Chapter Text
October 2016—Montreal
Han Jisung was as close to losing it as he ever allowed himself to get. He’d endured two periods and twelve minutes of one of the most frustrating hockey games he’d ever played. It should have been a glorious win at home for his Montreal Voyageurs against their archrivals, the Boston Bears. Instead it had been a grueling humiliation, and the score stood at 4–1 for Boston, with less than eight minutes left on the clock.
Jisung had had no less than five beautiful scoring chances. He’d taken shots that should never have missed. But they had. And the Bears had capitalized on the Voyageurs’ mistakes. One man had capitalized more than anyone. The most hated man in Montreal: Lee Minho. The near century-old rivalry between the Montreal and Boston NHL teams had, over the past six seasons, become personified by Han Jisung and Lee Minho. Their intense animosity was clear even to the fans in the farthest, cheapest seats.
Jisung bent at the face-off circle now, facing Lee as the referee prepared to drop the puck after his second goal of the game.
“Having a good night?” Lee Minho asked cheerfully. His eyes sparkled the way they always did when he was talking shit.
“Fuck you,” Jisung growled.
“Still time for a hat trick, I think,” Minho mused, his English barely comprehensible between his thick accent and his mouth guard. “Should I do it now, or wait until last minute? More exciting that way, yes?”
Jisung gritted his teeth around his own mouth guard and didn’t answer.
“Shut up, Lee,” the referee said. “Last warning.”
Minho stopped talking, but he managed to find an even more effective way of getting under Jisung’s skin: he winked. With both eyes, because he didn't know how to wink properly. And then he won the face-off.
❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎
“Fuck!” Jisung complained, as he slumped into his dressing room stall. Jisung’s left wing line mate, Seo Changbin, sat on the bench next to him, as always.
“You all right?” Changbin asked quietly.
“Sure,” Jisung said flatly. He tipped his head back until it met the cool wall behind him and closed his eyes. Using the word “passionate” to describe Montreal hockey fans would be an understatement. Montreal loved the Voyageurs to the point of absurdity. Their arena was one of the toughest places for visiting teams to play, because they faced not only one of the best teams in the league, but the loudest fans in the league as well. The fans also had no problem letting their own beloved team know exactly how disappointed they were with them. But when Montreal fans were really devastated, like they had been tonight, they were almost silent. And that was Jisung’s least favorite sound.
“You know what would be sweet?” Changbin asked. “You know that movie, The Purge? Where you get to, like, break whatever laws for one night with no consequences?”
“Sort of,” Jisung said.
“Man, if that was real, I would murder the fuck out of Lee Minho.”
Jisung laughed. He couldn’t disagree that bludgeoning that smug face would be at least a little satisfying. Their coach entered the room and voiced his disappointment with remarkable calm. It was early in the season—this had been their first regular season matchup against Boston—and they had been playing well most games. This was a glitch. They would move on.
Then it was time to face the press. At that moment, Jisung would have preferred to see a pack of starving wolves enter the room, but he knew there was no avoiding the reporters. They always wanted to talk to him, specifically, after every game, and especially after games where he faced Minho. A semicircle of cameras, lights, and microphones formed around him.
“Hey, guys,” he said tiredly. They asked their boring questions, and Jisung gave them boring answers. What could he even say? They’d lost. It was a hockey game, and one team lost, and that team was his team.
“Do you want to know what Lee Minho just said about you?” one of the reporters asked gleefully.
“Something nice, I assume.”
“He said he wished you’d been playing tonight.” The crowd of reporters was silent. Waiting. Jisung snorted and shook his head.
“Well, we play in Boston in three weeks. You can let him know that I will definitely be at that game.” The reporters laughed, delighted that they had gotten their Han vs. Lee sound bite for the night.
An hour later—showered, changed and finally alone—Jisung drove himself home. Not to his Westmount penthouse, but to the one nobody knew about. He only spent a few nights a year at the small condominium in the Plateau. It was where he went when he wanted to be sure of total privacy. He parked in the tiny lot behind the three-story building, let himself in the back door, and quickly climbed the stairs to the top floor. He knew the other two floors were unoccupied because he owned those too. The bottom floor was rented to a high-end kitchenware boutique, which had closed for the night hours ago. The condo on the third floor looked like what it was: a demo condo that had been decorated by a professional house stager. Technically, this was the condo that would be used to sell this one and the one below it. If Jisung was ever interested in selling. Which, he told himself, he definitely would be doing. Soon. He had been telling himself this for over three years.
He went to the stainless-steel fridge and took out one of the five bottles of beer—the only things in the pristine refrigerator. He twisted the cap off and sat himself on the black leather sofa in the living area. He sat in silence and tried to ignore the way his stomach churned on nights like this one. He took small sips, knowing the alcohol would help at least numb the disappointment he felt in himself. The disgust at his own weakness. He needed to dull it because he knew he sure wouldn’t be doing anything to fix this mess. He’d been trying for over six years.
The knock at the door came almost forty minutes later. It had been enough time that Jisung had almost convinced himself to leave. To put an end to this foolishness. But, of course, he hadn’t. And if the knock had come hours later, even, Jisung would still have been on that sofa, waiting for it. He opened the door.
“What the fuck took you so long?” he asked, annoyed.
“We were celebrating. Big win tonight, you know?” Jisung stepped back to let the smirking Japanese man into the apartment. “I got away as soon as I could,” Minho said, his tone less teasing. “Didn’t want to draw attention, right?”
“Sure.” And that was the last word Jisung got out before Minho’s mouth crashed into his. Jisung gripped his leather jacket with both hands and pulled him closer as he kissed Minho breathless. “How long do you have?” Jisung asked quickly, when they had broken apart for air.
“Two hours, maybe?”
“Fuck.” He kissed Minho again, rough and needy. God, he needed this. This horrible, fucked-up thing.
“You taste like beer,” Minho said.
“You taste like that horrible gum you chew.”
“Is so I don’t smoke!”
“Shut up.” They grappled and maneuvered each other until they reached the bedroom, where Jisung shoved him roughly against a wall and continued kissing. He felt the familiar slide of his rival’s tongue in his mouth, and slid his own tongue over his teeth. He wanted a lot tonight, but they didn’t have time for a lot. Minho grabbed him and pushed him down on the bed; Jisung watched the other man drop his jacket on the floor and pull his T-shirt off over his head. A gold chain hung crookedly around Minho’s neck, the shiny crucifix resting on his left clavicle, and for a second all he could do was watch Minho strip his clothes off, and belatedly realize that he should be doing the same. They both took off everything, and Minho fell on top of Jisung, kissing him and moving a hand down to grasp his already embarrassingly rigid cock. Jisung arched up into his touch, making stupid, desperate noises.
“Don’t worry, Han,” Minho said, his lips brushing Jisung’s ear, “I am going to fuck you like you want, yes?”
“Yes,” Jisung exhaled, a mixture of relief and humiliation sweeping through him. Minho slid down his body, kissing, sucking, licking, until he reached Jisung’s cock. He didn’t tease any further. He took him into his mouth, and Jisung was grateful that they were alone in the building because his moan echoed throughout the sparsely decorated room. He propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch. Part of him wanted to lie back and close his eyes and let himself believe that it was anyone other than Lee Minho making him feel so good. But most of him wanted to see exactly who it was. Minho was a stunning man. Pit black strands of hair fell into his playful dark eyes and over his perfect eyebrows. His strong jaw and sharp nose made him look like a Greek statue. His smile was lopsided and lazy, and his teeth were perfectly white, even his longer front teeth weirdly only making him more attractive.
Jisung fucking hated him. But Minho was really good at sucking cock, and he was, for whatever reason, willing. Jisung hated this, but he had taken great pains to protect it, and he would continue doing so as long as Minho was willing. Their lives being what they were, this was not an easy thing to get. Maybe, when they had started seven years ago, they hadn’t expected their lives, their famous rivalry, to get to the point it was at now. Maybe they should have stopped by now. But, despite the wrongness of it, this was comfortable. This was familiar. And it was as close to safe as either of them were going to get.
That’s all it was.
Minho worked his talented mouth on Jisung’s cock, and Jisung tossed the lube down the bed from the well-stocked nightstand. Minho took it without pausing what he was doing, and poured some on his fingers so he could get to work opening Jisung up. This was never Jisung’s favorite part because he felt so fucking vulnerable. He felt weak and ridiculous every time they were together like this, but he always felt it most acutely when Minho had his fingers inside him. As a result, the preparation usually took a while.
Minho, on the other hand, always seemed completely at ease. He was good at this, and he knew it. He slid his mouth off of Jisung’s cock with a parting lick to the head that sent a jolt straight through Jisung’s body, and said, “Relax, yeah? Is not much time, but enough.”
Jisung took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hated that voice so much on the ice, and in the interviews he saw on television where Minho mocked him in an obnoxious, teasing tone. But here, in this bed, Minho’s tone was patient and gentle, his voice soft and his accent wrapping elegantly around boxy English words. Jisung relaxed as Minho opened him with strong fingers and pressed openmouthed kisses on the insides of his thighs. When he was ready, Jisung wordlessly handed Minho a condom before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. He couldn’t look at him. Not tonight. Not after that humiliating loss. Minho seemed to understand. He entered him carefully, not taking him roughly like he had many times in the past. This was slow and considerate. Jisung felt big hands on his hips and waist, holding him steady as Minho pushed inside. He even felt his thumbs brush gently over his lower back.
“There. This is what you wanted, yes?”
“Yes.” Because it was. It was what he always wanted.
Minho started to move and Jisung cried out. It never took long for him to just give in and start moaning and gasping and asking for more.
“Fuck, Han. You love it.”
Jisung responded by turning, he was sure, beet red. But he couldn’t deny it. Minho fucked him hard with one strong hand pressing between his shoulder blades—pressing him down to the mattress. They were both loud, and if he hadn’t known the building was empty besides the two of them, Jisung would have been worried about it. But he felt safe here, so he let himself go. He cried out with every thrust and maybe said Minho’s name a bunch of times. Jisung really hoped no one could hear them. When Minho reached around to take Jisung’s cock in his slick hand, Jisung became desperate for release and started bucking back against him. This was the point where he was always reminded why he couldn’t give this up. It was too good.
“You gonna come for me, Han?” He was going to. And he did. He punched the mattress and swore loudly and coated Minho’s fist with his release. Minho picked up speed behind him, sending aftershocks rocketing through Jisung’s body with each thrust. Just as it was becoming too much for Jisung, Minho stilled and cried out and pulsed inside him.
Afterward, they lay on their backs next to each other, and Jisung felt the familiar aftermath of guilt and shame creep in.
“Well, you won at something tonight,” Minho mused.
“God. Fuck off.” Jisung lifted his arm to flip him off, but Minho grabbed his wrist and pulled him over so Jisung was on top of his chest, looking down at him. His playful smirk faded as he held Jisung’s gaze, and Jisung felt suddenly breathless.
Minho put a hand in Jisung’s hair and guided their mouths back together. After a long, oddly tender kiss, Jisung lifted his head and saw that Minho was, still, looking at him very seriously. He swallowed, but didn’t say anything as Minho brushed fingers through his hair. He hoped the fear he felt wasn’t showing on his face.
“You are very beautiful,” Minho said suddenly. It was said very matter-of-factly. Jisung wasn’t sure how to react. They didn’t really say things to each other. Not like that.
“Hottest Man in the NHL, according to Cosmopolitan,” Jisung joked. It was the only way he knew how to talk to Minho, besides yelling obscenities at him.
“They are idiots,” Minho said, the spell broken. “They put me at number five. Five!”
“It does seem generous.” Minho rolled over, pinning Jisung to the mattress. Jisung looked up at him, laughing.
“I have to go,” Minho said, and he sounded like he truly regretted it. “Shower first, but then I have to get back to the hotel.”
“I know.”
They showered together, and Jisung dropped to his knees because he couldn’t let Minho go without tasting him. Minho murmured his approval as he loomed over Jisung in the spacious rainfall shower. His strong hands cradled Jisung’s head and long fingers curled in his wet hair. Jisung turned his eyes up and found Minho gazing down at him with that damn crooked smile. Jisung immediately closed his eyes and felt his cheeks flush and, to his embarrassment, his own cock get harder. It was bad enough that he loved being fucked so much, that he loved having a dick in his mouth. But for it to have to be this son of a bitch, to the point that on the extremely rare occasion when it wasn’t, Jisung was left wanting... So maybe it wasn’t just that this was convenient. But that was something Jisung didn’t want to think about. He brought Minho right to the brink and then pulled off, catching the man’s release on his chin and lips and probably on his neck. The evidence was quickly washed away, down the drain, and Jisung fell back to a sitting position against the shower wall. He scrubbed his hands over his face and pulled his knees in. He heard Minho panting in Japanese.
“Shit,” Minho said, still standing with his head leaning back against the tile opposite where Jisung was sitting. “You been practicing that, Han?”
“No,” Jisung grumbled.
“No? You been saving it for me?” Jisung didn’t reply, which was as good as confirmation. Minho laughed. “You need to get laid. Waiting for a quick fuck every couple of months is not healthy.”
“I’m not waiting,” Jisung said. It wasn’t quite a lie. He obviously wasn’t one hundred percent straight, but having sex with women didn’t repulse him. It just didn’t do it for him like men did. One man in particular. But women were safe and easy and everywhere. And maybe if he kept trying he might find one he’d like to spend more than a single night with. Someone who could finally put an end to... whatever this was.
Minho turned off the water and reached a hand out. Jisung rolled his eyes and took it, letting Minho pull him to his feet. They stood, chest to chest, and Jisung watched the water that dripped from Minho’s hair onto his shoulder and down toward his navel. Minho rested a hand on Jisung’s face and tipped his head up. He looked at him fondly, with a little smile on his lips, and then he kissed him.
“I have ruined you,” Minho said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”
“God, fuck off.”
“Such a mouth on you.”
“Don’t say it.”
“I preferred it when it was on me.”
“Dammit, Lee.” Jisung pushed the other man back against the shower wall and kissed him aggressively. It was always like this. Shoving and cursing each other and battling for control until one or both of them gave in and allowed themselves the release they both craved.
“I do have to go,” Minho said, but even as he said it he was scraping his teeth along Jisung’s jaw.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? I don’t care. I think we’re done here anyway, aren’t we?”
Minho stopped kissing him and looked at him, considering.
“I suppose we are.”
They left the shower and got dressed quickly. Jisung stripped the comforter from the bed and loaded it into the washing machine. He would make sure the place was left as spotless as he had found it.
“Three weeks, then,” Minho said as he stood at the door, ready to leave.
“Yup.”
Minho nodded, and Jisung thought that was going to be it, but then the other man grinned and said, “Was it me tonight?”
“Was what you?”
“Distracting you. On the ice tonight.” It took Jisung a moment to realize what he was suggesting.
“Fuck. You.” Minho's smile spread.
“Couldn’t play at all, thinking about my dick, right?”
“Goodnight Lee.” Minho blew him a kiss on his way out the door, leaving Jisung furious and strangely relieved. It was good to be reminded of the fact that they didn’t actually like each other.
Jisung sat on the sofa to wait for the comforter to be clean. It was late and he was exhausted, but he wouldn’t sleep here. He should really talk to a Realtor about selling this building. He would sell the building, and he would stay in his goddamn hotel room when they played in Boston and not slip out into the night to Minho’s penthouse. He would end this, and he would move on. He realized, as he was making this plan, that he was brushing his fingertips over his lips. They still tingled from the memory of the other man’s mouth pressed against them. He knew making plans to end this was pointless. As long as this was being offered, Jisung would never be able to say no.