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true before you say it

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Listen: Tyler’s no saint. But he like to think that he knows what he’s doing most of the time, can at least read a situation and know himself well enough that he doesn’t get too deep into trouble.

Well, emotional trouble, y’know. The other kinds he’s rather pleasantly familiar with.

This isn’t, like, a new low for him, really. His crush on Brad had caught him by surprise at the time, though looking back it’s hard to imagine his growing feelings could have been even more obvious than they already were. To everyone else, at least. Especially Patrice.

God, he really shouldn’t be thinking about Patrice right now.

Anyways, the point is: this is potentially bad, but not like, bad-bad. He can probably figure this out, once he’s not flat on his back. He’ll give it a good think, try to be like, emotionally mature and shit. Yeah. That’s totally going to work. He can hold it together for long enough not to - oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” Tyler swears, back bowing off the mattress as Jamie hits just the right fucking angle and stars light up behind his eyes. “Fuck, Jamie!”

When he has the presence of mind - god, how is he stringing coherent thoughts together right now? - he’s definitely going to think about it more. But not right now - not while Jamie’s pistoning in and out of him, not even stuttering at Tyler’s obscenities and the possessive roaming of his hands. God, Jamie’s thick in all the right ways. Why hadn’t they been doing this longer?

As it is, Jamie just gives him that small, satisfied smile and leans forward on his arms a little more, shifting the angle even deeper. Tyler’s thighs burn pleasantly at the stretch, so wide apart, and he has half a thought to call Jamie out on how smug isn’t a good look on him - okay, it’s a lie, Jamie looks so good like this - when Jamie’s hips snap forward again, and Tyler’s toes goddamn curl as he shouts out his pleasure.

What the fuck. God, he loves Jamie Benn. And not, like, because he’s a total beast in bed as well as on the ice. (Tyler is more than supremely delight to have firsthand knowledge of this fact.) No, because, like - he can swear six ways to Sunday, let his mouth run loose and dirty and compliment every single thing Jamie’s doing that turns him on right now - it’s a lot - and Jamie will just duck his head and blush a pleasing red, taking his words with a quiet, satisfied humility. Jamie’s always on the quiet side - that’s not too different, although how much Tyler has gotten him to open up over the past year says a lot about their friendship, too.

No: he doesn’t just love Jamie Benn because of this, what’s happening between them right now. But fuck if it isn’t finally making him realize how much he loves Jamie in all the other ways. Christ, he has bad timing, couldn’t he have emotional revelations when the object of his newly-realized affections isn’t, like, hitting his prostate on every inward thrust?

“You good?” Jamie asks, presumably because there’s a constant, low-pitch whine in the room, and it’s actually coming from him. Tyler nods and squirms a little, trying to get his feet under him a little so that he can flex to meet Jamie’s thrusts - and Jamie, ever-knowing and accommodating, immediately gets what he’s trying to do and helps untangle his feet from the knotted-up sheets with a few good tugs.

He never misses a beat.

God, it’s too much. Tyler’s heart isn’t in, like, his ass, a first hookup with one Jameson Randolph Benn should not be the thing that causes his feelings to catch fire, suddenly and out of control. He doesn’t - he doesn’t feel that much differently about Jamie than he did earlier tonight, when they were at the bar and having a few beers with the guys after the game, and -

Huh. Yeah. Maybe he has felt like this about Jamie after all. This is probably - this is probably more than just a one-night stand, a “teammates and buddies” situation to him.

More food for thought for when he can actually think, goddamnit. For now, he can hold on for the ride. Tyler hopes, at least.

In the end, it doesn’t take much. He shouldn’t be so surprised at himself - three beers plus Jamie Benn, apparently, turns him into this - but there’s a brief second when the world flips on its head and the air leaves his lungs.

Shifting forward so that Tyler can fuck up against him, can meet Jamie thrust for thrust, inevitably makes Jamie’s hair fall into his face. It’s a little on the long side, even for him, the sides need buzzing again - but it isn’t long before a few damp strands are falling into Jamie’s face. It’s both really hot and really adorable at the same time, but Tyler can see immediately that it’s a distraction. Jamie’s too intent on fucking him into the mattress and keeping a good grip on his hips and ass that he doesn’t do more than flick his head to try to get the wayward hair out of the way, but it falls back down into his eyes again quickly.

Tyler bites his lip to stop his smile. That won’t do.

He unclenches one hand from the sheets to reach up, comb Jamie’s hair up and out of the way for him. It takes, like, half a second. It’s easy.

What he doesn’t count on is the absolutely brilliant, heart-stopping smile he gets from Jamie in return, or the way Jamie presses his cheek into the palm of Tyler’s hand as he lets it linger up by Jamie’s jaw. He presses a kiss to the center of Tyler’s palm - really just a brush of lips, a coincidence, but there’s something in Jamie’s honey-brown eyes that tells Tyler that it’s more than that, and-

“Fuck, I love you,” Tyler breathes.

Jamie pauses, mid-thrust. Their eyes meet, even though it’s like actually painful for Tyler to pull his gaze away from where his hand is still cupped gently around the damp curve of Jamie’s cheek. Jamie’s always a little sweaty. Or is it his palm that’s sweaty? Is sweaty palms a symptom of emotional incontinence? Is there any possible way that-

“Yeah?” Jamie finally replies, panting and low in a way that - that doesn’t seem like it’s just from the sex. Tyler’s probably more than a little biased, but he knows all of Jamie’s different voices by now.

The longer they look at each other, the more and more Tyler can feel the flush on his face working its way down his neck and across his chest. He was probably pink already - he always just seems to be one of those dudes that lights up when he’s getting fucked - but from the way a slow, genuine smile is creeping onto Jamie’s face and dimpling his stupidly attractive cheeks, it’s probably not a bad thing. God, he has it bad for him.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. (In for a pounding, Tyler hopes.)

“Yeah,” he says, thumbing along Jamie’s jaw to his lower lip, then up again to the corner of Jamie’s smile. “Shut up, yes, okay? Fuck you, I love you.”

“Fuck me?” Jamie laughs and makes a lazy thrust inward, making his point even more obvious, and Tyler just rolls his eyes. Ugh, he’s such a dork. It’s adorable.

“You heard me,” Tyler says, bending his knee a little more so he can pinch Jamie’s side with his toes. But Jamie just grabs his ankle and squeezes, the corners of his eyes still crinkling with mirth, and pins his foot to the bed as he builds up his rhythm again. Oh, fuck. If Jamie keeps watching him like that and keeps fucking into him like that, Tyler isn’t going to last much longer.

He tests Jamie’s grip and it holds, which only leads to them grinning at each other, eyes locked and as breathless with laughter as they are with each other and the something that’s blooming between them.

“I think I like you too,” Jamie says, letting his lips linger on Tyler’s thumb as he talks. His big hands are like brands on Tyler’s hips, possessive and warm and perfect. “Or something.”

“Or something?” Tyler raises his eyebrows, and surges to meet Jamie on his next thrust just to hear him grunt in surprised pleasure. “You gonna prove it to me or what?”

And, okay: Tyler’s used to his mouth getting him in trouble. But maybe this won’t work out too badly after all, he thinks, as Jamie’s smile turns wicked and he leans in to give him a filthy, dirty kiss.