Je t'aime, tu sais?

Jamie pulled his thin t-shirt up and over his broad shoulders and lean arms which got tangled above his head with his clunky elbows, tossing it behind her as she then pressed herself against him, flattening him on the bed.
"Oomf," he groaned as his back sunk onto the unmade mattress he had sullenly left three and a half hours ago for morning skate. Now, his knuckles dragged down his leather headboard without care. She held his arms above his head, their fingers tangled together as their lips continued to twist and suck on one another's, occasionally a pair of teeth seizing a puffy bottom lip and giving the slightest, most sensual tug while the other hissed in sexual satisfaction and gyrated their hips.
He inhaled and his chest expanded, flattening against her not-yet-naked breast as she trusted him to keep his arms above his head and traced her fingers down his triceps to find his pecks and ribs.
They giggled, bumping noses as he eagerly hunted for her lips, eyes half opened, his teeth in an open mouthed smile.
She indulged him for a little, fitting her plump bottom lip between his teeth but then pulling away, sliding her hand up his neck to hold his chin up as she teased a row of kisses down his jawline.
He finagled his chin out of her light grip but before she could protest he continued to obey her by keeping his head pushed back but instead of being restrained, he granted himself the freedom to kiss her palm and nip at the tip of her thumb as he grumbled a laugh.
They were so beautiful.
He didn't know what had gotten into her, but when he returned from morning skate, he was not about to put up a fuss that she had made herself at home in his bed, naked, save for a t-shirt of his she was swimming in and some light purple panties.
After sleeping alone after his very real, very raw, and very heavy conversation with Sid after dinner with the Delacour sisters last night, Patrice had huffed onto his bed alone, sleeping on and off throughout the night without much thought. He had woken up the next morning, had breakfast with Sid, and then the two parted ways; Patrice was headed to the Garden for practice and Sid climbed into a darkened SUV to meet Savvy's old doctor for some post-concussion symptom testing.
On his way to and from the rink, he thought about all he and his friend had talked about last night, bottles of Fiji water resting between their thighs as Sid sat on the couch in his jeans and a t-shirt and Patrice in his big white arm chair, his dress shirt hanging open and his ankles crossed. They talked about cancer and about how much he loved Jamie; they talked about how Sid felt vulnerable because there was nothing he could do about his concussion. His mom had had to move in with him and help him walk and eat and everything when it first happened; like it had turned him into an infant. And now he was afraid of living alone and it was really inhibiting him. He was really so grateful for Bergy opening up his place for him in Boston.
It was a somber morning.
But now.
This.
This...
Jamie's palms found his cheeks as she turned her head to deepen their kiss, sighing as their tongues found one another in the dark between their lips, locked in bliss.
His fingers found the bottom hem of his t-shirt on her and drew the thin, worn material up her tiny back as his feet toed the comforter twisted up at the bottom of the bed. He wanted to pull it over her once he stripped her of her clothes in case she was cold.
She must've dropped her mom off at the airport around seven and made her way over. Sid was gone for an undetermined amount of time--which was nice, even though Patrice truly enjoyed his company, especially while Mrs. Delacour was in town--and when he tried to pull into his parking spot in the garage he saw Emily's BMW there.
Parking on the street was a small price to pay for coming home to this.
Truly.
He wrapped his arms around her back, up along her shoulder blades and pressed her to him. Her thighs were spread over his dark jeans, the only piece of clothing he hadn't peeled off or she hadn't pulled him out of since he had returned home.
He desperately wanted to get out of them; he was hot and bothered and the friction of the material was uncomfortable against his more than willing friend.
As if reading his mind, Jamie pushed herself up from him, sitting on his hips.
"You barely have room for any fun in these, mon amor," she cooed, pouting.
He looked up at her in the soft glow of his apartment, her disheveled bun allowing a few loose curls to frame her face, her luscious bottom lip stuck out.
Him heart hammered against his chest.
God he was so crazy about her.
She drove him mad inside.
She was so fucking sexy.
He couldn't make much more of a noise than a disgruntled moan as he tried to shift his hips beneath her impatiently.
She giggled, working on his thick belt as his stomach rapidly rose and fell beneath her skilled fingers.
She leaned forward as she worked and tongued his belly button as he moaned loudly and then sharply inhaled, shrinking his stomach below his massive set of ribs.
"Did your mom make her flight?" He asked trying to contain himself as he gulped, his hands running up and down her thighs, every once and a while reaching for her body through the loose hanging material of his t-shirt. Once he found her breast and cupped it, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as she tugged his zipper down and they disintegrated into a moan as he gingerly twisted her nipple and her fingertips traced his length, bulging through his cotton boxer briefs.
She ignored his small talk with more important things to do.
She fruitlessly wrapped her fingers in his belt loops and pulled but the jeans didn't move. He tried to lift his hips for her but was too warn from morning skate to lift both himself and her so he quickly dropped his hands from playing under her shirt and tapped her bum.
"Up," he instructed as she giggled and obeyed with a dancing eyebrow. She raised herself up with her knees and he shimmied his jeans and his boxers down his thighs and kicked them to around his ankles. He lifted himself up to meet her as she sat back down on his naked hips and moaned as his length wedged itself between her, not even seeming to notice the barrier of her lavender panties.
He wrapped one arm around her and used his other hand to slip her shirt off of her.
When she regained use of her limbs she wrapped her arms around his neck and they met in a heated kiss, sighing as their chests collided and trying to get their hips aligned just such so that they could grind against one another. He could feel the purple material dampen up against his manhood, which was all he needed.
After a few hot and heavy seconds she pulled away from him and pushed him back down on the bed but he surprised her and took her with him, wrapping his massive fingers around her triceps as she gave a little squeal and he gave her a devilish grin.
He tapped her bum again, tightened and pressed onto his hips. "Up," he breathed through his toothy smile.
She giggled and lifted her bum as he pulled her underwear down her legs and they both moaned as their most intimate parts met with the help of Patrice's stabilizing hand for guidance.
As she sunk onto him he let her go so she could sit up straight, her hands flattened against his ribs as she eased herself onto his length and he grimaced to hide his animalistic moan and she tipped her head back in an erotic sigh.
He felt her adjust to his girth and knew she would begin to move when she was ready.
He could feel her gripping him inside.
It felt like a lifetime.
Then, instead of lifting, she pushed her hips forward, moving him within her as they gasped and he rippled with a wave of pleasure beneath her, crying her name. She pushed back and leaned forward onto his chest, reaching for his face as she gave a guttural groan of delight.
"I love you," she whispered urgently, lip locking him as he grabbed her waist and moved her again.
She moaned loudly, breaking their kiss to do so and repeating the motion with her hips.
"Aw Jesus, I love you too," he breathed through clenched teeth, fastening his arm around her ass and rolling over with her, ready to satisfy the beast within him with the swift pumping of his hips and cramping calves and flexed biceps.

"You..." she said in the softest voice, her fingertips running along his bicep as her other hand propped up her head as she watched herself. "You got this for me?"
"Yes," he nodded, laughing quietly. "Of course I did." He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear lovingly.
She lay on top of him, her knees pulled together between his spread ones, her stomach up against his hips and her knees bent so that her feet could play with one another kicked back in the air behind her, making a makeshift tent under his sheets.
"Really?" She asked but no sound came out. She turned to look at him, tears brimming her eyes.
"Really," he nodded, smiling. He lifted his head from the pillows and kissed her forehead. "And I have to get two boosters in the next six months. Do you have all yours?" He asked, referring to the Gardasil shot.
"Yes, my mum made me and Jamie get them as soon as they came out." She frowned, trying to curb her tears.
"It's okay--" he began, raising a hand to smooth her hair.
"That's so... it's so thoughtful of you..." she whispered.
"I'm not sure if I've told you recently, but, I kinda love you," he smirked, looping his arms under hers and pulling her further up his body. He got a giggle out of her.
"I dunno," she smiled, a tear streaming down her cheek, now useless for how he had made her feel. "I think you should prove it to me," she teased, biting her lower lip and locking eyes with him. She traced a circle on his peck, seductively.
"Oh yeah?" He laughed, taking hold of the back of her neck and guiding her face to his.
"May-be," she sang, looking away from him flirtatiously.
"Because I will," he said, matter-of-factly, determined, looking up at her. "Be careful what you wish for."
"I wish I wish I wish!" She sang, rubbing her face into his as he tackled her, rolling her over and attacking her neck with kisses as she squealed and giggled and kicked beneath him.
And within moments, he showed her again.
This time with his hot mouth and skilled tongue.

"Seriously?" She asked, one hand pinning him to the back of his leather headboard, the other held tightly around his base. She flashed him a sly grin. "You're going to put up a fight?"
Patrice made some kind of noise that sounded like he was going to disagree with her, but found it futile as she traced his length, leaning forward to capture his lips with hers. He moaned into their kiss as she took him fully in her hand and his body shrunk beneath her, his hips twisting in anticipation.
"Ah," he grimaced, sucking in a massive, steadying breath as he straightened himself against the headboard with his lean arms erect at his sides. "No, I just meant," he struggled to string words together as she twisted her wrist when she reached the top of him, paused a moment, and then guided her fingertips back down to his base. "That you don't have to always return the favor," he whispered, eyes closed, chest heaving.
"Not that I don't want it," he added as she smirked, sinking below his eye level and mashing her lips underneath his chin, forcing his head to fall back against the leather as his toes curled and her fist worked in his lap.
They heard the front door to his apartment open and he grabbed her hands, halting her as he leaned forward.
"Sid's back," he whispered.
"So?" Jamie laughed, sitting up.
"I dunno..." Patrice asked, shrugging. "He'll hear," he admitted, looking away from her sheepishly.
"Be quiet, then," Jamie dared, making her eye brows dance and pushing him back against the headboards. Before he could object she smoothed her tongue over his tip and eased him into her mouth. Patrice swore loudly in French, shrinking down into the pillows, grabbing at his fitted sheets and cracking his toes with his other ones.
"Patrice!" She giggled from between his legs, reaching up and kissing him quickly to prevent him from crying out anymore. He gave a little whimper into his mouth as her hand found him and continued to stroke him in absence of her mouth.
She pulled away from him.
"Now hush," she whispered, pressing a finger to his lips; it immediately became moist from his heated breath.
"I don't think I can," he chuckled.
"You have to mon amor," she cooed, twisting her hand around him as he clamped his eyes shut and whimpered again.
"Sh," she instructed him, laughing, kissing his cheeks as he sweat. "Why are you so sensitive today?"
"I dunno; I think going down on you really turned me on," he told her, attacking her lips and taking hold of her small head in his hands.
She grazed her thumb over his wet tip and he swore again onto her lips, his hips bucking.
"Patrice!" She giggled, quickly covering his mouth with her hand to quiet him.
In immediately rebuttal he opened his mouth and licked the width of her hand.
"Hey!" She whispered, shocked, removing her hand, as Patrice laughed and she looked at him with disbelief.
Then, Jamie got an idea.
"You better stay quiet now, Bergeron," she warned, giving him a mock-stern look as she shimmied down his legs.
Using her newly lubricated hand, she wrapped her fingers around him at the base and worked him, tonguing and sucking on his tip.
"Oh, Jamie! I can't, I can't," he groaned.
"Yes you can, sh!" She instructed, looking up his torso at him as he pathetically shook his head. Without breaking eye contact with him she planted a kiss on his shaft.
She could've swore he went cross eyed as his head fell back into the pillows and his chest heaved.
"No-o, I can't," he moaned as she held him up and licked up his length. He swore again, pushing his chin into the air, rubbing his forehead into the base of the leather headboard.
"I can't, I can't," he panted, his hands above his head, pressed into the leather as well. "Jamie," he moaned.
But she wouldn't stop.
She couldn't stop.
He writhed beneath her, his stomach falling and rising and hitching as he arched his back and whispered curses in French.
She threw him a pillow to cry into and then sucked him off good.

"I'll see you after the game, yeah?" He asked her as if afraid to let her go.
"Yeah," she smiled, raising herself on her tip toes to meet his lips.
"And you're just walking to the North End, yeah?" He asked, pointing between the buildings they could see between the concrete pillars of the garage toward the Italian part of town.
"Ou-ui," she answered dutifully. "I'm meeting Krista, Britt, and a few others," she reminded him.
"I wish you'd let me drive you," he sighed.
She played with his game day suit, unbuttoning the single button he had done of his grey textured jacket over his white button down with a black and white polka dotted skinny tie.
"But if you drove me we wouldn't have had time to make out," she reasoned aloud, smoothing his tie.
"When did we get to make out?!" He cried, raising his hands in objection. She took the moment to make sure no one was around in the private parking lot halfway under the Garden and then spun so her back was pressed up onto his Audi S5, pulling him against her by the front of his jacket.
She kissed him big and deep, only pulling apart long enough to let him smirk and get his little French chirp in.
"Sneaky sneaky," he chanted before dipping his head again and lip locking her. She held the base of his neck while the other tightened its grasp underneath his jacket, keeping him close.
They were startled apart by a honking horn.
"Hey! You two making out in French?" Brittany yelled out the side of a Mercedes CLS Coupe.
"What?" Patrice laughed as he pushed off of his Audi, blushing madly.
"Jamie says you two fuck in French," Brittany shrugged as Milan labored to get out of the low vehicle.
"Britt!" He called, disapprovingly.
"What?" She retorted, swatting at where he used to be sitting in the passenger's seat.
"What?" Patrice groaned, blushing even more.
"I did NOT!" Jamie protested, her mouth wide open in shock, blushing too.
"I guess that's true," Brittany said, looking up to the ceiling of her car in thought. "She never confirmed it. Pure speculation on my part," she decided, shrugging with a little giggle.
"Oh my god," Jamie moaned, covering her eyes.
"I can see why you're all over it, though," Milan winked, pulling his gym bag from the trunk and looking at his friend and her girlfriend. Jamie was in unbearably small tight white jeans, a camel colored wrap around t-shirt, a black leather jacket and a burberry scarf.
"Hey!" Brittany yelled, honking her car horn. "You're lucky I don't back up and run you over!" She threatened.
"Let's go," Milan whispered to Patrice, lifting his brows toward the entrance to the Garden. "Please," he mouthed.
Patrice laughed and turned back to Jamie, nuzzling her cheek.
"Ride with Britt," he said, nodding toward the Mercedes. "You're sitting with her and the other girls for the game, right?"
"Right," Jamie smiled, lifting herself up on her tip toes again to give him a kiss.
"Good, I'll know where to look when I have a sec.," he smiled, kissing her again.
"Good," she confirmed, bumping her nose against his and then breaking free of his grasp, dancing toward Brittany.
"Remember, I'm number 37," he joked, giving her a gentle pat on the ass as she made her way to the car.
"Patrice Berger-who?" She played along, giving him one last mock-confused look before she ducked into the car as they shared a final laugh. "Have a good game!" She called from the passenger's car in French.
"I'll see you right after," Patrice waved, shouldering his gym bag and strutting behind the car to walk with Milan.
"Wait, what was that? What did you guys say; that was so fucking sexy," Brittany chatted, putting the car in drive and peeling out of the parking lot.

As Patrice took the ice for warmups Jamie felt a certain glowing within her.
She didn't know much about the sport, the Flyers, or the history at the Garden, but, she was happy to say that she was a part of a very important man down there on the fabricated ice, making a difference in every way imaginable.
Halfway through dinner she received a text from Patrice reading that immediately after the game he'd have to shower, make his way through the media scrum, an NHL network on ice interview (he promised would be less than two minutes), and then he had to meet some kids he was hosting tonight in his box for Patrice's Pals.
She promised she didn't mind but he wanted her to follow Krista downstairs because she could show her where the meet and greets were done (having to have to meet Andrew there often), and she could watch him meet some of the kids and take pictures. He swore repeatedly it wouldn't take long.
They exchanged a few texts about how really, Jamie didn't mind waiting for him but he was upset because he and his agent had had a fall in communication. Patrice had asked him to clear his schedule tonight so he could take her out to dinner at the Palm after the game; the night was going to be about them--just like the day had.
"We can still go, mon amour. They'll bump our table reservations back; I'll call now." She had texted.
"No, Jamie. This night is about me and you."
"Don't be upset. It still will be :)." She had assured him.
Now, looking down at him on the ice, she almost wished she could see him sooner. The national anthem hadn't even been sung yet and she could hardly wait to hold his hand under the table and share a glass of wine with him after the game.

"Hey, hey, yeah, yeah," March breathed, his glove held in front of Patrice, pointing down the bench to his other side where Seggy sat. Marchy always talked in twos when he was excited; it wasn't something Patrice questioned anymore.
"Loop," Bergy confirmed.
"Yeah loop," Seguin nodded. "Like:" and he drew a circle with the pointer finger of his glove around Marchand's outstretched hand as the line nodded, solidifying the game plan for their next shift.
"Yup, yup," Bergy breathed, pushing their hands away from in front of him so he could spit the thick saliva crowding the back of his throat out.
"Right in here boys, right in," he chanted, picking his head up. "Right over the boards and into the game, eh?" He said, more to himself as he leaned on his right forearm and cast a look up towards the Bruins' personal box. He was too far away to see Jamie, but took comfort knowing she was there.
"Alley oop!" Johnny called, looking for a defensive line change as he clunked into the boards and Johnson popped the door open for him. Z stepped over the boards, answering his call.
"Fucking Christ," they could hear Johnny groan to whomever he was sitting next to on the bench. "Hartsy's a fuckin' train tonight, man. I thought I was in prison the way he hit me from behind; fuckin' tough game tonight here boys."
"Yeah, yeah, this is us!" March called as Thorty made his way over to the bench, slamming Claude Giroux into the boards. The young super star crumpled in front of them.
"Ho, ho, how's that feel, little tyke?" Thorty chirped, stepping behind him and hoping over the boards.
"Toodles!" March giggled, hurdling over and onto the ice.
Patrice stood to wait for Soupy.
"Loop, loop, loop," he whispered to himself, watching the puck as if he were a programmed TV camera. He felt the familiar tingle throughout his spine, knowing that soon enough he couldn't plan anymore, he'd just be reacting.
He lived to give himself up to the game of hockey.
"Berg!" Soupy called, making his way to the bench with Piesy.
Patrice and Seguin rose to their calling.
Seggy immediately received the puck as the Flyers pressed him to force Patrice into being offsides and dumped it into the corner behind Steven Mason to avoid the whistle.
Patrice kicked off at the blue line, autopilot kicking in.
He crossed the face off dots, the bottom of the circle, the goal line, stopped right before he hit the boards to swing the puck behind the net and then