mik's blurbs

hockey drabble (inspired by laurynarry's blurb, except this one is with lukey)

“It’s fine,” mumbled Luke against the cold compress firmly placed on his bruised lip, “this happens all the time babe.”



I furrowed my eyebrows and wet a paper towel, determined to get the blood off his damn lips, he looked one black eye away from a Friday the 13th Episode. Hockey, I decided, was even more violent that I thought it had been initially. That’s what happens when you decide it’s completely okay to stack two teams of testosterone fueled boys into a ring with ice and a stick.



“I don’t even get what started this?” I sighed back, trailing my thumb under the quickly swelling cut. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the mirror, letting out a deep breath and shaking his head.



It was a moment before he opened his blue eyes again and they seemed like a cloudy grey filter had been placed over the iris. He twirled a strand of my light hair around his finger and muttered, “They were talking about you and that day you wore-”



“You did not just break that guys’ face because of me-”



“And it wouldn’t have gotten to me so bad if they hadn’t said-”



“This isn’t Fight Club Luke you can’t beat the shit out of someone because they liked my-”



“That you must be a good fuck to keep me around, Mase-”



I inhaled sharply and took a step back. Is that what everyone thought? That I had to have a magic touch to keep someone like Luke around? It couldn’t be my stunning intellect, or my witty tongue, or my impressive collection of lipsticks— it had to be my vagina that made him stay.



“They all want you,” said Luke, and it was the first time I thought he might sound a little choked up about it, “and I got a little rough with them because you’re mine.”



I gave him a look. Wrong.



“Okay,” he amended, lips tipping up into a smirk that I couldn’t be too angry at, “independently together, only bettering each other’s forevers.”



“I love it when you forget to be a jock,” I teased back, touching his nose lightly because if I touched any other part of his face he might wince.



He hopped off the platform and I had to tip my head back so I could properly look at his face. It was streaked with blood in some spots and the under eyes of his that had turned a deep blue-brown color- usually they were tinged slightly purple because of all the travel and insomnia- but I knew by the way he was slightly squinting that he was in pain. Not the sort of pain that distracted from much; just the dull ache that only went away with four ibuprofen and a good sleep.



“C’mere,” said Luke, hauling me up and setting me on the counter behind where he had just been. “I like it when you speak feminist and independence to me,” he mumbled into my ear, “it’s like social justice foreplay.”



I took a deep breath through my nose, his lips on my neck, however, was majorly distracting. How did I go my whole life without knowing I had this many nerve endings in my neck, on my ears, the curve of my hip? Anywhere he put his hands or lips was like someone had struck a match on my skin.



“Luke?”



He kissed along my jaw, eyes closed, standing between my legs and not technically replying.



“Luke,” I said again, really trying to concentrate on what I needed to ask.



“Babe?”



“Luke-”



“Mase, you keep saying my name and I’m right here.” He pulled back, a question mark curled into the crease of his forehead.



I was embarassed, slightly, that I had to even say this aloud. Because. It didn’t need to be said, we both knew, “I’m not just here for a Luke Hemmings, hockey star fuck, you know that, right?”



He rolled his eyes and then pressed his lips to mine quickly, “Yeah babe anyone who has ever met you knew that.”



“But you knew it first, right?”



“Mason, you talked about the elections and politics throughout our whole first date, and you ranted about the same thing to Calum when you met him. There’s no you around me and you around everyone else- I knew it first, alright?”



I smiled at him, wrinkling my nose, “I don’t rant, I’m just-”



“Passionate. Yeah I get it sweetheart,” he replied, my face in his hands and neck craning forward to press me lips against his again.



“Luke,” I said one last time, and he pulled back, a little exasperated with my constant interruptions.



“What?”



“It’s your turn to assure me you’re not just here for my intellectual conversations and nonexistent political power.”



I figured he would have said something more witty in reply, but his lips were otherwise occupied.