Work Text:
When we had read how the desired smile
was kissed by one who was so true a lover,
this one, who never shall be parted from me,
while all his body trembled, kissed my mouth
dante, inferno, 5.133
Okay, so the thing is – Adam’s not like, blind. He knows he’s pretty decent looking, as hockey players go, and he’s big and he’s in shape, and that’s like. He knows what he looks like, is all he’s saying here. But also after twenty odd years of training he’s used to thinking of his body and his face and his everything in terms of hockey – is he big enough to finish a check, does he need to spend another couple hours on legs, is his chemistry with his lineys good enough.
Which like, shit. That’s the problem right there – he and Copps get along great. Good ‘Chel sessions, good chirping, good passes. He and Rusty get along. Also great? Except he can’t stop thinking about the time Brandon leaned over to pick up his tape and his ass was right in Adam’s face. Or the time Brandon grabbed a bottle of water and his arm muscles flexed as he opened it and the way his throat looked when he swallowed it. And also that time when Adam scored and Rusty slammed him into the boards shouting in his face before Copps joined the hug and how Adam had wanted Rusty to maybe, possibly, slam him into some other things and maybe put his mouth on Adam’s mouth.
Except then he did, for all of a half a second, and Adam has one more thing to add to the fucking list of things he can’t stop thinking about. Like for fuck’s sake Wheels is right there. He couldn’t suddenly develop a condition where he can’t stop thinking about Wheels splitting him open on his big dick, or shoving him down on his knees and telling him to stay there? Wheels is a fuckin’ beauty and his own size, not half a foot shorter with a weird forehead. No, it had to be Brandon for some reason.
It’s whatever. It’s fine. Adam’s got a handle on it. They have great chemistry and if it comes at the expense of Adam chirping Brandon about his taste in food and then going home and frantically jacking off before he even gets to his room thinking about being blindfolded and having Brandon’s fingers in his mouth: it’s fine. He’s got this.
There’s the usual chirps from the boys about the ad, but not as many as there probably would’ve been before the whole. Fortnite thing. Which like, look, Adam’s for sure into games as much as any other guy, but the weird tension in the room because of it makes him uneasy. Wheels is pretty quick to round them up and keep them on track now – focusing just on hockey. And fair, hockey’s why they’re all here, but Adam knows you can’t shut down all the chirping about outside shit and keep it all hockey all the time without losing some of that chemistry. But, whatever, it’s not like he’s gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. The less he’s reminded he actually knows what Brandon’s lips feel like (soft, a little chapped, tasting like tempura) the better.
Like he said. He’s got a handle on it. Except then Rusty wanders over to him after practice, leaning against the stall in a way that pulls his shirt tight over his arms and makes all the hard work Adam’s put into everything being fine and normal go out the window. “What’s –” Adam coughs, clears his throat, and tries again. “What’s up, man?”
“Was just gonna offer you some lunch and cookies, unless you were serious about not wanting them.” Brandon raises his eyebrows, which just emphasizes the way they stick up and out like a weird squirrel or something, and it’s so fucking cute and fuck, Adam is taking too long to answer.
“Uh, yeah, that sounds – sounds good, bro. Better than last week’s cookies, I hope. Those were dry as shit, man.”
“So you said,” Brandon pushes off from the wall, shaking his head a little, and Adam watches his hands as he shoves them through his hair. “Whatever, bro. These are gonna blow your mind – cranberry chocolate chip. See you in a few.”
Adam just nods, like an idiot, because if he opens his mouth he’s probably going to say something monumentally stupid like “please let me get on my knees for you and suck on your fingers”.
He lets himself into Brandon’s place, keys clattering into the bowl Rusty keeps by the front door for them, and kicks off his slides as he announces, “Honey, I’m home!”
Brandon’s voice comes around the corner. “Kitchen!”
Adam heads there, only taking ten seconds to blow deep breaths in preparation for what he’s about to see. Ten seconds isn’t enough, though, because Brandon’s got that big-ass apron on that Adam got him for his birthday last year, and cookie dough at one corner of his mouth, and if Brandon asks him a question literally the only thing Adam will be able to do is scream.
“You think I should add white chocolate chips to these?” Brandon asks, taking another thoughtful finger of batter and sticking it in his mouth.
Adam’s knees buckle. “Uh.” He manages.
“Nah, you’re right, I guess. Better not to mess with perfection.” Brandon glances up and frowns. “You okay, bro?”
“I’m good,” Adam croaks. “You – need the oven on or anything?”
“Already got it. Just gotta let this chill for twenty minutes and then we’ll be good to go.”
There’s still cookie dough on Brandon’s mouth. In about thirty seconds Adam’s self control is going to die a graceless death.
“You want something to drink, man?” Brandon picks up a bottle of beer off the counter and takes a long pull. “I got those –”
He’s cut off, because Adam’s self control didn’t last anywhere close to thirty seconds, and he’s on his knees in front of Brandon. “Please,” he mutters feverishly, “please, Rus, just let me – I need to – I need this.”
Brandon looks startled as hell, which is totally fair, but also like, Adam’s on his knees in front of him, so there’s really only a couple things he could be doing down here.
“Lows, are you high right now?” Brandon demands, grabbing Adam’s hands in both of his.
“No – it’s not – I’m not on drugs.” Adam licks his lips, wondering if he can just slide one of Brandon’s fingers into his mouth without him noticing. It probably tastes like cookies.
“Your pupils are like, big as shit, Adam.” Brandon sounds skeptical.
“I just – I wanna kiss you so bad. Please, Rusty. Brandon. At least give me something - your fingers, or your dick, just – something.”
There seems to be a light coming on for Brandon. “That kiss was – that wasn’t you just messing around, man?”
“It was,” Adam mumbles from around Brandon’s forefinger. Definitely worth taking his courage with both hands and getting his mouth where his money is. Or something. Because, fuck, he does taste like cookies. And also mostly like saliva, because Adam’s never done this before, and he’s kind of drooling a lot. “But also like – I can’t stop thinking about it, and I wanna do like. Gay stuff with you, bro.”
Brandon huffs a laugh. “I, uh. Kinda got that picture.” He sounds gratifyingly breathless.
Encouraged, Adam goes for his waistband again.
“Whoa, whoa, hey – I’m right here with you, man, but let’s – can you come up here for a minute?”
Adam will absolutely come up for a minute. He feels very strongly that he’d like to be on his knees for Brandon again, but also Brandon wants him to stand up, so he’ll do that. He sways a bit, feeling weirdly like he might be high after all, but then Brandon’s hands are on his face, warm and a little damp from either his beer or Adam sucking on them, and then he’s pulling Adam’s mouth down to his own and fuck, fuck, yeah, Brandon absolutely makes the best plays, fuck, Adam is never doing anything else in his life that’s not kissing Brandon Tanev.