One Shots

[I like to watch sad player interviews for teams not my own (because I’m an asshole) and I decided to watch the Ducks’ interviews after Game 6 and woo buddy was that a mistake. Because Ryan Getzlaf was so friendly and cheerful and nice in the face of defeat that I found myself getting turned on. I don’t even find him attractive but this video literally got me wet. What can I say, I just adore a manly man who doesn’t take himself too seriously. Also, props to the Ducks for breaking their Game 7 curse, but I’m so sorry you have to lose to the Preds now.]

Also, Ryan with hair was hot as fuck. Look at this shit. NICE!


The worst part Ryan’s night wasn’t losing to the Oilers 7-1. It wasn’t stewing in the knowledge that the Ducks would have to play and attempt to win yet another Game 7 at home. No, the worst part of Ryan’s night was knowing that in the locker room he would have to face the press and their inevitably inane questions.

He knew he had two options: act like a dick or pretend that nothing about their situation bothered him. He chose the latter, grin and bear it, as he mother always told him. It would all be over soon anyway.

So when one of the men shoving a microphone in his face asked about the Ducks’ history in Game 7s at home, Ryan just smiled. Hell, he damn near laughed.

“I knew you were going to bring that up.” With a shrug he added. “It is what it is. I mean, our team, half the guys in here haven’t been here for that stuff so, um, we’re going back with the preparation to get ready for big game, it doesn’t really matter what the situation is. It’s a matter of, it’s win or go home.”

If Ryan thought that answer was gong to sate the vultures who made their living penning stories about him and his team, he was dead wrong. Before another dull question could be put to him, the lone woman in the bunch caught his attention by laughing.

“You honestly expect us to believe that overly scripted answer?”

He didn’t know this woman’s name, but he certainly knew her. She had been haunting the Ducks’ arena for years, usually asking the most intelligent, well-thought out questions of anyone. If Ryan was being honest, though, it wasn’t her intellect that made him remember her. It was more that dark hair, pretty blue eyes, legs for fucking days, and a smile so naturally sinful it always made him immediately imagine her spread out underneath him, wet and panting and begging for his cock. She wrote for one of the fan blogs, but obviously one successful enough to send a reporter to Edmonton.

Because he had fully committed himself to maintaining a positive attitude, he smiled back at her. “Believe whatever you want. I don’t have anything to prove.”

Nudging aside another report without shame, the woman leaned closer, holding up her cell phone to record Ryan’s every word and taking her chance to grill him while she had his attention.

“Some would say you have everything to prove and everything to lose. How many more times are you going to allow your team to disappoint your fans at home in elimination games?”

Ryan kept smiling, but both his eyebrows raised in surprise at her blunt question. “Allow? Are you attacking my leadership?”

“Maybe. How would you respond to critics who claim the problem wasn’t Bruce Boudreau at all, but that it was you and the way you set the tone on the ice and in the locker room? Or rather, fail to set it, as it were.”

Well, damn good question. True, many had attributed the Ducks Game 7 disappointments to poor coaching, especially last year against the Preds. But there had to be others who didn’t fail to note that while Ryan always made his mark, it was decidedly less evident in Game 7s. And how would he respond to those accusations? With a visibly clenched jaw.

“I already said my piece. The past is the past. We’re moving forward, moving on. That includes me.”

She didn’t look away, even when he stared her down. Instead, she smirked. “Another non-answer from our esteemed PR pro. Oops, I meant Captain, forgive me. But seriously, Ryan. You planning on showing up in a major way on Wednesday, or should I start my summer early?”

A few other reporters had moved on to other prey, but the men surrounding Becca murmured and almost seemed to squirm in their shoes. No one was allowed to talk to the player this way and none of them would ever want to either. Playing nice, asking easy questions that would lead to quick sound bites made the whole thing run smoother and it certainly made the players as happy as they could be expected to be while being interviewed day in and day out.

But Becca had had enough of playing nice. Ten years she had been following the Ducks, only the last few of them as a professional journalist. She lived and breathed Anaheim hockey and she would be damned if she let Ryan and boys off the hook when they had dragged her emotions through the mud more than once. If she had to suffer through games with a nervous stomach, she was going to make him just as uncomfortable while she could.

At least, that was her plan. Ryan, however, had other ideas. He stepped forward, using one hand to push down her phone that was recording audio and the other to grip the side of her neck, tugging her ear against his mouth.

“You’ve got a smartass mouth and if you meet me back here in twenty minutes I can guarantee I could put it to much better use than asking these snotty fucking questions.”

Becca gasped at his implication, but he pulled away before she could form some semblance of a response. Ryan moved on, fielding more questions, meeting her eyes and smiling boldly while he answered each one, effectively ignoring everyone else. It was clear to her what he was trying to do: turn the tables on her smartass. She had insulted him, his leadership, hell, his manhood, too. And now he wanted to take her down a notch, imply that her mouth was useless unless it was wrapped around his cock.

If she hadn’t been so damn turned on by the thought she would have been furious. As it were, she found the top half of her body (i.e. her brain) fuming over his nerve to speak to her like that, while the bottom half (i.e. her cunt) was salivating at his nerve to say such a thing to her, in front of cameras no less. The more he smiled, the more she tried to calm her body down. He’s not even cute, she thought. Compared to her was practically over the hell, not to mention bald, plus he had that sneering smirk of a smile.

Okay, fine, his smile was pretty hot. That wrinkled upper lip summoned up all sorts of delicious thoughts. Ryan on his knees, rubbing his pouty mouth against her clit, teasing and torturing, chuckling at her impatience before slipping his tongue inside her slit. Ryan sucking her neck as fucked her from behind. Ryan stealing her breath, kissing her senseless as she came around his cock.

Still, a killer smile wasn’t enough to get her going normally. So what the hell was wrong with her? Maybe it was the way he grinned and laughed and joked at his own expense. A man who didn’t take himself too seriously was rare and lovely indeed. His team had just been embarrassed and yet he was still smiling, still cheerful, still answering their questions. Until he had had enough of hers. And that, that subtle dominance, the way he could make her pull up short and forget her train of thought and all rational reasoning, that was the sexiest damn thing about him. And no bald spot could get in the way of it.

Ryan’s voice broke her reprieve. “We done?”

Someone answered. The rest of the reporters drifted away. Ryan stood there staring at Becca, still waiting on her answer for some reason.

What the hell was he thinking, acting like a goddamn frat boy? Christ only knew. All Ryan knew was that this leggy brunette questioning his commitment had been the last damn straw and he was glad had taken his opportunity to put her in her place. But then again, he had to give her credit, she had called him out when no one else would have and then stood her ground. The longer he stared her down, the more furiously she stared back, and the harder his cock became.

Now that they were alone, he asked again, “We done?”

It wasn’t a question, not even a challenge, but a dare, plain and simple. She knew she had only two options: back down and slink away quietly or stand her ground and maybe teach him a lesson or two about how to treat a lady. Becca grinned. “Not by a long shot, Cap.”

Twenty minutes later, after everyone else had gone back to their hotels, Becca was slipping back into the locker room, only to find herself immediately pressed chest to door. Ryan’s big body warm and damp against her back.

“What’s your name, smartass?”

Becca giggled and rubbed her ass against the more than obvious bulge in his pants. “Honestly…‘smartass’ is kind of growing on me.”

“If the shoe fits…”

Ryan’s mouth, that beautiful, plump, seductive mouth came down her neck and all Becca could do was smile. There was something sexy about his kissing her without asking, without invitation. They both knew why she had come back and the silent consent implied in her actions combined with his aggressive start was intoxicating.

His hands wasted no time finding the hem of her tight skirt, stretching the fabric up, up, up her thighs and then over the curve of her ass to expose her thong. He might have groaned, but if so it was muffled by her skin. Becca was already panting, leaning back against him for more contact with his warm body.

She tilted her neck, allowing him more real estate to lick and suck. “Ryan…not that I’m complaining, because holy shit don’t stop… but are you seriously not going to get my name first?”

“If smartass is good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.”

He spun her around, back against the door, bare ass pressed against cold wood, breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth came down on hers, hot and needy. He was wound so tight, tension and adrenaline from the game still flowing through his veins, cock flush and hard with want that ached to be released. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t think and didn’t want to try and do either of those things.

As he broke contact with her mouth to work off her blouse, she slapped him across the face. And then smiled when he gaped at her.

“That’s for trying to degrade me earlier.”

“If it was so degrading why did you come back?”

Damn good question. “I don’t know. Maybe I…”

Becca trailed off, nibbling her bottom lip as he nodded softly. There it was again, the unspoken understanding that bloomed between them like a living, breathing thing. No words were necessary. There was only Ryan, Becca, and the pulsating needs. She wanted this, wanted him, degrading suggestions and all. She was a professional goddamn journalist, a strong, single woman, and yet she wanted him to keep good on his word to make better use of her mouth. To make better use of her entirely.

Ryan said quietly, “I put up with a lot of bullshit today, but your questions are at the top of my shit list. If you want to leave, go. If you want to stay, get on your goddamn knees and apologize to speaking to me like you did.”

Two options, but only one choice, really.

Becca locked eyes with him and came to her knees, letting her already rucked up skirt settle around her hips. All he had on was a pair of spandex pants and that lopsided grin. He watched, smiling, as she pulled down the waistband to let his cock spring free.

She shifted, but his patience was razor thin. Just as he had before, he gently but firmly laid his hand on her neck and guided her where he wanted her. This time it was with her lips pressed to the tip of him. With a single thrust he was lost to the warm wetness of her mouth and Becca’s breath was lost.

She struggled to take all of him and Ryan didn’t exactly make it easy on her. He pressed harder, deeper, faster until she was gasping around his thick cock, tears springing from her eyes without warning. Ryan was relentless, taking his pleasure from her mouth without a care in the world.

After a moment or two, Becca composed herself, working her tongue over his shaft while the head of his cock burrowed down her throat. She reveled in the mewling sounds he made, more aggressive than whimpers, but certainly nothing powerful enough to be called a moan. He leaned forward, palm flat against the door, hips flexing as he working himself in and out of her mouth.

He was out of breath when he spoke. “This…this is what that smartass mouth was made for. Nothing I love more than face fucking a woman who doesn’t know her place.”

At another time, in another life, she might have been disgusted by this comment. Not only by what it said about her, but by what it said about him. How many woman had he brought to their knees before him? One hundred? Two hundred? She was probably just the most recent in a long line of willing women, nothing more than a few wet holes as far as he was concerned.

She should feel shame. Anger. Righteous indignation.

But there was no time for any of that. And her body was unwilling to allow for it in any event. She was too busy enjoying the way his head fell back, elongating his neck to show off his prominent veins. And then there was the smell of him this close: sweat and musk and dominance.

At this point she didn’t even care if he fucked her. She could bring herself to orgasm off the memory his fevered thrusting against her mouth for the next ten years or more. Ryan on the other hand had other ideas.

He pulled his cock free, grabbing Becca by the shoulders and then ripping her blouse open as he pulled her to her feet. Smiling as he did it.

“That’s for being a smartass earlier.”

Becca laughed and undid her bra, tossing both it and the ruined shirt aside. “Fair enough.”

Ryan had her skirt and panties off in no time and then his hands found her hips, lifting until she settled against his body. Becca wrapped her legs around him, waiting.

Ryan kissed her roughly and then said, “Ask me about Game 7 again.”

“What?”

“Ask me what I’m going to do in Game 7.”

Sighing, Becca played along. “Are you gonna show up in Game 7?”

He smirked and said in his very best playing nice with reporters voice, “Great question, I’m glad you asked.”

He pulled her down onto his cock, thrusting up to impale her fully and shocking the air from her lungs. He stroked into her body just as he had her mouth, deep, hard, and then fast.

He nipped at her throat and nuzzled her ear, almost growling. “This is how I plan to show up on Wednesday. Hard. Unforgiving. Relentless.”

Becca moaned and worked her body in time with his. “Yes. Yes, Ryan. I look forward to that.”

“And I look forward to your smartass questions afterwards.”

Giggling again, Becca licked his neck. “Really?”

“Hell no. But maybe, if you’re a good girl, I’ll do this again afterwards. Help you learn your goddamn place once and for all.”

More of this? Ryan taking her again and again? Yes, please. Her body clenched around him in agreement. Her mouth, however, had a mind of its own.

“It might take a while for you to really drive the lesson home.”

“Are you questioning my persistence? My dedication?”

No one could ever do that and mean it. Still, Becca smiled at him. “Maybe. What are you going to do about it, Cap?”

“Only this.”

He pulled out and dragged her by the back of the neck to a bench. He shed his pants fully and straddled the wooden plank, letting Becca step with one leg on either side of it before he pulled her down onto his lap. He fit his cock back into her pussy and then pushed against her back until her cheek laid against the bench. Leaning back on his hands he told her, “Fuck me, smartass. And maybe I’ll let you come.”

Straining up on her tiptoes, Becca managed some leverage and came down on his cock. This angle provided even more depth and she felt liable to split in half. Still, she persisted. Lifting her hips and letting them slap back against his again and again. Every up and down motion was brutal on her body and she already knew her hips and thighs were going to be sore as anything tomorrow.

But it was worth it. Especially when he grabbed a handful of her ass and held onto it as she fucked him. With one hand gripping the bench for balance, Becca slipped the other under her body, finding her clit with two fingers.

Following her movements and feeling the reaction of her body was enough to send sparks of pleasure through Ryan’s body. “Good girl. Oh, yeah. You can come, but you better fucking scream it for me.”

She came. She also screamed. Ryan went after her, pulling out halfway to watch his come drip from her blushing red pussy. With a heavy sigh and a smack on her ass, he let her know they were done.

When they were half dressed, Ryan chuckled as she tried to close her shirt that no longer had any buttons attached. He threw his jersey at her.

“You can have it, only if you promise not to sell it on Ebay.”

Becca slipped it on, wanting to tell him she would never dreaming of giving up a game-worn jersey, least of all one from the Captain she’d just banged. She just said, “Thanks.”

He slid his arms into a suit coat and asked, “You need a ride somewhere?”

Becca met him in the middle of the room, kissing his cheek. “For the record, gentlemanly just doesn’t suit you at all.”

He grinned down at her. “You going to tell me your name now, smartass?”

Becca backed away, shaking her head. “Tell you what, I’ll tell you if you win Game 7.”

“You know I could just ask any one of the other reporters and I’m sure they’d tell me.”

“Yeah, but what fun would that be?”

Very true, he thought. “Okay then. And if we lose Game 7?”

Becca paused at the door and shrugged. “I’ll let you fuck away the disappointment.”

Notes

Guess what, I just finished grad school - cue the applause! I hope to update a lot more, but please don't hold me to that. Right now I am just working a Preds gang bang that is so disgusting I'm not even sure I should post it. But I probably will anyway. Also as I was mind fucking Ryan today I imaged him and Ryan Kessler DPing me and that was great, so maybe that will be written as well. Maybe Ryan Reaves will also be there and it will be a Ryan fuck fest to end of all fuck fests.

Hope all you beauties are prospering and making the world a lovely place!