Niki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
niki_chidon) wrote2007-01-07 07:06 am
niki_chidon) wrote2007-01-07 07:06 am
Fic: The Hockey Fic (WWE, Edge/Jericho)
Title: The Hockey Fic, aka 'smutless smut'
Author: Niki
Fandom: WWE
Paring: Edge/Jericho, established relationship
Series: Belongs to the "Home Is..." series aka Mr Wabbit's Universe
Rating: NC-17, I suppose.
Warnings & apologies: for excessive use of hockey terms, especially penalties
Disclaimers: Adam and Chris are not mine. WWE, Vince, Chris Irvine, and Adam Copeland have nothing to do with this bit of silliness. No offense meant, no money made, but hopefully
I made my friend happy, and, hey, you can't sue me for that, right? I own Mr. Wabbit.
Notes: The match happened. Nash & Thornton dominated the score lists. But Jagr still kicked their asses even with a broken finger ;P
HUGE BIG THANK YOU to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raisingkane for saving this fic from its existence only as a paper copy.
--------------------------------------------------------
I drop the half-filled beer can on the floor and don't even pay attention to the flowing beer as I stare incredulously towards the TV screen.
"We lost?"
From Chris's laugh I realise I sound like a whining kid, but I can't believe it.
"3-0!"
I can't get over that. 3-0.
I wasn't worried when they scored the first goal.
After all, we have Nash and Thornton who were dominating the lists with 15 and 16 points, respectively. And Brodeur had just remembered how to play hockey the night before.
After the second goal, I was starting to fret.
The third one slew me.
3-0.
I say it one more time, with that incredulous voice, and hear Chris starting to giggle.
"But we lost!"
"We didn't *lose*, we got the second place in the tournament. And it's only the World Championships."
"Who cares! It's hockey! And I've spent a year without NHL! I can care about some silly tournament in Europe!"
Then I frown and turn to look at the still-smiling face of my lover.
"And why are you, of all people, telling me that it's 'just hockey'?"
"With my background, you're kind of used to it."
"But we lost!"
Broken record taking over the whiny kid. Joyful.
I stare at the screen where the Czech team is celebrating their victory. At least Jaromir Jagr got his first gold medal now. Been watching him play over the years and man, is he great. But we still lost.
"Take off your shirt," Chris says out of the blue.
I glance at my team Canada jersey, similar to the one he and Mr Wabbit are wearing (yes, he was watching the game with us, so?), and proceed to take it off. I don't feel like celebrating.
"No, you idiot," he sighs when I just throw the jersey on the floor, "*both* of your shirts."
I look at him, frowning. What the hell? I just thought he wanted me to lighten up about hockey.
He sighs again, then moves to remove the garment himself.
"You obviously need distracting," he explains, lowering his head to lick at my chest.
Oh. Oh!
I'm all for some distraction.
Still... it will need a lot to make me forget the final score... 3-0!
Mmmm, something like that, for example, I just have time to think before my higher brain functions shut down and I give myself fully over to pleasure Chris so skillfully offers.
--------------------
"We lost."
I have to laugh at Adam's incredulous tone. Canada *can* lose, even hockey matches.
He's so cute when he's watching hockey. I know I get excited too. Hey, hockey! Duh. We're Canadians. We breathe and eat hockey from the time we are born. Even if our fathers don't play, and especially when they do.
But lately, most of my enjoyment has come through watching Adam's enjoyment.
So we lost. But the team had a strong tournament (Okay, Brodeur sucking in four goals from Latvia was a bit much. But we beat them.), and Thornton scored most points and Nash the most goals.
And Adam looks so edible when he's doing his little boy lost whiny act, as if he couldn't believe his favourite could lose.
Mmm, edible... He needs to be distracted from the result before he gets rid of the shock and starts being pissed off and accusing the ref.
I'm good at distracting him.
--------------------
"Uhh, Chris," I manage to get out even through the assault on my senses by his tongue.
"Yeah?" He mutters against my skin.
"I really, really - uhh - need to go to the bathroom."
Not very romantic but hey, I must have drunk a six-pack of beer during the game.
Chris stops what he is doing and grins at me wickedly.
"That's delaying the game. Two minutes."
"If you're trying to distract me from hockey, reminding me of the game is *not* usually the way to go!" but I'm grinning too, as I practically run to the bathroom. Poor Mr Wabbit who was on my lap. He's somewhere on the floor by now.
After relieving myself I decide my clothes are kind of superfluous, and leave them behind.
Chris raises his eyebrows as I return to the sofa.
"Now, where were we?" I grin.
"*You* are about to suffer your two minutes penalty," he grins back, and settles down comfortably, crossing his arms behind his back, not making a move to touch me.
I'm sure my mouth hangs open for a second.
"Fine," I mutter, and sit down next to him.
He said sit. And he isn't going to touch me. But no one said I couldn't touch myself.
"Uhh, Adam, what are you doing?"
"Huh? Oh, distracting myself," I say carelessly, letting my hand slide down my chest. Slowly, slowly...
I'm not looking at Chris but I can hear him swallow.
"That's unsportsmanlike conduct," he says.
"Oh? You gonna give me another two minutes?" I smile, while my hand has almost reached its target.
"Uuupf!" I yell, as I'm suddenly pounced by 231 pounds of Canadian meat.
"Spearing," I manage to grunt as he settles down, straddling my legs. "Roughing!" I shout as he starts to tickle me.
"Shut up!" he says and kisses me.
"You started," I remind him in between kisses.
"Well, if you wanna miss high sticking and holding, you'd better stop mouthing off to the ref!"
High sticking? Oh! *That* stick. I'm all for high sticking on the sofa. Maybe even butt-ending. Cross-checking would also be acceptable. Not to mention holding.
We decide the sofa has too many players, with Mr Wabbit and all, and we move to the bedroom. The journey is not without its hazards - repeated boarding happens as we end up kissing against all available surfaces.
When we finally reach the bed more roughing happens, then some slashing and spearing (in its hockey-related meaning this time), and, in the end, we both score.
"I love playing hockey with you," I pant a good while later.
Chris grins tiredly and snuggles closer.
"Likewise," he mutters against my skin.
Much later I go back to the living room - not to clean the spilled beer from the floor, but to collect Mr Wabbit from under the sofa.
He's still wearing his hockey jersey as the three of us burrow into the bed to sleep.
------------------------The End-------------------------
Penalty list courtesy of Wikipedia. (en.wikipedia.org). I took some
liberties with the content of the penalties, as you might notice. ;)
Attempt to injure
Deliberately trying to seriously harm an opponent.
Boarding
Pushing an opponent violently into the boards.
Butt-ending
Jabbing an opponent with the end of the shaft of the stick
Charging
Taking more than three strides before hitting an opponent.
Checking from behind
Hitting an opponent from behind if the opponent is unaware the hit is about to be delivered (turning one's back to the hit does not constitute checking from behind.)
Clipping
Delivering a check below the knees of an opponent.
Cross-checking
Hitting an opponent with the stick when it is held with two hands.
Delaying the game
Deliberately stalling the game (for example, deliberately shooting the puck out of play, holding the puck in the hand, refusing to send players out for a face off).
Elbowing
Hitting an opponent with the elbow.
Fighting
Serious roughing in which punches are repeatedly thrown.
Head-butting
Hitting an opponent with the head.
High sticking
Hitting an opponent with a stick above shoulder level.
Holding
Grabbing an opponent or his stick with the hands or stick.
Hooking
Using a stick as a hook to slow an opponent.
Interference
Impeding an opponent who does not have the puck.
Kneeing
Hitting an opponent with the knee.
Roughing
Pushing and shoving or throwing punches.
Slashing
Swinging a stick at an opponent.
Spearing
Stabbing an opponent with the stick blade
Too many men on the ice
Having more than six players on the ice involved in the play at any given time.
Tripping
Using a stick or one's body to trip an opponent.
Unsportsmanlike conduct
Arguing with a referee; using slurs against an opponent or teammate; playing with illegal equipment; intentionally embellishing an infraction to entice a penalty call from the referee ("Diving")
Author: Niki
Fandom: WWE
Paring: Edge/Jericho, established relationship
Series: Belongs to the "Home Is..." series aka Mr Wabbit's Universe
Rating: NC-17, I suppose.
Warnings & apologies: for excessive use of hockey terms, especially penalties
Disclaimers: Adam and Chris are not mine. WWE, Vince, Chris Irvine, and Adam Copeland have nothing to do with this bit of silliness. No offense meant, no money made, but hopefully
I made my friend happy, and, hey, you can't sue me for that, right? I own Mr. Wabbit.
Notes: The match happened. Nash & Thornton dominated the score lists. But Jagr still kicked their asses even with a broken finger ;P
HUGE BIG THANK YOU to
raisingkane for saving this fic from its existence only as a paper copy.--------------------------------------------------------
I drop the half-filled beer can on the floor and don't even pay attention to the flowing beer as I stare incredulously towards the TV screen.
"We lost?"
From Chris's laugh I realise I sound like a whining kid, but I can't believe it.
"3-0!"
I can't get over that. 3-0.
I wasn't worried when they scored the first goal.
After all, we have Nash and Thornton who were dominating the lists with 15 and 16 points, respectively. And Brodeur had just remembered how to play hockey the night before.
After the second goal, I was starting to fret.
The third one slew me.
3-0.
I say it one more time, with that incredulous voice, and hear Chris starting to giggle.
"But we lost!"
"We didn't *lose*, we got the second place in the tournament. And it's only the World Championships."
"Who cares! It's hockey! And I've spent a year without NHL! I can care about some silly tournament in Europe!"
Then I frown and turn to look at the still-smiling face of my lover.
"And why are you, of all people, telling me that it's 'just hockey'?"
"With my background, you're kind of used to it."
"But we lost!"
Broken record taking over the whiny kid. Joyful.
I stare at the screen where the Czech team is celebrating their victory. At least Jaromir Jagr got his first gold medal now. Been watching him play over the years and man, is he great. But we still lost.
"Take off your shirt," Chris says out of the blue.
I glance at my team Canada jersey, similar to the one he and Mr Wabbit are wearing (yes, he was watching the game with us, so?), and proceed to take it off. I don't feel like celebrating.
"No, you idiot," he sighs when I just throw the jersey on the floor, "*both* of your shirts."
I look at him, frowning. What the hell? I just thought he wanted me to lighten up about hockey.
He sighs again, then moves to remove the garment himself.
"You obviously need distracting," he explains, lowering his head to lick at my chest.
Oh. Oh!
I'm all for some distraction.
Still... it will need a lot to make me forget the final score... 3-0!
Mmmm, something like that, for example, I just have time to think before my higher brain functions shut down and I give myself fully over to pleasure Chris so skillfully offers.
--------------------
"We lost."
I have to laugh at Adam's incredulous tone. Canada *can* lose, even hockey matches.
He's so cute when he's watching hockey. I know I get excited too. Hey, hockey! Duh. We're Canadians. We breathe and eat hockey from the time we are born. Even if our fathers don't play, and especially when they do.
But lately, most of my enjoyment has come through watching Adam's enjoyment.
So we lost. But the team had a strong tournament (Okay, Brodeur sucking in four goals from Latvia was a bit much. But we beat them.), and Thornton scored most points and Nash the most goals.
And Adam looks so edible when he's doing his little boy lost whiny act, as if he couldn't believe his favourite could lose.
Mmm, edible... He needs to be distracted from the result before he gets rid of the shock and starts being pissed off and accusing the ref.
I'm good at distracting him.
--------------------
"Uhh, Chris," I manage to get out even through the assault on my senses by his tongue.
"Yeah?" He mutters against my skin.
"I really, really - uhh - need to go to the bathroom."
Not very romantic but hey, I must have drunk a six-pack of beer during the game.
Chris stops what he is doing and grins at me wickedly.
"That's delaying the game. Two minutes."
"If you're trying to distract me from hockey, reminding me of the game is *not* usually the way to go!" but I'm grinning too, as I practically run to the bathroom. Poor Mr Wabbit who was on my lap. He's somewhere on the floor by now.
After relieving myself I decide my clothes are kind of superfluous, and leave them behind.
Chris raises his eyebrows as I return to the sofa.
"Now, where were we?" I grin.
"*You* are about to suffer your two minutes penalty," he grins back, and settles down comfortably, crossing his arms behind his back, not making a move to touch me.
I'm sure my mouth hangs open for a second.
"Fine," I mutter, and sit down next to him.
He said sit. And he isn't going to touch me. But no one said I couldn't touch myself.
"Uhh, Adam, what are you doing?"
"Huh? Oh, distracting myself," I say carelessly, letting my hand slide down my chest. Slowly, slowly...
I'm not looking at Chris but I can hear him swallow.
"That's unsportsmanlike conduct," he says.
"Oh? You gonna give me another two minutes?" I smile, while my hand has almost reached its target.
"Uuupf!" I yell, as I'm suddenly pounced by 231 pounds of Canadian meat.
"Spearing," I manage to grunt as he settles down, straddling my legs. "Roughing!" I shout as he starts to tickle me.
"Shut up!" he says and kisses me.
"You started," I remind him in between kisses.
"Well, if you wanna miss high sticking and holding, you'd better stop mouthing off to the ref!"
High sticking? Oh! *That* stick. I'm all for high sticking on the sofa. Maybe even butt-ending. Cross-checking would also be acceptable. Not to mention holding.
We decide the sofa has too many players, with Mr Wabbit and all, and we move to the bedroom. The journey is not without its hazards - repeated boarding happens as we end up kissing against all available surfaces.
When we finally reach the bed more roughing happens, then some slashing and spearing (in its hockey-related meaning this time), and, in the end, we both score.
"I love playing hockey with you," I pant a good while later.
Chris grins tiredly and snuggles closer.
"Likewise," he mutters against my skin.
Much later I go back to the living room - not to clean the spilled beer from the floor, but to collect Mr Wabbit from under the sofa.
He's still wearing his hockey jersey as the three of us burrow into the bed to sleep.
------------------------The End-------------------------
Penalty list courtesy of Wikipedia. (en.wikipedia.org). I took some
liberties with the content of the penalties, as you might notice. ;)
Attempt to injure
Deliberately trying to seriously harm an opponent.
Boarding
Pushing an opponent violently into the boards.
Butt-ending
Jabbing an opponent with the end of the shaft of the stick
Charging
Taking more than three strides before hitting an opponent.
Checking from behind
Hitting an opponent from behind if the opponent is unaware the hit is about to be delivered (turning one's back to the hit does not constitute checking from behind.)
Clipping
Delivering a check below the knees of an opponent.
Cross-checking
Hitting an opponent with the stick when it is held with two hands.
Delaying the game
Deliberately stalling the game (for example, deliberately shooting the puck out of play, holding the puck in the hand, refusing to send players out for a face off).
Elbowing
Hitting an opponent with the elbow.
Fighting
Serious roughing in which punches are repeatedly thrown.
Head-butting
Hitting an opponent with the head.
High sticking
Hitting an opponent with a stick above shoulder level.
Holding
Grabbing an opponent or his stick with the hands or stick.
Hooking
Using a stick as a hook to slow an opponent.
Interference
Impeding an opponent who does not have the puck.
Kneeing
Hitting an opponent with the knee.
Roughing
Pushing and shoving or throwing punches.
Slashing
Swinging a stick at an opponent.
Spearing
Stabbing an opponent with the stick blade
Too many men on the ice
Having more than six players on the ice involved in the play at any given time.
Tripping
Using a stick or one's body to trip an opponent.
Unsportsmanlike conduct
Arguing with a referee; using slurs against an opponent or teammate; playing with illegal equipment; intentionally embellishing an infraction to entice a penalty call from the referee ("Diving")
no subject
Still love it. :)
And I still have to laugh at a penalty called butt-ending. *smirk*
no subject
no subject
Definitely a very good read. ^^ I love the easy banter between the two.
no subject
(Though hockey is not really that violent when you actually watch it - physical, yes, but not violent. And, honestly, they have a penalty called 'slashing'. My boyfriend gives it to me a lot;P)