#bh27

barrett’s still riding the high, grinning like he just won the fucking cup, drunk off tequila and adrenaline and the way his whole team damn near carried him through the bar like a king, even though they lost. first hat trick in franchise history. his name’s all over the highlights, the replays, the sports talk already running clips of him lighting up the scoreboard, and you’re drunk, too—not just on liquor but on the sight of him like this, loose and happy, all cocky smiles and strong hands keeping you steady when you stumbled up the stairs to your shared apartment. now you’re inside, door shut, shoes kicked off, and the heat of the night is still in your veins, still simmering low in your belly when you look at him.

“c’mon,” you purr, stepping into him, fingers teasing at the hem of his t-shirt. “let me congratulate you properly.”

his smirk flickers into something darker, something that makes your stomach clench. “yeah?” his voice is rough, thick with booze and victory, and he doesn’t stop you when you sink to your knees, looking up at him with big, adoring eyes. doesn’t stop you when you grip his pants and pull them down, dragging his briefs with them, freeing him from the tight fabric and letting his cock slap up against his stomach, heavy, flushed, thick.

“mmh, fuck,” you sigh, licking your lips, letting your fingers wrap around the base, warm and firm in your grip. you love this. love the weight of him, love the way his cock twitches in your hand when you breathe against it. he’s still smirking down at you, but it stutters when you drag your tongue up the underside, slow and hot, pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss to the tip before sucking it past your lips.

his groan is deep, wrecked already, hips jerking just slightly before he fists a hand in your hair. “fuck, you—yeah, baby, that’s it.”

you hum around him, tongue flicking, swirling, teasing the sensitive ridge beneath the head before sinking lower, stretching your mouth around the thick length of him. spit pools, your lips slick, stretched wide as you take him deeper, letting yourself drool over him, making it messy, filthy, hot. barrett’s breathing sharpens, fingers tightening in your hair as you bob your head, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, dragging your tongue along every thick, pulsing inch.

“shit, you’re so good at that,” he grits out, voice strained, hips twitching forward like he wants to fuck deeper into your mouth but is forcing himself to hold back. you don’t want him to. you grip his thigh, nails digging in just slightly, and relax your throat, letting him slide in farther, letting the head of his cock nudge against the back of your mouth.

“holy fuck,” he growls, hips jerking involuntarily now, pushing just a little deeper, and you moan around him, throat fluttering, spit dripping down your chin as you let him take, let him use your mouth the way he needs. he’s panting now, head tipping back, jaw clenched, fingers still tangled in your hair, guiding you, fucking into your mouth with slow, deep strokes that have you soaked between your thighs.

you can tell he’s close when his breathing goes ragged, when his groans break into something rougher, less controlled. his cock is throbbing, thick and leaking against your tongue, and you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes glossy, lips puffy and slick. “c’mon, barrett,” you whisper, voice ruined. “wanna taste you. wanna swallow every fucking drop.”

his eyes darken, pupils blown wide as his grip in your hair tightens. “fuck—yeah, baby, fuck—” and then he’s cumming, groaning deep and guttural as he spills down your throat, hips twitching, hand gripping tight as you swallow him down, sucking through every pulse, milking him for every last drop until he’s shuddering above you.

when you finally pull back, lips glistening, breath heavy, he’s staring down at you with a dazed, fucked-out smirk. “best fucking hat trick of my life,” he mutters, voice hoarse, and you grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before licking your lips, tasting him again.