#yannick weber/roman josi | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hastybooks · 7 years

Text

dick trace

The Snapchat notification pops up when Roman unlocks his phone out of familiar disinterest, waiting for the waiter to come back with drinks and English getting a little too complicated for him to follow in this stylish, pipe-riddled restaurant that bounces every fucking noise around.

Roman blinks when he sees that it's from Yannick. Yannick almost never uses Snapchat, and that should make a little pit of dread light up in Roman's stomach. Instead he opens it, expecting to see Yannick's puppy do something cute.

Cold mortification rushes through his blood when he realizes what it actually is.

Thank fuck, his phone is underneath the table, right where Roman's pretending to look at the overworked menu, away from patrons who are pretending to ignore Roman while including him in their own selfies. Roman's throat closes as soon as the snap shows a computer screen with his own face on it, wearing a backwards cap with the Bruins logo emblazoned on it, looking down at his cock getting sucked by Tyler Seguin, back when Seguin was just a regular douche instead of a grade-A-douche, with the words Seguin Gseet uus wie gstorbeni Chatz typed right over where Roman's getting sucked off.

Fucking Yannick set the snap for infinity.

Roman slams his thumb on the power button, making the phone blink dark, and shoves it back into his pocket. He doesn't have to think too hard about how Yannick found that stupid video. Nothing goes away once it gets on camera, and Yannick is actually buddies with some of those fuckers who were egging both of them on to hook up. Roman's recollection of the night is. Hazy. Seguin made too much noise, gagged himself too hard on Roman like he was running away, leaving Roman's palms itchy like they needed a good wash.

He's never seen the video. Is almost afraid of seeing it, especially since Yannick is the sort of mean that would pick up on Roman acting like Yannick to get through Seguin's mouth around him, feeling only a flash of fondness when pink came up on Seguin's cheeks, making him stroke Seguin's blush and grind his hips against his face.

Also--

Roman thinks he may have called Seguin a good girl. Which was something 19-year-old Yannick constantly called Roman and Yannick never forgets any of that weird sex shit because he's a massive prick. Roman strips the paper wrapping from his straw and shreds it into thin strips. Smiles at some stupid jokes while thinking about the snap, the blur and the grain of the screen that doesn't hide the way Roman was flexing his abs for the handheld camera.

Fuck, he was a vain little shit.

Drinking his cucumber water doesn't fix the lump in his throat. He's dreading whatever shit Yannick gives him about the video, dreading actually watching it with Yannick because-- that's the exact shit he'd pull if he got his hands on a sex tape involving Yannick. Roman makes himself text Yannick to come over because sometimes a good defense is a decent offense.

Yannick sends back a peach emoji.

Yannick sinks down onto Roman's couch, pokes at a pillow covered in fake sheepskin before he taps the thumb drive outlined in his polo pocket. The skin on Roman's scalp tingles. He distrusts the smirk on Yannick's face. Roman sinks onto the cushion next to Yannick anyway, breathing in the pine-cool cologne that smells a little too close to Ralph Lauren Polo for Roman to ignore the firsts that came with that scent. He pries open his netbook, feeling Yannick's eyes on him like he's petting the curls on the back of his neck, and clears his throat before he presses it onto the coffee table.

Roman shifts his eyes onto Yannick's face for the first time since he walked into the door, and Yannick breaks into a grin, "Aw, Jos. Don't be shy."

"I don't--" Roman gestures mid-air, "remember that. Much."

He got smashed on Long Island ice teas, shotgunned with a few of the boys from the BioSteel camp, and woke up with a mild headache and hickey marks around his cock and Seguin looking at him a lot differently than he did before. Combined with a lot of porn star jokes.

Yannick jerks his eyebrows up, fiddling with the flash drive cover between his finger and thumb, "Yeah, fucking Tyler Seguin would be something you'd have to work hard to forget." His smile becomes wider as he looks Roman up and down, "Let's call it a lapse in your taste, eh?"

Roman squirms, smooths his hand over his shorts, hating the heat that's rushing up to his face. He was a NHL rookie who made most of the jump there, turned a lot of heads and that got his head turned, and there's his flimsy excuse for banging everyone left, right and center, oh god.

If Roman could sink through the floor all the way down to the basement level of his condo building, or float out through his wall-length windows he could start believing in a benevolent god.

Instead of Roman being spirited away, he stays on the couch, watching Yannick jiggle the flash drive in. The video player starts, and Yannick pauses and says, "Get this to stream to that TV," pointing at the TV that mostly looms on the far wall. Roman flicks a few buttons on his remote, and sees the blurry thumbnail of the video pop up on the TV.

Yannick makes a pleased noise deep in his throat, and says, "I'm flattered, really." He curls his arm around Roman's neck, pressing his lips to the corner of his jaw, "Ripping me off while fucking someone else, really gets me going."

Roman raises the remote, and says, "Is this when you give constructive criticism?"

Yannick unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down enough to show off his lack of underwear, "No, this is when I play with your juicy ass and give you constructive criticism." Finding the bottle of lube Roman keeps hidden underneath a tissue box cover is easier than taking off his pants. Roman doesn't want to keep Yannick waiting, not when he's looking at him with a small smirk while stroking himself, and undresses as fast as he can before he presses play.

The video on the TV screen isn't high-def, the borders between skin-shorts-wall-carpet blurring into each other, but Roman gives a soft gasp when he recognizes his own face smirking down at Seguin, a joint dangling between his lips and his thumb pressing down on Seguin's only lip.

Yannick scrapes his palm down Roman's back, "Very juvenile delinquent of you." Roman bites his lips, and says, "Well. You would have done the same." Yannick hums, pulling himself closer to Roman, "I would, if the pot back home was actually smokeable."

Any retort Roman has gets shut down when he hears an off-screen voice-- Biznasty?-- laugh and tell Roman to shotgun the joint into Seguin's mouth. Watching himself lean down and blow smoke into Seguin's parted lips, hearing him moan, sets his teeth on edge. Yannick rubs a cold slip of lube up Roman's cleft, breathes, "Should have blown smoke into his face, he would've liked it," and laughs when Seguin tries to kiss Roman on screen, only to have Roman cover his mouth with a hand, "I did that to you a lot, didn't I?"

Roman blinks, remembering the gritty press of Yannick's palm against his mouth every time he leaned down to kiss him in a grotty shower, and any realization he gets slips away as soon as Yannick presses a finger against his asshole, rubbing small circles against his rim, the distant pleasure spiked by the bite of Yannick's teeth on his neck.

On screen, Roman presses down his shorts, slinging them underneath his balls, and telling Seguin to get closer. Roman watches himself sneer, "C'mon, we all know you're a cocksucker," which makes bury his face against his crossed arms, pressing back against Yannick's finger, embarrassment mixing with arousal when he presses around his prostate, his thigh in between Roman's legs. Seguin sucks Roman to hardness, the grainy pixels only making the vivid pinks-- cock, lips, knuckles-- even more obscene on the large TV.

"Don't remember calling you that," Yannick drawls, rubbing his hand over Roman's abs until his fingers brushes against the edges of hair.

Roman laughs, leans against the easy curve of Yannick's hand, "That was the top word in the locker room." He pauses, watching Seguin's face flush deep before he opens his mouth, "Sounds a lot meaner in English." He can almost feel Yannick raise his eyebrow as he says, "You did suck my cock a lot."

"Call me cocksucker then," Yannick leers.

Roman grinds down on Yannick's hand, feeling his thumb slip against the rim, "I think I called him a slut after he tried to go deep--"

"Oh, you do."

Yannick slips in two fingers before Roman can say anything else, fucks into him a few times before he squeezes Roman's side with a lube-sticky hand and tells him to watch the screen. Roman sets his jaw, shivers when Yannick pets his ass, cups his balls and tries to look at the way he's pulling at Seguin's cap on that TV, pressing the plastic band flush across his forehead and his own cock into his mouth. Seguin wraps his fingers around Roman's hips, any noise he can make only a gurgle before he coughs. Roman pushes Seguin's head away, laughs, nudges at his shorts with his foot, "You're such a fucking slut, Seguin, getting hard over sucking cock. I like it."

Seguin's blotched face gets covered up by his hand trying to scrub away spit, and he tells Roman to shut up before he tries again, less showy and more focused this time. Yannick scrapes his teeth against Roman's ass, "Now, that I told you," sounding almost fond.

Roman pants, "You like that I was pretending to be you," right as Yannick presses his mouth against the curve of his fingers and Roman's rim, gets a slow lick for that little insight. His back prickles with heat, watching himself squeeze Seguin's chin before he lifts up his cock for him to suck, the pained moan when Seguin gets mocked for his technique-- it's not an ice cream-- the slow slide of his fingers over Seguin's closed eyes before he calls him a pretty girl.

That makes Roman clench around Yannick's fingers and tongue before he pants, "You called me a pretty girl when you first rimmed me, on your messy bed--"

"You kinda deserved it," Yannick says in between licks, "All open and pretty with your ass up in the air," which makes Roman flip him off. Yannick slaps his thigh and presses his fingers in several rough thrusts that makes Roman scrape his nails against the cushions, watching himself holding Seguin against his hips so close his nose gets smooshed flat--

Roman pants, "You do that to me all the time."

Yannick presses his cock against the back of Roman's thigh, getting it sticky with precome, as he says, "Felt good, didn't it? Nothing like getting in deep," low and mean into the curve of Roman's ear. Roman curls his hand around his cock, stroking it as he pants through his teeth, feeling like he's being taken apart in every direction at once--

Fuck, Yannick's screwing in three fingers now, just as he's watching himself stroke off on TV, coming on Seguin's face and Seguin closing his eyes like it's a miracle rain--

"It's a shame you didn't keep fucking his mouth when you came," Yannick says, stroking his fingers over Roman's rim, "Would've liked to see come leak down that chin," and Roman comes, thinking about Yannick watching him get blown with dark jealously in his eyes, getting hard all over, the rough catch of his fingertips pressing against Roman's asshole like he would fuck Roman raw afterwards. He keeps jerking himself off, trying to get Yannick to come closer, until he's twitchy and dry and oversensitive.

Yannick turns Roman on his back with a smirk, "Maybe I'll deep-throat you, Josi," drags his hand down Roman's thigh, "See if you'd dare to be as mean as you were." He leans in closer, drags his lips against Roman's, "Since you've been a good student."

Roman makes a soft noise as Yannick slips down between his legs, petting the edges of Yannick's hair as he mouths his spent cock, the room silent now that the video's over. Yannick'll get his. He always does, and Roman licks his lips, shuddering at the feel of Yannick's hot mouth on him and the promise of more.

He can be mean.

#ficlet #smut #yannick weber/roman josi #past seguin but who cares about him

14 notes · View notes

hastybooks · 7 years

Text

easy come

notes: dear fuhrmana has been encouraging me with this for gosh, who knows how long. welcome to the second circle of hell, dear readers. warning for possible underage, depending on where you're at and how well you want to do the math, and yannick weber

All ice rinks have a smell.

This one, all way up at the ass-end of Bern-- smells like sharp metal and cement dust and teenage-boy hair gel. Yannick rubs his own hair like he fucking needs to neaten up. He teases apart a tangle with the jagged edge of his thumbnail before rubbing the leftover oil against his Adidas sweatpants.

Yannick paces around the rink more, looking up at the small flights of stairs leading out to the doors to freedom, looking for anyone else in this fucking creep rink, bouncing on his toes for energy and all of that shit--

Yannick jerks his head down at the square face of his watch, the arms ticking towards ten on a freaking Sunday morning. He regrets not getting more info than a promise of a fuck.

To be precise: Yannick's fake, not-at-all evil namesake/fuckbuddy Yannick Josi didn't so much ask him to come all the way up to Bern as much as ordered him. Yannick Josi may be a sure thing, with a mouth that can suck anything-- but that doesn't mean Yannick has to wait around a strange-half lit rink for his dumb kid brother so he can see whether he's actually good enough for real hockey with real men.

Knowing Yannick Josi, this kid is going to be spindly until he gets unexpectedly slow and has to bow out before wingers start hoping to see him on the ice. AKA: Not ready for prime time. No cock is worth this, Yannick thinks, on the verge of walking up the stairs and out of the door until he hears "You Weber?" getting shouted like he was born in a barn.

Yannick's foot freezes on the stairs. He turns around to see the kid at the middle of center ice, with a stick in his hand and a helmet strap dangling from his jaw. Yannick walks up to the glass, and smirks, "You Josi the lesser?"

That makes the kid narrow his eyes, but he forces on a smile and says, "Hanging around my loser big brother?"

"Guess so. Going to skate?" Yannick can see why scouts like being scouts, getting off on watching barely-legal guys try to be at their peak and not getting called creeps for it. The kid even has the gall to glide towards the glass, like he's fucking floating, and sweet jealously surges in Yannick's guts as he watches him come to a stop without carving a notch in the ice.

"You're not going to?" he asks Yannick, and then pauses, as his lips curl up, "Unless you're too heavy to skate, Weber." The kid's got a younger sibling's nose for soft underbellies, for sore spots, and the teeth to nibble.

Yannick grits his teeth in a smile, and shoves his skates on, lacing them as tight as he wants to wrap his fingers around the kid's skinny neck. He promises himself a light check against the boards. Just to show the kid how real men play. He slips onto the ice, dragging his stick behind him, and circles around the kid. For someone named Roman he's living up to it, almost pretty and patrician with that nose he shares with Yannick Josi, his eyes some shade between green and panty-creaming.

Roman's even taller than Yannick Josi right now. The kid can skate. Maybe can get past the mysterious "six foot" mark these North Americans get chubbed up in their pants about. Yannick taps his stick against the ice, says, "You play the D?"

Roman rolls his eyes, "Yes, I play the D, what the fuck. You going to shoot me the puck or no?"

Yannick jerks the puck away from Roman's stick, and jets down the ice, his thighs burning underneath his sweatpants. The back of his neck tingles, like it always does when a defense-man catches up. Yannick slaps the puck away before Roman can whack his stick against his own. He only has enough breath to smirk at the annoyance on Roman's face before he has to churn up ice after those stupid long strides, watching the puck bounce on the ice under Roman's stick.

Roman shoots, a rough shovel into the goal, and scores. He turns on a fucking franc, and presses both of his gloves atop his stick knob, barely breathing hard. His eyes are still some shade between green and panty-creaming. Fuck that kid.

If Roman didn't have the helmet on he'd so totally do the Mean Girl Hair toss, and thinking that makes Yannick coast to a stop against the glass with a smirk he has to hide with his glove. He makes himself shrug, "So you can shoot. Yay."

Yannick sees the pout that doesn't go any further from the corners of those pretty lips, and wonders just how warm Hell would be. Fucking the kid brother of a fuckbuddy is. Bad? Right? Yannick's a little fuzzy on the whole thing. He skates closer, notes carefully that he easily has 10 kilos on the kid, and licks his lips.

"Roman, come on. You know how nasty that little ice can get."

"Like you know," Roman scoffs, looking Yannick over, "Excuse me, who do you play with now? The Kitchener Rangers? I don't really care if you're not going to get me ahead--"

Yannick shoves Roman up against the glass, the top panel shaking as Roman tries to shrug Yannick's arms off his neck. He leans in close enough to see the vivid pink flush creep up Roman's neck, and says, "Can't take a check, can you, pretty kid?"

Roman clenches his jaw, and Yannick grins harder in response, "Lot of fuckers out there, all of them like me, wanting to smash you up, and that's all you can do? Just pout? Pouty-pout," he sticks his lower lip, pitches his voice higher, "Oh no, I can't be physical--"

"Fuck you," Roman snarls, panting through his nose. Yannick laughs, "Is that all? You're a pretty kid, Roman. You get a lot of comments, hm? Think it's going to be any better when you make it to the big show?"

The stiff silence Roman sends out is just as good as a no in Yannick's book. Yannick gently shoves him up against the glass, "Maybe you just need to toughen up your mental game. There's a reason Ds take longer to develop."

Roman gives him an considering look, like this is the first intelligent thing he's said all morning. Which is bullshit. Yannick wakes up with all sort of intelligent shit. So much. Roman wouldn't even get it. Yannick smirks, "Meanness is a talent, kid. I like your potential." He likes how the kid doesn't look away, and presses him harder against the glass, enough that his helmet bounces gently off it, "You can take it."

"I can give it," Roman snarls, and oh, it's almost cute. Yannick raises an eyebrow, drawls, "It's a good thing you're pretty."

"Yeah? You fucking plank," Roman shoves Yannick away, "If I wanted to see some guy jerk himself off I could have looked in the mirror instead of coming down to this rink." He strides across the ice to the tunnel, and Yannick catches up a lot less easily than he would've like, tugging on Roman's thin sweatshirt before he gets onto the cement.

Roman hisses through his teeth, and for a heartbeat, Yannick almost feels like he's in The O.C. as he smirks and shoves the helmet off Roman's head. Roman jerks away, almost slipping on the cement before he regains his balance, tries to clamp his hair down against the halo of spots across his forehead. Yannick watches the thick waves of hair slip through Roman's fingers, showing angry red spots there and there where Roman apparently gave up self-control and dragged a nail across.

Yannick says, "Ok, you're not so pretty now."

"Fuck off," Roman says, in English, through his puppy-like fingers. Yannick grins, shoves Roman towards the sign that says Showers, "Nah, you don't. You want to develop your mental game. Learn how to take insults."

"Not off the ice," Roman sulks, draping himself against the wall.

Thank god for bad lighting, because now Yannick can't see the embarrassing pimples on that five-head. Yannick slides his hand up Roman's thigh, pausing to check the thickness of it with the meat of his fingers, and says, "You Josi boys are so easy."

Roman freezes.

"What, jealous?" Yannick taunts. Roman shoots him a hot glare, his eyes definitely panty-creaming, and oh, the boys over in North America are going to eat him alive.

Unless Yannick gets there first.

He drags his hand up Roman's thigh, and smiles when he finds how hard Roman is. Roman swallows, juts his chin out defiantly, and Yannick only has to cup that cock through those sweats to make Roman's long, girly eyelashes flutter. Yannick scrapes his mouth across Roman's, "Know how to suck off a man, Josi?"

Roman bites down on Yannick's lip, hard enough to draw a little blood, rubbing himself off against Yannick's palm, breathing harder. Yannick laughs through the thin stream of blood, "Not like that, kid," and shoves him onto the locker room floor.

Yannick nods at Roman's skates, at Roman's clothes, "Take them off." Roman grits out a smile, and yanks his skates off before he checks himself and gently lays the skates in their case. Yannick gets undressed faster than the kid, but all that means is that he gets the water warm, waiting for Roman to find his balls and to fucking come in.

The kid does, with only a washcloth and nothing hiding that rat face. Yannick grins as he leans against the tiles, feeling the warm water drip down his back and says, "Come closer, Roman."

"What do I even get," Roman says, stepping around an old puddle. Yannick considers saying, The pleasure of sucking me off, considers better, smiles instead, "A chance to come into something besides those rosy palms of yours."

Roman flushes, with both anger and embarrassment, as he presses himself into the spray with fierce determination. Yannick slides a hand down Roman's back, pressing down on the divots his rubs make before he presses a thigh up between Roman's thighs, the only sturdy-looking part of him. Roman shivers, presses himself closer, his hairless chest bumping against the sparse hair Yannick has on his--

Yannick almost smiles when he pushes Roman down on his knees.

The tile clanks against Roman's knees, and he looks up at Yannick with a dare in his eyes. Shoving his cock against Roman's lips is just as easy as he hoped, watching Roman try to wrap his lips around the cockhead, his pink tongue slipping out enough to make Yannick tangle his hand in Roman's wet hair. Roman shakes, and Yannick breathes, "It's not just the tip, come on, haven't you seen porn?"

Yannick gets a little harder in Roman's mouth, watching those eyes-- are they blue? green?-- glare up at him as his own cock pushes that rat face a little out of shape.

He feels even bigger, more powerful as Roman tries to figure out what to do with his hands before he rests them on the top of his thighs, framing his more-than half-hard cock. Yannick rubs himself against Roman's tongue, laughs when Roman sucks harder, like it'd hurt, "Aw, you should be happy, your rat face looks so much better with a cock in it--"

He presses down on his cock through Roman's cheek, "Even if you do look like a chipmunk now," shoves himself in more when Roman tries to get enough breath to protest. Feeling Roman's teeth scrape against him doesn't make Yannick go down even the slightest. Why would it? He's watching Roman's cock jerk in between thrusts he's giving to that face, feeling those chapped lips brush against his cock as he tries to breathe around Yannick. Roman's flushed down to his teeny little nipples, and if Yannick had more time to jerk them around he'd flick those nipples for sure, maybe see how good those thighs would feel around his cock. Yannick bites back a moan, his hands twitching against the tile before he pushes them against Roman's hair.

Roman doesn't pull off, keeps trying to swallow around Yannick and leaving so much spit Yannick thinks the shower isn't clean enough for this kid.

"Yeah, just like I thought, all that mean-girl bullshit just hides how much you want a cock shoved in your mouth," Yannick pants, twisting his hands in Roman's hair, the gel catching on the pads of his fingers. It's the hardest thing to not just shove him up to his hip, to feel him gag around his cock--

Yannick likes repeats more than trying to recreate porn, and maybe jerking off on the kid's face is just another way of recreating porn. Whatever. Facials are good for skin, right?

Roman swallows, looking like he wants to cry, and doesn't look at Yannick before he gets to his feet. Yannick makes an aht noise, pressing his face against Roman's slick neck, "I promised you a little something, didn't I, pretty rat?"

"Suck me off," Roman manages, trying to be imperious, his throat sounding well-used. Yannick looks Roman's cock over. Manageable. Pretty, if you're into smooth thighs, and Yannick smirks before he gets down onto his knees. The hard tile on his knees sucks, sure, but he can smell how new Roman is, can almost taste the come in his mouth. One suck and the kid is done--

It takes four easy sucks, ones that make Yannick feel tender with how easy blowing this Josi is, before Roman comes with a muffled moan against his arm.

Yannick saves him from braining him against the tile, holding him up against the tile with a firm hand on that ass, before Roman keeps spurting bitter come into his mouth. He doesn't pull away to tell Roman how he needs to drink more water. This time, and that thought makes Yannick spits on the tiles, lets the shower spray wash it down the drain, and gets up. Roman looks almost relaxed like this, and Yannick scrapes a thumbnail down his lip, "I guess I got what I came here for."

Roman only blinks for a beat before he realizes what exactly got Yannick to come up to Bern. Yannick taps Roman's cheek lightly, winks, "See you at brunch, kid."

Why would Yannick get one bite at the apple if he can get two?

#yannick weber/roman josi #ficlet #smut #i can't believe

8 notes · View notes