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It’s not like Sid’s never done this before. They have a rotation, but so far the guys have been so kind as to keep him out of it when they play the Flyers. And - though he knows none of the others who’ve taken their turn have come back injured - he’s still nervous approaching the Flyers’ locker room.
“Uh, hey?” Schenn’s the closest to him, looking surprised, confused and wow, Sid’s pretty sure his gut has never gone this tight with anxiety this fast in his life. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t expecting . . .” Schenn shakes his head, rolling his shoulders like he’s refocusing himself. “Anyway, G’s over there.”
Giroux is watching the exchange, Sid realizes when he looks over. Offering Schenn a brief nod in thanks, Sid tries not to stumble his way across the room. The weight of the attention from the other guys falls on his back, and Sid has to work to focus on Giroux, who’s standing up to meet him.
Nothing is said before Giroux reaches up, gripping Sid by the back of the neck so he can pull him in to nip at his neck. “You look worried,” the other man whispers, words nearly lost under the hum of noise in the locker room.
“Shouldn’t I be?”
Giroux leans back then, looking him in the face as he firmly says, “No.”
A cushion gets dropped at their feet then, Simmonds making it look more casual than it perhaps should be. Giroux nudges it into place, sitting back down in his stall with his knees spread, and this part, at least, Sid is familiar with. The Captain always goes first. Dropping down, Sid settles on the cushion. Giroux’s basketball shorts come down easily, his cock half hard against his thigh as Sid reaches for it. He strokes a few times first, coaxing Giroux along before he leans in to get his mouth around him.
He’s stopped by a hand on his jaw, and Sid flicks his gaze upward in question. “Your jaw, ah. Are you sure you can?”
“Yeah. I can’t - not deep for too long, but I can.”
Giroux keeps his hand there, thumbing along Sid’s jaw as he sucks with an ease that only comes of practice. He’s glad that Giroux doesn’t pull his hair or hold him down - that’s always been part of what he hates about doing this. His jaw gives sooner than he’d like, but Giroux doesn’t seem to mind when Sid moves to finish him with his hand. Come lands warm and wet over Sid’s hand, a splash hitting his cheek when Giroux’s hips stutter upward.
“Shit. Sorry.” A towel swipes at Sid’s face and hand, and it feels too tender for what he expected from this.
“S’fine. Who’s next?”
Giroux gives up his stall, sliding one over so that Simmonds can take his place. Simmonds is less gentle, but still far from rough as he uses Sid’s mouth and hands, doing the same cleanup that Giroux had done when he’s finished.
Mason steps up next, and Sid sighs internally when the big goalie pulls him to his feet. He’s striipped efficently, clothes handed over to Giroux who folds them up and lays them on the empty stall on his other side. Mason’s hands are calloused, firm and sure as he strokes down over Sid’s sides and back, gripping briefly at his ass, touch just possessive enough to send a familiar thrill up Sid’s spine.
Sid gets prepped with the intense focus unique to goalies, Mason making sure he’s wet and stretched the way a lot of guys don’t. It’s not easy fitting two guys their size in a stall - in Giroux’s stall, that doesn’t escape Sid’s attention - but they manage. Mason rolls on a condom and holds Sid’s hips tight, helping him keep his balance as he rides Mason’s dick. The stretch leaves him breathless, as does Mason guiding Sid right where he wants him. It’s a little more vulnerability than he’d like to show, but Mason only holds him tighter when Sid drops his head to the goalie’s shoulder.
“That good?”
He doesn’t quite mean to, but Sid nods nonetheless. It
is
good, really good, and Sid gives up a moan of appreciation when Mason reaches down to stroke him off, laughing softly when Sid shudders and comes after only a handful of strokes. The goalie holds him close when he finally gets his own, rolling his hips so he’s sunk in deep and cursing into Sid’s neck.
Mason slips out, but hand on his back keeps Sid from sliding off his lap. “Can you stay there?”
Sid’s quiet until he realizes that whoever’s talking is waiting for him and not Mason. “Yeah,” he breathes, bracing himself on the man beneath him. Mason helps hold him up, mouth pressed close to Sid’s ear as the player behind him sinks in. He whispers filth that has Sid closing his eyes, cheeks hot; he’s grateful the words are nearly drowned out the slap of skin on skin, the quiet grunts of the guy inside him, and the soft conversation floating around him.
“Come, Michal,” Mason says suddenly, and Sid finds himself shivering when the player - Neuvirth - obeys with an almost hurt sound and a couple of sharp thrusts. A gentle brush over Sid’s back and Neuvirth is pulling out, stepping away. Sid’s given a moment to catch his breath, pushing himself up on now-aching knees and Mason helps him stand.
Sid’s startled to find some of the other guys cleaning themselves up, eyes raking over him in appreciation before they tuck themselves away. Giroux is still sitting in the next stall, observant but silent. He raises an eyebrow, relaxing again when Sid just nods. Giroux’s
looking out for him
and if that’s not the most surprising part of all of this, Sid’s not sure what is.
Simmonds reappears with a mat, then, rolling it out on the floor. A younger guy - call-up, Sid guesses, since he can’t seem to find a name in his head - steps up, looking a little shy. “This okay?”
“Yeah,” Sid shrugs. “Whatever you want.”
Sprawling on his back proves to be a nice change from kneeling. The rookie offers him a sweater to stuff under his head, and, all-in-all, Sid’s pretty comfortable. It’s easier to relax now that he’s in the headspace for this, spreading his legs as he watches the rookie strip. Someone tosses him a condom and lube that he fumbles a bit as he’s trying to settle between Sid’s thighs. He’s more deft rolling the condom on and slicking himself up, and Sid finds he’s smiling despite himself when the rookie drizzles lube over two fingers and slides them gently inside Sid.
“Hey. You’re new, yeah? What’s your name?”
“Jordan. Ah. Jordan Weal.”
“Weal. Thanks for that.” Sid clenches to clarify, and watches a blush creep across Weal’s cheeks. It’s almost annoying how much that reminds him of Conor. “I’m good. C’mon.”
Weal slips a hand beneath one of Sid’s knees, gripping his thigh and spreading him a little wider. It’s not the biggest cock Sid’s ever taken, but Weal’s watching his face like he’s concerned about hurting him. Hooking his other leg around the rookie’s waist, Sid drags him in, delighting a bit about the moan it drags from Weal’s mouth. Weal drops the leg he has lifted up into the crook of his elbow, leaning in so Sid’s curled up on himself. It’s a good angle that becomes a fucking fantastic angle when Weal rocks his hips just so.
Sid loses himself in getting fucked, watching Weal’s face through hooded eyes, so he’s caught by surprise when another player is suddenly kneeling beside them. Provorov uses the abandoned bottle of lube to wet his hand, sneaking it between Weal and Sid to jerk Sid’s cock. He’s experienced and seemingly determined to make Sid come as fast as possible, dark eyes intent. Coming a second time feels like being punched in the gut, and Sid groans aloud as his body goes tight around Weal’s dick, heightening the drag until he’s shivering with overstimulation. Weal’s kind enough to pull out, finishing himself on Sid’s thighs. Provorov follows shortly behind, fist tight enough around his cock that Sid dazedly wonders if it hurts, if he likes that it does.
“Okay?” Giroux. He wipes come off Sid’s stomach and thighs before offering him a hand up. Sid stumbles a little, knees still weak but Giroux just grunts and holds him up. “C’mon. Let’s get you showered.”
Giroux doesn’t actually try to help him shower, thankfully; he hands over some supplies and gets the water running, but leaves Sid to his own devices. Sid’s sore, from the game and the sex, but not near as badly as he thought he’d be. His clothes are waiting for him near the entry of the showers, and most of the team is gone by the time he’s dry and dressed, leaving only Giroux and Simmonds behind.
“You, ah, never answered me,” Giroux says, suddenly looking embarrassed. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah. I - thanks?” Sid shrugs. He’s never been great at awkward conversations, and talking to rivals after blowing them always falls into the “awkward situation” category. Giroux nods in response, gesturing Sid out of the locker room ahead of himself and Simmonds. The pair of Flyers follow him out, only leaving him when Flower appears from between the rows of cars to collect him.