Rating: R, for language
Characters: Petr Sykora, Andy McDonald, Jason Arnott
Dedication: almightychrissy, frala, lastcatastrophe, joolzie, and of course, tamiflu. :)
Disclaimer: It's all lies!
Author's Notes: This is set just before Petr got traded from the Ducks to the Rangers and is written from Petr's POV.
I woke up the next morning feeling pretty good. However, when I opened my eyes and started to sit up, a swarm of tiny daggers started stabbing my brain repeatedly, so I closed my eyes and let my head sink back onto the pillow, whimpering softly.
Mac stirred next to me on the bed and mumbled, "Petr, you awake?"
I grunted in reply and turned slowly and carefully - just in case the daggers started attacking again - onto my side to face him and braved opening my eyes a sliver to look at him. His eyes were wide open and there was a short, even layer of stubble on his face. I'd never seen him like this before, only clean-shaven, and the sight made me smile.
Mac smiled in response and we both moved in for a kiss. To be honest, he tasted like he'd been drinking all night and touching anything at all, even with my lips and tongue, seemed to hurt, but somehow it was good anyway, because it was him.
I wriggled closer to him until we were chest to chest, and I wrapped an arm and leg around him in a loose full body hug as I kissed him a few more times, my lips tingling. We were both warm, hot almost, but we kept the blanket on. I felt like it was keeping us in our own little world, and nothing could hurt me in there.
My phone rang, and the daggers started stabbing again full force. Mac and I stopped kissing and groaned at each other in shared pain.
"Turn your fucking phone off," he pleaded, folding his pillow over to cover his exposed ear.
I steeled myself and got up, staggering heroically to the spot where I'd tossed my pants and grabbed my phone out of the pocket. Jason was calling and I vaguely remembered something about him, and this morning, but I couldn't remember what it was so I sent it to voicemail to restore the blessed silence, then turned the phone off and dropped it.
Mac waited for me to feebly make my way back to bed, then flung the blanket over me immediately, encasing me in warmth. I kissed him again, thinking that I could get used to all of it, how soft his lips were, the scrape of his stubble against my beard, and the stickiness of our bodies as we shifted against each other.
I wanted to tell him how I felt, how good he made me feel, but my swollen tongue wouldn't let me speak, and I just assumed that he'd know as I drifted back to sleep.
It was early afternoon when I woke again, feeling much better than I had earlier, although not exactly in the mood to run a marathon or anything. Mac was up already - had been for a while, judging from how cold the sheets were where he'd slept - and I got out of bed slowly, wondering whether he'd gone home before realising that he was home.
"Mac?" I called out, as I made my way down the hallway after putting my pants on.
A muffled response from downstairs confirmed that he was still there and I went into the bathroom to take a piss. There was a small basket of potpourri on a shelf that smelled faintly of roses. I wondered if an old girlfriend had gotten it for him, or if he'd bought it himself.
I washed my hands in the sink and splashed water on my face, checking the damage in the mirror as cold droplets of water ran down my chest. I didn't look as bad as I'd feared; perhaps I looked better than Mac did right now; perhaps he'd cleaned up and shaved, and looked like the Mac I saw show up for morning practice, or at breakfast when we were on the road.
I heard footsteps on the stairs as I reached for a towel to dry my face, and soon after, Mac peeked into the bathroom, a shy smile on his face. He'd wrapped a white towel low around his waist and I was happy to see that he hadn't shaved. I decided I wouldn't let him for the rest of the day, not while we were together, not while I had him.
"Hi," he said softly, standing awkwardly at the doorway, as if he was afraid to come in.
I walked over to him and slipped my arms around his waist, tilting my head down to kiss him. "Hi," I murmured, smiling as I felt him hug me comfortably, relaxing against me, skin against skin, exciting because being with him was so new. "What have you been up to? Making me breakfast?"
Mac wrinkled his nose. "You wish."
"Oh? That's it, I'm leaving," I said, not moving from the spot as I kissed his cheek, enjoying the feel of the stubble that seemed so alien on him, like it was a side of him I'd never gotten to see before.
"Okay, you do that," he laughed, and kissed me back, harder this time, the kind of kiss that made me think about the night before, when he'd tasted like cotton candy and had been the thing I'd wanted more than anything.
I pressed my hips against his, feeling the towel shift, then come undone, and it fell to the floor in a heap. We both looked down at his dick, half-hard, casually poking my thigh. He didn't make a move to pick the towel up.
"Here, let me take care of that for you," I said, grinning up at him as I sank to my knees.