#winner's room

[georgiasbrainstuff]

We all deserve someone who looks at us the way Max looked at Lando while they sat in each other's seats at the British Grand Prix last year.

Bonus:

Lando looks around and remembers they're not alone in the winner's room, but on camera on live TV (totally not a turn on), and has to subtly adjust himself.

[tojisun]

eyes twitching because thinking about a different type of hockey au: ghostgaz winner's room-

simon's team lost and as the winners, and the rookie mvp, garrick was given the chance to step up and choose who he wants. he chooses alternate captain simon riley, his long-time crush. the word feels juvenile on his tongue but there is no better explanation to the feeling - he'd always dreamt of playing with riley and to be able to play against him and win is a euphoric feeling overall.

so he says riley's name, ignoring the way his ears buzz with feverish warmth at the wolf-whistles and hoots that his team let out at his choice. price even claps his back, says, "be careful, son, that you don't bite off more than you can chew."

and kyle promised that he tried - hell, he almost called for mactavish, the other rookie of this season - but kyle's winning shot was against riley. against the behemoth of the league. so he thinks he earned this, and he wants riley more than anyone.

.

simon forces himself to relax because he knows what happens at the winner's room - hell, he'd had his fair share throughout his career - but there's something damning about a rookie calling for him. about the little imp who was able to steal the puck from his stick and send it past keller's defense. about his name being called for the taking.

he sits in the sterilized room, trying to ignore the count down of time until garrick would finally claim him, but anticipation courses through his veins. because garrick is a pretty man. he'd even made headlines, after all. and now, simon's about to have a piece of him.

the door opens, almost ringing loudly in the startling silence, and simon looks up, waiting, only-

his breath leaves him in one swoop. because it's one thing to know that kyle is pretty, but it's another thing to see it this close. he clenches his jaw, tongue running along his molars.

his desires bloat.

he might actually enjoy this loss, after all.

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick slowly pulled the longsleeve on, keeping his movements even to avoid flinching or showing a grimace of pain on his face.  His teammates wouldn't care if he was injured--would, in fact, sneer at him worse, though Dick could feel Desmond's eyes on him, relentless in smug satisfaction.

The Bludhaven Blockbusters had lost, not that it mattered much to them in the standings.  It was a well-fought game--the Blockbusters had a great offense, courtesy of Dick, but the Jokers' defensive lineup was no, ha, joke.  The score had been close, no team getting more than a two-point lead, until the last period, where Desmond let in an astonishing number of goals.

Almost like he'd been paid off to do so.

"Ready to make up for our loss, Grayson?"  Someone wolf-whistled from the other side of the locker room.  "You have to be good for something, and clearly winning isn't it."

Dick had scored four goals despite the Jokers' defensemen attacking him like a school of piranha on chum.  The fact that they'd marked him so closely had let the rest of the line-up score as well.  Desmond was the one who lost the game.

Not that Dick was stupid enough to say that out loud.  He was well aware he had no friends here.

Dick finished changing into the longsleeve and sweatpants and closed his locker before walking out of the room.  His side throbbed with fierce intensity on every step and he had to force himself not to limp.  He was pretty sure he'd broken something when he'd been shoved against the boards, elbow slamming into his side, but there was no way he was going to go to the medic to get it checked out.

He'd get this over with and ice it in his hotel room.  Along with the rest of his injuries.  And whatever else he picked up along the way.

"What took so long?" Redhorn barked the moment he stepped out.  "Come on, they're waiting."  He marched off, not looking to see if Dick was following, and Dick had to jog to keep up.

His whole body ached, but nothing as much as the hollow inside his chest.  Dick loved hockey.  He loved the ice.  He loved the game, as brutal as it was, didn't mind limping away with a broken rib or five in exhilaration.  He'd been prepared to accept the messy politics of the game, the omnipresent corruption, the money, the paparazzi, and even the more unsavory aspects, like the winner's room that was all but an open secret in the league.

Dick didn't think he liked hockey any more.

The ice was no longer an escape, winning didn't bring any joy, and Dick could feel a part of himself get leached away as he fell over and over in the same trap, stuck in the mire instead of skating above it.  And all because of one scorned woman.

"Richard," the low voice called out from the darkened corridors.  Dick flinched, but he managed to suppress the hiss as his chest tightened.  Redhorn paused as the woman unfolded herself from the shadows, striding forward with a bright red smile.  "Mi amor, you played so well today," the woman hummed, catching his face and kissing both cheeks.  Dick didn't move, carefully frozen still.  "It's such a shame we lost, no?"

Dick didn't say a word.  In a world of sharks, Catalina Flores was the biggest one in the shiver.  Desmond's orders had probably come directly from her.

"It is a shame," Catalina murmured, voice dropping even lower as a manicured fingernail stroked down his cheek.  "I wish you did not have to do this, Richard."  Lie.  "Won't you change your mind, mi amor?  Come with me and I promise you'll never have to do this again."

Dick stepped back, controlled so it didn't look like he was jerking himself free of her grip.  "No," he said, the same thing he said every time she made this offer.  Even the first time he could tell she was bad news, but he didn't realize how bad until he'd seen the consequences of spurning her.

Catalina's smile dropped away to a hard look and flashing eyes.  "Very well," she said, voice cold.  "Enjoy your time with Wilson, then."

Dick had to fight not to blanch.  Wilson?  Slade Wilson?  One of the oldest players in the league, still at the top of his game, strong and fast enough that rumors of doping had swirled unconfirmed for years?  The Jokers' star defenseman, and the very same defenseman that Dick had outwitted with a flashy trick to get his fourth goal?

He could still remember the seething fire in Wilson's eyes.  The man had checked him twice as hard after Dick had shot the puck through his legs, and he was the reason half of Dick's left side felt like it'd been crushed.  And that had been Wilson on the ice, with restraint.

Dick felt faint.  But Redhorn was moving so Dick had to follow behind him, leaving Catalina and her burning glare behind.  The numbness was coming on fast this time and Dick welcomed it, cocooning himself in the fog so he didn't end up hyperventilating.

It had been a couple of weeks since the Blockbusters had lost a game, since Dick had been on the receiving end of hatred and not just scorn, and a part of him wondered how long he could survive this.

Catalina wasn't going to stop.  She clearly wasn't getting tired of him, and his frequent rejections were just making her angry.  Maybe he should give in, accept whatever protection she offered and sell his soul.

He was already in hell anyway.

They approached a plain door and Dick suppressed the panic and hung on to the numbness.  It was getting easier and easier to draw himself down into it, and harder and harder to come out.  "Get to the hotel when you're done," Redhorn growled, turning away without a glance.  "The team's leaving at six in the morning."

That was it.  No instructions on how he was supposed to get to the hotel, or what would happen if he was late, or any kind of support at all.  Just abandonment in the middle of the Jokers' stadium.  Dick luckily knew his way around Gotham, but he wasn't sure how many pieces Wilson would leave him in.

Dick waited until the sound of Redhorn's footsteps had faded away before he reached out and knocked on the door.

The sound felt muted.  Disconnected.  Everything was moving a step behind his mind and Dick blinked when the door opened to a silver-haired man nearly twice his size.

Part of Dick was fascinated by the disparity.  As a winger, Dick was smaller than his teammates, built for agility and not so much for slamming people against the boards.  Wilson was clearly built for his job, a steel wall of muscle towering above him, with ice blue eyes scanning over Dick before settling on his face.  "Come inside," Wilson said.

The room was tamer than most others Dick had seen, looking more like a hotel room than a sex dungeon.  There was a drawer set next to the bed that was clearly for supplies, and a mini fridge, and what appeared to be an attached bathroom.  Dick followed Wilson all the way to the bed and stopped when Wilson turned to face him.

"So, Bludhaven's hotshot new left wing," Wilson said.  This time, his scan was more of a leer, gaze dragging over his body.  "Think those flashy tricks of yours are cute, kid?"

Dick didn't answer.  He knew better than to engage.  Wilson already wanted a punching bag, he didn't need to make things worse.

"I'm surprised no one's beaten that out of you yet," Wilson mused.  "Though I suppose it's my turn to give it a go."

Dick didn't back away as Wilson stalked closer, no matter how much he wanted to.

"You shot four goals," Wilson said, eyes burning.  "How about we start with payback for each one?"

Wilson's grip was stronger than Catalina's, easily shoving him back against the bed as he bent down.  His kiss was equally aggressive, harsh and plundering, and Dick retreated deeper into the fog and let it happen.

There was no point to the fear, it wouldn't save him, it didn't tell him anything he didn't already know.  All Dick could do was try to brace for the pain that was going to follow.

Wilson shoved, hard, and Dick fell back on the bed, sinking instantly into the soft material.  He barely managed to struggle up on his elbows before Wilson crawled on after him, straddling his thigh and shoving him back down, big hands wrapping around his ribs.

Dick couldn't help the gasp of pain.

The grip disappeared immediately, but the throbbing pain was high and searing and Dick instinctively, ineffectually, tried to curl up, hand pressed to his ribs and blinking against his prickling eyes.  Fuck, that hurt, and Dick was suddenly concerned about his ability to take this punishment.  They hadn't even gotten started.

"What happened?" Wilson demanded, still straddling Dick.  "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine," Dick said thickly, or tried to say, the pain made everything even more disconnected.

Wilson just scoffed, tugging at his shirt.  "Get this off and let me see.  I don't want your team to accuse me of damaging their precious star forward."

The numbness made it hard to muddle through that sentence as Dick obediently tried to pull his shirt off.  Was Wilson saying he wasn't going to injure him?  Clearly he didn't know the priorities of Blockbusters' management very well, which was great for Dick if it meant Wilson wasn't going to be that rough.

Dick hissed as he tried to pull the shirt up, it was more difficult when he was practically pinned to the bed, and he ended up letting go and trying to breathe past the black spots in his vision when the pain grew too large to ignore.

"Christ, Grayson," the harsh voice said as Dick stared at the ceiling and tried to blink the stars out of his eyes.  "Why didn't you get this treated?"

"It's fine," Dick said, and had to stifle a gasp as Wilson pressed down against the throbbing ache.

"You're black and blue all over, and you haven't applied anything.  Why didn't you go to the medic first?"  There was something approaching alarm in Wilson's voice.

"I'm fine," Dick repeated.  Amy would've slipped some painkillers in his bag and he could ice it when he got back.  "Why do you care?" Dick couldn't stop himself from saying.  "You're the one that caused it."

Silence.

That was a stupid thing to say.  Especially when he was flat on his back underneath the defenseman, utterly at his mercy.  A slow, creeping cold slithered in past the numbness and Dick couldn't even shiver.

Wilson hadn't moved.  His fingers were still resting lightly on what was probably a black splotch on Dick's chest, just waiting to dig in.  Dick had the sudden--and chilling--realization that the state of his body probably gave Wilson a very clear picture of how little Blockbusters' management cared about his injuries, as long as he could still skate.

"Look, can you just get on with it?" Dick said, brain-to-mouth filter completely on vacation.

The fingers moved up, skating across his ribs up to his collarbone.  "I didn't cause this," Wilson said, quiet.

Dick didn't know what he was pointing to.  He tried to crane his neck past the balled-up fabric of his shirt to see, but the movement just pulled at his ribs.

"The one that looks like someone tried to take a bite out of you," Wilson clarified.  "What the hell, Grayson?  Got a vampire partner you haven't mentioned?"

"Don't have a partner," Dick exhaled, flinching as Catalina's image popped before his eyes.  He thought he knew what Wilson was pointing to, but a lot of the Blockbusters liked to use teeth.  Liked to mark him.

"Then who the hell did this to you?"  A pause, and Wilson's voice grew darker.  "The Blockbusters haven't lost a game in weeks."

Dick exhaled and reached for the numbness again.  It flooded him, stronger than before, until it no longer mattered that he was pinned underneath a man that intended to fuck him as payback for scoring past him.  "Doesn't matter," he said, voice light and almost floaty.

"What doesn't matter?"  Wilson sounded thoroughly pissed off now, but that was a problem for Future Dick.  Present Dick was dissociating too hard to care.

"Winning or losing," Dick said.  Introduce the idea of sex for punishment, normalize it, and people would twist it for all manner of things.  Winning just meant that Dick would go to the person on the Blockbusters' line-up that wanted him, and there were a lot of people that wanted him.

Wilson's fingers disappeared and his weight shifted off.  Dick waited for him to come back, another hard kiss, more bruising touches, more pain.  He wondered if he could get back to the hotel before six.  He wondered about how Bruce was doing, whether he watched Dick's games or just blocked out all mention of him after Dick had left his coaching to make it on his own.  He wondered if it would be this bad on any other hockey team.

He wondered if he could go back in time, to little eight-year-old Dick Grayson who loved the ice, and shake him and tell him not to go into hockey.

Wilson was taking an awfully long time.  Dick lifted his head up, and lifted all the way up to sitting when he didn't spot the defenseman anywhere in the room.

A bang of the door showed where he’d gone.  Wilson was glowering now, fury roiling off of him like a stormcloud, but Dick could only stare, unconcerned.  He didn't even flinch when the man advanced on him.

"Get up," Wilson ordered harshly, pulling Dick to his feet and tugging his shirt back down.  "Come with me."

Dick didn't try to fight the casual manhandling and merely trotted after Wilson.

They were leaving the room.  Dick didn't understand why, and everything was moving too slow for him to form the words to ask.  Wilson seemed to know where he was going, darting frequent glances back as if to check that Dick was still there, and Dick followed him, confused and unable to care.

The hallways weren't familiar, but they were starting to get noisy and when Wilson pushed through a door to the sound of loud conversations, Dick realized he'd brought him to the Jokers' locker room.

The thought should've caused shrieking alarm.  Instead, all Dick could feel was a dull pang as he obediently followed Wilson inside.

"Done that quick?" someone jeered as they strode further into the locker room--the majority of the team was still here and Dick's gaze skipped past faces, deliberately not counting them.  "Oooh," there was a chorus of wolf whistles as they spotted him behind Wilson.  "Did you bring him to share?"

Everything felt so far away.  Even the ground.  Dick felt like he was falling and falling.

"Shut up," Wilson snapped.  "And go get Fries."  Wilson turned back to Dick and pushed him back to an empty bench.  "You, sit down."

There was another round of heckling.  "Did you break him already?" someone laughed, followed by crude comments about their relative sizes.

Wilson ignored them, crouching in front of Dick.  "Can you raise your arms?" he asked.  Dick started to lift them but they started trembling the moment they reached shoulder level and Wilson grabbed his arms and pulled them down.  "Never mind," he said, "lean forward and duck your head."

Dick did as he was told, forehead hovering next to Wilson's shoulder as the man curled his fingers in the back of Dick's shirt and pulled it up.  He managed to get it off without any input from Dick, and Dick watched as his arms speckled with gooseflesh.

He didn't feel cold.  He didn't feel anything.

Dick didn't hear laughter anymore.  There was a low whistle and footsteps and suddenly a small crowd surrounding Dick and Wilson.  Their faces were all blurry.  Dick didn't try to make them out.

"Damn, Wilson, what did you do?" someone asked, hushed, and there was a minor scuffle when Wilson aimed an elbow at the speaker.

"Fries is on his way," another voice called out.

"Why didn't you just take him to his own team?" someone else muttered.

"Couldn't find them," Wilson said, voice hard and flat.

More silence.

Another voice, quiet.  "Jones said that he didn't see any of them still here when he left."

A round of sharp inhales and low what the fucks.  "They just left him?" someone asked, sounding horrified.

Wilson was watching him, stare narrowed and intense.  Dick held his gaze, still and quiet, waiting pliantly.  His eyes were a cold blue with flecks of gray.  He had wrinkles on his face.  His hair wasn't actually all gray, some of it was a blonde so light it was indistinguishable at first glance.

"Something's wrong with him," someone said abruptly.

"Uh, yeah, we can see that something's wrong with him--"

"No, I meant, look--" something snapped in front of Dick's face.  He blinked but didn't move.  "See?  He hasn't said anything since he got here.  He hasn't even twitched."

"Wilson, what the fuck did you do?!" the tone was higher, harsher.  Wilson broke his stare with Dick and straightened to turn on the speaker, an argument of growls and hisses.

Someone else settled in front of Dick, bald, with a crinkled frown on his face.  "Hello, my name is Victor Fries," he said, voice slow and calm.  "Can you tell me where you're injured?"

Where wasn't Dick injured was a better question.  Dick mutely pointed to the giant developing bruise on his side, because that was what had caught Wilson's attention.

Dick didn't flinch when Fries began prodding at the wound, tiny jolts of pain fizzling out in the numbness.  Fries frowned, and then frowned even deeper when he met Dick's gaze.  Dick didn't realize that the volume of the argument between the Jokers had risen and fallen until someone abruptly sat down on the bench next to him.

He turned, blinking at Wilson.  Wilson glowered back.  "Well?" he rumbled, turning the glare to Fries.

Fries looked upset.  "Richard--can I call you Richard?"  He waited for Dick's slow nod to continue.  "Do you know where you are?"

Of course Dick knew.  "Jokers' locker room," he rasped.  There was abrupt silence, which was the only reason he realized how noisy the room was before then.

"That's great," Fries smiled tightly.  "Are you feeling cold?"

Dick looked down at his goosebumps.  "No," he answered honestly.

Wilson made a low growling sound.  There was a scuffle of movement and something soft hit Dick in the face.  It was the purple and black of the Jokers' colors and Dick stared at Wilson when the man wrapped it around his shoulders.

"Richard," Fries said, and Dick's gaze swung back to him, ignoring the towel.  "Judging by the bruising, I think you have some broken ribs, though we'll need an X-ray to make sure.  I've been informed that your team has already left, so I can drive you to the hospital and you can call them to meet you there--"

"No."  Dick's fingers were trembling.  He stared at them, lost in the shudders.

"Excuse me?"

"No hospital."  Dick had to clear out his throat.  "I'm fine."  He was so tired.  Everyone was staring at him, and he didn't know why.  He just wanted this night to be over.

"Richard, you really need to get it checked out--"

"I said I'm fine."

Wilson scoffed loudly at that.  "You're not fine," he said, daring Dick to argue.

Dick had to let go of the numbness, pushing up to his feet, but exhaustion swooped in to take its place, leaving him ragged and still distant.  Clearly Wilson didn't like the bruises, but there wasn't anything Dick could do about that.

"You don't get to tell me that," Dick said evenly, watching Wilson's eyes flash and knowing he'd be paying for that soon enough.  "You won.  You get the night and nothing else.  So either take your spoils or leave me alone."

The locker room was dead silent.  Dick realized he had a towel around his shoulders, one of the big, soft, fluffy ones, and he suppressed the urge to huddle further in it.  It was cold and he had to fight not to shiver.

There was probably a more diplomatic way to play this, he could've gotten that ride and then ditched them there, but Dick was so very tired.  He just wanted it over with.

"Fine," Wilson snapped.  Some of his teammates made protesting sounds, but Wilson levered up, shooting them all dark looks.  "Fries, give me some painkillers and an ice pack."  The medic mutely did as he was told, shooting Dick undefinable looks.  "Come on, Grayson, let's get back to the room.  Can't miss out on my spoils."

He twisted the words into a nasty sneer.  Dick would've felt afraid if he had the energy to, but he didn't even have enough to imagine what Wilson had planned.  He just followed the man silently back through the same hallways, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, until they were back next to the bed.

"Take these."  Wilson handed Dick the painkillers and a bottle of water.  Dick thought about pointing out that Wilson didn't have the authority to drug him either, but lost the impulse under the exhaustion.  He swallowed the pills.

"Now get in bed."

Dick crawled up on the bed.  "Do you want me to take off my pants?" he asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

"No."  Wilson casually manhandled him until Dick was on his back, on a pillow, watching Wilson draw the covers back.

Wilson got in after him, and pressed the folded towel to Dick's ribs--Dick hissed at the sudden shock of ice, but then gradually relaxed as the numbing set in.

"What do you want me to do?" Dick said, or thought he said.  It was getting more and more difficult to keep his attention focused on Wilson.  The man was shifting on the bed, sitting next to him, drawing the covers over them, a warm, burning presence at Dick's side.

"Close your eyes," came the order.  Dick followed it.  Maybe it would be easier if he wasn't watching.

He didn't know when the darkness slipped to unconsciousness.

[muldj0rd]

Brazil, '00 || Makkinen

Summary: “Talked with that Jenson kid today” Michael hummed, leaning over Mika’s body, kissing up the back of his neck “He’s pretty” Mika only hummed “And good”

“It’s late” Mika groaned as Michael turned his body over so he was lying on his back.

“Sorry” Michael apologised, kissing Mika’s throat softly “Debrief and then a team dinner” He explained shortly “You okay?”

Warnings: Anal, anal fingering, top!michael, bottom!Mika, Michael says it’s not pity sex but it very obviously is

Masterlist || AO3 || Winner's Room Masterlist

Michael got to Mika’s hotel room before he even went to his own. 2 races, 2 DNFs. Of course, from the racing eyes, Michael was glad that Mika didn’t score any points, but from the eyes of a friend, Michael felt bad.

It wasn’t Mika’s fault, but Michael knew he’d blame himself.

It was late when Michael got to Mika’s room, so the Fin was pretty much asleep already, but it didn’t stop Michael.

“Talked with that Jenson kid today” Michael hummed, leaning over Mika’s body, kissing up the back of his neck “He’s pretty” Mika only hummed “And good”

“It’s late” Mika groaned as Michael turned his body over so he was lying on his back.

“Sorry” Michael apologised, kissing Mika’s throat softly “Debrief and then a team dinner” He explained shortly “You okay?”

“That’s how racing is, Michael. Not your fault” Mika said, his body more awake now.

“Neither is it yours” Michael sighed, lying beside Mika on his side.

“I was in the car, of course, it was my fault,” Mika said, barely making Michael features out in the dark room.

Michael sighed, reaching out to pull Mika closer, their lips touching softly “I don’t need your pity”

“No pity, but I did win, and I’d rather fuck you than any other guy on the grid” Michael explained with a soft smile.

“Yeah? Not Jenson who you actually think is rather pretty?” Michael groaned softly.

“You sound obsessed with him” Michael teased before going back to kissing Mika.

“Am not” Mika mumbled into Michael’s mouth, feeling the German’s hand on his waist, drawing him in closer.

“Am” Michael chuckled as Mika moved both their bodies to straddle Michael, almost not breaking the kiss.

“Shut up” Mika mumbled against Michael’s lips before he leaned back, took off his shirt, and immediately returned to kissing Michael.

“You wanna do it like this, hm?” Michael teased, his hands tight on Mika’s hips as the blond started moving his hips against Michael’s.

“Just shut up and fuck me” Mika panted, his hands trying to get Michael’s shirt off even though he was still lying down.

“You talk to your wife like that?” Michael teased, sitting up slightly so he could get his shirt off.

Mika groaned, his hand yanking back Michael's head by his hair, littering his neck with various marks.

Michael turned them around, pushing himself away from Mika “I’m gonna kill you when Corinna kicks me out”

“I’m looking forward to it” Mika teased, biting his bottom lip softly which was quickly replaced by a gasp when Michael almost forced Mika’s sweats and boxers down his legs.

“Could be a little more gentle” Mika mumbled as he reached into the bedside drawer and got the bottle of lube.

“Sure you don’t like it rough?” Michael chuckled softly, taking the bottle from Mika, and slowly warming the lube up between his fingers.

“Don’t care how it is-” Mika whimpered high-pitched as Michael slowly pushed his finger into him.

Michael simply chuckled softly, moving his finger in a torturing slow pace, making Mika whine out of desperation.

Mika moaned softly when Michael pushed in a second finger, letting the other adjust before he slowly started moving his fingers again.

Michael thought that, no matter how often they would do this, he would never get tired of hearing Mika’s sounds.

He’d have them imprinted in his brain if he could, have them permanently- he always wanted to listen to Mika when he was like this.

“Michael” Mika gasped softly as Michael curled his fingers to hit Mika’s prostate “P-please… Need you”

Michael chuckled, loving how desperate Mika both sounded and looked.

Mika groaned as he saw Michael smirking slightly “Shut up” He mumbled, punishing Michael’s chest softly as he pulled his fingers out, leaving the Fin feeling empty.

Michael wiped his fingers clean on the inside of Mika’s thigh before he started getting rid of his clothes.

As Michael had pushed all the way into Mika, the latter swung his arms around the German’s shoulders, his nails digging into his back as he slowly got adjusted.

Mika gave the go for Michael to move, and he did not waste it. He started by moving slowly and softly at first before he found a quicker and rougher pace, the loud smacking of their skin and their mixed moans filling the dark room.

Michael leaned back, lifting up Mika’s hips slightly- just enough so he was hitting that perfect spot over and over again, making Mika moan louder, his nails digging into Michael’s biceps.

The feeling of Mika clenching down around Michael was almost too much for him- almost making him come, but he forced himself to hold back, desperate to make Mika come first.

He wrapped one of his hands around Mika’s cock, stroking him to the same pace as his hips, quickly making him come without a warning.

Michael was relieved when Mika came, letting himself come as well, holding his hips firmly against Mika’s, coming deep inside the Fin, making him whimper slightly.

–

“If you get kicked out, you’re always welcome in my house” Mika mumbled, his fingers tracing patterns on Michael’s chest

“Yeah? Erja wouldn’t mind that?” Michael asked softly, his hand playing with Mika’s shower-damp hair where he lay on his shoulder

“No” Mika hummed, turning his head to look up at Michael “She likes you”

“Oh, she does now?” Michael chuckled softly “Also if she found out I’m fucking her husband?”

Mika chuckled softly as well “Yeah, probably don’t mention that”

[lagerloutfic]

go ahead and try a little crazy on me | 4K | E | Leon Draisaitl/Artūrs Šilovs | Winner's Room

Leon huffs out a laugh before he can help himself. Goddamn, this fucking goalie is cute. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to be cute but he is.

Anyone else in their feelings about the Nucks goalie? Yeah.

Read on ao3.

[105gridpenalty]

“They’re reinstating the Winner’s Room for the rest of the season?”

Max slowly repeats his team principal’s words.

“I’m not allowed to swear, but they want me to fuck the winners of the remaining races.”

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Day Thirteen @zazuprompts September 2024: Huge — — —

To Be On Top

1.5k, Lestappen, Rating: E (it's PWP)

Max is playing FIFA when Charles is finally able to make his way to the Winner’s Room. “Really?” OR: After a long evening of getting praised by literally everybody who's ever known him, and the entire population of Monaco, Charles finally makes it back to the Winner's Room for his prize.

[speciallivery]

Become the champion

Lando Norris/Daniel Ricciardo 3.5K words

Post Singapore 2024, Winner's room, Hate sex, Max is haunting the narrative.

He’s tired and he’s over it. He’s had the whole media circus today and he had to bite his tongue the entire time. He’s got better things to do than to give into Lando Norris’ weird power trip. Daniel knows he shouldn’t be bothered, and he isn’t, not really.

He has made his mind up: This ends right here, before it can even start.

“You’re pathetic.” Daniel scoffs, as he takes off his shoes.

Lando does a double take as the grin disappears off his face. There’s clearly an error message popping up in his mind as Daniel refuses to play along. Something that probably hasn’t happened to Lando before.

“No, you.” He says, but it comes out more like a question. Exactly; pathetic

Or: Winner's Room post Singapore. Lando wants to make Daniel pay for stealing the fastest lap but Daniel is about to take out his own frustrations on Lando and teach him a lesson about what it takes to be a champion

Read on A03 (archive locked)

Singapore happened and I got hit by the ghost of extremely toxic winner's room shenanigans. I'm not much of a Landaniel (?) Dando (?) shipper but I saw a change for mutual spite and took it :)

[elementaldoughnut12]

"Denim Treasure"

*contains sexual acts and crying plus this is my first winner's room fic so be nice!*

*what should've happened after Full Gear*

Doughnut Team: @afterdarkprincess @thlayli-ra

Orange just sighs as he sees the room number and opens the door. He goes inside and sees a collection of different kinds of condoms and lubes on the bathroom counter which means that the production team were here to set everything up. “They only bring out the best stuff for the loser of a title match” Orange says sadly as he places his suitcase on the bed.

He opens it up and pulls out a pair of black knee-high pantyhose, black heels with straps and a strapless one-piece denim lingerie with a big buckle on the front. “I was saving this for our upcoming fifteenth wedding anniversary but whatever might as well just use it now” Orange says with a sigh as he takes off his clothes and puts on the outfit. Once he puts on his outfit, he walks over to the vanity in the corner and sits on the stool.

He pulls out some blue eyeshadow, black mascara and ruby red lipstick from his makeup bag. He puts his makeup on with such precision and grace just like he always did when he and his husband went out on dates or just to sneak off to a hotel room. After he finishes he looks in the mirror and he looks beautiful but just for the wrong reason.

He never liked the idea of a winner's room because it felt wrong to him. He never indulged in them either because he was married and would never wanna break the vows he made to his husband. Unfortunately, thanks to the wonderful EVPs, Orange is forced to do a winner's room and film it or he's fired. He believes that an intimate moment between two people is to be shared just between them, not shared around the locker room like a porno.

It stings but the biggest upset about this is that this just proves he'll never be as good enough as Mox, he'll always wind up short, he'll always be known as a loser. With all these thoughts wriggling around in his head it makes Orange start to cry. He can feel his mascara running down his face but he doesn't even care at this point. He didn't even notice Mox coming into the room. “Orange?” Mox asks, catching Orange's attention.

“Jon! How long have you been there?” Orange asks as he turns around to face him. “I just got in… are you crying?” Mox asks worryingly as he sets the camera on the dresser. “I wasn't crying there was just something in my eyes” Orange lies as he tries to wipe away his tears. “You always were a bad liar fruitcake” Mox says, causing Orange to sigh. “I just hate that we're being forced to do this” Orange says sadly.

“You know we don't have to film it right? We could just film the aftermath of it” Mox offers gently, causing Orange to shake his head. “I don't wanna get fired! I don't wanna prove everyone right that I'm just a loser that'll never be as good enough as you! So let's just get this over with so I can go to sleep!” Orange yells as tears stream down his cheeks again. He gasps in shock when Mox picks him up and sets him on his lap on the bed.

“James, look at me right fucking now” Mox says seriously, making Orange look at him. “You're not a loser so don't even fucking say that about yourself. Did I marry you fifteen years ago cause you were a good wrestler? No, I married you because you are the sweetest and most extraordinary person I ever fell in love with. So what if you didn't win? You still took me to my fucking limit and proved that you're on my level or even fucking better! So I suggest you stop spewing bullshit or I'm gonna pound your tight ass into this mattress” Mox says truthfully, causing Orange to blush.

“You always talk so passionately when I feel down” Orange says with a quiet laugh. “Well, you always tell me not to talk shit about myself so I thought I'd return the favor” Mox says as he presses their foreheads together. “I don't deserve you sometimes Jon ” Orange says truthfully. “Fruitcake, I should be saying that instead of you. Now, you wanna film this and get it over with or you wanna film it and pretend it was our wedding night all over again?” Mox says with a smirk, causing Orange to blush even more.

“Rather you fuck me like you love me if you don't mind” Orange says with a giggle. “I always love you sweetheart now can you set the camera up? I still don't know shit about technology” Mox says as he kisses Orange's cheek. Orange hops off his husband's lap to turn on the camera and sets it in a corner of the room. “Oh crap I forgot my makeup is ruined!” Orange says worryingly as he tries to wipe it off. He hears his husband laugh behind him as he then feels a hot wet tongue against his face.

“J-Jon?!?” Orange says in shock as Mox continues licking the mascara tracks off his cheeks. When he finishes licking the mascara off, Mox starts nibbling on Orange's neck, causing Orange to moan and get slightly hard in his lingerie. He can feel Mox's hands drifting down his front and cupping his growing erection. Mox takes his hands off Orange, causing him to whine. “Let's get this party started” he says with a smirk as he gently pushes Orange onto the bed.

“Haven't seen this cute little number before” Mox says as he gently traces the buckle on Orange's lingerie. “I was saving it for our fifteenth wedding anniversary” Orange says with a blush. “You always look beautiful in denim” Mox says affectionately as he gets on his knees in front of Orange. He gently takes Orange's heels off and starts kissing up Orange's leg. Orange feels himself tear up at his husband, who's basically worshipping him as Mox slowly takes off his pantyhose and repeats the same actions to his other leg.

Orange feels tears slowly stream down his face again as Mox sets his head on Orange's bare thighs and smiles up at him. “Hi” Mox says sweetly as he lightly traces circles on Orange's thigh. “Hi” Orange says with a quiet laugh as he cups Mox's face in his hands. “I'm ready to do this whenever you are babe” Mox says as he leans into Orange's touch. “Make me feel special, please?” Orange asks hopefully.

“You're lucky that's my specialty sweetheart” Mox says with a wink as he gets up off the floor and takes off his shirt. “Jesus fuck” Orange says while blushing profusely, causing his husband to laugh. “You always get like this when I take my shirt off fruitcake” Mox says as he takes his pants off as well. “Sometimes I forget I'm married to a fucking bear” Orange says truthfully as Mox leans in. “I would've never suspected you being into fuzzballs but guess it worked out didn't it?” Mox asks as he gives Orange a quick kiss and walks to the bathroom.

“I remember when your beard started growing in and I rode you every night for a week straight” Orange says as he presses his hand down on his aching cock. He hears Mox let out a quiet groan as he comes back with a bottle of lube. “Turn around before I blow my load from just looking at you” Mox says as Orange turns around. Mox pulls the zipper down from Orange's lingerie and helps him take it off, revealing his husband's soft pale skin.

“God, you look good enough to fucking eat” Mox says seductively as Orange turns back around. “Dammit Jon, don't say stuff like that” Orange says with a whine as he lays on his back and slowly spreads his legs, showing his cute little hole. “Can't blame me for having a hot wife” Mox says as he coats his fingers with lube. He leans over and kisses Orange as he presses two of his fingers into Orange's hole. Orange whines and grabs onto Mox's shoulders as he feels his hole being stretched out.

“Jon, I don't think I can…” Orange tries to say but lets out a loud moan as Mox brushes against his prostate. “You make such pretty noises fruitcake” Mox growls in Orange's ear as he scissors his fingers inside of Orange's hole. Mox continues fingering Orange until his husband is a blushing, teary eyed mess and removes his fingers. “Are you ready for me to rock your world?” Mox says as he takes off his boxers, revealing his hard dick. “Fuck Jon please! Make me feel special!” Orange pleads through tears.

“Whatever my fruitcake wants” Mox says sweetly as he slicks up his cock and slowly enters Orange all the way to the hilt. “Oh my god” Orange moans as he feels himself get stretched out even more. “Take a deep breath babe, we got all the time in the world” Mox says sweetly as he kisses Orange's cheek. Orange always feels loved anytime Mox is gentle with him. “OK, you can start moving” Orange says as Mox starts to slowly thrust into him.

“How the fuck are you still tight after fifteen years of me railing your twink ass?” Mox asks, causing Orange to laugh. “I don't think I qualify as a twink anymore” Orange says as Mox hits against his prostate again, causing him to moan. “You still moan like one” Mox says as he starts thrusting a bit faster. “You still fuck like you got whiskey dick” Orange says with a giggle, causing Mox to glare at him. “I'll show you who fucking has whiskey dick” Mox says under his breath as he starts pounding into Orange.

Orange's mind instantly turned to putty when Mox was beating on his prostate like a drum. “You love to get under my skin just so you could get railed like a bitch in heat don't you?” Mox says and receives whimpers in response. Orange closes his eyes and covers his mouth so he doesn't get too loud. “Oh no you don't! I wanna hear those pretty noises” Mox says as he uses one hand to pin Orange's arms above his head. Orange opens his eyes and sees his husband grinning like a kid who just snuck a cookie out the jar.

Seeing that manic intensity in Mox's eyes seems to really turn Orange on apparently as he feels that familiar warmth in his belly. “Jon…” Orange whimpers as he feels like his aching, dripping cock is gonna explode like a party popper. “Time for the main event” Mox says with devilish glee as starts pounding into Orange even harder and kisses him. Those thrusts were too much for Orange as he grabs onto Mox's shoulders again and feels his eyes roll back into his head as he cums all over their stomachs.

He feels Mox paints his insides a few seconds later which always feels nice to Orange. He feels Mox's hand brush against his cheek as he opens his eyes again to see his husband smiling at him. “You ok fruitcake? I didn't rail you too hard did I?” Mox asks sweetly, making Orange blush. “No, it was fucking awesome” Orange says with a giggle. “I forgot you get giggly after being fucked fruitcake” Mox says as he gently pulls out and walks over to the camera.

“How the fuck do I turn this shit off?” Mox asks confusingly as he looks around the camera. “You hit the pause button then hit the power button” Orange explains as he gets some tissues to wipe his stomach. “Hope the EVCucks enjoy the moment cause they ain't getting another one” Mox says as he hits the correct buttons on the camera and lays back down with Orange. Orange then wipes the cum off Mox's stomach and lays on his husband's chest.

“Thanks for making me feel special tonight Jon” Orange says sweetly as he traces circles on Mox's arm. “Sweetheart I'll gladly do this every fucking day if it made you happy because I love you” Mox says, making Orange giggle. “Are you just saying that so I'll join the Death Riders?” Orange asks curiously, causing Mox to laugh. “Nope, but that would be nice considering you look beautiful in black” Mox says as he wraps his arms around Orange.

“I'll think about it… love you Jon” Orange says as he feels sleep overcome him. “Love you too my denim treasure” Mox says quietly as he gives Orange a quick kiss and turns the light off, going to sleep as well. It's ok if Orange loses cause his husband makes him feel like a winner every night.

[exyrpf]

What’s the winners room trope

right so like. it isn't only in hockey rpf anymore, but that's where it started and where it has predominently stayed. it's sports centric, obviously, and mostly rpf centric too.

at its most basic, winner's room is this:

player from the winning team gets to pick player from the losing team for sexual gratification or punishment.

it isn't for everyone, can be very Dead Dove Do Not Eat, and a lot of writers add other tropes, sometimes make it more centric to a particular ship, turn it into a gangbang, orgy, whatever, but at the end of the day, it boils down to "player(s) from winning team fucks player(s) from losing team"

[darkangel0410]

i know the knights would have picked leon for winner’s room bc humiliating a man who’s clearly not a bottom would definitely get the knights going… i do imagine there would be clauses exempting/protecting leadership though

so i feel that stone would choose yamo because he seemed to get on the guy’s nerves several times during the series - re: the scrum with him, stone, and stephenson in game 3 that ended with yamo's helmet being knocked off and stephenson yanking him away from stone by the back of his jersey... i also feel like yamo would (unexpectedly for the knights) enjoy it - he has hella bottom energy and is very vocal, something that i believe the knights would find entertaining. i’m not saying i think he’s a slut but i’m also not saying i don’t think he’s one…? also yamo and leon are very close and leon is very protective of him, so this could be their way of 'getting back at' leon for not shaking pietrangelo's hand in the lineup?

'Yamo' seems to be Kailer Yamamoto, some small-ass guy who seems to think he's tougher than he is? ('Leon' is Leon Draisaitl but I'm sure you gathered that.)

Mark and Chandler (and others too if you wanted!) absolutely wrecking him [several times over] and watching as Mr. Tough Guy comes apart in their grasp despite goading them beforehand and trying to antagonize them even as he's being fucked? There's just something about two (or more) big guys on one little mouthy guy that's incredibly hot.

would a winner's room prompt be something you were comfortable writing?

ETA:

I have written Winner's Room fic before, so yes! I'd be comfortable writing it again some day

Oh, man, yes, there's so many interesting possiblities for a Knights/Oilers Winner's Room!!!! Like I'd go for the McEichel angle personally, but that's my OTP bias talking probably

Yamo is a really interesting choice - idk much about him but I love two big guys and a smaller one 👀👀👀 I'd probably go Petro and Stone, tho, and I love the idea of Yamo being really into it

Hmmmm, you've given me lots to think about, anon, thank you!

[kairos44]

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Is that the winner's room we hear so much about? Never pictured it with a view but nice! Much to consider for the next fic 😂

[muldj0rd]

Australia, '00 || Makkinen

Summary: It wasn’t a thing. ’Winner’s room’ was something Michael had drunkenly suggested as a joke last year while everyone was out celebrating the end of the season.

Warnings: Anal, anal fingering, top!Michael, bottom!Mika, cheating

A/N: I found out what 'Winner's Room' was from @hotmandrivefast and it's been on my mind ever since. It's where I got this idea from, and I can't let it go

Masterlist || AO3 || Winner's Room Masterlist

It wasn’t a thing. ’Winner’s room’ was something Michael had drunkenly suggested as a joke last year while everyone was out celebrating the end of the season.

The drivers had looked at him confused, either because he was talking slurred because of the alcohol and didn’t understand him, or they didn’t understand what he was suggesting.

’The winner gets to fuck whoever they want on the grid’ He explained with a shrug like it was something he suggested every day.

–

It’s always been like this: one goes to the other’s hotel room after a race, even if the hotels are on two different ends of the city. It’s always been like that, ever since they were rookies.

They didn’t do much besides talk or whatnot until late and had to return to the hotel, but it was comforting, especially if one of them had had a bad race.

As stated, ‘winner’s room’ wasn’t a thing, and Michael had no intention of following it, but when Mika had gone back to the room after being in the bathroom, and had been so annoying to ask ’Who you gonna fuck?’ it had set something off in Michael.

“Um, I don’t know” Michael hummed, shrugging softly.

Mika looked surprised at him, shocked he would actually go through with it “You’re actually doing it?” Michael shrugged softly again “What about that new kid? Fuck is his name? Jenson?”

“Jenson?” Michael asked, hoping Mika would be joking

“Yeah” Mika shrugged softly “He’s pretty”

“Yes, pretty young” Michael laughed softly.

Mika smirked slightly “Hasn’t stopped you before”

Michael rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly “I would just scare him off. Imagine you’re asked to get fucked after your first race” He said

“Or, you’d make him desperate enough to stay, maybe even win” Mika teased “Besides, he retired in his first ever Formula One race, he might need some cheering up”

“God, you’re annoying” Michael laughed, drawing a short chuckle out of Mika.

There was silence in the hotel room- almost deafening.

Michael sighed softly before he turned his head back towards Mika “Would you want to-“

“God, yes” Mika interrupted, already in Michael’s lap, kissing him messily, his hands in the German’s hair.

Michael’s hands were immediately on Mika, on his waist, thighs, hips, anywhere he could reach, his hands were

Mika kissed down Michael’s neck, his hands going to his belt, unbuckling it “Little impatient, no?” Michael chuckled

“Shut up” Mika chuckled, abandoning Michael’s belt to pull the German’s shirt off instead.

He started kissing down to Michael’s collarbone, Michael’s hands neatly settled on the back of Mika’s thighs “Funny how I won, but you’re having all the pleasure”

“You not enjoying this?” Mika questioned confused as he leaned back

“Did not say that. You just seem to enjoy it more” Michael chuckled softly with a slight smile.

“I retired in the first race of the season. Let me have some fun” Mika mumbled, leaning down to mouth at Michael’s collarbone again, leaving wet trails behind.

“Tell me you got lube with you,” Michael said, pulling Mika's shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor.

Mika hummed, nodding softly before he got up and walked over to his suitcase. Mika yelped softly when Michael pulled him back onto the bed, pushing him onto his back on the bed.

Michael kissed open-mouthed down Mika’s body, feeling him squirm under his touch, small whimpers leaving his lips.

Michael quickly got rid of Mika’s pants and boxers, throwing them into the growing pile of clothes.

“Michael” Mika whimpered, almost forcing the bottle of lube into Michael’s hand.

The blond leaned back with a slight chuckle, pouring some lube onto his fingers, warming it up, spreading Mika’s legs further with the other hand, the Fin obeying immediately.

The whine that Mika let out as Michael circled his fingers around his hole was amusing to the German, a small, proud smirk appearing on his lips.

Mika gripped the bed sheets under him tightly, his eyes closed and head thrown back, his back arching slightly as Michael slowly pushed one of his fingers into him.

Michael quickly had Mika a moaning, whining mess under him, his fingers grazing Mika’s prostate with every feel thrust of his fingers.

Mika let out a pathetic whimper as Michael pulled his fingers out, now shining with lube which he dried off onto Mika’s pale thigh, the stickiness mixing with the the thing layer of sweat that had already appeared on Mika’s skin.

Michael leaned back, an amused smirk on his lips as he watched Mika’s cheat rise and fall heavily, his hands working on getting his jeans and boxers down his legs so that they now both were completely naked.

Michael bent Mika’s legs again with one hand, the other working on getting himself lubed up, making sure to pour enough to not hurt Mika in any way.

He leaned over Mika’s body who had now open eyes, looking up at the younger man. Michael slowly pushed into Mika, watching the Fin’s face for any discomfort.

“What wouldn’t your wife think if she finds out” Michael groaned softly, slowly and softly starting to move his hips.

Mika moaned softly before he spoke, his voice husky “What about your own?” His eyes were closed, his hands softly holding onto Michael’s biceps.

“We’re not talking about my wife” Michael said, his hips snapping slightly faster and harder against Mika’s, making them both moan softly.

Michael lifted Mika’s hips slightly from the bed, making it easier to hit his prostate, which he quickly did, and continued to do with every thrust, Mika moaned loudly because of it, his arms swung around the German’s neck, trying to pull him closer.

It didn’t take longer for Mika to start begging to come- begging Michael to touch him, every once in a while letting a Finnish curse slip past him, Michael’s name being moaned a few times as well until Michael gave in, wrapping his hand around Mika’s cock.

Mika moaned louder- if that was even possible at this point. Michael groaned as Mika came, his name rolling off his tongue, his walls clenching down around Michael.

Michael slowed down, now purposefully avoiding Mika’s prostate, his hand letting go of his cock. A few thrusts later and some overstimulated whimpers from Mika, Michael came, pressing his hips up against Mika.

“We should… Make it a thing” Michael groaned softly, slowly pulling out of Mika.

Mika panted heavily, his mind too fogged up to even think proper “What?” He asked confused, his arm coveringhis face.

Michael chuckled softly, finding a wash cloth in the bathroom, cleaning them both up “Winner’s room, dumbass” He said, placing a soft kiss to Mika’s bent knee.

“Oh, yeah. We should” He nodded, in no state to disagree.

Michael smirked slightly, proud of his work “I’ll ask you again tomorrow” Michael said as he helped Mika into some clean clothes before getting into his own again.

[skyefeys]

yeah i am NEVER calling him that.

[ourhouseishaunted]

Vash and Chronica's terrible sibling game night

[introspectivememories]