Another year, another All Star Game invite for Alex and none for Nicky. It’s bullshit, obviously.

“They only invite me once, why do you think this year is different?” Nicky says.

Because Nicky just got his five hundredth assist in his five hundredth game. Because Alex has been having a shit season and he still got invited. Because he thought maybe after last year, the whole hockey world was finally appreciating how great Nicky is.

“You are always an All Star to us, papa,” Burkie says, and there is a round of enthusiastic, profanity-laced agreement from the rest of the locker room.

“It’s fine,” Nicky says quietly after practice. “It’s, it is what it is.”

“Hmph,” Alex says.

Halfway home, Alex turns the car around and heads for Nicky’s place.

Nicky opens the door and blinks at Alex. “What– Is everything okay?”

Nicky’s changed into track pants and a t-shirt. His hair is still curly and damp from the shower, and his feet are bare.

“Yes, fine, good,” Alex says.

“Okay,” Nicky says, a smile tugging at his mouth, and steps aside to let Alex in.

Now that he’s here, Alex doesn’t know where to start.

He trails down the hall after Nicky.

“You want a drink?” Nicky asks over his shoulder.

“No. Thanks,” Alex says.

Nicky skips the kitchen and goes to the den. “Sit,” he says, waving at the overstuffed sofa.

Alex stays on his feet. “I’m, I want to say – you should be All Star this year. Every year.”

Nicky’s smile turns rueful, the way it always does when Alex or anyone else says that, like it’s less true because they’re teammates. Friends.

Alex isn’t doing this right. Partly it’s English, but he’s not sure he has the right words even in Russian. His stomach flutters, and he thinks for a second about just giving up, going home.

But he needs Nicky to understand this.

Alex takes two steps forward and goes to his knees in front of Nicky.

Nicky goes completely still, his smile gone. He looks down at Alex with wide uncertain eyes.

“You are best center I ever play with,” Alex says. “You make me the best. I’m not All Star without you.”

“Alex–”

Alex takes Nicky’s hand, presses a kiss to the center of his palm. Nicky inhales sharply.

“Please,” Alex says. “Let me–”

Nicky turns his wrist gently in Alex’s grasp, enough to cup Alex’s cheek. “Yes, all right.”

Alex sighs and turns his face into Nicky’s palm, kisses his hand again, Nicky’s amazing talented hands. He kisses the inside of Nicky’s wrist where his pulse beats fast and uneven. He turns Nicky’s hand over and kisses his knuckles, a separate brush of lips for each one.

Nicky stands absolutely still.

Alex lets go of Nicky’s right hand and takes his left one instead. He does the same thing, kisses Nicky’s palm and wrist and knuckles, slow and careful.

“No one has hands like you, Nicky,” he says. He means on the ice, and he means their graceful shape and strength, that he could recognize blindfolded.

He presses his mouth to the delicate skin of Nicky’s inner wrist, follows the flex of the tendons under the skin, a line of kisses as far up as he can reach on his knees.

He pushes up the hem of Nicky’s t-shirt and kisses the bare skin of his stomach. Nicky shivers and his abs flex and tighten. Alex tugs at his track pants, and Nicky helps him push them down over his hips. Nicky braces himself on Alex’s shoulder to lift one foot out of the tangle of cloth.

Alex catches his foot and kisses the top of the arch before he puts it down. Nicky hesitates for a heartbeat before he lifts his other foot, but he lets Alex take it, kiss that one, too. Alex grips his ankle, sweeps his thumb over the bone, then slides his hand up the outside of Nicky’s calf and thigh, continues back to cup Nicky’s ass. Nicky is naked from the waist down now. Alex digs his fingers into the curve of Nicky’s ass, round and muscled and more than can fit in Alex’s palms.

Alex kneels up and kisses the jut of Nicky’s hipbones. He kisses the scar from Nicky’s hip surgery, and Nicky lets out a deep, shaky breath.

“Fuck, Alex, I need to sit down,” Nicky says.

Alex lets go of Nicky’s hips and Nicky takes a step backwards, doesn’t sit down on the couch so much as land on it when his knees give out.

Alex moves to kneel between Nicky’s legs. He runs his hands down the length of Nick’s thighs, so thick and heavy with muscle. He bends his head and kisses the inner edge of Nicky’s knee, lays a line of kisses from there up the line of Nicky’s inner thigh. Nicky’s muscles tense and tremble as Alex gets closer to the top of his thigh.

Nicky’s hard. Alex ignores his cock, even though his hair brushes against when he kisses the fold where Nicky’s thigh meets his groin. Instead he pulls back a little and kisses Nicky’s other knee, his other thigh.

Alex rests his cheek on Nicky’s thigh and looks up at Nicky. Nicky’s eyes are very dark, all pupil, and his cheeks are flushed pink.

Alex leans up and kisses his mouth.

Nicky gasps and his whole body jerks, but he kisses Alex back immediately.

Alex pulls his mouth away eventually and kisses the hollow at the base of Nicky’s throat, his breastbone, his ribcage.

“Fuck, Alex, please,” Nicky says breathlessly.

Alex doesn’t mean to tease him, he just wants Nicky to understand that his whole body is worthy of attention. That it is these muscles and bones and tendons that powers everything he does on the ice, everything that makes Alex the best player he can be, and makes Nicky the best center he’s ever played with.

But he doesn’t want to make Nicky beg, not tonight, so he just slides Nicky’s cock into his mouth.

Nicky exhales like he’s been punched. He brings a shaky hand up to cup the back of Alex’s head as Alex swallows him down, deep and wet.

He pulls back to suck at the head of Nicky’s cock. Nicky is already leaking slick and salty across his tongue. Alex lifts his gaze to meet Nicky’s eyes.

Nicky groans and pushes Alex’s head back. Not quite far enough though, because when he comes it splashes all over Alex’s mouth and cheek.

Nicky closes his eyes, breathing hard. “Sorry,” he says faintly.

Alex snorts. He leans in and wipes his face off on Nicky’s t-shirt.

“Ugh,” Nicky says and pushes weakly at his shoulder.

Alex lifts his head. “Nicky,” he says, and then stops, because what can he say with words what he hasn’t already said with the press of his mouth on Nicky’s skin?

Nicky smiles at him, soft and lopsided, and slides his hand through Alex’s hair. “I know,” he says. “I know.”