Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), George Grady, Elena Rygg, Maria Villanueva, Kyle Swift, Shawn (Game Changers), Carter Vaughn

Additional Tags:

Getting Back Together, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Scott Hunter Loves Kip Grady, Kip Grady loves Scott Hunter, POV Kip Grady, No Sex During Playoffs, Playoffs, Abstinence, Dom/sub Undertones, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Kip Grady, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Phone Sex, Dirty Talk, Orgasm Control

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-11 Completed: 2026-04-18 Words: 13,197 Chapters: 6/6

all I dream of lately is how to get you underneath me

Summary

Maria is shaken by another wave of laughter. “He got back together with his hockey man during playoffs. You beautiful idiot.”

“And what does that mean?”

Kip sighs. “They have this, like, superstition, I guess. That you’re not allowed to have sex during playoffs or you’ll lose your games. Or whatever.”

Shawn laughs, sounding a little bit evil. “How long do playoffs last?”

“Don’t ask,” Kip replies darkly.

-
Five times Kip and Scott work around the rules and one time they don’t have to.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

1.

Kip and Scott have their second first date in late April.

There was a period of licking their wounds that ended up lasting as long as their entire relationship – featuring Kip’s worst Christmas since approximately 2002 (when he had strep throat and was stuck in bed with a fever while everyone else unwrapped their presents downstairs), followed by the start to the spring semester at Columbia that Kip barely remembers because he decided to make the most of orientation week by getting blackout drunk as often as possible.

By the time he re-emerged from that little dissociative period, it was February, he was already behind on his classes and Scott Hunter’s tired face answering interview questions greeted him every time his dad turned on the television to watch the Olympics. Not ideal.

Kip’s dad had him all figured out shortly after. He put the pieces together: the sudden interest in hockey, specifically Admirals games. Then, the equally sudden aversion to even the mere mention of it, shortly after Kip had come home crying with no further explanation. Finally, the strategic retreat from the room every time George put a game on during the Winter Olympics.

“So which one was it, Hunter or Vaughn?” he’d asked, and Kip had briefly thought his fragile mental state – that he’d believed to be slightly improved – had thrown him right into a psychotic break of some sort. As it turned out, his dad had simply done his research. He’d matched the Admirals players to the Olympic roster and, based on the two remaining options, made an educated, if somewhat daring, guess.

One tearful panic attack later, Kip had sat down with him to watch Team USA lose the semifinals, and then in their next game, the bronze medal to Finland, both with zero goals. It was absolutely brutal, and the little pang in his heart that Kip felt every time he saw Scott on screen probably nothing compared to how Scott himself was feeling. He looked incredibly exhausted at the final press conference and Kip wanted to give him a hug so badly it nearly hurt.

So he did the next best thing and texted him – awkward, a little plain and overly cautious, but heartfelt. What could he even say after two months?

That text had turned into a conversation, the occasional check-in, little jokes about the weird things that happened in their day-to-day life. Which turned into phone calls, small talk, little everyday anecdotes. Always carefully avoiding the subjects they actually wanted to talk to each other about.

And then, finally, Scott invited Kip over to “talk properly” – if he wanted, no pressure at all, only if it was okay.

Now, Kip is – maybe not presumptuous, exactly, but he’d like to think of himself as optimistic. As prepared. Responsible. So he packs an overnight bag just in case and tells his dad he might not be back that evening, ignoring the very interested look he receives in return.

When Kip gets to the penthouse, Scott is in the middle of – well, an attempt at making them dinner. He’s burned the sauce and overcooked the chicken a little bit, and he looks endearingly flustered about it all.

“Sorry,” he says and gives Kip a very careful hug hello. “I should have just ordered in, the kitchen is a disaster zone.”

Kip can recall several kitchen incidents that were anything but disastrous, but then again, those weren’t exactly heavy on the culinary side.

“Let me help,” Kip says softly and they make the best they can out of Scott’s cooking experiments.

It’s nice, being together like this again. There’s soft, quiet music playing that Scott put on in the background and the lights are dimmed to a warm and comfortable glow. Conversation comes as easily as ever, and if Kip flirts a little bit more than planned, well – all that is to blame, surely. Maybe the wine they’re drinking, too. Scott’s eyes light up like Kip is giving him a beautiful gift with every silly line, every not-so-accidental brush of hands over the table.

They’re not exactly any better at talking about what the hell they’re doing together in person than they are over the phone, but the direction things are headed does seem pretty clear at this point.

An easy and familiar migration takes them from the dining table to the sofa on autopilot. Scott lifts his arm for Kip to lean into him and Kip does, curling his knees up and tucking himself into the space he used to belong in. Scott runs his fingers up and down Kip’s arm, his touch light and easy, so innocent, but enough to send sparks down Kip’s spine.

“Okay?” Scott asks, his voice low.

Kip answers that question by taking his face into both hands and kissing him right on the mouth. (It’s definitely the wine. Must be.)

Scott makes a little noise in his throat and kisses him back like he’s relieved, so eager and hungry, his hand cupping the back of Kip’s head the same way he always used to.

“Oh God,” Scott says between kisses, “I missed you so much.”

Kip climbs into his lap and lets Scott lick into his mouth, their tongues sliding together hot and urgent and God, he doesn’t know how he ever lived without this. It’s always been addicting, the way Scott turns that intense focus on him, always making Kip feel like he’s about to be consumed whole by it. He’s relapsing so, so hard.

“Missed you, too,” he breathes, his hands making their way under Scott’s shirt, finding warm skin over muscle. “Can we –”

“Uh,” Scott says a little awkwardly and turns his head to the side. He wraps both hands around Kip’s forearms, stilling his roaming hands.    

Kip feels like someone emptied a bucket of ice water onto him. He pulls his hands back and clears his throat. “Uhm. No?”

Scott looks at him, biting his lip and looking a little remorseful.

Oh God. He fucked up. He doesn’t know how, because all the signs were so very clearly there, but somehow –

“Look, it’s not –” Scott lets out a nervous little laugh and then kisses Kip again, quick and easy. Talk about mixed signals.

“I really want this, I do. You have no idea.”

“Okay.” Kip takes a deep breath. He’s still not sure what’s going on, but that sounds – better, at least.

“But it’s just – playoffs.”

“Playoffs?” he repeats, momentarily lost.

“Yeah, you know, the whole – sexy beards, lucky socks, no, uh. No sex.”

Kip laughs, and it sounds a little hysterical even to his own ears. “That’s what this is? No sex during playoffs?”

“Yeah,” Scott sighs, his eyes dropping from Kip’s eyes to his lips. “That. That’s what this is.”

“Jesus, Scott. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to.” He brings his hands back up to Kip’s face, cradling his head and pressing kisses to his cheeks and nose and the corner of his mouth.

“So, uh. All this.” Kip gestures to the mood lighting, the wine, the stereo. “You worked pretty hard to seduce me for someone who doesn’t actually wanna have sex.” After the initial shock has worn off, he can see how it’s genuinely kind of funny.

“It was supposed to be romantic,” Scott grumbles, looking a little self-conscious.

“Hey.” Kip leans in to press their foreheads together. “It is. I really like all of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course I do. And we don’t have to have sex tonight; it’s not, like, a rule. Not like playoffs science, obviously.”

Scott huffs out a breath and runs his thumb over Kip’s lower lip. Kip’s mouth drops open and he shivers, making a breathy little sound.

“It’s really not because I don’t want to,” Scott says roughly.

“Yeah, I – I get that.”

He pushes his thumb into Kip’s mouth, his eyes transfixed by the way Kip wraps his lips around it. When Kip licks over the pad of his thumb, Scott lets out a shaky exhale and pulls away.

“Fuck.” He leans back into the sofa, his hands settling on Kip’s hips. “You’re not making this easy, you know.”

“Who wants easy?” Kip says quietly and Scott, who understands perfectly what he means by that, hugs him very tightly against his body.

Kip ends up spending the night anyway, because he’s not going to let the mystical playoffs sex ban control his life like that, and also because he really, really wants some good cuddles. They stay up late, wrapped up in each other, talking and making out like teenagers, kissing each other’s lips red and raw.

Once Scott has fallen asleep, Kip grabs his phone and – just to refresh his memory from last year, because he could have sworn he watched the games with his dad for actual months and surely that can’t be right – googles how long playoffs typically last, if the team does well. He does not like the results he finds.

Chapter End Notes

Title from Closer by Tegan & Sara (oh look, period-appropriate music! I can definitely see Kip listening to their Heartthrob album in 2013 while he’s falling in love and then having his heart broken, it has appropriate songs for both scenarios)

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

2.

Kip wouldn’t be the scholar he is if he didn’t have questions.

First of all, if they’re going to be following that no sex thing, what even is the official definition of sex? Because they might be missing out on some technically-not-sex they could very reasonably be having without breaking any rules at all, and that would just be a shame. And obviously, the historical context of how the rule first came to be should be taken into account for some further insights into it all.

Also to be considered: what the hell is even the point? Are the players supposed to avoid outside distractions? Because arguably, keeping yourself from having sex you really, really want to be having could end up being a lot more distracting. And what role does no sex specifically play in the system of playoff rules? Is it considered more or less important than growing a beard, for example?

However, despite scientific studies into the general subject of sexual activity and athletic performance being available, there are zero primary sources on hockey specifically, which is hindering Kip’s research quite a bit. He does like to be precise, after all (and mostly needs to come up with some very, very convincing arguments to make to Scott so that this nonsense ends).

Scott might actually be able to help with at least a few of the questions though, so Kip presents all of his completely sensible inquiries to him and receives a wide-eyed stare in return.

“Is that what you do in grad school?” Scott asks and Kip shrugs. “Because it’s kinda hot.”

Kip snaps his fingers in front of Scott’s face before he loses him to some elaborate academia-themed sex fantasy. It’s imminent; his eyes are already glazing over. “Focus. We need answers, babe. We need sources.”

---

The definition of sex turns out to be a dead end, as Kip had already feared. There are so many opinions on it from different fields that it’s impossible to narrow down. It could be as restrictive as to only refer to penetration (knowing the aggressively heteronormative hockey bros that probably came up with the playoffs rule – likely) or as wide as to include even just touching your own genitals. Going by that last one, Scott wouldn’t even be allowed to hold his dick to pee for the next two months, which seems like a distressing prospect mainly for his poor cleaning lady.

The research on the topic is interesting enough to tell his friends about it though, and Kip receives even more weird looks.

“Since when is that relevant to literally anything in art history?” Elena asks.

“It’s not.” Kip shrugs. “Personal interest.”

“Ohh,” Maria says. “Oh, babe.” She gives him a pitiful look and then starts laughing.

“What?” Kyle asks. “What’s going on?”

“He got,” Maria starts and is shaken by another wave of laughter. “He got back together with his hockey man during playoffs. You beautiful idiot.”

“And what does that mean?” Shawn asks.

Kip sighs. “They have this, like, superstition, I guess. That you’re not allowed to have sex during playoffs or you’ll lose your games. Or whatever.”

Shawn laughs, sounding a little bit evil. “How long do playoffs last?”

“Don’t ask,” Kip replies darkly.

“You could make it hot though,” Maria says. “Like a little game, put him in a cage...you know?”

“Put him – no, stop. We’re not doing that,” Kip says, feeling a little hot all of a sudden.

It’s still new, being able to actually talk to his friends about Scott. After his dad and Elena already figured it out and no one had any delusions about Maria not knowing exactly what was going on right under her nose last year, Kip came to an agreement with Scott that he could tell all of his friends this time. That agreement probably didn’t foresee this kind of conversation though.

---

“Okay, loophole – I think,” Kip announces when he gets to Scott’s apartment that night, toeing off his shoes in the foyer. “If you want.”

Scott wraps him up into a hug and kisses him very, very thoroughly. “I always want.”

“According to my research,” Kip starts primly and Scott gives him a playful little look, reaching behind his head to press down onto the earpieces of his glasses so that the frame gets jostled, sliding up and down on Kip’s nose. Rude.

“It would under no official definition I could find count as sex – for you, that is – if, say, all you did was watch me jerk off.”

He can feel himself getting a little breathless on the last few words. It’s not like they’ve never done that before. On the phone, on Skype, in person… But it feels different, like Kip is dangling a carrot in front of Scott’s nose (okay, no, not an ideal metaphor), like he’s flaunting something, being allowed to get off and knowing Scott can’t.

“Oh God, yes.” Scott immediately grabs Kip by both shoulders and steers him towards the bedroom so forcefully that Kip almost stumbles over his feet. “Fantastic researching. We love books.”

“You could, uhm. Direct me a little bit,” Kip says.

“Yeah?” Scott pushes Kip’s jacket off his shoulders when they get to the bedroom, his lips already hot on Kip’s neck, voice dropped low.

“Like, if you tell me what you want to see...”

“Fuck.” He pulls Kip’s t-shirt over his head next; big, warm hands roaming over his chest and upper arms. “I wanna see this.”

It’s a little bit cute how apparently no sex, to Scott, seems to mean that any touches below the waist are now highly illegal. Kip has not had his ass grabbed even once since they got back together, which is really extremely unfortunate for everyone involved.

He tugs Scott into another kiss and opens his jeans one-handed at the same time, dragging them down over his hips a little awkwardly. Scott pulls back to watch him step out of them, his eyes traveling up Kip’s legs and over the very obvious bulge in his boxer briefs.

“How do you want me?” Kip asks.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me.” Scott exhales noisily and presses his forehead to Kip’s. “Come on.”

He steps around Kip until he’s standing behind him and then turns them both to face the closet, his hands just a little lower on Kip’s hips than they have been in days. The milky glass doors of the closet aren’t quite mirrors, but they do a very decent job as a substitute when the light is right. Which it currently is.

Kip watches Scott run his nose up the side of his neck in their reflection and shivers. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” Scott breathes him in and presses a kiss behind his ear. “So we can both watch.”

He steps in even closer and whatever Kip was going to say next gets caught in his throat when he feels Scott rock hard against his ass. (Because that sure is some very intense and unexpected below-the-waist contact in their current Victorian romance.)

“Touch yourself, baby,” Scott prompts, one hand coming up to trace the muscles on Kip’s chest, squeezing his pec.

Kip quickly pushes his underwear down his legs, because if he’s giving Scott a show, he might as well go all in for it and get naked. It has the somewhat unintended side effect of pushing his ass back against Scott when he bends down, drawing a gasp out of him.

“Sorry,” Kip says, straightening up, wide eyes meeting Scott’s in their reflection.

Scott presses a kiss to his hair and pinches his nipple just a little bit. God. Kip thinks maybe neither of them is going to survive this.

“Careful,” Scott says quietly and Kip nods. “You’ll need to be good if this is gonna work.”

“So good,” Kip replies, positively on fire with how Scott is playing this out for them. “I promise.”

He kicks his underwear to the side and doesn’t make either of them wait any longer. The first touch feels exhilarating, even though Kip is barely doing anything – just a dry, still hand, wrapped loosely around his cock.

It’s not like Kip hasn’t jerked off in the past few days (he has, furiously and frequently), but right now, it feels like he hasn’t been touched in weeks. He gives himself a few slow strokes and revels in the heat it sends all the way through his body.

“Fuck, you look so hot,” Scott groans into the crook of his neck, squeezing Kip’s chest harder. His other hand finds Kip’s wrist and he pulls it off Kip’s cock to bring it up in front of their faces. Chin hooked over Kip’s shoulder, he leans forward to lick a broad, wet stripe over Kip’s palm.

“Yes,” Kip breathes, a pleasant flutter in his stomach as Scott slathers Kip’s hand in as much saliva as he can, tongue dipping into the spaces between his fingers and then going back to licking his palm again. “Fuck.”

Scott lets go of his wrist with a shaky breath, watching Kip reach down to wrap his fingers around his cock again, the slide of skin on skin now slicked with spit.

“How does it feel?” he asks, sounding absolutely starved.

“Not as good as your hand would,” Kip replies, squeezing his fingers around himself with a moan. “Not as good as your mouth would.”

Scott makes a helpless little sound next to his ear, his hips jerking forward against Kip seemingly of their own accord. “Jesus. Let me…”

He places one hand back on Kip’s forearm, fingertips resting just above his wrist. Nothing but a light touch, but Kip recognizes it for what it is: Scott being involved as much as he can, right now, if they’re playing by the rules.

Scott’s hand moves with him as Kip continues stroking himself, and it’s – it’s almost enough, and either way, as close as he’s going to get. He watches them in the mirror together, Scott with one hand on his chest and the other on his arm, following the steady movements of Kip jerking himself off.

“God, I want you so fucking much,” Scott breathes, his face pressed close to Kip’s. He sounds wrecked, and Kip can only imagine how he must be feeling, days of frustration and no hope at all for release.

He leans his head back against Scott’s shoulder, throat bared and back arched, his chest pushing out as his free hand comes up to cup the back of Scott’s neck. It feels exposed, a little indecent, like he really is putting on some show, but he knows Scott loves it all. He latches on to the side of Kip’s neck, all teeth and tongue, and twists his nipple between his fingers again.

“Are you close?” Scott asks. As if he can’t tell, as if he doesn’t know exactly what Kip looks like, sounds like, when he’s about to come.

Kip nods, his hand speeding up and his legs shaking as he feels his body coil tight with pleasure.

“So fucking beautiful, look at you,” Scott whispers into his ear, “come on baby, come for me, let me feel it with you.”

Kip’s mouth drops open on a silent cry, straining against Scott’s body, and then he’s coming in hot pulses onto the wooden floor in front of his feet, some reaching the glass of the closet door.

“Oh God,” he sighs after a minute of blessed white-out silence, turning around in Scott’s arms so he can be held close and kissed and have his hair stroked, Scott always pouring so much love onto him, so gentle in the aftermath.

“That was such a good idea,” Scott says, and Kip laughs. Yeah. Yeah, it was. “But I think I need to very slowly go lie down now and, like, stare at the wall for a bit, or I’ll just…” He gestures at his crotch, sweatpants tenting over his erection and a tiny wet spot in the front.

Well. That wouldn’t be the worst outcome, in Kip’s opinion. But he’s going to tread carefully on his way into bending the rules and treat this as the win it was. Columbia: 1, MLH: 0.

Chapter End Notes

It's not very visible in the episode, but we can see the closet in Scott’s bedroom and its highly inspiring reflective doors here in a virtual tour of the hotel room they filmed it in (or the same type of room anyway).

Chapter 3

3.

The purpose of the no sex rule, as it turns out, is based on stupid pseudo-science that’s long been disproven by, you know, actual science. Good news! However, Kip isn’t sure how much influence actual science, in turn, is eventually going to have on playoffs science, which seems to be its own thing altogether.

(Scott has been re-wearing the same stinky socks for the past three games and if he believed in actual science, he’d consider all the different types of fungi and bacteria he is currently breeding in there and maybe, like, decide not do that. Kip only tolerates it at all because they’re the banana socks he gave him and it’s kind of sweet that they’re still his lucky pair. But he also forces Scott to spray disinfectant onto his feet before getting into bed if he’s worn them that day, so – they’re compromising. He considers secretly replacing the biohazard socks with a fresh, similar-looking pair, but unfortunately Scott would immediately be able to tell by the lack of wear and tear and, frankly, stink. And then he’d probably lose the next five games out of sheer stress, which Kip really can’t have on his conscience right now.)

Anyway. The esoteric pseudo-science is this: Sex is too exhausting and you’re wasting energy you need for sportsy things, and also you apparently lose all your testosterone when you come (which is news to Kip), but you need as much of that as you can get, to be able to be more aggressive at your sportsies, or something. Alas, no sex.

For a very scary five minutes of his research process, he accidentally enters some trippy parallel universe of passive-aggressive incels talking about semen retention to become better alpha males, and that just sounds exactly like the kind of bullshit that jocks would fall for, Kip thinks, only slightly judgmental. No wonder this caught on.

When he explains the details of it all to Scott, Scott looks like he is listening with maybe twenty percent of his attention, the other eighty on the way Kip’s t-shirt is straining across his biceps as he makes the accompanying hand gestures to his lesson. Maybe it was a mistake to hold his little lecture in the bedroom, but they’re always short on time together and Scott needed to multitask and pack for his upcoming road trip. And then he just kind of sat down on the bed and started staring at Kip walking around the room talking at him.

Between playoffs stress and the level of horny Scott currently operates at, he is unfortunately only able to access very small portions of his full brainpower at a time – which, in itself, should be an argument against the sex ban, in Kip’s opinion. But, no one is interested in Kip’s opinion, and apparently the remaining brain cells are still enough to score a hat trick, so. Well.

“Did you…get all that?” Kip carefully asks after he’s finished and Scott clears his throat, eyes on Kip’s chest. Oh Jesus Christ, he’s going to have to wear a potato sack for the next six weeks if this is where they’re at.

“Testosterone,” Scott says slowly, “is good. And if I have more of it, I can play better. That’s why it’s a banned substance in sports. And it’s in…semen.” He makes a face. It sounds weirdly clinical coming out of his mouth and Kip has never actually heard him use that word for it.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, kind of. That’s – that’s not wrong.” Not entirely what Kip was saying here, but also not factually incorrect.

“So, if the purpose of the rule is not to lose any testosterone. And there’s some of that in, uh, you know.” Scott licks his lips and stares at Kip’s crotch. Oh. Oh yeah, okay. That’s the direction they’re going. An extremely promising direction, if you ask Kip. He wasn’t aware Scott’s repertoire of athletic disciplines included mental gymnastics.

“Then, if you found a way to get more of it instead…while you wouldn’t be following the letter of the law, strictly speaking, you’d still be following its spirit,” he offers. Maybe you just have to fight silly nonsense rules someone made up with silly nonsense exceptions you make up yourself.

“Overachieving, even.” And of course Scott would like that idea. He hooks two fingers into the waistband of Kip’s pants, pulling him close enough so he can press his face into Kip’s stomach and then tilts his head up, a question in his eyes. “With your help. Yeah?”

“Fuck, yes,” Kip says and then he’s being grabbed around the hips and thrown onto the bed faster than he can even blink.

Scott pushes his shirt up and licks over Kip’s bare stomach while he fumbles with the button on his jeans, getting into his own way more than anything. This is going to be so fantastically messy.

“It makes sense, right?” he asks, another quick look up at Kip, seeking reassurance, and Kip’s heart seizes in his chest a little.

“Nothing bad is going to happen, babe.”

“Don’t –” He sits back to drag Kip’s jeans off. Right. No jinxing.

“It makes sense, I promise. It’s just that nobody thought of it yet, cause, you know. Most of them don’t exactly think about sucking dick a lot. Allegedly.”

There, how about that? The gay loophole. Honestly, it’s what the community deserves from the terrible shit this sport puts them through on a regular basis.

“Yeah,” Scott says, probably not fully listening anymore, with the way his eyes are currently fixed on the outline of Kip’s dick in his underwear.

Kip flexes just a little bit, thighs tense and quads bulging out, hips tilted up, and Scott makes a low sound in his chest.

“Think of it this way,” Kip says, arching into a full-body shudder when Scott pulls his boxer briefs off next, the backs of his knuckles dragging ever so lightly over Kip’s cock. “Captain’s privilege.”

And that seems to get Scott’s attention again, his eyes dark and back on Kip’s face. Kip winks at him. “Get it, Hunter.”

And oh God, does he ever.

Scott has always been incredibly enthusiastic about giving head, and Kip will treasure the memories of that first night in his mind forever, because – yeah. He may have been a little sloppy, but into it in a way that could only be described as ravenous.

A happy memory indeed. Also one that almost pales in comparison to what Scott is doing to him right now.

He takes him deep right away, and Kip goes from half hard and interested to positively aching in an instant. Scott sucks him down, sputtering when his throat doesn’t open the way he wants at first, because it has been a while after all. But that just seems to motivate him to do better.

It’s raw need, the way Scott swallows Kip down, throat working around him and his tongue adding hot, wet pressure just the way he knows Kip likes. He can feel it all the way to his spine like liquid fire, the way heat spreads through him with every bob of Scott’s head, every flex of his fingers where they’re pressing into Kip’s hipbones and holding him down.

Scott’s beard, a little thicker and more unkempt now than the usual trim, drags against the inside of Kip’s thighs, and he knows that he only needs to keep his legs close enough and he’s going to be rubbed red later.

“God, babe.” Kip exhales, heavy. “You look…fuck.”

Scott pulls off to breathe and looks at Kip with a wild sparkle in his eyes, chest heaving. “Uh huh?”

“You fucking lunatic, I love you,” Kip says, feeling lightheaded, a little frenzied.

Scott swallows and licks his lips, his entire face going soft and – oh. Kip realizes what he just said. Or more like, what they haven’t said to each other again yet since getting back together.

“I love you, too.”

And then – Scott right back on him, not holding Kip down this time but pulling him up and in, both hands slid under his ass and pressing Kip’s entire pelvis so close into his face like he isn’t interested in breathing anymore, if he can just have Kip instead. 

He licks and sucks and chokes a little, spit all over his chin, and Kip is so dazed and overwhelmed by it all, he doesn’t even know where his limbs are, where his body ends and begins. Finding just enough coordination to move his hands, he buries his fingers in Scott’s hair, receiving a muffled groan in response when he tugs on it just a little.

“Love you so much,” he slurs, the only think he can think of to say, the only thing he wants to say, now that he can again.

Scott makes a broken sound and digs his fingers into the meat of Kip’s ass, never losing his rhythm on the way he forces Kip’s cock down his throat, drags his lips over him, tight and wet everywhere.

“Please,” Kip manages, his thighs trembling and his toes flexing, but before that can even amount to meaning much of anything, he’s already coming down Scott’s throat.

Scott groans around him, swallowing him down, greedy and frantic, and it makes Kip feel heady.

“God, you want it,” he breathes out, half-crazed with it, still coming. Scott hums his fervent assent around Kip’s cock and pulls back so slowly, suction strong and lips tight. Doesn’t want to lose a single drop. Kip moans, on the edge of too sensitive, when Scott keeps suckling on the head of his cock even after he’s done. Swirling his tongue around like he’s chasing the taste at the source, lapping him up.

“You feel so fucking good in my mouth,” Scott says when he finally pulls off completely, his voice a little hoarse from the sheer enthusiasm he just put into that blowjob. He’s still riled up as hell, kissing and biting all over Kip’s thighs and lower belly, then going back to licking at his cock, lying soft and spent, but there, which is apparently enough for Scott’s current purposes.

Kip strokes his hand through Scott’s hair, gentling him, letting him mouth and kiss and nuzzle a little longer until he’s calmed himself down enough to come up to lie next to Kip and put his head on his chest.

“That was – I mean, you…Jesus.”

Scott hums, fingers splayed wide over Kip’s ribs. “I liked that a lot.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Kip laughs and then suppresses a yawn, his body clearly done with the day after all that. “But you sure you don’t want…?”

“No,” Scott sighs. “No, I shouldn’t. It’s not – it’s not the science thing, just. I don’t wanna risk it. It’ll feel selfish and then…it’s gonna throw me off. It’ll be a whole thing.”

“Okay,” Kip says quietly and then kisses the top of his head. Scott is going to Philadelphia for a few days, and he really doesn’t need to stress him out with anything more before a couple of away games. He does seem happy enough with this new loophole for now though.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

4.

“What are the others doing?” Maria asks Kip at work one day while he’s washing all the blender blades by hand because the Straw+Berry dishwasher is broken. Who says that smoothie life isn’t a constant thrill? “Are there just, like, hordes of sexually neglected hockey wives roaming the streets of the city? Should we expect riots?”

“Okay, first of all, neglected hockey wife does not translate to easy target for you,” Kip says and gives her a meaningful look. Maria raises both her hands, the picture of innocence. Kip knows better. He’s not the only one who flirts with customers (well, really just the one customer – Maria, on the other hand, has range). “Though some of them probably do need saving.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Maria sing-songs, making a very inspired effort at rearranging one of the fruit bowls to be taken out front as decoration for the counter. She likes to make them look vaguely phallic.

“Honestly, I don’t believe for a second that no one on any of the teams is getting laid for weeks on end.” Kip places his blades on the drying rack and sighs in relief to survive another day without having to contemplate the merits of a workplace injury lawsuit. “I think Scott’s just being very cautious.”

“Just tell him it’s good luck for his game to knock on wood.” Maria holds up a large carrot and raps her knuckles against it. “Or, what’s the one, to touch a rabbit’s tail?”

---

Considering the stinky socks (still going strong even in May), the precise order and combination of the same foods Scott eats before every game, down to the same song he needs to listen to three times (Turn Down For What this year, picked for the whole team by one of the new rookies who clearly hates everyone with functional ear drums), Kip almost regrets even bringing it up.

He’s honestly grasping at straws at this point, but it kind of makes sense: If there’s a set of rules you’re generally meant to follow, and you’d like some leeway on maybe not obeying one of them perfectly, you just need to commit harder to all the others. It’s a system, a structure, a balance. (At least that’s what Kip’s approach to his chores was as a teenager – a job half done was better than none, and maybe if he actually cleaned his room like he was supposed to, he’d be granted some wiggle room on his curfew. It sort of worked. Sometimes.)

Mostly, Kip just really wants to convince Scott to let him return the favor on that blowjob and is ready to present his arguments for it.

He doesn’t need to do that much convincing, in the end. It also seems to make sense to Scott and his superstitious heart and, maybe more importantly, his not-so-secret desire to find some kind of excuse for himself to get Kip’s mouth on his dick.

So the deal they make with the Hockey Gods before his road trip is this: Scott does all his pre-game rituals extra carefully and finds one new one to commit to, and if it helps him win both their next couple of away games, he’ll consider himself to have a little buffer at being good and let Kip blow him.

“I can’t, uhm. Not all the way though.”

“No?” Kip asks. He’s trying not to sound disappointed, because at least it’s something, but...

“It’s just – I don’t wanna push it too much. So…”

“You know you’re just making your own life more difficult at this point,” Kip sighs, and Scott shrugs like he knows exactly that that’s true, but nothing can be done about it.

He picks some sort of intricate new way to tie his laces as the new addition to the pre-game routine, which he says actually helps him focus very well. Kip watches him win both his games on TV. Success indeed!

---

Being in the Hockey Gods’ favor seems to be an extremely fickle thing, as the rest of the night proves: Scott’s flight back from Pittsburgh is delayed. He isn’t even on the plane yet by the time that Kip has succumbed to some sort of woozy fugue state on the couch that he stubbornly refuses to call sleep. 

Which is where Scott finds him at three in the morning, rousing him with a hand in his hair and a kiss to the forehead.

“Hey, why aren’t you in bed?”

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Kip asks, still a little drowsy and confused.

“Because I was on a plane, babe,” Scott replies, his voice warm and amused, and he crouches down in front of the couch so he can kiss Kip properly.

That’s enough to wake him up anyway and Kip wraps his arms around Scott’s neck, locking him in place while hefalls half off the couch in his uncoordinated attempt to get to a better angle to kiss back.

“Bed,” Scott says decisively, and Kip follows him, both of them leaning on each other with how tired they are.

Scott lets Kip strip him with no protest but also very little participation, mostly just warm hands on Kip’s waist to hold himself up. Kip pulls his own shirt over his head and they fall into bed together, hands and mouths finding each other with their eyes closed, navigating by touch and taste alone.

“I’m here to collect my prize,” Scott whispers, and Kip can feel the goofy grin against his own lips.

“Are you sure you want it now?”

“Uh huh. Yeah.” Warm breath, Scott’s nose pressed into Kip’s cheek, lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

It almost seems like a bit of a waste to Kip, if they’re just going to do this once, and then Scott is probably too tired to even get hard properly – or maybe. Maybe that’s the entire point.

“Just a little bit,” he says quietly, “not…”

“Not all the way, yeah, I know.” Kip rolls them over so Scott is on his back, ghosting gentle kisses from his jaw down to the hollow of his throat. “I got you.”

Scott makes a content little noise, somewhere between sleepy and just deeply relaxed, and his hands find Kip’s shoulders.

“Thought about this all day.”

“Me, too,” Kip says, his lips making their way down Scott’s chest while his hands map him out, always on the lookout for tender spots and new bruises after a game. There’s an angry red one blooming right over his hipbone that looks painful. Kip carefully touches his fingers to it, then his lips. Kissing it better. He’s allowed his own pseudo-science sometimes.

Scott is still mostly soft by the time Kip settles between his legs. The whole no-shaving thing extends from his beard to his entire body, and Kip feels coarse hair tickle his face that he usually finds neatly trimmed. He presses his nose into it, Scott’s dick resting warm against his cheek, and Scott squirms a little, trying to get more from him.

“Shh, we can take it slow,” Kip whispers, turning his face to the side so he can press dry lips to the silky skin and feel Scott twitch against him. “Just a little, right?”

He drags his lips up the side of Scott’s cock, turning a kiss to the head into a lick, then two. Gentle swipes of his tongue against smooth, pink skin, and Scott trembling beneath him. Just a little bit.

It’s not what Kip expected of the night, his fantasies more along the lines of what Scott did to him a while ago, full of need and urgency. But this actually feels perfect for the quiet moment they’re in. It’s so tender, almost more intimate than just chasing the goal, trying to get each other off.

Scott runs his fingers through Kip’s hair, playing with the curls a little as Kip sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, barely any pressure around it. He gives a little swirl of his tongue and Scott sighs. He’s thickening up in Kip’s mouth, but still barely even half-hard.

Kip finds a good rhythm and then it’s almost kind of a meditative experience. Sensual, the familiar weight on his tongue. The way he sucks Scott slowly and Scott strokes his hair, holds his face, sighs and moans a little, sounding so calm and content with it all.

“Oh, I needed this,” he says quietly and Kip hums around him, strokes his fingers over his hip.

He knows what Scott means. It’s not really about missing sex for its own sake, even tough – yeah, admittedly he misses that a lot. But it’s the connection between them that comes most alive like this, thrumming wide open and happy for every kiss and touch exchanged, every time they’re inside each other.

Scott’s fingers in Kip’s hair gradually slow, his breaths growing deep and even, until Kip is sure he’s fallen asleep. He lets his cock slip out of his mouth, a little kiss farewell to the tip because he’s whimsical like that, and then crawls up the bed to lie next to him. Scott makes some half-asleep sound of acknowledgement and then rolls over to his side, one arm thrown over Kip’s body, face pressed into the curve of his shoulder.

It’s late and Kip has to be up early in the morning. But his heart feels warm and full, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face, listening to Scott breathe. Feeling peaceful.

Chapter End Notes

...those stressed-out boys needed a nice and quiet little break :)

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

5.

The history of abstinence in sports, as Kip learns, dates back to Ancient Greece and their early version of the Olympic Games. It was based on some of the same medically false beliefs that still manage to stick around today, though Kip is a little more lenient in forgiving the Greeks in 700 B.C. for their scientific ignorance.

Funnily enough, the Olympics are hardly an event characterized by abstinence these days, as far as he knows.

“Babe? Is it true the Olympics are basically a fuck fest?”

Scott makes a sound like he’s about to choke on his orange juice and Kip gets to his feet, ready to provide first aid. Thankfully he collects himself before Kip has to be reminded of his own medical ignorance.

“Why do you ask?”

“I remember reading about, like, 100.000 condoms provided for the athletes or something?”

 “Ah,” Scott says. “I thought. Uh.”

“What?”

“I didn’t fuck anyone in Sochi. If that’s what you’re asking. Or...anywhere else.” He looks a little stressed and Kip pulls him into a hug, giving the kind of first aid that he’s definitely better at than a Heimlich maneuver.

“I wasn’t asking that,” Kip says softly. He doesn’t exactly like thinking about the possibility, but Scott would have been well within his rights anyway. They were broken up; they weren’t even talking. And it’s not like Kip didn’t consider it, too. But he was honestly already enough of a mess without adding that to the mix. “I didn’t either, just so you know. And I didn’t think you’d chose Russia, of all places, for a hook-up.”

“Yeah, probably not.” Scott presses a kiss to his forehead and then takes another sip of juice. “You’re right though, the Olympic Village is basically a fuck fest.”

Wait, I fucked an Olympian, Kip thinks, stunned by the sudden realization. And he’s going to do it again very soon (hopefully). Maybe Scott even still has some of those 100.000 branded condoms lying around somewhere for a truly authentic experience.

---

“How’s this for historical facts,” Scott says, running his fingers through Kip’s hair where he’s cuddled into his side on the sofa, “the playoffs beard tradition actually started with the New York Islanders in the eighties. You might say you live in the home state of the original sexy lumberjack.”

He kisses Kip’s head and looks back down to his phone. It’s all hockey news, of course, and the photo of the very bearded Boston Raiders celebrating their latest win probably made him think of that little tidbit.

“I think several parts of Canada might disagree with that title, but I’ll take it.” Kip curls closer into his side and follows Scott’s thumb on the screen as he scrolls further down.

“Maybe they did it just so you could use it to flirt with me 30 years later.”

“Me?” Kip asks, pretending to be appalled, “flirt with you? I was just picking up your cues.”

“Oh, so…anyone will get that extra banana, huh? I’m not special?” Scott’s hand drops to his side, fingers digging into Kip’s ribs until he squirms and starts laughing.

“I didn’t say that.”

There’s also a solo shot of Ilya Rozanov and Scott scoffs as he reads the article accompanying the picture. Kip secretly thinks Rozanov is pretty funny; at least his post-game interviews are a little livelier than the usual media-trained blandness the other players deliver just like they’re supposed to.

“Look at that,” Kip says, his eyes skimming over the text. “When asked about game day superstitions, Rozanov says he does not observe any of the common rituals, such as putting his pads on in a specific order. Instead, he tells us that he prefers to trust his skills, and seems especially intent on making it clear that he does not follow the much-debated playoffs sex ban. ‘Boston needs me. All of Boston,’ he declares with a wink, and is also convinced that engaging in some off-the-ice extracurriculars before a game actually elevates his technique, rather than being a distraction.”

“I’m not taking my playoffs advice from Ilya Rozanov,” Scott grumbles and Kip pouts at him.

“But New York needs you,” he attempts. “I need you.”

And that last one does it, at least a little bit. Scott takes a deep breath and puts his phone aside, his hand coming up to Kip’s cheek. He leans in to kiss him, so lush and slow and sexy that it makes Kip’s toes curl.

“I did have one idea I wanted to run by you…”

---

Scott’s logic is simple: He got a blowjob and the world didn’t end, so maybe they cracked the code to playoffs science. The code being, they can have sex (sometimes, within reason) as long as Scott doesn’t come.

Kip is very torn between gently recommending professional help for these heretofore unseen levels of unnecessary self-flagellation and being half out of his mind with lust at the thought of fucking Scott. Because that’s what the next part of his idea was.

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Yeah. It’ll still be good,” Scott says, then briefly looks like he’s considering how good it’s actually allowed to be for him without accidentally dooming his team’s Cup chances. “Like, maybe don’t make it too good.”

Kip sighs. They’ve reached some sort of cosmic bargaining stage. He really isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth in this case, but…

“So you’re asking me to have purposely mediocre sex with you and not get you off. That’s the plan here.”

“You make that sound so unappealing,” Scott says, seeming almost disappointed, and Kip suddenly feels like he’s found a loose thread he very urgently needs to pull on.

“What do you find appealing about it?” he asks gently and Scott looks away, pursing his lips. He considers the question for a moment.

“I think I like…that it’s mostly for you? That I don’t – that I’m just there, I guess? Sorry, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“No, sweetheart, it really does,” Kip says. He brings his hand to Scott’s face, running his thumb over a bristly cheek. “That’s kind of a thing.” It’s kind of a really hot thing.

“Is it?”

“Okay, stop me if I’m veering off course here, but I think…” Kip pauses to climb into Scott’s lap, straddling him face to face, pressing so close their noses almost touch. “I think you’d like it if I just used your body. Like, for my own pleasure.”

Scott’s breath hitches and Kip watches him swallow, throat clicking. He brushes his lips over Scott’s, barely even a touch at all. The way he shivers at that seems very promising, so Kip keeps going.

“If you weren’t doing anything at all, just taking what I give you, because I said so.”

He’s massively winging it here, but Scott wraps both arms around him and crushes Kip to his chest, his face pressed into Kip’s shoulder. Hiding how flustered he’s getting, but nodding fervently.

“And what if I said I want that right now?”

Kip yelps when Scott simply stands up, hands under his ass to lift him, and carries him right to the bedroom.

---

It takes about two minutes to turn Scott into a desperate, shaking mess. He’s laid out naked on the bed for Kip, two pillows arranged under his lower back for an optimal angle, and currently moaning in ways that would, under different circumstances, sound medically concerning. But he’s absolutely fine, just very vocally enjoying Kip’s fingers in his ass.

He’s also full of many, many ideas, now that Kip has apparently opened the floodgates to a whole new world for him.

“If you wanted. You could just go for it. Like, right away.”

“No, baby, we’re not doing that,” Kip says patiently and adds some more lube. They need one more or less clear-headed person at the wheel here, and it definitely isn’t going to be Scott.

“I could take it. I could take it for you,” Scott says, sounding a little too serious, and Kip makes the executive decision to put a stop to the talking via his tongue in Scott’s mouth. He’s a little aggressive with him, insistent, and Scott meets him eagerly, every little sound swallowed between them, his breath hot on Kip’s face.

Kip pushes a third finger in and Scott breaks away, heaving in a breath, pressing his face into Kip’s shoulder.

“Can’t wait to feel you inside me again, God, Kip.”

It’s kind of strange to think he didn’t know this about Scott, how the tiniest bit of submission, a little hint of feeling overpowered and taken and used could get him going like that. But then, it seems like Scott didn’t know that about himself until five minutes ago.

“Gonna fucking – split me open with it, I love how thick you are.”

“Jesus,” Kip breathes, turning his face to the side to hide his smile as well as the sudden heat in his cheeks. Scott is currently experiencing a severe case of brain-to-mouth filter malfunction and Kip is into it.

He sits back, watching his fingers slowly glide in and out, stretching Scott open extra carefully. He’s all silky wet heat around Kip’s fingers, his entire body flushed and radiating need. And as much as Kip is aching to get him off like this, to wrap his lips around his cock, lying red and heavy against Scott’s stomach, and to twist his fingers just right – he can wait. He has free reign to do pretty much anything but that, and really, that’s more than Kip imagined even in his wildest dreams a few weeks ago.

Pushing Scott’s legs back into his chest, Kip lines himself up, his hands shaking just a little bit.

“I want you so much,” he whispers, and Scott, even through his little haze of lust, seems to feel all the emotion behind it. He reaches out for Kip, one hand to his cheek and his eyes bright and open.

“You have me.”

“Yeah. I have you. I have you back,” Kip says, huffing out a breath, and he’s almost nervous suddenly; it feels ridiculous. But he really wants to get this right for Scott, for both of them. He tries to shake himself out of it, just letting himself enjoy playing the game instead.

“And now I can do whatever I want with you.”

The noise Scott makes in reply is very close to a whimper, and Kip draws it out again when he starts pushing inside, a beautiful sound of trust and need. Bright bursts of pleasure dance at the edge of his awareness, Scott tight and hot around him and the moment firmly in Kip’s hands. He knows he’s right where he needs to be, now.

“Whatever you want,” Scott breathes, and Kip starts pumping his hips into him. “Feel so good in me.”

He looks drunk on it already, and Kip kind of wants to see how deep this new thing goes, how far he can push it if he just follows the script that’s writing itself in his head.

“You know this isn’t for you, right?” he whispers, his lips hot on Scott’s jaw, and Scott nods, making frantic sounds of agreement. “It’s for me.”

“Yes, yes, just for you.”

Kip snaps his hips forward hard and Scott groans, mouth slack and open. He isn’t aiming for his prostate, angle just a little off, so Scott really isn’t getting much of anything except the pressure, the fullness of it all.

“And you just lie back and take it.”

It’s fun, the effect this is having on Scott. He starts panting, squeezing his eyes closed and nodding, his hands grabbing at Kip blindly. “I’ll take it. I’ll take it so well.”

Kip enjoys every second of it, getting lost in their rhythm, that burn in his thighs that he hasn’t felt in too long, Scott’s sounds and taste and smell, the way he can’t seem to get enough of it the same way Kip can’t.

It’s too soon when he feels familiar pressure start building at the base of his spine, his core tight with it and his hips speeding up all by themselves. Scott is begging, and for what exactly Kip doesn’t even know, but he loves this and Kip wants to give him everything he can.

“So close,” he pants. “You want it?”

“Please.”

And Scott – God, it’s like he’s made for this. Gorgeous, throwing his head back and baring his throat to Kip, squeezing around him and pulling Kip in and in, into his arms, into his body. It all swims together in Kip’s head, what he’s seeing, what he’s imagining – coming deep inside Scott, filling him up, staking his claim –

Kip comes shaking and crying out, burying himself deep, overwhelmed by it like his body is trying to tear itself apart. He collapses onto Scott’s chest with his muscles still trembling, kissing him blindly; chin, cheeks, jaw.

“Oh God, oh God.” Scott is muttering to himself quietly, arms tightly around Kip and his cock pressed rock hard between them.

When Kip rolls off him and then pulls him into his arms, Scott immediately presses close again, face against Kip’s chest but his lower body now carefully angled away. He’s so hard it looks painful, and Kip would bet even just breathing on him would be enough right now.

He tries to help him settle down, one hand steady on the back of Scott’s neck and the other rubbing his shoulders. It’s like hugging a furnace, the way Scott is burning up beside him, sweaty and flushed.

“You’re okay,” Kip whispers to him, gentle encouragement, and he’s still mostly flying blind here the same way Scott is, but it feels right. “You did so well for me and you can do this too.”

Scott makes a weak noise and burrows himself further into Kip’s body, nodding.

“You’ll feel better in a little bit, just relax for me, okay? Breathe.”

It takes a while, but eventually Scott’s shaky breaths even out and his erection starts flagging enough that he at least doesn’t seem to be in active misery anymore.

“You were amazing.” It’s not even a part of any game anymore, Kip is genuinely a little in awe of Scott’s self-control, and more than a little in love with how beautiful he thinks it all was.

“Cup-winning performance?” Scott asks, after finding his words again, and Kip laughs. Always so fucking eager to please. He really doesn’t know how he didn’t see this whole thing coming from miles away – but at least they’ve discovered it now.

Chapter End Notes

...if you think Ilya is being a little too honest with the reporters here, tell that to Alex Ovechkin, who apparently said in an interview in 2009 that "sex really helps, before and after the game" (one of those little gems I found during my playoffs research).

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

+1

Kip is on an absolute high the day after he fucks Scott.

They’re both feeling clingy in the morning, a simple kiss goodbye becoming a five-minute production, hands all over each other constantly (even while Kip is brushing his teeth).

He floats through his day after that, a little extra flourish to every smoothie served and a thousand words for his current paper basically writing themselves. And throughout all that, Scott on his mind as always, feeding the soft, warm glow in his chest.

Something feels more settled inside him now that was still just a little delicate before. And it’s not just that he got to fuck Scott again – he’s not a caveman (but also he’s only human, so maybe it is that a little bit).

Really though, it’s the emotional part that gets to Kip most. The trust Scott put in him that he now holds close to his heart like the treasure it is, their bond feeling solid and deepened after this new side to them both they got to explore together.

The playoffs thing has been sort of a welcome distraction, if he’s being completely honest. A problem for them to solve together that, despite having direct effects on their relationship, really isn’t all that deep. Worst case, they don’t have sex for maybe eight weeks – Kip has survived much longer dry spells and he knows Scott has, too.

It’s almost like they’re practicing for bigger things, sort of. Because there definitely are much bigger issues still looming that haven’t really been addressed – neither of them wants to rock the boat after they’ve only just found each other again.

But for the first time, Kip doesn’t feel all that guilty about it. Maybe it’s not so bad, how things have been going. They’ve been building more of a foundation this time, to hopefully be strong enough to deal with reality once it inevitably comes knocking.

So, they’ve had a fairly low-stakes little trial run of handling outside complications and Kip really feels like it helped them to learn to trust each other again. He’s feeling hopeful for them both.

---

The Admirals don’t lose their next game, thank God.

There were a couple of moments where Kip almost fell into the anxiety machine himself by accident, because what if it is real, and what if his dick cost them the season? He’s 99% sure it isn’t, and has science and logic and, frankly, common sense on his side. But being with Scott, who is – not physically, but definitely spiritually – shaking like a nervous chihuahua about it all at times, has messed with Kips brain a little.

But, science wins, and so do the Admirals. For their next two games, in fact. But that’s when the streak ends.

Kip’s conscience is clear, at least: he’s been helping his dad put new flooring in all weekend and hasn’t so much as laid a finger on Scott in three days when their luck turns for the worse.

He’d grumbled about it a little bit when his dad first asked, not wanting to lose a whole weekend together, but now he’s glad for it. Scott can’t blame this on himself (well, he’ll probably still try – but at least not on his lack of sexual purity or whatever the kids are calling it these days).

Either way, it’s a tense time. Kip can feel how on edge Scott is, can hear him on the phone most nights talking some spooked rookie down that isn’t handling the pressure too well. He can get a little stuck in his head after that, still inside a role that makes it hard to be vulnerable or let Kip be there for him. But they manage – Kip is persistent and stubborn in providing love, and he holds and kisses Scott and sometimes pets his head like a dog until the persona visibly breaks and Scott actually lets himself take comfort in the support he’s being offered.

---

When the Admirals get eliminated, Scott calls Kip as soon as he’s in the car.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Kip says quietly, trying to gauge his mood. “Do you wanna talk about it or just forget it for now?”

“Nah, I’m all talked out,” Scott replies with a sigh. He really has done a lot of talking over the past few days, and not just to his team. There were many very interested reporters calling at all hours, wanting comments on their rocky series of games against New Jersey. The post-game press conference just now looked excruciating on TV, as well.

“Just wanna get my mind off it now, I think? Just waiting to get home.”

And there’s something in his tone…not too obvious, because he’s with his driver, but Kip knows all of Scott’s little tells.

“And you know what’s waiting for you here, right?”

Because while Kip did want the Admirals to win the cup, of course, he isn’t exactly mad that playoffs ended a little earlier for them. Getting knocked out by New Jersey is a bit of an insult to any New Yorker’s pride, but, well…if New Jersey wants Kip to finally get laid, who is he to be ungrateful about it.

“What’s, uh, what’s that?” Scott asks, his tone deliberately neutral.

“Me, naked in your bed, for one thing.” Kip stretches and sighs. It feels a little decadent, just waiting here like this. Alone in Scott’s big bed, freshly showered and the new sheets he put on earlier feeling crisp and clean against his bare skin.

On Scott’s end, an audible exhale, nothing else. Kip interprets that as go on.

“And I have everything here that I need to get ready for you. I’m gonna start with that small blue plug.”

“Yeah?” Scott clears his throat and Kip smiles.

“I know you got something to say about that, but it’s kinda hot that you can’t, right now.”

Kip puts his phone on speaker so he has both hands free and starts coating the plug in lube. He doesn’t mind having a bit of time to prepare by himself. It’s been a while, after all, and as soon as Scott gets back, he doesn’t want to have to wait another second.

“I don’t know about that,” Scott says carefully.

“I’ll talk for the both of us, don’t worry. You won’t miss anything.”

The blue plug really is small, maybe a little thicker than Kip’s index finger. He uses it to spread the lube around first, taking things a little more slowly than he usually would. His breath hitches when he pushes it inside, slicked silicone sliding in smoothly.

“How is it?” Scott asks, a strain in his voice.

“Feels good,” Kip says. “It’s been so long, Scott. Fuck.”

“I know.”

Kip pushes the plug in and out for a bit, slowly, letting his body get used to the feeling again. He doesn’t really use toys by himself that often, or even finger himself, because it always feels like a bit of a hassle. Nice to take the time for it, sometimes, but a lot more worthwhile with a partner.

“I wish it was you. Your fingers. You have great hands, you know that? Do I tell you that enough?”

Scott laughs a little. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“God, I love your hands on me. Love them everywhere, but your fingers inside me…that’s what I really want right now.”

He’s had enough of the plug for now, easing it back out and putting it aside on a towel. There are two more toys waiting, a bigger plug and a dildo that’s roughly Scott’s size.

“I’m gonna use the next one now,” Kip says, and he hopes Scott can hear the cap of the lube bottle clicking open, the wet little sounds of his fingers spreading it over the toy.

“Which one?”

“The one I made you wear,” Kip teases and Scott inhales sharply at the other end of the line. He remembers that from last year, then. The size and bulbous shape of the plug were perfect to keep Scott just open enough for round two when Kip had a very energetic day once.

It’s more of a stretch this time, and Kip gasps when the widest part slips past his rim.

“Oh, that feels big.” He’s maybe playing it up a little bit now, but it’s fun to get Scott excited. It’s probably safe to say his mind is now very far from any hockey woes, at least. And that, Kip thinks, means he’s doing his job right. “Feels so good. But I can’t wait for you to get here.”

“Me, too.”

Kip just breathes for a moment, letting his muscles adjust, clenching around the toy a couple of times. It moves with him when he shifts his legs, spreading them wider.

“I’ll be so ready for you,” he says, “so wet and ready and open, all you’ll have do to is just push home.”

Scott coughs, covering up whatever other sound he might have made.

“And you can have whatever you want this time.” Kip’s voice is shaking a little bit as he pushes on the base of the plug, moving it in and then pulling it almost all the way out again. “Whatever you need, baby, I’ll give it to you.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I know you know that.” He’s really kind of getting back into this whole phone sex thing; they haven’t done that in a while. It’s about a thousand times better when there aren’t hours between them though, and he knows he’ll have Scott back in person so very soon.

“How long since the last time you got off?” Kip asks and Scott exhales heavily.

“Six weeks.”

Kip can’t suppress a groan when he pulls on the plug again, stretching himself around it. He thinks of Scott in the car, of how he looks, what he’s doing. Top button of his shirt undone, probably. Sitting with his legs spread, maybe an arm draped over his lap to try and conceal how hard he is. Useless effort.

“So, when you come…there’s gonna be – a lot.”

“Yeah,” Scott replies, and he sounds rough. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I want it all, baby,” Kip whispers, “want it in me. Pump me full of it.”

“Jesus.”

It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to tone it down a little bit before Scott has a stress-induced aneurysm in that car, but Kip is having a bit too much fun with how exciting and wonderfully slutty this feels. He pulls the plug out and puts it aside, ready to move on.

“Last one.”

“Last…?”

“Oh, toy. The black dildo.”

“Okay,” Scott says, like he’s telling himself he can handle this, “okay.”

Kip makes a choked-off sound when he presses it in, a smooth glide but solid and unyielding inside him. He takes it slowly, distracted from talking for the moment. They listen to each other breathe for a bit, Scott shallow and fast, and Kip consciously deep and controlled now, letting his body adjust.

“Good?” Scott asks after a minute.

“Full,” Kip breathes. “So full. Gonna be you in a bit.”

“Yeah. I’m actually –”

Kip listens to Scott thank his driver and wish him a good night, then hears the door slam and the noise of the city in the background. Scott can talk freely again, without an audience in the car.

“Christ, Kip. You trying to fucking kill me or something? Fuck.” Steps on the lobby floor, greeting the doorman. The ping of the elevator. “I can barely walk.”

And then, the sound of the door opening, Scott’s footsteps –

“Welcome home,” Kip says sweetly when he steps through the bedroom doorway.

Scott doesn’t even say anything, his eyes roaming over Kip’s naked form spread out for him on the bed and then he huffs out a breath and starts taking off his clothes. It’s quick and careless; he’s clearly not interested in wasting time on a show and Kip is more than fine with that. He groans as he pulls the dildo out, and a second later Scott is on top of him, grinding their hips together and kissing him senseless. Kip wants him so bad.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he says, but he’s smiling so big, and Kip just laughs. He’s feeling high on it, their newly regained freedom. He finds the lube bottle and reaches between them to get Scott slicked up, producing a full-body shudder the moment Kip touches him.

“And you also know this is going to take about twenty seconds, right?” Scott says shakily, forehead pressed to Kip’s as he watches him spread the lube. He’s trembling a little, and Kip doesn’t know whether that’s need or nerves or just…everything.

“I don’t care. I just want you.” Kip wipes his hand off and wraps both arms around Scott’s shoulders, keeping him close as he lines himself up. “It’s not a performance.”

Scott makes a little sound in his throat like he kind of wants to disagree, but – not really the time or place for any of that.

It knocks the breath out of Kip when Scott sinks into him in one slow, smooth motion, still so controlled even now. Always considerate first, in the way he cradles Kip’s head in his hands and kisses him deeply, staying completely still inside him, just letting him feel their connection, that most intimate pressure. It’s more careful than Kip strictly needs it to be right now, but he drinks up the tender moment, slow and honey-sweet despite the palpable charge in the air.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” Scott breathes and rolls his hips, hitting the spot right away. It lights up sparks behind Kip’s eyes, makes him clench around Scott and his whole body twitch. He moans his pleasure into Scott’s mouth, fingers twisting into his hair.

And that’s actually all it takes for Scott to lose his careful composure, and any intentions about taking it slow – good, Kip thinks.

He drives into Kip over and over, barely any coherent rhythm to it all, but it feels like heaven after all this time and Kip pulls Scott in until his face is pressed into the crook of his shoulder, close as they can be. He can feel Scott’s every breath, frantic and heavy; feel his lips and teeth on his skin.

“Needed you so much like this,” Kip whispers and Scott makes a broken noise, fingers slipping over Kip’s sweat-slick skin where he’s holding on to him, trying to get a good grip on his hips.

“Fuck, I can’t –” He’s panting into Kip’s neck, and Kip can feel Scott’s body seizing up, muscles trembling. “I’m –”

“Yeah, come on. Come on, baby, just let go.” Kip can feel his words start to slur. He’s not – close, exactly, not close enough to come with Scott anyway, but he definitely is a little gone on it all. Loving the way Scott feels inside him, fucks him so good and deep and still full of love, how his body is caging Kip in, all muscle and strength and skill, and he’s using it for this, to give pleasure to them both.

Scott makes a wet sound in his throat, shaking with the effort to hold on just a little longer, and then Kip feels him fall apart. It almost sounds like he’s sobbing; kissing and groaning his relief into Kip’s skin, after all this time, finally – Kip squeezes around him and he could swear he can physically feel Scott pulse and throb inside him, spilling into him, buried to the hilt.

“All mine. Give it to me.” That gets one last shudder out of Scott, fingers digging into Kip’s hips and his breath stuttering against his skin.

“Oh God.” Scott’s voice is hoarse, his body a heavy weight on top of Kip, letting himself collapse as the tension drains out of him. He slips out with a wet sound and Kip feels himself clench around nothing. “Oh my God, I’m dead.”

Kip smiles, holding Scott close and pressing little kisses into his hair. He’s planning on getting him off as many more times as his body allows within the next 24 hours, to make up for lost time. But Scott doesn’t need to know that just yet.

He doesn’t seem all that dead anyway, pushing up onto his elbows to very thoroughly kiss Kip and then sitting back on his haunches between Kip’s spread legs.

“I think,” Scott starts, and picks up the dildo that’s still lying on the towel with the other toys. “I think I have an idea.”

“Yes,” Kip says immediately. After all that build-up, pretty much anything would probably do it to get him off, but this is actually what he wants most right now.

Scott pushes the toy into him slowly, moving it in and out, and Kip shivers with how good it feels when he gets the angle right. His cock twitches, lying plump and heavy against his stomach, and Scott leans in, kissing the skin right next to it, so close that Kip can feel his breath against the tip.

“Can I suck you?”

“God, yeah. Please.” Kip watches with his mouth hanging open: one of Scott’s hands disappearing between his legs, fucking the dildo in and out of him, the other splayed over his hip and the side of his stomach, keeping him in place as Scott swallows him down.

Somehow, they’ve never done it quite like this before, and Kip is trembling with it almost immediately. Relentless pressure inside him, full and stretched out as the curved head of the dildo drags over his prostate again and again, and then Scott’s mouth around his cock, where he hasn’t so much as touched himself all night, hot and wet and eager as always.

It’s almost – almost too much, too good. And Kip can’t help it, his body trying to push back into both sensations at once, hips jerking up, and Scott doesn’t even try to stop him, just groans around his cock like it’s the best thing in the world.

“So fucking good, oh God.” Kip’s fingers twist into the sheets on either side of him, bunching them up in his hands as his body tries to catch up with the onslaught of pleasure. He can feel it building, the muscles in his legs flexing and his back arching into it, and Scott’s fingers gently rubbing little circles into the skin right above his hipbone, wordlessly telling him the same thing he told Scott earlier, let go.

He does.

---

The day before the final, Scott is acting a little cagey. Kip puts it down to generalized cup anxiety first, but by the time Scott sits him down on the sofa with a serious face, he’s getting a bit nervous, too.

“So, uh, most of the guys are out of town already, vacations and stuff. But there’s a bunch of us still in the city and we usually get together to watch the final.”

“Okay,” Kip says cautiously. If Scott is ditching him for the last game, he’s not actually that bothered. His dad will be happy to watch together anyway.

“And, uh, sometimes – sometimes a few of the guys bring friends. To watch the game. And it’s – I mean, you don’t have to, and I know it’s a little awkward, but I told Carter that I might bring a friend, too. So if you do want –”

Kip kisses Scott to shut him up, which is very enthusiastically received.

“I know it’s not perfect, but –”

“I’d love to come,” Kip says. “I know this is a really big deal.”

Which barely begins to cover it. It seems like such a small, casual thing, but Kip knows what this means to Scott, what a massive step it is and how terrified he must have been to even bring it up.

“I just want them to know you,” Scott says quietly. “Even if they can’t know exactly who you are to me just yet, I – I want them to know how amazing you are.”

---

Considering how much anxiety goes into game day at Carter’s, it’s almost anticlimactically chill when they get there. There are at least ten people in the apartment, split into different little groups, talking and eating, the TV on in the background with pre-game commentary.

Scott introduces Kip as his friend that Carter might remember seeing at the fundraiser and Carter makes some confirmatory noises, giving Kip one of those bro-y half hugs.

“Sorry, can’t say I remember your face, bro. But I do remember your friend.”

“Oh, Elena,” Kip says, a little relieved not to be the center of the conversation. He so rarely talks to straight guys outside of work or family, and this place is full of them, so it’s not like he isn’t a little nervous, too. “Yeah, she’s a lot prettier than me, so that’s fair.”

Carter laughs and slaps his back like he just made the best joke and then moves on to ribbing Scott a little about finally making friends outside hockey.

“I can hold a conversation about other stuff, you know,” Scott says, still a little tense himself, but Kip can tell being around Carter helps him be more at ease.

“He talks about serial killers a lot,” Kip confirms and Carter shakes his head.

“Man, that’s why we don’t usually let him speak to civilians,” he says and presses a cold beer into Kip’s hand that seems to have just kind of manifested from somewhere. “Well, have a seat, enjoy – wait, you’re not a Boston fan, right? Because then I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“Nope, and my dad would disown me first, Admirals family.”

“Good man, Kip’s dad. All right, let’s see this shitshow.”

Kip doesn’t stick overly close to Scott, wandering around a bit and occasionally speaking to a few of the other guys – about the food, the game, the weather. Someone’s torn ACL, another guy’s new car he’s thinking about getting. A little bit of football. It’s all actually very, very…normal.

He watches Scott’s shoulders relax bit by bit as the evening wears on. The world doesn’t end.

---

Boston ends up winning the cup, beating San Francisco, and everyone watches with differing levels of annoyance as Ilya Rozanov hoists the cup over his head in triumph.

When they leave Carter’s place, Scott turns and gives Kip a thoughtful look.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…how about next year, we try the Rozanov approach to playoffs?”

Hell, yes.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for everyone's lovely comments on this fic, it really means the world to me! <3 I had great time writing it and I hope you enjoyed this last chapter.

Also: happy playoffs! They start today, apparently. What fantastic (and completely accidental) timing.