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Handjobs and Brattiness

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Jeff’s pretty much always the pissiest after a loss. Steve doesn't even bother to wait for him at the rink, just goes home. His doorbell ringing shortly after is a surprise, as is the way that Jeff barrels inside, face all scrunched up in annoyance and fists a hand in the front of Steve's shirt without even saying hello.

The win’s one thing, but Steve's still not over being fucked around with all game, so he's not fucking up to Jeff's angry bullshit right now. He grabs Jeff's wrist and pushes him off, and Jeff rolls his eyes. "I have a fucking curfew, let's get a move on."

"Hot," Steve says flatly. Jeff rolls his eyes again. "Seriously, calm the fuck down."

Jeff snorts and crowds into Steve's space. "Make me."

Steve huffs a laugh and Jeff goes redder, eyes flashing. He takes another step into Steve's space, and Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. Jeff shakes it off, and reaches up to not so much kiss Steve as bite sharply at his lower lip.

Steve grabs a handful of Jeff's hair and yanks his head back. Jeff snarls at him, which is ridiculous enough that it's hard to be pissed any more. He raises an eyebrow in amusement, and Jeff tugs him in by the shirt again for a kiss only marginally less bruising than his bite.

He kisses back, because it seems inevitable, and Jeff's honestly kind of hot like this, all intense focus and venom. It's easy to lick into his mouth, swallow up his anger, Jeff pressing closer against him.

Jeff's hands slide under Steve's shirt, cold against his skin, and Steve decides that this is probably happening, but it's not happening in the hallway. He pulls away from the kiss to say, "c'mon, in here."

They don't really untangle, but they do make it to the couch. Jeff shoves Steve so his knees hit the edge of the couch and he sits abruptly. Jeff’s straddling Steve’s thighs before he can get comfortable, leaning in to bite at Steve's neck, teeth sharp against his pulse.

He's heavy in Steve's lap, hands on Steve's shoulders pinning him against the back of the couch, but his teeth jolt sparks into Steve's spine. He's more than willing to let Jeff have his way like this until Jeff bites down hard over his collarbones and Steve flinches, yanking Jeff away by the hair again. Jeff's hips jerk up against him, making it even more obvious how hard Jeff is, erection straining to press against Steve's abs even through Jeff's jeans.

Steve kisses him, hand still tangled in Jeff's hair. It's wet and slick, both of them breathing hard. Jeff digs his nails into the back of Steve's neck, and smirks when Steve whines into his mouth.

Steve tugs a little harder on his hair. Jeff leans into it, eyes lidding. His hips are still moving against Steve who's almost all the way hard himself now. He leans back to take a breath, and Jeff's nails are sharp in his flesh again as Jeff mutters, "fuck you."

He raises his eyebrows and Jeff surges forward to kiss him, hard and hot, hair stretched taut in Steve's grasp. Jeff groans, licking into Steve's mouth, insistent and stubborn.

Their kisses are short, biting, but they go on and on, punctuated by the scrape of blunt nails on Steve's shoulders, and the way Jeff shivers when Steve palms his ass. Steve's so fucking hard now, rocking his hips into Jeff, whose breath hitches with every thrust.

It's an awkward angle, but Steve manages to get Jeff's belt open and a hand on his dick. It's a little dry, but Jeff doesn't seem to mind from the way that he gulps, head falling to Steve's shoulder to pant hotly against his neck.

Steve jerks him hard and fast, Jeff's hips rolling with it and driving him against Steve's own erection. It's not quite enough to get him off, but it's fucking close, especially when Jeff nips at Steve's ear, nails scratching over his pulse, a sharp sting of pain-pleasure that goes right to his dick.

Jeff groans against Steve, sucking what will probably be a hickey into the tendons of his throat, and comes. There's no warning, nothing except the spurt of warmth over Steve's hand and Jeff's teeth clamping hard in the crook of Steve's neck.

He swears at the pain, tugs Jeff away by the hair again, though this time it's not so gentle, because that fucking hurt. Jeff blinks at him, looking smug and annoyed all at once. It transmutes to mostly smug when he leans in to kiss Steve again, more gently this time, and Steve thrusts up against him, nearly involuntarily.

Jeff's hand, when he digs it into Steve's sweats, is hard and calloused, though Steve thinks hazily that he'd probably be happy with just about anything at this point. Jeff fucks around for a bit, fondles Steve's balls until he squirms and says, "get on with it," hands tight on Jeff's hips, and Jeff grins and does.

His hand is fucking perfect, and Steve may be mumbling that aloud as he sinks back into the couch, if the way Jeff's smirking is any indication. He can't care too much when everything is firm and quick, and Jeff's other hand seems to be busy everywhere: scraping long lines of fire up his arms, pinching hard at his nipples, digging into the meat of his shoulder until he whines in the back of his throat. His hips jerk up into Jeff's grasp as Jeff nips at his lower lip, and Jeff's hand speeds up.

Steve's eyes shut as he comes with a groan that's muffled by Jeff's mouth. He can feel Jeff sit back a bit, but he doesn't open his eyes until Jeff's hand wipes casually across his shirt, sticky and wet.

"Seriously?" Steve drawls through a throat that feels far too dry.

Jeff looks smug still, though his tone is vaguely regretful when he says, "yeah, so, I actually do have a curfew, unfortunately. I'd better head back."

He is unrepentant when Steve says, "and there's no time to just wash your damn hands?" but it actually takes longer than that to call a cab and wait for it to show up. They hang for a bit on Steve's porch, night fairly warm, at least compared to Toronto, actually chatting now that Jeff's calmer.

Jeff punches him in the shoulder when the cab shows up. "See you in Raleigh."

"Not if you're going to be this pissy," Steve retorts, grinning.

"Nah, we're gonna win next time," Jeff says smugly, and dodges the kick Steve aims at him as he goes down the steps.

There's a faint crusty handprint on the back of his shirt, but Steve's pretty sure that's the least Jeff deserves for being that much of a dick. Probably no one will notice it before he gets back to the hotel anyway.