#college brock getting off on videos of his fave player? on my mind? more likely than you think

[chromatic-crow]

so. been a while yea? have a college brock.

Practice runs longer than expected, Brock finally making it back to his dorm room at almost eleven pm. Too late to study, missed the Wild game, but far too awake to sleep still. He’s glad he managed to get a room by himself, able to lay in bed on his phone without someone walking in, thumbing through notifications.

The Wild had won that night, which is great but he wishes he could’ve watched it. Not even caring that he’d been drafted by the Kings and felt like he should be watching their games instead. Immediately tapping the highlight video and watching it. Seeing as Brodin scored the overtime winner in under a minute against Colorado. The next video was an interview, Evason smiling at one of the reporters.

That wasn’t important. Finding himself rewatching Brodin’s goal, every little motion he makes with his stick, the way his legs move on the ice. In somewhat of a trance watching it over and over until another interview is recommended. Thumbnail showing Brodin with a hat on, partly surprised that it wasn’t on backwards, looking to the side adjusting the headset.

Finding himself wishing he could see that in person, be in the same locker room with Brodin, on the ice with him. Wanting to find a way to get a full smile out of him, maybe more than that, quickly pushing that to the side. Tapping on the thumbnail a little too hard, glad that he’d put on earbuds, Brodin’s voice fills his ears. And not the typical quiet voice that he’s heard before, a bright smile flicking onto his face as he accidentally curses. It’s not typical for him to do an interview, but there’s a little breathy laugh that he does that gives Brock goosebumps.

He knows that he’s already half hard, reaching down to palm himself through his sweats. Licking his lips as he replays the interview, wishing he could just isolate Brodin’s voice. Not wanting to listen to Gorg ask all the same questions he’s heard and answered himself. Finding that someone had clipped just Brodin’s response, calling out his accidental curse. But it was perfect for Brock, exactly what he wanted. Able to just hear Brodin’s breathy laugh, the accidental use of “fucking” as he answers the question.

Feeling his hips twitch upward, setting his phone on his chest as he pushes his sweats down. He hadn’t bothered putting on his boxers after his shower, now a little grateful for that. He gets up to grab the lotion he keeps on his desk, laying back down and starting the clip again. Hissing as he wraps his hand around himself, lotion not quite warmed up yet. Imagining it’s Brodin’s hand after he’s been on the ice, cold and a little clammy from being in and out of gloves.

Shiver running through him from that and thinking about the clip of the goal, jerking himself a little faster with a quiet moan. Pushing his shirt up a little, pinching at one of his nipples. Not able to keep himself from wondering how Brodin’s hands feel, whether they’re calloused or soft. He replays the clip of the interview again, brain isolating the breathy ‘yeah’ and playing it on repeat. Wanting to hear Brodin breathing that out as they fuck.

He pants harder, feeling himself getting close. Thinking about Brodin riding him, feeling his stomach quiver, thighs tensing and relaxing as he bites back a groan. It’s too good of a mental image, that mischievous smile, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Wondering how Brodin’s sharp canines would feel biting at his lip, jaw, neck. Brock would let him do anything he wanted at this point.

Those thoughts send him over the edge, coming onto his stomach as he twists his wrist a little, stroking himself through it with a stuttering curse. Gasping as he fights the overstimulation, too tired to do anymore and finally letting go. He lays there, eyes closed as he comes down from it, feeling the shame that always creeps in on him arrive.

In a few years he would be on the other side of the ice, playing against Brodin. Only able to hope that he never accidentally tells him about all the times he’s gotten off on his highlights or pictures. The thought makes him grimace, shame getting heavier as he grabs something from the floor, dirty pair of boxers he’d left there. Wiping his hand and stomach off and tossing them to the side again, trying to ignore those feelings as he turns over in bed.