✧ hockeyplayer!chris x figureskater!reader, friends to lovers, dom!chris, mutual pining, stimulation, unprotected sex
✧ summary: you’re a figure skater. chris sturniolo is a hockey player. you meet every day at the same rink, and what starts as passing conversations after practice turns into him staying longer than he should—and you letting him.
✧ authors note: based on this request! (if you saw this posted earlier #sorry it was an accident...)
you'd spent years around ice rinks.
which meant you'd spent years around hockey players. loud hockey players. cocky hockey players.
hockey players who thought they owned every rink they stepped into.
so when chris first started hanging around after your practices, you told yourself he was no different.
that explanation lasted about a week. because unfortunately, chris was annoying in a completely different way.
for one thing, he was impossible to ignore.
you could always tell when he'd gotten to the rink because there'd be a burst of laughter from somewhere down the hallway. the sound of hockey bags hitting the floor. a coach yelling at someone.
and then eventually chris would appear usually carrying his stick over one shoulder, his hair messy from shoving a hat on and off.
looking unfairly good for someone who spent half his life getting slammed into walls.
especially because he seemed completely unaware of it. or maybe he was aware. that possibility was honestly worse.
you were adjusting your skate guards one afternoon when you noticed him on the ice.
his team had practice after yours, and your coach was busy talking to someone, leaving you stuck waiting by the boards.
normally you would've been checking your phone. instead, you found yourself watching.
hockey looked chaotic compared to figure skating. figure skating was precision. timing. control.
hockey looked like organized violence.
yet somehow chris moved through it effortlessly fast. confident. comfortable.
like he'd been born with skates on.
he caught a pass, cut sharply across the ice, and sent the puck into the net. one of his teammates yelled something. chris immediately pointed at himself.
he looked toward the boards at that exact moment.
and caught you watching. your stomach dropped as his grin appeared instantly.
later, after practice, he found you sitting on the bench unlacing your skates.
"see something you liked?" you nearly threw a skate at him.
"your ego is unbelievable."
you laughed despite yourself which only encouraged him.
"you watched almost my whole practice."
"i was literally waiting for my coach."
he looked entirely too pleased with himself and you hated it.
mostly because he looked cute when he smiled. which was a problem. a serious problem.
the kind of problem that got worse every day.
because somehow every conversation with him lasted longer than the last one.
what started as five-minute conversations became twenty.
then suddenly you were sitting in empty arenas talking long after everyone else had gone home.
learning things about each other without meaning to.
he knew your competition schedule. you knew which teams he hated playing. he knew which jumps stressed you out. you knew he always got nervous before big games no matter how much he denied it.
and somewhere in between all of that, things changed.
the way his eyes lingered a second too long.
the way your heart sped up whenever he walked into a room.
the way both of you started finding excuses to stay.
one night, practice ran especially late.
most of the rink lights had already been turned off by the time you stepped off the ice.
your legs ached, your hair was a mess, and you were exhausted.
chris was sitting in the stands waiting. again.
you weren't even surprised anymore.
"do you actually have a life?" you asked.
he stood up, a smirk spreading across his face. "rude."
you laughed softly and he smiled.
and for some reason your chest felt tight. he started walking down toward the boards, not breaking eye contact.
your pulse immediately betrayed you.
"why are you looking at me like that?" you asked.
his grin returned for a second, then faded. replaced by something softer. something that made your stomach flip. "maybe i'm just looking at you."
the answer should've been simple.
the rink felt quieter, smaller. suddenly you were aware of everything.
the cold air. the distance between you. the fact that neither of you seemed interested in moving away.
for once, chris didn't have a joke ready. for once, neither did you.
"you know," he said quietly, "you're a lot harder to talk to when you're looking at me like that."
his smile returned, smaller now.
and neither of you looked away.
the silence stretched. heavy. neither of you moved.
chris took another step down the bleachers.
metal echoed in the empty arena. each sound hit your chest like a drum.
he reached the bottom row. eye level now. close enough to see the flush on his cheeks.
"you gonna make me do all the work here?" he asked. voice low. rougher than usual.
"depends on what you're offering."
shit, that came out breathier than you'd meant. his eyes darkened. he hopped down, landing soft on the rubber in front of you.
"you're shaking," he noticed.
his hand lifted, hesitant in a way you'd never seen from him. his fingertips brushed your jaw.
warm and calloused from sticks and tape and fights in the corners. you leaned into it without meaning to. his thumb traced your cheekbone.
you couldn't answer. his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer by inches.
your hands ended up on his chest, feeling his hard muscle beneath his jersey. his heart hammered against your palm, matching yours.
"tell me to stop," he said. "and i will."
instead you tilted your face up. his mouth found yours and months of teasing snapped between you.
he tasted like mint and desperation. his hand slid to your lower back. pressed you flush against him. you gasped into his mouth when you felt how hard he was through his pants.
the thin fabric did nothing to hide it. the knowledge that it was you doing that to him made your head spin.
"fuck," he breathed against your lips. "you have no idea how long—"
he made a sound. wrecked. walked you back until your shoulder blades hit the boards.
freezing cold at your back. burning everywhere else. the contrast made you gasp.
he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss. tongue slid against yours. hand tangled in your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave marks tomorrow. you hoped it did.
you could feel him now. grinding against your stomach as he pinned you there. the smell of ice and rubber and his cologne surrounded you.
"here?" he asked. mouth hot against your neck. teeth grazed the tendon there. he bit down and sucked.
"nobody's here," you managed. arched into him. desperate for friction. "lights are—"
his hand slipped under your jacket. under your top. rough palm slid up your ribs. and his thumb brushed under your nipple. you moaned. loud. embarrassing in the silence. he laughed. actually laughed. breathless against your skin.
"that sound," he said. "i've been imagining that sound for months."
you grabbed his face and kissed him aggressive. demanding. trying to take back some control. he let you for a second. let you bite his lower lip. then he responded by lifting you, just high enough to wrap your legs around his waist.
he held you there, pressed between the boards and his body, grinding up with a rhythm that made your vision blur. the friction was perfect.
you were whimpering now. couldn't help it. the sounds fell out of you every time he rolled his hips just right.
"tell me what you want," he demanded. ragged. voice shot. "exactly—"
"want you inside," you said. not caring how desperate. voice broke. "chris, i swear to god—"
he went still. pulled back enough to look at you. eyes blown wide. "you sure? here?"
"now," you begged. "please. need you."
he groaned. the sound vibrated through his chest into yours. he set you down. hands shook as he dragged your leggings down. you stepped out of them and kicked them aside. then he was unzipping his own pants, shoving them down just enough. he was heavy in his hand. flushed and leaking at the tip. he stroked himself once. twice. all while watching your face with blown out eyes.
"come here," he said. voice rough. broken.
you went to him. he lifted you again and your back hit the boards again. it was cold, but then he was there, pressing against your entrance. not pushing in yet. just rubbing through your wetness. teasing. making you whine.
"chris," you gasped. "please. don't make me wai—"
"shh," he soothed. but his voice was wrecked. "i got you. i got you."
he pushed in. slow. so slow you felt every inch. your head fell back and hit the boards. he was big, stretching you, burning in the best way. he groaned and the sound echoed off the rafters. he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, panting.
"fuck," he choked out. "fuck, you're tight. feel so good. been thinking about this. thinking about you."
"please," you begged. "please chris."
he pulled out. slid back in. found a rhythm. shallow at first, then deeper, harder. the boards rattled behind you with every thrust. he was making noise now, grunts and groans falling out of him every time he bottomed out. he sounded ruined and desperate.
"you feel that?" he asked. strained. "feel how much i want you?"
"yes," you sobbed. "yes, i feel it. don't stop. don't—"
he shifted his grip. hit a new angle. you cried out. he did it again. again. chasing that spot. his hand moved between you. he found your clit and rubbed circles there while he fucked you against the boards. sloppy. desperate. the sounds of skin meeting skin filled the empty rink.
"gonna—" he warned. "fuck. i'm close. you're squeezing me. so good. so-"
"come inside," you begged. "want to feel it. chris. please."
he groaned and thrusted deep, staying there. you felt him pulse, hot, spilling into you. he kept fucking you through it until you were shaking around him. he worked his hand faster between you.
you came with his name on your lips, shaking against him as he held you up while making these broken sounds into your neck. little whimpers. like he couldn't process how good it was.
when you finally opened your eyes he was staring at you. pupils blown. hair a disaster. cheeks flushed. chest heaving.
"that," he said. rough. wrecked. "that was worth every single week of waiting."
you laughed, breathless and giddy. you pulled him down for another kiss, slower this time, deeper. you could still feel him inside you, twitching and getting soft. neither of you moved to separate.
"we're gonna get caught," you mumbled against his mouth.
"worth it," he said. "you're worth it."
he stayed there. held you up. traced patterns on your back through your jacket lazily.
"next time," he said. "my place. actual bed."
he smiled. that same cocky grin.
✧ taglist: @joelmillrenthusiast @sturn1uver @icravechratt @courta13 @lovesturni0l0s @angel-sturn1
