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arizonatotoronto · 5 years

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i feel like after boston is when mitch and auston are probably gonna have some of the roughest sex cause these games just have to make their blood boil as much as it makes their fans blood boil

Auston hates losing to Boston.

Well. Auston’s Virgo ass hates losing, period, but. He especially hates losing to Boston.

The upside, however small, is that it hadn’t been another goddamn blowout. They’d managed to keep the game from getting away from them, even with a third string goalie between the pipes, and Auston recognizes that this is no small feat, and yet…

He’s frustrated, more than he’s angry.

God fucking damnit, he *hates* losing to Boston.

(And the thing is, Auston remains his own worst critic. Every last comment made about his failure to show up during last year’s playoff run against the Bruins stings, sure, but they’re nothing compared to the things *he* thinks about his own level of play. He’d needed to come up huge for the team then, and he hadn’t, and he’d failed to do so again tonight.

No one picks Auston’s hockey apart with more tenacity than Auston himself.

Most days, he loves the pressure of being a star player in the hockey mecca of the world. It means that people are watching, that people care. He wants to take on more and more responsibility, and he wants to prove to everyone that he can lead this team, that he can wear a letter on his chest, that he can bring a cup to the city with the longest championship drought in the game.

It’s a huge weight to carry, but Auston knows he can do it, is damn hungry for it.

Sure, some of it is that stubborn alpha pride he’s become known for – but it’s a lot more than that, too.)

So yeah, this game is not Auston’s best.

Somehow, Boston’s alphas always manage to rattle their cages, and Auston goes into the game admittedly already tilted. He already knows that it won’t be long before the Bruins are actively trying, and succeeding at, getting deep under their skin.

And oh, do they ever.

There’s a moment parttway through the third where McCavoy, an alpha Auston knows from the NTDP, corners Mitch by the Leafs bench after a whistle. It’s near enough (deliberately so) for Auston to hear and see everything when McCavoy leans in far, far too close, and *leers* at Mitch as he comments, “god, you absolutely reek of Matthews.”

Mitch doesn’t say anything back. He lifts his chin, defiance blazing in his eyes, as he proudly tilts his neck to and fro to show off the many bruises in the shape of Auston’s mouth that marr his pale skin.

And McCavoy laughs, hardly offended by Mitch’s brazen refusal to submit to social code, and says, “Yeah, alright, baby. But you know who to call when you’re ready to kneel for a real alpha, yeah?”

Mitch might respond, or he might not – Auston can’t hear anything over the sound of the vicious snarl that forces its way out of him as he leaps to his feet on the bench and leans all of his massive frame forward, his teeth bared threateningly. McCavoy barely flinches, but the brief flicker of fear in his eyes is satisfying to Auston all the same.

He plays the rest of the period pissed off and vengeful, though it hardly matters. By the end of it, they’ve lost by a single goal. Auston hasn’t scored in 8 or 9 games now and it’s really starting to test his patience.

He loses his temper, just a little, as he’s changing out of his gear that night. It’s petty, but Auston can’t help it as he slams around the locker room, tossing his things down into his stall hard enough to rattle the walls somewhat. Fuck, he’s glad he doesn’t have to do press.

(Mitch does, though, so Auston spends an extra few minutes in the scalding hot showers as he waits, letting the water wash away the last remaining residue of his anger.)

They drive home mostly in silence.

Mitch is used to this, knows how to handle Auston’s moods like an expert by now. He says very little, doesn’t offer condolences or platitudes or pity, as hollow words of encouragement would only serve to make Auston feel shittier, not better.

He simply takes the keys from Auston and wordlessly offers to drive them home.

When they get inside, Auston drops his bag in the entryway and toes off his shoes, suddenly just… exhausted, bone-deep. He starts to head toward the kitchen, though, because he wants to make Mitch something to eat, a plate of cheese and crackers, maybe, things he can feed Mitch easily with just his fingers.

Mitch, it seems, has other ideas.

“Uh-uh,” he says softly, as he nudges Auston toward the hallway. “Bedroom, c'mon.”

“We should eat something,” Auston reasons. He’s finding it hard to argue, though, their bed far too enticing at this point.

“Bedroom,” Mitch says again. “We can eat later.”

And oh, there’s this determined glint in Mitch’s eye that has a nice, familiar heat curling low in Auston’s belly. Auston fucking loves when his omega gets bossy.

He lets Mitch bully him down the hall and into their room, lets Mitch strip him down completely and then shove him unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Mmm,” Auston says, pleased as punch when Mitch crawls up onto the bed and straddles Auston’s waist. His hands immediately move to cup Mitch’s hips, and Mitch slaps them away with a stern look.

Huh, Auston thinks. So it’s going to be that kind of night, then. He tries one more time to touch Mitch, strokes a big hand up Mitch’s bare flank just to test the waters, and sure enough, Mitch swats at him again.

“Nope, no touching,” Mitch sasses, and yeah, okay, that gets an interested look from Auston. He debates the merits of pushing back, of toeing the line that Mitch is setting here, but god– he really just fucking loves the bossiness.

Mitch has got Auston wrapped around his finger on a good day, whether or not he’s being a demanding little brat. It’s pretty well known by now that Auston may be the alpha, but he is powerless in the face of whatever Mitch wants.

What Mitch wants tonight, it seems, is to pin Auston’s hands above his head and lean down over him, thighs spread so beautifully wide across the thick bulk of Auston’s waist, to kiss him silly.

It starts off slow enough, Mitch’s mouth sweet and warm against Auston’s. It’s not long before Auston’s pretty damn into it, kissing back with intent. Each and every time he attempts to take over control of the kisses, though, Mitch pulls back and nips sharply at Auston’s lower lip, refusing to continue until Auston gives in and eases back, lets Mitch dictate the pace.

They’re several minutes deep in a pretty intense makeout when Auston forgets the rules of their little game and reaches for Mitch again.

“Oh my god,” Mitch sighs as he breaks the kiss. The look on his face is unimpressed as he cocks an eyebrow and demands, exasperated, “Will you please just stay still and do what you’re told for once in your life?”

And, oh, yeah, Auston’s naughty omega is going to absolutely *get it* later, Auston thinks with an amused snort. He lands a sharp smack on one of Mitch’s cute ass cheeks before raising his arms obediently above his head again and keeping them there.

“Thank you,” Mitch says devilishly. He drops his head back down to give Auston another perfect, lush kiss. He’s so fucking wet that Auston can feel the pool of slick forming on his abs from it.

“You’re a mouthy little thing tonight, huh?” Auston asks against his mouth. Mitch reaches up to squeeze a hand around one of Auston’s wrists instead of answering.

“Stubborn, stubborn alpha,” is all he says before he’s reaching behind himself to grab onto Auston’s absurdly hard cock.

He hoists himself up just a little higher on his knees and shuffles back on the bed until he’s got the fat head of Auston’s dick nestled up in the hot, wet crease of his ass. The skid of Auston’s dick over Mitch’s sticky little hole has Auston grabbing at the headboard of their bed, because every instinct is screaming at him to grab hold of Mitch and to shove up inside that sweet, perfect warmth.

“Behave,” Mitch warns in a stern voice, and then he’s spreading his knees wider and sinking down, taking Auston inside right to the base of himself, where his knot is about ready to pop.

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