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you're all i wanna do

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"Not bad, for a mutt," Brandon tells him, grinning wolfishly and ruffling Andrew's hair.

"Not bad?" echoes Andrew, licking his lips. "First game, first shot, first goal, bitch."

"First fight," adds Brandon, but he doesn't look mad or slightly conflicted about it, the way Tazer had when he'd congratulated him. It's why Andrew likes him better, even though Tazer is cool and all. He doesn't want in Tazer's pants though. He definitely wants in Brandon's.

"Yeah," he says, tilting his head to throw the cut into the light. "You like that?"

Brandon laughs, fake-punching the side of his face, knuckles glancing gently off his jaw. "Don't get too smug, kid, I'll beat you down any day," he says.

Fuck, Andrew likes the sound of that. He looks at Brandon through his lashes and says, "Promise?"

Brandon shakes his head, still laughing, and moves off to his stall. "Get dressed," he says.

Andrew bares his teeth in a grin and shrugs his shirt on over his shoulders. They still lost, which sucks, and he feels breathless, banged-up and bruised, and fucking invincible.

There's a morning flight home to Chicago and a next-day game, which means he can't get as drunk as he wants to, with this weird fizzing mix of a loss and a first NHL goal, nevermind the leftover adrenaline from the fight. Most of the guys clap him on the back but beg off going out, but Brandon is among those who shepherd him into a kind of shitty Philly bar, so Andrew doesn't really mind. He buys the three shots Andrew allows himself to have, watching Andrew tip them back with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, following the line of his throat.

It's easy, because of that, for Andrew to step up close to him, enough to feel the solid warmth of his chest and his damp breath against Andrew's hairline, and whisper, "You're gonna help me celebrate, right? Make it worth my while?"

"I thought that's what I was doing here," says Brandon amusedly. He's nursing a beer, and he bumps the mouth of the bottle against the underside of Andrew's chin.

Andrew looks up at him, brave and reckless, and says, "No."

"No?" Brandon raises an eyebrow.

"No," repeats Andrew. He licks his lips, chasing the taste of alcohol, and says, "Gotta make this worth my while. It's just foreplay, right? You gotta get what you paid for."

"Didn't know I was paying for that," says Brandon.

"You do now," says Andrew. "Still in?"

Brandon looks at him, still slightly amused, considering, and says, "Yeah, mutt. I'm still in."

They're not out long. Even Kaner is ready to bail around midnight, shaking his head and muttering something about Tazer and curfews, which-- Andrew shakes his head commiseratingly and is just glad he's super into someone like Brandon. Mildly psychotic hyper-motivated robots make awesome captains and even buddies, but Andrew imagines it'd be kinda hellish crushing on someone like that. Each to their own though, or whatever.

Maybe Tazer's awesome in bed or something. Plus he does get sort of possessive of Kaner in a way he very obviously thinks is subtle but very obviously isn't. Maybe Kaner's into that.

"You passing out on me, kid?" says Brandon, nudging him.

Andrew blinks, and yeah, okay, he needs to stop thinking about Tazer and Kaner now.

There are much more awesome things for him to be focusing on.

"Fuck no," he says. "Your room or mine?"

"Mine," says Brandon. "It's empty."

"Oh yeah?" says Andrew. "Planning ahead?"

Brandon just lifts one shoulder, herding him into the elevator with a hand on his back.

He steps away from Andrew as soon as the doors slide closed, but he spends the whole ride up staring, eyes fucking burning on Andrew's face, sliding down his neck and his chest and taking in his dick, which is getting hard in his jeans, fuck.

Brandon smirks, eyes flicking back up to Andrew's face.

"Fuck you," Andrew bites out.

Brandon's smirk just widens, and he says, "Not tonight, mutt. Not what you need tonight."

"You know what I need?" says Andrew challengingly, stepping out into the corridor as the doors slide open again.

Brandon doesn't answer, just leads Andrew to his room and gets the door unlocked, and he's barely taken a step inside before Brandon's crowding him into the wall, ghosting his lips over Andrew's mouth. Andrew lets a moan slip out before he thinks to cover it up, hips jerking into Brandon's solid press, and Brandon grins, whispers, "Oh yeah. I know what you need."

"Show me," hisses Andrew fiercely.

Brandon growls and bites into his mouth, no build-up or hesitation, all hot, probing tongue and stinging cuts of his teeth. Andrew moans into it, deliberately this time, grabbing fistfuls of the back of Brandon's shirt and grinding himself into Brandon's thick, muscled thigh.

"Fuck," says Brandon throatily, breaking off to scrape his stubble over Andrew's cheek. "That's it, Shawzy, show me how bad you want it."

Shawzy says, "Fuck you," again, sinking his teeth into Brandon's bottom lip, and, "I fucking want it," tugging a little as he rides Brandon's leg, hard and delicious.

"Still got some fight in you, hey?" says Brandon, pulling back.

Andrew licks his lips, aching at the loss of friction but not gone enough to beg, not yet.

"Strip," says Brandon, eyes dark.

"Only if you do," says Andrew, meeting his gaze.

Brandon grins slowly and goes for the buttons on his shirt, flicking them open deliberately, putting on a show. Andrew feels himself nodding and fumbling at his own, blind and hurried, not taking his eyes off the slow reveal of Brandon's chest, how built he is, how strong.

Brandon steps forward to cup Andrew's hips, when he's naked, smoothing his hands over his sides and around to settle in the dimples above his ass, fingertips dipping over the curve.

"Gonna buy you more drinks next time," he says, licking a stripe along Andrew's jaw. "Get you drunk enough, you can give me a lap dance, huh?" His hands move down to squeeze Andrew's ass properly, pulling him forward so their dicks are bumping, blood-hot and slick.

"Fuck," stutters Andrew. "You thought about that? Got some fantasies?"

"I've thought about a lot of things," says Brandon, sucking a hickey into Andrew's neck.

God, that feels amazing, sharp and perfectly painful. Andrew likes the thought of it, the mark it's going to leave, another remnant of the game and tonight.

"Been holding out on me," he mumbles, stretching his neck, showing Brandon more skin.

"No," says Brandon. "Knew you'd show me how much you wanted it, eventually."

He reaches down to squeeze Andrew's dick.

"Asshole," hisses Andrew, grinning and groaning at the same time, caught between Brandon's hand on his dick and Brandon's mouth on his throat, heat and insistent pleasure-pain everywhere.

"Maybe," says Brandon, letting up so he can start pushing Andrew towards the bed. Andrew lets him because that's where he wants them to end up anyway, sprawling out on his back and spreading his legs wide, stroking his dick slowly while Brandon stands over him, watching.

"What you gonna do?" he says, pushing his thumb under the head and biting down on his lip. "Still think you know what I need?"

Brandon climbs onto the bed, between Andrew's legs, holding him by the knees. "First of all, you need to stop being so mouthy if you wanna get laid, mutt," he says.

"You like me mouthy," says Andrew, letting go of his dick and tilting his hips towards Brandon.

"I do?" says Brandon interestedly. He curls a loose first around Andrew's dick.

"Mmm, fuck," gasps Andrew. "Yeah, you really want me to shut up? I was gonna tell you how I've been thinking about this, how I want to blow you after practice all the time, on my knees in the showers. Bet you'd like that, huh, shutting me up with your dick, you-- "

Brandon makes a wounded noise, like he's been gut-punched, and catches Andrew's mouth in a brutal kiss, punctuating it with the sharp jerks of his dick against Andrew's hip.

Andrew slides his hands down Brandon's sides to catch his dick, curl his fingers around it and jerk a few times. Brandon's got a nice dick, thick and heavy in his palm, and more precome leaks out the tip as Andrew works him, squeezes hard and strokes up the length.

"God," says Brandon, bracing his hands on either side of Andrew's head and sort of looming over him with his eyes closed, fucking into Andrew's fist. "You're such a little shit."

"You love it," breathes Andrew, arching up to lick the corner of Brandon's mouth.

Brandon opens his eyes. "What makes you so sure, huh?" he growls.

Andrew just grins, slow, and presses his thumb deliberately into the slit of Brandon's dick.

"Fuck," says Brandon. He shifts his weight back onto his legs and knocks Andrew's hand away from his dick, which kind of sucks, but then he gets his on Andrew's again, which is awesome.

Brandon keeps one heavy palm on Andrew's hip, holding him in place, and starts jerking him off properly. He goes slow, too fucking slow, Andrew is so hard and he wants to get off fucking yesterday, but he's also-- fuck, he knows what he's doing, knows how to set the pace so there's this slow, shuddering heat spreading out from Andrew's dick all the way to his hands and feet, making his toes curl and his fingers clench desperately in the sheets.

He squirms and bucks, trying to fight the heavy weight of Brandon and not really getting anywhere, biting his lip to stop from asking-- begging-- for more.

"Fuck," he gasps wetly, twisting his neck, "If I wanted to jerk off I could do it myself, asshole."

Brandon smirks. "No you couldn't, not like this," he says, and twists his wrist, smoothing the hand he's got keeping Andrew still over Andrew's hip before he brings it down to roll his balls, scratch his thumb back behind them to catch on his hole.

It makes Andrew twitch and fizzle and groan, arching up into Brandon's hand, trying to fuck his fist. Brandon lets him, finally, grinning and pressing in a little with his thumb, dry and slightly painful, exactly what Andrew needs, and oh, yeah, okay. This is good. He should probably trust Brandon more. Or well, he does, it's not that, it's just-- it's sort of his instinct to fight everything, push it just a little. He doesn't think Brandon minds. He gets that. It's why he's here, partly.

"You like that?" says Brandon, grinning. "You look so good, babe. I'm gonna come all over you in a minute. I know you want that, wanna get all dirty, get my jizz all over your bruises."

Andrew groans, needing-- needing more, Brandon's fist to tighten, his rhythm to speed up, another delicious twist of his wrist, just-- something. Brandon leans forward, still pressing Andrew open a little with his thumb, and scrapes his teeth very, very lightly over the cut above Andrew's eye. Andrew shouts and comes, shooting all over himself and Brandon's hand, shaking with it, with the gut-punching surprise of it. That was-- that was-- fuck.

That was definitely more, to put it lightly. Holy shit.

Brandon strokes him through it, wrenching the last few drops out of him, smearing come over his dick, the soft skin low on his belly. Andrew groans, going boneless, flexing his hands.

"Fuck," he slurs. "Fuck, come on, you gonna get me dirty or what?"

Brandon lets go of his dick to take his own in hand, groaning. "Already so dirty, babe," he says, jerking himself hard and fast. Andrew watches, fascinated, through hooded eyes. It's super hot, the fat head of Brandon's dick pushing slick and purple-pink through his fingers, and he already feels turned-on again in a distant, less urgent kind of way. Like, he could definitely go for getting his mouth on that later. Fuck, yeah. "You want more?" adds Brandon through his teeth.

"Give it to me," says Andrew, tilting his chin up. "Come on, man, I can take it, you know I can-- "

Brandon hisses and comes, spilling sticky-hot and white all up along Andrew's chest, a drop of it even catching on the bottom of his chin. He looks down, and wow, he looks-- he looks filthy, like porn, all streaked-up with Brandon's jizz over the fresh cuts and bruises from the game.

"Fuck," he says, blinking and lifting a hand to swipe the come from his chin. He brings it to his mouth curiously. "Fuck, that's hot."

Brandon makes a pained noise and catches Andrew's wrist, replacing his finger with his own mouth and kissing him sloppily as he falls forward, lets Andrew take his weight for a moment.

He's kind of heavy, and Andrew can't really breathe, but he doesn't say anything, just opens his mouth and lets Brandon kiss him til his lips are sore with it, and then Brandon rolls off anyway, groaning and stretching his arms above his head. "Nice," he says, turning a grin on Andrew.

"Awesome," corrects Andrew, smiling smugly.

Brandon rolls his eyes and nudges him with his ankle. "Congrats," he says. "First NHL goal."

"Mmm," says Andrew. "Fuck yeah. Second goal deserves a blowjob, right?"

Brandon laughs. "Make it happen, mutt," he says. "Then we'll see."

"Done," says Andrew easily, smirking. "Tomorrow, my place."

"Brat," says Brandon, laughing some more. "You're lucky I like 'em like that."

Yeah, thinks Andrew, nudging Brandon back. He kind of is.