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spine-buster · 2 years ago

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Lost in the Memory | Ryan O'Reilly | Volume I

gif credit @/mitchmarner

A/N: Well, here it is...the first instalment of a very inspired plot bunny that appeared the day that ROR became a Leaf! Hope you all enjoy what is basically porn without plot :)

TW: sibling death

“We have an MLSE-owned condo that you can both go to take a few moments before the game – get that nap in – before coming back here.”

Ryan let Noel take it. He made up something on the spot, that he already owned a condo somewhere near here as an investment, and it was sitting empty, so he’d just go to that to get his pre-game nap in. Nobody was the wiser. After Noel was handed the keys to the condo, Ryan ordered an Uber to take him to Summerhill.

As he approached the front door of the original Victorian semi, he admired the bay-and-gable architecture that reminded him so much of the house the Napier kids grew up in. It was why Whitney loved it so much in the first place, and why Ryan bought it for her without giving it a second thought. Original stained-glass windows. Hardwood floors and trim. Original wood-burning fireplaces, still working after being built in the 1890s. Old but cozy. Grand but homey. Four bedrooms, just like there was in her house growing up, one for each of the kids, and of course one for her parents. Ryan could still remember where all the kids’ bedrooms were on the second floor, for various reasons.

Owen was the eldest Napier child, born in 1986 just like Cal. He was the smartest of all the Napier and O’Reilly kids too, save for probably Tara, and his job as a surgeon out in Kelowna proved it. He and Cal played a lot of hockey together, but when Owen decided to get serious about science, he quit. He and Cal drifted apart slightly, but they were still good friends and still kept in touch a lot. Tara came next in 1988, and Ryan and Gareth followed three years later in 1991, within weeks of each other. The two boys were inseparable, whether they were riding their bikes, on their skateboards or rollerblades or scooters, zooming down hills on toboggans – not to mention on the ice. They were always playing together on the same teams, until Ryan left for Toronto and then the OHL. But even then, Gareth would get himself to any game Ryan was playing that was even remotely close to their hometown. Whitney was born four years later in 1995. Owen and Gareth weren’t too excited to get a baby sister – they would have obviously preferred a brother – but Ryan still remembered the day she was brought home from the hospital. Shannon came in 1997, and the group was complete.

When Ryan got drafted, the Napier family were there celebrating with his. Even all of his foster siblings – almost 50 of them – loved the Napier family. When he was drafted and moved to Colorado, they’d make a trip with his parents once a year to watch him play. When he moved to Buffalo, they would drive down multiple times a year to catch a game and support him, knowing what he was going through there. His house was their house. Their house was his house. Their joys were his joys, and their tragedies were his tragedies.

He heard the door unlock. When it opened, he saw Whitney standing on the other side in a pair of Lululemon tights and a crop top. She seemed surprised to see him, even though they’d texted before he got on the plane.

“I thought you’d be taking your pre-game nap,” she said.

Ryan stepped into the house. He didn’t want to waste time. “I’ve got two hours until I have to be back at the arena,” he said, closing the door behind him and locking it without even looking.

In one swift movement, he wrapped an arm around Whitney and pulled her against his body. She let a giggle out. “We can get up to a lot in two hours, can’t we,” she whispered, her voice husky as she looked up at him. It was only then she realized he was wearing a stereotypical Canadian tuxedo, and she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. “And look at me. I’m not even wearing what I promised for you.”

“You know I don’t care about that right now. I like you better like this anyway,” his voice was just as husky as hers. His hands travelled down over her ass and he picked her up, just as he had countless times before, and she wrapped her legs around his torso, just like she had countless times before. There was no hesitation on either end when their lips and tongues met hungrily, not bothering with pleasantries or soft beginning kisses. That was for those who were unsure or perhaps didn’t know what they were doing, and Ryan and Whitney had been doing this for over ten years.

Ryan was big and strong. He always had been, even as kids – when he’d pick her up and carry her to her room kicking and screaming so he and Gareth could play video games in peace without her annoying them as kids; when he’d push her on the swing in the park and she’d go higher than all the other kids, making them jealous; when she wasn’t so little anymore and she’d pair up with him in pool fights where he’d let her get on his shoulders and he was as solid as concrete foundation. Hockey had only made him bigger and stronger. All the training he did throughout the year, and in the summers with his dad, only meant that his body was always overpowering in its size and stature, but not in a bad way. The first time they’d done this he’d been so gentle with her, but it only took until the second time for Whitney to want to feel his entire body against hers, and for him to use it to his full advantage (and to hers, if she was being honest). They hadn’t looked back since.

Ryan wasted no time carrying Whitney up the stairs, climbing them like it was nothing and leading her to her bedroom. When he placed her down on the bed, their lips didn’t even leave each other’s until she began to grasp at his jean jacket. “Take this off,” she breathed out. “I want to feel your body, Snook.”

Whitney pushed the jacket off his shoulders, and he tugged at the sleeves and pulled it off, throwing it off the bed. She snuck her hands underneath his top, the firmness of his body beneath her fingertips once again. It didn’t matter how many times it happened; it invigorated her every time. There was no other body on this earth that felt like Ryan’s – she was sure of that. And it didn’t matter if they were in bed, in the backseat of his car, in a pool or hot tub, or anywhere else, the feeling of his physical body so close to hers reminded her constantly that Ryan’s body was made for her, and her body was made for Ryan.

Before she could take off his shirt, Ryan began leaving a trail of kisses down her body, dragging his lips and tongue along areas until he pushed her crop top up, exposing her bra. “Take this off, baby,” he mumbled against her skin. “I need to see you.”

Whitney leaned forward so Ryan’s giant hands could slip underneath the fabric and pull her top off, and she followed quickly in pulling her sports bra over her head, lying back down on the bed with her arms above her head. When she felt Ryan clasping his hands over hers, applying pressure to keep them from moving, she grinded her hips up against his. “Fuck,” he let out quickly, quietly, biting his bottom lip. He crashed his lips against Whitney’s, sticking his tongue down her throat and causing her to mewl in pleasure, her hips grinding against his once more.

He could already feel himself getting hard – it never took long with Whitney. He moved down to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Her little sighs and moans were what he got lost in; the same little sighs and moans he would think about when she was on the other side of the dinner table or deck in front of their friends or family and he couldn’t touch her like he could behind closed doors. The thought of them clouded his judgement so much sometimes that he’d tune out what everyone was saying around him and remember a time where he’d pinned her body under his and all they felt was ecstasy.

He began to place big, open-mouth kisses down her chest and stomach, getting achingly slow around her belly button. When he set her hands free, they immediately went to gathering the fabric of his shirt into her fists, pulling it off him quickly so they were both topless. His lips returned dangerously close to the waistband of her leggings. “Not now, Snook,” Whitney said. “Later. I want to feel you inside me. It’s been so long.”

Ryan could barely think straight. “Later?”

“Later,” she nodded, her hands moving down to the button and zipper of his jeans, unfastening them in record speed. “I need to feel you fill me up like you love to.”

She helped him wiggle out of his jeans, and he pulled her tights and underwear off. When he was back on top of her, he grabbed one of her thighs and hooked her leg around his torso. He squeezed at the flesh of her thighs, both their chests heaving up and down. “D’you still have your IUD?”

“Of course.”

The way Whitney closed her eyes as she felt Ryan enter her – every time – still got to Ryan – every time. The way her eyelashes fluttered, then closed shut, then the inhalation of breath. He could feel her nails digging into the skin on his shoulder blades. “Look at me,” he said, almost demanded. Whitney’s eyes fluttered open to do as she was told, even though he was still pushing himself inside her. “You look so beautiful under me like this,” he told her.

“You’re so good to me, Ry,” she called him the pet name only she was allowed. He was called Snook by his entire family. He was called Ryan by everybody else. But only Whitney could call him Ry. “God, you feel so good inside me.” By this point Ryan was fully inside her, basking in the feeling he knew all too well. With one of Whitney’s legs still hooked around his torso, he began moving in and out of her at a steady pace, making her eyes roll to the back of her head from the pleasure. She brought her hands around and cradled his face, her thumbs grazing over his lips. “You love having me like this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Legs wide open, ready for you.”

“Yes.”

“Did you think about this when you were alone in St. Louis?”

She knew the answer to that question. She just wanted to hear him say how desperately he needed her. “Yes,” he huffed out, feeling her hips push into his again. “All the time.”

“Now that you’re in Toronto we can do this all the time,” she said. He watched as the slightest of smiles adorned her face, biting at her bottom lip. “You’ll be over a lot, won’t you Ry. Having me like this. Getting me on my hands and knees for you.”

The thought of it was heaven. If he could play hockey in Toronto and make love to Whitney in some sort of alternating schedule…well, that was his idea of paradise. “D’you need me like I need you?”

“Yes,” Whitney said without hesitation. “God Ry, you feel so good. Keep doing that. I want it to last as long as possible.”

Ryan grabbed her hands again, holding her wrists together above her head with just one hand. It was a while before he released them, and a while that they were back on his shoulder blades, digging deep into his skin. He couldn’t surmise how long they’d been going for, but he knew it had been a while, judging by the sweat on his body and how flushed red Whitney’s skin was, not to mention how puffy her lips were from all their kissing. He could feel himself getting close, and judging by the sighs and moans escaping Whitney, which he knew all too well, she was close too. “Look at me, Whit,” he said again, watching as she looked him in the eye.

“I want you to come inside me, Ry,” she breathed out. “Think about your cum in me while you win against the Habs.” He grunted at the thought. That would make him go crazy. “And when you get back home I’ll be waiting for you – waiting for you to fill me up again.”

Another loud grunt from him. She knew exactly what to say. “Fuckin’ love you, Whit.”

“Love you too Ry. Ever since we were kids.”

No more words were exchanged. Instead, laboured breaths, solid moans, and passionate cries filled the room until they came together, the feeling of Whitney tightening around his cock sending Ryan over the edge, and the feeling of Ryan coming inside of her, just as she wanted, sending Whitney over the edge too. He went for as long as he could, pumping in and out of her slowly as he felt her body shivering with pleasure, until even he was too tired. He collapsed onto her slowly, and she immediately wrapped her arms around his body, holding him close. They kissed for a while, slowly and passionately until they breathing returned to normal, with Ryan still inside her. Eventually, they lay together on their sides, holding each other.

Ryan’s eyes were getting droopy, and he was having a hard time staying awake. With the whirlwind 12 hours he’d just gone through, Whitney didn’t blame him. She began running her fingers through his hair, letting her nails massage his scalp. “Do you like how I redecorated the place?”

Ryan let out a tired smile. “Didn’t get to see it. But I bet it looks good. Not that my opinion matters.”

“Why not? You own the house.”

“I may have bought it but it’s your house,” he said. Her told her that all the time. He nestled his head into the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath in before exhaling. Whitney could feel his entire body relax in her arms, and she knew he was going to fall asleep any second. “I made a promise to your brother that I’d take care of you,” he continued, “and I’m not gonna break that promise.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d told Whitney that, either. “I know. I remember you saying that to Gareth as he lay in his casket.”

“I’ll always take care of you, Whit,” were Ryan’s last words before Whitney felt his breathing steady as he fell asleep.

Gareth passed away in the summer of 2013, when he was 22 years old. Whitney was just 18, about to move to Toronto and enter her first year of university at Ryerson to study communications. After hopping over to Russia, signing an offer sheet with Calgary, and then signing again with Colorado, Ryan was home early for the summer because the team hadn’t made the playoffs. Gareth, Ryan, and a bunch of their buddies had gone to the beaches near Goderich for a day of some fun and paddleboarding. One by one they had left, until Gareth was the only one. He was supposed to be back out again at 8 that night for a party, but he never showed up. That’s when everyone started to worry.

She remembered texting Ryan first, of course. They spoke every day.

did gareth go your house to get ready for that party?

i left the beach at 2 cuz i was getting sun stroke gareth was still there with jonesy, , john, ben, burnsy, and trent why?

he never came home he’s not answering his phone can you please come over ry

The specific details remained a blur to Whitney. She remembered little pockets of what happened, such as Ryan bursting through the front door. She remembered the kind police officer begging her and her parents to get some rest before the search resumed in the morning but being unable to, despite Ryan in her bedroom with her, holding her and rocking her back and forth, telling her that everything was going to be okay. She remembered not being able to stomach Bonnie O’Reilly’s broccoli chicken casserole even though it was one of her favourites. She remembered Ryan squeezing her hand under the table.

At some point, Whitney remembered hearing the worst news of her life: Gareth’s body had been found washed up on the shore of Lake Huron near Blue Water Beach and had been immediately transported to the hospital. So much water had gotten into his lungs that he’d developed an anoxic brain injury.

She remembered when she first stepped into his hospital room and felt physically sick by how many tubes he was hooked up to, including the ventilator. She remembered the doctors telling them that Gareth had drowned, that he was brain dead, and that they would have to make the choice as to when to remove the ventilator. They waited by his bedside for two days before Owen made it back from British Columbia.

On June 5th, at 3:30 in the afternoon, Gareth James Napier passed away.

Whitney doesn’t speak about his funeral.

***

When Ryan woke up an hour later, he and Whitney were still in the same position, nestled together in her bed. Her hand was still in his hair, their limbs entangled with one another’s. He groaned slightly, knowing that he had to leave but not exactly wanting to. He looked at his watch.

“You should take a shower before you leave,” he heard Whitney’s voice.

“Come with me.”

“Ryyyyyy,” she elongated his name, giggling slightly at the end. “You can’t have sex when you’re trying to wash the smell of sex off of you.”

“You said later, Whit,” his lips grazed against her skin. “It’s later.”

Whitney would never be able to forget how Ryan’s beard felt between her legs. After kissing and washing each other and Ryan eating her out within an inch of her life (seriously, he had to use his hands to hold her up because her legs turned into fucking jello and Ryan wasn’t about to let her fall in her own bathtub and get a concussion), they stood together at her front door, kissing, waiting for his Uber to arrive.

“We fly out to Chicago after the game, and then from there we fly to Buffalo,” he informed her in between kisses.

Whitney already knew. She’d looked up the schedule. “D’you want me to be in Buffalo, Snook?” she asked. He hesitated. “I can be there. I know it’s gonna feel…interesting for you.”

“I can let you know which hotel we’ll be in,” he acquiesced. “If—if you can even come that early. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Whit.”

“I don’t want you feeling alone in Buffalo. I know how much of a mindfuck it can be for you being there,” she wasn’t having any of it. “I can hang out with all the Leaf fans.”

He smiled. “I’m gonna have to get you a jersey.”

“Only if it has your name on the back,” she said, running her hands up and down his chest. “You can fuck me in it after.”

Ryan groaned, leaning his head down to kiss her. A car honked outside. “If you drive home fast enough that night, we’ll be able to. We won’t have to wait.”

Another kiss, this time more urgent. And another. And another. And another. “I’ll see you in Buffalo, Snook,” Whitney finally said her goodbye.

Another kiss. This time, Ryan bit her bottom lip between his teeth and pulled it along with him as he moved away. A soft mewl left Whitney’s lips. “See you in Buffalo.”

***

When Ryan played in Buffalo, Whitney would drive down to see him play. She wouldn’t tell anybody where she was going or what she was doing because it was their little secret. Sometimes she’d go just for a game and to be with Ryan afterwards, and she’d drive home the next morning to make it in time for her 10am class; sometimes if Ryan had a particularly long home stretch, she’d stay over longer and they would stay holed up in his house, making love in every room and on every surface imaginable. In between she would finish school work.

It wasn’t as frequent when Ryan first got to Buffalo. He’d signed a seven-year contract extension for an absurd amount of money – $52.5 million – and was putting up good numbers. But the team kept losing. And losing. And losing. It started to take a toll on him mentally. He’d call to talk with her and their conversations would last hours. Sometimes he’d get really emotional. Sometime he’d even cry, and her heart would break over the fact that he was feeling this way and she couldn’t be there to comfort him. He admitted to her long before he said it in the media that he’d felt like he lost the love of the game multiple times throughout the season. He didn’t need to say it in the media for her to know.

The most heartbreaking moment for Whitney came during a rainy night in Buffalo. It was her last night staying with Ryan until he had to leave for a whopping 14-day road trip with the team. He’d been grasping on to her the whole last day, as if she’d float away back to Toronto without saying goodbye. When they were cuddled in bed together, just kissing, she could feel fresh tears roll down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Snook?”

“What’s wrong with me, Whit? Why can’t I win? I—”

“Snook, you can’t put that pressure on yourself. The team doesn’t start and end with you—”

“First with Colorado, now with Buffalo…everywhere I go I feel like a cancer.”

Whitney remembered having a sick feeling in her stomach as Ryan said those words. She remembered wiping his tears away with her thumbs and with her kisses, begging him to realize he was worth so much more than what he thought. She remembered telling him over and over how much she loved him, hoping that it would calm him down, but it didn’t help much. He was too far into his own head. The next morning, as he showered and finished his packing, Whitney was scared to let go of him. She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want him to be away from her when he was so vulnerable. She made him promise to call her every day, even though they already spoke every day through text.

He kept his promise.

That summer, Ryan was traded to St. Louis. On the one hand, Whitney was sad because he wasn’t close anymore. There was no way she could just drive to see him so often now. On the other hand, she was happy he was traded out of a situation that made him lose his love of the game. She still visited him in St. Louis, but much less often. They still got up to their fun.

She parked in the same spot as she always did, and navigated the Keybank Centre like the back of her hand. She joined the legion of Leafs fans watching the warm-ups, getting as close to the glass as possible. She wasn’t wearing a Leafs jersey, so realistically, she’d stick out like a sore thumb. Despite her family being Leafs fans, she only ever wore Ryan’s jerseys.

Ryan saw her during warm up. Whitney knew he did because there was a cute little smile on his face for a few minutes, and there was a cute little smile on her face for a few minutes, watching him out there in a Leafs jersey shooting pucks and skating around. The days when her mother would haul her to arenas for Gareth and Ryan’s hockey games were long over, but the dream was alive for him: he was a Stanley Cup Champion. He was a Conn Smythe winner. And now he was a Toronto Maple Leaf. She only wished Gareth was here to see it all in person, even though she knew he was watching from above.

As she went to her seat after warm ups, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

You look beautiful.

She couldn’t help but smile.

Focus on the game you pervert.

She eventually took her seat, only about ten rows up from the ice. Barely four minutes into the game, she got her first gift: Ryan scored his first goal as a Toronto Maple Leaf. The only other time she thought she was as loud was when he won the Stanley Cup. A grand total of thirty-seven seconds later, he scored again.

Whitney knew she was going to be in for a hell of a game.

When he finished his hat trick at the end of the game, she cried a little. It was made all the more emotional by the fact they were in Buffalo – she had to admit that. But once the buzzer rang, and the Leafs won 6-3, she pulled out her phone instinctively, just as she had countless times before.

Leaving now. If you get home before me let yourself in. I’m so happy for you. And I’m so fucking excited for later.

It was when she got to her car that she received a reply. She thought he probably had to handle some post-game press which is why it took him so long.

That was for you. And you better be fucking excited.

***

At just before midnight, Whitney and Ryan’s lips crashed against one another’s in the privacy of her home. Their kisses were frantic, their hands, too. They almost knocked down the vase at the front entrance, and almost tripped going up the stairs to. But when they finally got to her bedroom, Whitney pushed Ryan to sit down on the edge of her bed. He watched as she dropped down to her knees in front of him.

She unbuttoned his pants and slid the zipper down expertly. She knew how to get into every pair of pants he wore. “You like what you see, Snook?”

“You know the answer to that,” he said, helping her wiggle his pants off of him. “You always look so pretty when you’re on your knees for me.” He brought his hands forward to cup her face, guiding her up slightly so he could place another sloppy kiss on her lips. “All that tonight was for you, baby,” he told her.

“You don’t have to butter me up Snook, I’m gonna suck your dick regardless.”

Ryan let out a chuckle. When he felt her hand over his growing length, he groaned slightly. He kissed her again. “You’re sweetness. That’s what you are, Whit. Sweetness.”

That was a nickname he had called her time and time again. And not just in bed. In the morning, when they would make coffee together; at dinner, when he was pouring her a glass of wine; when she was on the couch and he was in the kitchen as he would ask if she wanted more popcorn. The first time he called her that, they were still teens, and he was still using it to this day. Snook and Sweetness.

Whitney bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know if you should be calling me sweetness before what we’re going to do.” Ryan could feel his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he watched her free his dick from his underwear. She stroked him a few times before giving him one last look. “You wanna come down my throat?” she asked.

He nodded.

She licked the underside of his cock, causing him to hiss. She placed a few kisses along his head before she began sucking, only lightly, teasing him into oblivion. When she was satisfied with the number of curse words that left his mouth, without warning, she took more of his cock into her mouth. He leaned his head back in pleasure, and when he felt her take even more, a new string of expletives left his mouth. “God Whit, you’re so fucking good.”

She hummed in response, the vibration allowing for a new sensation. He could feel her swirl her tongue as he watched her bob her head up and down his shaft, taking more and more into his mouth with each passing moment. He pushed her hair out of her face and gathered it in his hands. He watched with eyes wide as she took all of him down her throat. He felt the back of her throat with the tip of his cock and grunted. She took him like that a few more times, with his help, his chest heaving up and down.

“Whit—”

“Hmmm?”

“Gimme your fingers.”

Whitney brought one of her hands up. Ryan grabbed it and brought it towards his mouth, sucking her index and middle fingers. He took them out of his mouth but kept them close, spitting on them before looking at her. “Touch yourself.”

Whitney whimpered at the command and did what she was told, sticking her hand down her underwear and placing them directly on her already wet pussy. She touched herself for a while as she kept taking Ryan’s cock down her throat again and again, even going so far as to spit on its head when she came back up once. Ryan couldn’t do anything else but curse, taking a while before he could finally formulate something else to say. “Look at me, Whit.”

She looked up at him with her beady eyes, popping his cock out of her mouth. “Yeah Ry?”

“You were fuckin’ made for me, you know that?” he huffed, bringing the hand that was in her hair around her face so he could wipe the spit off her lips with his thumb.

Whitney nodded quickly. “You were made for me too.”

“This pretty little mouth was made for me,” Ryan continued, “and your pretty little pussy too.”

“All for you,” Whitney agreed. “All for you.”

When Whitney continued sucking his dick, Ryan knew he was getting close. The moaning and sucking sounds definitely didn’t help, and he let Whitney know by saying it out loud. She took him all the way down to the back of her throat a few times more before Ryan bucked his hips and felt his hot cum release in her mouth and down her throat. He was gasping for air, his mouth wide open at the sensation; Whitney moaned in pleasure at the feeling and taste of him, as it had been so long since the last time. She continued to suck every last drop until she could feel his dick soften; only then did she finally stop.

Ryan pulled her up by gently tugging on her hair. His lips crashed on to hers and he pulled her body against his, falling onto the bed together. They wasted no time in removing each other of their clothes. When Whitney slid out of her underwear, Ryan got a look at how wet her pussy already was, covered in her own juices and his spit, and practically had a heart palpitation. “Come sit on my face, sweetness.”

She crawled over his body and sat on his face. He wrapped his arms around her thigs and pinned her down so she could barely move – just enough to grind if she wanted to, or if Ryan let her. It took no time at all for Ryan to start lapping at her pussy, starting with one long lick from bottom to top and sucking on her clit for good measure.

Whitney ran her hands through Ryan’s hair and gripped on to it. She knew she’d get beard burn, but she didn’t care – she wanted this to last as long as possible. Even though she was anticipating what would happen after this – all the positions they’d tangle themselves in, how many times he’d make her come, how much Ryan would leave her wanting more – the thought of Ryan between her thighs using only his tongue and lips to make her come was something she thought of way too often, especially on lonely nights when she was desperate to see him, or nights where they’d have phone sex and only her fingers could do. She had to have an active imagination because only the real thing – the real Ryan – could ever make her feel as good as he made her feel. Nothing was better than Ryan, because nothing or no-one loved her more than Ryan.

“Just like that, Ry,” she signed out, cupping her breasts in her hands and pinching at her nipples before having to grip the headboard.

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet,” Ryan mumbled against the lips of her pussy, sucking at her clit right afterwards.

Her moans and mewls got louder. She knew her voice would be coarse tomorrow because of it – and he hadn’t even made her scream yet. That was still coming. She couldn’t help but tug on his hair and make him moan in the process. When she began grinding on his face slightly, she could feel his hands grip at her hips and help guide her – she knew she’d have marks there tomorrow, but she didn’t care.

After a while, when Whitney couldn’t hold it in any longer, she cried out his name over and over again as she came on his face, her entire body shaking on top of him. The only reason why she didn’t completely collapse was the headboard and Ryan’s strong hands. Eventually she shifted her body down, so she could see Ryan’s face, only to see that it was wet and covered in her juices.

“Holy fucking shit,” she blurted.

“I’m ready t—"

Ryan didn’t get to finish his sentence. Whitney acted fast, crashing her lips onto his so she could taste herself on his face. “Holy fuck,” she mumbled in between kisses.

“See how good you taste? How sweet?” Ryan mumbled in between kisses. “I could get drunk on you. I could eat you out all fucking night.”

“Tell me how you want me, Ry.”

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Whitney inhaled sharply. She did as she was told. She always did with Ryan. So did he. That’s what made everything so…nice. That’s what made everything so unbelievable. She faced away from him, but she could feel him watching her, getting a full look of how ready she was for him. When she felt him grab her hips again, she readied herself to feel his cock deep inside her pussy.

Instead, she felt Ryan’s body hover over hers. She closed her eyes, oblivious to what was going to happen next, until she could feel him placing light kisses at the back of her neck and across her shoulder blades. He was taking his time, being gentle, savouring the moment before they lost themselves into each other. “I love you, Whit,” he whispered into her ear.

“I love you too Snook,” she said.

“I’ve loved you forever.”

Whitney took another deep breath. He kissed along her ear. She turned her head so they could make eye contact. “It doesn’t feel like this with anyone else.”

“I know. It doesn’t.”

“I only ever feel like this with you, Ry. Nobody else can make me feel good like you do.”

“Same, Whit.”

There was a moment of silence between them, knowing what was about to happen. “Will you fuck me how you know I like it?” Whitney asked, her voice as sweet as how she tasted.

Ryan didn’t bother to answer. He continued his soft kisses down her spine instead, before placing a final kiss at the base of it and grabbing her hips. He could tell how giddy she was in anticipation. “Face down, ass up, sweetness.”

Whitney whimpered just at the command. In one swift movement she moved her body, and before she could say anything else, she felt Ryan’s cock teasing at her entrance. He was going to make her beg because she loved to beg, because she asked him to fuck her the way she liked it and this is how she liked to be fucked. She liked every way with him, but special moments like this deserved something special, and he was going to give it to her. When they made love, like the afternoon he arrived in Toronto…that was different. It was soft, and it was passionate, and it was the physical encapsulation of the conversation they’d just had, but what was about to happen next was anything but.

“Tell me how much you need me, sweetness.”

“I need your cock, Ry. Fill me up,” she begged.

“Beg. Beg.”

Whitney bit at her bottom lip. “Please Ry, pleeeease. I need to feel your cock inside me. I need you to fill me up. I need you so bad, Ry. I need what only you can give me.”

Ryan entered her in one swift movement, and her pussy was so slick that he slid right in and bottomed out. Whitney cried out in pleasure, and it didn’t take long for him to start pounding in and out of her, hearing her get louder and louder as he became rougher. Instinctively she would try to rise every so often, and Ryan would push her back down, making her cry out even louder for how he was controlling her pleasure. At some points, even her knees began to buckle and spread from under her, bringing her closer to the bed, and Ryan would have to pull her hips back up. He’d lost track at how many times he felt her walls tighten around his pulsating cock, lost track at how many times she cried out his name.

He pulled her hair so that her body was flush against his chest, bringing one hand around to tease her clit, and another to wrap itself at the base of her neck. He wasn’t choking her, because she didn’t like that, but this was their alternative. She brought her own hand up and placed it over his, trying as best as possible to intertwine their fingers.

“Fucking hell, Ry,” Whitney managed to get out. “Feels so fucking good.”

“D’you love it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Tell me how good it feels. Use your words, sweetness.”

Whitney couldn’t believe him. She also couldn’t believe she would oblige. “You feel so fucking big,” she began, heavy breaths punctuating every thought. “You stretch me out, and my pussy…my pussy feels so full. I can’t wait until you come inside me. Can you feel how wet my pussy is?”

“How many times did you come?”

“I—I don’t know. I always lose count with you.”

Ryan leaned back and took Whitney with him, so she was lying down on top of him with one hand at the base of her neck and another on her pussy, his cock still buried deep in her. “Ry—”

“Take it Whit. Take it like the good girl you are for me.”

Though he couldn’t see it, Whitney’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as Ryan pumped in and out of her in this new position, hitting an angle that was sending her even quicker over the edge than before, which she didn’t think was possible. “Ry…Ry…fuck Ry…” her nails dug into the back of his hand. Her heartbeat was out of control.

She didn’t even know how much time had passed in that position – how could she? – before she heard Ryan utter the magic words. “I’m fucking close, Whit.”

“I wanna face you when you come, Ry. Can you—”

Before she knew what was happening, he slid out of her and got on top of her. Though she whimpered at the loss of his cock inside her, he spread her legs and hiked one around his torso and entered her again. Though it felt like she had been having just one continuous orgasm for the last several minutes, she was desperate to feel him come inside her, to feel one last wave of pleasure throughout her body. They looked each other in the eye; Whitney could see a fire in his that he reserved only for her.

“Tell me how much you need me, Whit,” he huffed.

“I need you more than anything, Snook,” she told him, because it was the truth.

“Am I the only one that gets to come inside of you?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she bit her bottom lip. “You’re the only one. The only one that gets to come in pussy, because it’s all yours, Ry. All yours.”

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, thrusting into her so forcefully that she cried out his name over and over. When she felt him come inside her, she grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck. Her finally orgasm rushed throughout her entire body like a title wave, hers and Ryan’s breathing the only thing to be heard in the bedroom. His breathing was so frantic it almost sounded high-pitched, almost like he was going through an asthma attack. His face was still buried in the crook of her neck as he collapsed on top of her. When he rolled over to the side, his cock left her pussy for the first time (for more than, like, five whole damn seconds) in what felt like hours. Whitney’s body was still shivering from her orgasms. Ryan was having a hard time catching his breath.

It was a few minutes before either of them felt even 0.0001% semblance of normalcy. Ryan was the first to look over at Whitney, who was still staring up at the ceiling. “Are you okay, Whit?” he asked.

“I’m better than okay,” she whispered – it was the loudest her voice could get.

Ryan couldn’t help but smile. “Ready for round two?”

Whitney whipped her head to the side to look at him, only to see him smirking and giggling like a little school girl. “I don’t think I’ll have a voice tomorrow. I don’t even think I’m going to be able to walk tomorrow,” she chastised.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, outstretching his arm so she could roll into his body. When she was tucked into him, he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for being in Buffalo tonight.”

“It was nothing,” she said. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I love you, Whit.”

“I love you too, Snook.”

***

There was a long road trip coming up to the west coast. Seattle, Edmonton, Calgary, Vancouver, and then to New Jersey, before finally coming home again to face Edmonton during a Hockey Night in Canada. This meant that Friday was a good a time as ever for Ryan’s parents and Whitney’s parents to drive to Toronto to watch the game against Minnesota. Ryan had secured them tickets and access to the family room – as family members, of course. Whitney would have to be on her best behaviour.

They all had lunch earlier that day, before Ryan usually went down for his pre-game nap. Whitney met up with the parents at their hotel before the game, getting her friends and family pass from her mom before she walked with them to the arena. After giving their names and passes to a man named Omar, they were led to the family lounge, where there was at least half of the women Whitney assumed to be the partners of the men on the team. There weren’t any parents around, though, which Whitney thought would make them stick out like a sore thumb.

They weren’t there long before Whitney noticed a woman balancing a toddler on her hip approaching them with a big smile.

“Hello! You must be the O’Reilly family?” she asked.

“That’s us! And friends!” Brian said.

“It’s very nice to meet you. Welcome to the Toronto Maple Leafs!” she extended her free hand to shake everyone’s. “I’m Aryne Tavares, John’s wife, and this is my son Axton.”

Bonnie waved at him and he waved back. “We’re the O’Reillys,” she pointed at herself and her husband, “and these are our friends and neighbours, James and Alice Napier and their daughter Whitney. Whitney and Ryan grew up together.”

“Come take a seat, please – Ryan mentioned to John that you were all coming tonight. Can we get you any food? Whitney, follow me, you can meet some of the partners…”

It was a bit of a blur for Whitney, if only because she was meeting so many people associated with the players on the team that it was hard to keep track of them all. She met Bee McTavish, who was getting married to Morgan Rielly this summer; Aberdeen Bloom, who was with William Nylander (Whitney had read her book and had loved it); and Lusine, who was with Rasmus Sandin (Whitney didn’t think there’d be anyone younger than her present, but lo and behold). This sort of situation had happened before in Colorado and Buffalo, where things went normally, and in St. Louis, where things went a bit…differently, but Whitney was glad to say this was normal. They were all very nice, very welcoming, very talkative.

St. Louis hadn’t been like this. The first time she’d met the team, it was much less formally – at one of the guys’ raucous birthday parties she just happened to be in town for. Most of the guys were nice, albeit buzzed, but they were manageable. Jordan Binnington and his hands definitely weren’t, and he had a hard time taking no for an answer until Ryan had to step in. While that was long in the past, whenever it was brought up or remembered, Ryan still got angry about it. The anger didn’t come from a place where he though he owned Whitney or that she was his and no-one else’s – it was because Jordan was just downright disrespectful, from his words to his intentions to his actions. Ryan had been nothing but respectful to everyone his entire life, and he couldn’t fathom acting like Jordan towards anyone.

It was when Whitney emerged from the washroom during the intermission between first and second period that things got interesting. Everybody had been so nice, and then she saw Bee McTavish waving to get her attention. “Is everything okay?” Whitney asked.

“Aryne said Bonnie told her you and Ryan grew up together?” she wanted to clarify.

“Yeah,” Whitney nodded. “He’s known me since I was a baby.”

Bee looked around, over both shoulders, before she lowered her voice. “It’s Aberdeen’s birthday tomorrow, but since the boys are leaving for Seattle, we’re having her birthday party tonight,” Bee explained. “Lusine and I spent an hour decorating her place for a surprise birthday before we got here. You and Ryan should come! Get you away from your parents if you want.”

Whitney didn’t know what to say. It was the first time she was meeting everyone and they were already inviting her out? This was probably the nicest group of women she’d ever met. “Oh my God, that’s so – that’s so kind of you, but please, if this is a friends thing, please don’t feel obligated—”

“Oh my gosh, don’t even start,” Bee cut her off. “It’s nothing serious, and we would love to have you. I’m sure Ryan will love to get to know the boys even better in an informal setting, away from hockey.”

Whitney couldn’t help the smile that overtook her face. “I’ll ask him when we see them, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes…if only to get away from having to entertain his parents on a Friday night,” she winked.

“Boomers in the big bad city,” Bee joked.

“Nah – Brian and Bonnie are actually from Toronto. They’ll be fine. They may actually know a bar to go to.”

***

It was almost one in the morning before Ryan and Whitney called it a night at Aberdeen’s surprise “Quarter Century” birthday party. While they could have stayed longer, they promised their parents brunch at 11 the next morning before Ryan had to leave for the airport. They weren’t in for a long drive up to Summerhill, thankfully, because the second that they were in the elevator, away from the condo, Ryan grabbed Whitney’s hand.

“You know what I remembered tonight?” Whitney asked as they emerged from the parking garage.

“What’s that?”

“Remember when Binner was flirting with me?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but not in an annoyed way – in an angry way, which – if Whitney was being honest – was the exact reason she brought it up. She wanted a little bit of heat to fester while they were in the car. “What about it?”

“Just how bad the flirting was,” she cracked a joke. “He wasn’t even being subtle about it.”

“Whit—”

“Remember how you had to talk to him and got angry with him?”

“He deserved it,” Ryan said simply. “I never got over it, by the way. I’m still angry with him about it.”

“He helped you win a Stanley Cup,” she deadpanned.

“Doesn’t matter. He disrespected you and made you feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness for making you feel that way.”

There was a moment of silence between them, with only the sound of the rubber tires moving along the road filling the void. Whitney’s hand snuck across the dash and landed on Ryan’s thigh, squeezing it gently. “You never told me what you said to him, you know.”

He moved his hand to grip her thigh. “Come on, Whit.”

“Come on, Snook,” she countered, raising her hand higher on his thigh, dangerously close to his member.

She watched as Ryan bit his tongue, and it had nothing to do with how high her hand was. She knew he was having one of his small internal battles. “I just told him to knock it off. That I didn’t like how he was treating you. You clearly weren’t interested and what bothered me was that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He told me he bet you were used to it and that’s when I kind of lost it on him. Told him that you weren’t, and that if he was gonna keep doing that, I’d knock his teeth down his throat.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. “Was that before or after he put his hands on me and pulled me in to sit on his lap?”

Okay, now Ryan was getting angry. Remembering the thought of seeing Jordan’s hands on Whitney, in places where Ryan knew only his hands had been, sent him spiralling. Pulling her onto his lap, like some kind of dog – Ryan had steam coming out of his ears that night. “I fuckin—I can’t—I think it was after,” he honestly couldn’t remember. The anger clouded his memory. “All I remember is wanting to give him a black eye. Dad always said no violence and I’ve never wanted to punch a guy until then.”

Whitney didn’t know why, but she loved hearing all of this. She loved hearing about how upset Ryan got, what he said to Jordan, everything. It wasn’t that it made her feel wanted or valued – she always did with Ryan, so that wasn’t an issue. And it wasn’t because she generally disliked Jordan – although that was a perk. But she felt herself getting hotter with each passing second. “You hated it because I belong to you, right?” she prompted, her voice low and not suggestive at all. She saw Ryan hesitate to go down this road, and more than a few moments of silence passed between them. She squeezed his thigh softly. “You can say it Ry. It’s okay.”

“I don’t think…” he hesitated again. “You don’t belong to anyone, Whitney. I don’t like that.”

“Okay,” Whitney nodded slightly, her voice sober. So she struck out on that one – that was fine. “Sorry, Snook.”

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetness.”

Another few moments of silence. Whitney noticed some recognizable shops, so she knew they were close to home. She removed her hand from his thigh and placed it over his, which was still resting comfortable in her lap. She made sure their fingers intertwined before moving it up. “Remember when we were kids and we used to getaway in your car for hours?”

Did he. Ryan could still vividly remember the first time they hooked up in his car. For years there had been such charged energy between them that Ryan didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, this was his best friend’s younger sister. On the other hand, he quite literally couldn’t keep himself away from her. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that they literally grew up together. It began with instances like Whitney sitting beside him on an old porch swing one night, where Ryan felt like his body was on fire. It continued to other instances, like when they were playfighting in the pool one night and Ryan couldn’t get out at the same time because…he had something to hide. Then, later that summer, Whitney and Ryan shared their first kiss. It almost didn’t happen, because Ryan was convinced Gareth would be lurking in a bush ready to kick his ass, but they were safe. From the moment he felt Whitney’s lips on his, he was a goner. He knew that there would be nothing else like it. They kissed more than a few times after that, and each one was their little secret. It progressed to Whitney and Ryan texting each other in secret. Nobody knew about the kisses. Nobody knew about the pictures she was sending him, either. Not nudes, but suggestive enough.

When Ryan came back the following summer, things were cranked up to 1000. Gareth wasn’t around as often because of his summer courses (though he was still around quite a bit), and Owen had already moved to British Columbia, which meant that unless Ryan and Gareth’s friends were around, when they were alone, Ryan and Whitney got into a lot of trouble. Kisses turned to makeout sessions – on couches, in his bed, on her bed. Then makeout sessions on couches or beds turned into makeout sessions in Ryan’s car, when they’d drive to Goderich together to watch the sunset over the lake but end up not seeing the sunset at all. Kisses and makeout sessions turned into touching, too. Lots of touching. Whitney could still remember what it felt like the first time Ryan’s hand snuck underneath her sundress and in between her legs. Ryan could still remember what it felt like the first time Whitney zipped down his pants and snuck her hand beneath his underwear.

They were supposed to be watching the sunset one night when Whitney made the suggestion that they have sex. Ryan was against it at first, coming up with any excuse he could. “You’re my best friend’s younger sister” was the obvious one. “You’re barely seventeen” was his other, more plausible excuse. Whitney didn’t care; she didn’t care that he was older and she didn’t care about his excuses. He was the safest, most natural, most responsible, most loving choice. All the boys at school were gross little perverts, and here was Ryan, who had always looked after her, who was always asking if he could stick his hand down her pants, always asking if he could grope her boobs. Most of all, she wanted it because she knew he loved her. There was no way it could be with anyone else. She wanted him so badly that it was driving her insane. But then there was a moment when Ryan looked into Whitney’s eyes and everything changed. They weren’t desperate – far from it. They weren’t even pleading. Instead, what he saw in her eyes was everything he loved about her, all the memories they shared growing up together, all the times they had each other’s back when they broke a vase or had some unexplained bruise or fed their vegetables to the Napier’s dog, Cinnamon.

And so, as the sun set over Lake Huron, in Ryan’s car, they had sex.

And they hadn’t stopped since.

“Of course I remember,” Ryan said. He made a right-hand turn onto the street. Whitney knew it would only be a minute or so until he pulled into her small driveway. “I—I always remember those times. Those were some of my favourites.”

Whitney squeezed his hand again. She was wearing pants, but when she guided Ryan’s hand between her thighs, he could feel her core. “They’re some of my favourites, too.”

“Why are they for you?” Ryan asked.

Whitney took a moment to collect her thoughts. “I—it’s gonna sound weird, Snook.”

He gave her a look from the driver’s seat. “I spit in your hand the other night and told you to touch yourself. We’re past the point of weird, sweetness.”

Whitney couldn’t help but snort. He was right, that was for damn sure. “I’ve always thought you were attractive. Like, once I hit puberty, I found myself only being attracted to you, or, like, trying to find guys that looked like you so it wasn’t you because I thought it was wrong at first. And so when we started hooking up, for me, it was a lot about the emotions, sure, but more so about, like…the physical. Like…your body, Snook. Just…your entire body is just so big and strong, and when you’d hover over me or I’d get to run my hands along your back or your chest, I just couldn’t get enough of your body. There’s always been something so visceral about your body to me. So remembering back to the first time I got to touch it…God, I could make myself come right now just thinking about it.”

Ryan stayed silent for a few moments, taking in everything Whitney had to say. “For me,” he began slowly, “it’s some of my favourite memories because I—you—you were always just a ray of light. Like so many people got moody and pretentious, but you didn’t. You matured and whatever, but you still experienced joy. Every day wasn’t the end of the world for you. You saw every day as a chance to experience joy.”

Whitney was smiling. “I talk about you like a hot piece of ass, and you talk about me in the most beautiful way.”

“You were always a handsy kid,” Ryan joked. He finally turned into her driveway, parking the car and turning it off. “But your body was just as enticing, sweetness. I still remember the first time I touched you too. How your body responded immediately. Just like now,” his voice was getting lower and lower, his eyes focusing on his hand between her thighs.

Whitney leaned over the centre console first, kissing Ryan sweetly. Their lips couldn’t leave one another’s, and eventually, Whitney began climbing over to get into Ryan’s lap. He pushed his seat all the way back so they would be more comfortable. His hands immediately went underneath her top as they continued kissing, and everything felt back like it did in Goderich, on the coast of Lake Huron. From the kissing to the touching to the windows fogging up.

With Ryan’s hands over her breasts, Whitney felt overwhelmed – but in the best way. “Make love to me here, Snook. Just like we used to,” she breathed out.

“Yeah? You want it?” Ryan asked.

She nodded. “I want it. I want you, Ry.”

Somehow, Ryan helped Whitney out of her pants. Then, somehow, she pushed his down too, sticking her hand down his underwear to free his cock. His hand travelled down between her legs, teasing at her lips and causing her to moan. “You remember the first time I touched you like this?” Ryan asked. Whitney nodded her head. “You remember how you were squirming in my lap?”

“I was trying to get your fingers deeper.”

Ryan giggled. “Your entire body was shaking when I touched you.”

“Because I couldn’t believe you were,” she said. “Things I had dreamed about for so long were happening.”

Ryan pushed a finger ever-so-slightly into Whitney’s pussy, causing her to catch her breath. “What else did you dream about?”

“It—it started with you kissing me. Then I would dream about your hand or your mouth on my pussy,” she explained as they looked each other in the eye. “The first time I dreamt of us having sex, I woke up in the middle of it and I was touching myself.”

“Fuck Whit, you never told me that before.”

“Did you ever dream about me, Snook?”

“All the time,” he nodded. “Still do, sweetness.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Most of the time it’s burying my face in your sweet pussy,” he began, pushing his finger further into her. “Can I tell you a secret, sweetness?”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes, when it’s been long since we’ve seen each other, I dream about something as simple as holding your hand.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. He called her sweetness, but he was sweetness personified. He said things like that all the time, and it didn’t matter what it was, but Whitney would fall for it every time. He was so sentimental. “Make love to me Snook.”

He guided his cock to her entrance and she lowered herself on top of him, gasping at the angle that he was entering her, especially since they were so close physically. It took her a few moments to get used to the feeling. This wasn’t the first time they had hooked up in a car since they were horny teenagers, but it had definitely been a while. “You feel so good, Whit,” Ryan huffed, gripping at her hips.

“Can you do me a favour?” she asked, opening her eyes and finally focusing back on him.

“What’s that?”

“Can you kiss me here?” she asked sweetly, moving her hair out of the way and pointing to her jawline.

Ryan smiled. “Of course,” he mumbled, already moving forward to place kisses exactly where she wanted them. She grabbed onto the backrest right by his shoulders.

“And here,” she pointed to her neck, causing Ryan to move down.

She began moving in his lap, slowly, running a hand through the hair at the nape of Ryan’s neck. He moved back up to her lips and they kissed for a while, Ryan’s tongue down her throat and hands squeezing her hips. She didn’t want this to end quickly, so she didn’t move quickly, either. There was something so intimate about the moment, despite them being in the front seat of a car. Reminiscing on their memories right before this must have been the kicker. Ryan was just as gentle then as he was being now, except now they both knew what they were doing.

“Ry?” she pulled away so they could look each other in the eye.

“Hmm?”

“D’you love me?”

“Of course I love you,” he said, kissing her right afterwards. “D’you love me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s only ever been you, Ry.”

He hummed in happiness. “It’s always about you for me.”

Whitney leaned forward, giving him small, light kisses along his jawline and neck before moving up to his ear. “Tell me I’m yours, Ry.”

“You’re mine, sweetness,” he huffed into her ear. “All mine.”

“All yours,” she repeated. She didn’t belong to him – that he made clear – but she was his, and he was hers. “Look at me, Ry.”

He did. His eyes were so blue, Whitney thought that the oceans were captured in his eyes. They were always like that, but when he grew the dark beard, they somehow became even more prominent. “You’re so beautiful, sweetness,” he said. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful girl in my life.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. While fucking Ryan was out of this world, making love to Ryan was the best. While fucking felt so good, and so satisfying, and always left them wanting more, making love brought an emotional fulfillment neither could get from anyone else. “Your girl.”

“My girl,” he kissed her passionately. The windows had fogged up so much, but their pair continued kissing anyway, Whitney’s grinding in his lap giving them more and more pleasure slowly but surely.

Whitney moved to kisses along his jaw when she felt herself getting close. “I want to feel you come inside me, Ry. Will you do that for me?” she whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetness,” he tightened his grip on her hips.

She didn’t move any faster, but she could feel Ryan guiding her back and forth. They were looking into each other’s eyes the entire time as they got closer and closer to their release. It seemed as if even their breaths were in sync, huffing out laboured breaths until Whitney became louder and louder. When he came inside her, Ryan could feel her legs shake in his lap, the moans escaping her as she nestled into the crook of his neck. “Oh fuck Ry…” she didn’t know what else to say, couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Was that what you wanted, sweetness?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It was just like when we used to sneak away to Bluewater Beach.”

Ryan smiled again, and he knew Whitney was smiling too. He slipped out of her, but they stayed embraced for a while longer before they began to feel the cold permeate the car. “Let’s go to bed, Whit.”

She sighed, knowing she’d have to get off his lap. She looked him in the eye one last time before resolving to climb off him and back into the passenger’s seat. “Will you hold me?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to,” Ryan promised.

They redressed and rushed inside, desperate not to feel the cold night air for too long. Whitney washed off her makeup and Ryan got ready for bed, lying in bed in his boxers with the blanket open until Whitney slipped in. He made sure to set his alarm for 9:30 before outstretching his arms and having Whitney cuddle in to him. Just like he promised, he held her as they fell asleep.

“I love you, Snook,” Ryan heard Whitney say, barely above a whisper, right before she fell asleep.

“I love you too, Whit,” he responded, placing a small kiss on her shoulder.

***

“She was very nice,” Bee said to Aberdeen as she helped load the dishwasher of all the glasses used for the surprise party. “She was mentioning how she and Ryan grew up together in Seaforth. She’s got two older brothers, and Ryan’s got three other siblings, and they’re all best friends.”

“That’s so nice,” Aberdeen said, slightly buzzed, trying to hide from Bee that she was going to lose her balance any minute. She gripped on to the counter top for dear life. “Did you watch them at all? See anything fishy?”

Bee furrowed her brows. “Uh…no? Why? Did you?”

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders, a playful grin playing on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re not just friends.”

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artdecosupernova-writing · 9 months ago

Text

OC Kiss Week Day 6: Reach

WIP: Misfortunate Sol Pairing: Cal x Sol Timeline: an alternate universe version of events. this in no way spoils the real plot. CW: Fire, death, blood, gun violence. it's not that bad but it's better to err on the side of caution Rating: T Words: 2,150

***

Detective Calvin Logan entered the precinct at an unusually early time in the midst of utter chaos. He was so bereft of his first cup of coffee, however, that he didn't even notice the state of the place until he attempted to rectify his delayed caffeine situation.

He grumbled under his breath as he poured already-aging coffee into the first mug he got his hands on—a stout metal cup the police captain had brought in from his time in the war.

Cal looked up and squinted at the cops running around, papers flying, telephone operators being yelled at. He almost didn't catch himself in time before he overflowed the cup and coffee splashed onto the floor at his feet.

"What's goin' on?" he asked Officer Melvin Funkwhistle on his way past at nearly the speed of a barreling train. For a brief instant Cal mused to himself that perhaps the officer was running away from his unfortunate name, and he found he had trouble tamping down the distracted grin that formed on his face in response.

"There's something happening at the Majesty Hotel," Funkwhistle said over his shoulder. "Captain's sending out cars to handle it."

Cal frowned alongside his first sip of coffee and couldn't even enjoy it. "The Majesty? What's happening at the Majesty?"

Funkwhistle was already gone, but Captain O'Reilly stepped into his line of vision as a decent substitute. He tugged at his Sam Browne belt and addressed Cal with seriousness bordering unpleasant at such an early time of day.

"We got a call about an hour ago regarding a possible hostage situation," O'Reilly said, his thick mustache twitching. "We believe the guests and staff are being kept prisoner by an unknown assailant. There's been a fire allegedly set—"

Where the news of a strange person holding the hotel hostage previously did not jar Cal fully out of his bleariness, the news of a possible fire rattled him enough to send a drop of coffee into the wrong pipe.

He hacked around the offending liquid and pounded a fist into his chest. "A fire—Captain?!" He stared with wild eyes at his boss, disposing of his coffee and the cup into the trash can beside him. "I gotta...you gotta let me—"

"No," O'Reilly barked immediately, all but diving into the trash to retrieve the cup. "We have enough cars headed that way now. You'll get a chance when the situation is dealt with—"

All Cal could think about was Solomon Maxwell Iron. If the guests and the staff were being held hostage, that meant Sol, too. The strangeness of having had a heated argument with him the previous night about something trivial—about how Cal couldn't seem to leave the poor man alone regarding the deaths that followed him everywhere—and now he was likely in grievous danger...

"You got this call an hour ago?!" Cal roared suddenly. He felt the color leaving his face as surely as he felt disbelief boiling into rage in the pit of his chest. "And you're just now controlling the situation?!"

"The legitimacy—"

Cal did not think the captain was incompetent. He always respected him, held him in high regard in the day-to-day, which is why this display of suspicion surprised him.

All he could recall of the following sequence of events was grunting something about his acceptance toward being fired later, then tearing down the somewhat busy street in a screaming squad car, his arms burning from the urgency of cranking the siren and avoiding a collision all at once.

His heart leapt into his throat as soon as he careened around the final corner leading to the Majesty Hotel, and it had little to do with nearly flattening the officer directing traffic at that particular intersection.

A plume of thick, black smoke curled up from somewhere on the building, pouring into the sky not unlike Cal's unhelpful coffee into the frazzled captain's war cup.

"C'mon," Cal muttered partially to Sol, who definitively was not anywhere around, and partially to the living obstacles standing between him and the hotel. "C'mon, kid, please make a damn fool outta me."

By some miracle he managed to put the car in park somewhere he wouldn't remember later before sprinting into the gaggle of police gathered across the road from the hotel.

"Get me in there," he demanded, utterly disinterested in having a chance to catch his breath. "If that fire spreads—"

Sergeant Pickering swung around to aim a bullhorn in Cal's face. "The fire brigade is on the way," he said into the device, slowly and with force as if scolding a child for the tenth time in as many minutes, "do not even breathe at that hotel until I have given the all-clear, Logan."

"The fire brigade's on the way, meanwhile a possible mass murderer has a buffet of choice at their fingertips while we stand around waiting," Cal snapped.

"Which is precisely why we are not to rush in without a plan," Pickering retorted, waving some of his subordinate officers away. "This calamity is dangerous and sensitive. We can't risk anything going wrong, here."

Cal dropped steely eyes onto Pickering from his outside assessment of the hotel. He'd never felt this riled up, this feral with fear and determination before in his life. "Where's the assailant?"

"We've determined they're possibly based on the top floor, where the fire is located—"

"Are the elevators operational?"

"No, and furthermore—"

"If I fail, shoot me," Cal said before breaking into another sprint away from the assaulting bullhorn.

Instead of going through the front doors, he veered off to the left, keeping an eye out for the side entrance Sol had thrown him through in his attempts to get the investigations off his back. All of his effort to stop Cal from doing his job.

As he slipped through the unassuming door, the first thing he noticed was that the smell of smoke wasn't very strong in that portion of the hotel yet. The emptiness of the hallways proved eerie, sending a sprout of goosebumps over his arms.

He jogged through the kitchen and eventually the lobby, vigilant for any sign of life, his gun drawn and ready. He ascended the stairs, pausing beside a body laid out face-down on the landing floor.

He peered down at the body and his frown deepened. He didn't recognize him, but he wore a luxurious smoking jacket stained with a massive patch of blood on the back, and his hair was unruly, sticking up and out at odd angles. A guest, it seemed.

Cal's shoulders tensed and he felt a prickle at the back of his neck. Carefully, he turned toward the doors leading to the second floor.

A person wearing a Hallowe'en mask, a piece of leather with holes cut out for the eyes, nose, and mouth, stood at the door with an arm hooked tightly around Sol's neck, the muzzle of a pistol pressed against the side of his head. The masked person was taller than Sol, taller than Cal, and they breathed through their mouth as if the nose hole wasn't sufficient.

Sol coughed hard and regarded Cal with surprise, fingers gripping onto his captor's arm hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. "D-Detective?" he said meekly.

Cal ignored him. Had to. If he thought too hard about the dark, angry bruises around Sol's eyes, the officers outside would have to shoot his corpse.

He shifted his attention to the masked person, hoping the sheen of sweat forming on his forehead would go unnoticed. "...Is this what you wanted? To set fire to innocent civilians?"

"Innocent in what capacity?" they said. "Sapping society of a living? Marring the economy and deepening the Depression? You consider that innocent?"

The question confused Cal for a moment before he realized what was happening. "What part do the hotel staff have to play in that? They're just trying to make a living like anyone else."

"These people are a cancer," the masked person spat, jerking the gun in the direction of the guest's body on the floor. "And the ones working for them are even worse for providing their services. Why don't you understand?" Something dawned over what little could be seen of their face. "...I wish you'd understand."

"Don't," Cal growled in warning as the masked person cocked the hammer back on their pistol and pressed the muzzle once again into Sol's skull.

Cal lifted his gun and fired. The shot downed the person instantly, catching them between the eyes. Sol stumbled, nearly taking a header down the stairs before Cal lunged at him and pressed him backward, away from the bodies.

"Police are waiting outside," Cal said hoarsely. "Where are the hostages?"

"Top...top floor," Sol stammered. He looked at Cal as if seeing him for the first time. "There's a fire up there."

"Get outside," Cal ordered, taking Sol's hand in a firm grip and carefully turning him toward the front doors. "Stay with the cops. Stay safe."

"I won't leave you." Sol's eyes, not as swollen as they could've been, welled. He swallowed thickly. "I...don't want to leave you."

Cal's chest filled with something he couldn't decipher. A feeling of dread, something strong and intense, rotten and sour and warm and wonderful. His brow furrowed and he found his brain wouldn't form recognizable thoughts at first. All he could see when he looked at Sol was the anger and desperation in his face the last time they spoke. Despite their previous lighthearted interactions, Cal suspected Sol truly hated him in that moment, and he couldn't fathom ever seeing the expression of terror and worry on his face that he saw right now.

"I'm sorry," Cal whispered, squeezing Sol's hand. "For everything."

Sol stepped forward and drew Cal into a gentle, tentative, yet irrecoverable kiss. Then another one. But it was all quick, too quick, and Cal used the hand holding his weapon to swipe at his mouth when he stepped away.

"Get out of here before I have to let the cops shoot me," Cal said gruffly. "Will you go if I promise to make it out of here in one piece?"

Sol, fat tears streaming down his contused face and wrenching Cal's heart into a painful twist, nodded. "Go. Be careful."

Cal sniffed and swept through the doors leading onto the second floor, running through the hotel until he reached the blazing inferno on the second to last floor. To his surprise and relief, the guests were already there, hurrying down the stairs and obeying every direction Cal gave them. The group going down ran into the fire brigade going up.

"About damn time," Cal muttered on their way past.

"Wanna deal with the dead people or you want us to do that, too?" the fire captain retorted.

Cal let loose a surprised laugh painted with mild hysteria, ushering the guests and staff the rest of the way down the stairs.

The cops piled in to pull the civilians out of harm's way, ambulance attendants wrapping blankets around them and hurrying them to safety.

Cal pivoted to look back at the hotel, which, from that angle, looked unremarkable and untouched. Only when he backed up could he see the smoke rising from the top.

In doing so, he nearly bowled over Sol, who took his wrist and ran with him across the street, through the park, and under a bridge. The place was empty due to the crowd that had formed at the hotel, and Sol shivered violently under his blanket as he peered up at Cal with big, injured eyes.

"I figured they'd be angry at you," Sol said. "And I'm entitled to be angry at you, too, not just for what you did today, but after this..." He shook his head, gaze lingering on Cal's face. "It all feels so silly now."

"It's not silly." Cal realized he'd been holding the gun up to that point and he hastily opened his trench coat to holster it under his arm. "I needled you for quite a while. I wouldn't blame you for hating my guts by now."

"If something happened to you in that hotel, I wouldn't have been able to withstand the pain." Sol tipped his head, his expression unreadable. "...How could I hate someone who made me want to kiss them goodbye?"

Cal stared down at him, surprised once again. "Would you want to...kiss me hello?"

Sol looked as if he wanted to laugh and burst into tears simultaneously. He reached up to grasp Cal's face and brought him down, locking their lips together in a genuine, tender kiss that jellified Cal's knees and stole his breath from his lungs. Cal reciprocated, holding him close and gingerly as if Sol were fragile, and Cal decided he was very glad he didn't have to be shot by his colleagues after all.

#ockiss24 #Misfortunate Sol #surely not me forgetting the name of the hotel and if I even had one for it yet lmao #it will likely change in any case #I'm in a hurry so while I'm proud of this piece it's not the best it could've been had I been able to sit down and really write this out

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