Archive of Our Own ^beta

Will’s not sure how much more he can take.

Another game, another loss. They’re up to 14 now on the season, with only five in the win column. He’s already settling into the post-loss routine: tromp back to the locker room, sit in the stall, wait for the coaches to come and say a few words. Depending on whether it was a good loss or a bad loss - and yes, they are different, depending on how well the team played its system, their effort - those words may have a very different tone to them. But in all except the worst losses, the team bounces back quickly after the coaches leave. Music turns on. Crude jokes and teasing starts back up. Showers get going. Equipment managers rush around. Guys are tapped for media.

And someone is selected for winner’s room.

It still hasn’t been Will.

Sure, he knows the opposing team traditionally doesn’t pick a rookie until after they’ve scored their first goal. That took an agonizingly long time, but after he burst onto the scene with a two-goal effort against Chicago, he figured his time was coming, and quick. After all, Macklin scored in his debut, and he was chosen the very next game for the room.

But it still hasn’t happened. Will sits in his stall, stomach rolling with nerves to hear the room selection, and every time it’s been someone else. The anticipation is killing him.

Mack does not seem to be having the same issue. Since his first selection, he’s been a regular in the room. Sure, he doesn’t have to go; the most recent CBA ratified the rights of every player to refuse, and rookies especially are given grace. But Mack has taken every room he’s been asked for like a fucking champ, and infuriatingly refuses to answer any of Will’s questions besides confirming that they’re good, bro, you’ll see. Will knows that is an NHL tradition, too - what happens in the room stays in the room, and speaking about it in any capacity to anyone is a true faux pas - so in this space between the final buzzer and the room selection, he ruminates in his stall, mind racing about the possibilities.

If someone would just fucking choose him already and get it out of the way, he thinks, he’d actually be grateful for it. They lost to Vancouver, but the Canucks picked Toff, not a big surprise there. The Wild selected Granny. The Flyers chose Mack…and then a few nights later, the Rangers did too. Now, another loss to the Penguins, and Will knows in his heart that it’s going to be Mack again. Probably with Sidney fucking Crosby.

Fuck.

Will loves Mack, knows they got something special going on, and he can’t wait to build this team by his side. But looking at Mack’s grin, this idea that he’s going to get to spend the most intimate one-on-one time with Crosby, there’s a jealous burn sparking in his gut that is wholly unfamiliar and entirely unwelcome. You’re not supposed to enjoy the room, per se, but…but it’s Sid. It’s not like he’s going to have too many chances to get into a room with him.

Fuck!

Here she comes, the Penguins staffer in her black-and-gold jacket to make the announcement. The room barely quiets from their chatter as she calls out a name: “Smith.”

Wait. Smith?

Fuck, holy…holy fuck.

In an instant, he’s in a head lock, knows it’s Mack without having to visually confirm it. “My boy, Smitty! My boy is a man now!”

“Calm your tits, neither of you are what I’d call a man yet. Stop molesting him,” Toff says, dryly teasing. “Save some for the Pens, shit.”

Mack does let him go, and now Will can see the delight written plain on his expression. “You think it’s gonna be Sid?! Dude! Dude!”

“I’m so nervous,” Will blurts, because Mack…Mack has that effect on him, of being able to be completely honest, to bare his soul and know he won’t be made fun of. Not too much, anyway. “What if it is Sid? Toff, you think it’s gonna be Sid?”

Tyler shrugs, stuffing his compression pants into his laundry bag, not bothering to look up. “Definitely could be. Sid doesn’t like his team picking rookies unless it’s him or someone he really trusts. Back when Sid was a rookie, rooms were different, so he’s a little protective.”

Will’s heard all about that. Rooms used to be a dreaded punishment. If you got picked, you were walking out of the room funny, probably with a couple bruises. It’s not like that anymore, with some notable exceptions, but Will is glad to hear he’s not going to be roughed up tonight. “So like…what do I do now?”

Toff gives him a look. “Maybe shower first, you goblin. You stink.”

“Let’s go!” Mack crows, giving him a well-placed smack on the ass, which leads to jeers from the room. Save that ass for Crosby!

Macklin chatters happily to him through the whole shower, which isn’t terribly abnormal because they usually talk about anything and everything, the novelty of being together and in the NHL not anywhere near worn off. Tonight, Will mostly just nods along, letting Mack do the talking. He’s got a lot on his mind, after all.

After a good scrub, he throws on his shorts and shirt and hoodie - takes the hoodie off - puts it back on, indecisive, before Mack laughs and shoves him. “It’s gonna be off soon anyway, dude. Just go!”

“Okay, okay,” Will grins, grabbing Mack in an impromptu hug before scurrying out the door to cheers and hoots.

He’s immediately lost, never having been to Pittsburgh before, but is rescued by the staffer who announced his name. “Sorry. I had to step away for a moment,” she says, sounding harried. “Let’s hurry, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Okay,” Will says, trailing along. That doesn’t sound like Sid, who is - by all media accounts - perfectly patient and polite. So if it’s not Sid…

Someone he really trusts.

Malkin? A fresh wave of nerves dumps over him. That guy is huge, probably in more ways than one. Will’s not a virgin or anything, but he’s never exactly been fucked by a 6’4 Russian dude before either.

The Penguins winner’s room is relatively non-descript - the team logo, a small bit of text underneath that says players only - but nothing else to indicate what it’s used for. But this must be it, because the staffer stops at it and gestures. “Whenever you’re ready,” she says, smiling at Will.

“Thanks,” he says, pushing the door open, mind racing as he tries to remember the few Russian words that Klim Kostin taught him a few weeks ago. That would be cool, right? To say hello to Malkin in Russian?

He remembers just as he steps in the room, and he almost blurts it out - privet - when he’s struck by the fact that the man lounging on the bed isn’t Malkin at all. It’s Kris Letang, who is sprawled out like he owns the place (in a way, Will supposes, he does). He glances up from his phone, one eyebrow raised. “You’re late,” he admonishes lightly, then gestures to the bedside table where there is a coil of rope. “Going to have to tie you up for that.”

Will’s jaw drops open of its own accord. Rope? Tie him up? He didn’t think - he had no clue that was allowed in winner’s room -

A noise snaps him out of it. It’s Letang, and he’s laughing and shaking his head. “You should see your face,” he says. “No, no, no. It’s a joke. You can close your mouth. Well, for the moment at least, eh?” That sends him into another bout of laughter, and he sets his phone on the table, gestures him over. “Come on then, come over. You know how these go?”

“Yeah!” Will says, more bravado and bluster than he feels, making his way slowly over to Letang. “Well. In theory. It’s kind of…my first one.”

“Oh yes, I know. Nervous?” Letang asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before sticking out his hand as Will gets close. “I’m Kris, by the way.”

“Will. Or Smitty. I mean, whichever you wanna call me,” Will says, shaking Kris’ hand. It’s hard not to notice the thick forearm, the black tattoos winding their way up Kris’ skin as they shake hands. He’s not the biggest guy, not like Malkin’s looming form, but Kris Letang is fucking stacked. He wonders, vaguely, what Kris is noticing about him.

Kris smirks. “Well, my friends call me Tanger, but you call me Kris.”

“What, we’re not friends?” Will quips before he can even think about it.

Luckily, that sends Kris into another chuckle. “No. Not yet,” he amends. “But maybe after tonight, eh? Now, despite what my reputation says, I’m actually a pretty nice guy, and since this is your first, I let you choose.”

Will has never heard of Kris’ reputation, but with the slight emphasis on the word, he’s pretty sure it’s not a good one. “Choose what?”

“You want fucked, or no?”

“What…what’s my other option?” Oh my god, Will thinks. Is Kris going to let Will fuck him?

Somehow, Kris reads exactly what Will is thinking, and almost looks impressed as he scoffs. “You got balls to think maybe it’s the other way. No, no, I just mean you blow me.”

“What’s the catch?” Will asks. There has to be a catch, right?

Kris smiles, humming softly at the question. “Smart, smart. Well, if you blow me, I finish, then you get out. But I fuck you, you get to come, too. And isn’t that always more fun?”

“I mean, I did come here expecting to get fucked. And that does sound more fun.”

Kris pats the bed next to him. “You a virgin?” he asks, as Will takes the invitation, sits gingerly on the bed next to Kris.

Will shakes his head.

“Tell me about it.”

That question sends him for a loop, and Will blinks at Kris, assessing how serious he is. Very serious, it appears. “Uh, you wanna know about like, my experience? I mean, I’m not a virgin. But if you’re talking about bottoming, it’s been awhile. I was a teenager - “

“You’re still a teenager.”

“I’m 20,” Will protests, and Kris holds up his hands, exaggeratedly apologetic. “I know, it probably all sounds the same to a 40-year-old - “

Before he can even process it, his world tilts, and he’s shoved onto his back, Kris looming above him. “I’m 38,” Kris growls, but he’s smirking, like he’s enjoying the banter. “And yes, I want to know about your experience. Because this is no teenager dick, Smitty,” Kris says, at the same time grinding himself into Will’s crotch. The athletic wear that they’re both wearing doesn’t hide too much, and Will gasps despite himself.

Kris feels huge.

Ah, hell, now he’s turning red, he just knows it. Because he knows exactly why he’s reacting like this. Back in his U18 days, the boys had caught Ryan Leonard watching porn…well, not so much caught as he’d opened his laptop and it had started autoplaying from his last jerkoff session. Leno was gay, and at the time Will had fancied himself to be mostly straight, just a little bit flexible. But what he’d seen on the screen - because of course, everyone had insisted that Leno play the video, so they could chirp him mercilessly - had thrown him for a loop. It was the biggest dick he’d ever seen, and that’s saying something because he was no stranger to porn himself. Size queen. Size queen! Rutger had teased Leno for the rest of the year.

Will had gone home and privately looked up a few videos of his own. He realized that maybe he wasn’t as straight as he thought. And maybe he was a size queen, too.

“Ohhh,” Tanger’s murmur brings him back to the present. His smirk has turned into a full smile, a little mean, a lot knowing. “You’re interested, eh? Nobody has to know. You don’t have to tell anyone. Why don’t you take it out and see how you like it, then.”

Will swallows, managing to not make an embarrassing gulp sound as Kris lifts off him, rolls onto his back and pats his crotch. The bulge there is fairly obvious, and it looks just as big as it felt. “Yeah, okay,” Will says, trying to sound casual and confident as he peels back Kris’ joggers.

The stuff of his porn dreams is in front of him now. No wonder Kris is so fucking cocky, Will thinks - if he had this in his pants, he probably would be too. He’s surprised to feel a healthy frisson of fear burst up his spine at the sight. It’s one thing to watch porn; quite another entirely to be confronted by the very real fact that this could be inside him tonight. Maybe some things are better kept as fantasies.

“Put your mouth on it first,” Kris encourages, reaching up to cup Will’s jaw, almost - almost affectionate, reassuring, like he knows what Will is thinking. “I’ll go slow. Promise.”

It might be a big dick, but in the end it’s just a dick, and Will has sucked plenty of those. He opens up - wide, wider than he’s used to having to do - and then Kris’ cock is in his mouth. Well, the tip of it, anyway.

It’s the girthiness that surprises him. He can’t deep-throat a normal sized dick so he definitely won’t be making a go of that here, but his mouth is full fast, lips stretched out. A drool of saliva bursts from his mouth, tickling as it goes past his lower lip, and Kris hisses. “Ouias, that’s it. Use your tongue. Good boy.”

As he bobs his head shallowly he catches sight of the Penguins logo, branded onto Kris’ joggers, and is struck suddenly by the weight of it all. He’s here. He’s here, in the winner’s room, in the NHL, and if he’s here it means he’s here to stay, because nobody picks the fringe players unless there’s some kind of extenuating circumstance. He doesn’t know Kris, though, and Will didn’t act like a fool in the game. Kris picked him because Will is an NHL player. Not just right now, not just today, but for the foreseeable future, too.

Will moans. Part of it is the pure ecstacy of the thought, because sometimes it still barely feels real, but honestly he’s getting into this, too. Kris’ cock is weighty on his tongue, and he tastes clean but there’s that funk of recently-played hockey that even the best scrub can’t fully get out, and yeah, maybe Will is into that too. He splays his tongue out to taste more, and Kris gently curls his fingers into Will’s hair, and Will definitely likes that.

He’s just starting to get into a good rhythm when Kris’ hand strays down to his jaw, squeezes it. “Enough,” he says, his voice a sandpaper edge that wasn’t there before. “I want to fuck you. And you want that too, ouias?”

“Yeah,” Will breathes. The fear is still there, definitely the nerves, but now there’s anticipation, too. “Are you, uh. You’ll make it good for me?”

“You think Sid would let me in here with you if I didn’t?” Kris asks, and for the first time, Will remembers that he’d originally hoped Sid would be the one doing the room. He must make some sort of face, because Kris quirks a quick blink-or-you’d-miss-it smile. “Yes, I know, sorry to disappoint that it wasn’t him.”

“It’s not - “

“You’ll see, soon enough,” Kris says cryptically.

Will’s not sure what that means, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it before Kris is pulling off his shirt, bicycle-kicking his legs to push the joggers off the rest of the way. He sprawls back, naked as the day he was born, not a single ounce of modesty as he takes up most of the space on the bed. “No time like today,” Kris says, spinning his finger in a circle impatiently. Will is pretty sure it’s no time like the present but he’s not going to correct Kris.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Will says, following suit. His shirt joins Kris’ on the floor, and then his foot gets stuck in his own joggers and he has to hop once, twice, three times to free it. He can hear Kris laughing as he struggles with it; decides to lean into it, taking a bow and a flourish once he finally gets them off.

“I hope you’re less clumsy in bed,” Kris snorts, snagging the lube that Will just noticed is sitting on the bedside table. There’s actually three kinds of lubes, bottled water, granola bars, and towels sitting there; he wonders what might be inside the drawers. Sex toys? “Ah, on your knees I think. Makes it easier.”

The bed shifts as he gets on, and he realizes it’s because Kris is getting off the bed. Will watches over his shoulder, confused, as Kris walks over to the wall, where a black speaker sits. He presses a few buttons and then sound fills the room, soft but audible. “Is that…is this Sia?” Will asks, confused.

“Yes. What, you think I’m too old for - “

“No, just like…I dunno, I didn’t expect you to turn music on.”

Kris shrugs, flipping the cap on the lube as he swaggers back over to the bed. “This part is boring. Not for you I suppose, but for me…eh. It takes a lot of time and lube to get you ready to fuck when it’s this big. Unless you like pain, what’s that word? Masochist? You tell me if so, it’ll be our secret.”

“Oh no, no way,” Will says, shaking his head. He might be exploring some kinks, but that is not one of them.

“Too bad,” Kris says, settling back down behind Will. His hand is warm when he cups Will’s ass; the lube, not as much, but it gets there quickly.

The lube job is thorough and practiced, if not particularly sexy. Kris doesn’t seem to try and make it good for him, no real foreplay; he hums along to the music on occasion, snatches of the songs floating slightly off-key in the air as he twists his fingers deep, adding more and more and more lube. Still, despite its clinical application, it’s hard not to get into the stimulation. Will shivers every time Kris brushes against his prostate, and by the time he’s got three fingers inside Will, he’s uncomfortably hard. “I’d try to hold off on coming if I were you,” Kris tells him, like they’re talking about a hockey play and not fucking. “Everyone, they always tell me it’s too much after they come. So look, I’ll make sure you get off, but I won’t touch you until I finish.”

“That’s…fair,” Will groans, dropping his face into the sheets as Kris’ fingers twist. “How much more?”

“I think you’re good. But you tell me if there’s pain, we’ll do more of this,” Kris says, pulling his fingers out. Will’s already got his head hung down to the sheets, so all he has to do is open his eyes to peek through his legs and behind him, where he watches Kris grab a towel, wipe his hands off. Kris catches him peeking and grins. “Now’s the good stuff. You choose how you want it, but if you’re on your back, I’m going to kiss you.”

Will can’t get on his back fast enough. Look, he likes kissing, okay? “I didn’t think you did that in winner’s room.”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. When a guy is freshly engaged or married, maybe you don’t do it. Me, I’m divorced.” Kris’ grin turns into a wry smile. “Probably that means you don’t take advice about this from me, eh?”

Will hums, not quite sure the right thing to say to that. Luckily, it seems his silence is appropriate; Kris lubes himself up, crawls on top of Will, the overhead light blacking out as Kris looms over him. “Let me distract you,” Kris says, and then he’s kissing Will, his tongue is in Will’s mouth and -

The most undignified - grunt, squeak, groan, Will doesn’t know what to call it, some kind of sound leaves his mouth and into Kris’ as Kris starts pushing inside. Fuck, he’s big, Will can feel the stretch, the pressure, maybe he doesn’t like this. “Shh, shh, shh,” Kris gentles him with soft shushing that buzzes against his lips. “Doing real good, Smitty.”

“Fuck - doesn’t feel like it.”

“Just wait,” Kris promises, sealing his mouth back against Will’s and pushing forward again. What the fuck, what is he waiting for - ?

“Ohh-hhh,” Will whimpers, arching up against Kris as his cock keeps pressing in, right against his prostate, and the uncomfortable pressure that existed before is now lighting him up everywhere.

Kris nips his lower lip. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums, sounding smug. “It gets better, too.”

It does. Kris urges Will’s legs up to rest against his waist, and he keeps kissing Will as he moves, rolling his hips, grinding deep. It’s not a fast pace, but it feels good. Will gets the distinct idea that this is sex borne out of years and years of practice, fucking men in winner’s room, groupies and his now ex-wife. “More,” Will groans. “I mean - harder. Harder? Just a little faster.”

“Of course,” Kris says, giving Will one last kiss before adjusting for leverage and thrusting inside. The first few are uncomfortable again, sparks of pain that bleed away and leave him with just the pleasure, and he closes his eyes and luxuriates in it.

“You know, I’m surprised,” Kris muses, not even out of breath, like they’re having a conversation instead of fucking. “The last time you bottom, you were a teenager? What, you really say you’re not fucking Celebrini? Or is he the bottom, is that it?”

Mack. That’s not - that’s not at all where Will thought this was going. They’ve been inseparable so far, him and Macklin, and he’s never had so much fun as when they’re together. Of course the thought has flitted through his mind, on road trips in hotel rooms, or hanging out together in his bedroom while Patrick Marleau and his family are out. But it’s been just that, a stray thought, nothing concrete. He’s not, like, longing for Mack or whatever. Still, he must clench up at the question, because Kris laughs, pats his cheek. “Ah, that question hits, does it? Maybe you aren’t together yet then, you just wish it. So keep your eyes closed. Pretend this is him, not me.”

Will springs his eyes open immediately. “It’s not like that,” he says. “Look, can we just get on with it?”

“Oui oui,” Kris says with a mocking lilt, and then he pins Will’s shoulders to the bed and thrusts.

It hurts. It feels good, it feels great, it hurts, it hurts, it feels so fucking good. Will couldn’t think about anyone else if he tried, just lets his eyes roll back in his head and feels, lays there and gets fucked within an inch of his life. He gets two tugs of his cock off before he’s coming, mouthing silent curse words to the ceiling, and regrets it immediately because the cooldown is brutal with Kris still thrusting inside him. He only has to deal with it a few more moments before Kris is pulling out, and Will watches him for a couple long seconds as he jerks himself off, shooting over Will’s belly, joining the come that’s already there from his own finish.

“Sheesh,” Will mutters, utterly spent. Now that his libido has been sated, the thoughts have begun racing, and he lays there for a moment and processes them all. “You didn’t come inside me?”

“Nah, that’s not polite. Not usually done in winner’s room,” Kris tells him, and Will is grateful for the advice, the institutional knowledge that he’s passing along. “Save it for…somebody else, eh?”

The wink that Will gets is cheesy at best, and he rolls his eyes at Kris. “What, two dudes can’t just be friends? C’mon, bro.”

“Of course, they can, but…I see the way you look at him.” Kris pulls out, flopping back on the bed with a sigh, running his hands through his hair.

“Why’re you noticing?”

Kris snorts. “Hard not to.”

“Whatever,” Will mutters, snatching one of the towels and cleaning off his stomach. “And what did you mean when you said, like, when you mentioned Sid, and you were like, oh you’ll see soon enough? What was that about?”

Kris pauses, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Did you have fun tonight, Smitty?”

“Uh, that’s not what I asked, but sure.”

“And before you walked through the door, who did you wish I was?”

Will narrows his eyes, trying to figure out the angle. “Sid. I mean, you’re cool, no offense or anything, but…like. It’s Sid, you know?”

A Gatorade comes flying in his direction, and Will grabs it out of midair before it can smack him in the face. “Oh I know,” Kris says, uncapping his own Gatorade and not saying anything else before he chugs it. He wipes the blue from his upper lip before continuing. “And you’ll know, too. Nobody wants you, Smitty. You walk in that door and they’ll smile at you and wish it was Celebrini. You’re a consolation prize. Second choice. You always will be.”

Will sits with that statement for a moment, tapping his fingernail on the plastic bottle. “And it’s worse when you’re in love with the guy that everyone wants. You speak from experience.”

Kris makes an approving noise, pulling his shirt back over his head. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“I’m not you, though,” Will says, to Kris’ arching eyebrow. “I don’t, like, need that validation from others. I get wanting Mack, just like I’m sure you understand when guys want Sid. If they don’t want me, if they’re disappointed, whatever. Fuck ‘em. The only guy that I want to want me is Mack.” He pauses at that last statement, which tumbled out on its own accord, humming in surprise at the revelation. As long as he’s Mack’s first choice, he thinks, he doesn’t give a damn what anyone else wants.

“I have one last piece of advice then, Smitty. Don’t wait. If you know what you want, go get it, or you find yourself in a loveless marriage while the one you do want goes and gets hooked up with someone else.”

Will claps a hand to his mouth, suddenly horrified on behalf of the other man. “You missed out. You - you’re not with Sid, are you? Oh my god, that’s why you noticed me and Mack, that’s why you picked me, because you see yourself in me, you don’t want us to make the same mistake - “

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kris sneers. “Of course me and Sid are together. But yes, it took a lot longer than it should have. So get your shit together. That’s my advice to you.” Kris yanks his pants on, grabs another Gatorade, nods at Will as he heads for the door. “I’ll be seeing you again, I’m sure. Have a good night, Smitty.”

“You too, Kris,” Will says quietly. He has a lot to think about.

Kris’ hand hovers over the doorknob. “Call me Tanger,” he says, and then he’s gone, the door gently shutting on its own.