don't be mean || mc71
summary: macklin gets sick on an away game, he's already overstimulated and your touch feels torturous against his skin, he needs some kind of relief
warnings: nsfw !!! sub!macklin x reader, dry humping, begging, crybaby mack :(, slight dumbification if you squint, mild overstimulation, slight cum play? not really, macklin has a praise kink
a/n: hi! this is my first ever smut, and evidently my first post, hopefully it's not too rough, but this has been simmering in my head for a little bit -> REQUESTS / ASKS ARE OPEN !!!
word count: 2.5k
macklin couldn't figure out why he felt so sluggish, he was almost never like this after away games. sure, he felt tired after flights, but his body had gotten used to that soreness; however this ache was different. it settled deeper and made his body feel heavy.
he wasn't used to feeling so disoriented, for someone who could glide so effortlessly on ice to lose their functional mobility on land made him embarrassed. or maybe his emotions were just amplified because of how awful he felt, he sweated through a hoodie on the flight home and yet he was still freezing.
the trek back home was a blur, the san jose airport was familiar enough to him where he could be loosely led through it and know exactly where he was headed. the car ride wasn't much better, he was in and out of sleep the whole time, despite only being a barely fifteen minute trip. he felt so awful, he just wanted to see you, your pretty face. your lips pressing against his jaw, your hands in his hair in the way he liked, whispering and telling him he’d feel better soon. he almost let out a sound of content approval in the uber, but he held back, he was trying to convince himself that he still had some semblance of dignity leftover.
he knew it would all be out the window as soon as he crossed the threshold of his apartment, where he knew you would be waiting.
the sound of his key in the door and the sound of the lock clicking open was a relief as he practically stumbled inside, his knees almost giving out when he toed his shoes off, leaving them in the middle of the entrance knowing you’d scold him for it later. to which he’d argue that he was sick, he wasn't above a little harmless emotional exploitation.
“i’m back,” mack called out, his overnight bag thunking onto the floor as he stepped further into the apartment, cringing at the sound of his voice. hoarse and scratchy, he knew he couldn't hide anything from you if he tried.
“hey, welcome back,” you sat up from your lazy couch lounging position, “you feeling okay?” you had immediately picked up on his voice, looking above the back of the couch as macklin walked (stumbled) in.
“yeah, i’m ‘kay,” macklin was, in fact, not okay.
you could tell he was lying immediately. his cheeks were starting to get red and blotchy, his hair was moist with sweat, and he was uncharacteristically pale.
you stood, drawing macklins attention to your choice of attire, a tank top and a pair of panties he had told you he liked. if macklin could think properly he would've melted there and then, but macklin’s brain was already halfway gone, and he barely registered what you were wearing as opposed to noticing your bare thighs.
“hi, pretty boy,” you murmured after you padded over to him, your hair pushing the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead back, pressing a kiss to one of his blotchy cheeks - he was boiling, but he still let out a sound of approval from the back of his throat, “wanna get in bed?” you asked when it wasn't really a question.
“wanna be with you,” macklin responded simply, wrapping both of his arms around your waist too tight, burying his reddening face into the crook of your neck, breathing your scent in. he missed this, missed you, the warmth that came with the easy affection.
you knew there was no arguing with him when he was like this, but you knew there was encouragement and praise. so you slowly and gently pried his arms off you, one of your arms going behind him to grip his torso, slowly leading him to his bedroom.
“i’ll be with you, sweet boy,” you reassured, squeezing his side while his head lulled to the side, trying to get closer to you.
“wanna be with you,” macklin repeated,
“i’ll be with you the whole time.” you confirmed, you couldn't help but smile at his clinginess, he was always like that when he felt bad, physically or emotionally, he would latch onto you like there was no other solution to whichever problem he was having.
“promise?” macklin frowned as you both entered his bedroom, the only light on being the bedside lamp casting a golden glow onto both of you, macklins eyes squinted, adjusting to the lack of light.
“i swear,” you nodded as you slowly sat him down on the edge of his bed, “let's get you out of these and into something comfortable, yeah?” you pressed a feather light kiss to macklin’s warm forehead, but he’d practically sweat through his travel clothes.
you walked over to macklins drawers, opening and closing them until you found clean sweatpants and a sleep shirt for him.
macklin took the time to stare at your ass.
“up,” you tapped his arms, and he lifted them without hesitation, letting you tug his hoodie up over his head. your hands grazed across his bare chest as you tried to get the clean white shirt onto him.
he whimpered. he whimpered at just your fingers grazing his chest. he was already so overstimulated, every touch felt like needles, every touch was amplified by a hundred. he tried his best to cover it with a cough.
your hands stilled at the sound for just a brief second until you tapped his hips, he lifted them, helping you tug the jeans off, replacing them with sweatpants.
you gently guided him to lay down, his head hitting the pillow without much resistance, covering him loosely with the blanket as you kissed his temple, mumbling something about getting him water and some meds. macklin couldn't comprehend anything now, his body was burning up, and the only think he could feel was the feeling of your fingers on his skin.
once you left, macklin was on his own.
he tried to get comfortable, he did, but the minutes continued to stretch on, and every time he closed his eyes to try to will himself to sleep he only saw your thighs, your ass, the feeling of your touch. he cursed under his breath as he felt himself get hard.
how pathetic, he thought to himself as he rolled onto his side, a frown tugging at his lips. he stared at the wall for a long minute - he was just about to grab a pillow to shove between his thighs.
“mack?”
he perked up like a puppy whose owner just said their favorite word.
relief flooded his senses as he glanced towards you, you had a glass and a pill in your palm.
“come on, open up, pretty boy.” you coaxed as he lifted his head, his mouth falling open as he stared up at you with his big green eyes, wide with anticipation. you pressed the pill into his mouth, giving him the glass, he took three big gulps, letting the water trickle down his chin, but not breaking eye contact with you.
oh.
“mack, you're sick,” you stated and he whined in protest, taking the glass from him and setting it on the bedside table.
“need you s’bad,” macklin complained, rolling over to press his face into the pillow rather pathetically,
“mackie, i don't want to get sick,” you tried to reason, your hand brushing through his moist hair, but that nickname.
he moaned into the pillow.
“relax, mackie,” you cooed, whispering into his ear, but you could see the tremble in his shoulders, and when he lifted his face up to glare at you? his eyes were red, glassy, and his lashline was already wet. the unshed tears sticking to his eyelashes.
“you're so mean to me.” he sniffled, his tone didn't carry any anger, it was sheer pent up frustration.
you knew macklin didn't like to masturbate on the road, he really only had sex with you, and it was sort of ritualistic when it came to away games and travel. he insisted it was bad luck if he jerked off, so he usually was already pent up whenever he got home. but this? he must've been feeling ten times worse, he was pent up, feverish, and now you were denying him any sort of relief?
he sniffled, breaking your train of thought.
“is my sweet boy that desperate?” you cooed again, your hand moving to cup his face, pressing your lips to his to which macklin greedily reciprocated, his teeth clinked against yours, grazing your bottom lip, his tears stilling for a moment. he was the most ungracious little thing, but you could give him a pass for now.
but you didn't need more to get an answer.
you shifted to slip under the blanket next to him. his hands attempted to paw at the waistband of your panties, but you grabbed his wrist.
“no.” you said firmly, to which macklin pouted, opening his mouth to argue, “no. i don't want to get sick.” you repeated yourself, cutting his argument off short. it was a little hypocritical, you’d just kissed him, macklin sniffled again as his face crumpled.
“please, please, please,” he repeated desperately, trying to shift closer to him, he was so fucking hard that it hurt, his hands moved to grasp onto your tank top like a child begging, “please just anything,” his voice cracked as his previous small tears that were made to guilt you turned into bigger tears of hopelessness.
you’d barely touched him and he was already begging.
god, he was pathetic when he was sick.
“anything?” you tutted in disapproval as his hips shifted to find something to grind against, you shifted your hand under his shirt to his abdomen just above his pelvis to keep him from grinding against you.
he let out a choked sound, sobbing now.
the feeling of your fingers on his stomach only riled him up further.
“anything,” he gasped as he shoved his face into the crook of your neck.
you nudged your leg between his thighs, pushing up hard and suddenly, a loud gasp turned strangled moan broke through his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily.
“you're killing me,” macklin gasped, unable to still his hips, his body subconsciously chasing the friction, his hands moved to grasp your waist properly as if it was the only thing grounding him,
“you said anything,” you reminded him as his hips tried to angle to find an angle that would ease the pressure better.
“fuck,” he sniffled, “i can't-” he tried to grind his hips harder, but it wasn't enough,
“you can, baby, you're being so good.” he felt himself get harder.
“you're not helping.” he pouted, the waterworks starting again, you shifted your thigh so he could grind on it easier.
and almost immediately he started rutting against you, the small, short, thrusts as if he wasn't patient enough to feel the pleasure of a full thrust, like he wasn't letting himself breathe.
“mackie, calm down,” you whispered in his ear, he let out a sob in response, your hands moving to his hips, slowing his thrusts and helping him find the rhythm.
macklin was so frustrated with the lack of friction, sweatpants on bare thigh barely brought any relief, the tears just kept coming.
you press against him harder, making him shudder, pressing his crotch harder against you, moaning against your neck. his mind didn’t even register how sticky and wet it felt inside his boxers, he just wanted that relief and nothing else mattered.
he kept cursing under his breath, his hips stuttering every few strokes like he couldn't help it, it was just too much.
“let me cum, let me cum, let me cum,” he weakly repeated over and over into your shoulder, he wasn't begging you - he was begging whichever cruel entity wouldn't grant him the sweet relief of friction.
he felt his boxers get wetter and wetter, embarrassingly so, he was sure there was a patch on his pants where his pre-cum was leaking through. he was suddenly very glad he was under his sheets.
“just feel it,” you hummed, macklins mouth fell open as his forehead rested on your shoulder, trying to do what you said. feel it, “you’re so needy.”
“for you,” macklin gasped, rutting harder, “only for you.” he rasped, somehow a voice crack made it into his moaning.
fuck, he was so loud.
his throat felt raw, he couldn't tell if it was from the amount of high-pitched whining or if it was from the bug he caught. he sounded like he was in a porno with how loud he was being, a gasp every few thrusts, a whiny curse, a moan when his dick got caught on a fold of his sweatpants.
he let out a groan of frustration, his hands letting go of you to kick off his sweatpants as a last resort, not even all the way. the sweats were still stuck on one of his ankles, but he didn't care, not when your hands were in his hair and your nails scraping against his scalp in the delicious way he loved.
when his dick found your thigh, this time it was you who gasped at the wetness, his boxers were soaked.
“fuck, baby, all this for me?” you teased lowly,
“only you.” macklin responded dumbly, chasing that relief and praise, nothing else.
the lack of an extra layer made it easier to feel you.
you felt the stripe of wetness macklin was spreading around your thigh, even through his boxers.
macklin did something odd then - he ground his hips down hard, making himself moan, biting down on your neck as he moved side to side as opposed to horizontally. he was desperate, the sensation was more immediate, sharper, a sharp sob leaving his throat as if bordered with pain. regardless, it made his eyes roll back.
“fuck,” mack gasped, tugging you closer, his thrusts losing any semblance of rhythm that you had helped set, “i’m gonna-” he whined, he couldn't even finish before he felt the stickiness spread in the confined space of his boxers.
you smiled, feeling the wetness on your thigh. macklins breathing was harsh and uneven, trying to catch his breath with deep inhales. he tried to pull away, you shoved your knee against him tighter making him practically squeal, trying to wriggle away.
“no, no! it’s too much.” he whined with a sniffle, you laughed in response, he was so easily overstimulated.
“mack, look what you did, the mess you made,” you chided, your hand finding his and tugging it down to your thigh, making him feel the wetness of it, the small bit of pre-cum and cum that had seeped through the fabric and latched onto you, “making a mess, just how i like it.” you tutted.
macklin murmured something in response, maybe something snarky, but he was practically already half asleep, his eyes fluttering closed. if he wasn't already so exhausted he would’ve already been hard again knowing that his cum was all over you.
you huffed out a small laugh, letting him drift off. you’d clean him up with a warm wet towel before bed, and before a nice warm shower.
“sleep well, mack.” you mumbled softly, tenderly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, your hands holding onto his blotchy red cheeks before you slipped out of bed.