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[personal profile] cupcakegirla
Title: The Penalty of Love
Pairing: Tyler Seguin/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Who wants a little penalty box make-up sex? Anyone? Anyone?
Author’s Note: I don't watch hockey. I've never been to a hockey game. I know next to nothing about the game. Or about Tyler Seguin. This was written for missesbean, because she's awesome and she asked nicely. Also I owe her like 8 month late birthday fic, so this is a place holder until I get THAT done. I hope I didn't screw anything up to bad.



He’s standing in the center of the ice, hockey stick in one hand, and breath fogging in front of his face with every breath when she steps into the arena. She watches him as she takes the steps down down down toward the ice. He’s amazing to watch, all lazer focus and muscle memory. He has a pile of pucks sitting on the ice, and she watches as he uses the end of his stick to pluck one free, spinning on the ice into position, and bending whacks it hard and straight, sending it flying across the ice and right into the goal from so far away it seems an impossible shot. He’s only in half his gear. Skates, and hockey pants, no pads, to be seen. No helmet of jersey, just a plain grey t-shirt that fits like a second skin. He’s been skating laps or something, suicides maybe?, because the shirt is damp with sweat at the back and under the arms, turning it dark and clingy.

“Tyler?” she calls, when she reaches ice level. He glances over at her, the too long hair on the front of his head sticking to his forehead.

“I said we were done. I meant it,” he snaps, turning back to the pile of pucks. She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest to ward off the chill. She steps up to the plexiglass wall separating him from her, and turns to the right, heading toward the penalty box. The door unlatches easily, and she steps down into the box carefully, closing the door behind her. The blast of cold air that hits her being so close to the ice makes her shiver. She bounces in place.

“I said I was sorry. Please, Tyler, don’t do this,” she pleads. He eyes her briefly shaking his head.

“You’re a liar, and I don’t trust liars,” he replies, turning his back to her and starting to pull pucks out of the pile to hit from the other direction. She sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lie! I wanted to tell you what was going on. But I was afraid too,” she explains. He tenses, muscles in his back and shoulders going stiff as he straightens up. He flings his stick to the ground. The slap of wood and plastic on hard ice, echoing loud and making her jump. She closes her eyes, not wanting to see his anger.

“What? What were you afraid of? So afraid you had to lie to me?” he asks, skating toward her. She opens her eyes to look at him. He’s suddenly so close she can make out the brown of his eyes.

“Of this?!” she cries, finally losing her temper. “Of you acting just like this! I was scared you’d turn away from me. That you’d hate me. Toss me aside like I was nothing. Fat lot of good it did me, huh? Because that’s exactly what you did anyway! So in the end none of it even mattered!” she yelled, face flushing with anger. He’s over the wall and standing in front of her in seconds.

“No! You don’t get to do this!” he yells. “You don’t get to turn this around and make me the bad guy! You lied to me! Not the other way around!” She shakes her head, furious now.

“You lied too! What was that spiel about loving me forever and ever? No matter what we’d make it through? It was all bullshit. The first time we had a problem you run for the hills!” she yells. He’s standing over her, taller than even usual with his skates on, and suddenly she wishes she’d worn her heels, the stilettos with the 4 in heel. Just to make things more even. More fair. She sniffs, wiping angrily at the tears on her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she says softly. “It’s probably better this way.” He stares at her hard, hands clenching at his sides like he can’t decide whether to grab her and kiss her or grab the spare stick resting in the corner and break it in two.

“How can you say that?” he asks, clenching his jaw. She shrugs.

“It’s better to know now, if it was going to work out then later. At least this way it’s over before something permanent could be damaged.” She turns away then, reaching for the door to the penalty box.

“You think you didn’t do any permanent damage?” he asks, sounding sad and broken, and hurt. She swings around to look at him, and he’s staring at her with so many emotions on his face that she can barely stand it. “I was in love with you. I am in love with you,” he grits the words out through clenched teeth, and she gasps in response, shaking her head.

“Then why did you push me away?” she asks, tears welling out of her eyes, faster and harder than before. And then he’s there, hands cradling the bare skin of her upper arms, tugging her closer to him, and bending close.

“Because I was scared too. If you lied to me once… what was to stop you from lying again? And then again?” he asks. She drops her arms, stepping into the circle of him, fitting neatly against him, her arms sliding around his waist.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t. Not again. I promise!” she whispers. “I swear!” she looks up at him, and he looks at her so hopefully. “I love you,” she whispers. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and pulling her tighter against him, one hand coming up to touch the side of her face, to slide back into her long dark hair.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” she cuts him off with a kiss, pushing up on her tip-toes to press her mouth to his. He goes still against her for half a second than surges back at her, lips claiming and rough. She moans, letting her hands fist in the back of his t-shirt. She tugs at it, and pressing her hips to his and grinding.

It’s easy for him to lift her. She’s so much smaller and lighter than him, and she’s quick to wrap her legs around his waist, to slider her hands over his shoulders for extra support, taking advantage of the new angle to kiss him deeper, sliding her tongue against is and wet caress that has his hands clenching on her bottom.

He walks forward, balancing carefully in his skates to the wall of the penalty box. He releases one of her legs, and she lets it fall down to rest on the bench there, helping him support her weight as he shifts and tugs, sliding her skirt up her thighs baring them and her ass to the cold air of the arena. She shivers against him, and he tightens his hold, breaking the kiss.

“Ok?” he asks. She nods tugging at the back of his hair playfully with one hand.

“Yes. Yes, a thousand times, yes,” before diving for his mouth again. He releases her completely for several brutal seconds while he tugs and yanks at the laces of his hockey pants. He finally gets them undone, pulled down and out the way, and then he’s there, pressed to her folds, hot and heavy and already slick. He pauses again, his eyes meeting hers, and she lets out a whine, “Please!,” she begs. And he can’t hold himself back after that. He thrusts inside of her with one fast push that has her arching back and letting out a shout of want and need. He clutches her to him, sliding all the way deep, and searching out her mouth with his.

“Shhh…,” he mumbles kissing her through a grin. “You’ll get us caught,” he whispers, pulling his hips back to press deep again. She chokes back a moan, clutching at his shoulders, and wrapping one long leg around his waist. He grips her under the knee, pinning her to the wall of the penalty box, and spreading her thighs wide. He thrusts into her, dick riding across her clit with each press in, and making her muscles quake with pleasure. She kisses him back, sucking at his lips and tongue, letting her scrape across the stubble on his chin.

“Better keep me quiet then,” she replies, tugging his mouth back to hers with a hand in his hair.

Their sex is deep and hard and almost punishing, and it makes pleasure zing through her, spreading good and want, and hot hot hot up through her body and down through her legs. Her toes curl in her flats, one shoe falling free, to clatter to the concrete below. She clutches at him as she grows closer..

“Ty.. Ty.. Tylerr,” she moans, burying her face in the shoulder of his t-shirt, in the curve of his neck as she feels her muscles start to tighten. His hips stutter against hers, and he reaches down with one hand to press his fingers to her clit. He swirls them once, twice, in the steady figure 8 that always works best for her, and she stifles a shout, coming against and around him, her teeth sinking bluntly into the top of his shoulder, tongue tasting wet cotton and sweat, and him. She clenches down hard on his dick, squeezing and rocking into his thrusts. He fucks her through it, extending the cascade of pleasure until she’s left trembling against him in aftershocks. He stills momentarily, chest heaving against her, as she sags against him, and then he’s gripping her other leg, pulling her up, and pivoting on careful feet. She finds herself being laid out along the length of the bench, her legs splayed wide on either side, skirt hiked up around her waist. She lets out a tiny yelp at the cold wood on bare skin. But the feeling soon becomes secondary to him.

Tyler straddles the bench, sliding close, and pulling her hips up to rest across his pelvis.

“Ready?” he asks. She gasps for air but nods, arching her back to get the perfect angle as he slides home again. He leans over her, bracing his right hand on the bench above her head and using the other to support the bow of her back. “There?” he asks, pressing deep, and she grunts, nodding her head, as he hits that precise spot inside of her over and over. She pants up at him, watching his face as he slides inside again and again, skates scarping against the concrete. She has a fleeting thought about how much trouble he’ll be in if there’s damage to the blades at practice tomorrow but one more long press into her and she stops caring.

The pleasure builds again, starting slowly and building quickly, until she’s pressing up into each thrust, clenching around him, and tugging him down into kisses, his brown eyes staring into hers like she’s the only thing in the whole world he cares about.

She pants against his cheek.

“Ty… close,” she whispers, pulling one thigh up to change the angle. She gasps and her eyes fall closed without her consent. “Ty.. Ty….” She starts to plead with him, rocking her hips up into his to get him deeper, faster, harder. He readjusts, planting one foot for better leverage and picking up his pace. She bites her lip as she comes, moaning his name, and yanking his mouth down into hers for a long hard kiss. He thrusts a handful of times more, and then goes still inside her, all of his muscles going rigid as he comes inside her. She sighs, wrapping her arms around him, as he falls still, her hips and thighs cradling him against her.

They lay there like that for a minute, catching their breath and clutching at each other.

“Want to go back to my place or yours?” he asks. And she laughs quietly against his mouth, before kissing him again, sweeter, softer now.

“Segs!?” a voice shouts, and they spring apart. Tyler rushes to do up his pants, pulling his t-shirt back down from where it had gotten tugged up. She scrambles too, yanking her skirt back down to a decent level, and momentarily grimacing at the mess between her legs. She dives for her lost shoe, and has just enough time to slide it on, and comb one hand through the riotous mess of her hair. She crosses her legs, and tries to look like she hasn’t just had mindblowing sex with the best Boston Bruins Right Wing in recent history just seconds before. The maintenance man appears a moment later, squinting at them, and chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. “Now listen here Segs, you can’t use the ice like your own personal playground. We got rules for that type of… Oh…” he trails off as he spots her sitting on the end of the bench. Tyler whirls away, stuffing stuff into his bag, and stepping back out on to the ice to collect his stick from where he’d left it. “Oh, well I’m sorry to have interrupted,” he says bowing his head to her. She nods, fighting down a smile. “Move this somewhere else?” he suggests.

“Yes, of course. Tyler was just finishing up. Thank you,” she says, standing and pushing her hair back behind her ears.

“Hmm….” the old man mutters. Tyler’s back a second later.

“Sorry, Hank, we’ll just be going.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to tell the coach about this,” Hank replies, turning and wandering away. They can hear him muttering to himself as he follows the plexiglass wall around the ice. She looks up, to find Tyler’s eyes on her face, and together they break into what can only be described as giggles. His face is flushed, and sweat slick as he smiles at her, offering a hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, pulling her up, and climbing out of the penalty box. “We have some catching up to do.”

She couldn’t agree more.

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