Actions

Work Header

Skin pressed against me tight.

Work Text:

Sid hasn’t even had time to put down his bags when there is a knock at his hotel room door. Sid glares at the door as though he can make the person on the other side leave with only the power of his mind. The knocking turns into pounding and a heavily accented voice calls through the door.
“Open the door, Crosby, I know you are in there.”

Sid knows that voice, he hears that voice in his head whenever the penguins lose. If Sid’s parents had been less supportive maybe it’d be his dad’s voice he hears, but Sid’s parents were great, and so instead Sid has a ginger French Canadian taking the starring role in every ‘not good enough’ screenplay from Sid’s subconscious

He sighs and opens the door.
“What do you want, Claude?”
Claude shoulders his way through the door.
“What do I want? I want to know what you think you are doing here?”
Sid frowns and shuts the door before coming to lean against the writing desk. Claude is pacing in front of the rooms floor to ceiling window.
“Here? The team booked me the room.”
Claude lets out a huffing noise.
“No. Here, Prague, the world championships, Why. Are. You. Here?”

Sid feels like Claude has started speaking french, heck, it could be swahili for all that he understands what the hell Claude is going on about.
“I’m here to play for Canada.” He says it slowly and looks at Claude carefully, he looks ok, he hadn’t heard about any concussions recently.

Claude throws his hands in the air and stalks towards Sid.
“That’s just fucking great isn’t it, the whole fucking world revolves around you. You decide you want to come to Prague and the whole selection committee drops their fucking trousers.”

He stops inches away and Sid can smell the sharp scent of hotel shampoo”. He straightens his shoulders, Claude didn’t come here to actually fight did he? Sid doesn’t think that would be good for team moral, but there is something about Claude that get’s under his skin.
“What the fuck, Claude, worried I’m going to take your spot?” Sid draws out Claude’s name deliberately mispronouncing it and he swears he can almost see steam coming out of the man’s ears.
“These kids have worked hard and now you fly in and just walk onto the roster and of course they are going to name you fucking Captain as well.” Claude practically spits the last few words and Sid decided he’s had enough. He shoves Claude out of his personal space.
“Fuck you.” Sid hates how Claude get’s him like this, reduces him to grade school retaliations.

“So original Crosby.” Claude shrugs off the shove and drags his eyes down over Sid’s body.
“What does your Russian boyfriend think of your dirty talk skills huh?” Claude throws back his head in mock ecstasy.
“Oh, Fuck, big boy, yes!” Claude lets out a filthy moan then gives him a sneer that shows off his ridiculous gapped teeth and steps into his space again. Sid swallows hard.
“Or maybe he just fucks that pretty mouth of yours so he doesn’t have to listen to you whine.”

Sid’s breath leaves him in a gasp as Claude’s hand twists in the fabric of his hoody and tugs him forward until they are inches apart.
“No.” Sid manages.
“No?” Claude cocks an eyebrow at him, “That’s a shame, someone should.”
“Yes.” The word is out of Sid’s mouth before his brain has a chance to stop it, he closes his eyes waiting for Claude’s smartass reply. He wants to think he really can’t be blamed, Claude was making those noises and now he’s so close Sid can feel the heat of him on his thighs and it’s been so long.

There’s no reply.

Sid cautiously opens his eyes to see Claude staring at him open mouthed.
“Oh.”
Sid sighs and closes his eyes again.
“Just get out, Claude.”
He expects Claude to let go, expects to hear a slur, expects to be hit.
He doesn’t expect to feel Claude press against him, to feel the other man’s breath ghost across his lips, making him shiver as he speaks.
“Yes?”
Sid can feel the coiled tension in the other man, he could say no, Claude would just leave, Sid has no doubt of that right now. But Sid wants.
“Yes.”
Claude’s lips catch at his, gentler than Sid would have expected Claude to be capable of and Sid knows if they are going to do this, there can’t be any gentle between them so he grabs at Claude’s hips and grinds them together as he angles his head to deepen the kiss.

Claude seems to get the picture and his hand comes up to cup Sid’s jaw, thumb pressing hard against the hinge of bone making Sid open up for him as Claude bites at Sid’s bottom lip and fucks in to his mouth with his tongue. Claude works at sid’s mouth until it is wet and his bottom lip is swollen.
“Fuck, your mouth.” He manages when he pulls away.
It’s Sid’s turn to smirk.
“I already said yes.”

Claude’s eyes go wide for a moment and then he’s pressing Sid down to his knees and working at his belt buckle. The edge of the desk presses painfully into Sid’s back but he doesn’t want to take this to the bed, whatever this is between them it doesn’t happen in beds with two thousand thread count sheets. Sid reaches out and pushes Claude’s jeans and boxers down in a quick movement before licking a wet stripe up the underside of Claude’s cock. Claude’s fingers tangle in his hair and Sidé barely has time to take a breath before Claude is thrusting into his mouth.

“Jesus, Crosby, I knew you’d be good at this.” Claude thrusts sharply and Sid chokes a little. Claude pulls back but Sid pushes forward relaxing his throat around the thick hot length of Claude’s cock.
“Fuck.”
Sid grips at Claude’s hips hard enough to leave angry red marks on the french-canadien’s pale skin and pulls him forward until his nose presses against Claude’s pubic hair.
“Fuck,” Claude repeats, “Everything is a fucking competition with you isn’t it?”
Sid looks up at him through his lashes and he knows how he must look, he can feel his eyes watering from the strain.
Claude swear loudly in french and begins to thrust roughly into Sid’s mouth. Sid moans filthily as Claude’s finger’s pull roughly at his hair. Claude gasps and his hips stutter as Sid’s pushes two fingers into his mouth beside Claude’s cock.

‘“Jesus, tabernac, Sid, I’m not enough for you? Should I call some of the boys? How many of us can you take?”
Sid’s cock is pressing painfully against his slacks and he can feel the fabric of his underwear getting damp at the thought of Claude passing him around the team like a piece of meat.
He distracts himself from the thought by dragging his spit slick fingers back behind Claude’s balls and over his hole. Claude bucks into his mouth as Sid presses a finger in briefly before coming back to slick his fingers a second time then pushing it in deep. He knows the spit is not enough but Claude doesn’t seem to care. He pushes back onto Sid’s finger then forward into Sid’s mouth.

Sid’s works in a second finger and twists until he find’s Claude’s prostate. He presses against his firmly as Claude force’s him deep onto his cock until he is fucking Sid’s throat. Sid gives a sharp thrust and Claude is coming, hot and thick deep in his throat. He pulls out as he finishes and the last spurt of come catches Sid on the lip. Sid lets his fingers slide out of Claude’s ass and licks the drops of come from his lip.

Claude is breathing hard as Sid gets to his feet, undoing his pants and releasing his cock. He moves behind Claude to press him against the desk. He bends him in half as the other man gasps and swears beneath him. he drags a thumb over Claude’s puffy hole.

“Say yes.” Sid says as he swipes the tip of his cock down the crack of Claude’s ass.
“Fuck you.” Claude spits.
Sid loosens his grip and steps back a little. Claude seems to realise what Sid meant.
“Fuck you, yes, just fuck me.”
Sid almost snorts, only Giroux would be such an asshole when he wants to be fucked.

Sid presses Claude’s pale ass apart and spits, watching as Claude’s as puckers and clenches against the saliva. He spits again enjoying the stream of filthy french coming from the man beneath him. He lines up and begins to work himself in slowly. Claude whines a little beneath him and Sid pauses but Claude rolls his hips a little and Sid begins to work him with quick shallow thrusts until he is buried inside him.

Sid pauses breathing hard for a moment, his thighs are shaking with the effort of not moving, Claude is so tight. He deserves to know.
“So fucking tight Claude, unbelievable, if I'd know you felt his good I would have bent you over on the fucking ice.”
Claude clenches around him.
“That gets you going does it? You wanted to share my mouth with the team but you want me to fuck you in front of the whole fucking world.” Sid thinks for a second that Claude is trying to squirm away from him but then he realises the other man is grinding his softened cock into the polished wood of the desk. Sid hooks a forearm under Claude’s waist and lifts him away from the friction of the desk and starts to slam into him in rapid deep strokes.
“Yeah, I could take you right there at centre ice, fuck you until you scream right there on the flyers logo.”

Claude is gasping and shaking as Sid slams roughly into him. Every other breath coming as a choked sob as Sid nails his prostate. Their thighs slap together and Sid is grunting with the effort of holding Claude up. He gives in and pushes Claude down onto the desk, one hand on the back of Claude’s neck as he uses all his weight to bury himself inside the other man.
He shouts as he comes, trying to press even deeper inside the Flyer’s captain as he empties himself inside him.

Claude is shuddering beneath him, his hips twitching against the desk, and Sid almost passes out as Claude gives a wet sob and clenches down as he comes for a second time.
Sid has enough strength to drag them both to the bed, manhandling Claude to one side of the bed before removing his clothes and collapsing on the other.

“I’m not the little spoon.” Claude mumbles, his accent thick and heavy.
“Shut the fuck up, Giroux.” Sid replies as he drags Claude back to press against his bare chest.