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what about day 25 + hockey au + the first time swiss and dew get drunk together 👀
Mushy May Day 25: Drunken Affection
Dew finds a familiar face in a local bar. No warnings, a bit of a bittersweet ending though we all know how hockey au winds up anyways, 1.7k words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
The bar’s loud, and Dew rolls his shoulders before stepping inside. There are probably fifteen different screens, each one showing a different game, different sport, different teams. The bar’s full, people talking with each other and drinking, glasses clinking against each other, the scrape of ice behind the bar.
He sighs, finding the one empty stool and ordering a beer. Dew does everything he can to avoid the tv directly across from him, airing playoff hockey. It’s a little bit of a sore spot, something bitter to swallow, no matter how long he’s been doing this professionally. The Ghouls’ season had ended before they could even earn a playoff spot, a slew of injuries and an unlucky streak affecting their overall performance.
Though, Dew supposes, sipping his beer, that just means more time to rest before the next season picked up. More time to work, to push, to get better as well. But for now, he enjoys the sound of people around him, an ice cold beer in his hand to nurse.
When he finishes his drink, the bartender sets another bottle down as she takes the empty one away. Dew’s brow furrows, staring at the label.
“I didn’t?” He says, confused. “Didn’t order another.”
She cracks a smile. “Gentleman down the bar put it on his tab.”
Dew nods curtly, and she moves down to serve another customer who’s flagging her down. He turns the bottle over in his hand, watching a bead of condensation or ice water roll down the neck before looking up.
All of the people seated around him are strangers. Dew scans over them as nonchalantly as he can, not to come off like he’s staring. Someone might have recognized him. It happens, living in the same city as the team he plays for. They might have, and bought him the same beer he’d been drinking.
He keeps looking, just in case, and then he meets someone’s gaze. Someone familiar. A pair of eyes he last saw through plexiglass during the last regular season. Dew’s stomach flips wildly.
Dew’d blame it on his drink, but he’s only had one beer, and it’s been years since he was such a lightweight that a single bottle of beer would make him see things. Still, he blinks, but the man across the bar is still there. He lifts his own bottle in acknowledgment before taking a long drink.
His mind races, trying to come up with a reason as to why Swiss Truppe is in his city, his neighborhood, without the pretense of hockey. The Popestars were out of the playoffs in the second round, his season’s over too.
But he can’t help himself but stare. He didn’t know Swiss wore jewelry, a pair of earrings and a few cuffs in his braids that catch the light. It makes sense, having only seen the man in an ice rink for the last few years, where such things could be a liability on the ice. Dew’s only ever seen him in a uniform, be it his Popestar jersey and gear or the suit he wears coming into rinks, or without clothes at all. It’s a little jarring to see him in regular, normal clothes, a baseball tee and jeans, but Dew doesn’t mind.
They stare at each other, the noise of the patrons around them different enough from the sound of the crowd.
Dew doesn’t know how long he goes without blinking. Then the man sitting next to Swiss pays his tab, laughing to his friends, and gets up and leaves. Swiss glances away, just long enough to register what’s happened, before turning back to Dew and raising an eyebrow.
He tries to tell himself he shouldn’t. That he should keep it, whatever this is, at the rink, in locker rooms. Strictly business, even if the business itself is more for pleasure.
Instead, Dew takes a swig of the beer Swiss had bought him, stands up, and marches around the bar to sit at the newly vacated stool.
“Thanks for the beer,” he murmurs just loud enough to be heard, nudging his shoulder against Swiss’s. “What the fuck are you doing here, Truppe? Thought you were halfway across the country.”
Swiss laughs, something that rumbles through him. He’s had a few already. Loosened up and a little giddy. “I, well. I went to college out this way. Was meeting up with some friends.”
Dew looks around, not exactly convinced. Swiss hadn’t been talking to anyone sitting around him. “And you’re at a bar alone?”
Swiss just shrugs, easy. “We had dinner here. They had work in the morning, and I just wanted another beer before I went back to my hotel.” He sighs, taking a long drink of his own. “I- uh. My plane home’s in the morning. I wanted to see- never mind.”
Dew doesn’t fully believe his excuse, but he’s not going to look a gift beer in the mouth. “Well, uh, I think it’s good to see you, Swiss.”
“You too, Dewdrop,” Swiss says. Out of the corner of his eye, Dew watches Swiss’s shoulders drop, like a weight’s been lifted from them. “I- uh. The last game.”
Dew bristles a little. “What about it?” He remembers Swiss making his shots and how he hadn’t made his own. Remembers fighting for real, not fighting to set something up, and how Swiss had made eyes at him through the plexiglass of the penalty box.
“You- ah. I thought we were going to have a meeting,” Swiss says, swallowing hard, watching his words with other people around. “Thought we’d set up a debrief. So to speak. And- uh- Well. You weren’t there.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Dew hums, gripping the bottle in his hand so tight his knuckles ache a little. “Took care of my business and went home. You’d just knocked us out of the playoffs.”
“Ah,” Swiss says eloquently, staring at nothing like he’d just put the pieces together. “I thought- I don’t- Shit. I just. I didn’t want that to be the last time I saw you for the season.”
Dew turns, fully, to face him. Stares openly as his brain tries to comprehend what he just heard. “You didn’t- you didn’t what?”
Swiss sighs, finishes his beer. He sets the bottle down onto the bartop with a clink before running a hand through his hair. His face is warm, cheeks flushed, and Dew can’t tell if it’s how much he’s drank or embarrassment or something else. “You’re- all things considered. You’re a good guy, Dew. I just- I think I was worried.”
“Oh,” Dew whispers. He doesn’t know if Swiss can even hear it. “I- uh- yeah.”
“Yeah,” Swiss agrees. “I just. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Swiss,” Dew hums. He finds that he means it. “What time’s your plane?”
“Eight,” Swiss groans, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m absolutely going to regret booking the early flight. And there’s a layover. Your airport here’s so small, dude.”
“Damn,” Dew laughs, knocking his shoulder against Swiss’s. “Have fun with that one.”
“Fuck you, man,” Swiss laughs with him. “I will, for sure. Should- ah. Should probably go back to the hotel soon. No need to make it any worse.”
For some reason, that makes something twist in Dew’s chest. “Probably a good idea, Truppe,” he hums. “Where you staying?”
“Uh, um, fuck,” Swiss hisses, trying to come up with the name of the hotel but coming up blank. “Here.” He pulls his wallet from his pocket, showing Dew the keycard.
He grins. “That’s actually on my way home from here. I can- uh. I can walk you back, if you’d like.”
Swiss grins and it’s brighter than any of the lights or screens in this place. “That would be fantastic, Dew. Such a gentleman, for once.”
“Hey!” Dew sputters as Swiss pays his tab.
“What?” he laughs as the two of them head out. The air’s cooling off, the summer heat dissipating as the breeze from off of the lake picks up. It’s refreshing after the heat of the bar, of people packed in together and the alcohol warming their veins.
“Nothing,” Dew shakes his head, taking his hair down and tying it back up. “Absolutely nothing, Swiss.”
They share a quiet walk back to Swiss’s hotel, and Dew tries hard to think about how it’s the first time they’ve ever really been civil with each other. Shoulder to shoulder, walking together like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Well, maybe not physically. Swiss’s had a bit more to drink than Dew has, but they’re punchdrunk and giddy and nothing else in the world matters.
It’s not long before they find themselves in front of the hotel, and the smile melts from Swiss’s face. “Well, this is me,” he sighs. “It was good seeing you, Dew.”
“You too, Swiss,” Dew says. “Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.” Swiss grabs Dew’s shoulder, gently, nothing like the way he’d get grabbed on the ice. “Hope you have a good off season.”
Dew nods. “Better luck next year.”
And before either of them can part, Swiss ducks down and kisses him.
Dew balks for just a moment before letting it happen. Before kissing back. It’s the chastest thing they’ve ever done, and just the thought of comparing it to what happens in their locker room showers makes Dew’s head spin.
He wants more. He won’t say it out loud.
When they part, Swiss’s eyes go wide, face flushed, and Dew knows he’s faring no better. “Fuck, I-” he stutters, feeling far dizzier than the beers he’s had.
“I’m sorry- I didn’t-” Swiss says, just as flustered. “I should probably go. I’m sorry-”
Swiss relaxes, but only a little. “Thank you, Dew. Really. Fuck.”
“Of course,” Dew breathes. “Have a good night?”
He takes a deep breath too, and nods. “Have a good night, Dew.”
Swiss disappears into the hotel, and Dew stands outside and stares for just a bit too long before heading on his way home. It’s not far, and the world is a little too quiet, something heavy on his chest he can’t get off.
Alone in his apartment, Dew shouts into a pillow. He knows they’re not going to talk about this when hockey comes back, when they see each other next. Whenever that may be.
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A/N: I’d meant to get three fics out this week, but life had other plans and I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to get done next week, either. But rest assured, every prompt I don’t cover will be covered either somewhere else this month or in a full fic next month instead! Happy reading!
Pairing: Dewdrop/Swiss
Dew is aware that he is, to put it lightly, not the most patient of ghouls. His short temper is well-known throughout the Ministry, something he knows certain ghouls take pleasure in testing, seeing just how much they can poke at him before he snaps.
He's also well aware that his temper is not the only thing short about him, as said ghouls refuse to let him forget. He's not insecure about it, it's just a fact of life that his Satan-given form happens to lack a few inches in a few crucial places, and there's not much to be done about it.
That does not make the incessant teasing any less bearable, however.
"It's a good thing you don't do backing vocals, y'know," Swiss observes from where he's leaned against a speaker in the ghouls' practice room, "I'm not sure they make mic stands that go that low!"
"Yeah, ha-ha, very funny," he deadpans, not looking up from his guitar. "Now can I practice in fucking peace or are you gonna stand here working on your insult comedy all day?"
"Aww, don't be so mean, Dewy! There's no need to be so short with me!"
"If you make one more joke about my height, Satan help me, I'm going to kick your fucking ass."
"Can you even reach my-" Before he can finish his taunt, Dew's setting his guitar to the side and pouncing, grabbing the multi-ghoul by the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to his height.
"I've fucking had it with your shit today so shut the fuck up or get the fuck out," he growls.
"Or what?" Swiss smirks.
Without a word, Dew releases his grip on the taller and steps back. "My room. Now," he commands.
Swiss follows obediently, grin widening with the knowledge that he'd won.
"So what's your grand plan from-" Swiss' goading is halted in its tracks with an 'oof' as his back hits the bed with more force than he'd expected the smaller to be able to exert.
"I've heard enough outta you," he hisses, unzipping the multi's pants and roughly shoving them to his ankles, boxers following shortly after. "You wanted to piss me off till I snapped? Congratulations, it worked. I'm gonna make sure you fucking remember this the next time you try that shit."
"Eager, aren't we, Spitfire?" Swiss laughs, only serving to rile the fire ghoul up further. His laughter turns to a moan when a finger traces over his hole, gathering some of the slickness. Dew holds it up with a smirk.
"Oh, I'm eager, huh? Don't act like I can't feel how wet you are already, just from running your mouth in the hopes that I'd put you in your place."
"Yeah? And what're you gonna do about it?" Swiss taunts, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
Dew growls. "I'm gonna shut you up, is what I'm gonna do."
"That's some big talk from a small man," he laughs.
"Oh, you want big, do ya? I'll give you big," he promises, shoving a finger into Swiss' core without further warning. Swiss moans, smirk growing even wider.
"'Bout damn time, took you long eno-" he's cut off as Dew forces a second finger in, drawing a whine at the stretch.
"Sorry, what was that? I missed that last part," he feigns innocence, circling Swiss' stiff T-dick with his pointer finger while his other hand began to scissor the fingers inside him, eliminating any chance of Swiss being able to respond with anything other than a whimpered moan at the sudden sensations.
"What, got nothin' to say? Where'd all that ego from earlier go?" He laughs, crooking his fingers against the spot inside of Swiss that has him writhing.
"Still ain't seeing the 'big' part," he forces out between whines.
"You know, you talk a lot of shit for someone with a smaller dick than me," Dew taunts in return, pinching Swiss' shaft between his forefinger and thumb. "Dunno how I ever let you top me with this," he smirks.
"Fffuck you," Swiss moans.
He lines a third finger up with Swiss' hole with a dramatic sigh. "Fine, have it your way."
The combination of Dew's rushed but thorough prepwork and the wetness earned from his constant attention to the multi's dick results in very little resistance as he slips it in, reveling in the debauched groan his ministrations earn him. Before long, Swiss is grinding back on his fingers, writhing and thrashing every time he stretches them inside him.
"How's that for big?" Dew teases.
Swiss keens, trying to leverage his hips to take him in deeper.
"What, is that not enough for you? So greedy, maybe I oughta shove my whole hand in, maybe that'll fix your attitude."
Dew expects Swiss to bite back. He expects a retort, another jab at his height, maybe a plea to let him finish.
What he doesn't expect in answer is a downright sinful moan.
"Sathanas, please, fill me up, 'wanna feel it all," the multi begs.
"Shit, gonna kill me, talking like that. Y'really want it? Want my whole hand stretching you out, wearing you like a fuckin' glove?"
"Yes, fuck, I need it so bad," he sobs, the sound going straight to Dew's own cock, feeling wetness accumulating in his own boxers.
"Fuck, okay, hang on," he hisses.
Swiss whines as he removes his fingers, reaching for his nightstand drawer to grab a bottle of lube before drenching his hand to the wrist before slipping three fingers back in.
"Deep breath for me, yeah?"
Swiss nods, inhaling sharply before the air is punched out of his lungs at the feeling of a fourth finger pressing insistently inside, stretching him to the point of that wonderful ache, the pain sending a shiver through him.
"There you go, not so cocky now, hm? Just needed someone to fill you up like the slut you are, that's all it takes," Dew coos.
"Shit, please, please, please-" he sobs out a moan as Dew presses in a little bit further, ever-so-slowly.
"Please what? I'm not a mind reader, use your words."
"Please, more," he begs, and who is Dew not to give him exactly what he wants?
Dew silently thanks Satan for the fact that ghouls acclimate to the stretch a lot faster than humans, as after the hours of goading and prodding by Swiss, he's not sure he would have had the patience to ensure that he wouldn't be hurt as he pushes forward, especially not with the wrecked sobs and babbled pleas Swiss is reduced to as he reaches the widest part of his hand, barely managing to pause to give Swiss the chance to adjust.
The sudden stop forces a hiccuped whine from Swiss as he tries to bear down on the intrusion, rocking his hips to the limited extent possible to shove the hand deeper. "No, fuck, please don't stop, 'm sorry, I'll stop being a brat, plehehease," he sobs.
Dew shushes him, rubbing a soothing hand across his side. "Hey, it's okay, just letting you get used to the feeling, I don't wanna hurt you, okay? I'll move in-"
"Please, need it now, need you so bad, all of you, give it to me." The tears are flowing unrestrained now, Swiss' lip quivering in a way Dew would find adorable under any other circumstance. For now, all it serves to do is tempt him to throw caution to the wind and give the bigger ghoul everything he could ask for and more.
Oh, fuck it.
With one final push, Dew's hand is fully in, and Swiss throws his head back in a screamed moan as he plummets over the edge, and the sound, along with the sight of the slight bulge in the bigger ghoul's abdomen and the fact that he can feel Swiss' pelvic bones around his fingers has him reaching his free hand into his pants, rubbing his dick in a few harsh circles before he's coming too.
Somewhere the ocean of sensations that roars through his mind in his orgasmic bliss, Dew gets the feeling that this has done nothing to dissuade Swiss from making his life harder.
