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broadwritingTitle: "Sports Bet (Paid)" 1/1
Author: Brenda
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Matt Hasselbeck/Ben Roethlisberger
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-Superbowl, back at the hotel. Takes place immediately after this (written by Jo.)
Disclaimer: Never happened, isn't happening now.
Author's notes: Because Jo wrote me Matt/Ben and then dared me to continue the story in the same style as hers. Exactly 200 words. (Hey, if I'm going to hell, at least I'll have company... *g*)
"Nice suite."
"Nicest hotel in Dee-troit." Toss of keys onto the counter. "Wanna drink?"
"No...uh, well, yeah. Maybe." Blue eyes flicker around the room, then settle. "Isn't everyone else gonna wonder where you are?"
"Maybe." A step closer. "Don't care. D'you?"
"No." And there's simple (and complicated) honesty in the single word.
Another step. "Not gonna back out, are ya?"
"Wouldn't be here if I was planning on it."
They meet each other halfway. Long fingers, the fingers of an artist (and that's how he sees himself, even if it is of a game) run over a shaved head, slip down beneath a faded collar. "Helluva game."
"Helluva game." Lips meet lips a moment later. There's need, lust and forgiveness in the kiss.
Blunt-tipped fingers run through a shaggy beard. Both are breathless when the kiss ends. "Couldn't think of anything else after I got off the field." Softly whispered confession against willing lips. "Just getting to you and collecting."
"Right here. Yours the rest of the night." Gentle teeth close over the tip of one finger, draw it slowly into wet heat.
Light eyes glaze. "I like that idea."
Lips curve, in resignation and greed. "Then why're we still dressed?"
Author: Brenda
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Matt Hasselbeck/Ben Roethlisberger
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-Superbowl, back at the hotel. Takes place immediately after this (written by Jo.)
Disclaimer: Never happened, isn't happening now.
Author's notes: Because Jo wrote me Matt/Ben and then dared me to continue the story in the same style as hers. Exactly 200 words. (Hey, if I'm going to hell, at least I'll have company... *g*)
"Nice suite."
"Nicest hotel in Dee-troit." Toss of keys onto the counter. "Wanna drink?"
"No...uh, well, yeah. Maybe." Blue eyes flicker around the room, then settle. "Isn't everyone else gonna wonder where you are?"
"Maybe." A step closer. "Don't care. D'you?"
"No." And there's simple (and complicated) honesty in the single word.
Another step. "Not gonna back out, are ya?"
"Wouldn't be here if I was planning on it."
They meet each other halfway. Long fingers, the fingers of an artist (and that's how he sees himself, even if it is of a game) run over a shaved head, slip down beneath a faded collar. "Helluva game."
"Helluva game." Lips meet lips a moment later. There's need, lust and forgiveness in the kiss.
Blunt-tipped fingers run through a shaggy beard. Both are breathless when the kiss ends. "Couldn't think of anything else after I got off the field." Softly whispered confession against willing lips. "Just getting to you and collecting."
"Right here. Yours the rest of the night." Gentle teeth close over the tip of one finger, draw it slowly into wet heat.
Light eyes glaze. "I like that idea."
Lips curve, in resignation and greed. "Then why're we still dressed?"
