Sid had known he would go first, or been pretty sure, at least. He’d spent plenty of time fantasizing about playing with Lemieux, and maybe with Malkin, if the guy ever made it over from Russia. He should have been prepared. Even so, as he sat at the table waiting for Craig Patrick to call his name, his heartbeat rushed in his ears so loudly that he was kind of afraid he would miss the announcement.
He didn’t. “From Rimouski,” Patrick said, and then Sid was standing and hugging his dad, and his mom was crying, and he was climbing up on stage and shaking Bettman’s hand. He was a Penguin now.
The whole day was a blur. He gave a bunch of interviews and talked to a bunch of people with the Penguins’ front office whose names he wasn’t going to remember. He finally got a few minutes to himself by asking for a piss break, and then promptly ran into Steve Yzerman at the urinals.
“Crosby, right?” Yzerman said, zipping up. “Congratulations.”
Sid definitely hadn’t tried to sneak a peek at his dick. “Thanks. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet, you know?”
Yzerman chuckled. “Yeah, I remember that.” He didn’t introduce himself, which was either arrogance or an accurate assessment that Sid knew exactly who he was. He wasn’t an imposing person: Sid’s height, and slim in his dark suit. But even more good-looking than Sid had expected from photos and TV, and with a direct, speculative gaze that made Sid feel pretty mortifyingly certain that Yzerman could tell exactly how many times Sid had jerked off looking at the Number 19 posters on his wall.
Sid didn’t have anything else to say. He stood awkwardly by the urinal. Yzerman didn’t make any moves to wash his hands or leave. So, okay: was Sid really prepared to take a leak in front of his boyhood idol slash heartthrob? He wasn’t sure his bladder would cooperate.
He could feel his face turning red. Great. Yzerman was going to think he was such a dumb kid.
“You’re going to be under a lot of pressure this coming year,” Yzerman said. “Keep your head down and focus on your game. That’s the only thing that matters.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sid said, without a doubt 100% tomato red and hoping Yzerman was maybe colorblind and wouldn’t notice. “I appreciate the advice.”
Yzerman scoffed quietly. “Sir,” he muttered. In a normal tone, he said, “I’ve seen your highlights. The Penguins are lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” Sid said again, and then he decided he might as well shoot his fucking shot, and he lowered his gaze and then glanced up again, trying to look through his eyelashes which was always described in books as a sexy move. “Sir.”
Yzerman’s face did something. “You trying to make me feel old?”
This was for sure the stupidest thing Sid had ever done and maybe it would turn into one of those really humiliating experiences he would relive at 3AM for the next forty years, but no one had ever called him a quitter. He shifted a little closer, just barely scuffing his foot along the floor. “You know, you were always my favorite player, growing up.”
Yzerman’s face did something else. “Is that so.”
Sid took a deep breath. “I’d love to pick your brain about, you know, what it’s like to be in the league. If you’ve got time. Maybe dinner tonight?”
“Dinner,” Yzerman repeated. He scanned Sid from head to toe, slowly, while Sid tried not to pass out. “Sure. I’d be glad to.”
“Maybe room service,” Sid said, and somehow his voice didn’t crack, which was his biggest win of the year.
Yzerman’s eyebrows shot up. He looked amused, at least, rather than angry. “You’re Canadian, aren’t you? What happened to polite and indirect?”
“I did a year of high school in the States,” Sid said. “So I guess that was enough to undo my, uh, my programming.”
Yzerman laughed. “All right. My God. Yeah, let’s do room service.”
Sid had spent a minute running his hands over all of his pockets trying to find a damned sharpie. His fingers had shaken when he handed it over to Yzerman, who scribbled his room number down on a scrap of paper he pulled from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Sid had stood there staring at it clutched in his hand, sure that his fingers were leaving sweaty indentations on the paper.
“Do you have to go, or did you just come in here for me?” Yzerman had asked as Sid continued to stand there awkwardly.
“Right.” Sid had tried his best to seem unaffected as he unzipped as Yzerman’s eyes gave him one more appraising look.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Yzerman had said, and left. Sid was able to think again past the blinding white “I’m going to get my dick touched” that flashed in his head.
Now, Sid walked back to the media suite in a daze. He still had to do a photo shoot with the rest of the top picks and Mario Lemieux before he’d be allowed to go back to his room and decompress. It was funny; he had always thought the most overwhelming part of the draft would be his moment on stage claiming his jersey, but he had never considered what would come directly after.
Jack and Pouliot were already there when he tried--and failed--to slip in the door unnoticed. He immediately had three people descending upon him, wanting to fix his hair and his face, and figure out what his colours were. As if that was even a thing.
Jack elbowed him in the ribs as soon as he had successfully detangled himself from the very nice, if not overly enthusiastic, makeup lady.
“Where’d you go, man?” Jack hissed, not exactly cool.
“Bathroom,” Sid whispered back. Having to piss wasn’t exactly a secret, but making a date with a hockey phenom in the washroom gave Sid the kind of clandestine thrill he had a feeling he’d be chasing for a long time. Sid never got to have any secrets.
He was with the photographers way longer than he’d expected. Once they were done with group shots, the rest of the guys were ushered out, Jack giving him another jab as he left so Sid would remember “not to be a tool.” Then it was just him and Brisson left with the media staff. Brisson stood in the back corner with his Blackberry in one hand and quietly chaperoned as someone handed Sid a puck and then lit it on fire. Today was the best day.
Still, Sid couldn’t help the itching under his skin, unable to ignore the clock ticking down in his head to the time he’d be able to leave. Yzerman had said seven and Sid needed to shower; he could feel droplets of sweat roll down from between his shoulder blades. He let his mind go hazy as he imagined big tanned hands pinning him down and licking the sweat from his back.
Sid’s spell was broken by the sound of commotion that was let in the room as the doors opened and closed, letting in with it, Mario Lemieux. Sid got to shake his hand again. He couldn’t stop smiling like a buffoon. Lemieux’s hand was big and he smelled really good and maybe if Sid didn’t have to live in his house with his family for a season, Sid would be asking Mario if he wanted room service.
Pat was still looking at his phone when Sid was finally set free to weave his way over between the camera crew and lights. “I don’t know if you’re hungry yet,” Pat said without looking up. “Some of the young guys normally go out together after the draft. It would be good for you to go with them, but I could drive you somewhere if you wanted to eat before that.”
Sid was almost always hungry, but his stomach turned at the thought of being late to Yzerman’s. He had more than an hour, but he couldn’t risk it.
“Sorry, I’ve already got plans.” Sid slid his hands into his pockets and felt his face heat even as he said it as casually as he could muster. “Yzerman invited me to dinner.” Well, it wasn’t a total lie.
That got Pat to look up from his phone. “No kidding. How’d you manage to swing that?”
Sid shuffled from foot to foot. Maybe he had overstepped, well, he’d definitely overstepped, but not in the way Pat might be thinking. “I asked him.”
Pat shook his head. “Impressive. Well, good luck. Tell me if you need condoms.”
Sid’s head shot up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “What?”
“Relax, kid, I’m joking. You’re going to have to lighten up if you want to be one of the sharks and not the chum.”
“Right, thanks.” That advice probably sounded way better in French. Sid high-tailed it out of there, feeling very much like a piece of meat.
Jack wasn’t in their room when Sid got back, which for the moment Sid was thankful for as he stripped and got in the shower. He was caked in sweat and makeup and hairspray, his dress shirt had dark smudges under the armpits, and he just hoped that none of his other shirts smelled too much like Jack’s equipment he insisted on airing out in the closet.
Sid dragged his nails through his pubes. Was he supposed to shave them? Better not in case he nicked himself. He flattened the hair against his groin to see if it really did make his dick any bigger before deciding he didn’t care. He had already been walking around with a half chub since being cornered in the washroom by Yzerman. Steve--Stevie. What would Sid be allowed to call him?
He scrubbed between his cheeks with a soapy hand. It was enough to make his dick twitch and he cranked one out onto the tile between his feet.
He wrapped the towel tightly around his hips and applied a generous helping of hair gel. He hated the stupid way it curled and got all fuzzy if he left it alone. He squinted at his reflection in the mirror and added another dollop of gel. Good enough.
Jack was waiting for him on his bed, still in his suit. “Finally. The drain had better still be working when I take a shower. I feel like I need to scrub off a layer of skin.”
Sid bunched up his soggy towel and threw it at Jack before reaching for a clean pair of pants. This was a date, a hookup. Sid didn’t need to wear briefs.
“I hope you slept well last night. Bobby’s got his parent’s car, he said he’d drive us downtown.”
“I can’t come.” Sid focused on doing up his buttons so his face wouldn’t give him away. It didn’t work, and he felt the damp thump of the towel against the back of his head.
“Would you cut it out?” Sid snapped, even though he had started it.
“Sheesh, what’s up with you?” Jack asked while Sid tried to check and see if there was a wet spot on the back of his shirt.
Sid swallowed, not sure how much he wanted to divulge. Part of him was excited, but the other part of him wanted to covetously keep it to himself. He kept it vague. “I’m having dinner with Yzerman.”
“No shit? The rest of us are going downtown, well except for Pouliot, he’s taking his girlfriend out. I don’t even know why he brought her, he’s just going to have to break up with her again.”
Sid’s eyes caught on the body spray sitting on Jack’s side table. “Hey, can I borrow some of that?” All Sid had was the aftershave his dad had given him a year ago for Christmas. He still hadn’t used up most of the bottle and Sid had always sort of thought it smelt like his grandfather. That was not sexy.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “For dinner with Yzerman?”
Oh shit, was that weird? “Forgot my deodorant,” Sid lied. “I don’t want to smell too rank, you know?”
“Body spray can’t help with your natural fragrance, Sidney,” Jack said, but he tossed the can over.
Sid didn’t want to take any chances. Yzerman wasn’t going to be able to resist him.
Sid spent a while trying to decide if it was better to show up early or late, or right on time. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but it would probably be a dick move to keep Yzerman waiting for him. He finally decided to go to Yzerman’s hotel room exactly a minute late: still respectful, but not like he’d spent the whole afternoon counting down the seconds.
“Nobody likes a quitter, Jimmy,” Sid recited to himself under his breath before knocking on the door.
Silence. Sid waited, heart racing. Maybe he had the wrong room. He pulled out the piece of paper Yzerman had given him. No, he was in the right place; maybe Yzerman had changed his mind, or he had been fucking with Sid the whole time and was out to dinner now with some fellow hockey luminary instead of wasting his time with a seventeen-year-old who hadn’t even made it to the big show.
Just when he was about to turn tail and go back to his own room in defeat, the door opened.
“Come on in,” Yzerman said: Steve Yzerman, talking to Sid in Sid’s real life, because Sid had--oh God--hit on him beside the urinals.
“Thanks for having me,” Sid said on autopilot, then tried not to cringe too visibly.
Yzerman’s mouth quirked into a smile, but he thankfully let Sid’s idiocy pass without comment. He stepped back to let Sid into the room, and as Sid crossed the threshold, he felt Yzerman’s hand settle lightly, for one fleeting instant, at the small of his back.
Sid scrubbed his sweaty palms against his suit trousers. Yzerman probably hadn’t changed his mind, then.
“Could I get you something to drink?” Yzerman asked, so casual, turning his back to Sid to open the minibar. His room was clean and organized and it made Sid feel foolish for thinking that folding a few shirts and putting them on a chair was neat. The jacket Yzerman had been wearing earlier was thrown over the back of one of the upholstered chairs and he had lost his tie. He looked--Sid swallowed--really good, fantastic, and also like a grown man, which he was. Sid had never felt younger or more clueless, even though he was a Penguin now and would be playing in the NHL before long and was basically an adult. But Yzerman wasn’t sweating and itchy in his one good suit, the way Sid was; he had lots of expensive suits, and was used to wearing them, and Sid really should have gone out with Jack and the rest of them. This was a terrible idea.
Yzerman turned to him with one eyebrow raised, a glass in his hand. “Water? Scotch?”
“Scotch,” Sid said. He’d never had it. Mostly cheap beer and cheaper vodka.
Yzerman’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You know, I’ve never actually liked scotch much.”
“Oh,” Sid said. Okay, so had that been a trick question?
Yzerman set down the glass, his expression softening. He approached Sid and laid one hand on Sid’s shoulder, a fatherly gesture that made Sid’s stomach swoop. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”
Sid wanted to die immediately. His cheeks were so hot. All of this had seemed way easier when he was still high on the adrenaline rush of going first.
When he didn’t respond, Yzerman squeezed his shoulder and said, “Why don’t we order some room service and talk about hockey?”
It was really nice of him to offer Sid an out, but there was no chance Sid was taking it. He’d talked himself into Steve Yzerman’s hotel room and basically onto his dick, and if he lost his courage now he would never forgive himself. What was he afraid of? Doing something wrong and dumb, seeming inexperienced--well, he’d kind of already hit rock bottom there, so he had nowhere to go but up.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket. “I’m actually not too hungry at the moment.”
Yzerman sighed. “Crosby--”
“Look, I’ve never done this before,” Sid said, because he might as well get all of the humiliation over with in one fell swoop, “which you’ve probably figured out, so I’m pretty nervous, and this has also been the craziest day of my entire life, so I’m a little, uh. But I don’t want to get room service. Or, I mean, maybe we could get room service later, but first I was really hoping you might want to fuck me.”
Yzerman rubbed his hand over his mouth. Sid could tell from his eyes that he was trying to hide a smile. “Determined bastard, aren’t you?”
“That’s me,” Sid said, his entire face and neck and chest flushed painfully hot, but holding Yzerman’s gaze steadily. He knew what he wanted.
“All right.” Yzerman dropped his hand, and there was the smile he’d been concealing, warmly amused and fond. He slid Sid’s jacket from his shoulders. “Come sit on my lap and tell me exactly what it is you’d like.”
Sid settled his breath. Instructions. He could work with that. His trainers had always referred to him as easily coached, with that smile on their faces that suggested there might not be anything better in the world than an easily coached rookie.
He reached down to fumble with his dress shoes, kicking them aside when he’d finished undoing the double knots. Why had he tied them like that? When Sid straightened up, Yzerman was watching him with his hands coolly tucked into his pockets. Sid felt so inferior.
Better to act than overthink it. Sid pitched himself forward instinctively, skimming his lips over the sharp edge of Yzerman’s chin before finding that smile with his mouth. Right on the money. He thought that had been pretty slick. Then Yzerman caught him by the shoulder, bracketing Sid between one warm palm, the other slipping perfectly into the slope of his neck. He eased the kiss with a hot roll of his tongue, sending a shiver all the way down to Sid’s toes.
Sid felt feverish, hastily chasing Yzerman’s tongue with his own. He pushed his tongue into Yzerman’s mouth, trying to deepen the kiss with a moan. Yzerman pulled him away with the grip on the scruff of Sid’s neck. Sid’s mouth felt hot and slick, delirious with heat from the top of his head to his sock feet. Yzerman gave his neck another squeeze.
“I like kissing,” Sid said, panting, working to catch his breath.
“That’s a good place to start.” Yzerman looked amused, but he didn’t laugh at Sid. His hand caressed a broad line down the length of Sid’s spine till his big palm was settled just over Sid’s ass, his pinky hooking into the belt loop. “C’mon.”
Sid’s heart did a little flip in his chest as Yzerman sat himself in one of those plush hotel chairs, legs invitingly spread, the perfect spot for Sid to situate himself. He wasted no time doing so.
Sid had always worked hard to keep up as the smallest guy in the room, but now he felt smugly satisfied that he could sit comfortably like this with Yzerman wedged between his thighs. Yzerman’s collarbone was poking out of his open shirt collar and his neck looked tan and strong. Sid fussed with the button at the base of Yzerman’s neck, chuffed and unable to help the smile from creeping across his face. Only in Sid’s most fervent fantasies had he ever imagined he would be here. He placed a chaste kiss right above where his fingers were fidgeting and felt the rumble of Yzerman’s laugh against his lips.
“So now you’re coy?”
“No,” Sid said, face hot, and recaptured Yzerman’s mouth. It was a greedy kiss. Yzerman’s mouth was warm and open and this time he let Sid do what he wanted, hands stroking over the muscles of Sid’s thighs and his hips. Everything felt electric through the thin material, the tips of Yzerman’s fingers branding where he dug up the hem of Sid’s shirt and touched them to his bare skin.
Sid’s heart was pumping in his chest. He felt wild with how much he wanted this. Yzerman's stubble burned against the bare skin of Sid’s jaw; he was rough around the edges, masculine and mature compared to the rookie poster Sid had hung on his wall. His mouth was still the same, lips so soft, so pretty. Sid couldn’t keep track of everything he wanted. He explored every crevice of Yzerman’s mouth with his tongue, drawing it brazenly over the cut of Yzerman’s teeth and the sensitive roof of his palate as Yzerman worked open the front of his shirt.
Yzerman brushed the backs of his knuckles over Sid’s trembling stomach, and Sid broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, his hips rocking forward. Yzerman pressed a few soft kisses over Sid’s shoulder and Sid’s gaze followed a line down between their bodies. Sid was already tenting his slacks, and Yzerman didn’t even look all the way hard yet.
“Let’s take some of the pressure off.” Yzerman undid Sid’s belt and slacks with nimble fingers, and Sid watched openly as Yzerman peeled down his zipper, revealing bare skin.
Yzerman’s brows rose and he scraped his fingers through Sid’s pubes, just as Sid had done earlier. His dick twitched where it was tucked against his hip and Yzerman pressed his thumb to the base of it. “Are you always this eager?”
“I like to be prepared.” It took all the effort Sid had to both speak and not rut mindlessly as Yzerman drew him out.
He stroked Sid in an achingly slow pull from root to tip, making Sid’s toes curl and a bead of precome well up at the slit. He was so hard it was almost unbearable. Sid had only ever been touched with impatient, fumbling hands, but this wasn’t anything like a rushed hookup at a party. Yzerman’s hand was steady and practiced and it treated Sid to another one of those long, spine-melting pulls.
“You’re supposed to tell me what you want, Crosby.”
Sid had no idea how he was expected to think like this. His cock felt like it had its own heartbeat. “You could call me Sid, or Sidney.”
Yzerman rewarded him with a few open-mouthed kisses up his neck and over his ear. “What else, Sid.”
Sid shivered at the sensation. He pressed his palm to the warm plane of Yzerman’s stomach through his dress shirt and looked up at him through his eyelashes. It had worked before. He tried for as seductive a tone as he could muster without his voice cracking. “Can I suck you a bit?”
“Only a bit?” Yzerman teased gently, the corner of his mouth slipping into a curl of amusement, stoking the fire in Sid’s gut.
“I want to do other stuff too,” Sid amended quickly. “I’ve thought about it so many times.” And in case Yzerman wasn’t taking him seriously enough, Sid took the hand resting on his hip and brought Yzerman’s fingers up to his mouth, sucking down around two of them until he made himself gag.
When Sid pulled back, Yzerman’s fingers were sloppy with spit and Yzerman’s eyes were dark, swallowed up by his pupil.
“Yeah, like what?” The tone of Yzerman’s voice was thick and affected, and Sid felt like a very small prey animal.
“I--I want.” Sid licked his lips, working the moisture back into them. His eyes snagged on Yzerman’s mouth. He had spent so many furtive moments with his hands down his pants thinking about that mouth.
Sid touched his finger to Yzerman’s chin, right in the shadow of his lower lip, right where Sid had kissed him. “Could you fuck me with your mouth first?”
Sid felt the whoosh of Yzerman’s sigh over his fingers as he was pulled close, the heat of Yzerman’s chest pressed tightly to his. Yzerman’s fingers traced a slick pattern just above Sid’s waistband before dipping under, cupping the soft weight of Sid’s ass and squeezing. Sid’s hips bucked, oversensitive. Spit-wet fingers slipped between his cheeks, tracing an agonizing line from his taint, up over his hole, where they lingered, stroking indulgently.
The heat in Sid’s face ratcheted up a notch. His eyes flicked up and then immediately back down, unable to keep Yzerman’s gaze as he touched Sid’s hole reverently and smiled at him. All the resolve Sid had to be assertive was crumbling.
He hid his face in Yzerman’s hair, hands clenching and unclenching against Yzerman’s shoulders. “I promise I showered.”
“Fuck,” Yzerman said roughly into his neck, and scraped his teeth over the shelf of Sid’s shoulder, his hand tightening on Sid’s dick, wedged between their bodies. “You ready to shoot?”
Between the dry hand on his cock and the wet fingers between his cheeks, Sid was ready to go off like a rocket. “I’ve had a semi since I ran into you in the bathroom. I had to jerk off in the shower before I came over here.”
“Fuck,” Yzerman repeated, with feeling. “You’re so good.” He gave one last squeeze to the base of Sid’s dick before taking his hand away. “Get on the bed and take off your clothes, you don’t want to stain them.”
Sid scrambled to do as instructed, sliding the shirt from his arms and shedding his pants. He knew he looked good for his age, but compared to guys like Yzerman who had been around the block he was soft--malleable. Easily coached.
Yzerman raked a hand from Sid’s ribs down to his hip, stopping to squeeze at the soft fold of skin under his ass. Sid let himself be guided until his legs were bumping up against the mattress. “C’mon, Croz. On your knees.”
“I want to see your dick,” Sid complained, but he crawled back onto the bed.
Sid squirmed around till he was on his stomach and got comfortable, wedging one arm beneath the pillow and spreading his legs, the same position he liked to lie in when he was alone in his room. “You said I could have whatever I wanted.”
Yzerman swatted him lightly on the ass, a quick sting. “Be patient.” Sid felt blood flood his face at the reprimand and watched quietly over his shoulder. Yzerman undid his cuffs and rolled them up his elbows.
Sid had to reach down and tuck his cock between his belly and the covers to get some friction. He was as naked as the day he was born and Yzerman was still in most of a suit. This was now officially better than any fantasy Sid had conjured up. He rubbed his hips in lazy circles over the sheets, drawing out the insistent buzz of arousal that permeated his body as he tried to do what was asked.
The mattress dipped with the weight of Yzerman behind him. One hand stroked over his ass and Sid pressed into it, smiling over his shoulder. He felt almost drunk with the satisfaction of getting what he wanted.
“Jesus, you’re so easy,” Yzerman said, stroking his hands up and down Sid’s flanks before giving the swell of his ass another indulgent squeeze.
Sid buried his head into the cradle of his arms to hide his smile. He was probably acting like a shameless slut, but he didn’t care. He wanted this, badly.
The hands on Sid’s hips guided them up and back till he was on his knees and Yzerman could fit his thumbs into the tender crease of Sid’s ass, parting his cheeks and staring blatantly at his hole. He looked for long enough that Sid started to squirm; he had scrubbed down there, but what if something was wrong? Was he supposed to shave? Did Yzerman expect him to have gotten himself open already?
He twisted his head back so he could see Yzerman when he wetted his thumb and pressed it to the blood-hot pucker of skin between Sid’s cheeks. His eyes were dark, and when he caught Sid watching, his voice sent a shiver down Sid’s spine.
“Do you touch yourself here?”
“Only when I think of you.”
Maybe it was kind of a line, but Yzerman pressed a lush kiss to the base of his spine. He jerked Sid’s cock a few more times where it hung hard between his thighs, bending to nuzzle between Sid’s cheeks and over his hole.
Sid buried his moan in the crook of his arm at the first few lazy passes of Yzerman’s tongue. The sensation was almost too intense, too strange. He tried to settle into the feeling, scrunching up his nose and wiggling his hips until it felt less like he might unspool completely.
Yzerman’s fingers dug into his hips until they stilled, pressing his thumbs into Sid’s muscle in a way that made his back arch up in response, as if he were offering his ass up for Yzerman’s face. Sid’s whole body flushed. He tried not to squirm on Yzerman’s broad tongue as it alternated between pressing in and laving over where Sid was growing soft and open.
It felt best to let himself be pulled back on Yzerman’s face, rubbing his hole against Yzerman’s tongue with small rolls of his hips until his thighs trembled with excitement. He could probably come like this, molten hot and wet between the legs, and just when he thought he was getting into the rhythm of it, Yzerman pulled back and sucked on his rim in a move that had Sid’s arms and legs turning to jelly.
Sid lifted his head from the pillow and moaned. He was pretty sure there was a wet spot on the pillow case. This was more than he’d ever expected. Just when Sid thought he might have to pull away again, Yzerman’s mouth was replaced with his fingers, two right away and slow. Sid clenched down around them in surprise as they slid easily into the wet, relaxed muscle. It was a stretch, but it felt good. Sid was so full and he hadn’t even gotten Yzerman’s cock in him yet.
“You’re so tight, I don’t know how I’m going to get you on my dick.” Yzerman rocked his fingers deeper and Sid choked back a whine.
“I want it,” Sid said. He felt the hot shape of Yzerman’s cock brush up against the back of his leg.
“God, you’re cute here too.” Yzerman said it under his breath, as if it were for his own benefit, and Sid flushed. He didn’t want to be cute.
Yzerman guided his hand back from where Sid was gripping the pillow until Sid could feel where Yzerman’s fingers were inside him. “Feel yourself.”
He was stretched out and tender. Sid’s gut clenched as the sensation hit suddenly. “I’m going to come.”
Yzerman pulled his fingers out abruptly, which was not what Sid had had in mind. But when he looked to the side, Yzerman was shedding his clothes. Sid got to watch shamelessly as the fat roll of his cock sprang free from his boxers. He splayed out beside Sid on the bed and stroked his dick. “Get on me,” he said, and Sid completely forgot about his grievances.
Sid crawled over until he had a face full of tan skin and flat stomach. Yzerman was rosy at the tip and thick and Sid didn’t hesitate before burying his nose in the pubic hair at the base of his cock. He smelt clean and only slightly musky. He was wearing some cologne that made him smell appealing instead of a try-hard. Sid could imagine what he would smell like after a game and pressed a line of messy, open mouthed kisses up his shaft to the head. His skin was so hot and Sid mouthed around the tip, flooding his mouth with the bitter, salty taste. It wasn’t the best position, but everything about it was intoxicating, and Sid had to reach down and tug at his own balls as he sucked as much into his mouth as he could.
Sid barely registered the sound of the lube cap as Yzerman reapplied and dipped his fingers in and out of Sid’s hole, pushing them deep and holding them there. Sid made a choked-off noise around his cock. It wasn’t the angle to hit the right spots, but it was the stretch that had Sid pulling off with a thick string of drool to catch his breath before sliding back down, over-enthusiastic. He had always loved sucking cock; he liked the attention, he liked that it was something he could do for his teammates, he liked that he could make a guy like Yzerman’s thighs tremble under his hands with just the attentive application of his mouth. Sid didn’t dare touch his dick.
He fit his tongue under the tight hood of foreskin and Yzerman’s thighs jumped under his hands, the fingers in Sid’s hair pulling him away. His face felt wet and Sid knew he looked like a mess. He watched greedily as Yzerman reached for a condom and rolled it on, taking a moment to stroke himself.
“Hoping you were going to get lucky?” Sid said, and winced internally. He wished he knew how to keep his cool instead of having to fill every silence with corny jokes.
The corner of Yzerman’s mouth twitched. “I liked my chances.” He was such a stud, so cool. His smile softened as he looked at Sid. “Come here,” he said, and Sid crawled into the warm circle of his arms.
Sid wrapped his arms around his shoulders and buried his face in the warm pocket of Yzerman’s neck. That jittery excitement was back, and Yzerman stroked the trembling dip of Sid’s back as he pulled one thigh over his hip and reached between Sid’s legs for his cock.
Sid had never imagined it like this, but he liked it. He was cozy and tucked up against Yzerman’s side. He could let his head fall back against the pillow, opening up plenty of skin for Yzerman to press kisses to as he lined himself up.
He felt the fat head of Yzerman’s cock nudge clumsily up over his balls and taint until it found the dip of Sid’s asshole. Sid tried his best to breathe and push out the way he did when was touching himself with his fingers, but he couldn’t keep his hands still, running them all over Yzerman’s chest and shoulders.
There was unyielding pressure as Yzerman breached him, so different than anything Sid had felt, equally soft and hard. “There you go,” Yzerman soothed, rocking in deeper in steady pushes of his hips.
Sid opened his mouth against Yzerman’s collar bone, nails biting down on his shoulders. He felt sloppy kisses being pressed to his cheek, to his ear. Yzerman felt huge inside him as he drew out and pressed back in in a searing glide.
He couldn’t get very deep like this and Yzerman’s palm branded Sid’s hip where he kept Sid steady as he flexed his hips up. The drag across his rim lit up Sid’s spine but wasn’t enough, wasn’t what he knew it could be. Sid rolled his hips forward on the next thrust, almost hitting the right spot. The head of his cock dragged a sticky line across Yzerman’s abs. Sid let out a frustrated whine.
As if reading his mind, Yzerman pulled Sid fully on top of him with an arm curled around Sid’s back. Sid got his knees under him and pushed himself up, sinking down on Yzerman’s dick till his hip bones pressed up against Sid’s ass. It burned, but Sid was so turned on it didn’t matter. He lifted himself up and sank back down shallowly, trying to adjust. His chin wobbled. He knew it would be uncomfortable, but what he hadn’t known was how much he was going to like it.
“That’s it, you can do it.” Sid didn’t know if it was better when Yzerman was being a little nice or a little mean. “Look at you, you know how good you are.”
Sid did, but he still wanted to hear it. He had never managed to be quite as humble as people liked to say he was; a little buttering up and he was ready to blow Yzerman’s socks off. He wasn’t going to want to fuck any other rookies but Sid after this.
Yzerman took Sid’s dick in hand, stroking him until Sid was leaking a sticky puddle and the skin of his stomach felt tight. His hand was perfect, slick with remnants of lube, warm and just that little bit rough. Sid couldn’t help himself from closing his eyes and rutting into it. He was at that point in his life where anything that encountered his dick Sid wanted to fuck: his hand, his mattress, some poor toilet paper roll one time when he had been desperate.
Yzerman’s other hand came down in a slap against his ass, startling Sid out of it. “Put your legs into it.” He had a look on his face like he knew every horny thought that went through Sid’s head.
Sid let out a shaky sigh and adjusted, planting his hands against Yzerman’s chest and putting his lower body unit to work. Sid squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the sensation until he had just the right angle and pace, the flared crown of Yzerman’s cockhead dragging past his prostate every time. It was so good Sid felt like he was going to cry.
Yzerman’s hands stroked his hips and over his stomach. “Shh, everyone’s going to hear you.”
Sid dug his nails in. “Maybe I want them to.” He could barely get the words out and bit his lip when it felt like his chin was going to start wobbling again. Sid was first in his draft. Sid was getting fucked by Stevie Yzerman. Nobody could touch him. Yzerman gripped his hips and met his next few thrusts until Sid was a trembling mess and felt his body go rigid. He was sure he was groaning loud enough for the whole hallway to hear him as he came harder than he ever had in his life, shooting sloppily all over Yzerman's chest.
Sid let himself be bonelessly flopped over onto his side as Yzerman moved over him. His chest was broad and flushed with exertion as he hooked Sid’s leg up over his shoulder so Sid was splayed open. He bent and pressed a few kisses over Sid’s mouth. “You’re a winner. None of those other guys had a chance, did they?” he said, and lined himself back up.
This time his cock slid in as easy as anything and like this, Sid could see his abs and the base of his dick where it was sinking in and out of Sid’s ass. Sid curled his body away from it, oversensitive and overwhelmed, pressing his hot face and open mouth to the cool pillow.
“Oh Sid, listen to you. You’re not even hard.”
Sid had to touch himself just to feel like he wasn’t about to lose his mind as Yzerman fucked into him relentlessly. His dick was soft and sticky-hot in his palm and Sid was aware he was making noise again, but he couldn’t help it--he didn’t realize--
With a last few stuttering thrusts Yzerman grunted softly, eyebrows drawn tight and bottom lip drawn into his mouth as he filled the condom. Sid peeked up at him. His gaze was trained between Sid’s legs where he was sliding himself slowly in and out of Sid’s tender hole, sending sparks all over Sid’s body.
Sid squeezed his soft dick. The last lazy rolls of Yzerman’s hips forced another moan from Sid’s mouth. He could definitely go again in like ten minutes. Maybe not even that long.
Yzerman pulled out carefully, holding the condom in place. “Just a minute,” he said, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Sid flopped onto his back, panting. So that was what the big deal was.
He grinned up at the ceiling. Not too shabby for a first time.
The bathroom sink ran and then shut off again. Yzerman came back and joined Sid on the bed, propped on his elbow at Sid’s side so he could run his hand over Sid’s chest and belly, pausing to pinch at Sid’s nipples.
Sid groaned. “You’ll get me going again.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” Yzerman said, grinning. “I’m afraid I’m done for the night, though.”
Sid didn’t object to getting off again while Yzerman helped or even just watched, but he thought he’d better not push his luck. Also, he was hungry. “Maybe we could get that room service now.”
Yzerman smiled. He cupped Sid’s face, stroking his thumb over Sid’s cheekbone. “Hungry all the time? I remember those days. Sure. Let’s get something to eat.” His smile widened. “We could even talk about hockey for a while.”
They ate in bed, lounging against the huge stack of overstuffed pillows. Yzerman had ordered while Sid was in the bathroom scrubbing come out of his pubes: enormous burgers dripping with caramelized onions, and fries so salty Sid had to lick his fingers between each mouthful. He could feel Yzerman’s eyes on him every time he did it, which just encouraged him to use more tongue than was probably really necessary.
He settled back at last with a satisfied burp. “Good burgers. Thanks.”
Yzerman’s mouth twitched. “You’re not going to call me sir anymore?”
Sid sat up. He had put on one of the hotel bathrobes and tied it very loosely, and he saw Yzerman’s eyes dip as the robe sagged open. He liked feeling that he was still available: that Yzerman could just tug on the belt and have him again.
“Do you want me to?” he asked, hearing how breathless he sounded.
Yzerman laughed. “Nobody calls me sir. I’m not that old.”
Sid shifted on the bed. His asshole was a little tender--not really sore, just aware that something had happened to it. He felt well-used. “You aren’t old. You’re hot.”
“High praise.” Yzerman hooked a finger in the neck of the robe and tugged it open even further. “I think you can call me Steve at this point.”
Even with permission, Sid didn’t know if he had the balls. “What about Stevie,” he said, mostly to be a brat.
Yzerman laughed again, full-bodied with his head thrown back, and Sid felt his heart skip a beat. This wasn’t helping at all with his crush. If anything, it had made it worse.
He wondered if Mario would ever invite Yzerman over for dinner when the Wings were in town. Or when the Penguins were in Detroit, maybe he could ask Yzerman to come over for room service again.
Yzerman reached down to untie Sid’s robe altogether and said, “You want a cigar? I was saving them for the Wings’ draftees, but I think you’ve earned one.”
Sid wrinkled his nose. He’d never had a cigar. “Is this another test?”
Yzerman’s hands slid up Sid’s thighs. Steve’s hands. “No. It’s your show, kid. You invited yourself over, you’re calling the shots.”
“I didn’t,” Sid started, except he had. He was still riding high on his win. He’d taken a big risk and asked for what he wanted and gotten it. And it had been amazing. And if he was getting blanket permission now to do whatever he wanted--
“Oh, you did.” Steve’s fingertips were brushing against Sid’s balls now, making him squirm. “It’s a good thing. Leadership skills.”
Sid leaned back on his hands, opening himself up to Steve’s gaze and touch. He wet his lips and went for it. “Can I stay over?”
Steve smirked. He leaned in. “Convince me.”