workingforitallthetime
i give you one more hug
no beloved teams only beloved players.
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i would like to see it
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i know they’re not really your guys but bc has a commit called james hagens and he looks like a llama. this is really very useless information but i wanted to put it out there into the world.
ahahaha i have been watching young mr. hagens in the u18 worlds content and your description is spot on. i am not immune to the narratives that could arise if he is tasked with replacing will between gabe and leno next season. (this will involve an intense psychosexual cat and mouse game between will and macklin celebrini when the sharks wins the lottery and will tries to ensure that unhaunted nolan patrick celebrini does not get established in san jose before will does.) anyway leno's gonna chew this kid up and spit him out.
#my other main takeaways from the team usa videos are that baby wolve christian seems like a sweetheart and i'm furious that#msu got their hands on austin baker#anonymarshmallow
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Hurricanes’ Seth Jarvis leans into status as an honorary Harvard grad
By: Luke Decock, April 24, 2024
When Tripp Tracy was asked to speak at a meeting of the Harvard Club of the Research Triangle last week, he naturally invited the Carolina Hurricanes’ two other Harvard Men to join him. Jack Drury, owner of a Harvard diploma, class of 2023. Seth Jarvis, owner of a “Harvard Alumni” T-shirt, class of not quite veritas.
Neither Drury nor Jarvis could attend because of the team’s pre-playoff dinner gathering, but Jarvis was nevertheless welcome despite his self-proclaimed “Grade 6” education, because if there’s one thing that’s true about the Hurricanes’ third-year forward above all else, it’s that if you try to make him the butt of a joke, even a heartfelt, good-natured one, he’ll find a way to turn it back around on you.
When Drury returned from his Cambridge graduation last summer with the crimson T-shirt as a gift for Jarvis, he never expected Jarvis to cut off the sleeves.
He never expected Jarvis to make it his undershirt and wear it under his shoulder pads every single day of the season. For every practice. Every game. Every postgame interview.
“I thought, there’s no better way to put it to use than cut it into a tank top and wear it under my gear,” Jarvis said.
Seth Jarvis. Harvard alum. The shirt says so.
“There have been a few people who have seriously asked me if I went to Harvard,” Jarvis said, “and they’ve obviously never had a conversation with me.”
The Hurricanes have always had a strong connection to Harvard, through Tracy and his youth teammate and future front-office executive Jason Karmanos, through players like Craig MacDonald and Craig Adams.
They’ve had players from the rest of the hockey-playing Ivy League schools as well, other than Brown: Jeff Hamilton (Yale), Kevin Westgarth (Princeton), Lee Stempniak (Dartmouth), Riley Nash (Cornell). Now Drury. And, apparently, Jarvis.
“I think it’s been awesome,” Tracy said. “I would have liked to have had him on the roster.”
Even within the hockey world, it’s hard to imagine two teammates as different as the goofy Manitoban and the cosmopolitan Harvard grad becoming so close. Jarvis left home at 14 to play junior hockey in the Western Hockey League and was in the NHL by age 18.
Drury, scion of a prominent hockey family, spent two years at Harvard and another year overseas in Sweden; even though Drury is two years older than Jarvis, Jarvis has played more than 100 more NHL games than Drury.
The two are akin to brothers as much as they are friends or teammates, so when Drury gave Jarvis the shirt, it was with the best of intentions. Still, give Jarvis an inch or two, he’ll take all 200 feet, same in the dressing room as on the rink.
“I got it for him hoping he would wear it,” Drury said. “Using it as the undershirt, I love that. I didn’t know he’d do that. Once he started to do it, I thought it was awesome. He’s a character. But you couldn’t have a better guy around the room.”
Every single day, the shirt goes into his laundry bag to be laundered with the rest of the team’s base layers, an old-school throwback amid the sweat-wicking, high-tech gear.
By now, seven months into the season, as the Hurricanes head north for Thursday’s Game 3 against the New York Islanders with a 2-0 lead in their first-round series, the T-shirt should probably be in tatters. It looks just fine. Other than the missing sleeves.
“It’s hung on,” Jarvis said. “It’s high quality. Only the best at Harvard.”
At the end of the regular season, when Jarvis sat in on the Bally Sports broadcast with Tracy and Mike Mansicalco while sitting out Game 82, he told Tracy he would have liked to major in “micro-macro engineering” at Harvard, which sounds like a typical Jarvis malaprop, mishmashing economics and engineering. But it also could very well be somebody’s bespoke “special concentration” in Harvard’s engineering school, studying “theories of engineering principles” or the “interactions between microscopic innovation and large system models.”
Jarvis, with his elite hockey IQ and even quicker wit, may be more evidence that you don’t have to be book smart to be smart. He plays up the dopey-goofball angle because it gets laughs — “There’s still a lot of stupidity going on throughout my day,” Jarvis said — and won the Josef Vasicek Award this season for his quotability, but he’s the son of two educators, and there’s a spark that animates both his personality and his game, burning bright under all the self-deprecating humor.
“He plays a little dumb, but he’s pretty smart actually,” Martin Necas said. “I’m positive. He’s pretty smart. He just makes himself look like it on purpose, sometimes.”
Watching his game grow over the past two seasons, as he spent last year becoming a two-way player and this season reaping the rewards, it’s fair to wonder what would happen if he applied himself in the classroom as he has to his hockey career. Who knows what might be possible.
“It’s never too late,” Drury said. “He plays it up a little bit but he’s smarter than people realize. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
And the T-shirt over his shoulders to sort-of prove it.
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dylan larkin has got to stop signing up as the babysitter of the ntdp
#oh baby we are gonna HAVE SOME FUN!#trevor/cole is back on the menu boys!#and so is jake vs the ratpack!#with bonus tkachuk content?!#and dylan/zach???!!!#this is gonna be a hot summer mess and i love it!!!!
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Zoe Boyd sings along to her karaoke song (via Chris Sinclair)
#dream girl zoe boyd#girl crush zoe boyd#i can’t even remember what my tag was but it’s something like that
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hockey boy posts photo of his tricked-out pickup truck: boring
zoe boyd posts photo of her tricked-out pickup truck: hottest thing i've ever seen in my life
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TWO GOALS. NINE SECONDS. TWO WINS.
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(x)
#gazing into each other’s eyes#as brothers do#i have wanted that photo ever since its appearance in the lining of adam’s draft suit#and i am grateful to cbj for giving us a fuller glimpse#and also for the dorm room photo
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jordan martinook is never not gonna be My Guy, and it makes me so happy to see him have the two best seasons of his career on the tail end of a three-year contract that he wasn’t even certain to be offered.
#god playoff hockey is great!#makes me realize my perspective is so skewed bc i pretty much only watch the kraken#and i usually watch them play beloved failboys such as the ducks cbj and sabres#so i forget what actual really good hockey looks like#so holy cow it’s been fun to watch the playoffs yesterday and today
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a kitty has infiltrated the puppies pile. motivations unknown
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NEVER ever forget to plan for the Minotaur. ALWAYS factor the Minotaur into your plans DO NOT FORGET THIS
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svech in the box | first round, game one: car vs. nyi | 4.20.24
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another persistent 2023 draft boy
#this transcription unforgivably edits out the best part of the quote#the part where adam starts by saying ‘i made them build me a…’#and then corrects himself to ‘they were nice enough to build me a…’
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WELL if you thought i was over my gavo/shea feelings GUESS AGAIN! and if you thought i was done processing them via moyle having filthy sex with shea, well!!! here's 2k of some unhinged nonsense 😈😈😈 (rule 63, unsafe sex, ambiguous ending. also really cannot emphasize enough how nsfw this is)
u up?
Shea looks up from her phone. Moyle’s sleazing at her from across the booth.
“Fuck off,” she says, flipping her phone over so the screen is facedown against the table. Just because she’s been a little preoccupied checking it doesn’t mean Moyle needs to send her weird, horny texts.
Moyle laughs. Leaning back in his seat, he drapes one arm across the top of the booth. “You planning to nurse that beer all night or what?”
Shea curls her hands protectively around her drink. She woke up incredibly hungover on Adam’s couch this morning, though it’s hard to say if that was more because of the shots in Gavin’s honor or the onslaught of emotions. Sleeping most of the drive back to Ann Arbor helped, but she’s not trying to push her luck tonight.
“Maybe,” she tells Moyle.
He’s the one who dragged her out to Skeeps in the first place over her half-hearted protests. Shea is pretending that it’s not because Rutger probably sent him an SOS text.
She’s pretending a lot of things, right now.
Reaching across the table, Moyle pries the glass out of her hands. Then he chugs it.
“Hey,” she complains.
He slams the empty glass back down on the table with a loud belch. “Oh, sorry, were you waiting for it to reach room temperature first?”
Shea lets out an enormous sigh. “Buy me a new one.”
Shaking his head, Moyle climbs out of the booth. “So you can ruin another perfectly good beer?” He wraps his fingers around her arm, tugging. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
“It’s not even late.” Now that Moyle’s dragged her out of the house, Shea isn’t actually sure she wants to go back to it. It’s weirdly empty now. Even her room feels emptier, though it’s exactly the same as it was before Gavin inked his shiny new contract.
Maybe it’s Shea who’s changed. Like a piece of her left with Gavin, and the part that’s left takes up less space now.
Moyle’s not really taking no for an answer, marching her across Skeeps’ sticky floor. “Well you can’t keep moping here. You’re bringing down the vibe.”
“I’m not moping.” She can’t help that the algorithm keeps giving her CBJ content, that all her mentions are about the way she maybe teared up a little when Gavin hit the ice for his rookie lap.
It’s only a little chilly when they step outside, and it feels good on Shea’s flushed face. There’s a parking ticket tucked under Moyle’s windshield wiper; he grabs it and sticks it on the car behind them while Shea folds herself into the passenger seat.
It takes her a couple of blocks to notice. “This isn’t the way back to 1114.”
“Oh no, did you have big plans to go home and hump Gavin’s pillow?”
Shea honestly shouldn’t dignify that with a response. Okay, so maybe she was considering crawling into Gavin’s bed, but just to sleep. Maybe smell his pillowcase a little. Nothing weird weird. She shoves at Moyles shoulder. “Is imagining that what does it for you, honch?”
He laughs. “You caught me.”
“Where are we going?” she asks as they leave campus behind.
“Don’t worry about it,” Moyle tells her.
Shea isn’t exactly surprised when they pull up at his hotel five minutes later. She follows him down the blandly carpeted hall inside to his room, rocking on her feet as he fumbles with the key card. If the hallway weren’t so quiet, it’d feel like another roadie.
Is she ever going to get the chance to waste time in a hotel with Gavin again? Filling the hours with stupid card games and stupider arguments?
Her throat feels tight. She swallows thickly as Moyle finally gets the door unlocked, shoving it open.
It’s a mess inside, of course, a tropical storm of clothes and half-eaten takeout even though Moyle’s only been in town a couple of nights.
“I want to pick what we’re watching,” Seamus announces, kicking her slides off and throwing herself on the bed. Her voice only sounds a little shaky, but Moyle probably won’t call her on it.
Grabbing the remote, he stretches out next to her, flipping to ESPN.
“Moyle,” Shea says, reaching for the remote. They’re talking about the Pistons shitty season, a safe enough topic, but Shea just doesn’t want to risk it right now.
Moyle holds the remote out of reach, forcing her to climb half on top of him to make a grab for it.
“Give it to me,” Shea demands, balancing with one hand on his chest while she stretches her other one out, fingers just barely brushing the edge of it.
“I think you can ask nicer than that,” Moyle says. He sounds like he’s enjoying himself.
“Give me the remote and I won’t knee your balls,” Shea offers.
“I’d like to see you try.” Moyle actually spreads his legs like he’s daring her to do it, grinning maniacally.
Huffing, Shea fully straddles him, her knees on either side of his ribcage, grabbing his wrist and trying to pull his arm down. “Stop being difficult.”
“You’re the one who can’t say a simple please,” Moyle points out.
Shea bats her lashes at him. “Oh, pretty please, Nolan, can I have the remote?”
He grins wider. “No.”
Squawking in outrage, Shea lunges for it.
Moyle laughs as he tosses it on the ground, grabbing Shea’s wrists and rolling them over before she can dive off the bed to get it. The resulting wrestling match is intense but brief. Moyle’s got a good twenty pounds on her, and he pins her easily.
She blinks up at him, panting a little.
Moyle’s eyes drop to her mouth, her heaving chest, before finding hers again.
Shea almost says please, but if Moyle tells her no to this, then she will fling herself off a bridge.
She wriggles, testing his grip. Maybe accidentally on purpose rolling her hips against his. Moyle drops his weight, pinning her hips to the bed, and Shea lets out a gasp.
“Fuck,” Moyle mutters. Then he dips his head, kissing her.
Shea opens for him immediately, letting him kiss her deep and dirty. His stubble rasps against her skin. If he didn’t have her wrists pinned to the bed, she’d have her fingers buried in his hair, pulling him closer.
He finally releases one of them so he can shove his hand up her shirt, fingers skimming her ribs and immediately finding the edge of her bra. He traces his fingertips along the edge of the cup, then tugs it down far enough to rub his thumb over her nipple. Shea whines, arching into it.
Moyle seems content playing with her tits, sloppily making out while SportsCenter drones in the background. Shea curls her free hand around the back of his neck, not letting him pull back.
“Still that easy for it, eh,” he says when she finally releases him to catch her breath.
“I thought you said the golf trip was a one-time thing,” she fires back. She’s still not sure she can look Blankenburg in the eye.
Moyle huffs, pinching her nipple to make her jolt. “I can drive you home if you’d rather get yourself off to Gavin’s dirty laundry.”
“That’s disgusting,” Shea says like his words don’t make her pussy clench.
Moyle laughs again, low and intimate, like he somehow knows. “Then stay here and take your clothes off.”
He sits back, letting her wrestle her shirt off and fling it over the side of the bed. Her bra follows, and Moyle groans when her tits are freed.
“Missed these,” he says, burying his face in them.
Shea slips her fingers into his thick hair as he gets his mouth on her nipple, his lips and tongue making a mess of her before he bites down just hard enough to make her moan.
“Please, Moyle, fuck,” she begs, pulling on his hair. He just switches to her other nipple, letting his weight pin her hips to the bed so she can barely squirm against him.
By the time he comes up for air, Shea is so wet he can probably feel it through her sweats. He starts kissing down her stomach, leaving a trail of spit behind, until he gets to her waistband.
Shea can feel her heart pounding in her pussy. Looking up at her, Moyle smirks, then hooks his fingers around her waistband, tugging her sweats and panties down her legs together until she can keep them off her ankles.
“Oh my,” he says, reaching between her legs and dragging his thumb along her slit. It comes away wet and glistening. “All this for me?”
“Can you—fuck,” Shea says when Moyle pops his thumb into his mouth, licking the taste of her off his skin. He finally sheds his own shirt, then stands up to strip his pants off. Shea watches him, mouth open as she pants, spreading her knees wider when he gets a hand on his dick, lazily stroking it.
“You want something?” he asks with a smirk.
“Are you really going to make me beg for your dick?”
“Depends. How bad do you want it?”
“Nolan.”
Huffing out a laugh, he kneels on the edge of the bed and swats her hip. “Okay, okay. Hands and knees, then.”
Shea scrambles to obey, pushing her hair back from her face as she looks back over her shoulder at him. Moyle runs a hand up the back of her thigh, kneads her ass for a moment, then grabs hold of her hip while he lines himself up with the other hand. He takes the time to drag the head of his dick through her folds a couple of times, until she’s shoving back against him with an impatient noise.
“Easy, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you need.”
“I need your dick inside me,” Shea tells him. She means for it to sound like a command, but her voice cracks in the middle.
Moyle tsks. “Not even a please.” He pushes inside before she can complain, her mouth falling open and a low whine escaping instead.
Moyle stops playing around after that, fucking her hard and fast from the jump. All Shea can do is take it, panting as she plants her knees and grips the sheets.
“Can you come like this?” Moyle asks eventually, finally sounding a little breathless himself.
“No,” Shea says. Not without more pressure on her clit.
Moyle gives her ass a little slap. “Good.”
He fucks her until her arms start to tremble and her elbows give out, her cheek planting against the bed. The change in angle feels good, brings her closer to the edge, but it’s still not enough.
“Please,” Shea gasps. “Nolan, please, I can’t, I need—”
“Still need more, huh? Not giving you enough?”
Shifting to rest her weight on one elbow, Shea sneaks one hand between her legs, fingers circling her clit. Nolan immediately knocks her arm away and she nearly sobs, but then he replaces her fingers with his own. His fingertips slide against her, everything wet and slick between her legs, the pace he’s still fucking her rocking her hips just enough that they rub against her clit every other thrust.
Shea is stuck right on the edge. Holding back a sob, she finally grabs Moyle’s wrist, holding his fingers where she needs them.
“Fuck, Shea,” he pants. “Gonna get yourself off humping my hand?”
Shea comes so hard she bites her own lip, the copper tang of blood in her mouth as she squeezes Nolan’s wrist. He swears, hips jerking, pulling out just in time to come all over her ass and the backs of her thighs.
Shea collapses against the sheets, breathing hard, but Nolan immediately flips her onto her back. Her limbs sprawl and he pushes her knees wider, holding them open as he shoves two fingers inside her.
Shea cries out. “It’s too much.”
“You can take it,” Nolan tells her. His eyes are intense, skin glistening with sweat in the lamplight.
Shaking her head, Shea whimpers. “I can’t.” She’s so sensitive; her entire body jolts when he swipes his thumb over her clit. “Nolan—”
Still working his fingers inside her, Nolan ducks his head, sweeping his tongue up through her folds and over her clit. Shea grips his hair, breathing raggedly. “Please, I can’t, please, please—”
Her second orgasm is even more intense than the first. She doesn’t make a sound as she arches off the bed, her heels skidding against the sheets, fingers pulling Nolan’s hair so hard he makes a pained noise against her pussy.
He has to gently pry her fingers from his hair before he can pull back from her pussy. His face is wet from his mouth down to his chin, and when he kisses her, slow but deep, she can taste herself on his tongue.
Her face is wet too, but she can’t tell if it’s sweat or tears. Nolan’s hand on her cheek is almost tender, and he’s careful as he swipes a thumb under her eye. “Shh, you’ll be alright,” he whispers.
She doesn’t know if he means right now, or next season, or some distant hazy future where seeing Gavin in Jackets blue doesn’t make her heart clench in painful and complicated ways.
Curling her arm around Nolan, she kisses him again so she doesn’t have to think about it.
#the empty house/empty room feelings destroyed me#but if that hadn't already knocked me flat it would have been the subtle layers of the humiliation kink#nolan moyle king of the bad idea bears#please i hope you keep processing your gavin/seamus feelings through a greasy moyle filter forever
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I've been thinking about Trevor/Cutter all week and I wrote a bunch of words that aren't maybe the characterization I would write for them, but La said "Cutter/Trevor hate sex" and I couldn't stop thinking about it.
(Lightish on the hate with a side of Trevor/Jamie angst)
Leo and Minty had said their goodnight and were halfway across the bar before Trevor even realized it was just her and Cutter left in the big corner booth. He had his fingers slung casually around a half empty beer, his dark beady eyes roving the bar as if trying to find someone else to talk to. It made her want to scream.
Trevor knew she should talk to him. She wasn’t a vet and it wasn’t like she was being groomed for the C, but they had enough shared background everyone expected her to at least try. She couldn’t, just like she couldn’t pick up the phone to text him after the trade. She deserved the Lady Byng for not screaming, “YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE.”
“So, is the show everything you thought it would be?”
Cutter didn’t take the bait, he shrugged and turned towards her. “You started during Covid right?”
“Yeah.” She drained her drink. “That’s how Jimmy and I got so close.”
He didn’t even look contrite, he just gave a slight nod and let his eyes wander around the room. “Was he like your boyfriend or something?”
Trevor grabbed a damp cardboard coaster and crushed it in her hand. “Or something.” It made the rage inside her start to crackle and melt into sorrow. He didn’t even look at her directly, even as her eyes brimmed with tears.
Cutter nodded again. He finished his drink. “I think gonna take off.”
Trevor stood up, so he couldn’t first. “Me too.”
“I’ll get a car,” he said, phone already in hand. “Drop you first.”
“I was going to walk.” It was only fifteen minutes. She and Jamie had always walked home if they could, Trevor liked to extend the night as long as possible.
“I’ll walk you,” he said, slipping his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans.
Trevor didn’t want him to, she wanted to be alone, but she liked the idea of inconveniencing him. Taking him up on his offer even if he probably hoped she’d decline.
It was chilly as they took off down the sidewalk, past the strip of darkened boutiques, coffee shops and med spas.
They walked in silence for a few minutes and Trevor brimmed with the need to get something, anything out of him.
“How does your girlfriend feel about you signing in California?”
Trevor had gotten all the gossip from Jack, who’d gotten it from Luke. She knew he’d been dating a girl from Michigan, but it had ended even before they’d played each other in the Frozen Four. Still, she acted surprised when he said, “We broke up.”
“So, you lost your girl, the Hobey and the natty,” she said, not even trying to hide the edge in her voice.
He shrugged. “Did you win the Hobey?”
“No, they wanted me to sign after my freshman year.” It was an excuse. Jack Eichel won her Freshman year. Still, this blow landed and she saw the muscle in his jaw tense. “Guess that’s why you’re here though.”
“Guess so,” he said.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Trevor shivered in her t-shirt and was surprised to be relieved when Cutter didn't offer his jacket. Everyone had been monitoring her for months, as if she might break down at any moment. She had been, but it made it worse that they could tell.
They turned onto her street, lit with aesthetic old fashioned looking street lamps. Without thinking or checking herself she snapped, “If Jamie were here at least I’d be getting laid.”
She felt immediately guilty for reducing Jamie to that, even if it was true. He was gone and he and Cam were fighting for a playoff spot and he’d reacted to her last three texts instead of responding. It was more than he’d done for Mason apparently, but still. STILL. He was gone and Trevor was stuck with this kid who had at least two inches on her and expected her to be happy he was here. What, so she could to fight to stay at center again?
“Is that why you’re pissed,” he asked as she slowed in front of the gate for her townhouse. “You’re not getting laid?”
“It’s not the only reason.” She tilted her chin to meet his eyes. His hair looked floppy and soft, but it hadn’t moved their whole walk home. Maybe the entire night now that she was thinking about it.
Cutter met her gaze. “So you want me to fuck you, is that it?”
“It’s the least you could do.”
She could kill him when he shrugged, but he also reached past her to unlatch the gate, brushing his fingers over her chilled arm.
He followed her in, casually, exactly like he had when he was getting shown around Great Park two days ago; hands in his pockets and face impassive. Trevor wanted, needed to see that mask slip. She couldn’t keep being the only one whose life was turned upside down out of nowhere.
When she turned around she was gratified to watch his eyes flick up from her ass. He matched her steps as she moved backwards towards the stairs, where she paused.
“Change your mind?” He barely even phrased it like a question.
“No. Just trying to decide if I want to let you upstairs.”
He pursed his lips. “Ok.”
It’s not like she’d been celibate, but a broken ankle can cool anyone’s game, and when she had picked up it seemed weird to fuck them in her bed. Cutter was standing there in his crisp white polo and suddenly she realized Jamie was the only person she’d ever had sex with in that bed.
“Come on,” she said and started up the stairs, Cutter at her back.
“You don’t require specialty size condoms do you?” Trevor kicked a little mound of clothing out of the way as she backed up towards the bed. She pulled her t-shirt off and tossed it on top.
“Like Magnum?” His eyes skated across her tits.
It was her turn to shrug. “Or snug fit.”
He snorted. “Regular is fine.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched again as she shimmied her jeans off. She kicked them off and they landed on the pile with the rest.
He backed her up until her back hit the wall and moved into her space. She let out a breath when he got his thigh between her legs.
“I know you don’t want me here.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” she said. He pressed his leg harder, and pleasure surged through her.
If this were Jamie her face would already burn from his stubble. They would be laughing. Cutter wasn’t even smiling.
“You want this, though,” he said, flicking the straps of her bra off her shoulders and tugging the lace down to reveal her peaked nipples. He rolled one of them in between his fingers.
Cutter was handsome in a way more common at her country club than the rink. He was so BC, it made her itch. Case would kill her for this.
“Are you gonna get a condom?” he asked. His big body was warm this close to hers, the rough material of his jeans chafed the inside of her thighs. He pushed in harder and she stifled a gasp.
“Is that your idea of foreplay?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips for the first time as he shifted back. He dragged his fingertips over her belly until he hit the band of her thong.
Trevor inhaled sharply as his fingers glided smoothly across her clit.
“Doesn’t feel like you need that much foreplay to me,” he whispered, fingertips toying at her entrance, his big hand stretching the elastic of her thong.
Jamie would have done it. He would have done whatever she asked.
“I hope you don’t fuck this lazy,” she said and pushed him asside. She grabbed a condom from the drawer and threw it at him before falling back onto the bed.
Cutter’s chest was totally smooth when he took his shirt off, just a tiny patch of hair under his enormous silver cross. He had broad shoulders, and nice pecs. No abs to speak of but she could see a pleased smirk tugging at his lips.
“Do you wax your chest or can you just not grow chest hair yet?”
“Have you never been with a younger guy?” He arched his eyebrow as he pushed his jeans down.
She scoffed. “I’m an ‘01?!”
“Ok.” His eyes dropped between her legs when she let them fall open. He stepped to the edge of the bed. “This how you want it?”
Part of her wanted to get on her hands and knees, close her eyes and pretend. She stayed on her back. “Yeah.”
He hadn’t lied, he wasn’t big enough for a Magnum, but he was big enough she gasped when he pushed in.
“Yeah, let me hear you,” he groaned in her ear.
“Don’t get a big head.”
He took her wrists and pinned them above her head. Fuuuuuuck, she thought, but kept her mouth shut. He fucked her like an athlete, relentlessly, barely breaking a sweat. It wasn’t going to make her come, but it felt good; enough steady pleasure to make her thoughts melt away.
His fingers tightened around the bones of her wrists and his breath got heavier. She stared up at him and he looked back right up until he came with a grunt.
She could smell his shampoo, the same one they all used after practice, when he let go of her hands and dropped his forehead to her shoulder.
“Don’t move,” she gasped. She pushed her hand in between their bodies and bucked at the sensation. He groaned but didn’t move when she threaded her other hand through his thick dark hair.
She closed her eyes and smelled the familiar shampoo and came so suddenly it took her by surprise.
Cutter laid back after he’d tossed the condom in the trash, his arms stretched smugly behind his head.
“Still don’t want me here?”
A groan and a laugh mixed in her throat. “Do you care?”
There was a beat of silence and she glanced over at him, his naked body stretched out across her duvet. His fingers clenched and relaxed against the pillow.
“I actually don’t want everyone to hate me.”
She propped herself up on her elbow. It hit her suddenly remembering what her first week in California had felt like.
“Stick with me then, they’ll never hate you like they hate me.”
He slid his eyes over to her. “Why do they hate you?”
Trevor laughed and waved a hand over her flushed tits.
“They look fine to me.”
She smiled. “They just don’t know them like you do.”
“You’re funny,” he said.
Her body felt relaxed, more than it had in months. “You should stay. At least for round two.”
He gave a little nod. “Ok.”
#SCREAMING#the dynamic is so perfect#trevor trying everything to get a rise out of him and cutter completely impervious#her bitchy little comments#the shampoo!!!!!!#every time i look at cutter now all i can think about is his beady eyes what an absolutely spot on phrase#i mourn the lost reference to the masterton though#it's what she deserves#for her agonies
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