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Aug. 22nd, 2011 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cathybitesa lack of action betrays a purpose
[hockey rps, patrick sharp/adam burish, r, 1852 words]
written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
offseasonmatch: Adam Burish/Patrick Sharp -- During a Dallas vs. Chicago game, they get into an on-ice fight. What happens after the game? title from "The Note" by the Swingin' Utters.
It's funny the way emotions work, the ebb and flow of them. Adam hadn't wanted to leave Chicago, but he had been okay with it, really. He'd been okay playing against his former teammates, against Kaner and Tazer and even Sharpie, and they'd all kept in touch throughout the year, like nothing had changed.
But maybe Adam had just been fooling himself. A new season, and he can feel it like an itch under his skin, the sense that everything is out of place, out of sync. He should be used to Dallas now, should think of these guys as his teammates. Instead, there's the unsettling suspicion that he's been living the past year like he's been swimming through a dream, confident that whenever he wakes up, everything - including him - will be where it should be.
A week before training camp, Adam realizes that all summer, all fucking offseason long, he'd only received a handful of texts from Sharpie, and one brief phone call on a Sunday afternoon. It's like a kick that jolts him out of the dream, ice-cold realization to the face that no, Chicago isn't his home anymore, the 'Hawks aren't his team, and Sharpie...he just isn't.
---
They start the season off with a home-and-home against the Blackhawks, and Adam is pretty sure it's a sign that the universe hates him. The first game is in Dallas, season and home opener, and it's enough of a distraction that Adam can focus on his job, chirping everyone in a white jersey, putting on a bit of a show for the home crowd. He and Kaner get into a scuffle, with Adam doing his best to get Kaner into a headlock. They're both laughing by the time the linesmen get between them. Everyone is. Even Tazer looks amused, and for a moment, it's like being back in Chicago, goofing around with everyone during practice.
Then Adam glances around and sees Sharpie, the same smile on his face that Adam remembers from those practices, and the moment shatters, a sharp reminder of where and when he really is. Sharpie's mouth opens, but Adam pushes past him and heads to the bench. He's past the point of waiting to hear what Sharpie has to say.
There's a hand on his shoulder before he gets there, and Adam spins, throwing it off. "The fuck do you want?"
Sharpie actually looks shocked at Adam's reaction, eyes wide and jerking back from the surprise of it. Then his face clouds over, and he snaps back, "What's your problem?"
How about a whole summer of nothing?, but he doesn't say it. He stares at the A on Sharpie's jersey, thinks about the contract he had signed over the summer, and the thought of it bristles against Adam. Sharpie will finish his career out in Chicago, and who knows what'll happen to Adam after this season. It hits Adam that what he's been feeling is betrayal - it rises up suddenly in him, a flash flood of hurt and anger, and he throws his gloves off in a need to empty himself of it.
There's only a moment's pause before Sharpie answers the challenge, a quiet moment where Adam can hear his heart thudding against his chest. Thern Sharpie punches him, and everything switches to automatic. He doesn't even realize the fight is over until he's sitting in the penalty box, staring at his fists.
His lip is throbbing, though, an angry pulse where Sharpie's fist had landed. Adam licks at it, the pain flaring up like a freshly struck match. It fades until there's just an ache left, like the memory of a kiss, and he glances over one more time. Sharpie is staring at him, but Adam can't read the expression on his face. He glares back and looks away, intent on ignoring him for the rest of the game.
---
The Stars win 3-1. Adam doesn't even have time to fake enjoyment over the victory because they're being rushed out the door and onto the bus, then onto the plane.
It's almost two in the morning by the time that they get to the hotel. Adam is too bruised and exhausted, emotionally and physically, to do anything more than nod when Morrow tosses him his room key, saying, "Lucked out, Bur. Got a single tonight."
He's barely settled in when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it at first, figuring it's just Ott or somebody, but the knocking shifts, faster and louder, and Adam throws open the door.
Sharpie is standing there, fist raised, and Adam fights the urge to rub at his eyes in disbelief. "The fuck are you doing here?"
"We need to talk."
"What for?"
Sharpie huffs, looking annoyed, and Adam can't stop the sharp bark of laughter.
A door halfway down the hall opens, and Loui's head pops out. "Is...you're okay?" he asks, looking concerned.
Whatever is going to happen isn't happening in the hallway, Adam decides. He forces a smile at Loui and nods, waving before grabbing Sharpie and pulling him in the room.
He kicks the door shut and continues with the momentum to shove Sharpie away. Sharpie's eyes narrow as he stumbles back, and after he regains his balance, he takes a step into Adam's space.
"What the hell is your problem?"
Adam can feel it expanding in his chest, all the hurt and anger. He tries to take a deep breath, tries to tamp it down, but it fills him up, spills out. "My problem?" He gives Sharpie another shove. "How about my fucking best friend forgetting all about me?"
As soon as he says it, Adam feels like an idiot, like some spoiled kid whining. There's a guilty expression on Sharpie's face, and he starts to say something, but Adam waves him off. "Fucking forget it, okay? I'm just tired. Just go home and leave me alone."
But Sharpie's always been a persistent bastard. "I'm not leaving until we talk about this."
"Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? We don't need to talk." Adam turns to go into the bathroom. He can hide out in there until Sharpie gets bored and leaves.
Sharpie cuts him off, gets in his face. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't think--"
Adam tries to sidestep him, but Sharpie stays in his way. "Move."
"No."
"I'm not fucking kidding around. Move and leave, or I'll make you."
Sharpie takes another step closer, almost nose to nose with Adam. "No."
He doesn't even think about it, acting on instinct. Fists curl into Sharpie's shirt and Adam spins them around, slamming Sharpie into the wall. "Fuck you."
Sharpie is breathing hard, eyes wide and staring up and down Adam's face. There's a voice in the back of Adam's head, telling him to let go and tell Sharpie to leave. His fists loosen their hold for a second, but then Sharpie licks his lip, a quick flash of movement that Adam almost misses. He doesn't, though, and his fists tighten and he tips his head forward to kiss him.
He's not sure which one of them is more surprised by that. Sharpie gasps, shifts against him and throws his hands up against Adam's chest, but he doesn't push Adam away. Instead, he opens up, mouth meeting Adam's, legs spreading wider. Adam gives a thrust of his hips, works a thigh between Sharpie's, and he can feel the hard line of Sharpie's cock against his thigh.
He bites at Sharpie's lip, taking vicious pleasure at the choked-off whimper that comes from him. He moves in closer, body pressing Sharpie into the wall. He gives another thrust, and this time his cock slides against Sharpie's, sensation dulled only by the double-layer of clothing between them. He growls a little in frustration, and Sharpie, the fucking mindreader, drops his hands, works quickly first at Adam's pants, then his own.
The first touch of Sharpie's hand sends a shiver down Adam's spine. He moans against Sharpie's throat, teeth scraping against the thin skin there. Sharpie's other hand is on his hip, urging him closer, until Adam can feel the heat of Sharpie's cock against his own. He grabs Sharpie's hand, guides it to wrap around the both of them. Precome pulses from Adam's cock at that, dripping everywhere, and he moans again, thrusting up into Sharpie's grip.
He's breathing hot and damp against Sharpie's throat, breath hitching in time with Sharpie's pulls. Even with the precome, it's not slick enough, too rough and hurried to be amazing, but Adam can feel the white-hot pressure building quickly, racing through his body. He pulls his head back, just enough to focus on Sharpie's face.
Sharpie is biting down on his lip, cheeks flushed red, hair curling in damp ringlets that stick to his skin. His eyes are open, though, halfway and watching Adam from under his lashes. Adam swallows heavily, trapped under Sharpie's gaze until he twists his wrist one last time, thumb pressing into the underside of Adam's cockhead, and Adam comes.
He braces himself against the wall, sucking in air and watching as Sharpie finishes himself off, his jizz mixing with Adam's. The sight sends feather-light aftershocks through him, and he has to close his eyes.
They stay like that for a moment, catching their breaths. Then Sharpie nudges him until Adam steps aside, and heads into the bathroom. Adam sits on his bed, leaning forward until his head is nearly between his knees. He hears the sink running and thinks, the fuck happens now?
Sharpie comes out and stands in front of him. Adam stares at his shoes until Sharpie makes a little ahem noise.
Adam can't even remember the last he felt awkward after sex, but he's pretty sure this would top anything. He has a hard time looking Sharpie in the eye, his focus constantly drawn to Sharpie's hand instead.
Sharpie's clearly feeling something similar. "Look, we still need to talk, but maybe. I'll give you a call later."
"Yeah, sure. Sounds good."
Sharpie's right arm twitches up, like he's about to reach out to Adam, but it drops back, and he heads for the door instead. Adam stands, pausing for an uncertain moment before following.
At the door, Sharpie turns around. He opens his mouth, shutting it almost immediately. Adam shoves his hands in his pockets, finally looks Sharpie in the eye. Sharpie stares at him, lips pressed together, then nods. "I'll see you later?"
An image flits into Adam's head, of him grabbing Sharpie, kissing him again and making him stay. He sways forward a little, has to dig his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching out. "Yeah, yeah, man. Later."
Sharpie walks out, and Adam shuts the door behind him. His forehead presses against the door, and he can just barely make out the dull beat of Sharpie's footsteps.
He turns the light off and strips out of his clothes. He lies down on his bid and stares up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and prays that he didn't fuck things up any further.
thank you for reading!
[hockey rps, patrick sharp/adam burish, r, 1852 words]
written for
offseasonmatch: Adam Burish/Patrick Sharp -- During a Dallas vs. Chicago game, they get into an on-ice fight. What happens after the game? title from "The Note" by the Swingin' Utters.It's funny the way emotions work, the ebb and flow of them. Adam hadn't wanted to leave Chicago, but he had been okay with it, really. He'd been okay playing against his former teammates, against Kaner and Tazer and even Sharpie, and they'd all kept in touch throughout the year, like nothing had changed.
But maybe Adam had just been fooling himself. A new season, and he can feel it like an itch under his skin, the sense that everything is out of place, out of sync. He should be used to Dallas now, should think of these guys as his teammates. Instead, there's the unsettling suspicion that he's been living the past year like he's been swimming through a dream, confident that whenever he wakes up, everything - including him - will be where it should be.
A week before training camp, Adam realizes that all summer, all fucking offseason long, he'd only received a handful of texts from Sharpie, and one brief phone call on a Sunday afternoon. It's like a kick that jolts him out of the dream, ice-cold realization to the face that no, Chicago isn't his home anymore, the 'Hawks aren't his team, and Sharpie...he just isn't.
---
They start the season off with a home-and-home against the Blackhawks, and Adam is pretty sure it's a sign that the universe hates him. The first game is in Dallas, season and home opener, and it's enough of a distraction that Adam can focus on his job, chirping everyone in a white jersey, putting on a bit of a show for the home crowd. He and Kaner get into a scuffle, with Adam doing his best to get Kaner into a headlock. They're both laughing by the time the linesmen get between them. Everyone is. Even Tazer looks amused, and for a moment, it's like being back in Chicago, goofing around with everyone during practice.
Then Adam glances around and sees Sharpie, the same smile on his face that Adam remembers from those practices, and the moment shatters, a sharp reminder of where and when he really is. Sharpie's mouth opens, but Adam pushes past him and heads to the bench. He's past the point of waiting to hear what Sharpie has to say.
There's a hand on his shoulder before he gets there, and Adam spins, throwing it off. "The fuck do you want?"
Sharpie actually looks shocked at Adam's reaction, eyes wide and jerking back from the surprise of it. Then his face clouds over, and he snaps back, "What's your problem?"
How about a whole summer of nothing?, but he doesn't say it. He stares at the A on Sharpie's jersey, thinks about the contract he had signed over the summer, and the thought of it bristles against Adam. Sharpie will finish his career out in Chicago, and who knows what'll happen to Adam after this season. It hits Adam that what he's been feeling is betrayal - it rises up suddenly in him, a flash flood of hurt and anger, and he throws his gloves off in a need to empty himself of it.
There's only a moment's pause before Sharpie answers the challenge, a quiet moment where Adam can hear his heart thudding against his chest. Thern Sharpie punches him, and everything switches to automatic. He doesn't even realize the fight is over until he's sitting in the penalty box, staring at his fists.
His lip is throbbing, though, an angry pulse where Sharpie's fist had landed. Adam licks at it, the pain flaring up like a freshly struck match. It fades until there's just an ache left, like the memory of a kiss, and he glances over one more time. Sharpie is staring at him, but Adam can't read the expression on his face. He glares back and looks away, intent on ignoring him for the rest of the game.
---
The Stars win 3-1. Adam doesn't even have time to fake enjoyment over the victory because they're being rushed out the door and onto the bus, then onto the plane.
It's almost two in the morning by the time that they get to the hotel. Adam is too bruised and exhausted, emotionally and physically, to do anything more than nod when Morrow tosses him his room key, saying, "Lucked out, Bur. Got a single tonight."
He's barely settled in when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it at first, figuring it's just Ott or somebody, but the knocking shifts, faster and louder, and Adam throws open the door.
Sharpie is standing there, fist raised, and Adam fights the urge to rub at his eyes in disbelief. "The fuck are you doing here?"
"We need to talk."
"What for?"
Sharpie huffs, looking annoyed, and Adam can't stop the sharp bark of laughter.
A door halfway down the hall opens, and Loui's head pops out. "Is...you're okay?" he asks, looking concerned.
Whatever is going to happen isn't happening in the hallway, Adam decides. He forces a smile at Loui and nods, waving before grabbing Sharpie and pulling him in the room.
He kicks the door shut and continues with the momentum to shove Sharpie away. Sharpie's eyes narrow as he stumbles back, and after he regains his balance, he takes a step into Adam's space.
"What the hell is your problem?"
Adam can feel it expanding in his chest, all the hurt and anger. He tries to take a deep breath, tries to tamp it down, but it fills him up, spills out. "My problem?" He gives Sharpie another shove. "How about my fucking best friend forgetting all about me?"
As soon as he says it, Adam feels like an idiot, like some spoiled kid whining. There's a guilty expression on Sharpie's face, and he starts to say something, but Adam waves him off. "Fucking forget it, okay? I'm just tired. Just go home and leave me alone."
But Sharpie's always been a persistent bastard. "I'm not leaving until we talk about this."
"Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? We don't need to talk." Adam turns to go into the bathroom. He can hide out in there until Sharpie gets bored and leaves.
Sharpie cuts him off, gets in his face. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't think--"
Adam tries to sidestep him, but Sharpie stays in his way. "Move."
"No."
"I'm not fucking kidding around. Move and leave, or I'll make you."
Sharpie takes another step closer, almost nose to nose with Adam. "No."
He doesn't even think about it, acting on instinct. Fists curl into Sharpie's shirt and Adam spins them around, slamming Sharpie into the wall. "Fuck you."
Sharpie is breathing hard, eyes wide and staring up and down Adam's face. There's a voice in the back of Adam's head, telling him to let go and tell Sharpie to leave. His fists loosen their hold for a second, but then Sharpie licks his lip, a quick flash of movement that Adam almost misses. He doesn't, though, and his fists tighten and he tips his head forward to kiss him.
He's not sure which one of them is more surprised by that. Sharpie gasps, shifts against him and throws his hands up against Adam's chest, but he doesn't push Adam away. Instead, he opens up, mouth meeting Adam's, legs spreading wider. Adam gives a thrust of his hips, works a thigh between Sharpie's, and he can feel the hard line of Sharpie's cock against his thigh.
He bites at Sharpie's lip, taking vicious pleasure at the choked-off whimper that comes from him. He moves in closer, body pressing Sharpie into the wall. He gives another thrust, and this time his cock slides against Sharpie's, sensation dulled only by the double-layer of clothing between them. He growls a little in frustration, and Sharpie, the fucking mindreader, drops his hands, works quickly first at Adam's pants, then his own.
The first touch of Sharpie's hand sends a shiver down Adam's spine. He moans against Sharpie's throat, teeth scraping against the thin skin there. Sharpie's other hand is on his hip, urging him closer, until Adam can feel the heat of Sharpie's cock against his own. He grabs Sharpie's hand, guides it to wrap around the both of them. Precome pulses from Adam's cock at that, dripping everywhere, and he moans again, thrusting up into Sharpie's grip.
He's breathing hot and damp against Sharpie's throat, breath hitching in time with Sharpie's pulls. Even with the precome, it's not slick enough, too rough and hurried to be amazing, but Adam can feel the white-hot pressure building quickly, racing through his body. He pulls his head back, just enough to focus on Sharpie's face.
Sharpie is biting down on his lip, cheeks flushed red, hair curling in damp ringlets that stick to his skin. His eyes are open, though, halfway and watching Adam from under his lashes. Adam swallows heavily, trapped under Sharpie's gaze until he twists his wrist one last time, thumb pressing into the underside of Adam's cockhead, and Adam comes.
He braces himself against the wall, sucking in air and watching as Sharpie finishes himself off, his jizz mixing with Adam's. The sight sends feather-light aftershocks through him, and he has to close his eyes.
They stay like that for a moment, catching their breaths. Then Sharpie nudges him until Adam steps aside, and heads into the bathroom. Adam sits on his bed, leaning forward until his head is nearly between his knees. He hears the sink running and thinks, the fuck happens now?
Sharpie comes out and stands in front of him. Adam stares at his shoes until Sharpie makes a little ahem noise.
Adam can't even remember the last he felt awkward after sex, but he's pretty sure this would top anything. He has a hard time looking Sharpie in the eye, his focus constantly drawn to Sharpie's hand instead.
Sharpie's clearly feeling something similar. "Look, we still need to talk, but maybe. I'll give you a call later."
"Yeah, sure. Sounds good."
Sharpie's right arm twitches up, like he's about to reach out to Adam, but it drops back, and he heads for the door instead. Adam stands, pausing for an uncertain moment before following.
At the door, Sharpie turns around. He opens his mouth, shutting it almost immediately. Adam shoves his hands in his pockets, finally looks Sharpie in the eye. Sharpie stares at him, lips pressed together, then nods. "I'll see you later?"
An image flits into Adam's head, of him grabbing Sharpie, kissing him again and making him stay. He sways forward a little, has to dig his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching out. "Yeah, yeah, man. Later."
Sharpie walks out, and Adam shuts the door behind him. His forehead presses against the door, and he can just barely make out the dull beat of Sharpie's footsteps.
He turns the light off and strips out of his clothes. He lies down on his bid and stares up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and prays that he didn't fuck things up any further.
thank you for reading!
