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poledancingdinos · 10 days

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Yes, everything available on KU will be available for purchase on Kindle but it's possible that the author has the ability to decide which regions to sell the books in 🤔 I guess we'll see

Jersey

Masterlist

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Mike x reader

Summary: Mike thought it would be a good idea to teach you how to skate. It wasn't — so he has to come up with a different plan.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, p-in-v sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected (at least condomless) sex, creampie, and a very needy, desperate, slightly pushy and arrogant Mikey.

Bingo: "Is that my shirt?" (you can find the bingo masterlist here)

A/N: As always, we blame @geralts-yenn for putting the idea of Mike as a hockey player in my brain. Not the field kind, the cold and violent kind. Of course.

It's also the third entry for my @henrycavillbingo card! I know I didn't exactly use the phrase of the prompt — although I did imply it — but a jersey is sort of a shirt, I guess, so it counts :")

Enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @littlefreya @mayloma @summersong69 @livisss @winter2112rose @changenameno @wa-ni (still not allowed to tag you, sorry :( )

“Don’t let go of me!” Who knew ice was slippery? You. You knew. Everyone knew. Yet here you were...

“I won’t let go,” Mike answered with a smile. He was the one who had assured you it would be fine. ‘Skating is fun, Sweetcheeks’ your freezing ass...

“Mike! You just almost dropped me!”

“I didn’t,” he snorted. “You almost fell, that’s not the same thing. Ow! Would you let go of my arm, before it falls off?”

You reluctantly relaxed your grip, panicking when he moved your hands from his upper arms to just below his elbow.

“What, no!” You scrambled to get closer to him.

“Babe, you won’t be able to move like that. Come on. Nothing’s gonna happen!”

“Are you sure you’re okay going backwards?” you asked. Of course, you were hoping he’d say ‘no’ and you could go back inside.

“Sweetcheeks, I’ve been doing this at least twice a week since I was six. If there was a way to skate sideways, I’d be okay doing that.” So, there was really no way around this, then? He really wasn’t going to let you off the hook?

“You said you wouldn’t let me fall!” you said, shoving Mike’s shoulder and pouting up at him. “That hurt!”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Mike mumbled. “Are you okay?”

You rubbed your elbow and nodded. “I’ll live. But I’m fucking cold.”

“Yeah, when you do it right, this is exercise...” Mike said with a grin. “Sweetcheeks, that was just a joke! Come here, please?” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at this,” you muttered. “I know you love it, I just...”

“Babe, babe, babe, stop.” He put a hand over your mouth. “It’s okay! I thought this would be fun but... I’m clearly not a very good teacher.”

“That’s not true! I’ve seen you coach the little ones! You’re great with them!” You trailed your fingers over his cheek. He didn’t wince at the cool wetness of your glove. “That said, I really don’t think this is my scene.”

“Alright, let’s get you off the ice and in front of the fireplace,” he said, laughing. “Don’t move.”

You stayed still while he got up, and then he pulled you off the freezing surface you were still sitting on.

“My leggings are soaked,” you noted, shivering as Mike pulled you along to the edge of the lake.

“I really didn’t expect you to fall this much, babe,” he chuckled.

“We can’t all be hockey superstars, jerk,” you retorted.

“No, but most people can at least stand upright on skates!”

“I’ll stand upright in the shower, thanks,” you grumbled, “and you are not invited.” Of course, that would have had more impact if you hadn’t encountered the edge of the lake at that precise moment, causing you to lose balance and tumble face-first into the snow.

“Sorry Sweetcheeks,” Mike said, in between fits of hysterical laughter, “but that was... You looked...” He pressed his hands to his side — a well-deserved side stitch if you ever saw one! He didn’t lose his balance for a second. Jackass.

You furiously pulled the laces on the skates but they wouldn’t come off. Why wouldn’t they come off? A cry of frustration escaped you before you could help it, and... Was that a tear? Great.

“Sweetcheeks, are you cr—”

“Only out of frustration,” you snapped before he could ask. “Nothing to do with you.”

Mike helped you up and helped you walk to the rock he’d cleaned off for you when you had arrived. It wasn’t as wet as the pile of snow he’d plucked you out of, but it certainly wasn’t any warmer.

You stayed still while he took your skates off, successfully avoiding any accidents, and watched impatiently while he traded his own skates for his shoes again.

“Can you at least try to hurry?” you said, no longer able to keep your teeth from chattering.

The hot water of the shower was an absolute godsend. You’d stuck to your threat to not invite Mike. He’d have to think of another way to keep you warm — and he would. You already knew what you’d be walking into; you could already feel his hands on your hips, his face buried in your neck, exploring every inch of your skin, eager hands scrambling to grab as much boob as he could manage — arguably not your favorite part but he was cute, so you’d forgive him — and then finally...

You forced yourself out of the shower before you got to the kind of stuff you’d rather have Mike do, and dried off. As you looked around the room, you noticed a jersey hanging from the back of his desk chair. After a quick inspection — it smelled mostly clean — you put it on before making your way downstairs.

A nice fire was waiting for you there, complete with a content-looking, shirtless Mike — admittedly your favorite flavor of Mikey — lounging in front of the fireplace. “Hey, come here, it’s nice and wa—” He stopped talking mid-sentence when he finally looked up at you. “Is that my... Baaaaaaabe... You took my jersey!”

“I did,” you said. “Want it back?”

You watched him shake his head, while he dug deep to find the ability to speak. He still hadn’t managed by the time he rolled over, scrambled to his knees and crawled over to you, grasping the hem of the jersey and pressing his lips to the inside of your knee. And then, finally: “Hot. So fucking hot.” It cost him to speak, even those four little words.

His lips moved up the inside of your leg at a glacial pace — atypical for Mike, to say the least. When he made it about halfway, he seemed suddenly plagued by an epiphany: “You’re not wearing anything else, are you?”

Blue puppy eyes widened even further when you slowly shook your head, and Mike sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down with force. A strangled moan stumbled out of his mouth, and you knew what you’d find if you could see the front of his sweatpants right now.

Then, he was up, slinging you over his shoulder in less than one second, and at least somewhat carefully putting you down again in the nest of blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace. His lips found your neck — and so did his tongue and his teeth, his sloppy kiss causing you to arch your back off the ground, arms desperate to grab as much of him as possible. He had other plans, though.

He sat up on his knees between your legs and looked down on you as he planned his next move. Except Mike couldn’t plan. Like, at all... So you let your knees fall to the side and pulled the jersey up so it wasn’t covering you. It was enough to throw him off his game.

He shrugged in a ‘yeah, I could eat’ kind of way and dove face-first between your legs, wasting no time whatsoever. No teasing, no slow start, nothing. Just his eager mouth on your pussy, tongue flat against your clit — just the way you liked it — settling into an easy rhythm that would definitely get you where you needed to be.

A focused, goal-oriented Mikey was a rare sight to behold. In fact, you’d go as far as to say there were two possible scenarios in which he came out to play; on the ice, and between your legs doing exactly what he was doing now. The discussion of the subject had gone about as Mikey-esque as possible. According to him, if he lost focus in these situations, someone would get hurt — you personally felt there was some kind of a difference between a cramped jaw and a shattered kneecap or other serious injuries, but he didn’t see it that way. Not that you were going to complain about it, because focused, goal-oriented Mike got the job done. Quickly.

He moaned — a sexy, sweet little sound — when you grabbed his head, weaving your fingers into his dark curls before clenching them into a tight fist. It wasn’t that he needed the guidance as much as you needed something to hold on to...

“Fuck, Mikey...” He had you on the edge already, but you knew better than to tell him you were close. Any time you’d tried that, it had fried something in his brain and all consistency in his technique had disappeared like snow in July. Not good. So, you’d learned to keep your mouth shut so he could keep that gentle, diligent rhythm intact, until... “Oh god, yes!”

Every muscle in your body tensed and you screwed your eyes shut as he pushed you over the edge. You barely noticed the satisfied little hum that came from him — standard procedure, and nothing compared to the other signs of his elevated sense of self-importance. In other words; the least unbearable part of the cocky attitude that bubbled up whenever you came on his tongue.

You groaned when he threw himself on top of you, probably sort of accidentally crushing you with his full weight, but you forgave him when he kissed you silly, giving you plenty of opportunity to taste yourself on his tongue before he moved on to delivering sloppy kisses to your neck.

“Get on your knees,” he demanded, grabbing your wrists as you reached for the hem of the jersey. “That stays on. Get on your knees and turn around.”

“Do you have—”

“No, I don’t. I need to feel you,” he whined — you almost felt bad for him.

“Mikey...” you warned. If you went there with him, there was no way you were ever turning back.

“Baaaaabe,” he whined again. God, those eyes were killing you. “You know you’re it for me, right? Fuck, you’re wearing my name, my number... You had to know that would drive me at least a little nuts, right? Please, please, please, pretty, pretty please, let me... Just... Please?” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, grinding his hips against you.

You’d seen him needy and desperate — of course you had! If you kissed this man’s neck twice at a party and whispered a single even remotely sexual thing in his ear, he’d already be begging to let him take you home. This, however, was next level...

His mouth stopped begging, but his eyes definitely didn’t, and the brutally possessive grasp on your hips didn’t relax either. He wasn’t going to quit until he got what he wanted, that much was obvious. That left only one question: were you going to give it to him?

“Sweetcheeks, I’m not kidding,” he muttered after a few moments. “Come on... Face down, ass up—” You clamped a hand over his mouth before he could finish that sentence, and as you did so, you realized something.

“You don’t seriously want me from behind because you can look at... Oh my god, that’s why you don’t want me to take this damn jersey off, isn’t it?” ‘Vaguely indignant’ would be an accurate description of your tone. Maybe more than ‘vaguely’.

“Ehhhh...” The sound of a man who had been well and truly fucking busted. “Okay so, out of all the times I’ve looked at you and thought ‘woohoo, she’s mine!’, right now you’re so, so, so the mine-est... My name. My number. My sweet, perfect, wet little pussy. Okay? Mine.” He dragged you down to the floor, where he latched his mouth onto your neck again, this time with so much tongue that you begged him to stop. “Only if you let me fuck my pretty girl from behind!”

“That’s blackmail!” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yup! Now surrender!” He grabbed your boob with one hand and tickled your side with the other before reaching between your legs. “Come on, you’re soaking wet and I know you need me as much as I need you, so... Let me bone you already!”

“I have one demand!” you said, wiping the tears off your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath. No one could make you laugh like your professional idiot.

“Hey, we’re negotiating! That’s progress!” he teased, pinching your nipple through the fabric of the jersey.

“I get to be on top, first,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Mike, who didn’t see, because he had his face buried in your neck.

“Deal!” He snapped his head up, almost head-butting you in the nose. “Sorry! But yeah, deal, deal, deal! Fucking deal!” He scrambled to his knees and got comfortable in front of the couch, leaning his back against it and reaching his arms out towards you. “Here! Get over here, now!”

You crawled towards him, slowly, giving him your best fuck-me eyes as you let your hands slide up his legs — agonizingly slowly, of course — and hooked his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. “You want me, baby?”

The sweetest whimpers escaped him when you wrapped your fingers around his cock, but they turned into pitiful whines when you leaned forward. “No, I don’t want you to suck my cock!” Words you thought you’d never hear from this guy... “I need you to turn around and fucking sit. On. It.”

“Beg for it one more time, baby, please?” you asked sweetly. “You’re so cute when you beg for my pussy.”

“My pussy,” he teased. “Please, please, please, please, please come here and ride me.”

You paused for a moment, locking eyes with him, taunting him as you decided whether or not that was good enough, and quickly coming to the conclusion that he hadn’t been wrong when he said you needed him, too. So, you turned around, revelling in the sounds of eager anticipation from Mike as you moved to where he wanted you. Seconds later, you felt his tip at your entrance, and you knew the time for teasing was over.

“Fuck,” he said, twice, three times... You lost count, what with being a little too busy relishing the feeling of his skin on yours for the first time since you’d met him.

“Good?” Stupid question...

“You’re killing me, Sweetcheeks,” he moaned, clenching his fists tightly around the bunched up fabric of the jersey at your hips.

You moved slowly, knowing he would go absolutely crazy over it, and it wasn’t long before he was begging you for more. As far as you were concerned, he could forget about that, but he had other plans. He pushed you forward and quickly wormed his way out from under you, getting on his knees behind you, hurrying to get back inside.

“Can’t do this, Sweetcheeks,” he huffed, adorably out of breath. “Show up like this and then tease me. It’s not fair. Bad girl!” He playfully smacked your ass.

“Don’t act like you hate it,” you said as you reached for a pillow — playtime was over, and you were going to need one to scream in.

Lo and behold, he didn’t even pretend to hold back on the first thrust, much less any of the ones that followed, and you were left crying and moaning into that pillow as he railed you into the next century. You could tell from his breathing and his soft swearing that he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Babe, can I— oh fuck...” This idiot. The answer would have been ‘yes’, but still... “Please tell me I’m not gonna be a dad...”

“I figured it would be better to see if you’d grow up first,” you laughed as he pulled out and lay down next to you with a hopelessly adorable concerned look on his face. Slowly, a smile broke through as you assured him it was okay.

You snuggled into his side, and he pulled a blanket over the both of you. “Hey, Sweetcheeks,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you sighed.

He pulled on the jersey to get you as close to him as possible. “And you’re so totally wearing this to my next game.”

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