I was hiding under your porch because I love you.

When Richie signs with the Caps, Justin texts Jeff, Don't worry, i'll take care of your boy.

(Jeff is still too pissed at Mike to admit he cares. He types out a whole response, do what you want, it's none of my business, but Justin doesn't deserve his pissiness. So he deletes it, just sends back, thanks.)

They have a bad game in Jersey, first of one a road trip. Mike hits the post three times, and they lose by a single goal. Mike gets wound up like does sometimes, frustrated, snapping at everyone -- Justin's seen it before, but back in LA, they'd just make Jeff handle it. Justin texts him, how did you deal with the mood swings?? (He includes a picture of Mike's scowling face on the plane.)

Jeff texts back, blowjobs

And, well, Justin had always wondered.

Maybe he wouldn't have done anything about it, if Mike had calmed down on the flight. But they're getting checked into the next hotel, and Mike is on the verge of saying something snotty to Burakovsky, who doesn't deserve it. Justin throws his arm around Mike's shoulders.

"Don't be a dick, Rick," he says, steering him off towards the elevators. Mike gives him a pissy sidelong look, and Justin ducks his head to say in Mike's ear, "Carter told me what you need."

Mike's body jerks like he just touched a live wire. The elevator arrives and Justin nudges him inside, pushes the button for his floor. Ovi and Nicky and Chimmer crowd in behind them. Ovi's trying to explain the plot of some Russian sci-fi movie. It involves a lot of hand gestures.

Mike ignores them, watches Justin with dark, intent eyes. There's a flush on his cheeks that wasn't there before. The elevator doors open on their floor, and they spill out, Ovi still gesturing.

Mike trails after Justin, stops at Justin's room.

"What did he say I need?" Mike asks, his voice low, tense with anger and something like longing.

"A blowjob," Justin says.

Mike inhales sharply and the flush on his cheeks gets deeper. "You offering?" he asks, not quite sneering.

Justin gives him a long, slow once-over, his best filthy grin. "Yeah."

The door beeps and Justin pushes it open. Mike follows after him like he's magnetized.

Justin drops his bag by the TV, turns around to face Mike. Mike is clenching and unclenching his hand, right on the edge of a fight-or-flight response.

Justin moves slowly into his space. "C'mon, Richie," he says gently. "Let me take care of you."

Mike closes his eyes for a moment, exhales slowly. When he opens his eyes again, his shoulders are looser, some of that angry tension gone out of him. "Yeah, all right," he says.

Justin jerks his chin towards the bed. "I'm saving my knees for the playoffs. Get on the bed."

Mike's mouth twitches. He walks towards the bed, peeling his suit jacket off, unbuttoning his shirt.

Justin does the same, stripping down to just an undershirt and boxers. Mike shucks his pants and settles down in the middle of the mattress, leaning back against the giant mound of hotel pillows. Justin climbs on the bed, too, stretches out on his stomach next to Mike's hip.

Mike isn't hard. Justin cups him through his boxers, ducks his head down to nuzzle at the navy blue fabric. He breathes hot and damp on Mike's groin and Mike's thigh tenses minutely under his hand. Justin mouths at his cock through the fabric, getting the cotton wet. He can feel Mike start to get hard.

Mike makes a soft impatient noise and pushes his boxers down, lifting his hips up so he can wriggle free of them. Justin leans in again and licks a stripe over his hardening cock, teases the head with the tip of his tongue.

He wraps his hand around the base of Mike's cock and takes him into his mouth. Mike's all the way hard now, breathing quick and rough. Justin lets Mike's cock slide in until it's bumping the back of his throat, then pulls back.

Mike pets a hand through Justin's hair, tugging at the messy curls, and Justin feels a quick spike of heat in the pit of his stomach. He lets his hips rub against the slippery fabric of the comforter, just a bit, to take the edge off. He concentrates on sucking Mike off, listening to the stutter of his breathing, the response of his body.

Mike's hand tightens in his hair. "Fuck, Justin--" he grits out. His hips push up, following Justin's mouth. "I'm gonna--"

Justin makes an encouraging noise around Mike's cock, and Mike comes, flooding Justin's mouth. Justin swallows messily, some of it spilling down over his chin and hand. He sucks at the tip of Mike's cock until Mike squirms and pushes his head away, oversensitive.

Justin discreetly wipes his mouth and hand on the bedspread. Mike has one arm flung over his face, his breathing fast and uneven. Justin sits up. He gets out of bed to grab a bottle of water out of the minibar, washes the taste of Mike's come out of his mouth.

When he sits back down on the bed, Mike opens his eyes. He looks utterly relaxed, lazy and satisfied. Mike lets his eyes slide over Justin's body, lingering on the outline of Justin's hard cock under his boxers.

"So, you want me to return the favor?" Mike asks.

Justin shrugs. "If you want."

Mike rolls his eyes and turns onto his side, shifts down until he's level with Justin's hip. He tugs Justin's boxers down, then presses his mouth to Justin's hipbone, sinks his teeth in.

Justin hisses in a breath, the dull pain of Mike's bite shooting straight to his balls.

Mike makes a smug, pleased sound and trails his mouth over Justin's belly, lets his cheek brush against Justin's hard-on. Justin clenches his hand in the sheets, but he lets Mike do what he wants. Mike doesn't fool around, just grips the base of Justin's cock in one hand and takes him into his mouth.

Justin exhales in a shuddery rush at the hot, wet slide of Mike's mouth on his cock. Mike goes down until his lips meet the curve of his hand, then pulls off, long and slow, his tongue dragging along the underside of Justin's cock.

Mike looks up at him, just the tip of Justin's cock in his mouth. There's a cheerful, cocky crinkle in the skin around his eyes, and it makes something soft twist unexpectedly in Justin's chest.

Mike swallows him down again. He sets up an easy rhythm, loose and sloppy, and the aimless heat under his skin condenses into something taut and breathless.

Mike flicks his tongue over the head of Justin's cock, toys with his slit. Justin grabs his shoulder. Mike pulls off, sits up to get better leverage to jerk him off. Justin lets his head fall back, and he comes with a ragged gasp, spilling all over Mike's hand.

Mike grins down at him, his expression smug.

Justin makes a face back at him, his whole body still buzzing with the rush of orgasm, and fumbles for the water bottle. He tosses it at Mike.

Mike bobbles it, but manages to hang on, twist the cap off. He takes a drink, flops down on his back. Justin leans back against the pillows and lets his breathing even out.

He should brush his teeth, change into something slightly more respectable in case the hotel catches on fire, but he can barely keep his eyes open.

He looks down at Mike again. Mike's loosely clutching the bottle of water, his eyes shut. Justin pulls the bottle out of his grip and Mike makes a sleepy disgruntled noise but doesn't open his eyes.

Justin finishes the last swallow of water. He puts the bottle on the nightstand and picks up his cell phone. No new messages, the alarm is set.

He looks down at Mike again, and on impulse takes a picture. Just his face, soft and almost sweet in sleep, mouth just a little bit redder than usual.

good suggestion, totally worked, he tells Jeff, and sends him the picture.