The sounds of the party going on around him fuel Bitty as he dances, moving his body to the thrumming bass of Ransom’s Perfect Epikegster Playlist. The night has been amazing so far; Jack had even taken a selfie with him – at his suggestion! – before returning to his room after to do lord knows what… probably watch tape or a history documentary before going to sleep at a respectable hour.
Bitty had followed Jack up to their rooms to make sure his door was locked – again, at Jack’s suggestion – but the party’s still in full swing and it just wouldn’t have been right to duck out early at his first big kegster, so he descends the stairs once more, grabs another beer and dances his heart out with whoever happens to be nearby.
After a while, Bitty moves off to grab some water and air on the front porch. He’s leaning against the exterior of the house when he notices a suspiciously nice car blocking the driveway to the LAX house before catching sight of the figure pacing next to it.
“That car’s a sight nicer than it has any right to be on this block,” Bitty calls out to the guy, his southern accent peeking out a bit more than usual from the alcohol and the hour. It’s getting pretty late.
The guy – man, Bitty mentally corrects as he gets a better look at him – stops pacing and squares his tense shoulders to Bitty before relaxing them as he starts to walk across the street and up the Haus’ short flagstone pathway. He’s a few inches taller than Bitty, who looks appreciatively over his muscular shoulders, tapered waist, and lithe legs before returning his eyes to the face of the newcomer that has come into the yellow glow of the porch light.
Kent freaking Parson – hockey star and captain of the Las Vegas Aces – smirks back at him, catching Bitty’s appreciative perusal of his body. Bitty is just buzzed enough to not be embarrassed at being caught and decides to see if he’s reading things right.
“Well hey there, Ace,” Bitty drawls. “What brings you to this fine hockey haus tonight?”
Kent Parson ascends the short set of steps to join Bitty on the porch, leaning his muscled forearms back on the chipped paint of the railing.
“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” he plays along, “thought I might come see an old friend.”
Eric takes a long drink of water from the plastic bottle he’s holding, titling his head back to catch the last bit and notices, with a little surprise, that Kent Parson’s eyes wander down to his extended neck and bobbing Adam’s apple with intent.
“Your friend’s not at the party,” Bitty tells him, and watches as his face falls for a split second before the smirk returns like a mask.
“Ah, then I should probably go,” Parson says, though he doesn’t move from his spot on the porch rail, “I’ve got work in Boston tomorrow.”
“But you drove all the way here,” Bitty smiles his sweetest smile. “I’d be a poor Southern gentleman if I didn’t insist you stay for at least one drink.”
“I guess I could stay for one drink,” Parson agrees, pushing up from the rail and into Bitty’s space. “But after one drink I might want to stay for more.”
Impulsively, Bitty pushes up on his toes and kisses Kent Parson full on the mouth. Surprisingly, Kent Parson kisses him back, deepening the kiss as he tongues Bitty’s lower lip, asking for more. Bitty opens to him immediately, responding in kind as he feels Parson’s hands on his waist, pulling them closer together. The kiss is passionate and lustful, sparking desire low in Bitty’s stomach.
Too soon, Kent Parson breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Bitty’s own. Bitty takes the opportunity to catch his breath, glad that, though the kiss had ended, Kent Parson was not showing any signs of revulsion or regret at having kissed him.
“This isn’t what I came here for,” Parson groans, moving his right hand from Bitty’s waist to his face, his thumb caressing Bitty’s cheekbone softly as his long fingers cup the back of his head.
Bitty grinds their hips together a bit, feeling the evidence that this attraction is not one-sided in the other man’s jeans.
“But it’s what you want right now?” Bitty asks boldly.
A small group of partygoers exists the house, breaking the bubble the two men had made around themselves. Parson hides his face from the porch light by nuzzling at Bitty’s ear. He bites the lobe lightly, whispering, “It is.”
“I can take you upstairs to my room through the back,” Bitty suggests. “No one who would recognize you would be on the back stairs right now.”
“You live here?” Parson asks, surprised.
Bitty knows the real question is ‘you play D1 hockey?’ but he’s used to it by now.
“Look here Mister Calder-winning-all-star-captain-man,” Bitty snarks, “I may not be a goon, but I’m quick, I’ve got soft hands, and I know how to handle a stick.”
He winks after the last bit, and is rewarded with a soft chuckle from Parson and a low, “I bet you do.”
“So?” Bitty prompts.
“Lead the way.”
Bitty takes the long way to his room, leading Kent freaking Parson by the hand off the porch and around the side of the house. The back yard is littered with cans and Solo cups, but there are no people hanging around in the cool of the night. Feeling bold, Bitty stops for a moment to kiss Parson again, turning and pushing him against the siding and roaming greedy hands along the planes of his unfortunately clothed abs.
Parson looks a little dazed when Bitty ends the kiss, his pupils blown wide in the dark and his lips plump and slick with spit. Bitty leads him through the back door, which opens into the kitchen and is mostly empty save for a passed out Nursey who is snoring in a chair at the kitchen table with his head down on his arms.
Bitty takes Parson – Kent, he thinks to himself, he should probably start thinking of him as Kent instead of Kent Parson or Parson – up to his door and stops to fish his key from his pocket so he can unlock it. Kent grabs at Bitty’s hips, grinding against his ass and making Bitty fumble with the lock slightly before the key slips in and he can turn the knob.
“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?” Kent tells him as Bitty opens the door. They move inside and Kent pushes Bitty’s back against the wall next to the door before initiating a quick but sinfully hot kiss full of tongues and teeth.
“I just realized you have me at a disadvantage,” Kent tells Bitty, pulling his head back slightly, but rutting his hard, jean-clad length against Bitty’s lower abs.
Bitty can barely think he’s so turned on, but manages to squeak out a, “Pardon?” as Kent moves to suck and nibble at Bitty’s neck.
“You obviously know who I am,” Kent says when he’s satisfied with the mark he’s left, “but I don’t even know your name.”
Bitty moans when he realizes that in the space of ten minutes he went from taking a water break on the front porch to making out with a professional athlete in his bedroom. He’s nineteen and not completely inexperienced, but this is like a fantasy come to life. It sort of feels like a dream, but the body against him is very much real.
“E- Eric,” Bitty stutters, “but pretty much everyone calls me Bitty.”
“On account of your size?” Kent asks, smirking.
“On account of my last name being Bittle,” Bitty shoots an eyebrow up, unimpressed at Kent’s joke.
Bitty realizes his bedroom door is still cracked when another door in the hallway creaks open a bit. He shuts and locks his door quickly, telling Kent that they’ll want to keep out the riff raff. Kent agrees and moves to sit on Bitty’s neatly made bed. Bitty straddles his lap and leans in for another kiss. Kent stops him with a soft hand on his chest.
“What do you want me to call you?” Kent asks.
“You said almost everyone calls you ‘Bitty,’ but is it okay if I call you ‘Eric?’”
“Sugar, you can call me whatever you want as long as you take this shirt off.”
Kent complies easily and Bitty eagerly spreads his hand over Kent’s bare chest, tweaking a nipple and smiling when it sends a chill through the shirtless man.
“Off, off!” Kent demands, pulling at Bitty’s own shirt. It hits the floor soon after, joining Kent’s button up. Bitty grinds down on Kent’s lap, happy to receive a moan for his efforts.
“What’a’bout you?” Bitty pants, arousal bringing out the Georgia drawl he normally works to subdue. “I’m callin’ you Parson or Kent in my head, but…”
“Parse,” Kent tells him, “or… or Kenny.”
“There’s no way I’m using your hockey nickname in bed,” Bitty tells him, popping the fly on his jeans to relieve the now-uncomfortable pressure on his hard cock.
“Fair enough, Eric,” Kent responds, grabbing Bitty under his thighs and flipping them over so that Bitty is on his back with Kent hovering over him, knees on the bed. He, too, unbuttons his pants before moving to take his snapback off.
“Leave the hat,” Bitty commands. Kent complies.
The rest of their clothes join their shirts on the floor in between bruising kisses and wandering hands until only their underwear remains, both tented and sporting dark spots of precome.
Kent mouths at Bitty’s length through his dark red boxer briefs, looking up at Bitty with his grey-green eyes through pale blonde lashes. The room is dark, lit only by the orange glow of the streetlight filtering in through sheer drapes, and it gives everything a surreal cast.
Kent works his way back up Bitty’s body with lips and tongue and teeth until they’re face to face.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathes.
“Your mouth,” Bitty groans, hands roaming wherever they can reach.
Kent complies easily, smirking as he makes his way back down to where he was before and taking the last of Bitty’s clothing with him until he’s naked.
“Wanna see you, too,” Bitty tells him sincerely.
Kent strips off his boxers quickly allowing Bitty a brief look before he situates himself between Bitty’s thighs. He grabs Bitty at his base, tongue flicking out to taste the fresh spurt of precome leaking out. He groans, eliciting another spurt from Bitty’s leaking dick.
“Tastes so good, Eric,” he tells Bitty before he takes the head in his mouth.
Bitty could probably come from the sounds Kent is making alone. It is clear by his technique and his enthusiasm that Kent is no stranger to blowing someone, and that he loves it. Bitty props himself up on his elbows to get a better view and almost comes undone at the sight of him, head bobbing, cheeks hollowed, eyes closed almost like he’s praying. His black snapback sits backwards on his head still, but a lock of blonde hair has escaped through the hole on his forehead. Bitty can’t stop himself from caressing his sharp jawline with one hand tenderly.
Kent pulls off for a moment, steadying his breath while he continues to pump Bitty’s length with his spit-slicked fist.
He takes the middle finger of his free hand into his mouth before taking it out again and resting it against Bitty’s hole.
“Can I?” he asks.
Bitty’s mouth has gone dry so he nods emphatically. Kent traces the rim for a moment, allowing Bitty to get used to the sensation. As he retakes Bitty’s dick in his mouth, he slips the tip of the finger in past the tight ring of muscle, gently pushing in and out as Bitty adjusts around it.
A few minutes (or a few hours, Bitty has lost all sense of time) later, Kent adds another finger and crooks them, searching for Bitty’s prostate. Bitty collapses back onto his back, the motion sending his dick into the back of Kent’s throat.
“Lord, Sorry!” Bitty apologizes, but Kent just takes it in stride and keeps working Bitty over.
He finds what he looking for soon after and Bitty can’t stop the moan that punches out of him of its own volition.
“Fuck, Kent!” he cries, probably too loudly considering the Haus’ thin walls, but he can’t help it.
Kent nails his prostate repeatedly, never letting up on his attentions to Bitty’s dick, and all Bitty can think is I could die like this and it’d be just fine with me.
“Kent – Kenny – I’m gonna come,” he warns. Kent hums around him and continues bobbing his head. He takes all of Bitty in then, his nose hits just above Bitty’s thatch of curls and rubs Bitty’s prostate one more time before Bitty explodes with an orgasm strong enough to leave him lightheaded.
By the time Bitty comes back to himself, Kent is positioned over him stripping his own leaking cock quickly, his eyes laser focused on Bitty’s face. He comes groaning Eric, fuck, hot spurts landing on Bitty’s stomach and thighs, and crashes on to the bed next to Bitty, chuckling.
“What’s so funny there, Mister?” Bitty asks, a little self conscious that he might be laughing at him, but still too blissed out from coming to really worry.
“This was not how I imagined tonight going at all,” Kent tells him. “Well, maybe… but…”
“Well I didn’t exactly picture this happening when the night began either,” Bitty retorts, “but I’m not sorry it happened, either.”
Kent rolls towards Bitty and kisses him sweetly. “I’m not sorry at all.”
They lay there for a few moments before Bitty remembers there’s come drying on his skin.
“Ugh, lemme go find a towel,” he says, pulling on his boxers and a Samwell Hockey t-shirt.
He heads out into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind him so it barely makes a sound. He walks across the hall to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth out of the linen closet and wetting it. He rubs at the spots of tacky come on his skin, getting as much off as he can see. He’s in need of a shower, but doesn’t think he’ll be awake long enough to take one.
As he exits the bathroom to return to his room with a fresh washcloth for Kent, Jack’s door creaks open.
“Bittle?” Jack asks, voice groggy with sleep. “You look…”
“Go back to sleep, Jack,” Bitty tells him. “I was just usin’ the bathroom.”
“Oh, okay then,” Jack sounds confused, tired most likely. “See you in the morning.”
Bitty enters his room, locking the door behind him again. He looks at his alarm clock and is surprised to see it’s almost three AM.
“Kent,” Bitty whispers, reaching the bed where Kent has managed to get himself under the covers. He shakes his shoulder gently. “Don’t you have a game tomorrow? I mean, today? Do you need to get back to Boston?”
“Too tired,” Kent murmurs. “I set an ‘larm.”
“Well alright then,” Bitty smiles, pushing the hair off of Kent’s forehead tenderly.
He climbs into the small bed beside Kent. He gives Kent as much space as he can, not sure if the other man would want to cuddle or be left alone. Kent rolls over almost immediately, reaching for Bitty and pulling him close.
It should feel weird, Bitty thinks, to be this intimate with a virtual stranger, but it feels nice – right. Bitty has never been overly touchy with others, especially men, especially athletes, but the feeling of Kent’s arm wrapped around his waist, the soft weight of it holding Bitty’s back to his front feels natural.
Bitty falls asleep to soft snores and warmth.