Pairing: Andrew Ladd/Ryan Kesler
Word Count: ~16,000
Summary: Ryan Kesler doesn't mean to pick up a hooker. Really.
Warnings: Hookerfic. Mild violence. Bruises.
More Warnings: I don't actually know how hookers work, okay? I also don't actually know how the Canadian criminal justice system works, and I don't know what the players did during the Vancouver riots. This is all made up and self-indulgent.
Thanks to angelsaves for the amazing beta, doctor_denmark for looking it over, and thanks to shoemaster for being the reason this story is a story and not just a two sentence email that never went anywhere.
Title from David Bowie's Cracked Actor.
Ryan Kesler doesn't mean to pick up a hooker.
What happens is the Canucks lose at home, and Kesler is pissed off about it. As he's driving home, he imagines all the ways he could have made them win. The goals he could have scored, the sticks he could have lifted, the shots he could have blocked. The next time he pays attention to the road, he realizes he must have missed a turn somewhere, because he does not recognize this area at all. He tries to turn around and go back the way he came, but he just gets more lost.
Finally, he turns on his GPS, because that's what it's for, right?
"Recalculating," it says. "Recalculating ... Turn left now."
Kesler follows the GPS's directions, but he doesn't start to recognize any of his surroundings. In fact, they're looking ... a little shady. The kind of shady he wasn't even aware Vancouver had.
"Recalculating," his GPS says. "Recalculating. Recalculating. Recalculating."
"Argh," Kesler says.
He drives straight for a while, hoping his GPS will get its shit together, but all it does is say "recalculating" over and over again.
It's okay, he thinks, I can ask someone for directions. Kesler's not some stereotype. He can totally ask for directions. If there was anyone around to ask. Which there isn't. Fuck.
A few blocks later he sees some people standing on the sidewalk and sighs in relief. He can get the fucking directions, and then he can finally go home.
He pulls over and rolls down his window. A guy with close-cropped dark hair and tight jeans wanders over.
"Hey," Kesler says, "Can--"
"75 for a blowjob," the guy says. "150 to fuck."
The guy rolls his eyes. "Kinky stuff is extra, and condoms are not optional."
Kesler is an idiot. The guy is a hooker. They're all hookers, which is why they're hanging around on a street corner. He just needs to tell him that he's not looking for sex, he just needs directions. He opens his mouth to say that, but what comes out is, "Really? That much for a blowjob?"
"What, you're saying you can't afford it, Mr. Fancy SUV?"
"Recalculating," his GPS says. Kesler slams his hand on the off switch without looking at it.
"Well?" the guy says. "You want it or not?"
Kesler unlocks the doors. This is such a bad idea. "Get in," he says.
As soon as the guy gets in the car, though, Kesler doesn't know what to do. It's not like he's ever picked up a hooker before.
"Um," he says.
"Payment up front," the guy says. He sounds really bored.
Kesler grabs his wallet out of his pocket, suddenly uncertain he even has 75 in cash. Luckily, or unluckily, he does. He gives it to the guy (the hooker, what the hell), who counts it and then tucks it in his front pocket. Kesler doesn't even know how he fits anything in the pockets of his jeans, they're that tight. They look ... good on him though. They emphasize certain portions of his anatomy that Kesler usually tries to ignore on other guys. With this guy though, it's impossible to ignore. Kesler swallows.
"There's a parking lot a few blocks from here," the guy says.
"Yeah, okay," Kesler says. He follows the guy's directions and then parks in the corner of the empty parking lot.
"Backseat?" the guy suggests.
"Okay," Kesler says. He feels like he's lost control of this entire situation.
They get in the backseat, and the guy firmly pushes Kesler so that his back is against one of the doors. It makes sense, because the hooker is really tall, almost as tall as Kesler, and he probably won't fit anywhere else. The guy unzips Kesler's pants, and pulls them off. He shoves Kesler's legs apart and settles himself between them. For a hooker, this guy is really fucking pushy.
Then he puts his mouth on Kesler's dick, and oh. Kesler's not even really hard, but that doesn't stop the guy. He licks and sucks and uses his hands, and it doesn't take very long until Kesler is all the way hard and aching. This is probably the best blowjob he's ever had. Which makes sense, since this guy is a professional.
Kesler's trying his hardest to not to buck his hips too much, and not to be too loud, because sure, this parking lot looks deserted, but you never know. Then the guy pulls off, looks up at Kesler, and says, still totally bored, "You can fuck my mouth, it's fine."
Kesler nearly comes right there, because oh God. He lets his hips go a little, thrusting them into the guy's mouth. Not as much as he wants, because that can't be, like, comfortable, but enough that it feels fucking amazing. He lets his head tip back against the window, says, "I'm gonna come," because you should always give some warning, and then he has pretty much the most amazing orgasm in recent memory.
He slumps down into the seat, completely boneless. Holy shit.
He hears the door opening and the guy spitting onto the concrete, which, okay, is kind of an afterglow killer, but what does Kesler expect? The guy's a hooker. He cracks his eyes open, and the guy throws Kesler's pants in his direction.
"Thanks," Kesler says. The guy gives him a weird look, then gets out of the backseat and back into the front.
Guess that moment's over then. Kesler puts his pants on with fingers still stupid from his orgasm. Then he has to find his shoes.
When he gets back into the driver's seat, the guy is leaning on the window, one foot up on the dash. Kesler thinks about telling him not to, but then decides it isn't worth it. He drives back to the corner where he found him.
"So, uh, thanks? I guess?" Kesler says.
"Yeah, sure," the guy says, then gets out of the car and slams the door behind him.
Kesler starts driving away and realizes he forgot to ask for directions. Fuck. He feels like an idiot going back, so he turns on his GPS with little hope.
A map comes up immediately. "Turn left in 1.3 miles," it informs him.
"Screw you," he informs it, and starts to drive.
When he gets home, he pulls into his garage and drops his head onto his steering wheel. Well, that was weird. He still feels a little tingly all over, but also just ... really weird. He takes one deep breath and lifts his head. He reaches for his wallet in the cup holder next to him, and his hand closes on nothing. What the fuck?
He looks. There is no wallet there. He checks his pockets, even though he distinctly remembers putting his wallet in the cup holder after paying the hooker. He checks the floor and under the seats. His wallet is nowhere to be found.
"Motherfucker," he says.
He has practice the next morning, and they leave for a road trip through California in the afternoon. He has to cancel all his credit cards and his debit card, and he can't get replacements until after he comes back. At least he still has his passport.
"How did you manage to lose your wallet?" Bieksa asks after Kesler badgers him into paying for Kesler's dinner.
Kesler shrugs. There is no way he's telling the truth. "Couldn't find it. I'll try and find a bank tomorrow afternoon. If not, you can just pay for my things until we get back."
Bieksa snorts. "Try that one on Burr. I'm not paying for you the whole time."
"You're a terrible roommate," Kesler scolds.
The worst part is, he is so fucking angry, and he can't tell anyone. And the more he has to ask his teammates to pay for him and argue with the bank about giving him cash, the angrier he gets.
By the time he gets home 5 nights later, he's still angry, and he's ready to march down to that corner and demand an explanation. They don't get in until 3am, though, and he figures showing up delirious from lack of sleep won't be that intimidating.
The next night, though, after being forced to take Juice and Burr out for an expensive dinner to thank them for paying his way on the road trip (which he's basically going to be paying for forever), he looks through his GPS for the way back to that corner.
The guys on the corner all look up when his car pulls up, and he can see the speculative looks on most of their faces at the nice car. Jesus, he really was an idiot to have missed that last time.
The guy from last week doesn't look speculative, though. Kesler's pretty sure he recognizes the car, because he looks surprised. Kesler throws the car into park and gets out before anyone can get to his window, because he is not going to be the one on the defensive this time. He makes sure to lock the car behind him, because he's learned his lesson, thank you very much.
He marches right up to the guy. The guy's expression melts from surprise into a smirk, and he slouches, pushing his hips forward.
"Back for seconds?" he says. The other guys lose interest in the interaction now that Kesler isn't going to pay them.
"Hardly," Kesler says. "I think you have something of mine."
"Don't know what you're talking about." The guy shrugs.
"I think you do," Kesler says. "What with you stealing my wallet and all."
"Don't know what you're talking about," the guy repeats. "Maybe you should be more careful with your things."
"Maybe I should call the police," Kesler says.
The guy frowns. Kesler feels absurdly proud of knocking the smug look off his face.
"Didn't you cancel all your credit cards and shit anyway?"
"Of course I did. I don't want to have to get a new license and I fucking want it back. I'm ready to call the police right now. If you think they might not believe me..."
"Don't call the fucking police, all right? I don't have your wallet, but I can give you something else instead."
"What could you possibly give me?"
The guy raises his eyebrows. "You have a thing against blowjobs?"
"You -- what?"
"Pretty simple," the guy says. "In return for you not calling the police, I'll give you a blowjob. On the house."
"Don't you mean pre-paid?" Kesler glares.
The guy shrugs. "Whatever. You want it or not?"
"What, so you can steal something else from my car?"
"Or we could use the alley. I promise no one will steal anything from your car."
Kesler can't think of anything he'd like less than getting blown in an alley, which is probably extremely unsanitary.
"It better be good," he says.
"I'm always good," the guy says over his shoulder as he walks to the alley.
"You're awfully sure of yourself," Kesler says.
"I didn't hear any complaints from you last time."
Kesler can't argue with that, because it was actually pretty awesome. Dammit.
"Here." The guy grabs Kesler's shoulders and moves him against the wall. Then he drops to his knees and undoes Kesler's fly.
He looks up when he sees that Kesler's almost completely hard already, and fuck if that look doesn't make him harder. Kesler hates his life.
Then the guy leans in and licks Kesler's cock, and dirty alley or no, this is pretty great. The guy goes to work licking, sucking, one hand at the base of Kesler's cock and one hand playing with his balls.
Kesler isn't proud of the way he moans when that happens, but his dick is quickly overcoming his pride, and he's really okay with that.
He has no qualms about fucking the guy's mouth without prompting this time, and the guy just takes it, tipping his head a little so that Kesler goes deeper.
He at least can say he lasts a little longer this time. And he stops his knees from buckling as he comes, which is also a plus.
The guy turns his head and spits, then stands and waits for Kesler to zip himself back up.
"So no calling the police, right?"
Kesler should. He knows he should, and he already knows he's not going to.
"Yeah, okay," he says, and walks back to his car.
It only takes him slightly less time to figure out what's missing this time, but he's already turning into his neighborhood when he glances at his wrist and doesn't see his watch.
He blinks a couple of times, sure that it can't possibly be missing, but it is, and Kesler doesn't know whether to punch something or bang his head against the window.
Maybe he'll do both.
Kesler knows he should just let it go. Either call the police for real, or leave it and just never go back.
But his grandfather gave him that watch when he was drafted. It may not be the nicest watch, but it means a lot to him, and he doesn't want the guy to pawn it off.
So the next night he has free, he goes down to the corner. It's slightly disturbing that he doesn't really need his GPS to get him there.
"Just give me the watch back," he says without any preamble. The guy opens his mouth, and Kesler doesn't wait for him to say anything. "Seriously, cut the banter, I don't care, I just want my watch back."
The guy shrugs, reaches into his back pocket, and hands Kesler the watch. Kesler slips it onto his wrist and takes a deep breath of relief.
"Thanks," he snaps, and turns back to his car. Halfway there, he looks back over his shoulder. "Well? Are you coming or what?"
Kesler is pretty much aware that he is his own worst enemy.
The guy doesn't waste much time following him, and when he gets in the car, Kesler hands him a wad of cash. It's two hundred dollars that Kesler told himself he was bringing in case he needed to buy his watch back. The guy counts it and wordlessly pockets it.
"What's your name, anyway?" Kesler asks, because thinking of him as 'the guy' is getting tiring.
"Andrew," he says.
"Not Andy?" Kesler asks.
"No." Andrew scowls, and Kesler lets it go.
Kesler parks in the same lot as before. He moves his seat all the way back and turns to look at Andrew.
"Do you fuck as well as you suck cock?"
"Of course," Andrew says.
Kesler looks at his lap, then back at Andrew. "Well?"
Andrew kicks off his shoes and takes off his pants. He's not wearing underwear. Kesler tries not to find that hot. It's probably just easier in his line of work.
Kesler manages to get his pants below his knees before Andrew climbs over onto his lap. He settles his weight on Kesler's thighs, and it's heavy but good. The way Andrew's cock brushes against Kesler's is good too. Kesler lets his head fall back against the headrest and huffs out a little breath.
"Just couldn't get enough, huh?" Andrew asks, moving his hips so that their cocks brush again, more firmly this time.
"Jesus, are you gonna talk or are you gonna get on my dick?" Kesler says through his gasp.
"Condom," Andrew says. "Lube."
Kesler flips up the armrest in answer. It's not that he was planning this, exactly. He just likes to be prepared. "Put it on me," he says.
Andrew grabs a condom, but doesn't open it right away. Instead he wraps one hand around Kesler's cock.
"This isn't getting on my dick," Kesler says, even as his hips jerk.
"I'm just having a hard time believing you're this easy," Andrew says, his hand moving lazily. "Being a big famous hockey player doesn't get you laid?"
Not like this, Kesler almost says, but doesn't. Jesus, how does Andrew even have any other clients? He gets his hands around Andrew's hips and jerks him forward, hard. His hips are kinda bony, actually. Maybe he doesn't have any other clients. Then Kesler dismisses the thought because it's stupid, and also he has better things to think about. Like Andrew's cock, now very snug up against his own.
"Put the condom on me," Kesler growls. His fingers are pressing into Andrew's hips hard enough to bruise. He wonders if it will, and then Andrew is finally putting on the condom and reaching to stretch himself and fuck fuck fuck, Kesler knew that would be hot, but seeing it doesn't even compare to how it was in his head.
Andrew lifts himself, balancing with his hands on Kesler's shoulders, and then he's lowering himself onto Kesler's dick. Kesler can't stop himself from moaning loudly.
"Fuck," he breathes out when he's all the way inside Andrew.
"Been a while?" Andrew smirks.
"Shut up and move," Kesler says, and bucks his hips up in emphasis. Andrew grunts and starts moving, fuck yes.
Kesler gets his hands back on Andrew's hips and watches the muscles in his thighs flex. He hasn't fucked another guy in years. He hadn't realized he missed it so much, but this feels amazing, and he's kicking himself for denying himself for so long.
He reaches down to jerk Andrew off, because that's generally the polite thing to do when you're fucking someone, but when he gets his hand around Andrew's dick, he realizes Andrew isn't even hard. Kesler supposes that makes sense, since this isn't exactly a sexy thing for Andrew, more of a business thing. And probably most people don't care if their hooker is enjoying it.
But Kesler suddenly feels weird about the whole thing, Andrew bouncing in his lap
-- which still feels awesome -- but not even being hard. This is what you get for picking up a hooker, he tells himself. What did you expect?
He keeps jerking Andrew off, because he figures that can't hurt.
"You don't have to do that," Andrew grunts.
"Don't I get to do what I want?" Kesler asks. "Then shut up," he says before Andrew can answer.
After a few minutes Andrew does start to get hard, and the movement of his hips gets a little off rhythm. Kesler fist-pumps in his head and changes the angle of his hips a little, and Andrew's fingers tighten on his shoulders. Andrew's eyes flutter a little and he drops his head back. Now that, Kesler thinks, is fucking sexy. It's just what he needs to really get going, and he comes a few minutes later, fingers digging into Andrew's hips again.
By the time his limbs are working again, Andrew's climbed off his lap and thrown the condom out the window.
"I can," Kesler offers with a wave of his hand.
"It's fine," Andrew says shortly. He's already putting his pants back on. Well, fine then. Kesler pulls his pants back up, moving as little as possible.
He drops Andrew back at the corner.
"Later," Andrew says when he gets out. He slams the door before Kesler can tell him that no, he's never coming back to this corner again.
Kesler's learning. He remembers to check all of his belongings just as he's getting on the freeway. Sure enough, he can't find his iPod anywhere.
"You little shit," he mutters.
"Will I ever see my iPod again?" Kesler asks the next time he sees Andrew, a week and a half later.
"Huh, what?" Andrew says. "Are we going or what?"
Kesler pays Andrew more than the blowjob he asks for is worth, even though he doesn't think it will actually stop Andrew from taking something. It takes him a few minutes to figure it out when he gets home that night, and then he realizes that his Michigan atlas is missing from the passenger side door. What Andrew will even do with a Michigan atlas, Kesler doesn't know.
Over the next few weeks, Andrew takes a pair of Kesler’s gloves, a Coach bag containing a present for his mom, a travel coffee mug, and his expensive sunglasses. Some of it Kesler gets back (his mom’s present, his mug) and some he doesn't (he doesn’t even bring up the gloves). But he always has to go back and ask, and every time he ends up having sex with Andrew. The fact that each time, he comes prepared with a couple hundred in cash is something he doesn't think about. He also doesn't think about the fact that he doesn't get mad anymore when he realizes something is missing.
Whatever. He's getting laid and he's playing great, so there's really no need to complain.
Kesler heads over to Andrew's corner after a game against the Wild. He's pumped because they won, and the playoffs are in a few weeks and they are going to do awesome. This is their year, he can feel it.
There's some kind of activity on the corner, he sees when he gets closer. There are way more people around than normal. When he pulls up he can see it's a fight, and oh shit, Andrew is one of the participants. Kesler throws the car into park and runs out, barely remembering to lock it.
He was gonna help Andrew out, but by the time he gets there, Andrew's knocked the other guy down, and he's kneeling over him with his forearm over the guy's throat. He whispers something into the guy's ear.
So Andrew's clearly won the fight, and now Kesler is just standing there, gaping. He feels incredibly awkward. But Andrew looks over up at him then and grins.
"Ready to go?" he says. His mouth is bloody and there's a red spot high on his cheek that Kesler can tell will bruise. Kesler would be weirded out that he pops a boner right then and there, but, well, he's a hockey player.
Andrew's practically vibrating in the passenger seat, and Kesler makes an executive decision. Instead of driving to the lot, he drives to the nearest drug store.
"Stay," he tells Andrew, who sticks out his bloody tongue at him. Kesler quickly gathers the things Andrew will need. Kesler's pretty familiar with them.
Andrew is still in the car, which is good, but Kesler just gave him freer rein than normal to steal from him, which sucks. Couldn't be avoided, though.
Kesler tosses the bag at Andrew's feet and drives to a motel he's seen a few times. He gets a room and hopes like hell the clerk doesn't email Deadspin or something.
"Aw, how sweet," Andrew says, holding up the bag when Kesler gets back.
"Hygiene," Kesler says. Andrew rolls his eyes. "Come on." He lets them into the room and pushes Andrew gently in the direction of the bathroom. "Clean yourself up."
Andrew goes without protest. He spills the bag onto the counter and starts patching himself up. He seems pretty used to it. Kesler doesn't offer to help.
He sprawls out on the bed and turns on the TV. They're showing game highlights on the news, and goddamn, they were awesome tonight.
The comforter is scratchy beneath him and the pillows are flat, but it's not exactly the Hyatt. Kesler shifts, anticipation making him restless.
Andrew comes out a few minutes later. His mouth is no longer bloody; he has Band-Aids across his knuckles and a few on his ribs. He lost his shirt in the bathroom, and Kesler can see the places on his ribs and chest where he'll bruise. He licks his lips without thinking about it, and he can see Andrew's eyes track it.
Andrew crawls up the bed until he's straddling Kesler. "Like seeing me all beat up, pervert?"
Kesler opens his mouth to explain about the hockey thing, but Andrew rocks his hips down and it just turns into a gasp. Andrew does it again, and he's hard, and Kesler hasn't even touched him yet.
"Like getting all beat up?" Kesler asks, and bucks his hips up to meet Andrew's.
Kesler had vague ideas about not being rough with Andrew, but they all go out the window when Andrew leans down and bites Kesler's shoulder, hard.
"You were saying?" Andrew asks.
Kesler reaches up and slides his hands down Andrew's chest, making sure to press in all the places that are going to bruise. Andrew moans and rocks his hips again.
Kesler flips them over so Andrew's on his back with Kesler hovering over him. With two fingers, he presses down on the red mark on Andrew's cheek. Andrew's mouth drops open in a gasp, so Kesler puts his thumb in there. Andrew sucks on it like it's Kesler's cock, and if the cuts in his mouth hurt, Kesler can't tell.
Kesler lets Andrew suck on it for a few minutes before he pulls his hand away. He goes straight for Andrew's fly and struggles to pull the tight jeans down. How does Andrew always make this look so easy? Andrew lifts his hips off the bed, but other than that, doesn't help.
Kesler finally gets them off and throws them to the other side of the room. Stupid jeans. He grabs the lube and turns back to Andrew, who is laid out on the bed and hard, and Kesler has to concentrate to not embarrass himself. He lubes up his fingers and presses one into Andrew's ass. Usually Andrew preps himself, but usually they don't have this much space, and Kesler is enjoying this. He reaches back to Andrew's face and presses back on the soon-to-be bruise.
"Another," Andrew says, and Kesler presses another finger inside. "Don't need much prep, just do it," Andrew continues, and fuck, Kesler figured as much, but hearing him say it is something else.
He finger-fucks Andrew for a while longer, just because he doesn't want to do what Andrew tells him right away, until Andrew snaps, "Jesus, are you gonna fuck me or what?"
"Well, since you asked so nicely," Kesler says. Condom, more lube, and then he's inside Andrew and there are obscene noises coming from Andrew's mouth like Kesler's never heard. Not like Andrew acts totally bored all the time, but shit, never like this.
Kesler fucks him hard, harder than usual, and Andrew's into it, and when Kesler starts jerking him off, he comes in Kesler's hand. Andrew has never let Kesler get him off before, and watching him tense and his mouth open and feeling his jizz pushes Kesler right over the edge.
He has enough presence of mind not to collapse straight onto Andrew, but that's about it. They lie there, breathing deeply, until Kesler convinces himself to the get the fuck up and throw away the condom.
When he walks out of the bathroom, Andrew hasn't moved. In fact, it looks like Andrew's asleep. Kesler leans over him and yes, he is asleep. Now that's weird. It's probably an adrenaline crash, but still, pretty weird.
Kesler puts his boxers on and turns the TV back on. He'll let Andrew sleep it off, then drive him back. But half an hour later, Andrew is still sleeping. He’s rolled over onto his side and pulled his knees up a little. Kesler's starting to crash himself, and if he doesn't leave soon, he's going to fall asleep here. He considers waking Andrew up, but he did pay for the room for the night. Someone might as well use it. And the kid looks like he could use the sleep.
Kesler gets dressed, and then gets the rest of his cash from his wallet and tucks it into the pocket of Andrew's jeans. Not like Andrew will ask, but if he does, Kesler will just claim he forgot he already paid him.
He goes home and falls straight into bed, not even bothering to look for what Andrew stole from him this time. It isn’t until the next morning he realizes that Andrew took his Rogers Arena parking pass from the mirror.
When the playoffs start, Kesler doesn't see Andrew for weeks and weeks. There's no room for sex in Kesler's life, only hockey. Then he feels something go in his hip, and he's not sure if he could have sex even if he wanted. He still plays, of course, and the trainers and doctors are constantly injecting him with stuff and telling him he should rest, but then they're in the finals and that's just not going to happen.
Then the finals are over, and they lost, and Kesler half expects to wake up -- it's that horrible watching the Bruins skate around with the fucking Cup that should have been theirs. Should have been his.
And then he can't even go home, because people are fucking rioting and the team won't let them leave until it's safer.
After a couple hours, they're given the all clear, and they all trudge out to the players' lot. Kesler's walking with Juice and Burr and a couple other guys, but no one talks. When Kesler looks up from the pavement to his car, there's Andrew, sitting on his hood, smoking a cigarette.
Kesler's just numb right now. He mostly just wants to go home and go to sleep. And tomorrow he wants to play video games and get drunk. Also, his hip is fucking killing him. He has no idea what to do right now.
"Um, should we call security?" someone asks.
Kesler sighs. "He isn't doing anything. I'll handle it." He waves everyone off and does his best not to limp to the car.
"You shouldn't smoke."
"I'm not a professional athlete," Andrew says. "It won't impede my job."
Kesler considers telling him that it's all cleared up now and he can leave, but instead he says, "Get in the car."
He just wants to go home, so that's where he drives them. It's incredibly stupid. Andrew will probably have half his possessions sold off by the time he wakes up, but Kesler just doesn't have the energy to care.
He walks without limping as best he can up to his room. Andrew follows without saying anything, which is unusual for Andrew, but whatever.
"I'm going to sleep," Kesler says. "I will pay you quadruple to not rob me while I'm doing that."
Andrew just shrugs, puts his backpack down, takes off his pants, and gets under the covers.
"Nice bed," he says. He sounds sincere, which is weird, but then Kesler considers that Andrew is almost as tall as him, and it is a nice bed.
"Thanks," he says. He's asleep in approximately 30 seconds.
When he wakes up 14 hours later, he can smell coffee and maybe some real food. Which is good, because he's starving.
Andrew's sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee, eating eggs and a bagel, and reading the paper. His hair is wet, and he smells like Kesler's shampoo.
Kesler goes to the fridge for a bottle of water and drinks it all in four big gulps. Then he opens another one and finds his painkillers.
"There's more eggs, if you need to eat with that," Andrew says. There are, in fact, scrambled eggs in a pan.
"You cook?" Kesler asks.
"I gotta eat, don't I?"
Kesler knows plenty of people who wouldn't be able to cook if their lives depended on it. But those are mostly hockey players, and he imagines hookers can take better care of themselves.
He eats eggs and drinks a cup of coffee and the rest of his water. He's wondering if Andrew will clean up, too, when Andrew turns to him and says, "So you want a blowjob or what?"
"Um," Kesler says.
Usually he's not that taken aback by blowjob offers from hookers (not that, like, he's hung out with a lot of hookers besides Andrew, but whatever), but this takes him by surprise. Andrew is just looking at him with his eyebrows raised.
"Yes?" Kesler says.
"Cool," Andrew says, and slides off his chair and onto his knees.
Afterward, Andrew does not clean the kitchen. Kesler offers to drive him home, and Andrew disappears upstairs for a while before coming down with his bag.
Kesler's kind of curious to see where Andrew lives, but Andrew has Kesler drop him off at his corner, so Kesler doesn't get to see it.
When he gets home, he goes upstairs to shower, and something looks off about the bathroom.
It's his toothbrush. His toothbrush is missing.
And later, he can't find the paper anywhere, even though he swears Andrew was reading it this morning.
Next time he goes down to the corner, Kesler says, "I will buy you a toothbrush if you need one."
Andrew looks at him like he's insane, so Kesler shuts up and keeps undressing him.
Kesler's mom comes out when he has the surgery and stays for a week. Then she has to go stay with Todd's kids. Kesler assures her that he'll be okay, and he actually has friends, and even if he didn't he could pay someone if he needed help, which he doesn't, because he's totally fine.
A few hours after his mom leaves, the doorbell rings. It's Andrew.
Kesler hasn't seen Andrew in a few weeks, what with press and the surgery and everything. Andrew has a cut on his lip that looks a few days old, but otherwise looks the same.
"What are you doing here?" Kesler asks.
"Should you be walking?"
"I'm fine," Kesler says.
"Fine enough to get it up?" Andrew asks, and brushes past Kesler and into the house.
Kesler hates to admit it, but he probably can't get it up. Also, what the hell is Andrew doing here? Kesler isn't stupid enough to think that Andrew missed him or anything. And the timing is a little too good to be a coincidence. Kesler tries to convince himself that Andrew was not watching his house, but he can't quite do it.
Kesler finds Andrew in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of water.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, because he can't bring himself to ask if Andrew is stalking him. Andrew shrugs, which Kesler takes as a yes. He moves to the fridge, and Andrew glares.
"Sit the fuck down. Jesus."
Kesler glares back. "I'm fine."
"You get a line right here when you're in pain." Andrew's finger touches between Kesler's brows. Kesler is so surprised he lets Andrew push him into a chair.
Andrew starts rummaging around in the fridge. "You want something?"
"No," Kesler says, and just watches as Andrew makes himself a huge sandwich and inhales it, and drinks a bottle of Gatorade.
He doesn't know what to do with Andrew after that. He doesn't seem like he's going to leave any time soon.
"You wanna play some video games?" he finally asks.
Andrew shrugs. "Okay."
Andrew fusses when Kesler sits down in the den until Kesler snaps at him; then he flops down on the couch, and grabs the controller when Kesler hands it to him.
They play NHL 11. Andrew's not very good, but Kesler doesn't suppose being a hooker affords him a lot of chances to play Xbox. Also, Kesler's pretty sure he picks the Blackhawks just to piss Kesler off, so he doesn't feel bad when he kicks his ass.
Eventually Kesler orders dinner for them, and they eat in mostly silence. Andrew doesn't seem bothered by it. Kesler takes his meds and turns on a movie. He must fall asleep, because next thing he knows, Andrew is shaking him.
"I don't think sleeping there is good for your hip," he says. He's probably right, and Kesler is too fuzzy from sleep to argue, so he lets Andrew lead him up to his bedroom.
"There's an extra toothbrush in the drawer," Kesler says before passing out.
The next morning Andrew has breakfast and coffee ready. The other side of the bed was messed up, so Kesler assumes he slept at some point.
"I have a doctor's appointment today," Kesler says when he's done eating.
"Okay," Andrew says. "Can you drive?"
"Sure," Andrew says. Kesler guesses the better question would be if he has a license. He doesn't ask.
"I can drive," he says instead.
"Okay," Andrew says and starts loading the dishwasher.
Kesler narrows his eyes. "Andrew," he says. "What are you doing?"
"The dishes?" Andrew says.
"Here," Kesler says. "What are you doing here?"
Andrew crosses his arms. It's the first time he's looked defensive since he showed up. "You need help, don't you?"
"No," Kesler says. Andrew ignores him.
"So instead of hiring some stranger, you can hire me. I can do other things besides suck cock, you know."
There are a lot of things that Kesler should say. That Andrew is a stranger, for one. And not a medical professional, for another. But he doesn't. He says, "Okay."
Things go on like that for a few days. Andrew cooks and cleans, sort of, and yells at Kesler for overdoing it, even though Kesler is fine, seriously. He watches TV and gets a lot better at NHL 11, and still insists as playing as the Blackhawks.
Kesler wonders if Andrew doesn't have somewhere else to be. Not that he'd be making more money on the corner, because God knows what he'll end up charging Kesler for this stunt. But Kesler doesn't even know if he has, like, a pimp or something. He doesn't know how this all works. He didn't even really believe Vancouver had hookers until his GPS went insane and found Andrew.
Just when Kesler is getting used to having Andrew around, the doorbell rings while they're eating lunch. Andrew goes to get it and comes back with Bieksa.
Bieksa looks confused, and Andrew looks blank. That kind of purposeful blank that Kesler hadn't even realized he hadn't seen in a while.
"Hey, Juice," he says, for lack of anything better.
"Yo," Bieksa says.
"I'll be back later," Andrew says abruptly, and leaves. The front door slams a few seconds later.
"Sooooo," Bieksa says, "who's that?"
"Um," Kesler says. "He's helping me out after my mom left. He's a ... friend." That might not even be a lie. Kesler supposes they're sort of friends now.
"Okay, just to be clear, that's the guy that was sitting on your car after the finals, right?"
"Yes?" Kesler says, because it would be silly to deny that now.
"So is he a friend or, like, a friend?"
"What makes you say that?" Kesler asks.
"He was wearing your shirt."
Oh. Kesler forgot about that. Andrew showed up with exactly two changes of clothes, and Kesler had told him to wear his stuff instead of dealing with the washing machine.
"We're not, like, dating or anything," Kesler says, which is at least the truth.
"Where'd you find him? Because Burr thought he looked like a rentboy."
Bieksa's eyes widen, and Kesler curses himself.
"You're letting a hooker stay with you?" Bieksa hisses.
"It's not ... I mean, I'm paying him. I mean, fuck. I'm paying him to, you know, cook and clean and stuff."
"Oh my God, you are such an idiot. What if he steals all your stuff?"
"He already steals my stuff," Kesler says. It doesn't come out as reassuring as he meant it.
Bieksa drops his head into his hands. "When you get murdered in your sleep, I'm going to say I told you so."
"If he murdered me in my sleep, he wouldn't get paid," Kesler points out. "Besides, he's too busy nagging me about resting my hip to murder me."
Bieksa looks up at Kesler incredulously. "Only you, Kes. Only you. How long is he staying?"
"I don't know, we haven't really talked about it." Bieksa drops his head back into his hands. "It's gonna be fine, Juice."
"What can I say to convince you this is a terrible idea?"
"Jesus," Bieksa says. "He better give the best blowjobs ever."
They're pretty close, but Kesler's not going to say that.
"I want to talk to him."
"Threaten him, you mean?"
"Same diff," Bieksa says.
"No," Kesler says. "Besides, he probably won't even come back until he knows you're gone."
"You text me every day or I'm coming over here with the police," Bieksa says.
"Geez, overreact much? And I text you every day anyway."
"I'm serious, Kes."
"Fine, I'll text you every day, Mom."
Bieksa finally leaves, and Kesler waits for Andrew to show back up.
Hours go by, and there's no sign of him. Kesler orders dinner for two, eats it, and puts Andrew's portion in the fridge. Another hour goes by, and Kesler's starting to get worried. Not like Andrew can't take care of himself or anything. Kesler's sure there is literally nothing to be worried about. Still, he paces around until his hip aches, and then he sits on the couch with the TV turned to TSN, not hearing a word.
Andrew took his backpack with him, but nothing of Kesler's seems to be missing, so he assumes Andrew plans to come back.
Around 10, Kesler hears the door open. He starts to get off the couch, then drops back down. He's not gonna act like it was a big deal or something. Because it's not.
Andrew comes in, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack so tight that his knuckles are white.
"So do you want me to go?" he asks sullenly.
"What?" Kesler says. "Do you have somewhere to be?"
"No, I just--"
"There's dinner in the fridge," Kesler says, because he is not fucking talking about this.
Andrew stands there for a second, then puts his backpack down. "What'd you get?"
About a week later, the doctors give Kesler the go-ahead to go back to the gym as long as he takes it easy and does the approved exercises, blah blah blah. Kesler celebrates by going home, finding Andrew (he's in the den reading Sports Illustrated), and blowing him. Then he drags him upstairs, fucks him, and decides that he can wait to go to the gym until tomorrow.
The next day he drags Andrew to the gym with him. Andrew's already put on weight in the week-plus he's been staying with Kesler, and Kesler knows he uses the treadmill in the basement sometimes. It'll be good for him. Kesler has had a few fleeting thoughts about how the weight looks good on Andrew, but he doesn't like to dwell on them.
Kesler didn't even really think about it when he booked his flights. He always goes back to Michigan in the summer. And he just continues to not think about it until Bieksa brings it up. In typical Bieksa fashion, he texts, "ur not letting the hooker stay at ur place while ur gone r u??"
He has a point. Except now Kesler's feeling weirdly guilty about telling Andrew that he has to leave because Kesler's leaving. Which is stupid. It's not like Andrew doesn't have a place to stay. You know, probably.
Kesler puts off bringing it up until a couple days before. They're playing Call of Duty after dinner and Kesler just says, really casually, "So I'm leaving for Michigan on Wednesday. I'll be gone a couple weeks."
Andrew freezes for a second, long enough for his character to get shot, and then his expression shuts down. "I can get out of your hair," he says coolly, and drops his controller.
"Wait," Kesler says. "I didn't mean -- You can --" but he stops himself because that's exactly what he meant, and he's not offering to let a hooker stay at his house for two weeks while he's not here. "I mean, uh, I'm not leaving till Wednesday. I might need, um, help, before then."
Andrew smirks at him. "Help? What kind of help?"
"Oh, you know," Kesler says, "dusting. Mopping. I think my coffee machine needs to be descaled."
Andrew straddles Kesler's lap. "I don't even know what that means," he says. He sticks his hand in Kesler's shorts. "How about a handjob instead?"
"Well, if you insist."
When Wednesday rolls around, Kesler pays Andrew a truly obscene amount of money, and Andrew refuses a cab home. Kesler's not even sure what Andrew will do with all that money. He hopes it doesn't get stolen. The neighborhood Andrew hangs out in, that's pretty likely. Because if it got stolen, Andrew would probably just make Kesler pay him again. He's not at all worried about Andrew's safety. Andrew can take care of himself.
Kesler goes home to Michigan, and he hangs out with his family and works out and starts skating again. With all that going on, he really doesn't have time to think of Andrew at all. Except sometimes when he's jerking off, and that's because Andrew is the last person he had sex with, and that's totally natural.
His mom asks about how he got along after she left, and Kesler makes vague statements about a friend helping him out.
"You have friends who aren't on the team?" Jenny jokes. "Did you pay them?"
"Ha ha," Kesler says, and changes the subject.
Kesler gets back to Vancouver late on a Thursday night, and the house is dark and empty. As it should be, since no one's been there for two weeks, and no one should be there.
He's tired, so he lugs his bag up to his room, promises to unpack it tomorrow, undresses, and gets in bed. He has his whole bed back again, which is cool. Not that Andrew was a bed hog or anything. He mostly just curled up on one side and put the blankets over his head. It was a good thing Kesler's not into cuddling, or whatever.
He tosses and turns a little bit, trying to get comfortable. The thing about having to share his bed, though, was that it meant sex whenever he wanted. Once he could have sex again. He could go for getting off right now, but he doesn't feel like jerking off. He could definitely go for a blowjob right now, but his bed is, as previously noted, empty, and Andrew is probably back on his corner. Which is fine. It's how it should be. It just means that Kesler won't be getting a blowjob unless he goes and gets Andrew.
He seriously considers it for about three seconds, but he really doesn't want to move. Also, it's kind of pathetic.
Kesler makes himself wait a few days before he goes to Andrew's corner. The first time he drives by, Andrew isn't there, which is extremely irritating. Kesler goes to the drug store and wanders around for a little bit. He picks up a couple bottles of Gatorade, and more condoms, just because you can never really have enough. He loiters in the aisle flipping through The Hockey News. When he gets back to Andrew's corner, Andrew is there.
Kesler waits impatiently while Andrew says something to the kids around him and then saunters to Kesler's car.
"Hey," Kesler says, when Andrew closes the door.
"Hey," Andrew says. He reaches down into the drug store bag and pulls out one of the bottles of Gatorade. Kesler's about to snap at him and say it's not for him, but he realizes that it's Andrew's favorite flavor, so maybe he did get it for Andrew.
He needs to get laid.
Kesler automatically starts driving home, and then feels like an idiot because Andrew isn't staying with him anymore. He goes to the motel instead. If Andrew has an opinion, he doesn't say.
When they get to the motel, Andrew starts undressing. "What do you want, mouth? Ass?"
"Um," Kesler says. He's a little busy watching Andrew, even though Andrew isn't making a show of it or anything. He's lost a little of the weight and definition he gained working out with Kesler, but not much. There are a few fading bruises on his face and ribs. It's kind of hot, but doesn't point to a safe few weeks. Whatever, that's not Kesler's business.
Andrew is still looking at him, but before Kesler can come up with an answer, Andrew says, "Too late, I choose."
Andrew pulls him over to the bed, strips him efficiently, then pushes him down on his stomach.
Then he spends a long time rimming Kesler, while Kesler moans and tries not to come embarrassingly fast.
After, while Kesler is still trying to find the scattered pieces of his brain, Andrew starts moving around. "Well," he says, "guess that's my cue to--"
"Fuck me," Kesler says before Andrew can finish.
"What?" Andrew says. Kesler turns and glares at him.
"Pretty simple request," he snaps.
"Fuck you," Andrew says, but he's reaching for Kesler's jeans and the condoms in the pocket.
"That's what I'm waiting for," Kesler says.
Andrew flops onto Kesler's chest when he's done, and Kesler grabs the back of his thigh. It's an implicit order to stay where he is. Kesler's still not into cuddling or anything, but Andrew's weight feels good against him. Especially now, when he's feeling a little shaky. It's been a long time since he let someone do that.
Their breathing evens out, and after a minute Kesler can feel Andrew tense up, so he lets go and says, "Oof."
"Whatever," Andrew says. "You're a big strong hockey player. You can take it."
He goes into the bathroom and when he comes out, he throws a washcloth at Kesler's chest. "Five star service, me."
"Yeah right," Kesler snorts. He wipes down his chest, and his left arm, and his neck, Jesus. "Gimme, like, 10 minutes, and I'll drive you back."
"Whatever," Andrew says. He puts on his jeans and drops down onto the bed next to Kesler. "How's the hip?" He asks like he doesn't care, but he asked, and Kesler smiles.
"Getting better. I'm skating now. Still not game-worthy though."