𖣂 Love & Hate // CB98 x FM93
Winner Room au!Connor Bedard x Fraser Minten
(Winners' room explanation; The first star of the winning team gets to pick a player from the losing team to use in a room. You don't have to accept, but everyone knows refusal spreads, which leads to consquences)
Warnings — NSFW, Dubious consent(Due to winners' room), Oral, Praise, MLM, handjob, Winner!Minten, Loser!Bedard, Service top!Minten, Stubborn+Bratty!Bedard, Connor hating it but wanting it, (Idgaf warnings be damned)
(First post, requests open, this will be a series with a bunchhhh of duos)
When the third period ended, Connor was exhausted. Sweating like a pig, his helmet felt glued to his hair, and his skin was sticky with effort, his breath visible in the air on the ice as he skated for the handshake line. But the anger settled like ice spikes in his stomach.
Terribly, as in it was 2-4 and he barely got a lucky assist. But on the other side of the same coin, Fraser fucking Minten got the two goals in the third period like it was the olympics. The home Boston crowd was going crazy, leaving a faint buzz in his ears and twisted self loathing in his chest.
When they met each other in the line up, Connor stopped his automated “Yeah, good game.” and simply stared at him. How he took off his helmet, a small grin he couldn't fight off his face, and how a small wavy strand fell on his forehead. His hand is stiff in Minten's, grip a little too tight, but the other was simply smiling at him with a quiet, “Good game.” like he didn't change the tide of the game.
The whole thing lasted ten seconds tops, even if it felt like a whole minute, till he was onto the next Bruin who wiped the floor with his team.
The locker room was mellow. No Captain to yell at them, everyone sort of.. Just did their own thing, putting the loss hard on themselves. Exactly like Connor was doing now. He was meant to be a generational talent, change the team, be the face. He didn't even get a goal.
The shower was long and hot, stinging his skin till it turned pink, hair washed from all of the sweat from the game. Before wrapping a towel around his waist and heading for his stall in the locker room, not looking up from the floor.
A small knock broke the gloomy silence, before a young guy, maybe around Connor's age, popped his head in, eyes scanning the room before landing on…him.
“Bedard? The first star chose you, be ready in fifteen.” Connor barely got his mouth open to speak before the guy slipped out. Not like he had anything to say, really. “Fuck.” left his mouth without permission, a small exhale that he was grateful the other guys still in the locker room didn't comment on.
He pulled on a slightly loose grey shirt, and black athletic shorts, figuring putting them on didn't matter much anyways. All he could think about was Minten’s two goals, and how that should have made him first star. Why was he chosen? To rub it in his face more? That he wasn't who everyone at the draft thought he’d be?
Once dressed he followed the guy who seemed to be avoiding eye contact like the plague. Connor didn't really care, it gave him more time to dwell in his own pity and dread the deeper they got into the bowels of the arena. About why he got picked, who the star player could possibly be if not Minten, and how badly he wanted anybody but him.
The walk felt like it took an hour, but in reality they made it to the unremarkable door with a lock within minutes. The arena staff's keycard beeped once on the door and the lock felt deafening as it unlocked.
“You know the rules, safeword is ‘Mercy’ as always.. Press the panic button if anything bad happens.” His tone was idle, almost bored like he got the short straw to bring him here, it made him almost feel sick when he stepped back for Connor to enter.
The handle felt familiar and like suppressed memories as he turned it, quickly stepping inside and closing the door. The room was a good size, covered in black and yellow that screamed ‘Boston’, a bed on the far wall, a couch on another, a dresser filled with clothes in case his own got wrecked, and… him.
Fraser was freshly showered, his hair damp and dripping onto the collar of the black Bruins branded shirt he was wearing, the glasses he never wears perched on his nose, eyes slightly red like his contacts bothered him enough to take out, and a normal pair of grey joggers with a bulge that made him almost feel sick.
“You did good. That assist, you were positioned perfectly.” The words were soft, almost gentle like he was expecting a reaction. Connor paused before he realised they were coming from Minten, the same grounded voice of their youth team was deeper than he remembered, slower, more confident.
Connor didn't realise he was wanting a response before he met Minten's eyes that were waiting. “Thanks.” He replied idly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts awkwardly. This felt different, strange in the way the winner always wanted Connor to do something, like swallow his pride and get on his knees, or lay on his back on the bed. The commands never came.
“I thought you were going to kill me. On the ice during handshakes. Your eyes were murderous.” Minten said it with a faint smile though, like it was some fond memory, as he pushed off the wall he was leaning against, his hand ghosting the stocked equipment of the room, the lube, condoms.. Shapes of things Connors never had tried on him. Thankfully.
“You always hated losing more than anyone.” He paused a beat, hand stilling on the lube but he didn't grab it. “Still do. Don’t you?” It felt rhetorical, like this whole room experience, Connor's hands curled in his pockets.
He hated how he was right, the loss stung bad and he was still thinking about it even in a room like this, Minten had the gull to look like he wanted a reply. Connor didn't, he kept his mouth shut and his expression blank.
Minten just smiled, not missing a beat. “Glad to see you’re still stubborn.” He said quietly, almost to himself, as he moved, not to the bed. Connor didn’t know if he felt relieved or not. Minten settled on the couch, thighs manspread casually as he leaned back.
They both stared at each other for roughly ten seconds before he sighed and pointed to the floor in front of him. Connor's stomach clenched at the implication. Maybe he wasn't going to do anything else, maybe this was all Connor had to do? He tried to make himself feel better as each step felt dizzying before he stood between Minten's thighs, exhaling slowly, he kneeled.
Connor flinched subtly when Minten's hand raised, making him pause where his hand hovered over Connor's hair before dropping back to his thigh. “Sorry.” It was so mumbled, he wasn't even sure he heard Minten properly. Because who would apologise to the loser in a winners room?
Minten's hands moved slower, thumbs curling in the waistband of his joggers like he was scared Connor would bolt. It sort of pissed him off, he didn't dwell on it as Minten lifted his hips to push them down. He wasn't wearing underwear, his cock was hard and an angry red right in his face, making him go cross eyed for a second, he couldn't help his nose scrunching slightly with a grimace only pulled away from it when he heard a soft almost snort. Glancing up at Minten he was half grinning, the edges of his eyes wrinkled in amusement, his eyes locked onto Connor through his glasses. He wanted to bite down.
But he didn't, he knew the rules of the room. His teeth clenched as his hand moved slowly like it was in jelly, wrapping around Minten's length, he heard a soft inhale but didn’t look up again. Thumb swiping over the tip finding beads of precum already, “Shit.” Minten mumbled above him, he stayed focused. Connor's hand stroked up and down his length once, then twice, each passover getting slicker, but he knew his hand wasn't what he wanted. He stroked downward, keeping his hand wrapped around the hilt of him and leaning in without much fanfare just wanting to get him off.
His lips touched the head of him and he felt his dick twitch in his hold, and a sharp exhale above him with another curse. He internally rolled his eyes as he opened his mouth just enough, wrapping his lips around the head of him. The taste of salt and skin hitting his taste buds, he could never get used to the taste. Hollowing his cheeks as he sucked gently testingly, feeling Minten's fingers tangle in his hair sent a shiver down his spine.
Connor swallowed his salvia mixed with the taste of Minten so he didn't drool, he didn't bother to move his tongue or make it feel all that good, slowly going deeper with deliberate bobs of his head, his hand stroking what he didn't have in his mouth yet.
He was.. A little confused, as to why he wasn't shoving his head down, or how Minten stilled his hips when they did buck barely into his mouth before he stopped it. The hand in his hair was almost gentle, fingers combing through the strands, keeping the loose ones out of his face. “M’sorry.” Minten's voice was basically a breathless whisper.
He tried to blank, to dissociate from the whole thing, but the hand in his hair dragged him back each time, the taste in his mouth of skin and something uniquely Minten kept grounding him despite his efforts. The little noises Minten struggled to contain above him, how his breathing stuttered each time Connor hollowed his cheeks taking him a fraction better. Why was he thinking about that?
The precum was salty in his mouth, tasting like regret and something that made Connor’s mouth water, swallowing involuntarily around him. Pulling a low groan from the man above him, his hips twitched into his mouth before Minten could stop them, making Connor's hand move to his thighs, holding them still. The feel of the hard earned muscle and skin under his fingertips felt real.
His eyes squeezed shut, swallowing intentionally this time around him, bobbing his head and drawing soft moans and low noises from Minten despite his wishes, lips spread on his cock, wrapping around it as he worked him. “Con.. Oh god..” The nickname fell like a prayer from his lips.
His salvia slicked the way mostly, his hand stroking him faster as he picked up his pace as the noises from Minten fell out more frequently. Connor could tell he was close, his length all but pulsing in his mouth, as he reluctantly ran his tongue along the underside of it to push him over the edge.
“Fuck—” Was the only warning Connor got before Minten spilled in his throat, it felt salty and sticky on his tongue, hitting the back of his throat making him pull off fully, hands wrenching off Minten like they burned. Coughing into his fist, taking rough breaths, his eyes meeting Minten's who was staring at him like the sun just got handed to him by a wish to the universe.
He wanted to be sick, as he spat Minten's release into his palm with a grimace trying to not look at it. He heard a rustle of fabric he didn’t bother looking at, as he stood up moving to get a tissue on the side table by the couch, wiping his hand a little more roughly than necessary. Getting another tissue he wiped his mouth too, the dribble on his chin, and the single tear that escaped when he coughed.
When his eyes finally met Minten he’d already pulled his joggers back up, cheeks a little flushed, glasses a little foggy as he absently adjusted him. But his eyes were on Connor, like they have been the entire time, they felt like magnets.
“You don't have to fight me the whole time.” But god did Connor want to, wanted to knock those stupid glasses off his face, but he didn't. Because he knew the room rules, and Minten’s voice had that soothing quality like Connor was some wild cat he was trying to calm down.
Connor's jaw worked out a kink, hands shoving back in his pockets, as he took a deliberate step back. “You’re doing this on purpose.” He gritted out, teeth grating like he could disappear if he shaved them down enough.
Minten just sighed, pushing himself up off the couch, reminding Connor of the four inches of their height difference and moved almost casually to the bed. The hair on Connors neck raised, were they not done? Sure, they were both still young, but no way Minten had a refractory period this low. “I didn't ask for this.” Connor spoke again when Minten didn't reply, the taste of him still in his mouth felt mocking, the words low and resentful falling from his lips before he thought about it.
The words made Minten pause beside the bed, turning back to face Connor almost.. Thoughtfully, like he was understanding a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. “I asked for this.” He said in that annoyingly calm and grounding voice as always. “You can, uh, relax. This isn't to prove anything.” Minten looked like the awkward one, head lowered like a puppy waiting for a verdict Connor couldn't deliver on. It only made his nose wrinkle.
The no response seemed to pull Minten back on task, sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, propped up on pillows like he owned the place. Well, it was his arena, it made Connors lip pull down in a faint frown when Minten patted the spot not beside him, but between his legs, he didn't understand.
But his legs pulled him forward anyways, his shoes silent on the carpet as he made his way to the side of the bed, looking down at him relaxed against the bed, it only made the self loathing grow in his chest until it felt too tight. Minten’s hand slowly moved out as a question, held up for Connor to take, careful enough to not make him flinch again.
Bile rose in his throat as he took the hand jerkily, his whole body reluctant, but allowed him to pull Connor down. A position he’s never been in. He was between Minten’s thighs, his back to his chest, with Minten behind him like he was wrapped around him. “I’ve got you.” The whisper was right by Connors ear and made a shiver move through him unprompted, lips so close to his ear he had to force himself not to squirm.
Connor had only time to blink before Minten's hands trail down to his waistband thumb teasing the elastic that made Connor's breath hitch and body go rigid. “What are you doing?” His voice sounded strained to his own ears, hands glued to his own thighs so he didn't do anything stupid like punch him.
Minten’s hands didn't stop, tugging at the waistband in a silent command for Connor to lift his hips. “I remember how hard you pushed in practice.” Mineten’s voice was right by his ear, quiet and gentle, conversationally like he wasn't pushing down Connor's shorts when he did lift his hips, his boxer briefs went with them, and he wanted to be sick. “Figured you’d still be like that.” Minten murmured, breathing warm against the back of his ear as he pushed Connor's shorts to the middle of his thigh.
His own dick was exposed and pitifully soft against his thigh, the air felt cool against the sensitive skin making him shift slightly before stilling when Minten’s hands settled on his thighs almost soothingly. Everything Connor wanted to say mixed together in his throat like a road block, making his throat tight and nothing came out.
His hands trailed up his thighs as he continued. “I’ve thought about this.” Connor’s whole body went still when Minten's hand wrapped around his soft cock, a silent exhale of air pushed out through his teeth. “Those two goals were for you.” He barely had time to think about the word when his hand dragged up to the tip of his dick dry with friction that made him hiss, and Minten to spew a quiet apology.
He felt like he could breath during the quick intermission of his hand falling away and spitting into it before it was back, and now slick with salvia that wasn't his. “I.. know it doesn't seem like it, but it was the only way to get you in the room, Con.” That nickname that rang in Connor's ears, and made the bile crawl up his throat with a vendetta. But the big hand, wet and tight around him, was a good distraction.
Minten’s hand stroked him slowly, thumb swiping over the head that made him gasp despite trying to stay silent, sending tingles in the base of his spine. His breath was hot on the back of his neck as he worked Connor slowly, like he was drawing something deep from the surface that should be worshipped.
Regardless of Connor’s horror, he started to harden under the touch, the wet slide that sent heat through him made him erect and aching in Minten’s touch far to soon. “God.. You feel perfect.” Minten whispered into his hair like he was experiencing this too, but his hand wrapped perfectly around Connor, like a missing puzzle piece that ripped a low broken groan from Connor's lips.. “Like you were meant for this.” Connor wished he could shut him up, the words settled in his brain like sticky glue.
His hips stuttered up into his hand before he could still them, making him exhale slowly through his nose, his jaw wound tight. “I hate this.” He whispered, strained as he fought away the pleasure he couldn't escape from. Heat pooling warm and hot into his core, and made his thighs tense in between Minten’s.
The heartbeat behind him felt like drums compared to the fire in his own veins, the hand on him moved faster like he could feel him getting closer, toes curling as he tried to stave it off. “You can do it.” Minten murmured in his ear, low and rough, as his hand tightened around his length, thumb pressing on his tip as he worked him faster, rougher, the thumb forced him to hold it. Connor's control snapped.
“Fuck..—shit-” He hissed, stomach muscles straining under his shirt as he tried to curl up, only for Minten’s free hand to gently but firmly to his chest to hold him back and stay still. “I can’t—..oh my god-” He struggled out, the thumb pressed hard against the slit and it felt torturous hanging on the edge. “Shh, you can do it. You’re doing so well.” Minten murmured low and gentle in Connor’s ear, a direct opposite to the rough pace of his hand on Connor’s dick, and the thumb that's denying him.
“Please.. I can’t.. Mint—” The hand stopped, it felt like pin pricks on the sensitive nerves. “That’s not my name, Connor.” He mumbled a little rougher than before, his breath warm on the back of Connor’s neck, the loss of friction and movement was as punishing as the edging.
“I’m—please—” His voice cracked, hips bucking aborted into Minten’s hands when it still didn't move. “You can do it. What’s my name?” Was all Minten said, and it sounded so condescending it made a wave of humiliation roll through him that he couldn’t dwell on. “Fra-ser.. Please—Fraser” He sounded pathetic to his own ears, the horror tipping into want, but the pleasure stopped, and it felt like the edge was getting farther away the longer this went on for.
“There it is.” He mumbled and everything came back, the thumb moved off, and his hand went hard and fast pumping him. He didn't last, the pleasure was all too much before he let out a soft cry, body tensing, as his dick pulsed in his hand as he came, spilling all over Fraser’s hand. Some dribbling onto the hem of his shirt he didn't push up, making him internally curse.
Connor went boneless against him, panting hard, a slight tremble in his thighs as he slowly came down. Fraser’s hand gently uncurled from around him and pulled his hand out of Connor’s sight, but he heard a quiet wet licking sound, he knew what he was doing and couldn't find it in himself to care. The hand still on his chest felt his heartbelt slowly settle.
When he finally found his bones again he shifted, pulling his shorts back up and scrambling off him, putting distance between them. Sitting on the edge of the bed slowing his breathing. “You can keep pretending you don’t want this if it helps.” Fraser’s voice was quiet, grounding as he stood up, wiping the rest of Connor’s release on the sheets, as he righted his own clothing. His glasses were slightly skewed, and his cheeks flushed.
Connor bit the inside of his mouth so he didn't curse him out. “I don’t.” He said flatly, but it was more breathless than he wanted, which made Fraser’s lips curl into a faint smile. “Of course you don't." He agreed easily, but it was obvious he didn't believe it, as he walked easily over to the door. “It was nice seeing you, Connor. Next game?” It was almost too confident, as soon as Connor opened his mouth, he left, slipping out the door.
Glancing down at his own lap, he glanced down at his hands, it was almost like none of that just happened. But he could still feel the ghost of his breath on his neck, the feeling of his big hand wrapped around him, and how his heartbeat felt against his back. The taste of him in his mouth. Connor could still feel him when he left the arena, when he boarded the plane. And especially when he went back to the silence of his apartment, where the ghost of his touch felt like a distant memory.
So what if he thought about it late at night in the isolation of his apartment? The warm breath on the back of his neck, and the quiet, “Like you were meant for this” made him finish way too many times than he’d admit.
First time writing, comments + reblogs encouraged! + If you want part 2 lmk
