Karl Alzner describes the first time he and John Carlson ordered room service ice cream as rookies roommates together when they made the NHL, and the rest of the Caps wax rhapsodic over his crossword skills.
Anyway, I wrote a story for the ALL CAPS exchange, which you can read if you want. Or don’t!
feels like summer on AO3, 29K (for now), Alzner/Carlson with some background Backstrom/Ovechkin and the Caps ensemble.
Summary: The unglamorous fact of the matter is that lifeguarding, particularly at a community swimming pool, is much less about the dramatic rescues and slo-mo dives into the water that Baywatch has tricked people into believing, and much more about janitorial work that's either tedious or gross, spiked with the occasional scraped knee or elbowed nose or no-holds-barred ice cream vendor death-match in the parking lot.
(Or, Karl's in love with his best friend, all the local community pools in the Metropolitan county are at prank-war with each other, and also there are ducks.)
Technically it’s complete and stands alone where it is right now, but there’s roughly about 10K more I had planned/didn’t edit in time; however, I never met a deadline I didn’t like to run adrift on, so, uh. More to come!
Fuck, I dunno, sometimes I want porn and I’m stupid enough to think about writing it. (Er, porn discussion under cut)
thornescratch: Is it bad I hope Carlson and Alzner are doing something TOTALLY FILTHY together tonight to celebrate Karl's streak? They're still my quiet non-Euro Caps OTP.
glendaglamazon: why would you ask that question? of course not!
thornescratch: Well I was going to ask your suggestion for what they'd do.
thornescratch: I feel like Carlson would be all,"It has to be special!"
thornescratch: And Alzner is kinda, "I'm seriously okay with just a blowjob, dude."
thornescratch: And John is, "NO. SPECIAL."
glendaglamazon: I'm thinking tantric marathon, as befits their iron-man streaks
thornescratch: Oooh.
glendaglamazon: even though John's streak got busted. and they get carte blanche to spend all night together
thornescratch: Well, slow and steady keeps John from getting busted up more.
glendaglamazon: heh, there ya go!
thornescratch: He'd want to try some exotic position and get veoted.
thornescratch: Karl: Oh for God's sake, no. We're doing it doggy and you'll like it. Tell me if anything starts twinging.
glendaglamazon: And they switch who tops and bottoms every time one of them gets close to coming because that helps it last
thornescratch: Yep. Chirping each other as it happens. "C'mon dude, I was able to go for fifteen minutes."
glendaglamazon: You should write it as a short PWP with feelings.
thornescratch: One of these days I really have to finish the thing which is all about Karl's heartfelt desire to jizz on John's face and/or jack off in his hair.
thornescratch: Which, as a polite Canadian boy, he normally refrains from doing.
glendaglamazon: Yes, but you should write this one quick and dirty warm up to writing that one.
thornescratch: I should be in bed is what I should be doing.
John has a mouth made to suck cock, which was apparently the line Karl had drunkenly used to proposition him during the celebration in 2010 when they won the Calder Cup and had been so full of joy and adrenaline and bulk rate champagne that they'd completely skidded up to and then over the previously drawn sexual experimentation line of hotel room hand-jobs with the lights out.
("Are you sure?" Karl had asked him the next morning. "I said that? I'm not sure that sounds like me."
"Yeah, dude, you did," John had said, all matter of fact while searching for his underwear. "You gotta get some better lines."
"Huh," Karl had said, having scraped just enough sobriety together to refrain from saying, well it clearly worked, and trying not to stare too much at John's ass. "I don't—did I romance you? Was I smooth?"
"Not really. I mean, you said the thing about my mouth, I think you threw up in a plant at some point, and you bit my fucking nipple way too hard—" John turned around and pointed at his left nipple; he did have a bruise forming around it. "But otherwise you were pretty good."
"Oh," Karl had said. "Sorry."
John had snorted. "If I didn't like it, I wouldn't have let you," he said, and then, "fuck, I'll just go commando," and then he had turned around and said, "want me to suck your cock while you're sober enough to last more than five minutes this time?" and hadn't bothered to wait for an answer. It was one of the best mornings of Karl's life.)
John has a mouth made to suck cock, and Karl's thought that ever since they were first joined up in Hershey and John had smirked at him when Karl said hello. And so when John had jostled up against him after practice and said low in his ear, "You better have your hall pass for tonight," Karl had looked at John's mouth and seen that same curve of lips from Hershey, and his first thought was putting his dick right in the middle of that smirk.
The game is a goat rodeo. They fall behind, and then they come back; nothing is clicking, then everything is clicking, push-pull. Neuvy in orange still looks fucking weird; there's the hopeful rise of the last minute powerplay, and then there's the sharp sucker punch of an OT loss. It fucking sucks.
John's got media mop-up duty, and Karl somehow gets out of it; he waits for John and John finally comes hurrying through the door, his tie a mess and jamming his toque down over wet hair. "Let's go, Ovi just said his thing about All Stars, they're all jumping all over that."
In the elevator, John's humming something under his breath the whole way; it's not until they get to the garage that Karl realizes it's Iron Man.
"Dick," he says, and smacks John, but he can't keep from smiling.
"You love it," John says, and he doesn't try to dodge the hit as he climbs into his car. "You need to follow me?"
"I got lost once," Karl says. "It's your fault for living in Maryland like a freak and not in Virginia like the rest of us.
"Yeah, well," John says dismissively, and leans out his car's open window. "Drive safe and all that because once we get to my place, I got plans."
"You got plans, huh," Karl says. And it's a bad idea, you never know where there's a camera or someone watching but he can't help himself. He reaches out and touches John's face, lets his thumb sweep over a hint of stubble from John's complete inability to beard up, trace the curve of the cheek, just to the corner of John's mouth. He wants to go further, but he doesn't. John's tongue flashes out, snake-quick and jabs against Karl's thumb. "Don't I get to pick what we do?"
"My house," John says smugly. "Maybe I'll let you pick a movie or something."
"Yeah, whatever," Karl says, and turns to go. John reaches out and grabs his sleeve. "What?"
"Drive safe," John says, and then he smiles, sweet and slow. Just pink and smooth and perfect, and Karl puts his hand in his pocket so he won’t touch it again. "Drive slow. I gotta get some things ready for you when you come in."
"How slow?' Karl asks, and even if his voice is a little hoarser than usual, it's still steady.
"We got all night," John say. He dips his eyelashes and looks up at Karl through them, and it’s all deliberate and stupid and Karl has the second worst case of wood he's ever had in a Verizon garage.
