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Behind Enemy Lines

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Eight games in three months against any opponent could get frustrating. Ryan is well aware that facing his Blues that regularly is likely to drive some players crazy, and he wears that as a badge of honor. He's proud to captain a team that's notoriously hard to play against.

He's not immune to the same frustrations, though. There are teams he hates as much as anyone else might loathe St. Louis. Vegas is always infuriating, from the net straight to their top line. The Kings aren't what they once were, though you're never sure when Quick will have a game where he's flat-out unbeatable. The Predators are a lot less irritating without 20 thousand fans chanting all game long.

Anaheim, though...the Ducks are always annoying. Better with Corey Perry gone, to be certain, but they're still no fun to play against. They might bother Ryan more than any others, though, because of one specific player.

Fucking Adam Henrique.

He's always hovering in the crease, getting way too close to Binnington. He did it with the Devils when Ryan was in Buffalo and he does it now in Anaheim. He's got a smirk you want to punch off his face, and it's led to Ryan taking uncharacteristic penalties in the past. There's just something about him, he's a thorn in Ryan's side every single time they're on the ice together.

It's the end of March now, and they've played four against each other already. Four times he's had Henrique in his face, cocky smile beaming at him while Ryan crosschecks him in the chest. There are two games against Anaheim this week and they can't end fast enough for Ryan's liking. He's leaving the locker room after practice, the day before the series against the Ducks and he can hear them on the ice, skates and sticks and loud voices. He leans against the zamboni to watch for a few minutes; you can't pick up much from watching a team run drills, no real valuable intel, but it's always interesting to see how different coaches run their teams.

"Hey. Stop spying."

He jolts at the exclamation, glancing around to see where it came from. On the other side of the glass, that familiar smirk on his infuriating face, stands Adam fucking Henrique.

"Oh fuck off, not worth spying on. You're not good enough to worry about."

Henrique's grin goes impossibly wider, teeth gleaming in his too-big mouth. "Oh yeah? So what were you watching: me? I know, I know. I am quite the attraction." He blows on his knuckles and shines them against the Ducks crest on his torso.

Ryan snorts at the suggestion, rolling his eyes theatrically. "Literally no one was watching you. I guess you're at least marginally less ugly without the mustache now."

Something flares dark in Henrique's eyes, just for a moment, and Ryan ignores how that look sends a spike of heat down his spine. "Keeping tabs on my facial hair choices, O'Reilly? I'm flattered."

"In case you haven't noticed, I've got no reason to worry about anyone else's beard decisions." Ryan runs a hand over his jaw, tugging the overgrown hair there. He hasn't even taken the time to edge it up in weeks; why bother? It's been cold as shit in St. Louis, and even if it wasn't, he's used to the lumberjack look by now. "You're just remarkably hideous with that happening on your upper lip."

"We can't all be mountain men, eh? Maybe you should show me your tricks."

Ryan scratches his neck, twisting up his face as if he's considering it. "Sorry, bud. Masculinity like this can't be taught."

Henrique opens his mouth to respond, but he gets called away to a drill. He flashes another grin, arrogant as ever, and skates back to his team. Ryan turns to leave, shaking his head as he goes, surprised that for the first time ever, he didn't contemplate punching Henrique in the face. He still wants to get him to shut his mouth, to be fair, but currently he's thinking of more creative ways to do it.


The Ducks really are annoying as fuck to play against. Getzlaf has aged and isn't the force he used to be, but he's still big and mean and he chirps with the best Ryan has heard. Gibson is hard to beat, and even if they're not a Cup contender, Anaheim is not an easy team to play. Ryan is going to have some bruises and aches to tend to when this game is over.

It's halfway through the third when Ryan finds himself in front of his own goalie, covering for Dunn who had gotten too deep in the offensive zone. He's trying to box his player out, keep him from getting his stick down on the ice.

"You can't resist me, can you, O'Reilly?" Of course it's Adam fucking Henrique that he's up against. Of course it is. "If you wanted to get this close you could've just asked. I'm easy."

"Oh fuck off, bud," Ryan counters lamely, getting both hands on his stick and pushing into Henrique's side, bodying him away from Binnington. "You're not special, get over yourself."

"I'm so fuckin' special, you don't know the half of it. Maybe if you're lucky." Henrique twists away from him, widening his stance and leaning down to lower his center of gravity, making it harder for Ryan to push him off balance.

"Luckier if you get the fuck outta my face." Ryan lands a quick cross-check to the middle of his back, then another. The officials must be distracted because he gets away with it, so he sneaks one more just as one of the Ducks' defensemen directs a shot on net. Binnington stops it and the whistle blows. Parayko spars with another Anaheim player to the side of the net and Ryan loops an arm around Henrique to keep him out of the scrum.

Henrique is pressed back against him, all too intimately, and he huffs out a laugh. "Look, O'Reilly, I told ya. You don't have to force me, just seduce me a little if you want to get up on me like this."

Ryan shoves him away, satisfied when he stumbles, nearly losing his balance. "Fuck you, eh?"

That same cocky smile splits his face open. "See? You've got the idea!"

He's positive Henrique is just chirping him, trying to get in his head. There's no way he's going to blatantly proposition Ryan in the middle of a match. If it's just a mind game, though, it's having the desired effect. Henrique has Ryan completely distracted now, and Ryan is thinking maybe he needs to call his bluff.


Hockey teams are insular by nature; when you spend most of your free time with the same group of people, you develop pretty tight bonds. Even more so this year with the COVID protocol, players are avoiding any interaction with opponents that aren't on the ice. Sometimes though, in the bowels of the arena before and after a game, you might see someone from the other team in passing. Tonight, fortunately, the place seems to be empty.

The Blues scraped out a win against Anaheim tonight, but it was closer than it needed to be, and Ryan is still frustrated. He's done a bike ride already but there's a lingering, steady thrum of adrenaline running through him, so he's going back and forth down a back hallway, high knees to keep his groin and hips fluid. Most of his teammates have gone home, just a few hanging around getting work from trainers or relaxing in the cold tub. He could probably just go home and do some meditation to quiet his thoughts but he wants to work through the excess energy first.

He knows it isn't just the game that has him frustrated, it's more than that. He keeps thinking of all the ways he could shut Henrique up, but he doesn't have an easily accessible outlet for sexual tension.

Ryan gets down to the floor to stretch, to try to slow his breathing down to normal, so he can clean up and go home. He's done plenty of yoga and meditation over the years, and usually he can clear his mind without much effort, but tonight he's distracted. He can't stop himself from wondering if Henrique is just messing with him or if he's actually proposing something more. Sure, he's a cocky asshole but Ryan can't deny that he's a good looking dude, and Ryan's most certainly slept with worse.

He'd probably look good with a dick in his throat: eyes watering, spit dripping down his chin, hair messed up from being pulled on. And better than anything else, it would shut him the fuck up.

Ryan rushes through his shower and getting changed, wanting to get out of the way so the equipment guys can finish their jobs and go home. His hair is still damp from the shower when he strolls outside, twirling his keys on his finger, but his thoughts are still on the very vivid image of Adam fucking Henrique on his knees. A good edging session should work this out of his system, and that's just how he plans to spend his night.

He slows as he approaches his Range Rover, parked at the far end of the building, a relatively dark corner of the lot. There's someone leaning against the back of his SUV, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle. He's wearing a black mask, so Ryan can't see most of his face, just his eyes, lit up by the blue screen of his phone.

It's not until he's a few feet away when the mystery person looks up; Ryan recognizes immediately that it's Henrique. Even with the mask on, Ryan can just tell that he's smirking.

Henrique pockets his phone and looks Ryan up and down. "Took you fuckin' long enough."



It's lucky that the Ducks' hotel is only a block and a half from the Enterprise Center, because it means that Adam had plenty of time after the game to get to his room, clean himself up both inside and out, and walk back over to the rink before O'Reilly had even left the building. It's a risk showing up like this, though he's pretty sure he's read the situation right. Sure, the Blues are brutal to play against, and O'Reilly has never shown any fondness for him, but he's seen the flash of heat in his eyes a few times.

Adam has gone way too long without getting laid, and from talking to his friends around the league, he's not the only one. Chances are that O'Reilly is on a similar cold streak, so this is a calculated risk.

It could get his ass kicked too, of course.

"Took you fuckin' long enough," he says, faux-casual, as O'Reilly's walk toward his car slows.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He sounds a lot more bewildered than pissed, probably a good sign.

"Your memory's gotta be better than that, O'Reilly. You said something just tonight about fucking me, and I'm here to collect on that offer."

O'Reilly snorts, his eyeroll visible even under the dim street lights. "Get the fuck outta here with that, that was just in-game shit talk. Aren't you supposed to be with the rest of your team?"

"We're here for two more nights, the hotel's right over there." Adam hooks his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm close enough."

"Bud, it's late and I just wanna get home. I'm not going to trade barbs with you right now." O'Reilly is twirling his keys on his finger, but Adam hasn't moved from where he is, leaning against the back of his SUV.

"Hey, I'm not here to argue, you know precisely why I'm here. You've got a big vehicle here, it's a dark parking lot, and I've got the day off tomorrow." Adam looks him over, top of his head down to the ground and up again before meeting his eyes. "Tell me you aren't even a little interested and I'll leave."

Adam sees the hesitation in his response and knows his risk was a success.

"You're telling me you want to fuck me in the backseat of my car in a parking lot at midnight?"

"Well, ideally you'd be the one fucking me, but I'm flexible." Adam pauses before he adds the rest: "Which will be really helpful for fucking in a backseat."

O'Reilly stares him down for a long moment before the chirp of his vehicle unlocking breaks the silence. "In."

"Good choice, my guy. You won't regret it." Adam pulls the back door open and climbs up into the car. "See, tons of room back here. We got all the space in the world, O'Reilly."

"Fuck's sake," he mutters, then rubs a hand over his jaw. "It's Ryan. If we're doing this, you're not calling me by my last name the whole time."

Adam reaches out of the car and twists a hand in O'Reilly - Ryan's - tie. "Just shut up and get in here so I can suck your dick, eh?"

Ryan takes a glance around the lot before he climbs inside, filling much of the space in the backseat despite the size of his SUV. He smells like soap and his hair is still wet, curling at his ears, and Adam is pretty sure his beard is an indication of just how hairy he is all over; luckily Adam is extremely into that. As soon as Ryan has the door closed, Adam's got a hand on his belt, unbuckling it and flicking the button of his pants.

"Well fuck, Henrique, you're eager for it, eh?"

"Adam," he says, sliding Ryan's zipper down in lieu of an answer. "If I'm calling you Ryan, you're calling me Adam."

Ryan flexes his hips up when Adam cups a hand over his dick through his boxers, an involuntary reaction, and Adam grins to himself. Ryan's not hard yet, but he's getting there, and it gives Adam an extra jolt of confidence. He tugs his mask off - seems silly to worry about masks when he's getting ready to put a dick in his mouth - and leans down to nuzzle Ryan's cock through the fabric. He nudges his nose over the mound, taking a deep inhale and breathing out hot against the cotton. Ryan might hate him, but his dick begs to differ, judging by the way it thickens under Adam's attention.

He peels Ryan's boxers down and gets a hand around him, stroking him in slow, steady pulls until he's fully hard and a drop of precome is shining in the slit. Sure enough, Ryan's just as hairy as expected, though trimmed neatly. Ryan doesn't seem the type to be vain, so it's a bit of a surprise, though not an unwelcome one. Adam repeats the nuzzling motion over his pelvis, breathing in the scent of him, before Ryan's threading a hand into his hair and pulling it tight.

"If you're gonna do this, do it already, we can't be out here all fucking night."

If nothing else, Adam knows that he's very good at taking direction, so he wraps his lips wide around Ryan's cock, careful to cover his teeth - though he's not sure Ryan deserves the courtesy - and slides as low as he can before his gag reflex kicks in. Ryan doesn't seem to give much of a fuck about that and after Adam pulls in a breath through his nose, Ryan pushes up deeper still, ignoring it when Adam chokes a little.

"You wanted to suck it, suck all of it," Ryan growls, and Adam doesn't feel all that bad that his teeth are definitely not covered anymore. Ryan's grip in his hair tightens and he pulls Adam up, letting him get a quick gasp of air before he's pushing him down again, even lower than before.

Adam's eyes are watering and he can feel the saliva gathering in his mouth, but he'd be lying if he said this isn't just what he was hoping for. After a few deep thrusts he gets into a rhythm, but he plays up the gagging and choking; Ryan seems to be into it and Adam doesn't want him to stop. It's silent in the car except for the wet, lurid sounds that he's making as Ryan fucks up into his throat and that, combined with the tangy smell of Ryan's sweat filling his lungs, Adam's dick is getting uncomfortably hard in his pants, so he reaches down to release the pressure.

"Getting all worked up just from having a dick in your mouth?" Ryan asks, but doesn't let Adam pull up to answer, so instead he nods a little and keeps on sucking Ryan's cock, hollowing his cheeks. "Just don't get precome all over my fucking car, bud."

Adam pulls up this time and licks his lips, his voice hoarse when he speaks. "You should be way more worried about how much mess I'm gonna make while you're fucking me, bud. Which, by the way." He digs a small bottle of lube from his pocket and puts it in Ryan's hand. "If you're going to be fucking me, which I very much want you to, you've got some work to do. Get me ready."

"Bossy," Ryan says with a smirk, but he doesn't hesitate once Adam has his pants shimmied down his thighs. Ryan slicks his fingers and traces them along the crease between his cheeks and rubs over his hole.

Adam pumps his fist around Ryan's cock and rolls his eyes. "It's not like we've got a ton of time to work with, so get your fingers in there already."

Ryan opens his mouth for a retort, but Adam takes his cock deep, into the heat of his throat, and it blanks out whatever remark Ryan was ready to make. He works one finger into Adam and then a second, and Adam hums with pleasure, trying to encourage him to keep going. Ryan thrusts up deep; he must be expecting Adam to protest, but even when it makes him gag, he just keeps working. They might hate each other, but Adam would never shortchange a blowjob. Those stories get around.

They are, however, in a public parking lot, so they need to get things moving along.

"Alright, alright," Adam says, pulling up completely, a long string of saliva glistening from his lower lip. "Fuck me, I don't wanna get caught out here."

Ryan's cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wild, and he nods once, taking the condom Adam holds out for him. "You're gonna need to bend over, then."

"This isn't the first time I've fucked in a car, I've got it." Adam moves slower than he'd like, pants pushed down low on his thighs inhibiting his movement, but he gets there, kneeling on Ryan's back seat. He checks the lock once to be sure and then braces his hands on the door, peeking over his shoulder to watch Ryan getting into position behind him.

"You're sure about this?" he asks, nestled up close, his voice in Adam's ear. Given the nature of their relationship and current predicament, the request for consent seems out of place, but Adam appreciates it regardless.

"Yeah," Adam says, then when Ryan shifts so his cock is lined up with Adam's hole, he repeats it, more emphatic. "Fuck yeah. Hurry up."

Ryan reaches up and slides a hand over Adam's lips, effectively shutting him up as he guides his dick inside. When Adam starts to moan, Ryan pushes two fingers into his mouth, pressing them down on his tongue. Adam thinks for a moment about biting them, just on instinct; he'd never admit to anyone how hot he finds it.

It's quicker than Adam would strictly prefer - there's lube and Ryan fingered him for a while but it still aches a little - but Ryan knows how to fuck. He keeps his hand over Adam's mouth for the duration, which is a good thing, muffling the moans he can't quite stifle on each deep thrust. Adam isn't sure if Ryan is really good or if it's just that he's been on a too-long dry spell, but by the time Ryan gets a hand on his dick, he has to fight off the urge to come right then and there. Sure, he doesn't want to get caught, but he doesn't want to rush through the good part either.

Ryan has other plans, though. He shifts the angle a little the next time he punches his hips forward, and Adam's head falls back; even with Ryan's hand covering his mouth, he lets out a long, low groan. Adam wants to ask him to wait, to hold off, he wants to enjoy this longer, but Ryan doesn't let up. "Right there, yeah? Tell me before you come, I don't wanna make a mess of my car."

Adam wants to give him shit for it, tell him he can't give a warning with Ryan's hand on his mouth, but Ryan takes that moment to slide his hand into Adam's hair, fisting in it. It gives Ryan even better leverage as he fucks in deep, and Adam is dangerously close to his breaking point. Ryan's not so much stroking him as his hips are thrusting Adam's cock forward into his hand, but it still works. Adam just barely gets out a strangled fuck, I'm coming before he's arching his back and squirming, rocking into Ryan's grip.

Before his head clears, while he can still hear his own pulse, Ryan takes his hand away and then he covers Adam's mouth again, leaving him messy with come. "I told you not to get come everywhere," Ryan growls, the rhythm of his thrusts going faster, erratic. "I guess I've gotta mess you up a little now."

He pulls out suddenly, dragging a surprised gasp from deep in Adam's throat, and then Ryan is grunting behind him, his breathing labored. Adam glances back to catch just as Ryan's orgasm hits, and as he comes he aims at the back of Adam's shirt, white streaking the fabric, a little bit pooling on Adam's skin.

"What the fuck, man? I've still gotta walk back to the hotel in this," Adam protests, though it isn't very convincing. It's not like he's going to admit that he's weird enough to be into it, knowing he's walking back with Ryan's come on his skin, his clothes.

"Fuck," Ryan mutters, mostly to himself, before he seems to acknowledge Adam's complaint. "I told you not to get come all over my car."

"You told me not to get precome all over your car," Adam shifts to sit on his haunches. Having dropped down from the height of his orgasm, he realizes he's aching. His limbs are sore from holding on for so long, his knees are stiff and buckled. He's hurting in another place as well: it was too fast, too hard, with not quite enough prep, and while he'd never tell Ryan, he doesn't hate that kind of hurt.

Ryan is sitting back to catch his breath, his softening cock still hanging from his pants, and he's regarding Adam with the same irritation that's always on his face. "The rest was implied."

"You got me back for it anyway." Adam pulls up his joggers and adjusts his shirt down. He doesn't look too much worse for the wear, and no one should be roaming the halls at the hotel this late. "You've gotta be more clear with your demands, bud."

Next to him, Ryan is tucking his dick away, carefully zipping up and getting himself back in order. "Too dumb to follow basic instructions, check." He pauses for a moment, searching Adam's face, and a moment later he swipes the come that was still smeared on his mouth, before licking it from his fingers. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

If he hadn't just gotten off, Adam would've been raring to go after that display. He's so distracted that he almost misses the implication of Ryan's words. "Wait, next time?"

"We've got a couple games left this season," Ryan says, casual as anything while he adjusts his tie. "I might as well have something to look forward to when I have to put up with your annoying ass on the ice."