They’d fucking won. Finally. Fucking finally won that game. Their first winning game against the Canadiens in the playoffs in six thousand hundred million years or whatever, if the news was correct. And Auston had been--- he’d been… fuck. He’d been so fucking hot. Mitch wanted to get down on his knees and blow him right there in the locker room.
There were a couple of reasons that that was not possible, though. One: Media. They’d be waiting for Auston to meet with them any minute. Two: His teammates. They… would probably not appreciate the show. Or, well, most of them probably wouldn’t. Some of them were pretty weird. And three: he didn’t know if Auston would be into it. They had occasionally crossed the line of best bros to… creepy bros, to more than bros, but they’d never… done anything sexual. Just… talked about shit. Shit they liked. Shit they did. With girls. And once, when they'd been particularly drunk, and Mitch had felt very, very brave, he’d told Auston about the one time he’d blown a guy in Juniors.
Just bro stuff, right? Okay, so maybe sometimes they’d jerk off when they thought each other were asleep. Or… okay, so that had happened a grand total of twice, but it had been easily the hottest thing to happen to Mitch (and he’d had a dick in his mouth, okay?).
But now he wanted to merge those two worlds.The world where he and Auston were more than bros, and the world where there were dicks in his mouth.
Couldn’t a guy want the best of both?
Look, Mitch was a confident guy. He knew how to get what he wanted. He was an NHLer, after all. Tonight was the night. He was sure that Auston would agree with him. He’d earned it. Three points. Five hits. Fuck. Yes, he was earning it.
Mitch watched through half-lidded eyes as Auston tugged his athletic shirt and threw his stupid fucking gatorade shirt over his shoulders for good measure (or was it for advertising? Who fucking knew? Auston was a weird fucking guy). He looked really good. He had that cocky, self-assured, confident grin on his lips. His eyes were shining, and he had a bounce in his step.
Of course the whole team knew it was only one game. Just one game in a series, no need to get too cocky, but they were winning for Johnny. They could feel the momentum shifting in their favour. They just needed to not… y’know. He hated the term, but… it was relevant. They needed to not ‘Leaf’ it.
Willy was giving him this look that said he knew exactly what was going through his head, and Mitch was doing his best to ignore him. He jumped up from his stall, still wearing half his gear, and waddled awkwardly to where Auston was about to head out to the media availability.
“Hey, man. Mine, after?” he said quietly, energy humming under his skin.
Auston eyed him a little uncertainly, though that same confidence never wavered from his face. It simply morphed into something… else. “Isn’t that… against team rules?”
Mitch snorted. “Since when do you care?”
“You’re right. I don’t. Meet you there in an hour.”
Mitch grinned a bright, honest, blinding grin and nodded. “Thanks, bro.”
Auston beamed at him, a rare smile, and brushed beyond Mitch out to fulfill his first star duties.
Mitch felt a now-familiar fluttering in his belly, and licked his lips as Willy cleared his throat behind him. Mitch refused to let himself be talked down by William fucking Nylander, the king of bad decisions.
“Nope, no, no fucking way, Wills. I’m fine.”
Willy sighed in an exhausted, god fearing way. He clapped one big, strong hand on Mitch’s shoulder and squeezed. The rest of the team seemed oblivious. “Don’t fuck it up.” Was the only response Mitch received. Which was probably the closest to a blessing ever.
Good. Shit was going down.
Mitch was humming electricity through his veins the whole way home. It had taken him a little extra time to get out of his gear after the game, but he’d done his best not to look utterly and completely foolish in front of his teammates.
When Mitch got home (fucking finally right?) the first thing he did was begin to throw all of the discarded clothing littering his floor into the hilariously empty hamper in his bedroom.
It wasn’t like Auston didn’t know he was horrifically messy, and that he stripped out of his suits and into his sweats pretty much as soon as he stepped into his condo, but it was just that this was going to be, supposed to be, a different kind of meeting between them. So he wanted Auston to see a different side of Mitch Marner. A more mature, more… organized, suave, Mitch.
Whatever. It didn’t have to make sense. He just really wanted to suck Auston’s dick, and if that meant he had to pick up crusty underwear, so be it.
It was just when Mitch was throwing his last suit jacket, crumpled (and definitely sweaty) into his hamper, that there was a loud, familiarly obnoxious knock at his door.
He peeked through the peephole and noted that it was, in fact, Auston Matthews. He was standing there in his game day suit, still wet hair brushed back from his face in that not quite flattering way that made him look older than his young years. His moustache could use some trimming, but they both knew that during the playoffs that wouldn’t be happening. And if Mitch even brought it up? There would be much conversation and chirping about how he couldn’t even grow peach fuzz. Which. Okay. But Auston had had to Just For Men his. So. Whatever.
Without bothering with the mask, which Auston was holding in his hand instead of wearing anyways (what a weirdo), Mitch pulled open the door and grinned brightly. “Hey, stud!”
Auston blinked at him a moment before a small, satisfied, and yet somewhat embarrassed smile, tugged at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t like him to be anything but extremely confident, so he must’ve been feeling the effects of the Toronto media jerking him off all night.
“Mitchy,” he greeted as he pushed beyond him into the apartment. “You’re a terrible host.”
Mitch sniffed. “I cleaned for you, and that’s how you’re going to thank me?”
Auston snorted and reached up to ruffle Mitch’s damp hair. “It does smell a bit better in here. Did you open a window or spray some Febreze or something?”
Mitch scowled from under his now-mussed hair (which he had carefully styled, thank you very much). “Fuck you.”
“C’mon, Mitchy, I was paying you a compliment. It really is nicer in here. You’ve done a great job decorating. There’s a jersey on the floor in the living room. And… is that a pizza box?”
Mitch whipped around, and flushed darkly as he realized that in his haste to clean up the clothes, he’d missed the mess in front of his couch.
Huffing out a breath and slamming his door shut, Mitch slumped back against it heavily and closed his eyes. Auston eyed him carefully, and frowned. “Mitchy. I’ve seen it much worse here. Why do you even give a shit? We’re just gonna make it worse.”
Mitch sniffed indignantly. “This was supposed to be different.”
Auston stepped closer to Mitch, and reached out to tug on a long piece of hair, forcing one of Mitch’s eyes open. “Why, Mitchy?”
“‘Cause, Aus. ‘Cause of playoffs.” It came out much more petulantly than intended, but it was out there.
Auston raised one dark brow. “You shouldn’t start fucking with routines now, Mitchy. We’re doing well, we should ride what works.”
“I want to ride… what works,” Mitch said slowly. His cheeks were burning, but he had both blue eyes open now as he stared intently, maybe too intensely at Auston who looked… lost.
“O...kay?” Auston said slowly. “What are we talking about here? Did Perry hit you in the head too?” And he looked worried, bless him.
“Don’t say that. Not even as a joke. I mean. I just. You played real well out there. Like. A beast. Lots of momentum. Made me want to be just as good. Made me… feel hot.”
And Auston’s expression twisted a bit at that. Into something… unreadable. Something. Something that made the heat that had been building in Mitch’s belly absolutely burn. He wanted to drop to his knees. “Hot? Like what? I don’t want to misunderstand you, Marns.”
“Matts… I wanna… you were so fucking good. The way you hit those guys, your fucking hands, bro. I wanna… I wanna… let me blow you? I know you’re not-- but I’ll do a really good job. Promise.”
Auston’s larger than life hand wrapped around Mitch’s wrist at that, and he pulled his hand forward to rest against his groin through the layer of suit pants.. He was half hard, and so big. Fuck. He was into it. Mitch let out a sharp inhalation of breath.
“You wanna suck me off, babe?” Auston was murmuring as he backed Mitch up against the door, crowding him.
Mitch let out a pitiful sound, but nodded, rubbing Auston through his pants eagerly, pleased with the response of a groan and the way Auston’s dark eyes grew ever darker. “Yeah. Yeah, Matts. Wanna show you how good you make me feel.”
Auston licked his lips and nodded, reaching for his zipper, and undoing his pants, pushing them down until they fell beyond his hips and down to his ankles with a clang of his belt hitting the hard wood.
Mitch felt a shudder rush through him at the sound, and he fell to his knees almost immediately as he looked up at Auston through half-lidded eyes. Auston who was staring back down at him.
He felt that same hum of electricity through him that he had through the entire game, and he ran his long fingers up and down Auston’s strong, muscular, thick, thighs before lifting the excess length of his dress shirt up to expose his cock that was now curved heavy, thick, and a deep red at the tip, towards his belly. Easily the nicest cock that Mitch had ever seen.
Not… that he had gone around looking at cocks.
Okay. Well. No. Or. Maybe. Whatever.
“What are you waiting for, Mitchy?” Auston asked, voice an octave deeper than usual, his eyes dark, dark, focused intensely on Mitch in the same single mindedly way that Mitch had been looking at him moments earlier. “Don’t you want to show me what a good game I had?”
And Mitch did. He really did. Because it was Auston, and fuck everyone else, he was the best.
Even if he was… y’know. American.
Mitch looked away from Auston’s dumb face with some effort to pay more attention to his admittedly sexier dick, and flattened his tongue to wrap his hand around the base of Auston’s cock, and drag his flattened tongue along the vein at the bottom, along the head, just tasting him.
It didn’t taste like anything special. Just… skin. And dick. Because Auston was apparently really, really into the sight of Mitch on his knees. He could feel sticky precome oozing against his tongue, and it was really doing it for him.
He teased the tip of his tongue along the slit of Auston’s cock, tasting the precome and teasing more out of him. Auston was gasping and rocking his hips forward in a way that was certainly not the most politest. But Mitch hadn’t expected him to be polite. He wasn’t a good Canadian boy like Mitch was.
“Mitchy… fuck. Your tongue,” he was babbling now, as Mitch opened his mouth wide and took his cock into his mouth fully, relaxing as best as he could and taking him until he could feel his gag reflex fight back. He’d never perfected the art of deep throating (he’d only sucked a couple of dicks, so.), and so this was still new to him, and messy. His chin was covered in spit, and the corners of his eyes were wet.
But he was eager. And he knew, from experience, that eagerness went a long way. So Mitch reached up with his free hand to grab one of Auston’s hand to place it on his head, and the other to place it on his cheek where his cock was stretching the apples of his cheeks out.
Auston groaned, and the hand Mitch had placed in his hair tightened into a fist as he traced his thumb along the thick outline of his cock as Mitch began to bob his head. He could feel more and more of his saliva sliding down his chin but he didn’t care. It was even kinda hot, because Auston was so fucking into it. He was panting, tugging at Mitch’s hair, and he was leaking so, so much precome, that Mitch could taste him on his tongue every time he swiped it back and forth over the head.
“Mitchy, Mitchy…” he was praising him, scratching blunt nails against the sensitive skin of his scalp. “So good for me, babe… such a good mouth. Who knew you’d be so good at this? I’ll have to keep scoring so you can keep sucking me off,” he was babbling, and Mitch didn’t even know if Auston knew what he was saying, or if he knew that he was making no sense, but Mitch was really fucking into it, too. He was so hard in his own sweats. His cock aching between his legs, but he was clinging to Auston’s thighs for dear life with one hand, and the other one was wrapped around the base of that thick cock, jerking what he couldn’t fit in his mouth.
He knew his throat was going to be wrecked, and his voice would be hoarse for hours, but that was all part of it. It was so fucking hot. He wanted Auston to know how hot he was for him.
He popped off the length of Auston’s cock with a lewd ‘pop’ and licked his lips as he looked up at Auston who was looking down at him like he was the greatest thing he’d ever seen, fuck the Stanley Cup.
“You close, Matts?” he breathed. And yeah, his voice was wrecked.
Auston groaned, and his eyes fluttered shut for a second as Mitch continued to stroke him, twisting his wrist on the upstroke in the way he, himself, liked. He made sure to work the tip of his thumb through the wet slit as Auston continued to leak precome as though he were born to.
“Yeah, Mitchy. So close… gonna come for you soon…”
Mitch licked his lips. “Wanna come on my face?” he asked hoarsely.
Auston let out a punched out moan and nodded as he pushed hair away from Mitch’s face. “You’re gonna let me, babe?” he asked hotly.
Mitch licked his lips again, leaning forward to tease his tongue along Auston’s slit again, dragging another long groan from his teammate. “Yeah. Wanna feel it. Hot, and all mine.”
Auston nodded, staring down at him reverently. “So close, Mitchy. Just like that… don’t stop…”
Mitch nodded, stroking Auston a little more quickly. “You were so good out there. Just like a Captain. Lead the team to victory. All those hits, all those apples. That goal? Fuck, Matts… it was so hot. No one else can do it like you… No one. I want to win the Cup with you. Just you and me and the Leafs. I want to be part of your team. And I want to have the Cup with us the first time you fuck me…”
Auston let out a garbled sound of affirmation as he gasped and nearly folded in half as rope after rope of come escaped him, covering Mitch, stringing across his jaw, his nose, his cheek, his lips, a little (to his consternation because he knew how hard it was going to be to get off) on his eyebrow. It was the hottest thing to ever happen to him. So far.
“Marns…” Auston breathed as he came down from his orgasm. “That was--”
Mitch nodded, but just sat back on his knees as he released his hold on Auston’s spent cock and shoved his hand into his sweats and wrapped his hand around his own cock, jerking himself quickly and with purpose. Auston, who looked like he was going to collapse soon, was watching him with wide eyes.
“You-- from sucking me off--?” he asked.
“Obviously, asshole,” Mitch commented hotly as he squeezed his eyes shut and ran his fingers through the come on his face. “Fuck, that was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Auston slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of Mitch, and slid his own fingers through the come on Mitch’s chin, pushing his thumb past Mitch’s bottom lip, so that Mitch could taste it.
Mitch’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Auston in surprise as he groaned and his control shattered to pieces as he came embarrassingly quickly, spilling over his own hand messily. He was twitching as he lurched forward, both of Auston’s arms coming around him to steady him and keep him from falling to the floor.
“Mitch,” Auston murmured as they both caught their breath.
“Aus… Don’t lecture me about coming in my pants right now.” Mitch muttered.
Auston snorted. “Wasn’t gonna. Just was gonna say… did you mean what you said?”
Mitch sighed. “Kinda,” he agreed begrudgingly.
Auston tensed a little in his arms. “What do you mean, kinda?”
Mitch shrugged a little. “I mean, it probably wouldn’t take a Stanley Cup win to let you fuck me.”
Auston relaxed and his shoulders began to tremble before Mitch realized he was laughing. “Fuck. you’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, and you’re… just a dumbass. Fuck, man. Have you seen the replays of the way your face looks when the Habs hit you? You look dumb as shit.”
“I look like a superstar, fuck you.”
“Maybe if you have a four point game,” Mitch said with a laugh.
They had shit to work out, but this was playoffs. Time for heart-to-hearts could be done in the off season. Now was the time for passion projects.