallowing some, some joining the tears and drool making a mess of his chest. Sid holds his head close, as he shudders through his orgasm, until his dick softens in Mack’s mouth, before pulling out.
For a second they’re just there, breathing, Sid’s hand tangled in Mack’s hair, Mack’s nails digging into Sid’s massive thighs.
Sid blows something that could be a laugh out through his mouth before pulling Mack to his feet, scanning his face. “You didn’t swallow?”
Mack shakes his head and is immediately rewarded with a proud smile that warms his chest.
He was good.
“God, you’re good,” Sid echos. “Such a good boy for me, huh?” He holds out his hand. “Spit.” Mack furrows his brows before leaning over and spitting a mix of saliva and come into Sid’s waiting palm.
He’s not expecting it when Sid puts his other hand on Mack’s chest and pushes hard, sending him back onto the bed. He follows him down, spreading Mack’s thighs with his own and wrapping his hand around Mack’s dick.
“Oh, God.” Mack tips his head back, almost immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, the glide so smooth, Sid’s massive hand enveloping him so easily. The sounds are borderline obscene, so much wetter than it really needs to be. At least until Sid drags his free hand through the mess pooling at the base of Mack’s dick and brings it down between his legs.
Mack sucks in a breath as Sid taps one finger against his hole.
“You ever done this before, pretty boy?” When Mack shakes his head, Sid chuckles. “Not even by yourself?”
If it’s possible Mack flushes even darker, heat spreading down his chest, red like he’d just pulled a double shift. Sid reads that for the admission that it is and his eyes darken, and low hmmm pulling from deep in his chest.
“Were you thinking about your boy stretching you open?” His hand is still moving almost painfully slowly on Mack’s cock, his other hand teasing between Mack’s legs. Not quite pushing in, but rubbing the muscle gently. The sensation is somehow both overwhelming and nowhere near enough. Mack whines again, begging for more and agreeing in the same breath. “Yeah? Or were you thinking about me? Making you come like this? He punctuates his words by pressing one finger in, deep and sudden. Mack’s back bows off the bed, a punched out groan forced through his lips.
“That’s it kid, relax. Taking it so well. You’re gonna want your boy to do this too, okay? Take his time opening you up, that’s how it’ll feel the best.” Sid’s low words echo in Mack’s head, making it through the layer of cotton there. Sid pulls out and presses back in, curling his finger as he goes. The knowledge that he’s being stretched out on a mixture of his spit and Sid’s come might be the hottest thing he’s ever experienced, and he can’t help but push down onto Sid’s finger, silently asking for more.
Sid laughs lowly again and complies, the thumb of his other hand digging into Mack’s slit as he does. Mack moans again, so far beyond words. His hands fist in the bedsheets, desperately holding on to anything he can as Sid methodically spreads him open. Finally Mack chokes out “Please, please Sid I’m ready I—” he jumps as Sid’s fingers press against a spot inside of him that sends sparks over his entire body. “Please, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”
“Nah, you got this kid. You’re too stubborn.” To prove his point, he slips a third finger in, and Mack’s entire body jerks.
“Please, please Sid please, fuck, I— I can’t, I, please please—” Mack devolves into a mess of pleading and begging, barely noticing the words slipping out of him. Still, Sid teases him for a minute more, brushing against that spot inside of him while his other hand moves so slowly, not enough to truly get him off but enough to bring him so, so close.
“Good boy, Mackie. You’re taking it so well.” Sid’s fingers slip out of him and Mack groans, looking down his body with blurry eyes. Sid’s standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at Mack. He has no idea what he looks like, tears and drool streaked down his face, chest red and flushed, spread out before his idol like a feast to be devoured. All he knows is that the way Sid commands a room, the way he can stand up in a locker room and immediately the entire team goes silent, translates here. He can feel his presence taking up the entire space, filling Mack’s head with static. He isn’t sure he’s ever wanted anything more than Sid’s cock inside of him right now, hard again, fucking somehow.
An athlete, with the stamina to prove it.
Sid notices Mack’s eyes and smirks, stroking himself slowly. “You want it?”
In any other moment Mack might be embarrassed by how quickly he nods, but he’s so beyond that, beyond anything at this point.
“Say please.” Sid orders.
“Please,” Mack immediately breathes out. “Please, please sir, I want it. Please fuck me, I—” Mack’s ramblings are cut off when Sid grabs one leg behind his knee, hoists it up, and pushes into Mack in one smooth motion. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let Mack adjust, until he’s fully seated inside of him. Mack almost screams, the sensation sudden and all consuming. From nothing to everything all at once. If he thought the feeling of Sid down his throat made him feel big, it had nothing on when he was inside of him. Jesus Christ, Mack thought he might be in his lungs. He groans low again, breathing heavily as he shifts, trying desperately to adjust.
Sid doesn’t move but he does reach down and press, hard, on Mack’s lower stomach. The movement pushes Sid’s dick against Mack’s prostate, and his entire body clenches in response, pulling a groan out of the man above him.
“You’re killing me, kid.” He shifts then, pulling out entirely before pushing back in, the glide easier this time. “You can take it.”
Not a question, but Mack nods anyway, earning a grin from Sidney.
“Good boy.” He adjusts Mack’s legs slightly before fucking into him in earnest, pulling out almost to the tip before pressing back in again, building a slow, steady rhythm that has him going so deep Mack can barely breathe around it. He hooks his legs around Sid’s, pulling him closer, deeper somehow. Sid goes easily, hovering over Mack, his muscled form filling Mack’s every sense. Mack pulls him down for a kiss, no longer caring if that somehow crosses a boundary, needing to feel more. The movement of Sid’s hips has pushed them up against the headboard, so there’s not far to go before Mack can press their lips together. Sid licks into his mouth almost immediately, like a man starving, the rhythm of his hips never faltering and Mack moans, the sound swallowed by Sid’s tongue deep in his mouth. Mack breaks the kiss, gasping for air, and buries his face into Sid’s neck, breathing deeply like he’s wanted to since their first practice. The scent is deep and masculine, tinged with sweat and sex and Mack immediately craves another hit.
Sid’s hip speed up then, a whispered you gonna come on my cock pretty boy? yanks another moan from deep in Mack’s chest. Even Sid sounds strained now, like Mack is having an impact on him too, something that Mack knows is going to fuck with his mind the moment he has it back. For now though, all he can do is wrap his arms around Sid’s neck and hold on as Sid absolutely rails him into the headboard. He vaguely hopes the hotel walls are thick because the noises coming out of him are obscene, loud and a mixture of begging for more, for deeper, and moans bordering on screams as Sid targets that one spot inside of him.
He’s ratcheting closer and closer to what he knows is probably going to be the best orgasm of his life, his body clenching tighter and tighter as he does.
“Sid, please,” He sounds like he’s been crying, voice rough and gravely from his sounds. “I need— please,” he cries out again as Sid’s hand wraps around his dick, jerking him hard and fast. “Please, Sid, please come inside of me, need to feel it, need to— fuck I’m gonna—.”
With almost no warning, he snaps, coming so hard his entire body goes rigid. His mind shorts out, vision going white as he comes all over his chest and stomach. Somewhere distant, he can hear Sidney cursing at the tightness, feeling his rhythm falter slightly as he chases his own orgasm. Mack gasps as he comes down, going boneless, letting his idol slam into him until Mack is shuddering with overstimulation.
“Fuck, Mack, I’m gonna come. God, baby, you feel so fucking good, I’m so close, I’m–”
“Please, please, please.” Mack slurs out, tensing again, trying to make it good for him. Sid pulls his thigh up further, thrusts once, twice more before burying himself so deep in Mack that he groans again. And, God help him, Mack can feel him coming inside of him, feel his dick pulse as he groans into Mack’s neck.
Mack never wants to let this moment go, Sid’s scruff on his neck, his hot breath fanning down his back, the feeling of them so close together, even with Mack’s come tacky between them. He doesn’t know if he’s ever experienced anything hotter in his life. They come down together, breathing heavily, the last tremors of their high gently shaking them both.
Eventually though, Sid rolls off of him, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple before grabbing a warm cloth from the bathroom and cleaning them both up. Mack is beyond words, unsure even of what could be said after something like that. Sid isn’t in a rush to talk either, handing Mack a water bottle from the fridge and climbing into the bed next to him. Mack feels like he should say something, but as they both tune back into the game on the TV, they start comparing plays and checking mistakes. It’s shockingly normal, considering, and makes Mack’s chest feel warm inside. He hadn’t really thought much about the aftermath when he’d started this, whether or not it would be awkward or change their dynamic. It was like Sid knew exactly how to handle that, so laid back and open it was hard to over think anything.
Still teammates, Mack was still his Captain (which was still insane). They just… also had this now.
And if Mack turned up at Sid’s door again the next night, and the night after that, well… they probably both played better because of it.