Fandom: Hockey

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Melanson just isn't up to resisting the temptation tonight.

Warnings: slash, silliness on the author's part

A/N: Here's number 3! This one was inspired by an article I read on the way to Ottawa to see Binghamton play. It was around Valentine's day, and talked about what the B-Sens were doing up in Ottawa. What sparked my interest was the little blurb about the "Kiss Cam" that had showed kisses during the game the previous night. One of the highlights was that Bonvie had kissed Melanson on the cheek. Well, my mind immediately seized on that. So I spent the rest of the season watching the two of them like hawks, and this fic was born. Yes, I'm aware that I show dangerous signs of obsession. Nope, I don't really care. Hopefully the whole thing isn't too crappy, but hey, at least I had fun writing it!

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, have any association whatsoever with these players except for the fact that I like to watch them play. This story in NO way depicts anything that has happened in real life. 'Nuff said.

The mood in the locker room could only be described as exuberant. They were 2-0 in a best of 5 series, they’d come back from a 2-goal deficit, and life was officially good.

Dennis Bonvie leaned back and smirked. He had his first playoff goal of the year, and he knew just what he wanted for his reward. Waiting only made the result that much sweeter though, so he would bide his time. Waiting also put the prey off-guard, and Bonvie didn’t get opportunities like that very often. So he sat, smirked, and watched.

Murphy had Emery in a death grip and was currently waltzing energetically around the room. Emery looked terrified, but couldn’t get free short of kneeing Murphy in the groin. Not generally a good thing to do to anyone, but Murphy in particular. He was known for being very stubborn about holding grudges.

Vermette, McGrattan, and Wren were busy plotting something while Giroux kept a lookout. Smyth was eyeing the four of them nervously and looked to be attempting to inconspicuously inch closer to Pothier. Authority figures were always good for avoiding pranks.

Langfeld and Kelly were settled in a corner. Langfeld had somehow managed to fix things so that he was sitting on Kelly’s lap. He seemed to be torn between angry concern about Kelly’s newly acquired stitches, and the urge to simply gaze into Kelly’s eyes. Kelly seemed to be suppressing a smile as his hand crept closer and closer to Langfeld’s ass.

Bonvie rolled his eyes. Those two really needed to be hosed down. They were touchy-feely enough for everyone on the team, and then some. Sometimes Bonvie found himself amazed that they didn’t start making out in the middle of a game or something. He knew for a fact that they’d been tempted several times that night alone. Bonvie snickered to himself. How would the fans react to that one? he wondered.

Feeling suddenly impatient, Bonvie turned his attention to his own interest. Or at least he tried to. Dean Melanson was nowhere to be seen though. Feeling almost frantic, he looked around again. He couldn’t have left already!

Finally, he spotted his prey talking to Smyth. Bonvie cocked an eyebrow. Now what was he up to? Then he noticed the way that Wren was sneaking up behind Smyth, who had foolishly left his back open to attack. Wren was followed closely by Giroux and McGrattan, carrying a cooler.

Glancing around, Bonvie noted that Vermette had rescued Emery and was now conspicuously dancing with Murphy. Smyth must have assumed he was safe since the ringleader was occupied. He forgot the addition of Wren, the brains of the operation. It was a fatal error.

Grinning goofily, Wren leaned up, wrapped his arms around Smyth's neck, and whispered something in his ear. Bonvie snickered, desperately wishing he had a camera. The look on Smyth's face was absolutely priceless. It got better though. Suddenly Wren ducked and dodged to the left, pulling Melanson with him. As soon as they were clear, McGrattan and Giroux moved forward and swiftly dumped the cooler over Smyth's head.

Smyth barely even had time to flinch before ice-cold water came pouring down on his head. Dripping wet, Smyth whirled on his laughing teammates, glaring fit to kill. "You bastards! I knew you were going to do something like that!"

"If you knew then why’d you let them?" asked Vermette obnoxiously, still dancing with an oblivious Murphy.

Smyth growled. "You! This is all your fault! You’ll pay for this, kid!"

Vermette put on a mask of wounded innocence. "Me? I had nothing to do with it."

"Don’t give me that! I know that you were involved somehow!" Seemingly incensed, he started toward Vermette. Seeing the murderous look in Smyth’s eyes, Vermette let out an undignified squeak and retreated.

"Brad. Maybe you’d better calm down," said Melanson in a conciliatory tone. "It was just harmless prank."

Smyth ignored him, advancing until he had Vermette backed into a corner. He stood impassively for a moment, then, moving with the speed of a striking serpent, he darted forward and planted a big, sloppy kiss on Vermette’s cheek. Vermette stood dumbstruck as Smyth doubled over with laughter. Then what had just happened suddenly seemed to sink in to Vermette’s brain. Looking indignant, he stepped forward and punched the still laughing Smyth in the shoulder. "That’s not funny!"

Smyth straightened, controlling himself with an effort. "You’re right, Vermette. That wasn’t funny." Vermette nodded, satisfied, then Smyth’s lips twisted into a huge grin. "That was abso-fucking-lutely hilarious! I had you fooled so bad!"

Vermette glared at him then broke into reluctant laughter. "All right, so maybe it was a little funny. I’ll never forgive you if you scare me like that again though."

Bonvie shook his head. It was no wonder he fit in so well here. Everyone on the team was either extremely weird, utterly insane, or both.

Speaking of insane. . . Melanson was shaking his head and making his way away from his celebrating teammates. It was the perfect opportunity. Bonvie reached him just as he reached the empty corner of the room where his locked was situated.

Pausing, Bonvie took the opportunity to ready himself. Pasting on what many called his ‘shit-eating’ grin, he stepped into his most obnoxious mindset. This was going to be fun. Stepping forward, he loosely wrapped his arms around Melanson’s waist and whispered, "Hey, baby," in the deepest voice he could manage. He had the satisfaction of feeling Melanson stiffen briefly in alarm before calmly sidestepping his embrace. Leaning against the wall in lieu of the desired warm body, Bonvie smirked at the inquiring look Melanson was giving him.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked, polite facade firmly in place.

Bonvie’s smirk turned into a lascivious leer. This was just too easy. Leaning closer to Melanson, he whispered, "You, screaming and writhing in pleasure beneath me."

Melanson gave him an annoyed look.

Bonvie stared unapologetically back. Knowing Melanson (and he did), the defenseman was probably more angry with himself for the unwise question than he was at Bonvie for the reply. Melanson must be pretty tired if he was making slips like that anyway. Briefly, Bonvie considered leaving him alone just this once. It was a short consideration. He’d scored a goal, a play-offs goal no less, and he deserved some kind of reward. Besides, Melanson was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

Stubbornly ignoring him, Melanson began to pull off his equipment. Bonvie didn’t even pretend to look away. It’d be an exercise in futility anyway. Ever since he’d been caught kissing Melanson on the cheek when they'd had the Kiss Cam for Valentine’s Day, Bonvie had been anything but subtle about his pursuit of Melanson. The rest of the team had almost come to view it as a game between the two of them. Bonvie and Melanson knew better though. They were dead serious.

Bonvie wasn’t quite sure why Melanson was so resistant to his advances. He knew for a fact that it wasn’t because he was a guy. Drunken confessions were a wonderful thing. So what could it be? Well, whatever it was, tonight was the night. They'd been dancing around the issue for more than two months now, but now Bonvie was going to make his move.

"Hey, are you just going to stare at me all night?" Melanson asked, looking irritated.

Bonvie’s eyes widened, and he eyed his prospective lover nervously. And here he’d thought that Melanson had a never-ending supply of patience. This was a side of Melanson that he’d only seen on the ice before. "Are you ok?" he asked.

Melanson sighed explosively "I’m fine."

"Well, you’re sure as hell not acting fine."

"How would you know?"

"I think I know you a lot better than you realize."

"Obviously not since you don’t seem to have gotten the message to leave me the fuck alone!"

"No, I got the message. I just decided to ignore it," Bonvie replied mildly. He was surprised that he didn’t feel at least a little angry that Melanson was being so ornery. Instead he just felt puzzled and maybe worried. What could be making Melanson act so strange?

Melanson growled and stalked off to the showers, leaving Bonvie staring at his retreating back and wondering where things went wrong.

"That was painful," commented someone.

Bonvie scowled, looking around for whoever had witnessed him being brushed off so spectacularly. He easily spotted Bicanek, seated in front of his locker. "And your point?"

Bicanek chuckled. "No point. Just enjoying the sight of you screwing up so royally."

Bonvie rolled his eyes. "Like you could do any better."

"I could. Blindfolded."

"Right. Well then, if you’re so wise, advise me!"

"Ah, but it’s so much more fun to watch you suffer."

"Whatever." Smug, self-serving bastard, thought Bonvie, preparing to turn away.

"Then again...Maybe I should tell you something."

Bonvie raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"How do I even know if your information’s accurate?" Bonvie asked skeptically.

"Good point," Bicanek conceded, tilting his head in thought. "Ok, here’s the deal. You...let’s say my information is both accurate and relevant. It helps you out; you give me, say, a hundred bucks as a thank you gift. That sound fair to you?"

"The theory’s sound. Just one problem. I wouldn’t pay you a hundred bucks for the best fuck of my life, much less one piece of information."

"Ah, but this could lead to the best fuck of your life. Surely you’d pay at least ninety bucks for that?"

"I think you’re thinking of something else. That’s how much you pay to fuck your cousin. Fifty."

Bicanek shook his head. "Man, you cut me deep. I’ll drop the price to eighty out of the kindness of my heart, but that’s as low as I'm willing to go."

Bonvie stuck out his hand. "Deal. This all depends on whether or not your information helps though, don’t forget."

Bicanek grasped Bonvie’s hand. "Yeah, yeah. So, you ready to hear it?"

"No, I thought I might wait until next year."

Bicanek gave Bonvie a stern look. "Sarcasm is not a virtue."

"Just get on with it. Or keep stalling until your info isn’t any use to me. Doesn’t matter to me which."

"Geez. Patience is a virtue you know. So, apparently Melanson’s little brother is staying with him, and the guy came back last night drunk and with a woman. I imagine that’s enough to make anyone irritable."

Bonvie raised an eyebrow. "And you know this how?"

"Few days back Melanson got a call on his emergency cell phone. Remember? That was his brother."

Bonvie nodded. He’d asked Melanson who it was, and he’d replied, ‘Just some asshole.’ Apparently that asshole also happened to be related to him. "And the rest of it?"

"I was at the same bar as the guy last night." Bicanek shook his head. "Quite the family resemblance between the two of them. Watched him almost get punched a couple times. He left with some girl that he picked up somewhere or other. I assume he took her back to Melanson’s place. He seemed to be that kid of guy."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah. Hope it helps."

"Of course you do. If it doesn't help, you’re not getting a cent out of me."

"Well, there is that. Seriously though, you and Melanson deserve each other."

Bonvie blinked, unsure of how to take that. Just then Melanson came out of the showers though, so he didn’t see as it mattered. Not even bothering to say another word to Bicanek, he started toward Melanson’s locker. He was waiting there when Melanson arrived. Melanson didn’t look too happy to see him, but before he could say anything, Bonvie said, "So it’s your brother that’s got you in such a pissy mood."

Melanson looked surprised. "How did you - Wait, I don’t want to know."

Bonvie grinned. "Liar. I won’t make you ask though. I bribed Bicanek."

Melanson scowled. "Bastard!"

"You know, if your brother’s really bothering you that much, I can always kick his ass for you."

"What, you think I’m not capable of doing it myself?"

"So why haven’t you done it yet, if you’re so capable?"

"He may be an obnoxious little fuck, but he’s still my brother."

"You have way too much control for your own good. You’re turning into a pansy."

Melanson looked offended. "Yeah, well, you’re too fucking persistent for your own good."

"It’s one of my better qualities. Besides, aren’t we all? You know, we’re the Comeback Kids or some shit like that."

Melanson sighed. "Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you’d be a little less persistent."

Bonvie softened his tone. "Why?"

Melanson hesitated for a moment, then wearily replied, "Because I’m tired, irritable, and not up to resisting temptation."

Bonvie shrugged. "Then don’t."

Melanson rolled his eyes. "And then what? We fuck like bunnies in front of my baby brother? You must be tripping or something because even you couldn‘t be that crazy."

Bonvie took a step forward, purposefully invading Melanson’s space. "There’s always my place," he whispered, just to prove that he‘d thought about this more than Melanson seemed to think.

Seeing the first smile since the game cross Melanson’s face was Bonvie’s reward. Encouraged, Bonvie smiled back. Feeling suddenly spontaneous, Bonvie leaned forward and let his lips touch Melanson's in a light, teasing kiss. Melanson stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Bonvie increased the pressure just a little until he felt Melanson start to respond, then pulled away teasingly. He had a moment to wonder if he hadn’t destroyed all the progress he’d made, then Melanson smiled once again.

"Are you ever not going to be an annoying son-of-a-bitch?" Melanson asked, sounding amused.

Bonvie shrugged. "Probably not. Oh, but you know you love it."

Melanson’s smile grew a little. "Maybe I do."

Bonvie was still pondering how to respond to that when Melanson surprised him by pulling him flush against his body and pressing lips to his in a hard, demanding kiss. All thoughts flew out of Bonvie’s mind as he responded eagerly.

A minute later they pulled apart to the assorted whistles and hoots of their teammates. Bonvie waved a good-natured middle finger in their direction, but otherwise ignored them.

"What was that?" he asked Melanson.

Melanson tilted his head, a slight smile still gracing his face. "I told you I wasn’t up to resisting temptation tonight."

Bonvie faked a swoon. "Well, damn. I wish you had less self-control more often."

"I think I could manage that," Melanson said, pulling Bonvie closer.

"Hey, get a room!" someone yelled.

Bonvie glared in the general direction of the team, quietly asking Melanson "Who said that?"

Melanson rolled his eyes. "Someone obnoxious who has absolutely no room to talk considering the way he was groping his boyfriend a few minutes ago."

Bonvie rolled his eyes as well. "Langfeld!" Bonvie barked. Langfeld looked up from where he’d been acting innocent. Or as innocent as anyone could act while sitting on his boyfriend’s lap. "Mind your own ass before I kick it for you!"

Langfeld smiled nervously, and turned back to Kelly.

Bonvie smirked. There definitely were advantages to being one of the most feared players in the AHL. Satisfied, Bonvie turned back to Melanson and asked, "Hey, you want to lose the audience?"

Melanson nodded.

They started heading toward the door, and Bonvie winced as he got a whiff of himself. "Man, I need a shower," he muttered to himself.

"Yeah, a cold one," replied Hymovitz, who’d been the only one to hear his comment since it’d been made right next to him.

Bonvie ignored him. Contrary to popular belief, he could control his temper if he wanted to. Well, mostly. There were exceptions to that rule. He was definitely going to have to get Hymo back later though. Couldn’t have his teammates growing complacent, now could he?

Speaking of complacent teammates. . . Bonvie evilly eyed Melanson’s back. A well-placed pinch could do wonders to increase one’s paranoia levels.

He was just starting to reach out to do just that when Melanson turned and glared at him. "Don’t even think it," Melanson said in a threatening voice. A damn sexy threatening voice too. Melanson quirked an eyebrow. "Are you coming or not?"

Bonvie mentally kicked himself as he realized that he’d completely stopped walking. Feeling a little self-conscious, he summoned a cocky grin. "Not yet, but with any luck, soon."

Melanson ignored his comment. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned.

Bonvie let his cocky mask crack a little to show his embarrassment. "Just a little shell-shocked, I guess. I mean, two months of chasing you, and ten minutes of talking. It doesn’t quite balance out."

Melanson shrugged. "Sure it does. Talking can work miracles. Words can be powerful things."

Bonvie held up his hands. "Whoa, man! Don’t go getting all philosophical on me here!"

"Heaven forbid you should actually be required to think!" Melanson said with a flippant grin.

Bonvie nodded. "Damn right!"

Melanson shook his head. "Come on," he said, starting to walk again.

Bonvie jogged a second to catch up with him, then fell into step beside him. Walking quickly, they made it to Bonvie’s car in short order. Bonvie jokingly held the passenger door open for Melanson, only to have Melanson get in the driver’s side. Bonvie grinned and got in the car, handing the keys to Melanson.

Bonvie mischievously turned the volume up on the radio after only a few short minutes of driving. Melanson gave him a half-hearted glare out of the corner of his eye and turned it down. Bonvie then proceeded to turn it up again. Melanson calmly turned it down. Thus followed the War of the Radio Volume. The first battle of The Alternating Ups and Downs ended in a stalemate. Melanson won the Battle of Pulling over the Car. Bonvie then pulled off a victory through the sneak attack. It was short-lived though, and a moment later Melanson finished what Bonvie had started.

In a perfectly executed maneuver, Melanson snared Bonvie’s hand en route to the volume knob. Bonvie, needless to say, surrendered without a fight. Bonvie of course couldn’t leave well enough alone though.

"So. . . Would I be out of line if I were to ask what brought around his sudden change of heart?" Melanson’s grip on Bonvie’s hand went slack.

Bonvie made up for it by squeezing a bit harder. "Come on," he wheedled. "If you tell me, at least I’ll know not to do it again."

"You know, we were pretty good friends before this started," Melanson said, focusing intently on the road.

"We still are, aren’t we?"

"Maybe, but you sure haven’t acted like it the last few months."

"What do you mean?" Bonvie asked slowly.

Melanson sighed. "I mean that as soon as you decided that maybe you wanted to fuck me or whatever, all of sudden that’s all I was. I wasn’t your friend and teammate. I was just some piece of ass. I did not appreciate that attitude." Melanson parked the car in front of Bonvie's apartment, then turned to face Bonvie. "And let me tell you, if it happens again, this - whatever this is - is over. Instantly. Got it?"

Bonvie opened his mouth to defend himself, then, thinking back on the last few months, revised his words. "Shit. I’ve been a total asshole."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"No, really. I was a complete and total asshole. Next time I pull some shit like that, you have my full permission to kick my ass."

Melanson laughed. "I may hold you to that."

"Now let’s ditch this car and get up to the apartment."

Melanson raised an eyebrow. "You seem quite eager. Do you think something’s going to happen up there?"

Bonvie shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes told a different tale. They were hot and burning with desire. Still, he somehow managed to keep his voice perfectly level as he said, "Let’s just go."

So with no further discussion they made their way up to Bonvie’s apartment. The place was messy, but no more so than it usually was. Melanson had been there enough before the whole stalking fiasco had started that he felt perfectly comfortable in flopping onto Bonvie’s couch.

Bonvie settled beside him a little more sedately, taking note of the way he was fidgeting. "Nervous?"

Melanson looked at him, startled. "What? Oh, no. Just thinking."

"What about?"

"I was just thinking I should probably call my brother. You know, tell him where I am, threaten to kill him if he wrecks my place. . . That sort of thing."

"Feel free to use my phone."

Zoning out a little, Bonvie watched Melanson go over to the phone and dial his number. A few minutes later Melanson turned the phone off. "I take it no one answered," Bonvie commented idly. Melanson nodded, carrying the phone to the couch and settling back down. Bored, and knowing Melanson would probably keep trying for a while, Bonvie flipped on the TV. Nothing was really on, and after a while he turned the TV off again.

Semi-bored, Bonvie turned his attention to Melanson. He was trying for what had to be at least the fifth time to get a hold of his brother. Bonvie smirked at the frustrated look that was slowly creeping across Melanson’s face. "No luck?" he asked.

Melanson rolled his eyes and clicked off the phone. "Of course not. How could my ass of a brother ever manage to be anything less than infuriating?"

Bonvie had to laugh at that. "There just must be something about you that attracts irritating people."

Melanson shot him a look. "Like you?"

"Mm-hmm," Bonvie agreed. Shooting a glance at Melanson to make sure he was paying attention, Bonvie stretched and yawned. "God, I’m tired. Maybe I’d just better go to sleep and leave you out here on the couch."

Melanson looked unimpressed. "Well, I suppose I could always call a cab and go home after all."

Bonvie quickly sat up. "Er, no. I think I can manage to stay awake a little bit longer. If you’re interested."

Melanson laughed. "Don’t worry. I was just kidding." Melanson abruptly stood, tossing the phone to Bonvie. "Here, you try again for me. I’m going to the bathroom."

Bonvie watched him go towards the bathroom with undisguised interest, then sighed. Turning on the phone and pressing redial, he held it reluctantly to his ear. He didn’t really expect anyone to answer, but just in case. . . The phone rang once, twice, three, four times. By the fifth ring he was seriously contemplating giving up. He was just about to remove the phone from his ear when the sixth ring cut off mid-way. "Hello?" a male voice slurred.

Bonvie rolled his eyes at the realization that the guy was drunk. Did he have nothing better to do? Or maybe that was the only way he could stand to spend so much time with himself. "You’re Dean Melanson’s brother, right?"

"Yeah." Bonvie’s eyes took on an evil glint. This was perfect. With Melanson in the bathroom he was free to say whatever he pleased. He just had to make it quick. "Well, has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." A woman giggled in the background, and Bonvie lost it. "Not only that, but you’re an inconsiderate and rude bastard. The reason you keep getting drunk and picking up women? Not only are you over-compensating, but being drunk is the only way you can get it up. I really wish I was there so I could kick your ass. You do not deserve to have Melanson as your brother. He is way too fucking nice to you. I, on the other hand-" Bonvie jumped as the phone was suddenly taken from his hands. "Damn it, Melanson, I was just getting started," he protested.

Melanson waved a hand at him, but otherwise ignored him. "Jeff? . . . Yeah, it’s me . . . Yes, that was one of my friends from the team . . . Oh, I wanted to tell you I won’t be home tonight. If you trash my apartment, you are so dead . . . No, I don’t really think so . . . I heard what he said . . . Actually, to tell the truth . . . Would you shut up and let me finish? Thanks. Actually, I kind of agree with him right now . . . That’s true, but it doesn’t excuse your behavior . . . Look, can we talk about this later? I have something more important to be doing . . . Ok, someone . . . I’ll hold you to that . . . Later." Melanson clicked off the phone.

Bonvie moved closer and took the phone from his hands. "So now that that’s over with, can we please move on to the good part?"

Melanson quirked an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Bonvie grinned, taking the opportunity to move even closer. "Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about."

Melanson grinned as well, faking a sudden remembrance. "Oh, you mean that!"

"Yeah."

"Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?"

Bonvie didn’t reply in words. Instead he stood and grabbed Melanson’s hand. Pulling him to his feet, he led him soon-to-be sextoy - er, lover - toward the bedroom. For once Melanson didn’t protest. The bedroom door clicked shut behind them with the sound of a new beginning.