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A Moment of Victory

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They try not to drink during the playoffs, not really, but--there are times when it's okay to make exceptions, Zach had said, after the game and the press and all the craziness that comes with making it to the Finals. Now they're stumbling back to Zach's place, not too drunk but just drunk enough that Zach's got his hand pressed against the skin where Adam's shirt has ridden up a bit and they can't stop grinning.

Zach pulls away to open his door, his hands slipping all over the place as Adam tries to stop giggling. When he finally gets it, he pretty much falls through it, only keeping upright because Adam follows him and crashes Zach into the wall, still laughing, and Zach's so warm and solid against him and his face is right there and he's still grinning, and Adam knows that Zach's technically shorter than him but he always thinks of him as taller (it's the C, maybe, or just--Zach).

So he almost misses when he leans in to kiss him but Zach tilts his head up just right and catches Adam's mouth and it's fucking perfect instead.

Adam feels like he should probably be nervous about this but if there's anything there it's buried under the layers of exhilaration and relief and elation and he can't stop grinning even into the kiss and when Zach breaks it off it's just to laugh and kiss Adam again, messy and joyous.

It's easy enough to let Zach pull him along by his shirt, tug him into his bedroom, push off his suit jacket. He gets the rest of the way naked on his own, fingers fumbling as he watches Zach do the same, skin that Adam knows suddenly new and exciting.

There are bruises blossomed across Zach's side, ones that Adam can feel just as clearly on himself, but they're just proof that this is all real and not just some sort of dream--that the night is real, all of it, the game and the goal and the Finals, they're going to the fucking Finals, and Zach Parise is pushing his pants down and pulling him into bed and Adam's had a lot of great nights in his life but this is up there with the best of them.

Zach's hands are spread wide across Adam's back and his mouth is warm against his neck as he trails bites and kisses down to his collarbone, face just a little rough with stubble in a way that makes Adam shiver when it rubs against his skin.

"So, um, how's your gear?" Zach asks him after they make out for a while. Adam blinks at him, trying to figure out what the hell Zach's asking about his stuff for, and then Zach grins and says, "your dick, dude, how's your dick?"

"Functioning," Adam says, laughing. "But a little sore."

"Well, functioning's good," Zach says, sliding his hand down Adam's stomach in a way that makes his muscles jump and his heart stutter.

"Hey, roll over," Zach says, pushing at his shoulder, and Adam frowns, because, hey, hand near his dick is not hand on his dick, c'mon.

Zach rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna blow you, so roll over."

That gets Adam moving, even as Zach's laughing at him for his enthusiastic flailing. He gets settled on his back, one arm under his head, and Zach leans in and kisses him again and then pulls back and says, "so, hey, thanks for that whole overtime game winning goal to get us to the finals," before making his way down to Adam's dick and sucking it in. Honestly, Adam's nearly as turned on by the words as the action, but Zach's not bad with his mouth, either. A little sloppy and straightforward, but, fuck, Zach Parise is giving Adam a congratulatory blow job and the team's going to the fucking Stanley Cup Finals, he's not going to complain.

His life is pretty damn awesome.

It's not long before he's coming, and Zach swallows, which, okay, Adam nearly passes out at that, because holy shit, but he manages to stay just this side of coherent and not embarrass himself horribly or anything. He does make this hideous groaning noise but he's allowed that, he thinks. He's a little braindead for a few minutes after that, but he gets it together when he notices Zach jerking off, because fuck if he's going to let this go by without getting his mouth on Zach's dick.

"Lemme," he says, and rolls over and shimmies down the bed with surprising coordination, knocking Zach's hand away and getting his own around the base before licking his lips and getting down to it. Zach whimpers a bit and pushes into his mouth with a sharp jerk of his hips, but Adam manages not to choke and they get a rhythm going pretty quickly. Unlike Adam, Zach at least manages to warn when he's about to come, but Adam just sucks him through it. He doesn't mind the taste, and it's worth it for the way that Zach whines and goes all boneless beneath him.

Adam crawls up the bed and lies next to Zach, watching his captain work through the afterglow, cheeks flushed and breath quick. Zach reaches out and ruffles Adam's hair, then rolls over and flops half on top of him, nuzzling his neck again a little. If Adam weren't utterly worn out he'd probably want round two, but Zach seems content to just make out a bit more before saying, "the Finals," his voice filled with the awe that Adam feels in every damn molecule of his being.

"Yeah," Adam says. "The Finals."

(He wakes Zach up the next morning because he can't stop laughing at a text from Hallsy saying I hope someone hot kissed your dick better bro, but that works out, too. Morning sex is almost as good as morning remembering-they're-going-to-the-Finals.)