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Must read for any Canes fan

Discussion in 'Carolina Hurricanes' started by Playa, Apr 3, 2014.

  1. Playa

    Playa The coach is a near

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    Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own

    Sorry for the wall of gay **** hockey text.

    Chapter 1

    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 **** 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?"
    .......it goes on and on. I quit reading once I came.
     
  2. dig-it

    dig-it Wait'n On That Post Rookie Deal

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    I didn`t know Shrap was a Canes fan.
     

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