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Are you fucking kidding me? Kevin thinks.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says out loud to the very stressed-looking woman in front of him who’s holding a clipboard in front of her. He thinks she’s part of the Flyers’ admin staff, but he’s never met her before – never had a reason to. Of course, she could be one of any number of team admin personnel here in this hotel.

“I really do apologize, but if it’s any consolation you’re not the only ones who are stuck with a single,” she replies. “There are only so many rooms in the hotel, and we had to do what we could to get every player and essential staff member to fit.”

“There was really no alternative here?”

“Not without exposing everyone to deadly disease! On the bright side, the quicker you get knocked out of the playoffs, the sooner you get out of here.”

With that, she smiles and turns on her heel to walk away.

Alright then. So apparently he’s sharing a bed with his goalie for the foreseeable future.




“Hey,” Hartsy says. “At least we know we made the actual playoffs.”

“Yeah, god, fuck,” Kevin says. “I can’t even imagine. Going through weeks of this and not even making it past the first round.” He looks around the standard-issue hotel: matching lamps on either side of the king size bed, abstract art in neutral tones hanging on the walls.

“Am I really that bad?”

“I don’t know, depends on how loud you snore.”

“Wow.” Carter laughs.

“Hey, it might be you who drew the short straw here,” Kevin continues. “I’m a cuddler.”

Carter rolls his eyes and starts unpacking his bags into the empty drawers of the hotel room’s wardrobe.




That first day, there’s not much to be done. The league has mandated social events and shit strewn throughout their schedule for the next few weeks between games and practices, presumably so they don’t all go insane staring at the inside of their hotel room walls. But for today it’s fairly lowkey, with all the players flying in from their respective cities.

“We’re in this hotel for the next who knows how long and we can’t even use the pool,” Kevin complains as he looks wistfully out the window at the sunset reflecting off the pool’s surface.

“If a chick can get pregnant from jizz in a hot tub, there’s no way in hell I’m taking a dip in coronavirus soup,” says Hartsy.

“I know, I know, but it’s just, like...mocking me.” He sighs wistfully before letting the curtain drop back over the window. “Whatever. I’m calling it a night. Wake me up if there’s a fire or something.”

“Why in the fuck would there be a fire?”

“I don’t know, Carter. Just seems like one of those years.”

Kevin tugs at the sheets until they come untucked from beneath the mattress, then flips over the covers and flops himself down face-first. It won’t be too bad, he figures. It’s a king. That’s, like, a full mattress each. Even two extra large dudes like him and Hartsy can’t take up that much space.




The sun has long since fallen when Kevin opens his eyes again, but he’s still got a ways to go before he has to get up. The alarm he’s set before passing out definitely hasn’t gone off – he can tell from the bright green glow of the numbers on the standard-issue hotel alarm clock on the table next to him.

He’s blinking the sleep out of his eyes when he suddenly becomes aware of what it is that’s woken him up: Carter, the slow undulation of his hips, the hard press of his dick against Kevin’s leg.


Kevin’s eyes snap open, but he doesn’t move. He hears Carter take in a shaky breath before he presses up again, his hard-on thick and hot against Kevin’s leg through both their underwear.

“Carter?” Kevin whispers. He doesn’t get an answer. “Carter.” Still nothing.

His boxers have started to ride up from the repetitive movement of Carter against him, and he can feel the wet tip of Carter’s dick against his leg now. He’s frozen in place as the thrusts become more forceful, the sleepy hesitance disappearing.

Kevin can hardly see in the darkness of the room, but in the dim moonlight coming in through the window he’s able to just make out the lines of Carter’s face – eyes closed, brows slanted down and mouth open as he pants out hot, heavy breaths against Kevin’s shoulder.

As he’s watching, Carter’s expression morphs into ecstasy, his hips jacking up in rabbity thrusts until Kevin can feel the smears of come soak through onto his thigh. It all gets rubbed into his skin over and over with the rolls of Carter’s hips that slow until he’s finally tired himself out.

Kevin hears it as Carter’s breath settles back into a normal cadence. He barely registers the movement of Carter repositioning himself in his sleep, curling toward the other side of the mattress.

Minutes must pass, and Kevin’s breath is still the loudest thing in the room. He slides a hand down his stomach to the top of his waistband but stops himself before he reaches for his dick. Instead, he takes two fingers and swipes through the drying spatters of come on his hip, then slowly brings them up to his mouth to taste.

Fuck. This is going to be an interesting few weeks.




The next morning, Kevin gets up early and showers before heading down one of the bigger halls in the hotel where they’ve cleared out the furniture and filled in the space with enough gym equipment to keep roughly 600 professional athletes happy. Figures he may as well spare Hartsy the embarrassment, and he got an early night anyway.

Kevin can’t help but find it super fucking weird – just, this whole thing. Obviously it’s kind of ludicrous, the idea of them all some kind of, like, hockey-fueled convent out here in Vancouver. But it’s also the thought of basically being neighbors with the people that he’s supposed to slaughter on the ice in a couple days’ time.

Kevin supposes he should be glad that everything is fucking weird, because it distracts him from the fucking weirdness of last night. It almost feels like a hallucination, or some particularly vivid dream: he can’t actually reconcile reality with the jizz he washed off his leg this morning. The jizz that came from some other guy. The guy that happens to be his fucking goalie.

About an hour into his workout, he sees Carter enter at the far end of the hall. As he scans the room, their eyes meet for a hot second. Kevin looks away and tunes back into the glide of the treadmill beneath him.

It was probably a one-time thing. He was asleep, for god’s sake – it wasn’t like he meant to do it. Kevin just won’t bring it up.

And seriously, it’s not like Kevin doesn’t get it. Alone and isolated for the last few months? With basically an NHL mandate to keep you from touching anyone else? Kevin’s a bit touch-starved himself, and he can imagine a guy as young as Hartsy has it that much worse. It’s just his body’s natural reaction to being around someone else. Laying next to another person, in bed. Sleeping together.

It makes sense.




Tonight, Kevin waits until Carter’s already asleep to head to bed himself. He’s not sure why. Maybe so that Carter doesn’t see his face as he crawls into bed next to him – still the requisite no homo distance away – maybe to hide how he’s a little bit hard as he slips under the covers.

Despite the way he feels like his whole body is on edge, sleep takes him pretty fast.





The groan sneaks through the cracks of Kevin’s unconscious, but it’s not what prods him awake.

Unlike last time, when he’d been stuck on his back, Kevin’s now turned on his side, somehow playing the little spoon to his horny big spoon goalie.

Carter’s farther along than he was the last time Kevin woke up in the middle of the night. He can tell that Hartsy’s so hard that his tip is already peeking out of the top of his boxers – can feel the slide of it against his ass as Carter seeks purchase.

One of Carter’s hands is curled around his hip, nails cutting into his skin. Kevin wonders who it is he’s thinking about – some girl from back home? Did he have a girlfriend in Philly last season?

His line of thought is cut off by the high keening noise that Carter lets out as his hips start to speed up. He’s caught just the right rhythm, his dick sliding up against the crack of Kevin’s ass each time.

Fuck – fuck it. Kevin reaches down and pulls his dick out of his underwear, fisting it in time with the thrusts against his ass.

He hears Carter let out another whimper and he can’t help himself from moving against him. He can feel Carter’s wet tip catch on his skin near the top of his ass, can feel he’s precome start to soak into the material. God, he’s gonna be fucking filthy.

He knows it’s coming from the tightening of Carter’s fingers on his hip – he speeds up his strokes, pumping frantically into his hand as he feels Carter start to spill against his lower back and ass.

“Yeah, come on, baby,” he whispers into the dark, unable to help himself. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He flips the front of his underwear back over his dick just in time to catch his load. They’re already fucking ruined – might as well minimize the damage to bedding, for his sake and the hotel staff.

Jesus. Goddamn. Yeah, he’s definitely not sleeping all night in these.

He waits a few minutes for his heart rate to slow back to his normal speed, grateful that Carter’s shuffled himself back into a different position, his hand gone from Kevin’s skin.

He peels off the soaked underwear and flings them into a corner with yesterday’s workout clothes, then goes the fuck back to sleep.



This time, Carter wakes up before him. He can hear the sound of the shower over the blast of the AC, and it’s late enough in the morning that the light is already slanting in through the windows.

Kevin would try and convince himself that it was a dream all over again, but he’s definitely completely buck-ass naked underneath this blanket.



The Flyers get some ice time today. The schedule, which he assumes some poor intern put a whole lot of time into, has them sandwiched between Tampa and the Bruins.

Carter’s getting worked hard – they all are, but Carter’s the one that’s going to be racking up the most minutes on playoff ice out of all of them, and that’s reflected in the drills coach has them running through in the short time they’re allotted on practice ice.

But eventually he gets a break to trade in the back-up for a while, and comes to join Kevin over on the bench.

Kevin watches as he squirts a big mouthful of water into his mouth before pouring the rest directly over his head.

“Whoa there,” Kevin says, shielding his face as Hartsy shakes the droplets off.

“Sorry, not sorry.” He plops himself down on the bench and spreads his legs out as far as they’ll go.

“Alright there, hotshot.”

“Hey, come at me when you make 91% of your shots, eh?”

“Okay, if that’s how it’s gonna be,” Kevin says. He picks up another water and aims it at Hartsy’s face before he can duck out the way. “Made that one.”

“You’re the worst,” Carter says, blinking the water out of his eyes.

“Thank you,” Kevin replies. He lets the dust settle for a few moments, mentally applauding himself for his ability to act normal. He figures there’s never actually going to be a good time to broach the question, though, so he just goes for it: “So, uh, you doing okay lately?”

Carter looks over at him, suspicious. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

“I don’t know, you just seem a bit...stressed?”

“I mean, are you not?”

“Not what?” Not grinding up on my teammate in my sleep? No, now that you mention it.

Carter rolls his eyes. “Other than trying to make up for four months of no practice before a playoff run in the middle of a global pandemic, I’m doing pretty okay, thanks for asking.”

“No, yeah, I just...wanted to check and make sure there wasn’t anything I you out with.”

“I’m good, man. Promise.”




When Kevin’s jolted awake this time, he opens his eyes to find that Carter has woven their legs together, one of Kevin’s threaded between Carter’s and their breath mingling in shared space on the same pillow.


Carter may have the undying energy of a 21-year-old professional athlete, but Kevin can only take this so many nights in a row. He’s tired. He needs sleep.

He lets the roll of Carter’s hips continue for a few more beats before he lays a hand on his shoulder and pushes him down on the bed.

He can only be so strong in the face of Carter’s breathless, wanting, sounds – like his body knows what he’s being deprived of.

He brings his hand up to Carter’s mouth, rubbing his thumb along Carter’s bottom lip. He pulls his hand back toward himself when he feels Carter try to seek it out with his mouth. Goddamn.

He runs his hand down Carter’s neck, catches his right nipple with a nail as he makes his way down to the hem of his shorts.

Kevin wants to sleep, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make this enjoyable for Carter.

He takes his fingers and rubs them gently up and down the hard line of Carter’s dick through the thin fabric of his sleep shorts. When he feels Carter buck up into his hand, he cups him and squeezes.

Carter keeps up the steady rhythm of his thrusts. Kevin doesn’t imagine this will take long. He pushes down the elastic waistband until Carter’s dick is free, then wraps his hand around it. He’ll hardly have to do any work. Carter will fuck his hand until he comes if Kevin just stays like this.

Kevin doesn’t though. He takes his thumb and swipes over the head, where Carter is dripping with precum. He uses the moisture to ease the glide of his hand up and down Carter’s dick. He matches the tempo of Carter’s thrusts with his strokes. God, he’s so easy.

When Carter comes, he catches the come in his hand. It doesn’t take much to convince himself to bring the hand to his own cock, to pump the half-dozen or so times it takes to jizz all over himself.

As Kevin uses his boxers to wipe down his body, he sends out a silent apology to whoever’s job it is to take care of the laundry services around here.




It’s the fourth night of their stay, and Kevin can’t go to sleep. He’s wired with anticipation.

He and Carter have been lying in bed for an hour or so now. He knows Carter’s asleep, can tell from the little movements of his body: the twitching of his fingers, the scrunching of his face. Carter awake is so perceivably conscious of how he holds himself, has fine-tuned his natural reflexes to perfection – no doubt either the cause or the effect of why he’s a menace in the net. Here, the careless way he sprawls and fidgets gives him away.

God. He’s keeping Kevin awake even when he’s not keeping Kevin awake.

It’s only fair that he takes things into his own hands, right? Carter – Carter’s body – has been calling the shots this whole time. Kevin’s really only giving back what he’s gotten.

Mine made up, he pushes himself up into a seated position then slowly pulls down the blankets until he and Carter are uncovered. He crawls over and flips the rest of the blanket off completely, shuffling until he has a knee on either side of Carter’s legs, his body hovering over him.

He grabs the band of Carter’s sleep shorts and pulls them down. He’s not wearing anything underneath. Kevin slides them down until he has full access, then takes a moment to admire Carter’s flaccid dick. Weird to think that despite the last few days he’s never seen Carter’s dick like this outside of the locker room, where his eyes aren’t wont to wander. Strange to consider that he’s now more familiar with the shape of Carter’s dick at full attention, red and swollen. He’s not going to linger here for long, so he supposes he shouldn’t grow accustomed.

He starts by taking hold of it in his hands and bringing his lips down to the tip. He tongues Carter’s slit like a woman’s clit until he feels Carter’s hips shift below him. He pops off and ducks down to lick from the base all the way back to the tip again.

He feels Carter start to firm up in his hand and spends the next few minutes fisting his cock to bring him up to full staff. Yes. This is the dick he’s familiar with.

It’s when he finally sinks all the way down on Carter’s dick, the length of him nestled deep in his throat, that he hears Carter start to awaken.

“Wha – what? Hayesie –” he cuts off on a moan, his hips bucking up.

But Kevin’s got Carter’s hips pinned. He comes back up, lips unsealing from the cock in his mouth with a soft pop.

“Yes?” he finally answers. He’s got a hand back on Carter’s dick, slowly moving up and down.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but he doesn’t move away, his hips still stuttering.

“I’m just giving you what you’ve been asking for.” He makes his grip lighter, brushing his fingertips over Carter’s dick, and over his thighs.

“What are you talking about, oh my god –” he breaks off again as Kevin’s fingers flit over the pucker of his hole.

He lingers there a moment more before coming back up to circle Carter’s dick. “You’ve been waking me up every night, Carter.”

“I – what?” His hips cant up again.

“You’ve taken advantage of me every single night since we got here,” he says, still moving his hand up and down. “Rubbing your dick on my ass. My leg. Using me until you come in your pants.”

He hears Carter gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right. You know what you’ve been doing,” he taunts. “Waking up with come in your underwear like a teenager.”

He hears a whimper, but isn’t looking up to see the expression on Carter’s face. Instead, he sinks back down to take him in his mouth.

Kevin knows this isn’t going to take long – the last few nights have been a testament to Carter’s stamina (or lack thereof) and he’s already pretty worked up. True to form, he feels Carter start to piston up into his mouth. This time, he leaves Carter’s hips unpinned so he can fuck Kevin’s mouth. When Kevin looks up, he sees that Carter has lifted himself up onto his elbows to look down at him.

He sees Carter tilt his head back, let out the telltale keen he’s heard every night this week, then feels the flood of salty come hit his tongue.

He works his mouth up and down until Carter whimpers from the assault on his sensitive skin, then lifts himself up and shuffles forward until he’s straddled over Carter’s hips. He fists his dick and pumps himself with no grace at all – this isn’t a show, this is retribution.

When he comes with a grunt, he makes sure to paint Carter’s chest. Through his great, heaving breaths, he can just barely hear the faint sobs coming from beneath him.

Kevin takes a minute to catch his breath, still seated just south of Carter’s flaccid dick. Eventually, he lumbers himself over to one side of Carter and lays back down on his side, pushing Carter up until he’s on his side too. Carter curls in on himself, and Kevin curls up around him.

“Why are you crying?” Kevin asks.

“I’m – I’m so sorry,” Carter whimpers. “I didn’t know.”

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Kevin says. He rubs his hands up and down Carter’s back. “Now that you, you’ll tell me when you need it, right?”

He feels Carter nod.

“Good. You can’t keep waking me up in the middle of the night, kid. I’ve got a fuckin’ Stanley Cup to win.”