Fic: My father's father craves the earth - Part II

[bratri_ve_zbrani]

Title: My father's father craves the earth - Part II

Rating: R for sex

Pairings: Vladimir Sobotka/Blake Wheeler

Disclaimer: Never happened.

Note: A kink meme just ran away from me. It's a full blown fic now and I make no apologies. Any suggestions, criticisms - even ones that sting - are totally welcome. I probably need it. Also, Blake Wheeler and Vladimir Růžička, Jr. resemble each other somewhat, they're about the same height and weight.

 

 

It takes them a while to get to their rooms once they were spotted by a group of children waiting for their parents in the lobby. The youngest boy's eyes go wide, his mouth falling open, and Vladi waves at him.

 

Blake isn't sure why he was so surprised by this fact, but Vladi is freakin' awesome with kids. He treats them like they're the most interesting people in the world, and they flock to him like he has neon signs flashing over him, children friendly, approachable. He kneels to their height and takes photographs graciously, dragging Blake into everything with him, and Blake is more than happy to oblige when it comes to Vladi.

 

They spoil each other silly, really.

 

In the elevator, they keep a comfortable distance because they've always, always been cautious. The both of them all to aware of how wrong things could go.

 

But in the bedroom, Vladi is a wildcat. He's the one that slams Blake against the door, kicking off his shoes to tiptoe against Blake and lick into his mouth. He's shoving Blake's shirt off his shoulders and ripping off his own t-shirt, which Blake is a bit sad to see go. It's such a pretty blue; the same pale blue of the pools in Vladi's eyes and of icebergs bound by sea, but it's worth it to see the sight of him shirtless, the faintest trace of hair under his naval and trailing into the waist of his jeans, the suggestion of it makes Blake groan.

 

"Come on," Vladi says, pulling and tugging, shuffling them backward until the back of his knees hit the bed and Blake spills onto him like molasses on a summer day, warm and sweet and slow, clinging to every crevasse of Vladi he can reach.

 

Vladi fists his hands into Blake's hair, pulling desperately. He hides it better than Blake usually, but in the confines of privacy, he's wanton like you wouldn't believe. He arches his back like a lynx about to pounce, raises his knees and presses them tight against Blake's hips, putting all that hard-earned muscle to their more recreational use, and loops and locks his ankles behind Blake's knees, trying to rub the bursting heat of their crotch together.

 

"Vladi," he says, grinning when Vladi only whines. He smoothes his hand up and down the faint ridges of Vladi's ribs gently, "Vladi, you need to let go of my hair. I can't do anything like this."

 

The fingers loosen slowly, and Blake sits back, unbuckling Vladi's belt as he does. His fingers brush against the soft skin of Vladi's stomach, which jumps and ripples under his fingers.

 

"Pojď, pospěš si," he whines, reverting to the language that comes most naturally to him. "Potřebuji tě, Blake." He sounds like he's about to cry, keening noises bubbling from his lips, wet and swollen from where Blake was kissing and nipping.

 

"I know," he nods, "I know." He has no idea what Vladi just said, but the desperation in his voice, the restless shifting he can't seem to control, Blake doesn't need to understand a word of Czech. He tugs on Vladi's jeans, and Vladi lifts his hips to oblige, planting his feet flat on the bed.

 

'I want," he keeps saying, "I want," as if he's not sure what exactly he wants, like he wants too much of Blake all at once.

 

"Just let me take care of you," Blake says, tossing away Vlad's jeans and slipping his socks off with it, "let me take care of you, okay?"

 

Vladi nods frantically, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes following Blake's movement as he shuffles off the bed. This would be easier in their own bedrooms, where lube and condoms are always stashed in the bedside bureau. Still, he might not have been a boy scout, but he came prepared.

 

By the time he makes it back to the bed, Vladi's already rolled over onto his stomach, pulled one knee up to his side and slowly fucking himself with a spit-slicked finger, and Blake, Blake is just gone, "God, just look at you…"

 

Vladi looks back at him over his shoulder, eyes lidded and shadowing the pale blue iris with the curtain of his lashes. Blake knees closer toward him and lightly grasps Vladi's wrist, feeling almost sorry when he pulls it away and Vladi makes a keening whimper.

 

"I know, I know," he whispers soothingly, rubbing a palm over the small of Vladi's back. He's kind of wanted to spank Vladi, but he's afraid Vladi might freak and he's not sure how to ask something like that.

 

He squeezes a line of lube unto his fingers, and Vladi's hole clenches around Blake's fingers at the cold intrusion, his whole body shuddering from the smooth, slow strokes reaching and curling inside him. He's so tempted to throw caution away and sink fast into the tight heat, and he couldn't do that to Vladi, who's too precious, too good for anything less that absolute tender care.

 

"Blake," he whines, "Pospěšte si, ty idiote."

 

"Did you just call me an idiot?"

 

Vladi laughs at Blake's mock hurt and moans when the vibrations of his laughter stir the fingers buried inside him, "please."

 

It's goddamn contagious.

 

Blake nods to himself, even if Vladi's not looking, "pull your knee up."

 

This is the image he gets in his head in the locker room when Vladi bends down to pick up a dropped roll of tape or tie his laces, and he slicks himself quickly and positions himself, the tip of his cock grazing the edge of Vladi's hole, wet and slick already, glistening with lube.

 

"You ready?" he asks. He always asks.

 

"Jsem připraven, tak připraven," he whimpers then gasps at the first push of Blake's cock, slipping past the ring of muscle, and but god, it's tight. It's been a week since they've had the time and privacy to do this.

 

The first time they did this, Vladi's eyes had gone wide, prompting Blake into a flurry of reassurances of you don't have to and we can wait and I won't be mad, only to be silenced by the feeling of having Vladi's mouth wrap around his cock.

 

He seems content and punch drunk right now if a bit uncomfortable and impatient, shooting Blake a look of get on with it before his eyes feel shut as another inch crept inside him.

 

"Cítíte se tak dobře," he was pressing back against Blake in short pulses now, "Bože, cítíte tak dobře."

 

"Yeah," he leaned forward until his chest was pressed against Vladi's back, relishing in the shift of their muscles, sliding his hand down Vladi's arm and spreading Vladi's clenched fist until he can lace their finger together.

 

Vladi moans in approval, arching his back and trying to buck forward at the same time, frustrated from the friction he can't get on his cock and Blake being too careful from behind. The slow drag and pull is so obviously driving him crazy, but Blake wanted to draw this out, make it last because, really, call them paranoid but they didn't get to do this too often.

 

His lips graze the lobe of Vladi's ear, and he whispers to him, "I love you, Vladi, so much."

 

Blake tells him so every day, in the morning when he first stepsonto the ice and taps Vladi by the shin with his stick before skating away, with a bump of the shoulder, a hand on his elbow as they pass each other in the hallway, a tiny wave from the parking lot before ducking into his car. But this, this was his favorite by far, when their naked bodies were pressed tight against each other and he can feel their heartbeats mesh in syncopation like this, when he barely has to mouth the words and his breath would carry them for him.

 

"Ano," Vladi twists his neck and fit the curve of his lips against Blake's. Yes.

 

Did Blake know, Vladi wonders, that he saw no one else but him, that he could be surrounded by every vice and temptation yet to be harnessed and discovered, dangled before him on a thousand mile stretch, and he would have no other wants than Blake. It's pathetic, he thinks sometimes, that he would go home after practice and daydream about Blake until his toe curled and it ached to breath, that he arrived early and left late just so he could be in the same space as Blake maybe a second longer, share the same confined air of the rink.

 

"Miluji tě, Blake. Miluji tě, miluji tě."

 

I love you, Blake thinks, sounds better in Czech.

 

---------------------------------------------

 

"Do you mind," Blake was resting his head on his folded arms, "if I ask you a question?"

 

Vladi rolls onto his side so he can face Blake, cocks his head in consideration, "okay."

 

"That guy," he licks his lips nervously. Was he heading into dangerous territory here? "At the bar."

 

"Which one? Marek? Radim?"

 

"No. No, not Marek. The other one. Um… Rujoe?"

 

"Rujoe…" Vladi's brows furrowed in confusion before comprehension dawned, "oh, oh. You mean Růžou. Růžou is nickname."

 

"Who is he?" he asks, reaching out to card his hair through Vladi's ruffled locks, damp and cold from sweat.

 

"Vladimir Růžička. He is… good friend."

 

"Were you teammates?"

 

He shakes his head, "Not very long, but he was around often."

 

"Around?"

 

"Coach's son."

 

"Huh?"

 

"My old team. Coach Růžička, legendary man. Růžou is his son."

 

"You mean here."

 

Vladi nods.

 

"Were you two… you know."

 

Vladi props himself up on an elbow and sighs, looking resigned. Not guilty, but reticent to tell, reluctant to recall some less than pleasant memory. "A few times," he admits, "I liked him before, but he is not… Růžou is straight."

 

Suddenly, Blake wishes he'd punched this guy right then and there at the bar. Straight my ass, he thinks, fucking hypocrite. Růžou had been looking at Vladi like dessert on a fucking platter. No way in hell he was letting him touch Vladi again.

 

"I was his, um, how do you say, a test?"

 

So, basically, he used Vladi, took advantage of the fact that Vladi had a crush on him, that he would probably be a willing partner, as a fucking experiment. Maybe he was gay, maybe he was bi, maybe the idea occurred to him to try it out, but God, it made Blake sick. He's known guys like this, insecure in their sexuality, and he can relate - up to a point. He went through a phase, too, after all, of confusion and doubt, but he never, never, took advantage of someone like that.

 

Not that his first experience had been all that rosy either. It was with this guy from Florida who lived on the same floor of their dorm. They were pretty drunk then, Blake remembers, though Blake himself was pretty much gone after doing few too many jell-o shots. He still doesn't remember much except for fragments of a blow job, and Mark, that was his name, had been apologetic the morning after.

 

He'd stormed out of the room, terrified and paranoid that everyone knew, and he'd said some awful things, too, on his way out until his guilt pushed him to go back two weeks later and apologize. Mark ended up being the first person he told, you know, that he might be bi, or gay, or whatever they called it, and he listened to Blake with sympathy. It struck something raw in him, to find himself not immediately spurned by speaking the truth.

 

They fell into an arrangement of sorts after that, Mark to satisfy his needs because his boyfriend went to school in Chicago, an eight hour drive, and Blake to satisfy - and later confirm -  his 'curiosity', until Mark moved off campus a semester later and Blake rescinded the half step he took out of the closet - until Vladi came along, that is.

 

But still. Mark and Blake, if they were taking advantage of each other, it was a two-way street, mutual. Not this twisted, screwed up -

 

"Don't be mad," Vladi says, gently cupping Blake's cheek, "it was long time ago."

 

And that's just, it's so like Vladi to be, what was it, dismissive? No. Forgiving.

 

Yeah, Vladi says that a lot. Odpustit a zapomenout.

 

The night after he'd gotten into that fight against Sekera, Blake had dabbed at the bruises and scratches with ice, muttering about how he was going to beat the shit out of Sekera next time, and that was all Vladi said then, too.

 

Odpustit a zapomenout, Blake.

 

Forgive and forget.

 

It doesn't seem like the kind of thing someone like Vladi would say. Young, handsome, steeped in what most would call a physical, even violent, sport, eyes sharp and keen, weary like he's been hurt and not just this with the coach's son but before that, too, something that goes back farther and deeper than a unrequited crush and a broken heart.

 

"You should not be angry at him," he says again, "I approached him first."

 

"Doesn't matter. He should have said no."

 

"Blake…"

 

"I mean it. You can't - It's just - Vladi. People shouldn't… they can't just toy with other people like that," and he immediately regrets saying this because of what it means for Vladi. "Christ,  I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

 

But Vladi's heart swells to hear this, knowing that Blake is sincere, about life, about love, about him. He knew all too well what he was getting into when he stood in front of Růžou in his cramped bedroom, stripping of his clothes, but he was lonely then. He was always lonely back then, had been since he was small. It's just that it felt so good to have that tactile connection, even when that was all it was, by touch, skin deep and no deeper.

 

"No, it's okay," he says, "I like you like this."

 

"Like what?" Blake huffs indignantly, all riled up, and all riled up for his sake.

 

It's too endearing, too touching, and Vladi can't contain the warmth of contentment that pools in his stomach and crawls closer to place a chaste kiss on the tip of Blake's nose, "like this. Just like this."

 

"Vladi…"

 

"I'm  serious," he says as he presses the length of his body against Blake's, tucking comfortably into the empty spaces only he could fill, resting his head into the crook of a shoulder. Still, his toes only reach just above Blake's ankles, their difference in height evident even lying supine like this.

 

Blake doesn't ask much more after that, he's heard enough of Růžou, and he doesn't want to spoil anything. Everything's so perfect right now.

 

-----------------------------------------------

 

 

Vladi is just stepping off the ice after morning practice, coming down the hallway when Keith stops him. One of the equipment guys with a really heavy Bostonian accent that Vladi has trouble understanding.

 

"Vladi, my man," he says.

 

"Keith," he's shy around the staff.

"Just passing on a message, your brother came around looking for you," Keith points toward the back entrance, oblivious to the shock on Vladi's face, "Luke, am I right?"

 

Vladi nods, doesn't bother to correct that it's Lukas, not Luke. That's not really the point here, is it? The point is that his brother's here, in the same fucking building.

 

"Yeah, so I told him to wait in the building manager's office since the guy's out for lunch. He's been here for like half an hour, so…"

 

"Yes, okay. I go see him."

 

"Good man," Keith walks away to where Chara's beckoning him about some problem with his helmet, leaving a stunned Vladimir Sobotka in his wake.

 

Lukas.

 

Wow, how long has it been now, three years? Four? Six?

 

He never visits Třebíč anymore, usually crashes a place in Prague to train with former teammates before bolting back to the US for another summer session, just long enough to get a taste of his homeland to tide him over for the year.

 

"Vlad'a, what's wrong?" David peers at him with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

 

Not yet I haven't.

 

"I'm fine ," he says, following beside David into the dressing room. His fingers feel weak and rubbery as he loosens his skates, and he can feel a headache creeping in, a low throb from when his spine hit skull and radiating around like the ache of a pulled muscle.

 

He undresses slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. He and his brother weren't on the best of terms, but if Lukas made the effort to meet him then he has to reciprocate at the very least with equal civility.

 

"Vlad'a, Vlad'a!"

 

"What?!"  he snaps at David, "What do you want?" And the guys in the locker room might not know what he said exactly, but the volume in the room lowers ten clicks and the guys stared at him, collective surprise sketched on their blank faces. Thank god Blake's in the shower, absent for this humiliation. Only his family could bring out this side of him, desperate, vicious, drunk with impatience and anger.

 

"Never mind," David shakes his head, slinging a towel over his shoulder as he walks away from Vladi and toward the showers.

 

He shoves his feet into his running shoes with more force than necessary before stalking out of the dressing. Might as well get this over with.

 

---------------------------------

 

His brother was leaning against the wall outside the office, looking anxious and agitated.

 

"Lukas," he says, stopping far enough to feel safe, "it's good to see you."

 

"Vladimir."

 

"In the flesh," he spreads his arms as if to demonstrate before dropping them to his side.

 

"I heard you were in town."

 

He quirks a smile at that. "I am, aren't I? And you? Last I heard, you settled down in Třebíč."

 

"I have."  His brother looks down at his hands, "This is just… a visit."

 

"A visit." He has nothing to say to Lukas, to be honest, no brotherly words and certainly no apologies for losing touch. "Right."

 

"I hear you've been playing well," Lukas offers, the air between them stiff and rigid from tension.

 

That almost sounded like a compliment. He cocks his head and wonders if things have changed between the two of them.

 

"I hope so." He does. For many a things. "It's my job, isn't it?"

 

"Look," Lukas says, "I'm sorry."

 

"For what?" What he really wants to say is, do you even know what you're sorry for? But he's gotten over his problem with his family. He tries not to think about it, that's all, and Lukas was young back then, too, as inexperienced as he was. It was never Lukas' fault, at least not at first. If anything, it's their father, aging but still spreading his poison, and their mother, who has water and salt for a spine.

 

"For… everything."

 

"Lukas," he sighs, "you're probably not the one who should be apologizing."

 

"Do you blame father, then?"

 

He does, "For many things. Not everything."

 

"And mother?"

 

"She refused to intervene, Lukas."

 

"She was afraid," Lukas looks conflicted. Of course he is. Vladi would be, too, if he were in his brother's position.

 

"That's no excuse."

 

"Vlad'a-"

 

"Don't call me that, you have no right to call me that."

 

"We're still brothers."

 

The nerves his brother had, to come to him like this, and claim him as family.

 

"Yeah?" He can't help the sarcasm. It seems so appropriate right now, just the right kind of sting, "You really think so, huh?"

 

"Why are you saying these things?"

 

"Because - " and he's about to say everything, the elephant in the room as the Americans liked to put it, when the perplexed expression on his brother's expression throws everything off, and that is just so fucking unfair. Cruel and unfair.

 

Oh, my God.

 

He doesn't know, Vlad'a. He doesn't know a thing.

 

"Because what?"

 

Incredible, he laughs at the preposterous lie of it all, just fucking incredible. "I think you should leave, Lukas. Go back to Třebíč."

 

"I didn't drive all this way to be turned away."

 

"Well too bad, Lukas!" he raises his voice now, fuck civility, "Too fucking bad that your own brother won't even spare the time. Where were you all those years, huh?"

 

Lukas stares at him, biting his lips, and he has no words for the either of them.

 

"That's right; you just went along with everything," the accusations feel good to finally say, "so don't come accusing me of ignoring you now. I have more to say to a stranger that to you. If you want answers, you should go talk to mother. And if she's too scared to say anything, if she's still fucking afriad, then maybe it's high time you stand up for yourself and demand something of that father of yours."

 

"Vla - "

 

"Not a word, Lukas," he says finally. "There are things you should know, but you're not going to hear it from me."