#jhugh

She lifted her head a little more and turned to see Jacks arm loosely around her waist.

She got out of Tate’s bed, pulling on her discarded jeans and sweater, before stepping into the en suite bathroom, flinching as the cold marble tile shocks her warm feet. She looks in the mirror, taking in her messy hair, sticky face, and dark circles. As much as she tried to stay confident for Tate, she wasn’t a particularly frequent lover; meaning she stayed up anxiously most of the night, scared she weirded both Jack and Tate out. She dipped her face into the bowl of Tate’s marble sink before splashing freezing water on her skin. When she rose she was startled to see Jack standing in the doorway.

“I swear I wasn’t snooping, I just wanted to wash the cum and sweat off my face” she said far too crudely.

“Didn’t think you were” Jack reassured, his hands resting on his hips, “anyways, I was gonna head out in like 30, if that works for you?”

“Uh I was just gonna catch the train, one is heading that way in like 15 minutes” she said with a soft, sleepy, almost awkward smile splaying on her lips.

“What? I told you I could drive you back” he said, concerned for her safety at this time of morning.

“Like a billion people use public transit a year, I’ll be fine” she assured, not wanting to inconvenience him.

“She would kill me if I made you take the train home,” he insisted again.

“Well you’re not seeing me again, so she doesn’t need to worry about me” she said, looking at him through the mirror, not having the confidence to turn around and face him.

“Does she know that?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips subconsciously forming a pout.

“No, I think it was implied” she said, rubbing her now damp face.

“I didn’t think it was, I know I meant it when I said that we’d make you cum next time.” He said turning back, seeing Tate stir in her sleep, sleepily gripping one of her plush pillows imagining it was Y/N.

“I don’t do men” she said looking back at the counter, her hands gripping the cool counter like it was the only thing keeping her from diving off a cliff.

He stood there awkwardly, any follow up question felt invasive or invalidating. What was he supposed to say? Some shit about being able to change her mind? Ask her if she was sure? There wasn’t anything he could say to get more clarification, not that he was entitled to any.

“I’m gonna catch that train, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice higher pitched and trembling, her comment clearly bringing up something she’s ashamed of.

“I don’t feel weird about you being a lesbian” he said, the topic foreign for him. In a field like hockey, he didn’t come across too many queer characters, out ones anyway. He knew women’s sports were different, that they had more gay people, but it wasn’t something he ever commented on, or really interacted with.

“I’m not a lesbian,” she said quietly, leaving the bathroom and going down the hall towards Tates kitchen, to locate her coat and keys.

A small part of her hoped she would lose him, he’d be too uncomfortable to follow her; he’d drop it, let her ghost both of them, trust that she wouldn’t tell a soul (which she wouldn’t). She found herself to be sorely mistaken, his feet tapping against the vinyl flooring as he follows her to the kitchen island.

“You can talk to me” he said rubbing his face, trying to find leverage in this conversation, “you explained how to eat pussy to me last night, you have something on me, now please, just talk to me” he pled, his voice higher, and whiney, drawing out his vowels.

“This isn’t a fucking competition, I’m never seeing either of you again,” she said still frenetically looking for her keys.

Tate emerges from her bed, her eyes droopy with sleep.

“Never seeing us again?” She asked with a whine, rubbing her hazel eyes with a loose fist.

She let out a loud groan at yet another person coming to talk to her about her whereabouts. “Babe, it was fun, but I’m not the person you guys need” she said, her voice softening to match Tates sleepy stance.

“What do you mean, not what we need?” Jack interjected quickly, he liked her more than he cared to admit. She wasn’t his normal type, not as thin, a little more rugged, far from the chic girls he had dated in the past; but, she was pretty, she was soft, kind, real. She was exactly what they needed, someone to care for Tate in a way he couldn’t, and someone to put him in his place, in a way Tate wouldn’t.

“You want lessons on how to make a woman cum without your cock, she wants to figure out if she likes having sex with women. That’s the job for a very well paid escort, not me,” she said, her tone sharpening as she turned away from Tate.

“I don’t want an escort, I want you” Tate whined, suddenly waking up at the idea of you being gone for good.

She let out a soft groan. She wasn’t particularly sexual, no matter how much her friends made it seem like they were all a group of whores. As much as she wanted to help Tate, if you could even use that term, she didn’t love the feeling of being disposable, of being at the bottom of the ranks, an afterthought. It would be Jack and Tate, always, with a random side character that appears on occasion.

“That’s sweet, baby, I’m not sure it would work,” she said, putting on a small fake pout, hoping she could get through this whole debacle without having to reference her sexuality, or her reasoning for not wanting to continue this.

Tate lets out a small, almost choked noise, “I feel mean for not making you cum” she frowned, letting out small sniffles.

She frowned back, opening her arms for Tate, knowing there was no way she was making the 7:15 train.

“You’re not mean, honey, I didn’t even take my jeans off last night” she laughed softly, rubbing Tates back and stroking her hair.

“I know, I know” she hiccuped, her sobs only getting louder, like she was blaming herself for Y/N not coming back, had she not been selfish, she wouldn’t be so inclined to run. Y/N looked at Jack with wide eyes, hoping he’d be able to reassure her, as he was playing boyfriend, but he remained unhelpful, mirroring her expression.

“Baby, it isn’t your fault, this just isn’t something I can do long term, that’s all, it’s all me” she promised, trying to calm Tate down, it seemingly worked, as her breathing slowed.

Jack stepped in, “why can’t you?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious, but she knew he only wanted to argue.

“I’m not a fan of being used as some sex coach, I, shockingly, have feelings and can get attached” she snarled, harsher than she intended, but making herself clear.

“Hey, hey, no one assumed you were some emotionless freak” he said, trying to reassure her, it felt foreign as their interactions only revolved around Tate.

“Do you still need a ride?” He asked, seeing that he needed to leave a few minutes ago, “actually, I don’t care, you’re not taking the train” he said. He walked over and gave a pouty Tate a soft kiss, “go back to bed, babe,” he said before murmuring something about convincing Y/N to stay.

They walked to her apartments parking complex, saving Tate and all of her guests from dealing with the awful West Village street parking. She followed him quietly, stopping at his car, some fancy sports car one of her friends boyfriends would totally drool over. He walked towards the passenger seat to open the door, before walking to the drivers side, without a word.

“Put your address in” he said, opening Apple maps on the touchscreen. She nodded, opting for putting in her college and walking the rest of the way home.

“You live in Smith Library?” he asked, squinting at the final destination.

“No, it’s faster for you and I could use the steps” she said, trying to ignore the shame burning in her chest, the feeling of embarrassment at where she lived. She wasn’t dumb, when she learned who Tate and Jack were she did her own digging. Read about Jacks hockey career, listened to Tates music; learned years of information, former relationships, if they were good at what they did (spoiler: yes they are good). She learned that she didn’t fit into their world at all. What business does a girl who deems Target sweatpants her ‘good ones’ have with a man making $8 million a year, or an international pop star who sings about people not making the cut to be deemed high class. Sure, it was just a line, something snide and snarky about an ex, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a little true in her mind.

“I don’t mind the extra miles” he said, looking at her pouty thinking face.

She hummed giving a soft nod, changing the directions to her small apartment complex, adding an extra three minutes to the ETA. A part of her hoped the rundown brownstone would scare him and consequently, Tate off.

“All this fuss for only three minutes?” He asked teasingly.

“Three minutes is three minutes” she mumbled, crossing her arms and slouching low into his seat, seeing the time of arrival hit just over 30 minutes. She was dreading all nineteen hundred seconds of it.

He hummed, sensing her discomfort.

“Are you gonna talk to me?” He teased, grabbing her knee and squeezing, something she had never experienced at the hands of a man before.

“Talk about what?” She asked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Maybe this whole, ‘I can’t do it’ thing” he said, tapping on the steering wheel with an irritating nonchalance.

“What part of that is difficult to understand?” She hissed, tugging at the collar of her sweater, feeling like she’s choking.

“We both want you there, clearly you liked the idea enough to agree to it at least once” he said.

“And I thought over it and I don’t feel comfortable doing it?” She hissed, wishing she could jump out of the car, which doesn’t seem that difficult in stop and go traffic.

“What part? Can we fix it?” He asked, he had no idea why he was so committed to her staying with them.

“There’s nothing to fix! I don’t want to be a third, this isn’t the fucking big brother program. I’m not playing mentor for you” she said, her voice trembling, trying to sound more aggressive, but all she sounded was scared.

“Since when has this been you helping me?” He asked, his tone accusatory.

“Do you not remember me explaining why you should eat a girl out?” She asked, her tone still stiff.

“Okay, yeah, but that wasn’t what you were there for” he argued back, “just be fucking honest, is there anything we can do to make you stay?” He asked pleading, he didn’t want to see Tate that night with bad news if he didn’t try everything.

“I’m not fit to be a third, or some guest speaker in your relationship” she said, candid enough to make him believe her, hiding the other reasons she may not want to pursue something with them.

“What if it wasn’t a third? Well, yes you would be third, but it isn’t like, you’re just a stand in” Jack stammered, feeling nervous in front of her for the first time.

“We had sex once and you want to become a polycule, this isn’t Portland” she laughed, hoping the joke could lighten the mood.

“You’re into Tate, and you said you’re into men; what am I missing? Why can’t we do this?” He asked, his tone almost whiney; rationally he knew he shouldn’t he so attached, it was one night for him, and a couple nights for Tate, but the idea of losing her makes him feel sick.

“I’m hardly into men” she mumbled, shrinking in on herself. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to Jack, or men for that matter, it was that she didn’t know what to do around them. She knew how to be good to women, how to be a guiding hand. Sure, submissive men existed, but that often involved a strap on and being called ‘mommy’ which she wasn’t fond of. All of that also ignored the glaring problem at hand—she was not rich, nor famous, she was actually poor and quite unpopular among her classmates, not someone who should be hanging around Jack Hughes and Tate McRae.

“What does that mean?” He asked.

“It means I don’t date men, kiss, sure, maybe the occasional blowjob, but I don’t see them consistently” she said, it sounded more promiscuous than she meant for it to, but there is so easy way to tell a man that ‘the idea of actually being attend you makes me violently ill’.

“Hm?” He hummed, an attempt to pry more information from her. Which shockingly worked, her anxious rambles tumbling out:

“I don’t know how to date a guy, what do you mean he makes the decisions, he’s supposed to lead, I know how to date girls, how to make them all mushy and soft” she rambled when it struck him, this was the exact issue Tate had when it came to Y/N.

“I can help you, judgement free” he said, placing his hand on her knee again.

She let out a small whine, “that doesn’t solve the fact that you’re both fucking insanely rich and I’m insanely not” she huffed, rubbing her hands over her face.

“In what fucking world do you think that matters?” He almost spat, appalled by the thought that he or Tate would be so inconsiderate about their differences, “we’re not stupid, you don’t need to worry about money, or anything like that. And you think we want another famous person for more eyes on us, fuck no” he said before she could even jump in.

“There is no way that this works” she said, seeing her apartment building coming into sight.

“Here’s my number, text me about this” he said, as he parked in front of her building, giving her a business card his agent forced him to get years ago.

“Nice cardstock” she hummed, flicking the sturdy paper with her finger.

“Yeah, yeah, send me a text when you get in” he said laughing as she flipped him off.

unknown number: it’s y/n, got in safe.

jack hughes: reacted ♥️ to this message

jack hughes: dinner tonight, you and me. battello, i’ll pick you up at 6

y/n: ?????

y/n: $50-100????? for italian??? can we go to a fucking olive garden dawg??

jack hughes: we need to work on this language thing

jack hughes: no. part of the dating thing is letting people take care of you.

y/n: the men in my life will venmo request for a $2 coffee, i do not need to learn this lol

jack hughes: fucking ridiculous, be ready by 6, dress nice but not too nice

y/n: reacted 👎 to this message

Regardless of her irritation for the restaurant he picked, by 6pm, she was ready. In a pair of bootcut, heather gray slacks that hugged her ass and hips, and a silky cream blouse, just low enough to reveal the black lace bralette underneath. As she finished curling her hair, her roommate, Charlotte, came in, greeting her with a harsh smack on the ass.

“Where are ya going?” She asked, hopping on the bathroom counter, the faux granite vinyl peeling up.

“Dinner with some guy, should be fine” y/n said, squinting at her makeup, feelimg ridiculous.

“Guy? Like a man?” Charlotte pestered while scrolling through her phone.

“Yes, a man” she groaned, before Charlotte changed the topic, shrieking at her phone.

“Do you know who Tate McRae is… obviously you do! She’s the girl that sings sports car… or greedy, you’ve definitely heard greedy—anyways, she’s dating the the it boy hockey player” Charlotte rambled as Y/N felt her life flash before her eyes, did she know something?

“Oh, cool, not really into pop stuff, or hockey” Y/N mumbled trying to curl her bangs as fast as possible so she could escape the room, and subsequently, her own anxiety.

“Let me deal with it, honey,” Charlotte said, pulling her closer to curl the hair.

“Thank you” she whispered relishing in her nerves for her date, and how culturally aware her roommate is.

By 6 she is racing down the stairs to Jacks car and tapping on the window mouthing “let me in please” before opening the door.

“Did you tell Tate we’re doing this?” She asked, shutting the door.

“Yeah, she’s thrilled, wants to see you later this week if you’re free” he said, starting to drive.

“Yeah, yeah, should have time this week” she nodded, looking at the road as he drove.

“You’re staring off” he mumbled a couple minutes in, squeezing her thigh.

“My roommate mentioned you and Tate, like out of nowhere, I just don’t want to get caught in the middle” she mumbled, turning her attention towards him.

“We’re not serious, you know, just fun and a little PR, nothing for you to get in the way of” he reassured, something he had done a lot of over the course of the day.

When they get to the restaurant she tucks into his side suddenly feeling a little shy. He squeezed her close, patted her hip.

“Your ass looks delicious in those pants” he mumbled into the top of her head before pressing a kiss into her hairline.

“Thank you” she laughed softly, before she could say more, a host came and led them to their table in a quaint corner. He ordered a steak, she ordered a light salad, and he insisted she order a soup as well (which was a good choice). She teased him asking if he needed help cutting his steak with his injury. Towards the end of their night after a few glasses of wine, eyes began to wander, he was focussed on her stained lips and her ample cleavage, she noticed how broad he was, how muscular his arms are. When the check is set down. Jack grabs it before she can even see it was there.

“What do you want to do after this?” He asked, grabbing her hands from across the table.

“Isn’t that up to the date planner” she giggled, surprised at how much she enjoyed their time together.

“Well, if I had it my way, we’d fuck in my car after this” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s so crazy because that was my suggestion too” she giggled showing both rows of tweet, something she only does when she’s a little tipsy.

“Yeah?” He asked, writing the tip on the check, he could tell she was watching his hands, he wasn’t sure if she was reading the bill or imagining his fingers inside her.

“It’s rude to stare, sweetheart” he said standing up and keeping an arm out for you to take.

Once they make it into his car, they both ponder the logistics of car sex.

“Well we can’t do it here” she giggled still unbuttoning yet another button on her blouse.

“Windows are tinted, we can just go somewhere a bit less busy” he murmured, thinking about the geography of the area.

“well I’m not in high school so can we at least go to the parking lot of like a holiday inn and not a motel 6” she laughed, leaning forward to unbutton his jeans, already seeing how hard he is through the black denim.

“Fuck,” he groans, “yeah, yeah that’s fine” he mumbled, biting his lip as the cool spring air hits his sensitive cock.

“Can I?” She asked, spit already in her hand, ready to stroke him.

“Yeah, yeah” he nodded, before she gently sucked on the tip, moaning at the taste of his precum.

“Yummy” she mumbled to herself, “must be that healthy hockey diet” she hummed, stroking him with her spit coated hand, relishing in his soft moans and groans as he drove. She softly blew cool air on his tip inadvertently forcing his hips up.

“Fuck, please” he whined, she had the face of the devils whining under her, the power trip of the century.

She nodded, bobbing her head down to the base of his cock and back up, getting him used to the warm cavern of her mouth, before enveloping his entire cock in her wet, warm, mouth.

“Jesus fuck!” He groaned, tugging at her hair, pushing her head down as he pulled into the parking lot.

“Off” he said, tugging her hair and lifting his cock from her mouth. She rose with a small pout, “wanted to taste your cum” she whined crossing her legs, trying to relieve the ache between her thighs.

“Tough shit baby,” he mumbled, tapping his thigh for her to join him. She whined pulling off her blouse and undoing her slacks.

“I shoulda’ worn a skirt” she groaned to herself yanking them down her legs.

“Don’t deny me the pleasure of seeing your ass in those pants,” he pouted teasingly.

“You’re lucky we’re in a car, otherwise I’d test you on my lesson” she bit, after finally pulling the skin tight pants off.

“Next time” he said, watching her crawl over him, just in her bralette and tiny lace thong, creating friction on his needy cock as she settled in his lap.

“Lots of rain checking” she giggled, toying with his teeshirt, tugging at the bottom of it.

“Need to keep you coming back” he grinned, showing off his pretty boy smile.

She nodded letting out a small needy whine, “I’m holding you to it”

“Yes ma’am” he said, pulling the gusset of her thong to the side and slowly entering her, stretching the tight cavity.

She let out tiny gasps, from deep in her throat.

“Oh my god” she whimpered in his neck, trying to think straight enough to ride him.

“Yeah, feel good?” He asked, delivering harsh smacks to her ass, the flesh rippling around his hand, punctuating each smack with a squeeze.

“Oh god, please,” she gasped airily, feeling like her brain was becoming the soup she ate an hour ago.

“You need me to do the work?” He asked teasingly, knowing she was used to being the dominant figure in the bedroom. She nodded shyly, tucking into his neck, biting in the crook of his neck, gasping when he starts to thrust.

“Wanna see your pretty tits” he mumbled, pulling her heavy breasts from the tiny halter bralette.

“You’re gonna stretch the fabric” she whined through throaty moans.

“I’ll buy you a new one. We want to take care of you, what is so hard to understand about it?” He asked through gritted teeth, rubbing her clit, so she’s too overstimulated to argue.

She nods moaning out breathily, “need to cum” she whined, her tits bouncing with each hard thrust against her swollen gspot.

“Yeah, soak my cock, honey” he groaned, thrusting himself under her, watching her tits bounce. He stilled as she clenched around him, dampening her lips, panties, his pabts and his cock, not that he minded, as she fell from her orgasm, he held her up and fucked into her until he reached his own release.

“‘S too much” she whined into his neck, biting at the crook.

“Almost there, baby” he groaned, shooting rope after rope into her dripping cunt. He sets her on his chest as the both pant. Moments after she reaches between her thighs and scoops up a bit of cum for her to taste.

“Yummy” she mumbled sucking on her cum covered finger.

“Yeah, honey, give me a taste” he mumbled, rubbing her bare back as she reached between her legs and put her dripping finger between his parted lips.

“Mm you’re right, but maybe you just taste yummy” he hummed.

“You’ll see next time” she laughed.

“Next time” he agreed.

You weren’t surprised when Jack texted you at the most ungodly hour. You certainly weren’t surprised when you agreed to go over to his place. Not when he acted so sweetly it made your heart crawl out of your body and straight into his calloused palms.

Those same palms that were busy gripping your waist as his other hand roughly pawed at your top, making you remove it. It was the same procedure to remove your bra, all he did was trace his finger along the lace and you let him unclasp it.

Jack knew the effect he had on you. He knew that if he asked you would answer. It had always been that way, you were like a lovesick puppy for the man. It was pathetic really, though he’d never bring you to face that reality.

No, not when it was him who was getting rewarded for being a manipulative and cruel man. So so cruel. Yet not cruel enough to chase you away, or maybe so cruel that it pulled you in.

His finger grazes over your pebbled nipple as you dare to huff out a whine which immediately halts his movements, making him remove his sweatpants, revealing his hard cock, barely hiding beneath his soaked boxers.

You were practically salivating as he goes to sit on his bed, leaning against the headboard as he drags you closer harshly by your hair. You crawl closer and he barks at you to remove his boxers.

You comply, of course and his cock springs free, pulling a needy whine from you. Jack huffs impatiently as you crawl closer, mouth subconsciously hanging open.

You spit on your hand and Jack grabs your wrist, impatiently guiding your hand onto his length. You begin pumping his length and a grunt escapes him. “Yes- fuck- that’s good”, his words echo through your ears like a melody.

“Need more- need your lips y/n” he whines so innocently that you can’t resist licking his tip before giving in. Your mouth is overfilled with him as you begin sucking gently. You work your way up and down, the uncovered lengths being treated by your hand. He tugs harshly at your hair as grunts leave his mouth.

Your moans cover him like a warm bubble around his dick as he comes down your throat. Warm, wet liquid fills your mouth and he reluctantly pulls out. He grips your chin harshly and pushes your head back to make sure you swallow his cum.

You stick out your tongue as proof and he smirks ever so slightly before petting your sweet coated hair. “Such a good girl aren’t you?” he hums and that makes you whine at the rare praise.

“You want my dick? Tell me you want my dick” he orders, which you immediately reply “‘want your dick j- need it.” He smirks so condescendingly as he lures you closer with his finger by your jaw.

You wait for him to make the next move, always careful to not spook him away. He flips you over easily and grips your thigh with a bruising grip. He then yanks off your thin lace underwear with the urgency of an animal, hungry for prey.

He shoves his cock in harshly with no warning, like always. Maybe that’s why you don’t care anymore, you’re expecting it. Infact, you like it. You’ve tried to get over this infatuation with Jack but it just seems to never be the same with other men.

Other guys don’t treat you like shit and still have you wrapped around their fingers. Other men don’t use you like a toy and then discard you right after. No. Only Jack can get away with such.

He’s restless as he slides in and out of you harshly. Your eyes are brimming with tears with pleasure or pain, you’re not sure, but you don’t let him see. Jack doesn’t like having to acknowledge that you are in fact a human being with feelings, feelings caused by him as well.

“So- fuck so good. All for me huh?” Jack grunts between his animalistic thrusts. You whine in confirmation and his name escapes your lips. He groans with pleasure.

It’s only a matter of minutes before he’s filling your swollen hole with his cum. The sounds of his orgasm fill the room, loud and lustful.

He pulls out and plops down next to you on the bed. He yanks you closer and ruffles your hair, like a dad would with his son after he won a soccer match. You feel like a child.

But then he realizes that he has given you too much of his affection and he pushes himself up to sit, which you mirror as you put your clothes back on. He sits there expectantly, hoping you’d initiate the greeting and leave, but you wanted to see if he’d let you stay if you didn’t.

But Jack never enjoyed making you feel wanted unless he felt like he needed to, which is why he made it obvious that he wanted you to leave when he pulls the covers over himself and mumbles “got an early flight tomorrow” and sealed it with a yawn.

“Right, yeah, uh… goodnight Jack” you mumble politely. He nods and stretches his arms ‘tiredly’. You turn for the door and roll your eyes at his lack of enthusiasm to even say goodbye to you. You quickly get out of his room and then shortly after out of his apartment.

On the drive home you feel an involuntary tear roll down your cheek. Jesus how pathetic? You think. But maybe it’s not. Maybe that’s what happens when you spend years pining after someone who only notices you when it’s convenient.

 And god he looked so good. Hair damp with sweat. Jersey clinging to him. That confident little grin he always got when he made a mind blowing play. She swallowed, then bit her lip at the twitch of his lips. 

Andrea also knew what came next. The Olympic media scrum, easily ten times longer than a typical NHL one. The interviews. The panel hits. The slow-motion replays. It took forever. Longer than his usual postgame. Every time she checked her phone, nothing, just the lock screen of her and Jack having a picnic from last summer. She could practically picture him having to answer the same question a ton of times and his answer becoming more sassy with each time.

Finally, her screen lit up.

jack: don’t wait around. it’s gonna be insane. go back to the room, okay? i’ll see you later.

She actually rolled her eyes. As if she hadn’t just watched him score for his first time at the Olympics. She didn’t argue. Didn’t tease. Not even a cute message on how proud she was. 

drea: come to my room when you’re back.

And then she set her phone down and waited, eventually changing into a Team USA tank along with the matching sleep shorts. 

Jack's hair was still damp from his shower when he arrived at her door.  He knocked once, skin still buzzing with the adrenaline of a win. The door opened immediately, his eyes scanning up her body from her almost bare legs to the thin, almost see-through tank she wore. Drea doesn’t say anything for a second. She just stares at him, in that dreamy way that even after eight years always made him weak in the knees. 

He swallowed thickly, “Hi.”

“You scored,” she smiled.

“Yeah.”

“At the Olympics.” Like she was trying to emphasize just how big that was. 

Jack nodded, cheeks already pink again, suddenly feeling hot in his team issued grey Nike set. 

She didn’t hesitate to grab him by the front of his hoodie, pulling him inside. 

As the door clicked shut, her voice dipped into that sweet, sultry tone reserved only for Jack while silently thanking the rest of her teammates for their outing. 

“Do you have any idea,” she says, backing him up until his back hit the wall, “how hot that was?”

He laughed nervously. “Baby, that was noth—”

She cut him off with a kiss that couldn’t have been more different than the soft, fleeting one she’d wished him good luck with earlier. 

It’s hungry and breathless, tongues meshing together, hers slipping past his lips just enough to taste the Gatorade he sipped during press. 

Jack's hands fell to her waist in some attempt to gather his bearings, but she fully took over. Her hands were looped around his neck, drawing him closer, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. 

They pulled apart for a second, foreheads touching as she whispered against his lips, “You were so amazing out there, Jacky.” He groaned her name in response, dropping his head down to her shoulder, hiding from her praise. “You looked so proud of yourself,” she continued, fingers carding through his damp hair. 

“You were there,” Jack answered, thumbs rubbing steady circles into her hips. “That’s all I cared about.”

“I wouldn’t miss your first Olympic goal.”

Then she kissed him again, deeper this time, hands tugging him closer by the fabric of his sweats.

“Congratulations,” she murmured against his lips. 

She walked him backward, guiding him away from the wall, her mouth never leaving his for more than a breath. Jack followed instinctively, hands firm on her hips now, giving up all control, letting her take the driver's seat. 

He breathed softly against her lips, taken back, but she was already there pushing him down till he finally gave in and let his back hit her mattress.

“Drea—” he groaned, breathing unevenly as he watched her.

“Shh,” she cooed, throwing the thin cotton of her shorts to the ground.

For once, he didn’t argue. Jack just let her climb on top of him, letting those legs that came from years of training be here bracket his hips. Pupils blown so wide he couldn’t help but try and memorize the sight in above him, from how her nipples peaked beneath her tank down to the patch of bare skin between her navel and the waistband of her navy blue panties. 

Of course, it was impossible to ignore his very obvious hard on as well as the growing damp spot in her underwear. Her fingers curled around the hem of his sweater, urging him to help pull it off, and he happily obliged, letting the grey fabric fall to the floor. 

Jack fully expected her top to be next till Drea reached into the drawer beside her bed, pulling out something he hadn’t seen in years. She held the olympic branded foil between her fingers, arching a brow at her fiancé.

“They don’t give us these for nothing, you know,” she smirked, almost unable to hold back her giggle.

He dragged a hand down his face, half laughing. “We haven’t used one of those in a while, baby.”

Her palms flattened against his chest, watching every flicker of reaction in his eyes.

Then she tossed it across the room.

“And we’re not starting tonight,” she said, lips curving. “Just teasing.” She leaned down again, slowly this time, brushing her mouth against his, letting him feel exactly how much she meant it. Then Andrea pulled away for air, long enough to peel away her own top. 

Almost instinctively, his hand traced up the curve of her hip, stopping at the soft flesh of her breast, thumbing over her nipple in a mindless, repetitive motion. Her breath hitched before letting out a needy sigh, her reserve dwindling by the second. “Still wearing too much,” she murmured between sighs. 

She slid her fingers down his chest, over the firm lines of his abs until they reached his waistband. The chill of her engagement ring against his ribs was almost enough to distract him from how she hooked one finger around the elastic and tugged, letting the fabric snap against his hip. 

His breath caught. “Drea…” It came out half warning, half plea.

“What?” she asked innocently. “Where’s all that confidence you had on the ice? Where’s that guy, hmm?”

Jack was in her territory now. “He’s— he’s here,” he answered, stumbling over his own words. 

“Good,” she whispered.

Still completely at her mercy, the sight of Jack Hughes served on a silver platter right below her made her stomach flip. She slid off him just long enough to guide the fabric down his legs, tossing it somewhere behind her without breaking eye contact.

Suddenly, the world around them became quiet, and the only thing Jack could hear was how his heart pattered in his ears, watching his soon-to-be wife push that navy blue fabric to the side. Her hand snaked between their bodies, using one hand to guide his cock between her folds, eyes screwing shut as her hips sank down. 

And Jack wouldn’t dare move at risk of ruining the perfect fantasy above him. His hands flexed hard against her hips, jaw tightening as she took him in, her head tipping back just slightly as he filled her. A string of curses came from his lips, watching that familiar mix of hazel and gold return from behind her eyelids. 

Finally, she began to move, her hips rolled against his in a tempo that could only be considered gold medal worthy.  He was mesmerized by how her hips met his, something he’d never get tired of with her. 

Hands still splayed across her hips, gripping them so hard that there’d be bruises there tomorrow, Jack attempted not to give in and cum right then and there. 

Jack threw his head back trying to suppress his groans. “Baby…fuck.”

She smirked at the profanities spilling from his lips leaning forward just enough that her hair brushed his chest, tits overtaking his vision, moving with the same vigor as her hips. 

“Y–you feel so—” He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself and failing miserably. “God. You feel s’good. I— I can’t even—,” he finished breathlessly, the words babbling out like he couldn’t control them anymore. 

Her head dipped just below his ear as she whispered. “You looked good on the ice but I think you look even better right now.”

His cock twitched at her words, aching to release as her movements speeded up. Nothing except broken whines and sounds of skin on skin filled the air. With every bounce he was getting closer and closer, letting moans of her name tell her everything she needed to know. 

Her lips trailed from his jaws to his lips swallowing his sounds as his hips stuttered filling her up. Though her hips still bracketed his chasing her own high, thighs on fire and sweat beading at her hairline. One of his hands dropped from her hip finding its way to her clit, rubbing clumsy circles as her orgasm completely consumed her. 

Still catching her breath Drea collapsed on top of Jack, him still inside of her. Her head dropped to his chest listening to his heartbeat return back to normal. 

His arms tightened around her, one hand absently running up and down her spine the other brushed her hair out of her eyes. 

“You okay?” He asked, pressing a kiss to her hair only to be answered with a muffled ‘mhm’ into his chest.