wunder welt*

“You heard me,” Mack says. He doesn’t care if Leno picked Will. If Will looked annoyed about it, and then more annoyed when Mack stepped in and claimed the forfeit instead. It’s Mack’s discretion as captain to make the call. Will doesn’t get a say.

Leno’s lip curls. “That eager to suck my dick, huh?”

Mack hates giving head. He’s bad at it and his gag reflex makes him choke too easy and his eyes start watering and his jaw hurts after. Also it tastes bad.

“Yeah, bud. That’s why I’m here.” He rolls his eyes. “So we doing this or what?”

The only thing worse than sucking dick in the room is jawing with the guy whose dick he has to suck in the room and dragging the whole thing out more.

Leno’s eyes dart around almost nervously. He stands there, not getting his dick out, so Mack marches across the room and does it for him, yanking his shorts down his legs.

“Jesus,” Leno yelps. He stumbles back, nearly tripping over his own feet, but Mack grabs hold of his thighs as he drops to his knees, keeping him upright.

Ugh. Leno’s packing. He’s barely even hard yet and Mack can tell he’s going to be gagging trying to fit it in his mouth. That's so insufferable.

“You don’t—” Leno starts as Mack gets a hand on him, loosely jacking him. It’s annoying when guys show up to the room and can’t even be bothered to get it up first. Like, Mack's gotta do all the work here?

“Not sucking your limp dick, bud,” he tells Leno.

Leno scowls at him. “I didn’t ask you to.”

He tries to shift back again and Mack instinctively tightens his hand, squeezing him a bit. Maybe a lot. Leno immediately stills. “Celebrini,” he says, voice low.

“Let me do my fucking job,” Mack says. He has to get Leno off. That’s the rule. The sooner Leno comes, the sooner Mack can leave and get back to his own locker room. To Will. To putting this awful game behind him.

“Okay, well.” Leno’s breathing kinda hard given that Mack’s not really doing much. Holding onto his dick like a leash, mostly. “Your dumb face doesn’t really do it for me, so. Keep that in mind,” Leno says.

Mack scoffs. “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

Leno’s face is all pink. He’s so stupid looking it’s unbelievable. “I’m just telling you.”

He’d get it up for Will. That’s what Mack hears. Him and half the league. Leno’s not special. Everyone wants Will’s mouth.

“Get over yourself," Mack complains. "Let’s fucking go."

Leno doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands while Mack attempts to jerk him to full hardness. They dangle uselessly at his sides, his fingers twitching. It’s not Mack’s job to tell him what to do. If Leno can’t figure it out, that’s on him.

Mack's focused on other things. He doesn’t really want to get his mouth involved until he has to, doesn’t want to be stuck sucking Leno off for that long, but this is taking forever. Maybe a little spit will get him going.

“If you try to fuck my throat, I’ll kill you,” Mack informs him. He couldn’t get away with saying that to a vet, but what’s Leno going to do? Mack’s the one with the teeth in this equation.  

Leno rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fuck your throat.”

He keeps his word, but only on a technicality. What happens is this: Mack opens his mouth and gets the head of Leno’s cock in there, and he fills up so fast he may as well have shoved it down Mack’s throat. Mack’s hair trigger gag reflex immediately goes off and he starts retching, trying to pull off before he voms all over Leno’s dick, and then Leno fucking comes. Blows his load, just like that, half down Mack’s throat, the rest dribbling out of his mouth and down his chin as he jerks his head back.

He coughs and hacks for a minute, swallowing some of it and spitting the rest onto the floor. “Did you seriously just nut that fast?” Mack gasps once he’s done choking on Leno’s jizz and his own spit.

Leno’s breathing hard. He doesn’t answer.

“Dude. What the fuck. You didn’t even warn me.” Mack actually doesn’t know how he could’ve, given how it took Leno all of two seconds to shoot off into his mouth, but it’s the principle of the thing.

“I…” Leno doesn’t seem to have words. He’s red-faced and sweaty, staring at Mack with huge, shocked eyes. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks. He has the audacity to sound incredulous about it.

And what if Mack is? “It’s not against the rules,” Mack says. He doesn’t actually know that, but like hell is he walking all the way back to the locker room with his dick all hard and leaking. He pants a little as he furiously jerks himself, his hand shoved down his shorts. This isn’t even going to take long.

Like, longer than Leno, obviously, because Mack’s not the most embarrassing person on the planet. But he’s not going to be here all night.

“You could help me out,” he suggests. It would go faster then, and they could both get out of here.

“The fuck? I’m not sucking your dick. You’re my forfeit.”

Mack shrugs. At least Leno’s giving him a show. All flushed and sweaty, his shorts still caught around his thick thighs, soft dick wet and glistening from Mack's mouth. He’s got a stupid tattoo Mack didn’t know about. A big bold 413 across his quad. God, he’s such a loser.

Mack comes into his own cupped palm, whining through it. They’re still in the middle of the room, didn’t even make it to the bed, and it’s too far for Mack to wipe his hand off on the bedspread. He settles for wiping it on Leno’s shorts instead.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Leno howls, staggering back.

“My hand was dirty.” Duh?

“You—get out,” Leno says, as if he owns the room. As if he gets to boss Mack around the SAP Center. “We’re done here.”

Pushing to his feet, Mack grins at him. “You better practice, bud. I’m getting the room when we come to DC and I’m picking you. And I won’t shoot off in two seconds, either.”

Leno opens and closes his mouth a couple of times but nothing comes out.

“I’ll tell Will you said hi?” Mack offers.

A muscle in Leno’s big jaw ticks. “There’s come on your face. Just so you know.”

Mack licks the corner of his mouth. Oh. Gross. He wipes the back of his hand over his lips and chin. “Better?”

Leno looks like maybe he wants to wipe it off himself. With his fist. Very forcefully. That's probably Mack's cue. He slips out the door before Leno chooses violence, already mentally circling the next date they play the Caps.