Title: Divided Household
Fandom: Original Characters (hockey)
Summary: The Eagles didn’t make the playoffs. But that’s not why Wilson and Rick aren’t talking to each other.
Notes: I wrote a fic with these characters. I really enjoyed them and wanted to do something else with them. I was in a writing funk and Smokeycat_430 suggested I write something about hockey. This kind of tumbled out.
They didn’t speak and didn’t make eye contact. Wilson stood in front of the microwave as popcorn popped and Rick got two cold beers from the fridge. Wilson grabbed a big bowl from the cupboard over the stove and Rick grabbed the bottle opener.
They didn’t speak as they settled down on the couch in front of the 82-inch projection TV. Wilson set the bowl between them and Rick handed over a beer. Wilson passed over the cable remote and Rick turned to NBC.
They didn’t speak as pre- game commentary began, the talking heads analyzing the series to-date and discussing what each team needed to bring to get a win that night. Wilson had a look of disgust on his face and Rick had one as well.
“Those guys are full of shit,” Wilson finally said, as it went to commercial.
“No kidding,” Rick replied. He raised his beer,
their customary clink of “Cheers.”
Wilson looked at it, considering, then refused the gesture and drank from his bottle instead.
“You’re just pissy because your team is down and facing elimination tonight.”
Wilson looked over, rage blazing in his eyes. “No, I’m angry because I married a man who likes…” He gestured at the television set where one of the teams was flying out of the tunnel onto the ice to skate a warm-up before the game. “A man who roots for them.”
“The team’s not actually the devil, you know.”
“Oh not even. Your guys play dirty.”
“Only when they have to. It’s their skill that got ‘em this far.”
“It’s their tactics that got them here. And pansy-ass refs blind in one eye.”
“That’s a load of shit and you know it.” Wilson scooped up a handful of popcorn and popped half of it into his mouth, chewing angrily.
Rick took some and ate as well.
They didn’t speak while a woman sang the National Anthem.
But when the puck dropped and Rick’s team won the first faceoff, he grinned over at Wilson.
Wilson plucked a piece of popcorn out of the bowl and threw it at Rick’s face.
Rick blinked and picked it up. He tossed it into his mouth. “Got a good arm on you. Shoulda been a baseball player.”
That was the last straw. “You bastard!”
“My parents were at the wedding. I’m the second son of a couple happily married for thirty-two years. Not a bastard, in fact.”
“I hate you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Rick set his beer on the coaster on the coffee table and moved the popcorn bowl there as well. Then he launched himself across the couch and Wilson welcomed him. They booth took gulps from Wilson’s beer before the man set it down on the floor, unable to reach the coffee table for the weight of his captain on top of him.
They didn’t speak as they made out. Wilson worked the buttons on their jeans open and unzipped flies, granting access to two erections straining against white underwear. Rick kissed passionately, one hand on Wilson’s face, smoothing his hair, stroking his thumb against cheek. Wilson wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. Rick thrust downward a little, rubbing himself against his star center.
With play-by-play commentary on the TV buzzing in their ears, they kissed and frotted, working their cocks out and moaning deeply as a kiss or a touch gave them those needy, tingley urges.
They were halfway done, halfway there, halfway to fantastic orgasms, when Wilson cried out in victory. “Look who… scored first.” He said against Rick’s moist lips. “They’re absolutely going to force a game six.”
“Lotsa time left,” Rick replied. But both men stopped what they were doing to watch the replay of a great goal—a goal scorer’s goal. As the red light flashed, Rick buried his face against Wilson’s chest with a muffled, “I hate you.”
Wilson felt his husband’s hard cock digging in and quick pace of his excited heartbeat. “I’m sure you do.”