Winnipeg Jets One-Shots

I’d had a tough day at work, so I headed down to Kildonan Park to the outdoor rink. In that respect at least, moving to Winnipeg wasn’t so bad – almost as many rinks as back home in Barrie. I laced up my skates and slid out onto the ice, the stress melting away with each stroke. Late afternoon is the best time for public skating, all the families have gone home and the couples haven’t come out yet. Only a few older folks were circling the edges as I warmed up, doing a few light turns and spins – just letting the tension out. I tested a small jump, and a couple of the seniors clapped for me. I sketched a bow as I coasted backwards, smiling for what felt like the first time all day. I heard applause continuing behind me, so I turn around and found myself looking at a pair of big blue eyes with the longest eyelashes – eyes I hadn’t seen in almost five years.

“Mark!” I stopped at the boards, and Mark Scheifele grinned at me with that gap-toothed smile. We’d been friends, with a sexual tension I probably imagined out of the fervor of my high school crush on him, when he played for Barrie. We’d run into each other at the rink all the time, and both being 17 we were a bit too awkward (and too busy with our respective sports) to really get to know one another.

Impossibly, he seemed to be taller. I was tall for a girl, 5’9 even at 17, but even back then he’d seemed giant. He finally stopped clapping and said, “Hi there! I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, but when you emailed we’d just started the preseason and time got away from me.”

Yes, I admit it. When I got this job in Winnipeg over the summer after uni, I’d agonized over contacting Mark. I’d been following the Jets ever since they signed him, but I didn’t think he’d remember me – some high school girl he saw around the rink when he was a rising hockey star. But after a few months here, I hadn’t made many friends or been on a single date. After a bottle of wine, I sent him an email, trying to be casual – you know, ‘Hey I live in your town now, want to meet for coffee and get married? Ha ha I’m so casual.’ When he didn’t respond, I figured he had no idea who I was. Oh well.

But here we were on a frigid Tuesday in November, running into each other at the rink again. “Don’t worry about it, I figured you had no idea who I was and wrote me off as a fan girl.”
Mark laughed (I tried not to swoon visibly, I had missed that barking chuckle so much), “Not at all! Can I join you out there?”

I pushed backwards from the boards and gestured with my arm. “I’ll be here.” As Mark laced up his skates and headed for the door, I tried to quell the butterflies in my stomach and as always got caught up in cutting lines and 8′s in the ice. Before I knew it, he was there beside me and most of the senior citizens had gone in for coffee or home for dinner.

“The Zamboni comes around in about 5 minutes. Want to race?” he bumped me, incredibly gently for such a big hockey player, with his shoulder.

“Race? What, across this tiny pond?” He’d definitely win, but I was happy to have a friend and be skating.

“Nah, we’ll do laps. Whoever’s ahead when the Zamboni guy starts yellin’ has to buy Tim’s for the other.”

“Deal.” I dug in my toe and took a few quick steps to get going, and heard that intoxicating laugh behind me. Soon enough the powerful strokes of his blades on ice were right behind me and then he was next to me keeping pace.

“Hey! I practiced all morning!” he complained with a smirk.

“You suggested a race!” I cut in front of him, making him pull back his speed to avoid hitting me and kept pushing around the corners.

“No cheating!” he called after me.

I spun on one foot, skating backwards at speed up the straight side boards and stuck my tongue out at him. The mock outrage on his face was possibly the cutest thing I’d ever seen. He pushed forward, his muscular legs working under his jeans as he almost caught up – but just as he was within a few feet, the tell-tale “Hey! You kids!” rumbled from the warming hut.
I pumped my fist in the air, and the Zamboni driver called out again “Hey, I’ve gotta clear this for the evening rush! Get off there!”

Mark called back, “We’re going, sorry about that, buddy.” Before I could head for the door he’d caught up to me and slid his arm around my shoulders. I instinctively jerked away slightly, and he dropped his arm, saying “Oh, sorry, sorry,” and looking sheepish. I wanted to tell him to put his arm back, but that would somehow be admitting the jolt of electricity I’d felt when he put it there in the first place.

“So I guess I owe you a trip to Tim’s. Do you have plans tonight?”

Mark was looking down at his laces as he untied his skates, but his voice sounded about as eager as I felt. Was he just horny, or did he really remember me? Did he have a high school crush on me too? Stop dreaming, I told myself. “No, no plans. I wish I could keep skating though, I don’t get enough time away from the office and it’s such a good stress reliever.”

“Oh, I know a great indoor rink we could go to if you’re not hungry yet…” he said, looking over. I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to spend more time with him, so as casually as I could muster, I said ‘sure’. I’d walked to the pond from work, so we took his car.

On the way he told me about some of the guys on the team, about how much he loved playing in Winnipeg and how much the people were like back in Ontario. He said I’d love it here too, I told him about the new job and we caught up on some of the things that’d passed since his time in Barrie. All of a sudden we were at the MTS Centre. My surprise must have shown, since Mark assured me, “No one’s using the rink tonight, I have keys.”

I’d never skated in a big stadium rink like this – I was too tall and, ahem, curvy to get this far as a figure skater. We walked in and the ice was positively huge. I dropped my purse and bag and pulled on my skates without even finding a seat – just sitting on the floor like a kid. Mark’s laugh came again and he sat down next to me and laced up too. He was on the ice first and extended a hand to me, like some sort of fairytale princess. I accepted it, and as soon as I had my footing I spun myself in against his chest and raised my other hand in the traditional couples’ starting pose. I held my head up high like we’re all taught, until we both dissolved into giggles.

“Sorry, force of habit,” I said – partially true. He’d taken off his big leather jacket and I wanted to feel his chest. I spun back out until our connected arms were fully outstretched and asked, “Do you know any ice dancing?”

“Not a step.” He shrugged. I dropped his hand in mock disgust and glided away.
I was still mostly warmed up from earlier, so I took a couple small leaps. I turned around and Mark was coasting behind me. “Stay there,” I said and he slowed to a stop near the corner boards. I started some back crossovers, heading for the corner and then snapping up into a double lutz. I landed closer to Mark than I’d planned, but hoped that made it more impressive since I did manage to land it correctly.

“Show off,” he grinned, looking genuinely impressed.

Success! My adrenaline was up now, so I kept my head up in my best podium pose and shot back, “Show me what you got, big hockey oaf.”

He took off skating backwards towards the other end of the ice, making goofy faces. I rolled my eyes, putting my hands on my hips. When he got to the other end completely, he put one hand against the glass and shouted, “Ready?” I had no idea what he was asking but before I could ask or answer, he’d pushed off and was skating fast. Really fast. NHL attack speed fast. I knew he could stop short, but my survival instinct overrode and reminded me how hard these guys check people into the boards. Rationally I knew he wouldn’t but as he got closer and closer I was seriously considering moving out of the way. Just as he crossed the blue paint where the goal would be he put on the brakes, showering me with snow. He stopped a few inches from me as I spluttered and brushed off snow. I glared up at him as he giggled.

“Rude!” I poked his chest with a finger, “It isn’t polite to spray young ladies with snow.”

“I’m not a nice guy, I’m a big hockey oaf!” he said, still laughing. He made a comical grab for me and I skittered away, schooling my face into outrage instead of excitement at the flirting.

“Couldn’t catch me if you tried, you ogre,” I taunted him. His eyes sparkled under the lights with that mischief I remembered. He made grabby hands and pushed off. We chased around the rink, him catching up with his power and speed but my agility always keeping me slightly out of reach. Although I was enjoying the breathless taunts and joking we traded, soon enough I let him catch me.

“Gotcha!” he wrapped me up in a bear hug from behind, our skates parallel lines. He held on for longer than would have been necessary to prove he’d caught me, but I didn’t mind at all. My better sense took over eventually and I turned to look at him, planning to make some joke and get him to let go. But when I turned I saw a heat in his eyes that would have melted 17 year old me straight into the ice. My face must have shown some surprise because he blinked and was back to his playful self. “So how about a trip to Tim’s? Double-double sounds nice about now.”
I gathered some courage and responded, “How about we got out for a drink instead?” His blue eyes sparkled with surprise, and also something more predatory, lustful.

“I’ve got some nice wine at my place.” He offered.

“Let’s go.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

On the ride I chastise myself, why not a bar? Why are you agreeing to go back to his apartment? Dammit. But I know why. I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time – all through uni I had boyfriends here and there but I never forgot the lanky Colt. You never do forget your high school love, I guess, unless someone better comes along. I didn’t think you’d find that combination of muscles, languid eyelashes and sweet temper anywhere else though…

As Mark unlocks his door, he asks if we should order some dinner in, and I make noncommittal responses, too nervous to really answer. As he shuts the door behind me and starts to say something, I pounce.
I pin him against the wall, and search his face – finding the fire back in his eyes immediately, I go for the kiss. He’s definitely kissing back, and now he drops the keys and his bag, wrapping both hands around my waist. My hands run up his arms, feeling their strength through his jacket, running over his impossibly broad shoulders. I break off the kiss, breathing out almost involuntarily, “Oh, Scheifs.” He looks partially stunned, but mostly as excited as I feel. I clear my throat, “How about that wine?”

We settle in on the couch for some reruns on TV and he pours us a dark red wine. We start chatting again about hockey and Winnipeg and pretend there isn’t a mounting tension between us. Finally I get the courage and just tell him. “Mark, I had a huge crush on you back when you were in Barrie.” He doesn’t look surprised – is that a good thing? Was I that obvious? I push on, “Really, I wanted to fuck you then, I dreamed about it after you left, and I still want to now.” Okay now he looks mostly surprised. The look of shock quickly changes to a darker, lustier expression. I look him meaningfully up and down, from his tight fitting long-sleeved tee to his jeans with a suspicious bulge.

Mark says, “I won’t act like I didn’t notice you back then, and I definitely didn’t forget you. But I was in Barrie to get my career started and it would have been complicated and a bad ide-“

I interrupt him, “Shh. I know why we couldn’t back then. But this is different.” I straddle him on
the couch, my leggings thin enough that I can confirm the suspicious bulge is definitely exactly what I hoped it was. I lean in, looking into those big blue eyes. My glance moves down to his smile and I licked my lips – involuntarily? I move forward and Mark’s hungry lips meet me halfway. His tongue plays with mine, our hands rove on each other’s bodies.

His large palms rest on my waist, his fingers digging in to my back. I gyrate my hips, grinding against him and his grip tightens, holding me down against him. I moan as we kiss, the pressure on my clit awakening several different feelings. I can hardly believe I’m here, making out with Mark Scheifele – my high school fantasy come true. The corny movie voiceover thought makes me giggle and Mark pulls back, his face questioning – eyebrows raised.

“It’s nothing. Just thinking how excited high school me would be about all this.” Mark rolls his eyes in response.

“She was a feisty little thing.” I snort at the use of ‘little’ to describe someone who’d always been too big. “Well, little to me.” Mark squeezes my waist where the cushion meets hipbones and then pinches my cheek lightly with a goofy grin. My turn to roll my eyes.

“Do you have a bed we could adjourn to?” I ask, not willing to stop here at kissing and joking
.
“Nope!” Mark suddenly starts to stand up, so I wrap my legs the rest of the way around his torso, holding on to his neck.

“What?!” I ask, totally lost. Before I can protest more, he’s kissing me again, his hands under my ass holding me up. As we nip at each other’s lips, I’m breathing in his sweaty, slightly cologne-d scent; I realize he’s carrying me into another room. He’s biting my neck down to my collarbone – my favorite thing. I moan softly, and rake a hand through his hair. Exactly as soft as I imagined.

He sets me down on the bed and backs away. In one quick motion his shirt is off, and my breath is taken away. I’d seen glimpses here and there at the rink in the old days but the full grown Mark is absolutely stunning. Strong muscles move under a layer of just-cuddly-enough fat on his stomach, and his arms are like a Greek statute. Ugh, corny again. I cross my legs – looking demure, but really putting pressure on my bundle of already aroused nerves. He’s unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them, leaving a pair of gloriously tight boxer briefs.

“Let’s see what you got.” He says, copying me from earlier. I stand up, and he takes my place, sitting on the edge of the bed. I take off my sweater, swing it around in the air like a stripper on a TV show – and purposefully toss it square in his face. We’re both laughing, which is exactly the mood I need in order to take off the rest of my clothes. The tank comes off, but I leave the bra. I peel down the leggings, realizing I’d worn sensible cotton panties instead of something suitably sexy for hooking up with dream boy Mark Scheifele. Shit. From the look on his face though, he doesn’t seem to care – he’s making grabby hands again, too. God I think I love this goofball.
I step toward him, standing against the bed between his legs. He runs his hands up and down, their warmth sending electricity through my skin – all the nerves frozen by the lonely months in cold weather alive again.

He starts kissing and biting lightly around my hips, my waist and stomach. One hand slips between my legs, rubbing softly at the outside of my panties. I arch my back into his caresses, one hand on his strong shoulder, the other in his hair. His eyes are closed, those long lashes laying on his cheeks. His biting gets harder, more insistent and I respond by tightening my grip with a moan. He looks up, opening his eyes and stopping everything. “Tell me if you want me to stop. At any time. Okay?” I am too far down this rabbit hole to consider stopping him, so I just nod. Once blood comes back to my brain, I respond with words.

“Same goes for you.”

“No way that’s happening, you’re perfect.” The last is said with a growl and I feel my skin flush as his eyes roam up and down. I push his shoulder, playfully knocking him back on the bed. I hop up next to him, kneeling. I rub my palm over his penis through the briefs and now its my turn to kiss and nibble along his chest and his hips. His skin is soft, far smoother than I would have imagined for a hockey player. He sucks in a breath as I get lower and lower. I look up and those beautiful eyes looking down with such arousal and raw need give me all the courage I need. I pull down his boxer briefs and am frankly impressed. His cock is long, but more important, it’s thick. I lick my lips and go for it – wrapping my mouth around it, sucking gently. My tongue lapping the shaft, circling the head.

Mark is moaning, his hand grabs the comforter. His dick stiffens and throbs as I work at it, loving every minute. I moan and smile around his cock in my mouth, stroking the shaft with my hand while I lick around the tip. I take him all the way in my mouth and bob up and down a few times before letting go with a slight pop.

“Show off,” he sighs, smiling. I give him a bawdy wink and toss my hair over my shoulder. “My turn,” Mark says, crawling over and easing me back on the bed, leaning on his pillows. He kisses me softly, then kisses his way down my neck, between my breasts, down my stomach – his hands trailing behind, caressing where his lips were.

He hooks his fingers into my panties and slides them off, kissing the tender skin on the inside of my thighs. I spread them apart, eager; still he nibbles on my thighs making me alternately giggle from the tickling feeling of his stubble and sigh with impatience. Finally, he strokes one finger along my already wet folds. He’s lying between my legs, gazing with adoration (really?) as he lightly fingers my lips – teasing. I move my hips, trying to get his fingers inside, or more pressure, or anything. His other hands comes up and holds them down and this former skater’s muscles are no match for his arm. He gives me a grin that is positively evil – the little space between his teeth and his boyish good looks are irresistible. He lowers his head and licks – just once.

My hips move involuntarily now, I’m so turned on and being teased so mercilessly. But his hand is still on my stomach, pinning me to the bed. He licks again – slowly gliding up the folds and flicking my clit. I moan, as much out of pleasure as out of yearning. Mark chuckles and I sigh in exasperation. “Not enjoying yourself? You want me to stop?”

“I want you to fuck me properly,” I respond, but he just grins again. His blue eyes are sparkling up at me and I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. He lowers his head again, another long, slow lick. Then, mercifully, he keeps going – lapping at the folds, sucking on my clit. I’m moaning his name now, my hands tangled in his hair. He keeps tonguing and slips two fingers inside. I take in a sharp breath and grind downward, increasing the pressure. I can feel his mouth curving into a smile as he keeps at it – now he curls his fingers, pulling against me. He nips my clit gently and sends me over the edge. I cum, calling his name and digging my fingers into his shoulders.

Mark pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are darker blue than I’ve ever seen them, shining lustily. “And now,” he growls, “to fuck you properly.”

“Yes, please,” I breathe out, still reeling from the orgasm. He opens the drawer of the table next to the bed, grabs a condom and opens the package. He’s looking at me as he slides it on, and I reach up, pulling him down for a long kiss. Our tongues tangle, and I taste myself on his lips. He bites my lower lip, and I feel his penis pushing at my opening. I wiggle my hips, moving my labia around him, inviting him in. He moans and kisses me hard. Just as I’m getting lost in his mouth he slides himself inside me. I gasp, then shudder in satisfaction as my vagina conforms around him. Mark’s eyes are closed, his face blissful. He pulls almost all the way back out, and then quickly thrusts in – the whole way in. I gasp again and moan, grinding my hips against him.

Mark gathers me in his arms, holding my torso slightly off the bed. He begins thrusting in and out, smoothly and slowly. I bring my hands up to his face, smoothing the hair off his forehead, wanting to look into those eyes while he fucks me. After a few moments though, I can’t look at anything, my eyes are shut tight with pleasure as he fills me and his thrusts get faster and harder. I can feel another orgasm rising, and dig my fingers into his back – feeling the muscles moving, my fingernails scratching the skin. He keeps pounding away, and I scream a little as I cum again.

He pulls out, holding the condom on at the base. “Do you want to get on top?” he asks, breathing hard. How considerate. Even slightly dazed, I know what I want.

“Take me from behind.” The light spring to his eyes – right answer, clearly. I get on all fours and move to the edge of the bed; Mark jumps down and stands behind me. He holds his cock out and I move back, impaling myself. As he plunges inside, even deeper than I thought my vagina went, I gasp and grab the bedsheets in my fists.

Mark breathes my name and his strong hands are holding my love handles (it’s what they’re for, after all) – the fingertips digging in just enough for that perfect pain. He finds his rhythm again, pumping in and out. I’m enjoying myself too much, moaning with every thrust now. Mark bends over, holding me against his body, thrusting faster; but this angle is not as deep, so I push my head down into the bed and push my ass back and up. I can feel the shudder go through his body and I hear him moan. He starts slowly again, savoring the feeling. I let him have his fun for a few moments, but my ache is too strong now – I look back over my shoulder and say the magic word: “Harder.” This snaps him out of his reverie, the mischievous grin is back and he smacks my ass. I yelp in surprise, grinding my ass back into him and enjoying the whole thing.
His pace picks up, with every thrust our bodies slap together. I reach under myself, rubbing circles on my clit as I get closer to cumming a third time. Breathless, I call back to Mark, “Hit me again.” He slaps my ass, never breaking his thrusting rhythm. I push back against him, getting him as deep as possible – soon enough I’m cumming, screaming his name. He follows seconds later, a few last pumps and a ragged moan.

He takes an unsteady step backwards, pulling out and discarding the condom. I collapse down onto the bed, totally spent. He reaches out, running a hand along my back and I shiver slightly with a satisfied murmur.

Mark grabs a pair of clean briefs, sliding them on and shaking his head with a smile. “Damn. What a night.” I just smile back, too tired to talk just yet. “Want a shirt to sleep in?” he asks, tossing me one of his big Jets tees.

High school me is over the moon.

Notes