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All Shea wants when he gets back from the game is something to eat and a nap. Dug has other plans, though, meeting Shea at the door, tail wagging, tongue lolling out of his mouth and even barking a few times. “You want to go out, buddy?” Shea asks, and Dug barks again.

Shea sighs, but Dug's a good dog, and Shea hates that his game-day routine meant he was stuck at home all day with nothing to do. Sure, he wants to sleep, but Dug needs him, so he takes him out to the park and lets him run. The best and worst part about taking his dog out, though, is that it tends to get him worked up too, and it isn’t long before Shea’s running around with him. He throws his ball and then chases after it with him.

He isn’t expecting Sutes to text, asking if he wants to hang out, but Shea invites him along. Dug likes Sutes and he’d like him more if he brought Cal and Favre along, but Dug's exactly the kind of traitor to abandon him the second Sutes shows up. He runs around him, bringing Sutes his ball and then chasing after it, and it all means Shea’s out at the park well past dark, tired as hell when he ends up inviting Sutes over when they leave the park.

They end up sprawled out on Shea's floor, Dug laid out and panting between them. At least he’s happy, and Doug’s definitely going to get a good night’s sleep out of this. Shea leans up against the couch and winces when he twinges something in his back.

"You okay?" Sutes asks, frowning.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Shea says, resettling himself, and Sutes frowns again. He thinks he might’ve snapped a little

"Did you take a nap before meeting me with Dug?" Sutes asks, and Shea doesn't look at him, just shrugs. "Shea -"

"Are you my mother?" Shea asks, and Sutes rolls his eyes.

"You were out there for fucking hours and didn't bother taking a nap, didn't you?" Sutes asks, and Shea shrugs, except that doesn't feel great either. "Did you even get a rubdown after the game?"

"I cold-tubbed," Shea says, because he played nearly 30 minutes tonight. "Didn't feel like it afterward."

"C'mere, you dummy," Sutes says, sitting up and climbing onto the couch.

"Come where?" Shea asks, because he doesn't see how sitting on the couch is supposed to loosen his back.

"Here," Sutes says, pointing at the floor in front of him. Shea gives him the most disbelieving look he can, and Sutes just snaps his fingers and points at the ground. Shea rolls his eyes, but sits there, trying to sit up straight and stretch his back out a bit. "Jesus, sit still, Shea," Sutes tells him, smacking him lightly on the head. Shea's got his mouth open to complain, but Sutes puts his hands on Shea's shoulders, digging his thumbs in, and Shea lets out a sound that he won't admit is a moan.

"Yeah, that's what I figured," Sutes says, and Shea doesn't have to turn around to know he's shaking his head. He keeps going, hands moving over Shea's back with just the right amount of pressure. It's not as good as a real rubdown from the training staff or anything. Shea's had better backrubs, to be sure. But it feels good to be sitting at home, with Dug's head in his lap and Sutes behind him. He closes his eyes, breathing deep and feeling his shoulders loosen, tension leaking out.

"Go to bed early tonight, at least," Sutes says, and he's leaning forward to do it, whispering in Shea's ear. Shea shivers, and that's when he notices he's hard. His shoulders go tense and he instinctively leans forward, away from Sutes. "What're you - ?" Sutes asks, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders and pulling him back.

He leans forward, probably to talk to Shea again, but he sees it. "Oh," Sutes says, but doesn't let go. His hands tighten on Shea's shoulders, but that's all. "Quit tensing up, you're ruining my work." Shea laughs, because Sutes is and he thinks it's supposed to be a joke, but he can't really relax again. It's not like it's his first time getting hard at the wrong time. He went through puberty once, after all. But something about getting hard for Sutes' hands on him makes him want to hide it. It's crazy, but that's how he feels.

"Seriously, Shea," Sutes says, and Shea tries to force himself to un-tense, exhaling deeply. Sutes moves, sliding forward so he's leaning over Shea. "Just keep still," he says, low in Shea's ear, and then he reaches down, cupping Shea's hard dick through his jeans. Shea almost can't believe it.

"Shhh," Sutes whispers, and Shea goes still, lets him touch him. Sutes traces the outline of him through his jeans, and Shea shivers. When Sutes pulls his hand away, Shea lets out an embarrassing noise of disappointment. Sutes is just unzipping his jeans, though, reaching in, and Shea looks down when he wraps his hand around his dick. Even looking at Sutes' hand, wide fingers, blunt nails - he can't believe this is happening.

He's thought about it. On nights when it's just him and Sutes and a 6-pack, laughing at a bad movie and messing around with Dug, he'll look over and wonder if he could. Sometimes when they're out after a game with the boys, Sutes will catch his eye, and something inside of Shea will just want so badly. He never thought he'd do anything about it though.

Sutes starts jerking him, really working him, hand tight around his dick, and it kind of hurts at first, because it's dry. But it's Sutes' hand on his dick and that keeps Shea hard, gets him leaking, and then it isn't dry anymore. Sutes spreads Shea's precome over the head of his dick with his thumb and leans in. It means he's breathing close in Shea's ear, heavy, like they've been double-shifted against Datsyuk or something. It should be annoying or weird, but Shea can feel his breath on the back of his neck, and he wants him to keep this close, stay right here, so he doesn't mind it.

"Tell me it's okay," Sutes whispers, speeding up, and Shea rocks forward into his fist. "Shea, please. C'mon. Tell me you want - tell me it's okay."

Shea inhales sharply, not sure how Sutes could need to ask that, like how he's this close to coming isn't proof enough. "No, I'm, it's good. It's okay, Sutes. It's... fuck." He rocks his hips forward again, and Sutes moves again behind him, dropping his head onto Shea's shoulder.

"Thank fuck," Sutes says, and any other time Shea would make fun of him, tease him for even having to ask. But the words are whispers against Shea’s neck, so soft that Sutes’ lips brush over his skin, and Shea has to close his eyes because he’s coming, hard.

He opens his eyes again when Sutes lets go, and he’s ready to turn around, maybe reciprocate, except Sutes is standing up and heading for the kitchen. Shea hears him run the sink, and Jesus, that’s his come that Sutes is washing off himself.

Shea stands when Sutes walks back into the living room, and Sutes looks at him and then then the clock and ducks his head. “What did I say earlier?” he asks, holding his own neck. He’s smiling, though, that smile that Shea likes because it means he means it.

“Huh?” Shea asks, because he’s kind of stupid after he comes.

“Bed, Shea. Early,” Sutes tells him, and Shea smiles, because yeah, he could go for taking this upstairs. He wouldn’t mind turning in nearly as early if Sutes is there with him, maybe moaning a little while Shea returns the favor. Except then Sutes snaps his fingers and whistles at Dug. “Go on, boy. Bedtime,” he calls, and Dug gets up to his feet, heading back for Shea’s room.

“Can’t believe you let him sleep in your room,” Sutes says.

“Like you’d ever get to sleep with both of yours in your room,” Shea shoots back, because it’s a familiar argument they’ve had before.

“My dogs are very well-behaved,” Sutes says.

“Yeah, the one not named Favre,” Shea tells him, and Sutes laughs.

“Night, Shea,” Sutes says, and then he’s grabbing his beat-up Packers hat off the coffee table and heading for the door.

“I -” Shea says, not sure what the hell he should be saying. “I’ll see you tomorrow, eh?”

“That’s how practice works, yeah,” Sutes tells him, tossing him a wave. Then he’s gone, and Shea’s standing alone in the living room. He stares at the door for a few seconds, not really getting what just happened. Then he hears Dug’s tags jangle, and when he looks over, he’s standing in the hallway.

“Coming, boy,” Shea says, shaking his head and following him.

Shea isn’t expecting the second time either, especially not after Sutes pretends the first time hadn’t happened. They beat the hell out of the Sharks, and when they’re out with the boys, having a few beers and laughing at all of Fish’s terrible jokes, Sutes grabs his elbow and half drags him back to the bathroom.

Shea doesn’t know what he’s doing until he reaches for his fly, undoes it, and pulls his jeans open. “Be quiet, okay?” Sutes says, and then proceeds to jerk him off, shoving him back against the wall and leaning into his space and generally being exactly what Shea pretends he isn’t jerking off thinking about every night.

“Sutes,” he whispers when he’s nearly there, gripping onto Sutes’ shoulder.

“Shhhhh,” Sutes says, and Shea nods.

“I’m gonna -” he says, and Sutes is there with toilet paper or paper towels or something, but he’s there making sure Shea doesn’t make a mess out of his gameday suit.

Sutes washes his hands afterwards, like he did the last time, and when Shea steps up behind him, Sutes bumps him. “Did you want -” Shea starts, but Sutes interrupts him.

“Let’s get back. You know Kevin’s probably snaked your beer by now, right?” Sutes says, and leads him out of the bathroom.

The third time happens when he’s over at Sutes’ place. He brings Dug by to play with Favre and Cal, and he’s grabbing a glass of water in the kitchen when Sutes presses in against his back. “Lemme,” Sutes says and Shea nods, fumbling open his own jeans.

“You gotta let me,” Shea says while Sutes is jerking him. “Afterward, I... fair’s fair, Sutes.” Sutes nods, rocking against Shea, and he can feel him like that. Shea can feel him hard and pressed close so his dick is against his lower back. He keeps rubbing against him through it, too, like he’s getting off on Shea getting off, and even the friction of Sutes against him feels good, like they’re teenagers or something.

He’s surprised by how hard he comes with Sutes rocking against him while he jerks him off, and when he goes to return the favor, finally getting his hand around Sutes’ dick, he’s a little disappointed that it doesn’t last longer. He’s even more disappointed when Sutes pulls away after, going to the sink to clean up. But that’s the way this thing is, apparently, so Shea just nods and waits for his turn to wash his own hands.

Shea loses count after that. He thinks, by the time they lose to Carolina, that it might be the seventh time, but he isn’t sure. Sutes grabs his eye after the game, nods at him, and Shea nods back, knowing what he wants. They head back to Shea’s, and he’s surprised when Sutes drops to his knees by the door.

He isn’t expecting it, but Sutes grabs at his fly and pulls down his jeans and underwear like he hasn’t been thinking about anything else. Sutes just stares at his dick for a few seconds once he’s got him half undressed, stroking him, getting him hard, but not... not what Shea thought he was going to do. Except then he does.

Sutes opens his mouth and shuts his eyes, guiding Shea’s dick into his mouth with his hand, and fuck. It’s so wet and warm, and Shea’s had blowjobs before, lots of them, but it’s Sutes and he looks like this is exactly what he wants to be doing. He’s not fancy, a little sloppy with a lot of tongue and so much spit, but that’s kind of how Shea likes his blowjobs.

Sutes lets him come in his mouth and then swallows, standing up like nothing happened at all. Shea would think he imagined it if not for how fuckstupid his brain feels and the fact that he’s half naked in his living room. Sutes doesn’t let him return the favor, though, just jerks himself off, and Shea has to remind himself not to think about how much hotter it would be if he was jerking off onto Shea’s skin.

Shea feels like he spends all of his time away from hockey not thinking about that. He wants it, wants Sutes to push him down and jerk off against his stomach or chest. He’d probably let him come on his face, if he wanted. Shea would be okay jerking himself off after, using Sutes’ come to slick himself. It’s possible he’s jerked off a few times thinking about it.

A few times later, Sutes gets on his knees and he’s a little rougher, pulling Shea’s hips in and opening his mouth wide. Shea doesn’t get it, and then Sutes puts both his hands on Shea’s ass, cupping him and pulling him in, fucking his own mouth with Shea’s dick, and Shea inhales sharply.

“Yeah, you should, like that,” Shea says, and Sutes does it again, tightening his grip on Shea’s ass, tips of his fingers in Shea’s cleft, and Shea comes with a shout. It feels like being punched. He wants to tell Sutes to keep going, keep squeezing, press further or something. He doesn’t know what he wants, just knows he wants it, but Sutes is pulling off, wiping his mouth and reaching down to jerk himself.

“Let me,” Shea says, dropping to his knees to try and force Sutes to not come without him. He gets his hand around him and Sutes is right there, close to him, and they’re almost face to face. He wants to lean in and kiss him, taste himself in Sutes’ mouth, but he doesn’t know if he’s even allowed. Instead he just leans against Sutes’ face, practically cheek-to-cheek, and feels him shake while he jerks him off.

It isn’t that Shea doesn’t know the way he thinks about fucking around with Sutes is pretty gay, or that he doesn’t know the way he fucks around with Sutes is really gay. He knows it is, and if he didn’t, the fact that he sometimes jerks off thinking about Sutes kissing him would definitely give it away. Actually watching gay porn feels weirder somehow. It feels weirder, but not so weird that Shea isn’t into it. It’s nothing special, and the guys are too twinky to be Shea’s type, except for the long, long scene of one of the twinks fingering himself open.

Shea watches, not touching himself because he wants to wait until later, but he watches closely, wanting to know exactly how the guy does it. It’s not hot, not really, but when Shea reaches between his legs and starts fingering himself, slow at first, just teasing, he thinks it’s done its job. He doesn’t get very far the first time, ends up coming with one finger in his ass, trying to get the other in and failing.

He tries again, though, and then again, and he wants to tell himself he isn’t thinking about Sutes doing this, about Sutes between his legs, fucking him as hard as he can, holding him down and just giving it to him, but he obviously is. Nothing else explains how hard or how fast he comes. He has to look stupid, bent nearly double and with his fingers in his ass, but fuck, it feels good.

It makes things awkward between them now. Not on the ice, because Shea’s a fucking professional, and nothing could get in between the way the two of them click on the ice. But when Sutes comes to his place or invites him over, Shea can’t help but get this twisting feeling in his stomach like maybe this is the time he’ll ask. He won’t, he can’t, because he honestly doesn’t think that’s how this works, but he wants to.

Sometimes, when Sutes actually blows him in his bedroom, with Shea sitting on the bed and Sutes on his knees beside it, all he wants to do is lean back and open his legs, ask for Sutes to just fucking do it.

They’re out after a game, just him and Sutes, when some guy comes up to him. Shea thinks it’s a fan and he’s asking for an autograph, except the thing he gives him to sign has a phone number on it. “I don’t usually do this,” he says, and Shea blinks down at the paper and then up at him. He’s not bad looking, really. He actually looks like a broader version of Kevin, and he wants... he wants Shea to call him.

Shea takes a second, thinks about what it is this guy’s asking. Shea could take him up on it, call him and get him to fuck him so he could see what it’s like, maybe get it out of his system so there’s nothing weird between him and Sutes anymore. “C’mon,” Sutes says, suddenly appearing next to him. He grabs the paper out of Shea’s hand and tosses it back to the guy. “Sorry, we’re leaving.”

Sutes is a laid back guy. He plays hard, but he mostly has a smile on his face, and it’s weird to see him nearly scowling at the guy. Except then he turns to Shea, grabbing his wrist and half-pulling him out of the bar. And it isn’t that Shea doesn’t know Sutes is fucking strong, but his grip on his wrist kind of hurts.

“What the fuck was that?” Sutes asks when they get to his car. Shea shrugs, because what does Sutes expect him to say? “No, seriously. That guy was trying to pick you up.”

“Yeah, and?” Shea asks, because maybe he wants to be picked up. He’s never been the kind of guy to sleep around before, but he could give it a shot.

“What, you’re going to get him to jerk you off?” Sutes asks, getting into the car. “You think he wants to blow you?”

“Maybe I could jerk him off, or blow him,” Shea answers, getting in too. He hates driving with Sutes when he’s pissed, but fuck him. Sutes is the one that won’t let Shea reciprocate, Sutes is the one that Shea has to practically trick into not coming before he can get his hand on his dick.

“Because you do that so often?” Sutes asks, not turning on the car. And that isn’t fair.

“Maybe if he actually let me, I would,” Shea says, and it sounds stupid even to him, but Sutes’ knuckles tighten around the steering wheel. Fuck him, Shea wants to do that for Sutes, and Sutes is the one who won’t let him. “Hell, maybe he could fuck me. Bet he’d like that. He could tell all of his buddies -” He’s interrupted by Sutes’ fist hitting his face, and when Shea looks up, ready to hit back, Sutes is leaning in and... kissing him.

It’s not a great kiss, as kisses go, but Sutes grabs the side of his face and pulls him in, and Shea grabs his shirt, keeping him close so he won’t leave. This is, again, not great, and his mouth hurts from Sutes hitting him, but this is what he’s been wanting. Well, this and Sutes’ dick inside of him, but they’re still in public. “Don’t fuck around with other guys,” Sutes half mumbles into his mouth, and Shea pulls away.

“Yeah?” Shea asks, and Sutes nods and pulls him in again, kissing him deeper, better, and scraping his own face on Shea’s stubble. “You should fuck me, later,” he finally says, and Sutes blinks.

“Wait, really?” he asks, and Shea nods. “Oh, okay.”