sigh hockey

hockey asks
  1. Favorite team?
  2. Second favorite team?
  3. Team you love to hate?
  4. Team you just hate?
  5. Team you think is the best in the league right now?
  6. Top three players on your favorite team?
  7. Top three players NOT on your favorite team?
  8. Three players you like on teams you can’t stand?
  9. Players you hate on teams you like?
  10. Prettiest uniforms?
  11. Best venue?
  12. Best hair?
  13. Best body?
  14. Best eyes?
  15. Best shot?
  16. Best goaltender?
  17. Favorite line?
  18. Dream line (mix and match players from teams)?
  19. Head-to-head matchup you’d most want to see?
  20. Most overrated?
  21. Most underrated?
  22. Prettiest goal you ever saw?
  23. Worst/best hit you ever saw?
  24. Who on your team is:
    1. Eternal  Sunshine?
    2. Team Dad?
    3. Team Mom?
    4. Team Baby/Babies?
    5. The class clown?
    6. The quiet one?
    7. The serious one?
    8. The hothead?
  25. Player on the feeder team you most want to get called up?
  26. Player who’s always scratched who ought to be played more?
  27. Player who always plays who ought to be scratched more?
  28. Best duo?
  29. OTP?
  30. OT3+?
  31. Rarepair?
  32. Guy you want desperately to slash but can’t for some reason (Married, no good pair, etc.)
  33. Guy who is (or should be) the fandom/team bicycle?
  34. Player you most wish would get traded to your team?
  35. Player you most wish would get traded to another team?
  36. Most likely to be in the penalty box at any moment?
  37. Most likely to send another player to the penalty box?
  38. Gets away with murder award (never gets penalties but should)?
  39. Just has a guilty face award (gets penalties but shouldn’t)?
  40. Nicest guy on the team?
  41. Best with fans?
  42. Best with the press?
  43. Hockey robot award (can’t say anything but “get pucks to the net” in front of a camera)?
  44. Most likely to be photographed with small children?
  45. Most likely to be photographed with small animals?
  46. Most likely to be photographed shirtless in a hot tub with starlets?
  47. Most likely to cry at movies?
  48. Most likely to get in bar fights unrelated to hockey?
  49. Most likely to have Mafia ties?
  50. Rising star award?
  51. Most improved award?

Meg: What if when I wrote “first heat in st Petersburg” yuri makes a little nest in the corner of the rink while he’s waiting for Victor to finish training, out of their bags and Victor’s jacket and an old blanket from the office and when he wakes up he’s surrounded by offerings from the hockey alphas

Meg: “There’s an angel,” says one very reverently and the coach takes a second to mourn the amount of hits to the head kids these days take in Juniors

Sully talks a lot about putting in the right guy for the right situation, and I wholeheartedly agree with that mindset. The problem is he and/or the coaching team don’t apply it to the goalies.

Murray and Flower have significant, stable, complementary differences that mean you get even more bang for your buck by having both of them at your disposal for different situations than either one of them alone no matter how good their individual performances.

Murray’s style was a good choice vs. Ottawa. Flower’s style would be a much better fit against Nashville. It shouldn’t have anything to do with anything else at this point. Just live up to the promises, put the right guy in for the right situation!

Someday Your Child May Cry

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17. Insatiable

If Scully doesn’t stop shaking her sweet little ass against Mulder’s crotch, he’s not going to be held responsible for his actions.

True, it was his idea to call her to meet him here, his idea to spend the evening with her in a deserted baseball field. And he’s the one tho thought it would be fun and kind of cute if they tried to hit at the same time. The stance, too, the way that he’s totally wrapped around her with his chin tucked into her shoulder, that was his idea.

But the way they’re pressed together, not an inch of space between them from knees to shoulders? That’s all Scully, wriggling backwards into him until they’re locked together like two perfectly-matched puzzle pieces. If she keeps this up, if she keeps sliding her tempting backside across the front of his pants, wiggling her hips far more than necessary, Mulder’s going to lose all self-control, and the kid loading the pitching machine (the son of a single dad who lives on Mulder’s floor) is going to get a lesson in sex ed that he’ll never forget.

They miss two pitches in a row in spectacular fashion, mostly because they’re too busy being handsy on the bat to get a proper grip, and Scully lets out the most genuine peal of laughter- incredibly sexy laughter- that Mulder has ever heard from her. And just like that, he loses the battle against his growing arousal, and he’s suddenly as hard as a rock. She freezes the moment she feels him rubbing against her… but instead of moving away, she gives him an impish smile over her shoulder and grinds herself slowly, sensually against him. He lets out a feral growl into her ear and just barely manages to restrain himself from biting at her neck, like a rutting tomcat trying to get a better grip. Which is, essentially, what he’s going to be reduced to before long if she doesn’t knock it off with that tight little ass.

He’s done his research pretty thoroughly, and he knows that pregnancy hormones can frequently have a marked effect on a woman’s libido. He wonders if that’s what’s inspiring Scully’s teasing, or if she’s normally this playful, this demonstrative.

He’s also wondering how far this mood will take them tonight.

When the bucket of baseballs is empty, Mulder reluctantly peels himself away from Scully and pays the kid, who scampers off to his dad’s car, waiting in the parking lot. Together, he and Scully round up as many baseballs as they can find in the dark outfield, collecting them back into the bucket and carrying them to home plate. Scully stands next to the bucket, holding the bat, considering it thoughtfully.

“My high school in San Diego was more than a little lacking when it came to women’s athletics,” she tells Mulder, sighing. “There was field hockey, which I never cared for, and basketball, which I was too short for.” Mulder bites his tongue on a few jokes he suspects won’t do much for the mood he’s trying to create tonight. “I knew what sport I wanted to play, though, and Title IX had passed about six years before I started high school, so my dad pointed out to me that I just as much legal right to go out for the team as any of the boys.” She bends down and takes a baseball out of the basket. She tosses it up in the air, takes a textbook-perfect batter’s stance, and belts it out of sight into center field. Mulder stares at her, his mouth hanging open.

“Scully,” he says, “don’t tell me you already knew how-”

“Varsity baseball, all four years of high school,” she says, grinning cheekily at him. “It drove Bill crazy. He never got further than JV.”

“Then why did you let me think I was teaching you?” Mulder asks. “I feel like an idiot now! Why didn’t you say anything?” Scully’s smile turns impish again as she drops the bat and saunters over to him, leaning against his chest. She runs one hand down his stomach, stopping just below the button on his jeans. He gasps sharply.

“And miss getting a little better acquainted with this?” she asks. “Why on earth would I do that?”

Mulder has seen a thousand different versions of Scully over the years. There’s Scully the ass-kicking special agent, Scully the brilliant scientist, Scully the loving daughter and sister, Scully the stoic survivor. But this Scully, this flirty, forward Scully who sees what she wants and goes for it without any trace of shyness or hesitation… this is a Scully he’s never seen before, and he hopes like hell she’ll be coming out to play again in the future.

Mulder bends down enough to wrap Scully tightly in his arms. “If you’d like to get better acquainted, Scully,” he growls into her neck, “that can be arranged.” He kisses her forcefully, backing her up across home plate until she’s pressed into the backstop. He slides an arm under her and lifts her against the fence, and she wraps her legs around him, grinding against him more forcefully, seeking as much contact as she can find. She whimpers in frustration when it’s not enough, and he takes one hand from his waist and slides it down between them, cupping her through her jeans as she moans in gratitude. 

Given that he’s not yet learned exactly how she likes to be touched, it takes a surprisingly short time before she’s gasping and trembling against him in a way that tells him, beyond any doubt, that he’s gotten her there. He strokes her hair and murmurs encouragingly into her ear as she comes back down, and when she gets her breath back, she smiles up at him.

“I think,” she says, her voice hoarse, “that we should probably get out of here before someone calls the cops on us.”

“Agreed,” he says. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours is closer,” she says, kissing her way up his neck and nibbling at the skin just under his ear.

“Yours is cleaner,” he says. “Probably has fresh sheets on the bed and everything.”

“Mulder,” she sighs, “do you really care that much about clean sheets right now?”

She emphasizes her point by taking his earlobe into her mouth and sucking on it gently, and Mulder decides that no, clean sheets are not, at the moment, a priority.