#as37

You stumble through the apartment door in the early hours of the morning, bodies tangled in a knot. You’ve been inseparable since the third bar, when Svech turned his head and suddenly seemed to remember you were near on the best night of his career. His eyes brightened and he abandoned the boys and the Cup to put his tongue down your throat. From there, it’s been a one-track mind, even as Alexander and Evgeny and K’Andre dragged you to a fourth and fifth location. 

The boys were actually the ones to send you home when Andrei got a little too handsy and bumped you into the tall table, flush with drinks, and spilled them. The makeout was intense with him licking into your mouth and sucking your lips and touching you, just touching you everywhere he could. It continued in the Uber. Svech grabbed your ass and pulled you practically onto his lap, even leaning over you at one point and trying to grind between your legs. He’s unhinged and you’re not complaining, both swept up in a frenzy by the Your driver, Marcus, obviously got five stars for dealing with that.

It didn’t stop in the elevator, or the hallway as you made your way to Svech’s apartment. He had you tripping over your feet because you couldn’t see where you were going, too caught up in him to open your eyes and walk in a straight line or watch your surroundings. 

You make it inside the apartment nonetheless and that, it appears, is as far as you’ll get. Andrei pins you to the back of the door and crowds into your space, sliding the straps of your top down your arms and dipping his fingers under your skirt, trailing the touch between your legs.

“Svech,” you half-warn, half-moan. You turn your head to avoid his next kiss, his insistent lips landing on your jaw and down your neck. He continues to undress you and you let him. Your clothes pool around your feet and it isn’t long until his join them. “Not here.”

“Yes,” he growls back. His hands wrap around your thighs and he lifts you up, trapping you against the back of the door. “Here.”

His teeth nip your collarbone and you can feel him against your cunt already. The pressure enough to make you forget to push him harder to get your bodies to the bed instead of fucking against the door.

“Oh,” you barely breathe out, a shiver traveling up your skin at the slick touch of his cock.

Your nails dig into his rippling arms as he shifts you easily into the position he wants. Even without him inside you, you know how deep it’ll feel from the stretch of your hamstrings, massaged by the hard planes of his biceps when he closes the space between you, him, and the door behind you to nothing at all. 

His tip brushes your entrance and he bites down on your pulse point at the same time, your eyes rolling back. 

A whimper, and all the fight you have, leaves you. You fold for him in more ways than one, allowing yourself to be manhandled into submission.

“Fuck.” Your voice is high-pitched and breathy, borderline whiny.

Andrei smirks into your neck. “Yeah?” He positions himself at your entrance again and teases forward. 

“Yeah,” you repeat.

He traps your thigh in the crook of his elbow, fingers splaying over your ribs. The possessive touch is almost as good as the way he grinds against you, his cock hot and thick between your folds. Your pussy flexes, wanting to squeeze him, wanting to clench down and feel him inside. 

“Gonna let me fuck you against the door?”

His soft lips dance beneath your earlobe, the gentle flutter contrasting how he has you pinned. How he has you open.

“Yes,” you plead, rolling your hips as an invitation.

He makes a pleased rumble in the back of his throat. “Good girl.”

And then his tip slides past your entrance, the initial stretch morphing into mind-numbing pleasure as you take more of him.

His tongue fills your mouth, swallowing one of your loud moans before it echoes around the room. He braces himself on the door and thrusts hard into you, no preamble, no more teasing, just the punishing pace you've been craving all night long. With each thrust, you bounce off of him, door digging into your back and nowhere to go. His skin claps against yours and his breath transforms into something steady, measured. Between growled praises, he bites his lower lip and grunts and aims for your deepest point, cockhead battering your cervix.

His fingers circle your throat somewhere in the midst of it, your jaw dropping open as you gasp for air, gasp for more, eyes tearing up from how good you feel and how bad you need it. The urge to come is so intense that you can hear yourself babbling about it, mindless to what you’re actually saying. All of it is for Svech, with his glinting, sharp eyes and narrow bridge of his brow. He watches you, evaluates the heat blooming across yours face and creeping down your neck. 

Your chest heaves, trying to catch your breath with your mouth hanging open. His gaze goes to your tongue, a blank canvas for him to mark. He gathers saliva in his mouth and spits it into yours from only an inch away, immediately diving in to massage it into your tastebuds with his dexterous muscle, feeling how you melt beneath him. 

He continues to slam into you, chasing a peak he’s desperate to release inside you. Your warm walls squeeze him tight. You're just as desperate to take it, ready to accept the seed he gives you and take the consequences that come with it. The kiss of his bubbling slit against your sweet spot is too much, too good. Your vision is spotty and his has tunneled, nothing but burning red, coursing, carnal, primitive desire on his mind. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he starts to spill inside of you. He lets out a long, strained moan, the sound leaking from him even as he kisses and bites your skin, burying himself as deep in your heat as he can. 

His hot sperm painting your walls starts a chain reaction. You’re hit by the force of your climax, cunt spasming around his length. Your toes curl from the sheer intensity of the orgasm, silent – or squeaky, because your vocal chords can’t seem to stop telling him how good he’s doing – moans forming an expression of pure relief and ecstasy on your face.

He thrusts a few times more as you both ride the aftershocks, his cock weakly spurting out the last traces of his feral lust. His cock slips out as he draws back, bringing a gush of white liquid with it. The wetness drips from your bodies onto the floor and Svech watches it happen, fascinated by his mark. He doesn’t let any more escape, though, three thin fingers passing over your hole reverently before plugging it and curling inside.

You black out at the sensation, everything too much in the best way. Your body is stiff and sore but it’s right for you to be positioned like this, by him, for him. This is what people live for, why they can’t function without the person they love — because it’s too perfect and fulfilling to want anything else, to want to be anywhere else. You’d stay pressed against this door over and over a thousand times if it meant you got to come like that again, like you got to take Andrei’s cock like that again.

You gasp when his fingers trill over your sweet spot, digging your nails into his shoulder. He’s back to kissing your neck, licking over the pools of sweat in your collarbones and sucking possessive marks on your skin like a man with something to prove.

“Fuck, Andrei, fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s too much, oh my God,” you cry out, writhing on his fingers. 

He doesn’t stop because he knows your limits better than the back of his hand and can tell that you’re seconds away from pushing through the overstimulation and releasing for a second time. He’s hungry for it, mouthing over your clavicle and looking up at you with lust-clouded eyes that are so dark you’d swear his pupils have taken over. 

He even dares to sink down to a knee, still holding you up against the door, and gets his mouth on your pussy. The second his lips wrap around your clit, you come so hard that stars dance along your vision.

Andrei carries you through it with soothing, self-indulgent licks to your sensitive cunt. He draws his fingers out of you and cleans you up with his doting mouth, simply trying to taste the last of you, before he sets you back on solid ground. 

You’re dancing. Actually dancing—laughing, off-beat, hair sticking to your lip gloss—and Andrei is right there with you, towering and grinning, moving with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you’re bad at something and doing it anyway. You’re dancing with Andrei because it’s easy. Because he showed up when you texted come out with us and didn’t ask questions. Because he never makes things weird.

Your friends are nearby, a loose circle of bodies and laughter, watching you with knowing looks that make your skin prickle.

“Stop,” you mouth at them, laughing, when you catch one of them raising their eyebrows exaggeratedly.

Andrei leans down. “What?”

“They think you’re in love with me,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He almost misses a step.

“This is not true,” he says a little too fast.

“Exactly,” you grin. “I keep telling them that.”

Across the circle, your friend mouths liar at Andrei when she thinks you’re not looking. He pretends not to see it, ears pink under the lights.

“See?” you shout over the music. “You’re not terrible.”

He leans down so you can hear him, warm breath at your ear. “This is a lie you tell because you are kind.”

You spin, almost trip, and he catches you automatically, hands steady at your waist. For a second it’s just the two of you, your laugh stuck in your throat, his eyes dropping a fraction too long. Friends, you remind yourself. Always friends.

You turn back to the music, feeling light. Safe. Then something shifts. The air feels colder somehow, sharper. The laughter behind you fades into background noise as you spot him near the bar. Your ex. Leaning like he belongs there, eyes already locked on you. Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you mutter.

Andrei follows your line of sight. His body goes rigid, like a switch flipped.

“Are you sure I cannot punch him in the face?” he asks, voice low and serious.

You bark out a surprised laugh. “Yes.”

He watches your ex take a step closer. “What if I just break his nose a little?”

You grab his arm, half-amused, half-alarmed. “Andrei, what has gotten into you?!”

“He is staring,” Andrei says, jaw tight. “I do not like this.”

Your ex pushes onto the dance floor, smug and familiar in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Hey,” he says, eyes sliding over you like he’s allowed to do that. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Before you can respond, Andrei steps slightly in front of you. Not blocking—just… there.

“We are busy,” he says flatly.

Your ex laughs. “Right. And you are…?”

Her friend,” Andrei says. The word is careful. Deliberate.

Your ex smirks. “Relax, man. I’m just saying hi.”

“No,” Andrei replies. “You are making her uncomfortable.”

Your heart stutters. You hadn’t said that. He just knew.

Your friends have gone very quiet behind you.

“I can speak for myself,” you say, though your voice wobbles. “And I don’t want to talk.”

Your ex scoffs, mutters something under his breath, and backs off, disappearing into the crowd. The music rushes back in all at once.

You exhale. “Okay. Thank you. But also—wow.”

Andrei turns to you, hands still clenched. “I am sorry if that was too much.”

“It wasn’t,” you say quickly. “I just didn’t know you had… that in you.”

He shrugs, awkward now that the threat is gone. “I do not like when people think they can treat you badly.”

Your friends reappear like a storm.

“ANDREI,” one of them hisses, eyes wide. “That was so hot.”

Another grins at you. “You still think he doesn’t like you?”

You laugh, flustered. “Guys, stop.”

Andrei looks like he might actually melt into the floor.

“We should—uh—dance somewhere else,” you say, grabbing his hand before you can overthink it. He follows instantly. The song shifts to something slower, heavier. The lights dim. You sway together, closer now, your hands settling on his shoulders like they belong there. His hands hover for a second before resting at your waist, careful, reverent.

“You really don’t have to protect me,” you say softly.

He looks down at you, expression open in a way you’re not used to seeing. “I know. But I want to.”

Your chest tightens. You think about the way he always waits for you after practice. The way he texts to make sure you got home. The way your friends have been insufferably sure about this for years.

“You know,” you murmur, “everyone keeps telling me you have feelings for me.”

His breath catches. Just barely. “And what do you tell them?”

“That they’re wrong,” you admit.

He nods, a small, resigned motion. “Okay.”

Something about that—about how easily he accepts it—makes your heart ache.

You look at him properly now. Really look. The way his thumb moves absentmindedly against your side. The way he watches your face like it’s his anchor. Maybe this wasn’t sudden. Maybe you just weren’t ready to see it before.

You lean in, resting your forehead against his chest. “I don’t think they’re wrong,” you whisper.

He stills completely.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice barely audible over the music.

You smile, slow and certain. “Yeah. I think tonight kind of gave you away.”

The Hurricanes’ annual Christmas party buzzed with electric energy, the sharp tang of mulled wine mingling with the faint whiff of fresh pine from the enormous tree dominating the corner of the room. Twinkling lights reflected off the polished floor like scattered stars, and the sound of laughter spilled through the Staal’s home which was graciously hosting the party.

You had been surprised by the invitation — after all, you were the team's physical trainer, not a player or coach, and the invisible boundaries of professionalism always seemed rigid in your world. But when Andrei casually mentioned he hoped you’d come, his lips quirking into that familiar, teasing grin, you found yourself saying yes before logic could intervene.

You had been dancing around Andrei for months, a silent game of stolen glances and quipped comments. His presence seemed to fill the room before he even entered it — broad shoulders framed by sharp suits off the ice, the way his laughter curled warmly around your name. You were supposed to be focused, impartial, and professional. And yet, the air between you two always crackled, a tension you couldn’t ignore but refused to name. Not when it could cost both of you your places in the team you’d come to think of as a second family.

The party was in full swing, a kaleidoscope of festive cheer, but your attention drifted as you stood near the kitchen, swirling the untouched mulled wine in your hand. Andrei stood across the room, his light blue dress shirt fitting snugly against his sculpted chest and shoulders. He neglected to style his hair, allowing loose strands to fall over his forehead.

Jesperi and Seth stood next to you, their chatter filling the space between your half-hearted nods and small smiles. They were quick to catch on to your stolen attention, following your gaze across the room to their teammate.

“So…” Jesperi started, his tone deliberately casual. “You gonna make a move tonight?”

Your head snapped to his, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? Make a move? On who?” you said, feigning ignorance with a laugh that sounded far too nervous.

Seth furrowed his brows. “You are terrible at playing dumb. We’re talking about Svechy.”

“I don’t—” You began, but Jesperi cut you off with a pointed look.

“Don’t even try to deny it. It’s so obvious,” he said, his smirk deepening. “You light up every time he’s around.”

“And it’s mutual,” Seth added with a knowing nod. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? The guy’s a goner.”

You rolled your eyes, desperate to deflect. “You two are imagining things. Andrei and I are just… friends.”

Jesperi scoffed, shaking his head. “Friends? Right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

“Or find excuses to be around each other all the time,” Seth chimed in. “Oh Andrei, I think we should work on legs today. Y/n, let's plan my workouts for this week, what do you think about my muscles, are they too big?” Seth said, pitching his voice up to imitate you, then pitching it down and putting on a horrible Russian accent to imitate Andrei.

“Okay, fine!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. “Maybe I like him. A little.”

Jesperi grinned triumphantly. “Finally, some honesty.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” you continued quickly. “Even if I did, it’s not like I can just—”

“Why not?” Seth interrupted. “He’s into you, you’re into him. Stop overthinking it and go talk to him. Let it happen naturally.”

Before you could argue, they nudged you forward, sending you stumbling toward the drink station where Andrei stood. His back was to you, his tall frame silhouetted against the warm glow of the lights. When he turned and saw you, his face lit up with that boyish grin that always made your heart race.

“Hey,” he said, his accent curling softly around the word. “Enjoying the party?”

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you tried to steady your nerves. “It’s great. The Staals really know how to host. How about you? Having fun?”

Andrei shrugged, his grin softening into something more genuine. “It’s nice to see everyone relaxed. No talk about hockey for once.” He leaned against the counter, gesturing to the collection of bottles and mixers in front of him. “You want something better than that?” He nodded toward the mulled wine in your hand.

You looked down at the glass, realizing it was still nearly full. “Not a fan of mulled wine?”

He chuckled. “It’s… okay. But I make good drinks. Let me prove it?”

You raised a brow, intrigued by the sudden shift in your conversation. “Alright, Svechnikov. Impress me.”

His grin widened as he rolled up his sleeves exposing his toned forearms that had your pulse skipping. He started pulling ingredients together, his movements precise but unhurried. As he worked, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of small talk.

“So,” he began, pouring a splash of something clear into a shaker. “How did they convince you to come? You never come to team events when we invite you.”

You laughed softly, leaning against the counter beside him. “I was reluctant. But someone…” you glanced at him meaningfully, “mentioned it might be fun.”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the faintest blush rising to his cheeks. “Smart guy.”

“Debatable,” you teased, earning a low chuckle from him.

He handed you the finished drink, a deep red liquid garnished with a large ice cube and curl of citrus peel. “Try this.”

You took a sip, the vibrant flavours sitting nicely on your tongue. “Wow. Okay, I’m impressed. Maybe you missed your calling as a bartender.”

“Only for you,” he replied lightly, his eyes lingering on yours a beat longer than necessary.

The warmth of his gaze made your cheeks flush, and you turned away, motioning toward the doorway. “Come on, let’s get out of everyone’s way.”

You stepped into the archway, leaning casually against the frame. The party hummed around you, the soft murmur of voices and distant music blending into the background. Andrei joined you, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the fresh pine in the air.

It was comfortable, standing there with him, but your bubble of quiet abruptly popped when Jesperi’s voice rang out.

“Oh, look who’s under the mistletoe!”

You blinked, looking up in alarm to find the infamous sprig dangling above your heads. Your stomach flipped as the realization dawned.

The room erupted in playful catcalls and whistles, and you could feel the heat rushing to your face. “I didn’t even—”

Andrei cleared his throat, his usual confidence visibly shaken as he glanced between you and the crowd. His ears were tinged red, but he didn’t move away.

Seth grinned like the both of you had fallen directly into his trap. “You know the rule, guys!”

“Y/n,” he said, his voice quieter now, barely audible over the noise. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, his question hanging in the air between you like a fragile thread. You could only nod, your breath catching as you whispered, “You don’t even have to ask.”

Andrei didn’t hesitate. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch gentle but sure. When his lips met yours, the noise of the room faded away entirely. The kiss was soft, sweet, and tinged with the faintest hint of the drink he’d made you.

Cheers erupted around you, breaking the spell, but neither of you pulled away immediately. When you finally broke apart, your eyes locked with Andrei’s, and his smile—soft and tinged with wonder—was enough to send your heart racing all over again. A loud whoop from who you think was Brent snapped you both back to reality, the crowd of teammates and their partners still clapping and whistling like an audience at a grand performance.

“Okay, okay, show’s over!” Andrei called, his voice carrying over the din. He raised a hand, waving off the group with an exaggerated flourish. “Go back to your drinks! Nothing more to see!”

The crowd groaned good-naturedly, scattering back to their conversations and games, though not without a few lingering smirks and winks. Seth gave you a double thumbs-up before Jesperi dragged him back to the snack table, likely to avoid further trouble.

Andrei turned back to you, his expression shifting from playful to something quieter, deeper. His brows knit together for a moment as if he was gathering his thoughts. Then, he let out a soft, self-conscious laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I wasn’t planning to do that tonight,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “But I’m happy I did.”

Your chest tightened, the honesty in his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “Me too,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a small step closer, the air between you growing heavier with unspoken words. “I have to tell you something,” he began, his accent thickening slightly with the weight of his emotions. “I’ve liked you for a long time, y/n. Longer than I probably should. Every time I see you, I want to be close to you. Make you laugh. Find excuses to keep talking to you. I tried to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. Not tonight.”

Relief washed over his face like a sunrise, his broad shoulders visibly relaxing. He let out a laugh, the sound rich and light. “I was so afraid you didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I almost didn’t come to this party because I thought you wouldn’t talk to me.”

You laughed, your hand brushing his lightly. “And here I thought I was the one avoiding you.”

He reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours with surprising ease. “So, no more avoiding?” he asked, his grin returning in full force. “No more pretending?”

“No more pretending,” you agreed, squeezing his hand.

the bartender approaches you with a refill, the same maple whiskey cocktail you've been sipping on all night. "oh! thank you, but i was going to close out my tab, actually," you explain awkwardly, not yet taking the drink.

"drink's paid for," the bartender says simply, nodding to the man on your left.

you turn to him, surprise painted on your features, and the man smiles. "figured this would get you talking." he says. he has a soft accent, it curls around his syllables and falls fuzzy on your ears as he continues, "i won't bite. unless you're into that sort of thing."

you're shocked by how forward he is, giggling as you sip the cocktail he so graciously provided. "sorry i'm just. nervous, i guess? you're like. like really handsome," you say, giggling and covering your mouth, shocked at your own words.

"i'm andrei," he introduces himself, standing from his stool to slide into the empty one directly next to you. "and, thank you. i think that you are—" he pauses, eyes drifting over your outfit, resting momentarily on your lips, "—very pretty yourself."

you smile and shake his hand, introducing yourself in turn. he asks about your day, you explain you're visiting your college town as an ncsu alum. he asks about your major, what you do for work. you ask about his family, and where his accent is from.

it's not until after, when you're in the hotel and texting him that you made it home safe, that you realize. you never asked what he did for work.

"i wonder what he does," you ask aloud, to no one in particular. isabelle is in the bathroom wiping off her makeup, while your other friends hannah and imani lounge in one of the large hotel beds. hannah looks up, interested, and you continue. "he said he's from russia. wonder what he’s doing in north carolina?”

imani quirks an eyebrow. “what was his name?”

“andrei,” you respond simply, followed by a thud from the bathroom.

isabelle shrieks your name, “no. there’s no way.”

“what?” you ask, still clueless, sitting up now.

"oh my god. you—ohmygod—you've got to lock this down. that's—" she runs a hand through her hair, face painted in disbelief. "do you know who that is?"

your eyes dart to hannah, then imani, looking for a hint. but they’re no help, and you shake your head.

“go ahead and google andrei svechnikov for me,” isabelle tells you, taking a seat beside you on the mattress. “that him?”

your jaw drops, reading his stats and info. “oh my god.” you swipe through the pictures, a small smile tugging at your lips as you remember his face.

isabelle sighs dramatically. “this is like it for you. you have to marry him.”

seconds later your phone pings with a message.

andrei: I’d love to see you again. Does dinner on Friday work for you?

you like the message, already mentally clearing the day as you tell isabelle, “well, i’ll let you know how the first date goes.”