#hughescest

To Quinn and Jack’s credit, they were really focused for, like, the first two hours they were out on the ice.

But, as summer training tends to go, they get bored out there. They’re tired, aching, and they’ve run out of drills to try. Quinn makes a trip to the bench to chug some water and then finds a spot standing on the blue line, lazily flinging pucks into the net. 

Then Jack charges at him. Laughing, Quinn takes off too, and he lets himself be chased until he switches direction on a dime and manages to body Jack right into the boards, holding him there, both their chests heaving. Jack struggles against him just for the sake of it, then lets himself be held, cheeks pinkening as he looks into Quinn’s eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Quinn breathes back. “We got a whole hour more out here, you know.”

“Yeah.” Jack catches the sleeve of Quinn’s jersey, tugging himself along when Quinn pulls back, skating lazily backwards. “Don’t really feel like skating anymore.”

Quinn smiles. “No? What do you wanna do? We paid good money for this ice time, baby.”

Jack gives him a shy look, then smiles like he always does when he’s up to something. “It’s just us, right?” he teases. “Didn’t invite anyone else?”

“Just us,” Quinn assures him, and all at once it’s like the breath’s been knocked out of him when Jack sinks to his knees in front of him right there on the ice. 

He drops his stick and brings his hands up to paw desperately at Quinn’s thighs, tilting his head back to look at Quinn, eyes big and wet and blue. If his helmet wasn’t in the way, he’d be mouthing at Quinn’s crotch by now, despite all the layers between his mouth and Quinn’s cock. He whines about it, long and high, and Quinn’s gloved fingers brush under his chin.

“You wanna do this right here?” Quinn asks. He pops the snap on Jack’s helmet, tugs it off his head, and smooths his fingers through Jack’s long, damp hair.

“Uh-huh,” Jack hums and presses his face right into the spot between Quinn’s thighs. It feels nice like this, having Quinn’s big hockey glove in his hair, firm and guiding.

Quinn coos at him, soft, and brushes some of the hair back from Jack’s forehead to get a good look at him. He looks so soft and sweet like this, eyes all pleading, mouth pink and warm, desperate to be filled. “Okay, baby,” he murmurs, and feels Jack’s shoulders relax in response. “Take it out. I’m not gonna do it for you.”

Jack is quick to drop his gloves after that. He holds Quinn’s jersey up long enough that he can unbuckle the belt on Quinn’s breezers, then impatiently tugs them down, making Quinn wobble on his skates.

“Easy,” Quinn teases, hand still in Jack’s hair. Then Jack’s fingers are curling into the waistband of his jock pants, pulling those down just as fast. Quinn winces when the cold rink air hits his exposed skin, but unfortunately, he’s keyed up enough that even the bite of chilly air doesn’t flag his erection.

Jack isn’t able to get Quinn’s jock pants down very far, since his shin pads are in the way and all, but it’s enough for him. Needily, he opens his mouth and takes Quinn onto his tongue, then closes his lips around the head, eyelashes fluttering when he sneaks a glance up at his big brother.

“Baby,” sighs Quinn, and strokes lazily at Jack’s hair. Jack’s mouth has always felt like home. It’s warm and wet and pink and perfect and makes Quinn feel like heaven, taking him like this. “This why you kept missin’ the net? Needy for this?”

A soft whine slips from Jack’s mouth and down Quinn’s cock. Then Jack nods, meek, lashes wet with unshed tears. He’s always needy for it, and Quinn knows it. Jack takes Quinn deeper, swallowing him down, relaxing his throat just as Quinn starts rocking his hips, gently fucking his mouth just the way he likes it.

It’s hot, Jack thinks, doing it out here where anyone could see. They haven’t been interrupted before, the few times they’ve done this, but the possibility lingers hot and heavy over their heads, their secret hanging in the fragile privacy of the rink. He gazes up at Quinn, eyes big and wide and pleading, and thankfully it’s like Quinn can read his mind because he’s rewarded with Quinn’s hand pushing hard on the back of his head, forcing him onto his cock.

Jack chokes in surprise, fresh tears springing to his eyes, then relaxes, feeling his chin become wetter and messier with drool. He can take it. He can always take it.

“Such a good boy,” Quinn murmurs, fond, so fond that it hurts. “You take my dick the best, Jacky, you know that?”

The words are like a lightning bolt of heat right to Jack’s cock. He squirms, wishing he could get a hand on himself, but settles for the messy handjob he knows he’ll get in the showers later. Then he nods. Of course he takes Quinn’s cock the best. He’s the best one to ever do it.

Quinn isn’t as rough with him this time around; he keeps his rhythm lazy while he fucks into the heat of Jack’s mouth, moreso a love affair than anything else. But his orgasm still creeps up on him fast. He gasps and lets it out in a tight, low groan, fingers grasping at Jack’s hair and tugging hard enough to sting. “I’m close, baby,” he tells him, heat lancing through him just from watching Jack’s face light up in response. “You want it?”

Jack rolls his eyes. He can’t believe Quinn would even ask him that. He keeps his throat relaxed, flexes his tongue for Quinn to rut against, and a few seconds later he’s rewarded by Quinn spilling into his mouth, letting out a long, slow exhale through his nose. Jack swallows it all down greedily; while normally he’d pull back and show Quinn his mess pooled on his tongue, he needs this more than ever.

Quinn drops his gloves and fixes himself up, tucking himself back into his jock pants and pulling his breezers right back over top. He’s sore and spent in the best way, and even though they have the better part of an hour left on the ice, he’s desperate to take Jack to the locker room and get him off in the showers in just the way he deserves.

“Thank you, Quinny,” Jack murmurs, voice all rough and wrecked. He looks so sweet like this, still on his knees, lips wet with spit, cheeks flushed hot. Quinn has to bend over and kiss him right then and there.

“Let’s go, baby,” Quinn says, tossing Jack’s helmet into his lap and ruffling his hair again. “We’ll get our ice time back another day.”