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Her body was asking to take its victory lap of biology, a greedy, omega hum that vibrated just under her skin. It was probably obvious to her teammates, Marie had never been particularly subtle in the locker room. Omegas were built to win, to want, to convince the world to give them what they desired. And she desired everything. The trophy, the last donut in the box, and, right now, a deep, aching fullness.
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The team spilled into the locker room in a wave of noise, sweat, and elation. The air was thick with the smell of exertion, with stale sweat, the metallic tang of skate blades, and the faint, lingering scent of the ice that clung to their gear. It was a smell Hilary had known her entire life. Players began stripping off their equipment, their movements practiced and efficient. Pads clattered to the floor, skates were kicked off, and the low murmur of conversation began to build, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional, joyful shout.
Hilary moved to her own stall, a corner spot with a clear view of the entire room. She unstrapped her shin guards, her mind already running through the checklist. First, Alex, who had scored the tying goal. Then, Hannah. Her teammates had earned it, and Hilary was looking forward to giving it to them.
This was borne of me asking: what if Hilary (as captain) rewarded good play on the ice with orgasms off of it? What then?
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Her key turned in the lock with a familiar, satisfying scrape, and the silence of the Boston apartment that greeted her was a welcome balm after the constant noise of the Olympic village. God she was fucking tired.
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Marie had slipped it into Hilary’s palm during the handshake line, a move so practiced, so seamless, that anyone watching would have seen nothing more than a lingering squeeze between two captains who respected each other. But Hilary had felt the sharp edges of the plastic, the silent promise it held. Her body, already singing with the dull pain of a hard-fought 3-2 loss, had responded with an entirely different kind of ache.
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In the locker room, the noise was a familiar balm, but it wasn’t working tonight. Kalty was proud of Sarah, she was. But seeing Casey clap her on the shoulder, having only a high-five to contribute, it made something ugly and sour coil in her gut. She caught Sarah’s eye once, and Sarah gave her a small, questioning smile, but Kalty just nodded and turned back to her stall, meticulously wrapping her sticks. Usually, she’d be right there, squeezed into Sarah’s space, getting close enough to touch even if she wouldn’t with people around. Tonight, she kept her distance.
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CCXXXII. I'm the one that loves you lately by MilkberryBunny
Fandoms: Real Person Fiction
19 Sep 2012
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Bill kisses Seth as a joke. What's not a joke, is how much Seth likes it. Kristen Wiig thinks it's pretty awesome, though. The title comes from Daniel Powter's song "Love You Lately".
Bookmarked by PPPitdown
02 Jun 2020