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We're Renegadin'

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“Did you just kiss my helmet,” Travis asks, taking his spot next to Nolan on the bench.

“Don’t be dumb.”

“You did! You did just kiss my helmet! Amazing,” Travis says, with mock awe. “I think you like me.”

“Score more goals and we’ll see.”

“I just netted a hatty bro what more do you want from me?”

Nolan spits on the ice and turns to stare at Travis, expressionless but with a gleam in his eye.


Of the many lame things about playing hockey in a pandemic, the lamest, in Travis’ opinion, is not being able to properly celebrate absolutely crushing the Penguins in two straight games.

He scored a hatty! His boy is back on the ice where he belongs! Oskar survived fucking cancer!

And he. Scored. A hatty.

Nights like this would include rounding the boys up and heading out for dinner at the very least. Drinks would be had. Questionable decisions would be made.

There’s too much at stake though. Eyes on the prize, and all that. Beyond not wanting to get sick themselves, no one on the team wants to put Oskar’s health at any unnecessary risk.

And Nolan. Travis’s boy. Man. Partner? Thing. Love of his life. He’s back. He’s healthy. He’s already made an impact in just two games. Travis is going to do everything he can to keep Nolan on an upward trajectory. No set backs. Which means no going out for anything non-essential.

It’s lame.

But hey he scored a hatty.

“How many times are you gonna say it?” Nolan asks through gritted teeth.

“Until you acknowledge it.”

“I acknowledged it.”

“So you admit you kissed my helmet.”

Nolan doesn’t respond, just takes a gulp of his beer.

They’re at Travis’ (their?) condo, celebrating his hatty and their win with beers and highlights. He looks over at Nolan, enjoys the shape of his lips around the top of his beer bottle, watches the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, and thinks maybe celebrating just the two of them might not be such a bad thing.

Travis scoots closer to Nolan on the couch and throws his legs over Nolan’s thighs. Nolan thoughtlessly lays a hand on Travis’ thigh and squeezes.

“See, you do like me,” Travis teases.

“You didn’t score any more goals,” Nolan answers without looking at him.

“I coulda got the dick trick but I gave Oskar the empty netter!”

Nolan shrugs. “Sucks, bud.”

“I was being magnanimous,” Travis says, pouting.

Nolan turns his head toward Travis, his lips tight over a smile he doesn’t want to let go of. He takes Travis by the jaw and pulls him in for a kiss. Not chaste but not deep. A promise that might not be kept, depending on Nolan’s mood.

“That’s me being magnanimous,” Nolan says, pulling away. “Now leave me alone, I wanna enjoy the Blues getting demolished.”

Travis has no intention of leaving him alone though. He maneuvers himself until he’s straddling Nolan’s thighs, fully blocking Nolan’s view of the TV. Nolan doesn’t move, but the blue in eyes start to give way to black, and the twitch in his crotch tells Travis that he’s exactly where Nolan wants him to be.

“What are you doing?” Nolan asks. Instead of going breathless, Nolan exhibits more control, clenches his jaw even tighter as he speaks. It’s how Travis knows he’s about to get what he wants.

“I scored a hatty.”

Travis leans in for a kiss, more than a peck, but less than what he wants, seeking permission. Nolan gives way, opening up and sliding his tongue out to meet Travis’. His large hands take a hold of Travis’ ass, as Travis’ hands grip behind his neck. They change their angle simultaneously to deepen their kiss.

It tastes like beer and Nolan, Travis’ favorite flavor. He’d bottle it if he could, but just for himself. He wraps himself more firmly around Nolan, squeezing Nolan’s thighs with his own and wrapping his arms around his neck. Nolan answers by wrapping his arms around Travis’ middle possessively. Travis grinds his ass down onto Nolan’s hardening crotch, swallowing the moans he's eliciting from him.

Nolan pulls away. “You gotta stop doing that if you’re not gonna let me fuck you.”

Travis grins mischievously and grinds down again. Nolan groans at that, and uses his considerable strength to take Travis and lay him on the couch. He settles himself right on top of Travis, letting him take most of his weight and taking possession of Travis’ mouth again.

This is what Travis was after.

One of the things that makes them so compatible is that they’re both sexually versatile. Both of them wanting to top and bottom for each in equal measure. Last year when Travis was selected for the All Star game he wanted to eat Nolan out and fuck him senseless, and to say that Nolan was obliging is an understatement.

Tonight, though? After his first career hat trick? He wants to submit. He wants to feel every inch of Nolan inside of him. He wants to be held down with the full weight of Nolan’s desire for him. He’s got one of the two so far.

Travis breaks the kiss and pushes Nolan partially off of him to stare into his eyes, the blue a barely visible ring around the black pupils by now. Travis doesn’t say anything, just stares into Nolan’s eyes, smiling mischievously again.

“Bed,” Nolan grunts.

Travis loves winning.


Nolan’s got Travis bent over the bed. One massive hand is on Travis’ back, pressing him down into the mattress, the other slicked up with two fingers deep inside of him. Nolan’s worked Travis past being a pest, past asking Nolan if that’s the best he can do, and halfway towards begging for Nolan’s dick. Nolan changes the angle of his fingers to find Travis’ prostate, and now Travis is much closer than halfway.

“Tell me you want it,” Nolan says. He’s stopped the motion of his fingers inside of Travis, and it’s all Travis can do to stop himself from fucking himself on Nolan’s hand.

“I’m not gonna fucking beg you, bro,” Travis responds, like a liar.

“Like hell you aren’t.” He pulls his fingers out of Travis, leaving him feeling empty and needing more. Travis mindlessly grinds backwards, searching, but Nolan keeps a hand on him, holding him down. “Tell me. You. Want. It.”

“Fuck you,” Travis whines. “I fucking want it.”

Nolan doesn’t respond, but Travis can hear the lube bottle being opened again, and it’s not long before he feels the press of Nolan’s cock against his hole. It doesn’t take much for Travis to open up for Nolan, to be filled by him.

“Fuck fuck fuck” Travis moans, enjoying the feeling of being stretched open.

“Is that good?” Nolan asks, knowing full well that it is.

“It’d be better if you fucking moved.”

Nolan obliges, starting at a slow tempo to allow Travis to get accustomed to it. Travis wants more, though, needs more, and he tries to control the pace by grinding his ass back onto Nolan’s dick.

“Oh?” is all Nolan says.

“I told you to move didn’t I?”

At that, Travis gets exactly what he asked for, and it’s lucky for him they don’t play again for three days. The hand that has Travis pressed into the mattress is bound to leave a mark, and the other hand has taken hold of Travis’ flow, as Nolan fucks him hard now, aggressive in a way that can only be driven by want, by passion.

All Travis can do now is take it, which is all he wants to do.

At some point, Travis doesn’t know when or how,  they end up fully on the bed, with Nolan draped completely on top of him. There’s still urgency in the way that Nolan moves, but the edge is gone. Nolan’s got one arm holding himself up, and the other wrapped around Travis’ chest, as Travis angles his head back to accept the kisses that Nolan is pressing up and down his cheek and neck.

When Nolan bottoms for Travis, he does everything he can to keep his guard up until the last second. Now, though, he’s completely open.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he tells him. “You’re perfect Teeks, look at you.”

Travis just moans in response, so consumed with Nolan that he can’t do much else.

“I fucking love you,” Nolan moans in his ear, and he feels Nolan pulse inside of him. Spent, Nolan collapses on top of him, and Travis savors the feeling of his full weight on top of him for a few moments.

Eventually, he comes back to himself though.

“You’re fucking heavy, bud,” he says, arching himself to force Nolan off of him.

“You like it,” Nolan mutters in response. He rolls onto his back and stretches his arms behind him, eventually settling them so that his head is resting on his palms.

“I’d deny it in front of a jury,” Travis replies. He shifts himself until he’s laying with his head on Nolan’s chest. “I scored a hatty.”

Nolan tilts his head down and kisses Travis on the forehead.