PK Subban is a pretty chill dude, if he does say so himself. Which he does. He kind of has to be: not only is he a 4x6 in an NHL locker room, he's one of the few professional athletes in North America who openly runs a vlog. (He hears it's different in Russia, but he doesn't speak Russian, so it's hard to tell for sure.)
He's used to his teammates and the media and the announcers saying all kinds of things to and about him, from Doc Emrick shouting about not expecting that kind of rifle shot from a sub to Pierre McGuire not-so-subtly suggesting they might have more in common than a love of hockey. Pleky implied that someone above a 3 has no business in the NHL once, but PK's working on proving him wrong. Usually, they're nice about it, like when Hal mentioned an attractive 2x2 friend of his wife's, or just friendly teasing, but PK's pretty sure he's prepared for anything.
Until today. PK is lying on his bed -- his real bed, not his taping bed -- going over some footage before he sends it to his video editors, when his phone buzzes. It's a text from Carey: can I call u?
PK rolls his eyes -- who does that? -- and texts back sure loser. Texting to ask if he can call, really?
Carey pops up on Skype. "Hi," he says.
"Hi," PK says. "What's up?"
"I wanted to ask you something." Carey looks weirdly nervous. "Is that okay?"
"Sure, bud, ask away," PK says. This is probably going to be awkward, but he really likes Carey. They'll get over it.
"Can I top you?" Carey asks.
PK blinks at the screen. "You mean, like, for the vlog?" he hedges.
"Yes," Carey says immediately. "For the vlog."
"...Okay, sure." PK hasn't co-starred with his teammates much before -- or, okay, ever -- but he's always willing to branch out. "When are you coming back east?"
Carey looks surprised. "I, uh... whenever," he says.
"I'll send you the agreement, and you can look it over before you look for flights," PK suggests. "Do you have an idea for a scene?"
"I'll come up with something," Carey says. "Right now I have to go -- the horses -- bye." And he disappears from PK's screen.
Well. That was... something. PK quickly emails Carey the usual agreement, giving subbycam LLC the rights to his image for the agreed-upon length of time, and so on, and so on. It's not unheard of, or even that unusual, for a pro athlete to sign a temporary contract like this; they say "everybody gets his 15 minutes of porn." What's weird about PK is that he does it all the time -- well, and he's a sub.
But anyway, it's normal enough for Carey to want to do a vid with him. It happens sometimes, that somebody will like his stuff enough to want to be part of it.
He just didn't know Carey watched it, is all.
So he sends off the email, then checks his agenda for the day. People assume that when he says he's going to vlog full time during the lockout, that means he's just going to fuck around. Well, that's not true. He's got a pretty strict schedule for himself -- working out when he's not on camera, specific requests for what to talk about or do to himself when he is, making his free time line up with people who'd like to co-star... He has an assistant during the season to take care some of that, but paying him now seems pointless.
Just as he reads the note marked "Syd: 1 pm," the doorbell rings. Right, he's doing a double show with Sydney Leroux. "The door's open," he calls.
"You watch too many vampire shows!" Sydney shouts back. She comes into his set room, shedding clothes as she goes. "Hey, that'd make a good scene, actually. Are you into biters?"
"Maybe," PK says. He strips down to his boxer briefs -- more comfortable than clothes, as hot as he keeps it -- matching Syd in her bra and underpants. "One of my teammates is going to top me."
"Lucky him," Syd says. She sprawls comfortably in what's become her usual spot on his bed. "Is he any good?"
"I... don't know," PK says slowly. "I know he's a 6x2, obviously, but I don't think I've heard any rumors about him in bed." He adjusts one of the cameras, which doesn't really need adjusting.
"Ooh, there's only one 6x2 on your team," Syd says. "Is the mysterious Carey Price going to rope you like a cow?"
"I hope so," PK says. He flops on the bed next to Sydney, where most of the cameras can pick up both of them. "And he's not mysterious."
"He kind of is," Syd says. "You said it yourself: nobody knows what the guy is like in bed, beyond being 6x2. It's unnatural!"
"You're so dramatic," PK says, waving this off. "Anyway, are you ready?"
"I sure am!" She does a little half-lying-down dance.
"Cameras: on," PK says.
They have a rhythm down, which is pretty nice. One of them will talk about sexy things they want a top to do to them while the other makes sexy faces and sort of writhes around like they're about to jerk off (actually jerking off is the next pay grade up), and then they switch. In a natural way, too, not like the pairs who have to set vibrating timers.
Syd starts teasing him, though, which is not fair. He's just talking about how much he wants his new top -- "You'll find out later who this mystery man is!" Syd breaks in -- to tie him up and really plow him, and she starts giggling while she traces the cups of her bra with one finger.
PK kicks her. "What's so funny? Pretending a certain someone is using a feather on you, or something?"
"She'd use the whole chicken," Syd retorts. "And no, I'm laughing at you." She winks at the nearest camera. "Somebody's got a biiig crush."
"I do not!" It's hard to keep a boner while he's having his honor impugned, but PK is a pro. "I'm just looking forward to it, that's all."
When PK wakes up the next morning, it's to the sound of the doorbell ringing. "...the hell?" he mutters, grabbing a shirt from the back of his desk chair and pulling it on. He's still rubbing the sleep out of one eye when he reaches the door and opens it to find -- Carey Price.
"You're here," PK says stupidly.
"Yeah," Carey says. He shrugs. "I figured the sooner, the better, and there was a flight with room on it, so I just... came back."
"Cool," PK says. He scratches his belly, then realizes they're still standing in the doorway. "Oh! Come on in."
"Thanks," Carey says, and comes inside, closing the door behind him.
"You want coffee?" PK offers.
"Let me make it," Carey says. "You look like you need it more than I do."
"Go for it," PK says, gesturing towards the kitchen.
Carey goes right for the coffee maker, filling it with ground coffee and water in quick, efficient movements. PK is still sleepy enough to let himself think about all the things Carey could do to him like that, which gives his insides a warm glow; he sits at the kitchen island to watch.
The coffee starts to perk, and Carey sits down across from PK. "So," he says. "How do we... do this?"
PK shakes his head to get the cobwebs out. "I usually do at least part of the negotiation on camera," he says, "because people think it's hot. You're new at this, though, so if you want, we can start over coffee and then sort of perform it for the cameras later?"
"Nah," Carey says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's just get it over with."
PK turns on the cameras, which drop down from the ceiling, then looks at Carey expectantly.
"Okay," Carey says. "What... what should we start with?"
"Limits," PK says. "Latex condoms for penetration, no blood, no marks on my face, no watersports, no scat. You?"
"I'm good with those," Carey says. "I don't do humiliation, or historical stuff, either."
"So you won't be a cowboy?" PK asks, disappointed.
"I won't be a Wild West cowboy," Carey says. "Manifest Destiny is kind of a problem for me. I can be a modern cowboy, though, if you're into that." He glances at PK from under his long eyelashes.
"Totally," PK says happily. "How do you feel about rope?"
"I'm a fan," Carey says. "I brought some." He gestures to the bag at his feet.
PK gets hot all over. He hadn't even noticed it, let alone known it was a toy bag. "Awesome," he says. "Um. How do you feel about mixing sex and play?"
"Only as far as you want," Carey says. "I can go either way."
"But which do you prefer?" PK presses.
Carey is getting red. "I'd like to fuck you."
"Cool," PK says. "That's what I was hoping you'd say! Any health conditions to disclose?"
"Nope," Carey says. "You?"
"Me neither," PK says.
"Oh, the coffee's done!" Carey jumps up before PK can and pours two large mugs full. "Anything in yours?"
"I shouldn't," PK says.
Carey rolls his eyes and adds two sugars to PK's coffee. "Just this once," he says, and puts the mug down in front of him.
"Thanks," PK says, and smiles. He takes a long drink of his coffee, then, once Carey is sitting down again, leans on his elbows and says, "So, Carey, what's your fantasy?"
Carey leans in too. "Well," he says, "I've known you for a while, PK, and if ever there was a sub who needed to be shown who's boss, it's you."
"And you're just the top to do it, huh?" PK grins at him. Carey's a natural.
"Damn right," Carey says. "I want to tie you up and fuck you so hard you forget your name."
"I like that idea," PK says. "Wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and some assless chaps?"
"All chaps are assless," Carey says. "That's the point."
"You're the cowboy, not me," PK says. "Anyway, we have bondage and sex -- are you interested in impact play?"
"Not today," Carey says. "Let's keep it simple."
"Sounds good," PK says. He deliberately avoids drawing attention to Carey implying there might be a next time; for one thing, most people only do this once, and for another thing, he has watchers to tear apart every word they say, so he doesn't have to waste his energy. "So, what are you hoping to get out of the scene?"
Carey just blinks at him. "How do you mean?"
"Like, I really enjoy struggling against bondage so I feel secure," PK elaborates, "and I like tops exercising power over me. That kind of thing."
"Okay," Carey says. "Well, I like tying people down and showing off how strong I am."
"You're not just saying that because it's what I want to hear, are you?" PK asks.
Carey frowns. "Do people do that to you?"
"You'd be surprised," PK says, "even though the whole point is to make sure we fit well."
"So you think we do fit well?" Carey taps one finger on the rim of his cup.
"Of course we do!" PK gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder. "Oh! What do you want me to call you?"
"My name works,' Carey says, "or 'sir.' What can I call you?"
PK considers this. "Pretty much anything," he says. "Name-calling can be pretty hot, as long as, you know, you say it like you like it."
"Okay," Carey says. "I can work with that."
"Good," PK says. He drains his coffee to hide the goofy smile on his face. "Oh, and I use the red-yellow-green safeword system, you know how that goes. Is there anything else you want to ask before we get started?"
"I don't think so," Carey says. His eyes look even darker than usual. "You?"
"I'm good," PK says, then, "Cameras: off." They retract back up to the ceiling.
"Now what?" Carey asks.
"Now, we get ready to play," PK says. "Would you rather use the bed set or the gym set? There's more room in the gym."
"That sounds good, then." Carey picks up his bag. "I'm ready, I guess."
"You can still back out," PK says, "if you're --"
"No," Carey says. "I want to."
"Cool." PK leads the way to his gym. The equipment is all off to one side, and in the middle, there's a padded platform and a pile of mats. Right by the platform is a bench, where Carey sets down his bag and starts pulling things out: a few coils of rope, a battered cowboy hat, a pair of chaps, lube, a strip of condoms.
PK feels arousal zinging through him, like electricity. This is going to be awesome.
Carey shucks off his jeans and underwear and puts on the chaps, then settles the hat on his head. "Take off your shirt," he says.''
"Cameras: on," PK says, and pulls the shirt off. "Boxers too?"
"I'll get those later," Carey says. His dimples are showing.
PK grins. "I like that idea," he says. "But you'll have to catch me first."
Carey tucks the rope into his belt and raises his eyebrows at PK. "You ready?"
"I was born ready," PK says. Carey lunges at him, and PK jumps out of the way. They circle the platform, and then Carey cuts a corner and tackles him. "Hey!"
"Gotcha," Carey says. He's on top of PK, straddling him, and PK can feel Carey's bulge against his ass through the thin layer of his boxers.
"Never," PK says, and struggles, but Carey pulls his hands around to his back and catches them together in a pair of Texas handcuffs.
"How do you feel now?" Carey asks into his ear. "You like knowing you can't get away?"
"Yeah," PK gasps out. Carey leaning forward is pressing the air out of his chest, but it feels good. He stretches his arms apart as far as they'll go -- just an inch or two -- and flexes his wrists.
"Good," Carey says. "I'm going to tie your legs, too, and I bet you'll like that even more." He strokes the curve of PK's ass, firmly, like he knows what he's doing. "But first I'm going to get rid of these." And he pulls PK's boxers off unceremoniously and throws them over towards the door.
PK must make a little noise at that, because Carey laughs and smacks his ass. "Surprised?" he asks, nudging PK's legs apart.
"No," PK says honestly. If he'd imagined Carey fucking him -- and he's not saying he has -- it would have been a lot like this.
Carey laughs again and lashes PK's left ankle to one of the rings bolted to the underside of the platform. "Good," he says again, and ties down the other one. "Now, how long will it take before you're ready for my dick?"
"Not long," PK says, and he arches back into Carey's hand. "I was -- last night --"
"What'd you do last night?" Carey starts with two fingers, a delicious stretch PK groans into.
"Fingered myself," PK says. "For a while."
"Were you thinking about me?" His fingers twist inside PK.
"Maybe," PK says. He pushes back, trying to get more, and Carey gives him a sharp smack on the top of his thigh.
"Just 'maybe'?" Carey snorts. "I'm sure you were. You were thinking about how I'm going to fuck you, and how much you're going to love it. Tell me I'm wrong." His fingers graze PK's prostate this time.
"Oh, God," PK says. "You're -- not wrong."
"How bad do you want it?" Carey asks. "Tell me."
"So bad," PK says. "I want your dick in me so bad, Pricey, fuck."
Carey's fingers slide out of him. "Say it again," he says.
"I want your dick in me," PK says. "I couldn't stop thinking about it after you asked. I want it so bad."
"That's right," Carey says, and then he's pressed up against PK's back, the length of his lubed-up dick sliding in the crack of his ass, his balls against the lower curve. PK strains to get closer, but Carey's rope has him stuck. Carey lines up so the head of his dick is just barely pressing into PK's hole. "Ask nicely."
"Please," PK says. "Please fuck me, please --" And Carey slams into him just this side of too hard, pushing his hips against the edge of the platform.
"You like that?" Carey growls, right in his ear.
"Yes," PK says, and drops his head to expose his neck. "I love it, please, don't stop --"
He doesn't stop. He bites PK's neck and tugs, a bright spark of pleasure, and he digs his fingers into PK's hips, and he fucking pounds him. PK knows he's moaning ridiculously, but he can't make himself stop, and Carey doesn't seem to mind. He keeps muttering things like "Yeah, that's it," and "Come on, take it," and God, taking it is all PK wants to do.
Even Carey can't last forever, though, and when he comes, he sinks his teeth into PK's shoulder. The pain and the sense of being claimed go straight to PK's dick, and he comes too, all over himself.
"Jesus," Carey says, pulling out. "That was -- do you -- I mean --"
"I usually turn off the feed for aftercare," PK says, taking pity on him. "Then I thought we could have ice cream on the couch and talk about how it went?"
"I like that idea," Carey says.
"Cameras: off," PK says. The red lights blink off, and Carey's shoulders visibly relax. PK gestures for Carey to follow him and heads for the kitchen.
It's not until they're sprawled on the couch with a pint of fudge ripple and two spoons that Carey opens his mouth again, and then it's to say, "Is this on your approved diet?"
"Shut up," PK says. "I think we burned off a couple of calories, don't you?"
"Well," Carey says, and smugly takes another spoonful.
PK grins. There's nothing like a satisfied top, except maybe, like, a lion at the zoo. "So that was pretty okay, right?"
Carey licks chocolate off his lips, which makes PK suddenly regret turning off the cameras. That shot would play really well. "Pretty okay," he says. "Yeah, I'd say you were pretty okay."
"I'd say you were pretty okay," PK says.
"I'd say your mom was -- okay, I'm not going there," Carey says. "It was -- you know. Good."
"I thought it was pretty great," PK says. "I'm a fan of the biting, especially."
"I'm glad," Carey says. "Do you, um..."
PK waits while Carey eats more ice cream and tries to get words past his emotional constipation or whatever. He takes another spoonful from the fudgiest part of the carton.
Finally, Carey says, "Do you ever have the same top on your vlog twice?"
"Sure, a couple of times," PK says, exaggerating. He licks the spoon.
"Would you..." Carey clears his throat. "I didn't, you know, hate being on camera. So if you had an opening in your schedule, I might be available."
"Cool," PK says. "I'll put you on the list."
"There's a list?" Carey asks.
"Well, now there is," PK says. "It's a list of one."
"Oh." Carey looks away. "Okay."
"Oh my god," PK says, his voice loud in the empty room. He says it again: "Oh my god."
He had a feeling the scene with Carey was going to play pretty well. Like, he can tell when something is good. But this email doesn't say it played well. It says it played fucking fantastically. His hits are through the roof, merch sales are up, they're the third result for "cowboy" on Google... This is unbelievable.
PK clicks to the next email in his inbox, which is from the people who handle his merch. They want to put something out that's themed around him and Carey, maybe with a posterized still from early in the scene? The next is a digest of a bunch of fanmail with a note from one of his producers: "If there is anything you can do to get Mr. Price back, do it."
He blinks at the screen. That's... something, all right. He texts Carey: ur famous! when can we do it again?
The answer comes back right away: whenever u want. im not busy
hows this afternoon? like 2?
see u then
PK shakes his head, bewildered. He's never expected this kind of landslide popularity. That's for other people's vlogs, not for him. But apparently it's happening, so he's going to run with it. He sends back a flurry of emails, agreeing to everything he can and forwarding stuff to Carey when he can't, then goes to work out for a while.
When Carey shows up a couple of hours later, PK's showered and dressed and has a list of possible scenarios worked out. "How do you feel about being the pizza guy?" he suggests.
Carey looks at the list, eyebrows raised. "I could do that," he says. "Like, punish you for not having the cash to pay me?"
"Totally," PK says. "Also, what did you think about the T-shirt idea?"
"It sounds okay," Carey says. "Do you sell a lot of merch?"
"Enough," PK says. "I guess they're beating the door down for stuff of the two of us, though."
"Really?" Carey looks pleased.
"Really," PK says. He bumps fists with Carey. "We make a good team!"
"Yeah, we do."
PK grins. He likes it when Carey agrees with him. "So, how about the bed set this time?"
"It's not your actual bed, is it?" Carey asks.
"Nah," PK says, leading Carey to the fake room. "That one's too messy. This one, I even make the bed!"
Carey snorts. "Good work," he says.
The bedroom set is pretty spare -- just a bed, obviously, a desk that's just the right height for PK to bend over, a chair, a nightstand to keep lube and toys and stuff in, and a closet for anything extra. He watches Carey look it over.
"So I'm just going to bring the pizza right into your bedroom?" Carey asks.
"It could be, like, a dorm room," PK says.
Carey nods. "That makes sense."
PK laughs. "It's porn, Pricey," he says. "It doesn't have to make that much sense."
"It has to make some sense," Carey says, scowling at him. "Otherwise I'll just keep thinking about the parts that don't, and I won't be able to get in the mood."
"Carey Price: secret method actor," PK says, and cracks up.
"Laugh it up, PK," Carey says. "See if I give you a reacharound."
"Oh, you will," PK says confidently. "You like me."
"I tolerate you," Carey says, but his dimples are showing. "Do you have a pizza box lying around?"
"We could order pizza," PK says hopefully.
Carey lets out a long-suffering sigh. "It better have green peppers on it," he says.
"Your wish is my command!"
They get through their negotiations while they wait for the pizza, so by the time it gets there, they're ready to go. PK starts the scene in track pants and an old Belleville Bulls T-shirt, pretending to do homework.
Carey knocks on the door. "Delivery," he calls.
PK jumps up from his desk and opens the door. "Hi," he says.
"That'll be $15," Carey says woodenly.
"I don't have $15," PK says, "but maybe we could... work it out somehow?" He flutters his eyelashes. Carey blinks down at him, and PK realizes he's probably forgotten his lines. "How does that sound?" he prompts.
But Carey doesn't answer. He puts the pizza box down on the desk and lunges at PK, kissing him and shoving him down onto the bed.
Part of PK wants to say something smart-assed, something to pay lip service to the scene, but the rest of him is too busy kissing Carey back. It's like nothing exists but Carey's mouth on his, Carey's hands tugging at his shirt, Carey's weight pressing him into the bed.
Carey pulls back suddenly, and PK strains up towards him without even thinking about it. "Get undressed," Carey says.
"Yes, sir," PK says. He pulls off his T-shirt and throws it out of the way, then wriggles out of his track pants and underwear without getting off the bed. It shows off his junk, and it means he doesn't have to move away from Carey.
"Good," Carey says. He's looking PK over like he's never seen him before, and PK holds his breath. "Good," he says again, and leans down to kiss him.
PK winds his arms around Carey's neck, dragging him closer. "Let me suck you off," he says. "I want your dick in my mouth, please, let me." It comes out sort of mumbly, because he's talking half into Carey's mouth, but it seems to get his point across, because he can feel Carey's dick getting harder against his thigh.
"Mmm," Carey says, nipping at PK's lower lip. "If you want it that bad." He pushes himself back up and undoes his fly, freeing his dick. "Come here."
PK sits up, then crawls down the bed to Carey on all fours. When he gets there, he just nuzzles it at first, part teasing, part getting used to the smell and feel of it before he gets overwhelmed. Carey's dick slides against his mouth, hot and smooth and heavy, the foreskin starting to pull back, gleaming with precome.
"Having fun?" Carey asks. He strokes PK's head with one hand.
"Yes, sir," PK says, and laughs. He kisses the shaft of Carey's dick, open-mouthed, and Carey sighs.
"Any time you feel like --" he starts to say, but he cuts himself off when PK quits fucking around and takes his dick into his mouth. Then he says, "Oh," and PK would grin if his mouth weren't already stretched.
PK's good at this, he knows, but it's still nice to get compliments, like Carey stroking his head, and moaning, and bucking his hips in these tiny little movements like he can't help himself. PK likes how those muscles feel under his hands, strong and lean from all Carey's goalie conditioning, almost as much as he likes Carey's dick in his mouth.
"Off, off," Carey says, too soon. "I want to fuck you."
So PK pulls off, looking up at Carey's face as he does. Carey looks all sort of soft, and for a moment, PK is too full of pride to move, thinking that he's the one who did that. Then he starts to turn and present his ass to Carey.
He stops him. "On your back," he says, resting one hand on PK's shoulder. "I want to see your face."
"Yes, sir," PK says. He lies back instead, then takes one of the pillows piled around him and shoves it under his hips, exposing his ass even more.
Carey seems to enjoy that view of him, too. He traces one fingertip under PK's balls and around his hole.
PK squirms under the scrutiny. "Stuff's in the --"
"I know," Carey says. He gets off the bed and takes his pants off, then his shirt, as PK watches greedily. Then he opens the nightstand drawer and looks through it. PK fists his dick and wonders what Carey thinks about the collection of toys and lube and condoms he keeps there. Will it give him ideas? Does he have favorites?
Finally, Carey picks a condom and rolls it on, then a bottle of lube, and kneels back on the bed between PK's legs. "I want you to make noise," he says. "Okay?"
"Okay," PK says. It doesn't take long -- a moment later, Carey's slick finger is inside of him, and he groans. That makes Carey smile, so he does it again, pushing back to fuck himself on Carey's hand.
"It's that good?" Carey asks as he stretches PK open.
"What, you never ordered a sub to fuck you? -- Oh, God, do that again." PK's eyes drift closed so there's nothing but Carey's hands, Carey's voice.
"God, you look good like this," Carey says.
PK arches up, wanting more, more, more. "Come on," he says. "I'm ready."
"You're so pushy," Carey says. "Maybe I'll just let you wait."
PK's eyes pop open. "No!" he says. "I'll be good. Sir."
Carey laughs. "Damn right, you will," he says, and thrusts in.
"Oh --" PK gasps. It feels so good, like he's finally full.
"Is that what you wanted?" Carey asks.
"Yes," PK says. "Sir. It's exactly -- oh --"
"Say 'thank you.'" Carey stops moving.
"Don't stop -- thank you --" PK manages to say.
"That's good," Carey says. "Can you get your leg over my shoulder?"
"Sure," PK says. Carey helps him, and he feels the burn in the back of his thigh. "I could do both."
"You'll be sore tomorrow," Carey warns him, but he eases PK's right leg over his shoulder too.
"Good," PK says. "I want it."
That makes Carey's face do something interesting. PK wonders what it means for a moment, but then Carey is driving into him, and all he can do is dig in his heels and go along for the ride.
"Touch yourself," Carey says after a bit, his hand wrapped possessively around one of PK's thighs.
"What?" PK asks. His head is foggy with how good Carey fucking him feels.
"Your dick, PK," Carey says. "Touch yourself."
"Yes, sir," he says, and does. Once he gets going, Carey starts up again, and their rhythms feels so good together that PK's occasional moans start to run together.
"That's right," Carey says. "Are you ready to come for me yet?"
PK nods, and Carey leans forward, bending him double, to kiss him. Carey snaps his hips again, fast, one-two-three, and PK feels like he's coming apart at the seams. He winds his fingers into the hair at Carey's nape and comes.
Carey keeps going, keeps kissing him, until his orgasm hits him and he collapses, breathing hard, on top of PK.
"That was good," PK says.
"Mmgh," Carey says into his neck.
"My feelings exactly," PK agrees. "Cameras: off."
After a nap and some lukewarm pizza, PK changes the sheets while Carey showers. He comes back in, dressed and with his wet hair standing on end, just as PK is taking out the laundry. "So, that went well," he says.
"It did," PK says. "Think it's going to play as well as the cowboy scene did?"
Carey looks startled. "Maybe," he says. "I don't know much about those things."
"You'll learn," PK says cheerfully. "So, any ideas for our next scene? Say, Thursday?"
"Uh." Carey's blushing. PK stares at him, fascinated. What's he going to say? It must be pretty kinky, to have him that color.
Finally, he says, "I can't read your mind, buddy. The worst I can say is no, eh?"
"What you said before -- about ordering a sub to fuck me," Carey says. "I thought that might, uh. I, uh."
"We could do that!" PK says enthusiastically.
"Really?" Carey looks shocked. "But you're 4x6, and I'm 6x2. Isn't that... weird?"
"And you have an ass, and I have a dick," PK points out. "I've stuck my dick in tons of tops, and they were still tops and I was still a sub."
"Tons," Carey says.
"Haven't you watched my vlog?" PK says. "There's video of almost all of them!"
"Right," Carey says. "So, we could incorporate that?"
"Fine by me," PK says. It's more than fine, actually. He's really looking forward to it.
"I have to go work out," Carey says then. "I'll see you Thursday?"
"Sure thing, buddy." PK sees him out, then puts the laundry he's still carrying into the washer. Maybe having a couple of days to get used to the idea will be good for Carey.
Once the washer starts, PK checks his non-vlog email to see how the lockout is going. He's stayed in condition, of course, practicing with the Steelheads when he can, but besides that, he's mostly been keeping hockey in the back of his mind. The Habs haven't contacted him about re-signing yet, so he's not really part of things, in a strange way. He has an email from Darche, though, updating him on the NHLPA's progress, and a couple of cute pictures of the family from Hal, so he doesn't feel totally disconnected.
And there's Carey, of course. Now that they have this new context, it's kind of hard to think of Carey back in their old hockey-buddies boxes -- it's like there are two Careys, and only PK gets to know both of them. Maybe it'll be strange when the lockout ends, but PK won't count on that being any time soon.
No, he's just going to keep living his life and enjoying it. What else can he do?
The pizza delivery scene plays almost as well as the cowboy scene, it turns out, and with a side benefit PK didn't expect: Double Pizza, the pizza place they ordered from, wants a partnership! Carey says he doesn't mind, so PK's neighborhood ends up plastered in signs: "subbycam ♥ NOTRE PIZZA!" "MANGE CE QUE SUBBAN ET PRICE MANGENT!" His favorite has a tasteful still from the blowjob, with Carey's head thrown back, pinching one nipple, and just DOUBLE PIZZA over the top. Apparently, their sales are through the roof.
He's eating a complimentary slice when Carey shows up for their next scene, already dressed in one of his game day suits. "Fancy," PK says.
"If I'm going to pretend I'm a teacher, I'm going to dress the part," Carey says. "Should you be eating that?"
"I can't let it go to waste," PK says, and shoves the last bite into his mouth. "Besides, it's whole wheat crust!"
"Oh, well then," Carey says, rolling his eyes. "Did you move the desk into the gym?"
"I thought you might want to help me with that," PK says cheerfully. "I did put up the chalkboard, though."
They haul the desk into the gym and set it up so Carey can sit behind it and watch PK write on the chalkboard. PK changes into a polo shirt and khakis, and when he comes back in, Carey is wearing reading glasses and scowling at a stack of papers.
"Cameras: on," he says, then, "Professor Price, I'm here for detention."
Carey looks at him over his glasses. "You can start by writing 'I will not sass the teacher' 25 times on the board, in your best handwriting."
PK stands on his toes to write it the first time, and the second. The third time, he focuses more on sticking his ass out for Carey -- Professor Price -- to look at. Carey doesn't say anything, though, so on the fourth line, PK writes 'I will totally sass the teacher,' and on the fifth, 'I bet he won't even notice!'
"I notice everything, PK," Carey says. PK turns and looks at him over his shoulder. "Don't give me that innocent face. This is obviously too soft a punishment for you."
"Yes, sir," PK says, trying not to smile, as Carey gets up from the desk and picks up a ruler.
"Pull down your pants and bend over the desk," Carey orders. "You're going to learn a lesson today, no matter what it takes." He smacks the ruler into his hand a few times.
"Yes, sir," PK says, doing as he says. He stretches his arms out to grip the underside of the desk and wiggles his bare ass in the cool air.
"I want you to count the strokes, and after each one, I want you to thank me and ask me for another one," Carey continues.
"Yes, Professor Price," PK says. The ruler whistles down and smacks him, hard enough to make him cry out. "One! Thank you, sir, may I have another?"
"Yes, you may," Carey says, and smacks him again.
It only takes a few strokes for PK's ass to feel all warm and tingly; it must look that way, too, because Carey rests his hand on it, rubbing gently. That feels so good that PK makes a happy humming sound and pushes into it.
"Four more," Carey says. "And if you're good, maybe you'll get a reward."
"I'll be good, sir," PK promises. Carey laughs behind him, and down comes the ruler. "Seven! Thank you, sir, may I have another?"
By ten, PK's pretty sure his ass could double as a stoplight, but he's also sure he could take more, if Carey wanted. "Ten! Thank you, sir, may I..." He trails off.
Carey pats his ass -- not hard, but still lighting up the nerves like a slap. "You did very well, PK. I think you've earned some... extra credit."
PK glances over his shoulder. Carey is taking off his jacket. He hangs it over the back of the chair, then unbuttons his shirt and takes off his pants. "Extra credit?" PK says.
"You get to fuck me," Carey says. He sits on the desk next to PK, legs spread wide, with his dick jutting up towards his stomach.
PK gets up on his elbows and looks at Carey's face. There's a little nervousness in the set of it, but there's desire, too. PK suddenly wants to do everything for him. "I'd be honored, sir," he says.
Carey smiles at him, and PK smiles back. He's got lube and condoms in his pocket, but he wants to start slower than that. He kneels down between Carey's legs and kisses the inside of his thigh, where the skin is pale and smooth. Carey makes a little half-swallowed noise. PK does it again, nudges Carey's thighs a little wider apart, and kisses him higher up. He can feel Carey making an effort to relax.
"May I suck you off, sir?" PK asks.
Carey swallows. "Yes, you may," he says.
So PK multitasks: he sucks Carey's dick while he fingers him open, careful not to go too quickly or too roughly. He wants Carey to enjoy this -- no, fuck that, he wants Carey to love this.
That, and he wants to take his time for himself, too. Carey is beautiful like this, with his eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks and his mouth half open, rubbing his nipples with one hand, his dick flushed and wet, his ass opening up. God, PK feels lucky to see him like this.
"I'm ready," PK says. He pets the side of PK's face. "I want you to fuck me now, PK."
"Yes, sir," PK says. He gets up from his knees. "How do you want it, sir? On your hands and knees, on your back, riding me?"
"On my back," Carey says. He sweeps the papers off the desk and slides up onto it, knees up. There's just enough room for PK to kneel between his legs; he gloves up and gets on the table. "I want to make you happy, sir," he says, and nudges the head of his dick against Carey's hole.
Carey squeezes his eyes shut, then gets up on one elbow so he can reach forward and wrap the other hand around PK's dick. "Come on," he says, and guides PK into him.
Now it's PK's turn to close his eyes tightly. It feels so good to be buried in Carey that he's afraid he'll come before he gets the chance to make it good for him. After a moment, he says, "Right away, sir," and thrusts in the rest of the way.
"Oh -- wow," Carey says. "Do that again."
PK pulls most of the way out and thrusts in again. Carey is starting to get that soft look again. His dick is being ignored, since Carey is gripping the edge of the desk with both hands now, so PK shifts and takes it in his hand.
This time, Carey just moans, which he's sure is a good sign. He gets into a rhythm, jerking Carey and fucking him, and Carey's moans get louder and louder. Finally, he spills over PK's hand.
"Are you done, sir?" PK asks.
"Keep going," Carey says. He's thrown one arm over his face; PK gently moves it, then goes back to fucking him. He doesn't last very long after that. When he's done coming, Carey says, "That was a very good job, PK. Ten points of extra credit."
"I think I deserve fifteen," PK says, and Carey laughs. It makes him look even more debauched and attractive, and PK has to look away. "Cameras: off," he says. Now nobody else will see Carey like that either. He isn't sure where this sudden streak of jealousy came from, but the scene was over anyway.
"How was that for you?" Carey asks.
"Good," PK says. He tosses the condom and drops into the desk chair without thinking, then winces. Bad idea. "How was it for you?"
"Good," Carey says. "Really good." He smiles at PK. "Thanks for -- you know. the suggestion, and then the scene."
"You're welcome," PK says. "Just call me the anal ambassador." He pauses. "Wait. Actually, don't call me that. Bad idea."
Carey laughs. "I'm definitely calling you that," he says. "PK Subban, anal ambassador."
He rolls onto his side on the desk, leaning on one elbow. PK's fingers itch to draw him, but that would probably be weird. "Want some food?" he asks instead. "I have steak in the fridge."
"Sure, if you don't mind," Carey says. He gets up and puts his pants back on, leaving his shirt unbuttoned. "Can I help?"
"You can make a salad," PK says.
They turn out to work well together in the kitchen, too. Carey doesn't get in the way or try to take over, which is awesome, and in no time, they're sitting down to a delicious steak lunch.
"This is great," Carey says.
"Thanks," PK says. "My mom does the seasoning."
"I hear they're getting closer to an agreement on the CBA." Carey takes another bite of steak.
"Yeah, Darche is saying we might be back to playing in a couple of weeks."
"Wow." PK pushes his plate away. All of a sudden, his stomach feels weird.
Carey looks at him. "You haven't heard from the front office yet, have you," he says.
"How'd you guess?" PK gets up and puts what's left of his steak into a sandwich bag. He'll probably eat it later.
"They'll sign you," Carey says. "They have to."
Only it doesn't go so well when he does finally hear from Habs management. They don't want to give him a long contract -- not even as long as Prusty.
"We're concerned about your website," Therrien says. "We think it might not send the right message."
"But -- Lundqvist," PK says. "And Ovechkin, and Landeskog. They all run vlogs too, and they're way more popular than mine, even."
"There are important differences." Therrien steeples his fingers. "Several of them."
The rest of the meeting is a blur. PK lets his agent do the talking. What are the "important differences"? He's pretty sure he doesn't like any of the potential answers. The three players he listed all play for American teams, they're all European, and they're all tops.
Nobody will say it straight out, but PK's not an idiot. Besides the vlog itself, he gathers that for one thing, they don't like that he's a sub, and for another, they think he's a bad influence on Carey. Well, there's only one of those he can change, so he calls Carey up.
"I'm going to have to postpone our scene this week," PK says. "I'm really sorry."
"Why, are you sick?" Carey demands.
"No, I'm fine," PK says. "Something came up."
"And you can't reschedule?" Carey sounds skeptical. "Don't they understand that this is a job?"
"Apparently not," PK says, and sighs.
"Wait a minute," Carey says. "Is this about your contract with the Habs?"
"...Maybe," PK says. He winces. That's not what he meant to say at all.
"They don't want you doing the vlog?" Carey presses. "Or they don't want you doing scenes with me?"
"Both," PK says. "Well, they'll let me just cut down on the vlog, but they think I'm a bad influence on you."
Carey doesn't say anything for a little while. When he does, it's just, "I see."
"It'll be fine," PK says. "I just thought, if we postponed until this blows over..."
"Good plan," Carey says. "Listen, I gotta go."
"Okay," PK says. "Later!"
"Later." And Carey hangs up.
PK's season starts -- finally -- and he thinks things are going to go back to normal. He chops his video schedule down so he only films when there are two days off in a row, and management is cool with that. He has some tops lined up for cool scenes, and it's going to be great, even if Carey does keep being too busy to film.
Things seem to get weird after his plumber scene with Stamkos, though. "Want to go punch some bags?" PK asks Carey, the day after it airs.
"Nah," Carey says. He looks away from PK. "Busy."
"Oh," PK says. Carey's hands are clenched into fists, but he doesn't want to punch things together? "Okay."
He goes alone instead, but he ends up just throwing a few half-hearted punches before he gives up and does some time on the bike instead. When there's someone else punching with him, it's a lot more fun.
Prust shows up at the gym when PK's done about ten minutes on the bike. "Hey, PK," he says, climbing on the bike next to him.
"Hey, Prusty," he says, and watches him covertly in the mirror. He's tall and broad-shouldered, and a 3x2, and PK likes his smile. It gives him an idea. "Hey," he says again. "Ever do any vlog work?"
"Nah," Prust says, "but I'm open to it. How come? You offering?"
"Yeah, I am," PK says, and grins.
Their next pair of days off starts February 4th, and PK is a little nervous, waiting for Prust to get there. He's not sure why. Prusty is a fun guy -- they're going to have a great time.
The doorbell rings, and PK answers it. "Hey," Prust says with a dorky little wave.
"Hey," PK says. "Come on in!"
They decide on the gym set for negotiations. Prust's eyes keep flicking away from PK, onto the cameras.
"Don't worry about those," PK says. "Just talk to me like they're not there. What do you want to do today?"
"I brought a couple of floggers," Prust says. "Uh, you don't have a St. Andrew's cross, but I guess we can improvise."
"Cool," PK says. "The weight machine is good for that."
Prust glances over at it and nods, looks at the cameras again, and turns back to PK. "Good plan. So, I could cuff you to that and flog you for a while, and then... I don't know. Do you like blow jobs?"
"Sure, I can blow you," PK says.
Prust laughs. "I wouldn't mind, but I actually meant I'd blow you."
"That's good too!" PK says quickly, and they both laugh. "So, mutual blowjobs are on the table. Anything else?"
"That sounds good to me," Prust says. "Simple tastes, simple guy, eh?"
"Nothing wrong with that," PK says. "I like to use the red-yellow-green safeword system, and I have cuffs and rope and stuff if you didn't bring any."
"I have some, but yours might fit you better." Prust rummages in his bag and pulls out some simple black leather cuffs. "Try these on?"
PK takes one and wraps it around his wrist. "It fits," he says, showing Prust.
"Awesome," Prust says. "How does it feel?"
"Good," PK says. He bends and flexes. "Yeah, good."
"So... ready when you are, I guess?" Prust stretches his arms behind his back, making his pecs stand out under his T-shirt.
"Let's go!" PK stands up. "How naked do you want me?"
"Screw clothes," Prust says. "Full Monty." He pulls off his shirt over his head, and PK does the same, until he's in nothing but one leather cuff.
Prust looks him over appreciatively, then takes him by the cuffed wrist and leads him over to the weight machine. "I'm going to cuff you here," he says, "and then I'm going to beat the shit out of you." He fastens PK's wrists so he's spread out. "And you're going to take it, right, PK?"
"Right," PK says. He's already starting to get hard, his dick sliding against the black metal.
"You're going to take it for me, and it's going to be so good," Prust goes on. He walks away, and when he comes back, PK feels the soft tails of a flogger trailing over his shoulders.
"Please," PK says, and Prust hits him. He starts off light, the flogger just barely grazing the skin of PK's back and ass, then builds up, harder and harder, until PK's whole back is tingling with sensation, and Prust is grunting a little with effort.
"You -- like that?" Prust asks, mid-whack.
"Love it," PK gasps out.
"Awesome." Prust keeps going for a few more heavy strokes, then gradually lightens back up, easing PK back down. He puts the flogger down, then suddenly scrapes his nails down the length of PK's back.
It feels so good that PK says, "Ah!" and leans into it, hoping Prust will get the hint and do it more.
Prust laughs. "Like that?" He scratches PK again, then smacks him lightly on the ass. "I'm going to flip you around and suck your dick now," he announces.
"Okay," PK says dazedly. He's all floaty from the flogging, so he lets Prust unclip his wrists, turn his back to the machine, and re-clip him.
The first touch of Prust's mouth on his dick feels so good it almost hurts, and PK groans. His hips buck forward, and Prust lays one big hand on PK's lower abs.
"No choking," he says firmly, then goes back to sucking, one hand wrapped around the base of PK's dick.
"Sorry," PK says. He tries to hold still and enjoy it. Pretty soon, he feels the cliff edge coming closer and says, "Hey, Prusty --"
Prust pulls off, and PK comes in his hand, straining at the cuffs. "Now let me do you," PK says.
"Sure thing, buddy." Prust gets up and uncuffs PK, and PK gets down on his knees.
The weird thing is, he keeps comparing Prust to Carey. It's not distracting enough to keep him from doing a good job, obviously, but little things keep occurring to him, like how they smell different, and that Prust is cut, and the way Prust is keeping his hands to himself.
PK rubs Prust's balls gently between his fingers, which makes Prust let out a long "mmmm" sound and say, "Oh, god, PK." He takes him deeper and tries not to notice how Prust's pubes are lighter and thicker than Carey's. Everybody's different. Why is it suddenly such a big deal to him?
"PK," Prust says. "PK, I'm gonna come." PK keeps going, and swallows, milking the last drops out with his tongue.
"Thanks, buddy," PK says once he's done. "This was fun."
"Thank you," Prust says. "I had fun too. How do you feel about aftercare?"
"I'm good," PK says. "You?"
"I'm good too. I could go for a burger, though. Want to come with?" Prust offers.
"Nah, I think I just need a nap." PK shuts off the cameras. "Good working with you, though."
Prust leaves with a wave. PK closes the door, then leans against it. That was a perfectly good buddy-fuck. Textbook, even. So why does he feel like there's something missing?
Probably he's just hungry. He heads for the kitchen and makes himself a turkey sandwich, heavy on the turkey, light on the bread. Halfway through, he drops the sandwich on the table.
"Oh my god," he says to the empty room. "The problem is, he's not Carey." That's the problem: it's not that Prust was less than a buddy-fuck, it's that Carey was more than one.
PK picks his sandwich up again and takes a thoughtful bite. That certainly puts a new spin on things. It kind of explains a lot, actually. Clearly, he has to talk to Carey about this.
That turns out to be harder than it sounds. Carey doesn't answer PK's texts or his phone calls the next day, and ignores him all through practice and the Bruins game the day after that. Then on Thursday, Carey sits with Gorgey on the plane to Buffalo, so PK ends up sitting alone to watch his game tapes and draw. It's not until they're at the hotel that PK has a chance to corner him.
He knocks on Carey's door. "Room service!" he calls.
"I didn't order any --" Carey opens the door in just his sweatpants. "Oh. Hi." His face goes blank.
"Hi," PK says. "Can I come in?" He gives him a hopeful smile.
Carey signs. "Okay, fine." He grabs a T-shirt from his bag and pulls it on. "Close the door behind you."
PK does, then comes over and leans against the dresser. "I wanted to talk to you," he says.
"Yeah, I figured," Carey says. "What's up?"
"I did a scene with Prust the day before yesterday," PK says. "It wasn't as good as it was with you."
"Good to know," Carey says.
"And I think I know why," PK says, bravely pushing on. "With Prusty, it was just buddy-fucking. It was more than that with you."
Carey just looks at him for a moment. "What do you mean?" he asks finally.
"I don't just want to play with you," PK says. "I mean, I do. I want to be involved with you. Like... seriously." He twists his hands together.
"God damn it, PK," Carey says softly. "Don't do this to me." He strides over to the head of his bed and punches the padded headboard.
"Do what?" PK asks. "Don't break your hand, jeez."
"You can't just come in here and say stuff like that," Carey says. "Your contract --"
"-- only affects the vlog, not my personal life," PK says. "Anyway, it's true. We could go to my room and I"ll say it there, or I could say it in the locker room tomorrow. I want to be with you."
Carey takes a step closer to PK, then another, until he's right up in his space. "Tell me you mean it," he says.
"I mean it," PK says immediately. He tilts his face up to Carey's. Carey rests one hand on the back of his neck, and PK closes his eyes and leans into the touch. "I mean it," he says again.
"You better," Carey says, and kisses him hard. PK melts into it, wrapping his arms around Carey's neck.
Carey pulls back and says, "Take off your clothes and get on the bed."
"Okay," PK says, and starts to take off his shirt.
"'Okay'?" Carey repeats.
PK grins. "Yes, sir," he corrects himself.
"Better," Carey says. PK undresses and sits on the bed. Carey straddles his lap and kisses him again, then pushes him down on his back. "I want to mark you," he says. "Is that okay?"
PK gulps. "Sure," he says. "What do you want to do?"
Carey mouths at his neck. "I want to give you hickeys like we're back in juniors," he says.
"They don't show up much, but go for it," PK says. He arches up towards Carey, but he's too far away to get any friction going.
"I'll know they're there," Carey says, and oh, God, PK likes hearing that. Carey bites his throat and sucks on the fold of skin, and PK groans happily, leaning away a little bit to make it closer to the border between pleasure and pain.
"Carey," PK says, just to say it.
"That's my name," Carey says, and bites him again.
PK grins. "Yeah," he says. He reaches up to pet Carey's hair with one hand, and Carey pins down the other one and grinds his hips down.
"I'm going to fuck you," Carey says into PK's ear, so close he can feel the heat of his breath. "It'll be so good, and no one else gets to see it. Just us."
PK tries to answer, but all that comes out is a needy groan.
"Just us," Carey says again. "You like that idea?"
"Yeah," PK says. "Fuck, Carey, please."
Carey lets go of him and pulls away, and PK reaches up to touch his own throat. The bite marks are sensitive, and he loves it. When Carey turns around again and sees him, he grins. It's a good look on him, one PK hasn't seen nearly enough lately.
"See?" Carey says. "We know the marks are there." He gets on the bed, hands PK the lube, and says, "Get yourself ready."
"Yes, sir," PK says. He's so turned on that his hands are shaking a little, so he spills more than enough lube on his hand before he opens himself up, quick and dirty.
"No patience," Carey says. He moves so he's plastered against PK's chest and bites him again, next to the other marks.
"Like a collar of bruises," PK says, and a shudder runs through him, making him curl his toes. "I like it."
"Yeah," Carey says, and adds another.
"I'd wear your collar," PK says.
Carey stops. "You would?"
"What, like it's news?" PK twists his fingers inside himself and groans. "Of course I would."
He waits for Carey to say something, but he doesn't. Carey just pushes PK's hand away from his ass, rolls on the condom, and shoves into him in one thrust. His face is intense.
PK pulls him down for a kiss with his dry hand, and it takes his breath away. None of this is for the camera; it's all for him. It's almost too much to handle.
Carey fucks him for what could be a moment or a year, and PK comes just from that, his dick trapped between them. When Carey comes, his face contorts like it hurts, and then he drops down on top of PK in a boneless heap.
His weight feels good, in a weird way, so PK resists the perverse urge to tickle him and strokes his back instead. He's all sweaty, and his skin is smooth; PK could do this forever.
"Never stop," Carey mumbles, and PK grins.
"Okay," he says.