Matt doesn’t give him any further warning, barely waits for the goalie to turn around before he’s throwing himself up and into his arms. Ritter reacts instinctively- which honestly, is for the best, Matt doesn’t actually want to take a nose dive on the ice- arms out and manages to catch Matt.
And then he fucking lifts him like Matt isn’t a full grown man, lifts him right off his skates, and Matt can only clutch at his shoulders- fucking gloves make it awkward- and laugh because they won.
The rest of the team crowds around them and Matt’s skates touch ice again. He bumps their helmets together, heart racing, pulse thundering in his ears, and then gets out of the way so Johnny can congratulate their goalie next.
He lingers around the edge as the team files by, gets his fair share of back slaps and fist bumps for his beauty of a pass for the game winning goal. And then it’s just Ritter and he bumps their shoulders together, grinning so hard it feels like his face is going to crack.
“We fucking won , man!” he crows and the crowd is still roaring and they’re being ushered off the ice so they can do the three stars of the game. Ritter deserves to be first star, always , and if anyone says otherwise they can fucking fight him.
Ritter laughs, but sure enough gets pulled aside as one of the stars, and Matt heads to the dressing room alone.
“Chucky- move your fat ass!”
Matt cackles but stubbornly refuses to budge. It’s moments like these where his old coach used to say he’d make a good D-man, solid, unmoveable. He’d maybe been sarcastic when he’d said it though.
He’s blocking the sweets table at the end of the buffet, has himself planted firmly between it and Ritter who had been staring it down like he’d been planning on fucking it or something when he’d spotted the chocolate croissants. It’s for his own good, really, Matt’s just saving him from a public indecency charge.
Ritter tries to deke him out, but Matt grew up with Brady, for fuck’s sake, and Ritter has nothing on that sneaky fuck.
“Just saving you from yourself, man!” He’s long since abandoned his plate of food to the buffet table, recognizing that maybe messing with his goalie with a full plate wasn’t the best choice. Ritter hadn’t even bothered with a plate, he’d taken one look at the sweets"and had headed straight there. “Your thighs are already huge, you don’t wanna get any bigger, right?”
Not that Matt would mind if those massive thighs got bigger- like fuck , who even allowed that? Especially in their compression pants? It’s indecent, honestly.
“Such a shit.” Ritter scowls. They’ve drawn a bit of attention, the dining room is mostly full of their guys, but a few other guests are staring at them like they’re insane.
It just makes Matt laugh harder.
Sean, the traitor, tries to toss Ritter a danish. Matt has nothing on goalie reflexes so he goes with what he knows- throws himself into the path of the danish and resigns himself to a sticky, gooey demise.
He didn’t take into account how hungry Ritter is apparently.
One arm snakes around his stomach and lifts him while the other shoots out and grabs the danish in mid air. Matt is dangling a few inches off the ground, Ritter’s arm digging into his waist, as he happily takes an obnoxiously huge bite out of his stolen treat.
“You cheated!” Matt wheezes, wiggling in Ritter’s grip. Jesus- he’s going to have bruises for days.
That...should not be as hot as it is.
“All fair in love and breakfast,” Ritter mumbles, accent thick and crumbs spraying everywhere. It’s disgusting.
His pulse is still racing.
“Put me down! What are you, a caveman?” Matt demands. His toes just barely brush the ground. They’re, like, the same height . How is he able to just carry Matt around like this?
Ritter makes a considering sound.
“Promise to let me eat?”
Matt scowls, not quite ready to give up the game.
“Doesn’t sound like he gives in,” Sean pipes up.
“You’re right.” Ritter shoves the last bit of the danish into his mouth and sucks the sugar from his fingers. Matt has trouble pulling his gaze away.
Then, without warning, he turns and awkwardly shuffles across the dining room with Matt still held tight in his arms. Matt puts on a show of trying to escape, and makes a hell of a lot of noise but like, if it’s pissing anyone off, it’s their own fault for booking at a hotel where hockey players always stay. They get to the tables with the guys, who’re watching with varying levels of amusement, and finally Ritter drops him on the padded bench.
Matt bounces and nearly slides right off. Ritter manages to catch him, one firm hand planted on his chest, pressing him down.
“Stay,” he orders and Matt sucks in a sharp breath as something in him goes molten hot. He can feel his face flaming. Fuck, he hopes the guys don’t notice. “I’ll get your plate.”
“Looks like Chucky’s a kept man now,” Gio chirps and the others laugh.
Matt is too busy watching Ritter go, slouched low, unwilling and unable to move. The spot where Ritter pressed his hand against his chest tingles like pins and needles, spreading through his chest and down his arms to his fingers. He doesn’t move until Ritter returns with both of their plates, sets Matt’s down in front of him and tells him to eat.
By the time Matt realizes this, it’s too late to do anything about it.
Movie nights have quickly become a thing. They alternate whose house or apartment they end up, usually opting for the ones with the biggest couches and best stocked fridges. Matt hasn’t had to host yet for that reason- his fridge is always suspiciously empty aside from a few basic staples and he plans on keeping it that way. He’s seen the way these guys eat- he eats just like them- if he stocks his fridge it’ll be empty in no time. Money isn’t a problem, but the effort to go grocery shopping sure as hell is.
They end up at Gio’s more often than not- the guys got a massive home theatre in his basement, complete with probably the most comfortable couches Matt has ever passed out on. He gets there early enough this time and stakes out his spot. He’s gone to the washroom, grabbed a bowl of chips- his ass is staying in this seat for the next two hours at least.
Nothing is moving him.
“Hey Chucky,” Lauren comes down the stairs looking a little frazzled. “Have you seen Jack’s stuffed rabbit? He had it when you two were playing earlier.”
Which is how he ends up spending the next twenty minutes searching through the first floor for a stuffed green rabbit. Considering it was his idea for Ralph the Rabbit to take a trip to space- ie the laundry room off the main hall- and then forgot to take a return trip, he figures he owes it to the kid to find his favourite toy.
Once Ralph and Jack are both tucked up in bed, Lauren reading them a story, Matt heads back downstairs only to be greeted by the sight of a full couch.
“What. The. Fuck.” Ritter, Johnny and Sean give him matching shit-eating grins. “Get outta my seat.”
“Not your seat.” Ritter smirks at him.
“You snooze, you lose, man,” Elias chirps him from the armchair. Matt flips him off.
“I claimed this spot!” he protests. “And those are my chips!” Chips that Elias is digging into with gusto. Worst teammates ever.
“Lots of space on the floor,” Smitty offers. He looks pretty comfortable, sprawled out on a bed of pillows and blankets he likely pilfered from the spare bedroom. He’s also great with cuddles.
That’s not the point though. The point is Matt has been robbed.
“Get up or I’m sitting on you,” he threatens Johnny, figuring as the smallest he’s most likely to fold or risk getting crushed under Matt.
Johnny rolls his eyes. “What are you, five?”
“Yes.” He promptly sits his ass on Johnny’s lap, makes sure to throw enough of his weight into it to be annoying, but not enough to actually, like, hurt the guy. Johnny squawks , hands flailing. He nails Sean in the face, much to Matt’s amusement.
“Get off me, you dick!”
“Get out of my seat then!”
“I can’t with you sitting on me!”
“I’m not starting the movie until you guys shut up,” Gio threatens, effectively silencing them. Matt crosses his arms, feeling petulant. He is totally okay with spending the movie slowly squishing Johnny into the couch if that’s what it takes. Johnny doesn’t seem to be willing to budge either, sinking back against the cushions.
“I don’t think either of them is moving,” Sean comments. There’s a patch of space between him and Johnny now, from where he’s pressed himself up against the armrest to avoid anymore flailing limbs. Matt could theoretically slide right into it and make them make space for him.
Next to them Ritter lets out a long sigh and then Matt’s being dragged off of Johnny’s lap and onto Ritter’s.
Things just got a whole lot more complicated.
Ritter lifts him like he weighs nothing, tugging him this way and that until he’s satisfied with how Matt is situated in his lap, legs spread wide over the breadth of Ritter’s massive thighs, leaning back against his chest. He snakes his arms around Matts waist, holding him loosely, and hooks his chin over Matt’s shoulder.
Matt feels incredibly exposed like this, put on display before his teammates because this is how Ritter wants him.
He’s also so embarrassingly turned on it’s ridiculous.
“Okay, start movie,” Ritter tells Gio, like this somehow solves anything.
Matt squirms and Ritter reflexively tightens his hold. Jesus fuck- if this keeps up he’s going to spend the movie rock hard sitting in Ritters lap.
“Stop moving.” Ritter flicks him in the side and Matt stills instantly. He’s hyper aware of the press of Ritter against him, of the heat coming off him, of how he’s basically sitting on his dick. Spank bank materials for years, honestly.
Johnny smirks at him and for one breathless moment Matt’s convinced Johnny knows how turned on he is- but no, his gaze flicks back to the television, the lights getting turned off, and Matt knows it’s just Johnny gloating.
“Relax.” Ritter’s breath is warm against his cheek. He smooths his hand across Matt’s stomach like that will somehow help. There’s no way Ritter knows he’s chubbing up in his jeans or he’d stop touching him, force him out of his lap. It’s too dark to see the furious blush staining his cheeks. He’s not going to get caught, not like this, in the dark, with everyone more interested in the movie.
The thought makes him feel brave, reckless, and he sinks back into Ritter’s grasp. He lets out a long exhale, let it drain the tension out of his body and tries to focus more on the movie, rather than on the heat from Ritters body through the thin material of his shirt.
“It wasn’t us.”
Bill’s gaze goes from the group, up to the shoe stuck next to the soccer ball above the light, and back to the group again.
“How did the shoe get up there?”
Matt elbows Sean to get him to shut up and Hanny chimes in quickly.
“Hypothetically the ball could have gotten stuck in a game of keep away.”
“And hypothetically ,” Matt adds. “A shoe could have been tossed up there to get it down.”
“And hypothetically both are stuck and you’re going to get them down before you have to lace up,” Bill finishes for them.
“Hypothetically,” Hanny confirms.
Between them Sean shifts awkwardly, wearing only one shoe.
Bill sighs and seems to decide it’s more trouble than it’s worth getting himself involved. He leaves, reminding them they lace up in twenty and had better be on time.
They wait until he’s out of earshot to go back to arguing.
“Just ask a custodian for a ladder.”
“We don’t need one. We can just use your other shoe.”
Sean takes a quick step away from Hanny like that will somehow keep him from getting his remaining shoe. Sean should know better- the guy’s determined when he puts his mind to it.
While they’re squabbling over Sean’s shoe, Matt heads for the coolers left aside for the players. They’re on wheels and kinda weirdly shaped but maybe he can balance one on the other long enough to get the ball down. And Sean’s shoe.
He’s in the process of adjusting his pile when the goalies arrive on the scene looking pretty fucking zen from their warm ups. Matt had tried to join them once, in an attempt to get to know Ritter better, but it had been fucking weird and intense and he’d quickly given up and gone back to the guys. In the end he hadn’t needed it for Ritter to become his favourite person ever , so really there wasn’t any reason for him to get mixed up in any goalie weirdness.
“What are you doing?”
Matt gestures Ritter closer and then uses him as leverage with a hand on his shoulder to heft himself up onto his pile of coolers. Unfortunately, they shift as soon as he tries to put any weight on them and he nearly ends up on his ass.
“Trying to get taller?” Ritter doesn’t bother to contain his laughter, hands out like he was ready to catch Matt should he actually end up on his ass. It’s a sweet thought- no one wants to play with a bruised tailbone.
“Shut up, you know I’m taller than you.”
“Just your hair.”
Matt flattens his curls with a scowl.
“We’re trying to get the soccer ball down.” Hanny appears to have gotten Sean’s shoe from him, eyeing the objects stuck above the light.
“And my shoe,” Sean pouts.
Ritter glances from the shoe in Hanny’s hand to the shoe stuck above the light and back again.
“What if this one gets stuck?”
“That’s what I said.” Sean glowers at Hanny.
Ritter rolls his eyes and turns back to Matt.
“I’ll give you a boost.”
Matt eyes the distance to the ball and the shoe. Fuck it, that’ll work.
Ritter gets close to the wall, cupping his hands together for Matt to step on. Matt kicks off his shoes, gets a good grip on Ritter’s shoulders and steps into the cradle of his hands. He’s vaguely worried he’ll be too heavy, that he’s going to break their goalie before they even get on the ice. It was wasted worry as he’s lifted like he barely weighs anything , up and up and up until he’s looking down at the light and the glorious sight of Ritter’s biceps at work.
Jesus fuck, he could stare at that all day.
“What’s the hold up?” Sean demands, apparently more than ready to get his shoe back.
“Fuck, you’re impatient.” Matt grabs the shoe and tosses it, maybe a little closer to Sean’s head than is necessary, then tosses the ball at Hanny. He taps Ritter’s shoulder to let him know it’s safe to come down, and is lowered back down gently.
His heart’s racing a little bit, that’s for fucking sure.
Matt hops down, but keeps his grasp on Ritter’s shoulders to pull him in for a quick hug. There’s something racing through his veins and it leaves him jittery, a little out of place in his own skin. He pulls back to catch Ritter’s smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, the quirk to his lips. The wave of want that sweeps over him leaves him a little breathless. He wants to feel those lips against his own.
Ritter claps him on the shoulder, big fingers just curling around Matt’s neck, and some of the noise in his head quiets until all there is is Ritter.
So the thing is, is that Matt has no problem at all with being tossed around by the guys he’s hooking up with. He’s usually into guys his size or bigger, with solid bodies and thick arms. He just hadn’t realized how into it he is.
A few fans stop them downtown for a photo and Ritter puts his big hands on Matt’s waist, moving him where he wants, leaving Matt dazed. They’re chilling at the rink and Hanny’s ignoring him so Matt jumps on Ritter’s back, determined to get someone to wrestle with him, but Ritter doesn’t even stumble , just keeps going like he doesn’t even notice Matt clinging to him. Matt spends a good ten minutes hugging Ritter like a koala, intoxicated with how easily Ritter moves even with his added weight.
In Toronto they get a day off and some of the guys end up in the pool. Smitty gets Johnny up on his shoulders and Ritter puts Matt on his and they square off in a game of chicken: battle of the goalies. Ritters grip on his shins is tight, his shoulders broad underneath Matts’ thighs. He slinks back a little so his junk isn’t pressed right up against Ritter’s head. Their skin is slippery from the water. It helps when Johnny tries to drag him right off of Ritter’s shoulders, makes it easier to duck out of his grip and push and shove back. It’s also distracting as hell with what he can feel of Ritter’s skin, of the strong muscles holding him aloft. He ends up paying more attention to the feeling of Ritter’s hands wrapped around his shins than on how Johnny’s clearly learned to fight dirty from someone.
They end up in the water and Matt comes up spluttering.
Johnny and Smitty are celebrating to applause and chirps from some of the guys. Ritter is next to him, dripping water and scowling at the pair.
“We get them next time,” he mutters and Matt flushes because it’s his fault they lost. Ritter glances over at him and the scowl slips away, replaced by an amused smile.
“What?” Matt demands feeling defensive.
“Your hair.” Ritter chuckles and yeah, Matt can feel his curls dripping down his face, plastered to his forehead. He isn’t expecting it when Ritter reaches out, brushes his hair back from his face with a gentle hand. His breath catches.
Ritter definitely notices. His eyes narrow, expression thoughtful.
“Come on, losers! Our turn!” Hanny, the asshole, cannonballs into the pool a foot away from them and nearly drowns them in the process. T.J hops in after him with a yell, sending a second wave.
“Fuckers!” Matt sputters around a mouthful of chlorine.
“Take them on?” Ritter cocks an eyebrow at him.
“Hell yeah.” Matt is quick to agree. Purely for revenge. It has nothing to do with how easily Ritter hoists him up onto his shoulders again.
Matt may have a problem.
He starts thinking about it, is the thing. When he’s by himself, when he’s out with the team or friends, when he’s with Ritter.
Starts thinking about what it would be like, if say, Ritter were to pull him into his lap again. Matt thinks about how maybe he’d put up a token protest, just enough for Ritter’s fingers to dig into his sides, for that little throb of pain as he leaves a bruise, evidence that Ritter was able to move him whether he wanted it or not. He thinks about what it would be like in the locker room when he’s jittery and frustrated, stuck in his head, for Ritter to just walk over and place one big hand on the back of his neck. How it would feel to have all of the tension just drain out of his body at the heavy touch. How maybe Ritter could go further, if he wanted, and just push Matt down to his knees, right there in the middle of the room.
He pictures it late at night at home with a hand around his throat and a hand on his cock. He pictures it on the road when he has too much energy and nowhere for it to go. Thinks about slipping into Ritter’s room, letting him press Matt down into the mattress, gripping his wrists tight. He slips into the washroom and jerks off, four fingers shoved in his mouth so he doesn’t wake his roomie up and because he’s desperate for that feeling of having his mouth stretched wide.
He feels like he’s fourteen again and his dick is his best friend with how often he’s got his hand wrapped around it. Maybe Matt has a bit of a thing about being pushed around. Matthews had been awesome that way the few times they’d hooked up, been a little rough, a little mean. The problem is, is that he’s not hooking up with Ritter, hasn’t gotten laid in ages and he can’t really picture Ritter being mean the way Auston had been when he’d finally egged him on enough.
Matt can be an asshole but there’s something about Ritter that always stops him from taking it too far.
Fuck it, he thinks, and goes with it.
If there’s one thing Matt’s good at it’s throwing himself head first into trouble. Their on ice cellies are awesome and the fans eat them up so he keeps them going, throwing himself into Ritter’s arms after they win a game, after he scores a goal if he can get away with it. There’s that fleeting moment of weightlessness where the pit drops out of his stomach and then Ritter’s there, catching him easily and lifting him up like he isn’t a full grown man in hockey gear.
He does it off the ice too, waits until Ritter has stripped out of his pads and then throws himself at him with no warning because he knows that Ritter will catch him every time. The guys laugh and chirp them but Matt’s heart is racing, his veins singing.
He could feel guilty about this, about getting his rocks off everytime Ritter manhandles him. He might even feel a little bad about taking advantage of the guy if not for the fact that Ritter has started initiating it. Matt storms off the ice, fresh out of the penalty box, furious with himself, with the refs, with the other team. The guys ignore him as he whacks his stick against the boards and swears, caught up in should have would have could have. He ends up between Gio and Ritter, chewing furiously on his mouthguard.
“We’ll make up the point.” Gio glances at him briefly and there’s no judgement in his expression. It’s somehow worse because there should be. Matt fucked up, they all know it.
“Hey.” A heavy hand settles on the back of his neck and he stills. Ritter grips him, gives him a little shake, but ultimately leaves his hand there. “Focus on the game.”
Ritter’s hand is hot and heavy, distracting him from the anger and guilt gnawing away at him. It’s easier to channel it all towards the game, to push it aside for now. His body feels looser, lighter. Ritter squeezes and Matt’s eyes flutter shut, if only for a moment.
Coach calls him then and Ritter pulls his hand away. Reinvigorated, Matt is up and over the boards, eager to tear it up.
They’re playing video games at Johnny’s. Matt’s on the floor, legs stretched out before him, Sean cursing loudly as he beats the crap out of his avatar. A few of the other guys are sprawled out, chirping the game, texting on their phones. Matt’s been hyper aware of Ritter since he walked in an hour ago, so when he gets up from the recliner he’d claimed, Matt’s already looking over.
“I’m playing winner.”
“That’s not gonna be Chucky,” Johnny chirps and Matt glances back to the screen in time to see Sean K.O his avatar.
“Fuck,” he groans, holding out the controller in disgust.
“A little distracted, Chucky?” Johnny nudges him with his toe from his perch up on the couch. His eyes are sparkling with humor, a knowing look on his face. Fuck.
“Distracted by your mom .”
“That was weak, man.” Johnny laughs.
“ You’re weak,” Matt mutters petulantly.
“Calm down children, ” Sean chimes in. “The adults are trying to play here.”
Johnny and Matt exchange a look.
Sean gets two pillows to the face.
He’s still laughing when Ritter drops down to the floor behind him, settling back against the couch. He stretches his long legs out on either side of Matt. The laughter dies in his throat.
“C’mere.” Ritter gestures for Matt to come closer. As it is, Matt is already sitting between his spread legs, any closer he’s going to be flush against Ritter’s chest.
Over Ritter’s head Johnny starts smirking.
“Hurry up so we can get back to playing.” Matt flips Sean off automatically.
Apparently that’s all the distraction Ritter needs to get two strong hands on his hips and slide him backwards into the cradle of his thighs. His hands slide briefly across Matt’s stomach and Matt shivers, startlingly, achingly, turned on at the brief touch. Then he’s taking the controller from Matts lax grip. He hooks his chin over Matts shoulder, their cheeks briefly brushing, stubble catching and fuck , Matt used to have some control over his body but he’s dangerously close to chubbing up in his jeans.
“Looks like even Don Cherry is better at this game than you, Monny.”
“Oh it’s on, you asshole . ”
The pair launch into the game, chirping back and forth, apparently oblivious to Matt’s little meltdown. Despite the danger he’s in of sporting a boner in front of his teammates, the feel of Ritter’s chest against his back, his arms and thick thighs caging him in on either side is actually really comfortable. He starts off holding himself still- cuddling the guys doesn’t usually end with him getting hard- but he’s a sucker for a good cuddle and it’s Ritter of all people. He gradually relaxes into his touch, without really realizing it, until he’s loose limbed and held up by Ritter’s chest.
Apparently he’s comfortable enough to fall asleep because the next thing he knows he’s being shaken gently awake, looking up into warm brown eyes.
“Didn’t want to wake you, but Johnny’s ordering food,” Ritter murmurs and it takes a moment for the words to filter through the fog of sleep that has descended upon him. Matt cracks a yawn, scrubbing at his eyes, insanely comfortable.
He glances around but it looks like the others have disappeared somewhere, leaving only them and the comfortable quiet. Fuck, Matt could get used to it.
“Steakhouse.” Ritter’s breath tickles his cheek as he settles back, keeping his arms wrapped loosely around Matt’s waist. Matt hadn’t been planning on going anywhere but the grip Ritter has on him is steady and just tight enough that it’s pretty obvious he’s not allowed to move anytime soon.
He’s very okay with that.
They go out to a spectacularly seedy bar in downtown Pittsburgh that Nealsy had insisted had the best burgers he’s ever had. Matt’s up for pretty much whatever and they just pulled off a near miss against the Penguins so he’s in the mood to celebrate and going out to a sports bar after is never a good idea.
Penguin fans are crazy.
They get food and a couple rounds of beers while the bar plays a loud mix of old rock and country. Matt ends up sandwiched happily between Ritter and Johnny, going through his two beers in record time as Johnny leans close, half shouting to be heard over the music. The bars pretty crowded for a Thursday night, but aside from the odd look, they’re left alone.
When they run out, Matt gets sent up to the bar for the next round. Just to be an asshole, he orders everyone the fruitiest drink he can think of, watching with glee as the bartender skillfully assembles them. He’s definitely going to need some help getting them all back to the table.
Someone brushes up against him and he turns, expecting to see Ritter, ever the mind reader.
“Hey.” The guy has a pretty smile, is the first thing Matt notices. All big pearly white teeth on display when Matt turns to face him. He’s taller than Matt, lanky, with dark hair and eyes.
“Hey.” Matt turns back to the bar, leaning against it. Must have bumped him by accident.
The guy slides into the space next to Matt, twisted so he can prop an elbow on the bar and face Matt. He’s pretty close.
“You look familiar,” he says, a smile tugging at his full lips. “Come here a lot?”
Oh , Matt thinks.
“Nah.” He grins and shakes his head. “From out of town. Here with my buddies.” He nods back at the table. The guy doesn’t look away from Matt.
“Matt.” He shakes the proffered hand and pretends not to notice how Tom’s hand lingers.
“In town for awhile?”
“Just the night.” The bartender places the first tray of electric blue drinks in front of Matt, going back for a second. He can’t wait to watch Hanny’s face as he’s forced to drink it.
“Not much time, huh?” Tom slides a little closer. “Need a hand with those?”
Matt doesn’t jump when Ritter appears behind him but honestly it’s a near fucking thing.
“You’re like a ninja,” he accuses, turning fully to face his goalie. Ritter glances over at Tom, then Matt. His gaze is dark, possessive and it knocks the air from Matt’s lungs.
He’s man enough to admit he goes a little weak in the knees.
“This is Tom,” Matt says, feeling a little drunk on Ritter’s gaze. “Tom, Ritter.” Ritter reaches over to shake Tom’s hand, his free hand coming up to cup the back of Matt’s neck, resting there heavy and solid. Jesus - Matt likes that a little more than he probably should.
“Nice to meet you,” Ritter enunciates slowly. His thumb rubs slowly against the bare skin of Matt’s neck. Matt shivers.
Tom’s gaze goes from Matt to Ritter, to Ritter’s hand. Matt should probably say something, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea but, like, is it the wrong idea? Ritter’s being pretty fucking handsy around a guy who was obviously interested in getting into Matt’s pants. And like, yeah, the guy wasn’t really Matt’s type but it’s been ages of just him and his hand while Ritter’s had him achingly turned on all the time. Like now, for example.
Matt doesn’t shrug off Ritter’s hand though.
They all just kind of stand there awkwardly; it feels like ages to him, hyper aware of where Ritter’s touching him.
“All set boys.” The bartender sets the second tray down, cheerfully ignoring the bizarre standoff happening.
“Better get these back to the guys.” Matt latches onto the out eagerly but doesn’t pull away from Ritter’s touch until Ritter lets his hand drop. They each grab a tray and Matt bids Tom farewell. Ritter’s like a freaking shadow , dogging Matt’s footsteps as they head back, and once the trays are out of the way he manhandles Matt back into the booth, following him closely. One arm goes around Matt’s shoulders, the other slides one of the electric blue monstrosities over to him.
Matt’s not complaining, but also, what the fuck?
Johnny’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. Matt tries to convey how he has no fucking clue without dislodging Ritter’s arm. He may be confused but he’s not dumb. If Ritter wants to cuddle he sure as hell isn’t going to miss out on it.
“You wanna talk about what that was?” He pitches his voice lower so the guys can’t listen in. Freaking gossips, the lot of them.
Ritter meets his gaze and Matt finds the same dark, possessive look from before there. His cheeks heat, which is impressive considering how fast the rest of the blood in his body rushes to his dick.
“Hey!” Hanny kicks him under the table, hard.
“Ow!” Matt scowls, shin throbbing. “What the fuck?”
“If I have to drink this monstrosity, so do you.” Hanny smiles innocently back at him.
“It’s actually pretty good.” Sean’s already made it halfway through his own drink, licking his lips with a very blue tongue.
“It looks like you blew a smurf.”
“Hey now,” Matt scolds Hanny. “That’s no way to talk about Johnny.”
Hanny starts cackling as Johnny and Sean both flush scarlett. It takes them a beat to recover, long enough that Matt’s looking at the pair in a new light, that’s for fucking sure. Their chirps back are weak , only fuelling Hanny’s laughter.
Ritter stays silent, pressed against his side, a wall of heat that Matt is hyper aware of.
“Ow ow ow! Mother fucking fuck!”
Matt’s hopping around his kitchen when Ritter comes skidding through the doorway, looking alarmed.
Ritter’s eyebrows shoot up. Matt instantly feels bad, guilt gnawing at his stomach, a nauseating counterpart to the pain radiating from his toe. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Ritter waves it off, coming closer now that it’s clear Matt isn’t about to bite his head off again. “What happened?”
“I dropped the fucking pan on my toe.” Said frying pan is now clear across the kitchen where Matt had stupidly kicked it in a fit of painful rage after it had slipped from his grip. It hadn’t helped. Fuck saving water, he’s sticking to using his dishwasher. Fewer injuries.
“Think it’s broken?” The concern on Ritter’s face is honestly a little heartwarming. Matt wiggles his toe but it’s fading into a dull throb. He’s pretty sure it’s swollen. He shrugs.
Determined, Ritter steps abruptly into his space. It’s a good thing Matt hadn’t picked up the pan cause he sure as hell would have dropped it all over again. Ritter’s hands go to his hips, grip tight, as he walks Matt back until he’s pressed up against the counter. Heart thundering in his ears, Matt stares, feeling a little light headed. And then Ritter tightens his grip and hoists him up onto the counter top.
If he wasn’t hard before, he sure as hell is on his way now.
“What the fuck?” His cheeks are burning.
“Chair’s too low.” Ritter waves Matt off, reaching for his foot. Matt flinches at the first touch, ticklish, but Ritter keeps his touch firm, not teasing, as he inspects Matt’s toes. He’s pretty sure it’s not broken, now that the initial burst of pain has faded, numbing it. “Probably just a bruise,” Ritter confirms. He cups the arch of Matt’s foot, the other sliding up his calf.
Matt’s sweats aren’t going to be able to hide much for long, and that’s one awkward conversation he’d like to avoid, thanks , so when Ritter releases his foot, Matt goes to slide down.
Ritter stops him with two heavy hands on his thighs. He steps into the cradle of Matt’s legs, forcing them further apart and stretching the soft fabric of his sweats across his crotch. Matt’s breath catches.
“Ritter?” he murmurs, confused and turned on.
Ritter’s gaze drops down to his lap and Matt realizes that, stretched as it is, the material isn’t hiding anything- including how affected he is by Ritter’s proximity. He should run his mouth, deflect, but the words die in his throat when Ritter’s hands slide up his thighs, squeezing the firm muscles there.
“You want this?” And there’s a hesitancy in Ritter’s voice that absolutely kills Matt; like he could ever not want Ritter. “Me?”
It’s a vaguely hysterical laugh that escapes Matt’s lips- he has to be imagining this. But Ritter reads it the wrong way, expression shuttering. He pulls his hands back- which is not what Matt had wanted- and goes to step away. Matt’s dad has accused him of being a dumbass more than once but Matt knows an opportunity when he sees one. He reacts the way he always does, impulsively, doesn’t bother thinking it through, just reaches out and grabs whatever part of Ritter he can to drag him back in.
“Of fucking course I do,” he hisses and yanks him down for a kiss.
As far as first kisses go, it’s shitty.
Ritter overbalances and Matt is a tad too aggressive. Their teeth clack together, noses squished. Ritter swears and Matt huffs, frustrated and turned on.
“Hold still,” Ritter growls, big hands coming up to cup Matt’s jaw and angle him how he wants him. The moan that escapes Matt is sure as shit a surprise to both of them. Ritter stills just long enough for Matt to start panicking before he’s diving back in, lips crushed against Matt’s with the same ferocity, but this time they click.
Matt’s spine melts.
Ritter’s hands are sure and steady as they cup his face, angling his head back so he can lick his way into Matt’s mouth fiercely, possessively. Matt’s cock is rapidly filling in his sweats, his hands bunched in Ritter’s shirt to tug him closer and closer. Their chests are pressed so tightly together, Matt swears Ritter has to be able to feel the rapid beat of his heart. He hitches his hips forward, grinds against Ritter’s stomach and loses his breath, panting into the kiss as Ritter pulls back to suck long and slow on Matt’s lower lip.
“Ritter,” Matt whines, hips hitching. Ritter keeps his grip on Matt’s chin tight, forces his head back so he can nip and lick a blazing trail down Matt’s neck. He bites, hard enough that Matt jolts at the sharp sting, the feeling rushing straight to his dick, then soothes it with lips and tongue. Matt’s going to have a hell of a hickey to explain at practice. It takes him a minute to remember he was trying to speak, eyes fluttering closed at the sensations. He clears his throat, trying to collect his thoughts. “Ritter,” he tries again. “Not to rush you, but I’ve got an awesome bed down the hall.”
Ritter pulls back, which is not what Matt wanted. His eyes are dark and glittering, pupils swallowing the beautiful brown irises. His expression is heated, possessive and Matt shivers, soaking up the expression greedily.
Matt has to kiss him.
He leans in, cups Ritter’s cheek, feeling the scrape of his facial hair against his palm. He kisses him slow and deep trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Ritter lets him, big hands falling to Matt’s hips and holding him steady. Matt licks into his mouth, feeling Ritter shiver, the grip on his hips tighten. He sucks on that plush lower lip and pulls back slowly, feeling out of breath and dangerously turned on.
It takes a moment for Ritter’s eyes to flutter open and Matt drinks his fill, taking in the flush of his cheeks and the swollenness of his mouth.
“C’mon.” He takes Ritter’s hand and leads him down the hall to his room. It’s late at night, the television is still on from where they’d been watching the game. Matt flicks on the light in his room, kicking aside the pile of clothes he’d dumped out earlier that day looking for something to wear. He drops Ritter’s hand, yanks his t-shirt up and over his head, suddenly desperate to take this further.
He startles when Ritter’s suddenly there, pressing up against his back, pressing kisses along his bare shoulders. He tilts his head, offering up his neck and Ritter takes the invitation, licking and nipping. Matt shivers, heat collecting in his stomach, cock straining against his sweats as Ritter sucks what is sure to be a vivid hickey into his skin.
He goes to pull away, ready for more, but Ritter’s hands stop him- one wrapped around his waist, the other holding his chin in place. He bites down, hard, and Matt jerks in his grasp, moaning aloud. The hand on his waist drifts down, cupping his aching cock through his sweats. The hand on his chin never moves, keeping him pinned, eyes on the ceiling as Ritter starts to stroke him, slow and teasing.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, hips jerking. Ritter’s touch is too light to really be satisfying. All it does is amp him up further and further, driving him crazy. “Ritter- come on.”
“Impatient,” Ritter huffs.
Just to be a brat, Matt presses back against him, starts a rough grind, smirking at the pained sound Ritter makes. Even through the layers of clothes between them, Ritter feels huge - hard and thick where he’s straining against his jeans.
Fuck, Matt can’t wait to get him out of his clothes.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” Matt grits out, hands flying to Ritter’s arm as his hand slips under the band of Matt’s sweats and finally starts stroking Matt with purpose. Matt clings, feeling the corded muscles under his hands flexing as Ritter basically goes zero to a hundred on his dick.
Fuck he’s going to come way too fast if this keeps up- already he can feel the tell tale warning collecting in his gut, his balls drawing up, legs shaking. He’s leaking all over Ritter’s fist, hips rolling as he tries to keep up with the pace, chasing his own release. He’s gearing up for a fantastic orgasm when Ritter just...stops.
Matt wants to wail.
“What the actual fuck?”
Ritter squeezes the base of his dick and Matt keens, loud and fucking embarrassing.
“Pants off.” Ritter pulls his hand back, wiping it on his sweats. “Get on the bed.”
Matt’s brain kind of fizzles out at that. Ritter releases his hold on him and he scurries to obey, pushing his sweats down and kicking them off as his cock bobs free. He’s so turned on it hurts. He presses his cock against his stomach, trying to take some of the edge off.
“Don’t.” Ritter snaps, expression intense and Matt’s hands fall quickly to his sides.
He’s acutely aware of the way his cock hangs heavy and swollen between his legs as he crawls onto the bed, of the glide of the sheets under his skin, of Ritter’s gaze following him. He arches his back and smirks at the sharp inhale he gets as a reward.
Matt rolls onto his back, spreading his legs and is treated to the sight of Ritter tugging his shirt off, revealing miles of mouthwatering toned muscles and smooth skin. His hands drop to his jeans, not bothering to tease, popping the button and tugging down the zipper, unable to hide how eager he is. It’s fucking hot, knowing he’s having this kind of effect on Ritter. His hands are itching to touch, to trace the lines and ridges of his body, to learn them as well as his own.
Ritter shoves his jeans down, stepping out of them and his underwear. Matt’s mouth is watering as he takes in Ritter’s cock, thick and an angry red. He’s long, a little curved, with precome already collecting at the tip. It’s like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of him, the knowledge that he can affect Ritter like this.
“Holy shit,” Matt breathes and he can’t resist, despite how badly he wants to lay there and be good for Ritter. He pushes to his knees and awkwardly shuffles to the edge of the bed. Ritter bends to meet him, taking his time kissing him, hot little kisses that leave Matt’s lips tingling and his skin buzzing. Ritter’s stomach jumps when his hands find their way there, smoothing over his abs, the jut of his hip, and up to his pecs. His breath catches when Matt brushes over his nipples so Matt takes his time, rolling first one, then the other. He tugs his mouth away long enough to lick and suck at them, flushing at the soft moans Ritter lets out at the attention. His hand drifts down, brushing the head of Ritter’s dick. He’s not as wet as Matt, but Matt’s always gotten wet fast. Matt teases his fingers along the swollen head, smooths them down the shaft, and has to kiss him again when Ritter shudders.
“What do you want?” Matt’s a little breathless. “Anything.”
And he means it, there isn’t anything Matt isn’t willing to give Ritter, because it’s Ritter and there’s no one he trusts more with this.
Ritter’s gaze is dark and heated as he searches Matt’s face for...something. He must find it because his eyes drop to Matt’s mouth. He traces his thumb along Matt’s lips and Matt can’t help but flicker his tongue out, taste the salt there.
“Your mouth,” Ritter murmurs and Matt shivers.
Ritter steps back but doesn’t go far, coming around the side of the bed to get himself situated, back against the headboard and long legs spread. He fists his cock lazily, eyes half lidded with pleasure. It’s not an image Matt will be forgetting any time soon.
“Well?” Ritter arches an eyebrow at him.
He crawls between Ritter’s legs, using his shoulders to make enough room, and drops down onto his stomach. The drag of his cock against the sheets is distracting in the best way- he could probably get himself off like that, mouth stuffed full of Ritter’s cock, rutting against the bed. Ritter’s watching him with hazy, heated eyes. Mouth parted, he sucks in a sharp breath as Matt presses kisses along the inside of his thighs. He leans in, letting his cheek brush against Ritter’s cock, eyes fluttering shut. He can feel Ritter’s thighs trembling on either side of him but he doesn’t touch- yet- just lets Matt take what he wants.
Matt makes sure to keep his eyes on Ritter as he takes his cock into his mouth, watching for the way his eyes slip shut, the soft moan he lets out. On ice he loses track of the amount of times guys will tell him to shut the fuck up. The rush it gives him is enough to keep him going, goading them on until they fuck up and his team can reap the benefits. In the bedroom however, Matt’s never had any complaints about his mouth. He pulls out all of his tricks, starts slow, gives himself time to adjust and pay Ritter back for the teasing earlier. He moves his head faster, really gets into it when Ritter’s hands tangle in his hair, tugging and sending little sparks along Matt’s spine. Matt keeps his hands braced on the bed, takes Ritter deeper, relaxing his throat. Ritter’s hips jerk, his cock sinking deeper with a low moan, and Matt takes it. It’s harder- he’s out of practice, but it’s what he wants and he sure as hell is getting it.
He pulls off, out of breath, mouth feeling swollen and used.
He fucking loves it.
“So good,” Ritter murmurs as Matt mouths along his cock. “You’re so good for me.” And that, that is a lot hotter than Matt expected.The whimper that escapes him is embarrassing as hell and he drops his head, pressing his overheated cheek to Ritter’s stomach, overwhelmed.
“No, don’t hide.” Ritter uses his grip on Matt’s curls to tug him back, baring him. “Don’t hide from me.”
He tugs Matt in, kisses him, licks possessively into his mouth. Matt clings as best he can, feeling like he’s one step behind as he tries to keep up with Ritter’s ferocity.
Matt tries to chase after his mouth when Ritter pulls back but then he’s being turned, dragged back so he’s leaning against Ritter’s chest, his hard cock pressed up against Matt’s lower back like an invitation. One strong arm snakes across his chest and rests there, pinning him in place. Matt strains against the hold, just enough to test how easily Ritter can hold him there. He barely moves. The wave of heat and want that cascades over him leaves him dizzy, his cock jerking, precome dribbling from the tip to pool on his abs. Ritter chuckles, low and possessive. He runs his fingers through the mess Matt’s cock is making of his abs, then wraps them around Matt.
The steady pressure of Ritter’s hand is a fucking godsend. He feels amped up, too turned on to think. Matt loves sex, but he’s not usually this easy for it. Ritter keeps it slow and steady- slower than Matt usually likes, but for some reason it’s really doing it for him. He releases Matt’s cock to cup his balls, gently rolling them as Matt shifts restlessly in his hold. Ritter’s lips trail along Matt’s neck and he arches it, welcoming the sensations.
Ritter goes back to stroking his cock and Matt thinks he can definitely come from this, Ritter’s fist, his cock hot and heavy where it’s pressing against Matt’s lower back. And then Ritter stops moving his hand for the second time.
“What the fuck, Ritter?” Matt groans, feeling some of that wonderful tension fizzle away. He keeps his hand wrapped around Matt’s cock, and when Matt shifts his hips, chasing the feeling, he lets him. “Don’t be a fucking dick.”
Matt can feel Ritter’s grin where it’s pressed against his skin.
“Work for it.” Fuck- his accent is as thick and smooth as molasses. “Take what you need.”
“Lazy,” Matt huffs, cheeks burning. Embarrassment churns in his stomach but it’s not a terrible feeling- if anything it spurs him on. It’s never stopped him before and it sure as hell won’t now, not when he’s so close to coming.
He rolls his hips, fucks up into Ritter’s grip.
“Doing so good,” Ritter murmurs, chin hooked over Matt’s shoulder to watch the obscene way the head of his cock peeks out of his fist every time Matt presses up into it. The muscles in his thighs and abdomen strain as he chases his release. His skin feels too hot, too tight. Goosebumps break out across his arms, the back of his neck. He curls his hands into the bedsheets to stop himself from reaching out and taking his cock in hand, ending this faster than Ritter wants. His toes curl as Ritter squeezes a little but otherwise holds his fist steady for Matt to use.
Ritter’s arm is a steel band across his chest. Like this, Matt barely has any leverage, feet sliding on the sheets as he tries to get that little bit more, that little bit faster. Ritter presses kisses to his throat, nips and sucks at the skin there, sending little frissons of pleasure across his skin. He wants to come so bad but it feels out of reach and the harder he fucks into Ritter’s fist the further away it becomes.
“Just like that,” Ritter murmurs. Matt lets out a frustrated groan. “Want to come for me? Show me how good you are?”
Fuck, thats all Matt wants. He’s desperate to do this for Ritter, to be good, to please him. It’s a little startling just how bad he wants it, doesn’t know what it means, and at this moment, doesn’t care.
“Ritter—” Tears of frustration prick at the corner of his eyes. He feels flushed, unsteady, cock so hard it hurts and still he can’t come.
“Shh,” Ritter soothes him, tightening his grip a little more. “You can do it. Just a little more.”
Matt’s face is burning, hips and thighs aching. He’s shaking, he realizes distantly. Ritter keeps mumbling praise against his skin, scrapes his teeth against Matt’s jaw. Matt grinds up harder into Ritter’s fist, feeling desperate and off kilter.
“Come on Matty.” Ritter swipes his thumb over the head of Matt’s cock and Matt whines, loud and embarrassing in the quiet of the room. “Want to see you.”
Matt digs his fingers into the sheets and comes, all over Ritter’s fist and his own stomach.
Ritter takes over, stripping Matt’s cock fast, fist tight, miking the come from him. He keeps going until Matt’s shivering from the overstimulation and then slows, and finally stops. Matt sinks back against him, exhausted, feeling like he’s floating.
Ritter presses a kiss to his neck, his jaw, his cheek and then carefully slides out from behind Matt, helping him sink back into the pillows.
He kneels next to Matt, taking his cock in hand, jerking off over the mess on Matt’s stomach. Matt’s mouth waters at the sight, wishing vaguely he could suck him off. His bones have turned to liquid though, so the only way that’s happening is if Ritter does all the work.
It’s a thought he’s into.
It doesn’t take much for Ritter to come, body tensing as he spills over his fist, adding to the mess covering Matt. His come lands in hot stripes across Matt’s stomach and softening cock. Marking him.
It’s really fucking hot.
He collapses next to Matt after like a marionette with its strings cut. Matt lays there for a moment, floating, come cooling on his stomach, and then summons the energy to poke Ritter in the side. Hard.
“You’re on cleanup.” Matt grins as Ritter cracks a sleepy eye open at him. “Since you got me all dirty.”
It’s totally a line Matt stole from a porno but it makes Ritter’s expression heat. He leans in and kisses Matt slow and searing, like Matt’s something precious he wants to keep. Matt presses into it, slides his hand along Ritter’s arm, cups his cheek.
It takes awhile for them to separate, but then it’s only for Ritter to grab a warm cloth, wiping Matt down gently. He flicks off the light, then tosses the cloth of out sight to climb back into bed. Matt manages to get the comforter up and over both of them, the intimacy of the room cocooning them. Sleep is lurking at the edges of his mind, his body feeling heavy and slow. Matt slides into Ritter’s arms, pressing in for another kiss. Eventually they end up yawning into each other’s mouths, which isn’t exactly sexy but is something Matt plans on keeping, and settle in with Matt tucked up against Ritter’s chest.
“This isn’t a one time thing right?” It’s easy to ask in the quiet of the night with Ritter’s heartbeat steady against his ear.
“Never,” Ritter promises.
In the dark Matt doesn’t even have to try and hide his smile.
The crowd is going wild around them. And for good fucking reason too- they’ve managed to extend their season, got the win they needed to keep going as long as they can.
They’re headed to the playoffs.
The guys hop the boards like they’re already in the final round- gloves and sticks go flying, a swarm of red and black as the other team makes its way off the ice.
“Chucky!” Hanny bumps his fist and Sean yanks him in for a hug. They move on to Johnny with his game winning goal and Matt scans the sea of red for that familiar figure.
He spots him easily enough, part of the crowd congratulating Smitty on his saves.
“Ritter!” He barely gives Gio time to get out of the way before he’s throwing himself into Ritter’s arms. There’s that split second where he’s airborne, where his stomach flips, and then Ritter’s caught him, strong arms wrapped tight around his waist.
“He’s going to drop you someday if you keep doing that,” Smitty teases, slapping Ritter on the back.
“Nah.” Ritter holds Matt a beat longer, eyes locking on his. “Could never.”
And that, Matt knows, is the truth.