Power Play // Chapter 13 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU
Tropes and tags: hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, PinV, public adjacent sex, rough sex, minor cnc dynamics, multiple POV, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, aggressive hockey players, possessive male, protective male.
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AN: Please bear with me, my writing isn't as efficient as I want it to be as of late. I've had some serious mental blockage and it's been a struggle. I tried to be as fun and as in depth as possible as most of my writing is. Either way I hope you enjoy it.
The glow of my television flickering across the walls as the late-night recap from tonight’s game played on repeat. The commentators’ voices blended into the background, a steady hum beneath the highlights and roaring crowd. It should have felt exciting—another win, another moment worth celebrating—but from here it all felt strangely distant.
The team had played two back-to-back games this week. I was supposed to be there for the first one, boarding the plane with everyone else, buzzing with that familiar pre-game energy. Instead, the morning of the flight I’d woken up with a stomach bug so brutal it knocked the wind out of me. Within hours I was stuck in my room, curtains drawn, the world outside continuing without me.
Most of the past few days had blurred together in a haze of sleep and half-hearted attempts at watching whatever was on TV. The only thing that really broke up the monotony was texting Noah.
My phone would buzz every so often on the nightstand—his name lighting up the screen. He was riding the high from that first game’s win, fired up in the way only he could be. His messages came through fast, full of energy and adrenaline, like he was still standing under the stadium lights.
Normally I would have matched it, teased him, fanned the flames a little just to see where his excitement would go. But feeling the way I did—tired, hollow, my stomach still turning—I couldn’t quite keep up with him. My replies were softer, slower. I didn’t lean into the energy the way I usually would.
He’d been late to call tonight, but he called. We made small talk about the game and the interviews—nothing out of the ordinary. But on the first day I wasn’t feeling sick, I realized just how much I’d missed him, how much I really needed him. He noticed my behavior immediately.
“Different?” I echoed, shifting against the pillows, suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet in the room.
A pause stretched on the other end of the line. Faint noises drifted behind him—voices, maybe a hallway door closing—but it felt like his attention was locked entirely on me.
“Yeah,” Noah said slowly. “Quieter than usual. Like you’re thinking too hard.”
I let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. “Maybe I am.”
“You watching the recap?” My eyes flicked to the screen just as a clip replayed of him breaking past a defender, the crowd surging to its feet.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he repeated, amused. “You always say that when the answer’s yes.”
I didn’t deny it. Another highlight flashed—him scoring, teammates piling into him. But the camera cut away too quickly, before it could catch the look I knew would have followed.
“I missed it,” I admitted quietly.
“Missed what?”
“Seeing you after.” I hesitated, then added, softer, “You always look… different when you win.”
Silence hummed through the phone for a second. When Noah spoke again, his voice had dropped half a register. “Different how?”
My fingers curled into the loose folds of the sheets, grounding myself in something real. “You know how.”
“Say it.”
“You get this look,” My words coming out slower, letting them linger.
“What look?”
“Hungry.” The word stretched between us, heavy and deliberate. Noah didn’t answer right away.
“I wish you’d been there.” Something in the way he said it—more raw, more real—sent a shiver down my spine.
“Me too,” I admitted. Another quiet beat passed.
“I miss our after-game ritual,” I said before I could stop myself.
The words slipped out softer than I intended, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room.
On the other end of the phone, Noah went very still.
“…Do you now?” he said slowly.
My eyes stayed on the screen, but the highlights had blurred into the background. I wasn’t really watching anymore—just remembering.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I do.”
He let out a quiet breath. “That’s dangerous to say to me right after a win.”
“It’s not like we ever planned them,” I went on, my voice drifting into memory. “They just… happened.” A small laugh escaped me. “In the most ridiculous places.”
Noah huffed softly. “The equipment room,” he said.
“Once.”
“Twice,” he corrected.
“And the stairwell,” I added.
“That one was your fault.”
“My fault?” I scoffed quietly. “You were the one who dragged me in there.”
“You weren’t complaining.” I smiled despite myself.
I shifted against the pillows, pressing my fingers lightly into the mattress. Even after signing the nondisclosure agreements and sitting through HR and legal interviews, we still hadn’t found the right moment to tell my dad about our relationship; hence all the sneaking around. But now, with the gloves off—pun intended—Noah’s streak was making it harder and harder to stay quiet.
“You get… intense.” Noah gave a low hum of agreement.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “That sounds about right.”
“And stubborn,” I added. “Once you get your hands on me after a game like that, you don’t really stop.”
He laughed under his breath. “You say that like you hate it.”
“I don’t,” I said quickly.
Warmth spread through my chest as I went on. “But you get rough sometimes,” I admitted. “Not bad rough. Just… unstoppable.”
My voice softened, the words slowing. “Like you’re still chasing the win.”
Silence stretched on the line.
“When the game’s good,” I added quietly, “I usually end up feeling it the next day.” Noah let out a slow breath through his nose.
“You’re really going to sit there in that room, on the other side of the country,” he said, his voice low, threaded with restrained amusement, “and start reminiscing about that while I’m still running on post-game adrenaline?”
“Well, it’s not like there’s anything that can be done right now,” I said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
A quiet scoff crackled through the phone.
“Who the hell says that?” Noah shot back.
My mouth went dry instantly. No. He couldn’t possibly be thinking—
For a moment I just sat there, staring at the dim lamp on the bedside table.
“What’s that quiet for?” he added after a moment.
“I’m thinking.” I tried swallowing the big lump in my throat.
“Dangerous,” he murmured. “Usually that means you’re about to say something that gets me in trouble.”
“Pretty sure you handle that all on your own.”
The chuckle that followed slipped out like a slow exhale—light on the surface, but strained underneath. I wasn’t forcing it exactly… but I was nervous enough that it almost felt like I was.
“Maybe,” he said. “But right now? You’re the one hesitating.”
My fingers tightened around my phone. “I’m not hesitating.”
“No?” There was a pause—intentional. Controlled. “Then why do I feel like I’ve got you on the back foot?”
My breath caught, just slightly.
He noticed.
“Yeah,” he said, softer now, almost satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”
I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re very confident all of a sudden.”
“It’s not sudden,” he replied. “You just gave me an opening.”
“A power play?” I teased, trying to regain ground.
He chuckled, low and warm. “Exactly. And I don’t waste those.”
I couldn’t really believe I was even considering it, but I missed him—more than I wanted to admit. Not just his voice, but everything about him. The ease, the pull, the way he made space feel different just by being in it. In a way I hadn’t fully understood until now, I felt starved for him.
“What do I do?” I asked quietly.
On the other end of the line, he didn’t hesitate.
“Well,” Noah said, easy, almost teasing, “first thing would be to stop overthinking it.”
I rolled my eyes immediately, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Really, Noah?”
A quiet laugh rumbled through the phone.
“It’s not exactly easy to do with them on, babe.”
I huffed a soft breath, shaking my head, but the corner of my mouth lifted anyway.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Mm,” he replied, completely unbothered. “And yet you’re still standing there thinking about it instead of hanging up.”
My fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt, nerves fluttering in my chest.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I muttered.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But right now I’m mostly enjoying the mental picture of you stalling.”
“I’m not stalling.”
“Then prove it.”
The challenge in his voice sent another little rush of heat through me.
I hesitated only a moment longer before tugging the shirt up and over my head, tossing it onto the chair nearby.
“There,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed. “Happy?”
Noah let out a slow breath on the other end of the line.
“Getting there.”
I glanced around the empty hotel room on instinct, even though I knew I was alone. The curtains were drawn, the only light coming from the TV replaying the same winning moment again and again.
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, but my fingers had already found the waistband of my shorts.
“Maybe,” he replied easily. “But you didn’t stop.”
I slid the shorts down and stepped out of them, nudging them aside with my foot before sitting back on the edge of the bed. My heart was beating faster now, a mixture of nerves and the strange thrill of being listened to so closely.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Okay what?” he asked.
“I did it.”
“Did what?” he pressed, clearly enjoying himself.
I groaned softly. “You know what.”
“I might,” he said. “But I want to hear you say it.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile despite the heat creeping up my neck.
“I took them off,” I admitted.
There was a brief pause before Noah let out a slow breath.
“Good,” he murmured.
“So now what?” I asked.
“Now,” he said, “you stop rushing.”
“I’m not rushing.”
“You are,” he replied. “Your voice does this thing when you get nervous.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Gets a little faster. Little breathier.”
I rolled my eyes again, even though my pulse jumped at how easily he seemed to read me.
“Maybe I’m just cold,” I said.
“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”
I threw myself onto the bed with a heavy sigh. This was already off to an awkward start.
“Let’s start slow,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Follow my lead.” I heard him shift on the other end of the line. “Your neck—fingers on your neck, light touch.”
I exhaled, doing as he said, letting my fingers trace slowly up and down over the quickening pulse beneath my skin. Goosebumps prickled along my arms, a shiver following in their wake.
“Other hand down your side—slow, follow every curve for me.”
I sucked in a sharp breath as my hand reached my hip, his voice tightening something deep in my chest.
“Now, the hand at your neck—grab harder.”
I did as he asked, my fingers tightening, and suddenly it was easier to pretend it was him—his touch, his presence. My body reacted like he was right there beside me, like I could almost feel the heat of him, the familiar pull that always unraveled me.
My thoughts blurred, senses filling in the gaps—his cologne, the warmth of his breath, the way he always seemed just a step too close. The tension coiled tighter, leaving me restless, wanting more, wanting him, the distance between us suddenly unbearable
“Fuck, you taste so good baby,” It was like he could read my mind—only my mind wasn’t mine anymore, slipping under the weight of his voice. I shouldn’t have been this affected, shouldn’t have been unraveling this quickly. And yet, every word, every pause, every quiet command sent another spark through me. “Those soft, lips, fuck when they’re open…” His voice started to trail, just enough for me to catch the shift in it. I knew what he wanted—and I wanted it too.
“Imagine me sliding to the floor,” I said, taking the lead as I pushed myself upright on the bed. “On my knees… eyes on you.”
I heard his breath hitch on the other end, and something in me sparked at the sound. It felt different, saying it out loud—guiding him instead of just following. A quiet rush of control settled in, heady and unfamiliar.
I could picture him, the tension in his shoulders, the restraint in the way he held himself together. The thought made me bite my lip, a slow smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as the moment stretched between us.
“Fuck,” he groaned “Open for me, please,”
I walked him through every detail, slow and deliberate, my voice a steady rhythm he couldn’t ignore. I could hear him responding in little hitching breaths, and it made my chest tighten knowing I could move him without even being there. I could almost remember the taste of him, the way my senses sparked to life at the thought, my body tingling in memory, uncontainable and electric.
His breath stuttered through the line, and whatever he’d been about to say dissolved into silence.
“Jesus…” he muttered, voice low and unsteady now.
I bit my lip, suddenly hyperaware of his reaction—of the control I hadn’t even realized I had until now. The thought of his tattooed fingers moving over himself while I guided him through every filthy detail sent a rush through me, a new kind of high.
“Noah… please tell me you’re—” I trailed off, the words unnecessary. It was obvious.
“I am,” he groaned, and my legs trembled at the sound.
“Fuck I want to taste you,”The growl in his voice was possessive, and I sank back into my pillows, suddenly seeing his face in my mind—the way his eyes lifted to meet mine through those lashes I envied. I could hear the ragged rhythm of his breathing, imagine the heat radiating off him after the game, the way he always carried that dangerous edge. My mind painted a perfect picture of how he looked, his mouth slightly open, his hair matted with sweat, that oh-so-dangerous way he’d lick his lips just before…
“Oh god,” I breathed into the room, my back arching slightly at the memory.
“You’re going to need your fingers, baby. Just for now.” He guided me, and my hands followed his directions, sliding down my thighs. It wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be, but he was teasing me, and I loved it. I let my fingers trail with every instruction he gave, following him completely, caught in the rhythm of his voice.
My fingers tracing up my inner thigh had my breath coming in short gasps, half need, half frustration.
“That’s it… just a little higher,” Noah’s voice soothed me over the line.
I reached the midpoint, and without needing any further instruction, I began to move in slow, deliberate circles. Barely touching at first, then reversing as he guided me, pressing just a little more, then easing back—pulling almost completely away before letting the pressure build again. I followed his directions to the letter, caught in the rhythm he set, every shift of his voice sending sparks through me.
I was lost in the feeling, my head falling back as the phone slipped from my ear, nearly hitting the floor. I grabbed it, flipped on the speaker, and rested it against my chest, letting his voice guide me again as the pressure continued building.
“That’s it… just like that,” he murmured, low and steady. “Keep following me. Don’t rush.”
“I’m trying,” I breathed, my fingers moving exactly as he said, caught in the rhythm of his instructions.
“Good… yes, just like that. Don’t stop now,” he encouraged, each word tugging me further into the heat of the moment.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Focus on me, on my voice.”
I did, letting the sound of him fill my head, guiding my hands as I moved exactly where he told me. Each pause he left, each small adjustment, sent shivers rippling through me.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, almost a growl now. “Don’t stop… don’t even think about stopping.”
I shivered at the tone, my chest tightening, my breath catching with every word. “I… I’m trying to keep up,” I admitted, voice shaky.
“Just like that,” he said, approvingly, each syllable dragging out, slow and deliberate. “Feel it. Let yourself feel it. Don’t hold back on me.”
I could hear the strain in his voice now, the subtle hitching breaths that made my heart pound. Every instruction, every pause, every soft murmur of encouragement had me unraveling, completely focused on him.
“Good… yes,” he said, voice roughening. “That’s it… exactly like that.”
I leaned back further into the pillows, my mind was dizzy, lost in the heat of his voice, the rhythm he set, the way he seemed to reach across the miles and pull every shiver from me.
Every word, every pause, every subtle change in his tone pulled me deeper into the moment, closer than I thought possible without him being here.
“Don’t think. Just follow,” he said, voice low, steady, like a tether pulling me along. “Let it take over.”
I shivered, breath coming faster now, caught entirely in the rhythm he set. “I… I can’t believe how good this feels,” I admitted, my voice shaky, almost a whisper.
“That’s exactly it,” he murmured. “Feel it. Every bit. Let yourself go.”
I closed my eyes completely, letting the memory of him flood me—his heat, his wild energy after the game, the dangerous tilt of his lips, the fire in his eyes—and paired it with the sound of his voice guiding me. Everything came to a head, my legs trembling as I called out his name, my voice barely more than a whisper and yet somehow carrying all the tension, longing, and release I felt.
“Such a good girl,” he cooed, his tone low and possessive, making it clear we weren’t done yet. What else could there possibly be?
“Baby, you’re going to need a little more. Get in your drawer,” he commanded.
My eyes flicked to the drawer by the bed where I kept the toys. They weren’t really useful—I’d only ever used them once or twice—but they had been free at some party years ago, so I thought, why not? I pulled out the lifesize piece, staring at it like it belonged to someone else, strange and new all over again.
I held it in my hands, turning it over like it was some foreign object, my chest tightening at the memory of his voice guiding me.
“Yeah… that’s it,” he murmured, low and deliberate. “Now… just hold it, let your hands do what I tell you. Follow me.”
I swallowed, my fingers trembling slightly as I obeyed. Even though it had been sitting in my drawer for years, in that moment it felt electric, like it had been waiting for him to notice.
I didn’t need instructions on where to put it—it was just a matter of figuring out how to maneuver it without feeling awkward.
“Right there,” he said, his voice low and steady.
I gasped, the memory of the familiar stretch sending a shiver through me.
“Just like that,” he murmured,
“Good… exactly,” he praised, voice rougher now, almost a growl. “Don’t overthink it. Just follow me. Keep going.”
I did, letting his words set the pace, letting my imagination fill in the spaces, feeling every tiny pull of control he had over me. My breath came faster, catching at the rhythm we’d built together over the line, each pause and instruction sending another shiver through me.
“That’s perfect,” he said, voice low and strained. “I love the way you follow me. Don’t stop… not yet.”
I bit my lip, a small laugh escaping me despite the tension. “You really know how to make me obey,” I admitted, chest tightening, heat pooling in a way I couldn’t name.
“Damn right,” he whispered, almost ragged now. “And I’m not letting you forget it.”
Even from miles away, with only his voice to guide me, I felt him—his presence, his control, the teasing edge that always made my pulse spike. My fingers moved on instinct, my body responding to the memory and the rhythm, and for a moment, the distance between us didn’t exist at all.
His voice dropped lower, rough and urgent, threading through the line like electricity. “That’s it… don’t stop now. Focus on me, on my voice.”
I shivered, leaning back into the pillows, my breath coming faster, heart hammering. Every word he said seemed to skip straight to my chest, pulling at something I couldn’t control. “I… I’m trying,” I whispered, voice trembling.
“Good,” he growled, low and sharp. “Feel it—own it. Don’t hold anything back for me.”
My hands moved automatically, but it wasn’t just the motions—it was the anticipation, the mental push-and-pull between us, the way he guided me and yet left enough unsaid to make my mind race. Every pause, every gentle command, stretched the tension higher and higher.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, voice tight, strained. “God… I wish I could be there right now.”
“I know,” I breathed, chest tightening, legs trembling, caught in the rhythm of him even from miles away. “Me too…”
“Just… let go,” he said, slower now, deliberate. “Trust me. Trust yourself.”
I closed my eyes completely, gripping the sheets, heart pounding, every nerve alive. His voice wrapped around me like a tether, guiding me, teasing me, pulling me closer to the edge even without him being here. The intensity built, so sharp it felt like it could tear me apart, and still it wasn’t over.
“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop,” he murmured, every word shaking with control and desire.
I gasped, shivering through every fiber of my body, lost entirely to the heat of him, the rhythm he set, the distance that somehow made everything feel impossibly close.
And then, finally, the tension broke with the force of every nerve, every thought, every ounce of want snapping into release, leaving me shaking, breathless, and entirely spent, still wrapped in the echo of him.
I thought he might’ve dropped the phone, his groan fading into silence. The realization made me bite back a small laugh, a quiet giggle slipping out despite myself.
There was a moment of heavy breathing, a pause that stretched just long enough to make me wonder, followed by the faint sound of movement. Then more rustling until finally, he came back on the line.
“You still there?” he asked, his voice a little breathless—like he was trying way too hard to sound normal.
I pressed my lips together, failing to hide a smile. “Wow. That’s how you answer the phone now?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “I had to… regroup.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
Noah's POV
Her breathing is still on the line. Soft. Uneven at first, then slower. We’ve been like this for a while, just sitting in silence. I stay still, phone pressed to my ear, staring at nothing in the hotel room.
“You still there?” I ask quietly.
Only her breathing answers me.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. She’s not gone. Just… drifting. Like she’s close to sleep and doesn’t even realize it yet.
“Hey,” I murmur, softer now. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”
There’s the faintest shift on the line—so small I almost think I imagined it. But her breathing changes just slightly, like she heard me even if she’s too tired to respond.
That pulls something warm and uneasy through my chest at the same time.
I lean back against the wall, thumb tracing the edge of my phone. The tension from earlier is still there, but it’s dulled now, softened into something quieter. Something I don’t have a name for.
Like we’ve crossed into a different part of the night without meaning to.
And then—
A knock hits my hotel room door.
“Noah,” a voice calls. “You in there?”
I straighten a little. “Yeah?” I answer, still not moving the phone away. I’m trying desperately to get my sweatpants fully on, hopping slightly as I fight with the fabric like it’s personally offended me.
“Coach wants to see you.”
I pause mid-step, nearly tripping over my own foot. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
I’m already reaching for a shirt, shrugging it halfway on while I walk toward the door so I don’t have to yell across the room and wake her on the phone.
“What about?” I ask, lowering my voice as I get closer.
There’s a beat of silence on the other side, like the guy delivering the message suddenly realizes he’s about to drop something he shouldn’t be involved in.
“Something about whatever is going on between you and his daughter.”
The words hit clean.
I stop moving.
For a second, I actually forget I’m mid-shirt, one arm stuck awkwardly in the sleeve like an idiot.
“…What?” I say again, quieter this time.
And on the other end of the call, she’s still there.
Breathing softly.
Half-asleep.
Completely unaware that my entire night just shifted under my feet.