Work Text:
When Mack gets shipped off to Europe for Worlds, he tells Smitty he doesn't know if he's more excited or annoyed. Like, sure, he's getting to represent his country, but Sidney Crosby is also gonna be there, which means Mack is going to get like, no ice time.
But as it turns out, he's very wrong. He gets to play on the same fucking line as Sidney Crosby. They're magnetic on the ice. Somehow, Mack always knows where Crosby is, and he always knows how to get the puck to find him too.
It's after their electric connection on the ice leads them to a win, that it happens.
They're out drinking with the team. Mack makes sure to take advantage of the lower drinking age, sipping on something that Sid recommended to the group. And that's a thing now; Mack is allowed to call Sidney Crosby Sid, like they're friends.
At the moment, he's just barely more buzzed than he's had the chance to be all season in San Jose. Maybe that's the reason he follows Sid outside when the older man excuses himself from the rowdy table. Maybe Sid is just as buzzed, because he doesn't say anything when Mack follows.
They slip out into the night, Sid walking along the exterior wall of the bar until he comes to a stop, right at the opening of an alleyway. He stays quiet as he pulls a half pack of cigarettes out from his jacket and lights one.
Mack is the first to break the silence, his mouth moving faster than his brain. “I didn't know you smoked. Didn't think you'd be that type of person. Treat your body like a temple, and all that.”
Sid blows out a light grey cloud of smoke and looks over at Mack with a smirk. “Here's a life lesson; fags doesn't count if you're drinking, kid.”
A jolt of something shoots through Mack's body. To hear that word coming from Sid, of all people, and to pair it with that lazy smirk and that fucking pornstache, it short-circuits Mack's hardware.
He isn't quite sure how to respond, so naturally, his brain helpfully supplies, “Why do you call it that?”
The question seems to amuse Sid as he takes another drag; his chest expanding for a moment before he blows the smoke in Mack's direction. “Force of habit from being around Europeans.”
He studies Mack for a moment, eyes dark in the shadow of the streetlight. “You enjoying yourself with this tourney, kid?”
For some reason, it makes Mack horny. Maybe it's the way Sid calls him kid, maybe it's the way Sid's lips pucker to take yet another drag, maybe it's the way his fucking fingers tap away the ash— maybe it's everything all at once that has Mack chubbing up in his pants quicker than he'd like to admit.
The “Yes” leaves his lips so soft and breathy he almost isn't sure that Sid heard him. But he definitely did, if the way his face and body language changes is any indication.
“Y'know, it's funny,” another fucking drag from that cigarette with smoke blown in Mack's face this time, “the neck guard I'm using is actually older than you.”
A soft whine escapes Mack's lips before he can catch himself. He eyes the half-smoked cigarette between Sid's fingers and all rationality flies out the window as he takes a step right on the edge of the older man's personal space.
“Can you put that out on me?” He blurts the words out before he can stop himself.
Sid's eyes trace his body as he drops the cigarette to the concrete, crushing the embers beneath the toe of his shoe. “Kid, I'm too old for you. You should be messing around with people your own age.”
Mack breaks into a pout, eyes wide as he shuffles closer into Sid's personal space. He isn't used to not getting what he wants. “You wouldn't be the first older guy I've done stuff with. Please, Mr. Crosby. Please, I'll be so good for you. I promise.”
“There's so many other people you could have. Hell, we're in Europe so you'd probably never have to see them again. You don't want this, kid. You're just drunk.”
For a moment, Mack almost stomps his foot like a petulant child for not getting his way, but one look into Sid's eyes and he switches gears. He steps forward again, pressing his entire body against the firm muscles that make up Sidney Crosby.
It takes a few shifts of his hips before he feels it— Sid is already half hard in his pants. He presses his own cock against the other, the pressure pulling a soft sound from his lips.
“‘M not drunk. I only had the one drink you picked out for us, I promise. Please, Sir. I swear I won't let you down. I can be good.”
The words seem to have the desired effect on Sid as he groans softly. “Tell me exactly what you want from me, kid. Use your words.”
“God,” Mack sighs.
“Wrong name. Try again.”
Mack whines. He tries to reach out and touch Sid with his hands, but the man steps back just out of grasp.
“Sid, please,” he begs. “Anything. I want you to do anything you want. Let me suck you off, at least.”
A moment passes. Sid looks at him the same way he looks at the ice; calculating and planning for ten steps ahead of everyone else. He nods, more to himself than to Mack.
“Here's what we're going to do, kid. We're going to go back to the hotel, and then I want you to show me what they taught you during your first season in San Jose, okay?”
And God dammit, Sid is using his captain's voice on Mack, which only makes him get harder. He can only nod before Sid hails a taxi and nudges him inside.
The drive back to the hotel happens in the blink of an eye because Mack is too preoccupied with thoughts of having sex with one of his idols-turned-teammates, and wondering how the fuck he's going to tell Smitty this over Facetime when it definitely calls for more of an in-person storytime, where they can have a mutual masturbation session over Sidney Crosby and whatever he’s about to do to Mack.
Mack is slightly dazed when he steps out of the taxi, hands finding Sid’s bicep and holding on like an anchor. He lets himself hide behind the mass of muscle that is Sid's body as he guides him through the lobby, into the elevator, and finally, finally, inside Sidney's room.
It takes him a moment to realise where he is; the bed is made, luggage neatly packed up already, the only sign that someone is actively staying here is a fabric pouch on the nightstand. That's when it begins to settle in that this is real.
Mack is going to have sex with Sidney Crosby—three-time Stanley Cup champion, gold medalist, once in a generation hockey player, Sidney Crosby—after a Worlds match win. Just a regular game, not even the fucking finals or semis or some shit.
“Hey, kid, if you don't want to do this, you don't have to feel pressured. I swear, it'll be okay regardless of your decision.”
Mack can't help but think it's sweet that Sid assumes he's nervous because he's second guessing himself, when actually, Mack is nervous because he doesn't want to look like an inexperienced idiot in front of a man who clearly knows what he's doing.
“I'm good,” he murmurs as he moves to sit on the bed, facing the other. “Just don't wanna disappoint you.”
Sid approaches him slowly, eyes tracing every inch of Mack. “We can take it slow, kid. Don't worry. Just take off your shirt and pants for me. Keep your underwear on.” It's yet another command that leaves no room for argument, making him oblige without any question or argument. The fabric gets wrinkled but he doesn't care as he tosses it in the direction of the open duffle sitting on a chair.
“Good boy,” Sid mutters as he reaches a hand out, dragging his fingertips along Mack's cheek, down his jaw, across his neck until it settles on his scruff. “They teach you anything other than hockey over in San Jose, kid?”
A shiver runs down his spine as he meets Sid's eyes. “Not really,” he admits honestly. “Mainly been me and Smitty figuring things out together. Toff helped us out a few times.”
Sid hums, fingers squeezing just the slightest amount. “You telling me all those guys saw you and Smith’s pretty faces, and nobody besides Toffoli jumped at the chance to put a load in you boys? Such a shame; we'd treat you boys so good in Pittsburgh.”
Oh, and the thought of that makes Mack whimper. He can't help imagining him and Smitty in the Pens locker room, on their knees for all the guys— maybe even letting visitor teams come in and take turns with them. He wonders what it would be like to bounce in Sidney's lap after a game while the team watches, their captain wearing half his gear while Mack is stripped down to nothing. For a brief moment, he entertains the idea of getting to do all of that the next time the Sharks play the Pens.
“Sid, please,” he begs. “Touch me.”
The response he gets is a light laugh. “I am touching you, kid.”
Mack whines, leaning forward to press his face against Sid's chest. “Not what I meant.” The words get muffled by cloth, but they're heard nonetheless.
“Then tell me what you want, Macklin.”
His cock twitches at that— of all the possibilities that he could have in this bubble they've created.
“I want you to fuck me.” He sounds more confident than he actually feels. “Me and Smitty never got that far, ‘nd Toff's only ever used his fingers; said something about how it isn't cheating if he doesn't put it in.”
Sid hums, the rumble vibrating Mack’s head. “Maybe, but not yet, kid.” He tugs Mack back by his scruff so he can look at his face. “You've gotta earn my cock.”
The hand on his neck holds him steady as Sid uses the other to dip his index and middle fingers into Mack's mouth, pressing his tongue down and tugging his lips open.
“If at any point you want to stop, just say so. And if you can't talk, tap on me. Got it, kid?”
Mack nods, head swirling as he tries to respond in the affirmative around the digits.
Fingers tug his jaw down, keeping his mouth open as saliva starts to gather. Sid tells— commands— him to undo his belt and open his slacks. And he obliges without hesitation.
He is rewarded with the sight of Sidney Crosby’s hard cock straining against the fabric of black boxers. The cotton is darker where his head rests, precum soaking into it like a spill of water to a rag.
Mack can't help himself as he tries to move forward; to get his mouth on that cock and get a proper taste of what he's been craving. Unfortunately, he gets stopped by the hand on his scruff pulling him back.
“Such an eager little thing,” Sidney smiles down at him. “You ever sucked a cock before, kid?”
“A cou’ble times,” Mack says around the fullness of his mouth, drool dripping down his chin and seeping into the collar of his polo. His honesty results in the fingers leaving as Sid encourages him to give more details.
“Tried to blow Smitty once but it didn't end well. I gagged so bad and almost bit his dick off,” he mutters with an embarrassed blush. “Toff found out and after a game, he taught me ‘n Smitty how to not fuck up a blowie; coached us through the whole thing, giving us pointers, and tips and tricks on how to make it good.”
Sid hums, swiping his thumb through the saliva. “Well then, kid, show me what you learned.”
It starts slow— Mack presses his face against Sidney's bulge, taking a deep breath. He gets hit with the scent of clean soap, vague cologne, and barely-there sweat; he can't help but think of how differently it would smell immediately post-game, soaked in sweat and grime.
God, he wants that so bad.
Maybe if he asks nicely enough, Sid will let him do that after one of their upcoming games.
He places open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can think to reach, wanting to savour the moment as long as possible. Only when the fingers on his neck squeezes does Mack bring his hands up to tug Sid's underwear down, pulling it so the waistband rests just below the curve of his ass.
Sidney's cock glistens in the light of the room, precum wetting his angry red tip. A thick vein runs down the underside, leading to a neat bush of hair at the base of his dick. As Mack's eyes drink their fill, Sid twitches, leaking even more.
It's fucking beautiful.
The hand on his nape squeezes just the slightest bit. “Go on, kid. Put that mouth of yours to work.”
And who is Mack to disobey?
He leans forward, hands coming up instinctively into position; one sits at Sidney's base, holding steady while the other wraps around his length stroking slowly as Mack gives kitten licks at Sid's tip.
A salty taste with just a hint of bitterness soaks his tongue as he closes his lips and hollows his cheeks. It's like heaven to Mack as he bobs his head, slowly working his way down.
This part he's had practice with; Toff talking him through how to open his throat, breathe through his nose, take it slow until he gets acclimated. He does that thing Smitty did to him a few months ago with his tongue, and to his delight, he manages to pull a stuttered groan from above.
Sidney's hands move, cradling either side of Mack's head, palms against his cheeks and fingers laced at the back of his head. Sid's hips buck forward slightly, nudging himself into Mack's throat.
God, he's big, Mack thinks as he feels his lips and throat expanding to accommodate Sid's cock. His eyes open wide, remembering Toff’s advice about holding eye contact, and sinks all the way down.
He buries his nose in Sidney's neatly trimmed bush, savouring the broken groan he pulls from the older man as he tightens his throat. Spit leaks from his mouth as he works his way back up to the tip, head bobbing as he moves.
“Your mouth is so perfect, kid,” Sidney praises. “Absolutely beautiful like this.” His hips stutter forward as Mack focuses on his head, tongue swirling and dipping like it's a fucking lollipop.
The words send a shiver down Mack's spine, a rush of pleasure flooding his body as he moans around Sidney. His head feels like it's gradually being filled with aquarium-grade filter floss as his tongue dips into Sid's slit. He wants to be surrounded by Sid and only Sid.
Any further thoughts don't get the chance to formulate as the hands holding his head start moving him; slowly at first, like Sid wants Mack's throat to get used to him, but it quickly devolves into fucking his mouth like Mack is a just a toy.
He gets rough—rougher than he's been all night. His hip thrusts are brutal, hands moving in sync to meet in the middle. He never lets his cock fully leave Mack's lips, always keeping just the tip inside. It reminds Mack that the man above him is a professional athlete, with the strength to prove it.
It starts to turn messy. Spit drools down Mack's face, streaking its way along the length of his chest. He can barely breathe as Sid buries his cock all the way, filling every single inch of space it can reach.
His eyes slip shut at some point. It's overwhelming, the way Sidney sounds, the praises that he directs at Mack, the lack of control, the lightheadedness.
There is a moment of clarity that hits him as he feels the thrusts pick up in speed, just barely losing the tempo Sid previously set. He has no choice as brings his hand up, tapping at Sid's thigh until the older man slows his thrusts and pulls out to rest his cock on Mack's cheek.
“You alright, kid? Was that too much?” Sidney asks, concern clear in his voice despite the hoarseness of his voice.
Mack shakes his head, coughing as he tries to respond. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he looks back up at Sid, making sure he can see his eyes. “I want you to cum on my face and take a picture when you're done.”
And the sound Sid makes? Purely pornographic. Mack knows his mind is going to replay that breathy “Fucking hell, kid” for the rest of his life; definitely permanent spank bank material.
He wraps a hand around Sid, staring up at him as he strokes like a man on a mission; Sidney's own hands maintain their hold on Mack. He dips his thumb into Sid's tip, whispering, “Please, Sir” as he cups Sid's balls with his other hand, massaging them as they tense in his hold.
His quiet plea seems to be just enough for Sidney; with a stuttered groan of praise, he cums. Hands tighten around Mack's head, holding him in place as off-white ribbons land on his cheeks, lips, nose, eyebrows, and even some on his forehead.
“Good fuckin’ boy,” Sidney mutters, letting his hips move slowly in Mack's grip as he rides out his orgasm. “Absolutely gorgeous like this, all for me.”
Mack can't help but shift, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his dick as he lets Sid use his hands. He zones out for a few moments, eyes slipping shut as he gets used to the feeling of hands on his body moving, shifting, tracing in the mess while the dick in his hands softens.
At some point, Sid makes some adjustments to his hands so that he's holding the older man's soft cock to his lips, tongue sticking out to cushion the tip. Some rustling and shifting; Mack hears the telltale sound of a phone unlocking.
His eyes flutter open, taking a moment to re-adjust to the lighting in the room. Looming above Mack's face is Sid's phone camera pointed directly at him.
The sound of the shutter goes off. Mack smiles, face feeling tacky from the drying semen. Another shutter sound follows.
And then, the sound of the camera starting to record. Sid doesn't say a word, just looks at Mack through the image on his phone screen.
Mack on the other hand lets out a soft moan as he shifts just slightly, pressing his heel against his dick. He blinks up at the camera, opening his eyes wide, looking innocent as he licks at Sid's head and pulls back just enough to place a kiss on the tip.
“Thank you for the treat, Mr. Crosby. I hope I was good for you,” he says, splitting his lips into a wide smile and keeping that image of innocence.
The recording is stopped as Sid groans, his cock making an attempt to fill back out once more. “You know what would happen if I sent that video to anyone in the league, kid?”
“Do it ‘nd show them what I'm capable of,” Mack grins. He wants people to see how good he is at everything he does.
Sid looks at him for a long moment before he tosses his phone on the bed behind Mack. “Maybe I should send it to Toffoli and show him what you're getting up to at this tourney; hell, maybe I should send it to your boy, Smith, too. I bet he would really like that. He might even show his new friends on Team USA.”
An involuntary shiver runs down Mack's spine as his mind conjures images of Will seeing him like this, knowing it was Sidney Crosby who painted his face so pretty, and then showing it to the same teammates he complains about every single time they call. He wonders what they would think, if they would want to play against Team Canada if it meant that they could have their turn with Mack, win or lose.
Sid chuckles, breaking him from his thoughts as he swipes his thumb through the mess on Mack's chin. “You'd like that, wouldn't you, kid? Such a slut for attention both on and off the ice.”
Mack preens and pushes into the touch, it's something he's proud of. “I like to be watched,” he says with a shrug.
Sidney studies him for a moment before nudging him to get off the ground. There's an ache in his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed, stretching his limbs out carefully.
“Let's get you cleaned up and then, maybe I'll help you with your little problem there, kid.” His eyes fall on Mack's underwear, damp and messy, barely restraining his hard cock.
Mack licks his lips, eyes fluttering the length of Sid's body. He thinks he may have a better idea; “Or you could be my audience and watch me take care of it myself.”
That pulls a soft groan from the older man as he leans down to place a soft kiss on his lips.
“How about we wash my cum off your face and then we decide? Deal?” Sid mutters against his mouth.
Mack grins, shifting up to steal two quick pecks. “Deal.”
He jumps to his feet— which ends up being a big mistake as his balance wobbles. He quickly rids himself of the ruined fabric that was once his underwear, tossing it in the vague direction of the rest of his clothes.
His leg muscles are still a bit tight but regardless, Mack makes his way into the en suite and rinses his face at the marble sink.
Grabbing the nearest towel, he pats his face dry but pauses as he hears Sid laugh from the doorway. He turns towards the other and asks, “What? Did I use the wrong towel or something?”
Sidney snorts— Mack didn't think that Sidney Crosby was capable of making inelegant sounds— and closes the distance between them, pushing Mack against the porcelain countertop.
He takes the towel slowly from Mack, like sudden movements might spook him, and tosses it onto the floor.
“Kid,” Sid mumbles, face inches away from Mack's. “That was the towel I used to dry my dick after my shower.”
Mack almost moans at the information. He's almost tempted to reach for the dirty towel and push his face into it once more, trying to get more of Sid's addictive scent from earlier.
“Shit, you're so gone, kid. You really want it that badly?” Sid asks, like he knows exactly what the younger boy is thinking.
Mack can only nod, squirming under Sid's heated gaze as his neglected cock twitches. He wants that towel back against his body so bad. He's sure he could cum from just the towel and his hand. He wants to try.
Sid reaches for something on the floor— the towel, Mack thinks hopefully— and tosses it at Mack's chest.
He catches it with ease; it's one of Sid's used briefs.
“Go on, kid. Let me be your audience.”
Mack can't help the pathetic whine he lets out. His hips buck up into the air as he brings the dirty laundry to his face with his left hand. “Sid,” he gasps into the fabric, letting that musky scent fill his lungs.
His other hand wraps around the base of his cock, squeezing just enough to relieve the barest amount of pressure as his eyes flutter shut.
“Such a pretty little thing,” Sid hums from a few feet away. “Maybe I really should bring you over to the Pens and keep you all to myself.”
Mack's skin pinkens as the words wash over him, letting the cadence of Sidney's voice guide his strokes. “Tell me more,” he gasps.
“If we traded for you, I wouldn't let you leave my bed for days. Hell, you probably wouldn't even be able to skate on your own after I'm done with you.
“Maybe after wins, I'd let the guys take their turn with you; let them fill those pretty holes of yours while I watch.”
Images flood Mack once more, a carousel of fantasies turn in his mind as he dips his thumb into his overly sensitive slit.
He thinks about Sid stripping him down in the locker room, making the team form a neat line so everyone has a fair chance of using him. The picture then morphs into Sidney using him on the ice after practice, making sure everyone knows Mack belongs to him and only him. Maybe he makes Mack get to his knees, maybe he makes him bend over and use the goal post for stability.
Mack's fingers feel almost too rough as it slides against his skin, tip leaking like a faucet. He shoves his face harder into Sid's underwear as his hand speeds up.
“You close, kid?” Sid asks, voice hoarse.
Mack can only nod as he feels heat rushing through his body, hand tightening as his back begins to bow and gasps stream from his lips.
He's so close. He just needs something that can push him over the edge.
He whimpers, eyes peeling open to look at the older man. “Please, Sir.”
Sid licks his lips and nods. “Go ahead and cum for me, kid. You did so well for me tonight; you've earned it.”
It's the final push Mack needs; his body curls inwards, left hand still pressing the dirty underwear to his face as his right speeds up on his cock. His eyes squeeze shut once more as his body tenses.
Mack's orgasm hits him like he's being slammed against the glass in the rink. He lets out a pathetic, broken moan as ribbons of cum paint his lower abdomen.
His hand is covered, messy, as he strokes himself to the point of painful overstimulation before finally stopping. His breath comes out in pants as he tries to ground himself.
It takes him a few moments before the buzzing in his head rescinds, clearing the fog that built itself in his brain.
“Holy fuck, that was–”
“Intense,” Sidney finishes the sentence for him. “You okay, kid?”
Mack huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”
Sid shoots a smile at him before turning towards the shower behind him. He fiddles with the tap for a moment and is rewarded with the shower head beginning to spray. They exist in silence, with only the sound of water hitting tile filling the room.
Even from where he stands at the sink, with cum drying on his skin, Mack can feel the bathroom already beginning to heat up from the stream of water. He watches Sid grab an extra towel and gestures for the younger to step into the shower.
Mack follows, letting the warmth wash over his body. He closes his eyes and tips his head into the flow of water as he hears muffled words directed at him.
“Stay here tonight, Mack. You can take some of my clothes and just come down to breakfast with me in the morning, okay?”
He nods and lets a smile cross his face. The whole team will know what happened, if any of them can see through the haze of an inevitable hangover.
It won't matter. Mack already knows that he can't let this thing with Sid be a one-time event. He needs find a way to make sure he actually gets fucked next time, but that's something he can plot on later, after he's gotten some proper sleep.