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it ain't broke (it's just part of a lover's game)

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 "Um, excuse me," says Nolan. "Are you Travis Konecny?"

Travis is sitting at the hotel bar, game day suit still on but his tie loosened. His hair is pushed up off his forehead and he's cradling a whisky. When he turns to look at Nolan, it really seems like he doesn't recognize him at all. Travis gives a smile, nothing like his usual ones for Nolan, sweet and special with his eyes all squinched up. This one is professional, maybe a little distant. Nolan didn’t expect him to be such a good actor.

"That's me," this version of Travis says. He leaves it at that, forcing Nolan to pick up the threads of the conversation.

"I'm a really big fan," Nolan says. His voice shakes, and he can already feel himself blushing. In comparison to Travis, he's dressed down, in just a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. 

"That's nice. Always great to meet a fan," says Travis, still with that distant smile. "Well, good talking to you." 

Travis turns away, catches the bartender’s attention and signals for another drink.

("I'm gonna make it hard for you, baby," Travis had said, smoothing a teasing hand over the front of Nolan's pants. "You're gonna have to work for it.")

Nolan feels himself floundering. He had been worried about this maybe feeling silly, maybe when they actually did it instead of just talking about it Nolan would feel stupid. And Nolan-himself doesn't feel stupid, but this version of himself that he's playing does. Nolan imagines what it would be like, to have someone you look up to so much dismiss you so easily. He can feel his cheeks burning.

"No, I mean, I'm a really big fan," says Nolan, takes a chance and lays a hand on Travis' arm, sinks deep into the headspace of being so desperate for someone's attention, knowing that it was maybe your only chance. Travis looks down at Nolan's hand, looks up at his eyes, and Nolan is gone.

"Well, really big fan," Konecny says, smirking. "What's your name?"

"Nolan. I—my name is Nolan."

"So, Nolan-I-my-name-is-Nolan—" and Konecny finishes his whiskey, smacks his lips and puts down the glass. "—are you gonna sit and order a drink, or are you just gonna stand there all night?"

Nolan fumbles to sit as the bartender slides another whiskey across the bar to Konecny. He raises his eyebrows questioningly at Nolan, who murmurs, "Vodka soda, please," flushing as Konecny snorts.

"You might be a big guy, but you don't play hockey with an order like a vodka soda," he says. 

"Figure skating," says Nolan, looking down at his hands. "I do figure skating."

"Oh, wow, figure skating," says Konecny, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Very cool."

("If you could like, I don't know, be mean?" Nolan had gasped, as Travis fisted his cock inside his pants.

"Sure baby," Travis had said, kissing Nolan's neck. "I'll be as mean as you want.")

Nolan doesn't know how to continue the conversation after that, so he just sits there paralyzed as Konecny drinks his whiskey, the picture of ease. Nolan can feel his cheeks reddening and reddening.

"So, what do you want?" Konecny asks, finally breaking the silence as the bartender comes back over and hands Nolan his drink. His tone is impatient. The get to the point, or don't waste my time goes unspoken.

"I don't know, I just wanted to come over and tell you how much I like you, I guess. How much I admire you." Nolan's voice lowers into a total mumble by the end of the sentence, embarrassed beyond belief. 

"How much you like me, that's sweet," chuckles Konecny. "Look, I'll tell you what. You've got a cute face, and I want to see how far down that blush goes. I have a room upstairs. You come up with me, show me how much you like me, and you'll get a story to tell your friends. Hell, I'll even throw in an autograph if you're good enough. How about it?"

"Yeah," says Nolan, gulping. "Yeah, absolutely. I—thank you."

"Alright," says Konecny, draining the glass in one gulp. "My room number is 604. Come upstairs in ten minutes."

He stands and makes to leave, then doubles back to whisper in Nolan's ear. "See you there, puck bunny."

Nolan shudders and Konecny laughs. He leaves Nolan sitting there, shoulders hunched, staring into nothing, until the bartender comes back around.

"So is somebody gonna pay for those whiskeys, or..." he says, pointing to the empty glass where Konecny left it. The guy is a professional athlete, and Nolan is a struggling figure skating teacher. That asshole.

"I've got it," says Nolan, taking out his wallet. "The whiskey and the soda. Thanks."

Nolan tries to budget his drink as the ten minutes tick by, just to give himself something to do. Every time he brings his glass up to his mouth, his hand shakes. Ten minutes feels like a lifetime and no time at all, but eventually Nolan takes his last sip and makes his way over to the hotel elevators, gets in and pushes the button for six.

"There you are," says Konecny, as he opens the door at Nolan's knock. "Good to know you can follow directions at least." He crosses the room, sits on the armchair in the corner. The room is big, and nice, way nicer than Nolan could ever afford. Konecny spreads his legs. "C'mon, do you job. Get me hard."

Nolan gets on his knees, undoes Konecny's fly and draws his cock out of his pants. He's already half-hard, at least, which is gratifying. Nolan opens his mouth and draws Konecny's cock in, blinking his eyes closed when Konecny sighs and relaxes into the chair.

"Good," Konecny says. "Keep doing that, and then I'm gonna fuck your mouth."

Nolan moans assent as he draws up, pushes back down. Konecny's cock is thick, and it stretches his jaw, presses against his palate. He can already feel his eyes starting to water.

"Hair is cute," Konecny says, gathering Nolan's hair up in one hand and yanking so that Nolan is pulled off his cock. Konecny stands, forces Nolan to shuffle back a few steps on his knees, again by his hair. "Good handle."

Konecny feeds his cock into Nolan's mouth, pushing in deep, and as he chokes Nolan isn't thinking about the mean words or the rough treatment. Just: Travis Konecny thinks my hair is cute.

Konecny puts up a punishing pace from the start, never going all the way into Nolan's throat but just barely breaching it. He seems to like to make Nolan choke, cock spitting out a little bit of extra precome every time Nolan's throat contracts. He slows down, going long and deep, pushing deeper and deeper into Nolan's throat every few strokes. 

"Put your hands behind your back, puck bunny," Konecny says. "Good boy."

Having his hands behind his back makes Nolan completely dependent on Konecny for his balance, and Konecny isn't necessarily helping, yanking Nolan's head back and forth by the hair. Eventually he pulls Nolan off far enough that he falls backwards, barely catching himself before his head hits the ground. He looks up at Konecny, eyes wide. Konecny stares down at him, and Nolan feels like a bug at his feet.

"You wanna wear my jersey when I fuck you, bunny? I have a spare." 

The worst part of it is the tone of Konecny's voice, like he's being kind

No, actually, the worst part of it is how eager Nolan still is to nod yes.

"It's in my suitcase," says Konecny, gesturing to where it lay on the floor. "Get undressed and put it on."

Konecny disappears into the closet for a moment, no doubt hanging up his suit. Nolan leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor, is pulling on the jersey when Konecny comes back out. He's naked, cock softened back down to only half hard again, phone in one hand as he tosses something to Nolan with his other. Nolan catches it. It's a small bottle of lube.

"Get on the bed and get yourself ready," Konecny says. "I need to answer some emails."

Konecny sits on one side of the bed, up against the headboard, crosses his legs at the ankles and starts typing on his phone. Nolan, unsure, crawls onto the bed. Konecny doesn't look. 

Nolan keeps his eyes on Konecny as he wets his fingers, reaches behind him to slide one into himself, practically begging Konecny to look up, but Konecny just shifts a bit and types on his phone. Nolan lets out a tentative moan, trying to see if it'll grab his attention.

It doesn't.

A whine doesn't either, and as Nolan slides a second finger in, he can feel himself tear up from the humiliation of it, kneeling on a bed fingering himself, preparing himself to get fucked and wearing the jersey of a man who doesn't even care enough to look at him while he does it. As he closes his eyes, one tear trails down his cheek.

Travis knocks his toes against Nolan's shin, and Nolan gives a nod of his head and a thumbs up.

"Speed it up, bunny," says Konecny. "I'm a busy man."

"Sorry," gasps Nolan, as he slides another finger into himself. "I'm sorry."

He works on opening himself as fast as he can, and at Nolan's whispered, "I'm good", Konecny careless tosses his phone onto the bedside table.

"Hands and knees. I want to see my name and number when I fuck you."

Nolan scrambles to situate himself in the center of the bed as Konecny coats his cock in lube, settles behind Nolan and lines himself up. Nolan's humiliatingly high moan is the only noise when he pushes in; Konecny doesn't make a single sound. He bottoms out and stops, letting Nolan adjust, which is probably the most considerate thing he's done all night. He draws back and pushes in again, shocking another moan out of Nolan before he realizes—

"Condom," Nolan gasps, reaching behind him to grab at Konecny's hand on his hip.

(They had both gotten tested and stopped using condoms months ago—they've gotten completely out of the habit.)

"Oh shit," says Konecny. "Well, it kind of doesn't matter now. We've already started, we might as well finish. I can pull out and put one on if you want. Like, it'll feel so much better if we just don't, but it's whatever you’re comfortable with."

Nolan bites his lip.

"Do you wanna feel good, bunny?" Konecny asks. "You want me to feel good?" 

Travis takes Nolan's hand in his own, squeezes twice. Nolan squeezes back.

Nolan nods.

"Alright, then," Konecny says, draws out and pushes back in.

Similarly to fucking Nolan's face, Konecny sets a punishing pace right from the start, grasping Nolan by the hips, hard. Nolan gets knocked down to his elbows pretty quickly, bracing himself on his forearms. He's biting his hand to keep from making too much noise, but he's still crying out and whimpering. Konecny doesn't seem to be aiming for his prostate, but he's getting it every few thrusts, and Nolan's body jerks every time. He can feel the jersey slide up, bearing his ass and lower back, and Konecny slaps his ass, hard.

"Don't hide, bunny," Konecny says. "Open your mouth, I wanna hear if you squeak." 

Nolan rips his hand out of his own mouth with a sob, sucking in a high inhale and letting it out on a moan. 

"Fuck yeah," Konecny says, and slaps his ass again. 

Nolan startles when he feels gentle fingers along his neck, but it's just Konecny gathering his hair up. Once he has a handful, he yanks Nolan's head back, forcing his back into a punishing arch. Nolan lets out a pathetic moan, and Konecny draws him back so that they're both kneeling up, Nolan's head listing on his shoulder. He pushes a hand up under the jersey, over Nolan's stomach and chest and up through the neck hole to wrap his hand around Nolan's neck. He doesn't constrict, barely squeezes once before drawing his hand back and giving a sharp slap to Nolan's stomach, barely an impact, cupping his hand so the noise is extra loud.

"Guess that blush does go all the way down, huh?" he asks, and Nolan nods and groans mindlessly. Konecny is fucking him so good, so right, and he's totally gone, only aware of Konecny's arm wrapped around his chest for leverage, the heat gathering in his belly. Nolan fumbles for his own cock, and Konecny bats his hand away, pushes him forward so his face is in the mattress and holds his wrist down.

"Nuh-uh. You're gonna come just on my cock, bunny, or you're not gonna come at all." 

Nolan wails.

(He's come without anyone touching his cock before, and with Travis the most frequently—hell, he did it the first time they had sex—but he'd always had something to rub up against; a pillow, someone's stomach. He's never come with no contact to his cock at all.)

"C'mon, bunny," says Konecny, goadingly.

He's angled his hips so that he's hitting Nolan's prostate straight on. Nolan's mouth is wide open, his free hand scrambling at the sheets, the pillows, anything to hold onto as something in his core coils tight and tighter. Nolan realizes, humiliated, that he is squeaking, high little noises coming out through his nose with every thrust.

"Do it, bunny," Konecny hisses in Nolan's ear. "Come on my cock like the fucking slut you are. C'mon, show me how much you love this dick. You've been dreaming about it, haven't you? Touching yourself and thinking about me? Did you dream it would feel this good, little bunny? Did you think you would squeak this much for me?"

Nolan sobs, bucking his hips and twisting his body in an attempt to make something happen, to give all of the pressure building in his body a place to go.

Ultimately, all it takes is for Konecny to grab Nolan around the throat and hiss:

"You come on my cock and I'll give you my autograph."

Nolan lets go with a wail, feeling his body lock up as he shakes and shudders through it, clenching his jaw, tears leaking out of his eyes.

"Oh, fuck," Konecny says, and thrusts only a few more times before he buries himself deep and comes in Nolan's ass. He must have been close, Nolan thinks. Maybe he was holding out until Nolan came.

Konecny pulls out, and Nolan drops to the mattress, completely limp. He's aware, distantly, of Konecny climbing off the bed, grabbing a bottle of water and draining it completely. He comes back into awareness when he feels Konecny spread his cheeks, hears the artificial shutter sound going off.

("How about I take pictures, afterwards?" asked Travis. "That feels like such a dick move.")

"Just pictures for the road," Konecny says. "That's alright, bunny, isn't it?"

Nolan nods hesitantly.

"Good. Actually, you know what, could you hold yourself open? I can get better photos that way."

Nolan reaches back and holds himself open, swallows as Konecny takes a few more pictures.

"Awesome, thanks. Here." Konecny crosses over to a back pack, pulls out a black sharpie. "What's your name, again?"

"Nolan," Nolan says, so fucked out he knows his voice is barely understandable.

"Nolan, that's right. Okay."

Konecny leans over, and Nolan can feel as he writes on the back of the jersey.

"You can just go ahead and keep that," Konecny says, generously. "It's a spare, and you got it all messy anyway. Feel free to use the bathroom to clean up, but I want you out of here in fifteen minutes, okay?"

Nolan nods, pulls himself up and gathers his clothes to head to the bathroom. He winces when he sees himself. His hair is a total fucking rat's nest, his entire face and neck are flushed, and he has tear tracks down his cheeks. The bottom of the jersey is ruined, covered in come, but he still takes it off, washes it in the sink the best he can. The autograph on the back says, To Nolan, my biggest fan, and has a messy little sketch of a rabbit. 


Nolan combs his fingers through his hair, rinses his face, does his best to get Konecny's come out of his ass. Finally, he gets dressed and opens the door.

Travis is lying on the bed waiting for him, in his comfiest pajamas and Nolan's favorite throw blanket in his arms.

"Hi, baby," he says, and he smiles, big and bright and perfect, just like he does every time he sees Nolan. "Come get back in bed, it's cuddle time."

Nolan pushes off his jeans and crawls back in, curling up against Travis and letting him wrap him up in the blanket. Travis kisses Nolan sweet and slow, drops kisses on his nose, his cheekbones, his eyelashes.

"Your happiness is important to me," Travis says, serious, looking deep into Nolan's eyes.

"I know," Nolan says.

"You're my boyfriend and I value you very much."

Nolan snorts. "I know that, too."

"Did you have a good time?"

Nolan nods, too overwhelmed to say just how much he liked it. From the start at the bar all the way to the end, everything was perfectly tailored for what he wanted, what they had talked about. Travis had rented a hotel room, for fuck's sake. Had ignored the weird looks of the trainers when he had grabbed a spare jersey just to bring it home. Had rolled with the punches, the things that were unexpected, but still checked in and made sure that Nolan was safe. 

He's aware, suddenly, viscerally, of how much Travis does for him. It's hard, sometimes, not to feel selfish. To really understand that Travis gains happiness from taking care of Nolan, that the best gift that Nolan can give him is letting Travis give him gifts. That Travis is okay with the fact that Nolan is ornery and private, doles out affection like he's on a budget. That Travis understands the things that he doesn't say, can't say. 

Nolan traces his fingers along Travis' collar bones, up along his neck to settle on his jaw.

"Thank you," he says, and kisses Travis, sweet, trying to put in it all of the words, unsaid. "I really, really liked it."

"Well," says Travis, looking pleased and a little flustered. "I really, really like you, so."

"Wow," says Nolan, trying to hide his smile and failing. "I really like you, too. What a great coincidence."

"I know!" says Travis, gathering Nolan up even closer in his arms. "Who would have thought?"

"Not me," Nolan says, staring at the place where the tendons of Travis' neck meet his collarbone. He loves that place. "Not me."