Jeff shouldn't be so into watching Richie shake his hands in the penalty box, still looking pissed as hell. And he definitely shouldn't be into the look on Richie's face when he scores, intense and focused and fucking pissed in a way that makes Jeff want to -

Fuck, okay, he can't get turned on in his fucking jock.

He waits until they're home to push Richie up against the hallway wall. "What the fuck?" Richie says, pushing him away.

"Shut up," Jeff says, and kisses Richie, keeping it soft and his hands on Richie's shoulders until Richie makes an angry noise and slams Jeff against the other wall, kissing him hard. It's kind of embarrassing how weak Jeff's knees go, but he just kisses back, leaning into Richie as Richie holds onto his neck bruisingly, making it just a little hard for Jeff to breathe.

Richie shoves a leg between Jeff's and pushes hard, which - fuck yeah, only, not yet. "Hang on," Jeff says breathily, and spins them around, dropping to his knees.

"Carts," Richie says, staring down at him. "I'm not in a good mood."

Jeff leans in and presses his face against Richie's thigh. "Just…use me," Jeff says. "Fuck my mouth, Richie, come on."

Richie groans and grabs Jeff's head, holding on tight. Jeff fumbles with Richie's pants, pulling them and his boxer briefs down to Richie's ankles.

"When you fight," Jeff says, thinking maybe it'll be sexy. Only he can't think.

"Just fucking do it," Richie says through gritted teeth. His hand is going to leave bruises on Jeff's head, but Jeff doesn't even care. He spits in his hand and jerks Richie slowly, licking the head of his dick and then sucking it down. Richie lets out a sigh and thrusts his hips.

This is what Jeff wants. He doesn't want to be fancy, and he doesn't want Richie to be careful; he wants a piece of what Richie was bringing on the ice, rough and a little to hard.

Richie fucks Jeff's mouth steadily, guiding Jeff's head and speeding up a little when Jeff moans and looks up at Richie. And, shit, Richie's staring down at Jeff, eyes intent on Jeff's face. Jeff's so hard he's almost hurting from it; he can't help but reach down with his free hand and jerk himself off as Richie fucks his mouth, just the right side of too hard.

"Fuck yeah," Richie says in a low voice, thrusting his hips just a little harder. Jeff has to close his eyes then, because all he can taste and smell is Richie and all he can feel is his jaw aching and his hand just barely helping with the edge of it.

Richie doesn't warn him, just groans and comes down Jeff's throat. Jeff swallows, holding onto Richie's hip and jerking himself off frantically.

He pulls off with a gasp. "Carts, Jesus, you -" Richie reaches out, but Carts just pushes his hand against Richie's hand and bows his head.

"Just like that," Richie says. "So good, Carts, come on."

Jeff can't help it; he thinks about Richie throwing punches, scoring, skating like nothing else in the world matters. He comes shuddering, Richie's hand still holding onto his head.

Richie manhandles him up after that and kisses him. It's dirty, the intense edge just barely taken off. Richie fits a hand around Jeff's neck, squeezing lightly, running his hand around to the back of Jeff's neck when Jeff drops his head down on Richie's shoulder.

"Good," Richie mutters, petting the back of Jeff's neck.

Jeff can't help but think that maybe next time he'll ask Richie to hit him, or bite him, or tie him up. If there is a next time.

"Go to bed," Richie says, pushing him away lightly.

"Only if you do," Jeff says.

Richie rolls his eyes. "We'll share a room, will that make you less of a fucking mom?"

Jeff's stomach flips over. "Sure," he says.

So they go upstairs.