#pierre-luc dubois

[flashyfucker]

trouble | pierre luc dubois ✷

MY MASTERLIST summary: a couple months ago, pld was a guy from tinder in your phone, mid-quarantine with nothing better to do than trade all-too intimate texts in the early hours of the morning. now he’s at a family dinner as your cousin’s new boyfriend, and all either of you can think about are the things you promised you’d do to each other. pld x fem reader. word count: 5.6k. warnings: smut. cheating / morally grey (morally bad, actually lmao). little hints of size kink & dom pld, nothing super significant though. very vague alcohol mentions.      

The first time you’d spoken to Pierre-Luc, it was moments after you’d swiped right on his dating profile with a scoff at the stupid one liner in the top line of his bio. Tinder had pulled your sharp attention from the jigsaw puzzle laid out like a big blanket over your coffee table, the quarantine days-blending-nights, online college and endless throwaway hobbies taking their toll on your circadian rhythms.

You’d barely realised it was 2am at all until Pierre-Luc’s grey bubble spelled here’s trouble.

And that did something, twisted your stomach, his understated flirting. He had you faster than either of you even knew.

only trouble for you.

      It’d taken not two days of back-and-forth, of his name lighting your phone at all hours, for cheap conversation about your classes and his career to fragment into slivers of deeper introspection. Three days before talks of big fears and big achievements were woven between voice memos recording broken pleas and lewd, slick sounds. Then wish you were here would be taped below ten-second clips: fuzzy and dark but where the lamplight glints golden on the slick of his cock, and you can hear him, hear your name groaned in the videos.

And it’d been a few weeks, more than a few nights where Pierre-Luc was there, practically. Where your snapchats would cut around your clay facemasks to show a little too much décolletage, and suddenly you’d have a hand between your thighs, ‘cause God Luc loved it, and he was really good at weaponizing his near-constant uniform of grey sweats and too-tight shirts.

But that was all it was. As your college gradually allowed you back on campus, and hockey made its valiant return, you both found your schedules filling out with things more important than sexting like horny teenagers, and the line died before the feelings did.

      Tonight the sky’s the colour of port wine and it’s late-spring, but it’s Winnipeg all the same: the wind feels like it should welt frost all along your legs while you’re stood on the kerb, waiting for a motley collection of your relatives to negotiate street parking. Your apartment’s barely two blocks away from the restaurant, and walking had seemed like a good idea until now: your shoulders tremble when you loosen them to wave at your aunt in someone’s passenger seat, the driver trying to reverse parallel, and your hair sticks to your lipgloss in the breeze, and maybe it wasn’t the walking, but the showing up at all, that was your mistake.

You think so, especially, when your cousin cheeps out your name from a little ways down the block, picks up her pace to jog into your arms, a hug with an intensity that takes you off guard, ‘cause your eyes are only on the guy following her up, the barest of furrows in his brow: far too familiar. 

The pathetic hope he’ll continue being a stranger, a passer-by, even just for tonight, it’s gone in the way your cousin looks back at him, smiles at him. Your brain whirrs like a cash counter, excuses to leave filing themselves into the dozens, but car doors are slamming nearby, and you know how your parents get about these silly gatherings.

      Your cousin’s smile glows and she’s halfway through something like how have you been, it’s been so long, before you come to centre, swallow around some throwaway answer and let a sigh die in your throat when Luc settles at your cousin’s side, pink-faced in a way he’s sure he can blame on the wind chill. He hopes, anyway.

But he knows the way you look under the fine silk dancing against your tight thighs, tonight, and he’s fucked. He’s fucked. Your cousin explains to a group of family, now, how “Pierre lives in the neighbourhood, so we walked. Isn’t that so romantic?” and you and Luc, you both see the train about to derail, here. Both feel the panic as it screams in your ears.

      He takes her hand when you all walk in, and drops it to sit wherever your uncle directs him to without complaint: opposite his girlfriend, adjacent you. It’s weird to watch it all: the sharp, wide cut of his knuckles flexing in a cup around her hand then letting go easily, and you know he’s not yours, but he sent stupid fucking hand pictures when you asked, one time, and you’d complimented this signet ring he wore, and, fuck. 

He’d said You want a ring? I’d run away with you if they’d let us out of the country. 

And you’d swooned, laid upside down on your couch, square-eyed and lost in him. 

i’d settle for that one against my throat rn. but i hear vegas is nice this time of year.

Inside you? We could even do Cabo. Maybe Paris.

i want it all with you. paris sounds nice, though.

And now he’s toying with his soup spoon like a kid in trouble, and if you don’t keep your elbows down you feel the warmth of him beside you, and that auric signet adorns the fourth finger on his right hand, and if you think about the way he’d ended that conversation, the almost-sincerity of his promise to take you to fuckin’ Paris? Bending you over on the hotel balcony and kitschy gallery dates? 

You’d spent an hour talking about the city with him, riding out your orgasmic afterglow on the phone together. It was nearly routine. For some reason, now, you think you could cry at this table. 

A healthy dose of jealousy found in the knowing you’d have him, maybe, if you’d tried a little harder. If you’d not both gotten so busy all at once, if the timing had been right. If you’d put more effort in when he kept swiping up on your stories for a few weeks. You shoulder it all, the onslaught, and smile while telling your relatives about this freelance gig you’ve got, how well it compliments school. How you’re thriving, really, on most fronts, but you stammer over the relationship questions, and how Luc’s knee leans into yours under the table, and you feel bad, but you don’t pull away from it.

He lets himself look at you, properly in this light, for the first time, when you manage “Tinder’s a bit of a lost cause, isn’t it?”, coated in an impressive fake laugh along with one of your perpetually-single aunts. 

      This joint’s got these too-expensive chandeliers curtaining honeyed light everywhere, and you’re smiling, gentle and measured and more polite than he’d known you to be, and he has to blink slow like he’s stunned, because he is, a little. It takes a moment to remind himself he’s not here with you, and it feels like a gutting. Luc barely knows what he’s getting at when he picks up his phone from where it’d rested, untouched between fine stemware, but he knows that sitting here without speaking to you feels like burning. 

His name in your notifications still tightens in your chest, all these months later.

She’s not my girlfriend Only came because she didn’t want to answer relationship questions tonight

You need something stronger than the iced water you drink, but it chills all the way down to your stomach, and it helps. The way your nerves prickle, brain buzzes— it somehow makes you feel like you fit in, here, match the roiling energy of this overstimulating restaurant. You can barely form a serious thought.

so what, you were bribed with the oysters and negronis on my dad’s tab?

You text under the table, subtle enough, but you’re thankful for the boisterous mouth of your dad explaining some unbelievable golfing story to his brothers. Moreover, distracting everyone from your shitty table manners. You keep your shoulders back, anyway, sure steeling your spine will save you from swooning into a hunch over your phone, how you’d always wound up for him. Your mom would really hate that, you think.

You catch Luc in your periphery, glancing around, trying to keep up. His eyes glint with feigned interest before they fall back to his phone, and your heart beats loud and uneven like it’s the blunt tap tap tap of his thumb.

Just the oysters. Got a PT session in the morning and I’m a lightweight.

of course you are

And you hope Luc will be done at your dismissal. That history might repeat itself on an abstracted scale, and he’ll reach out to one of your kid cousins across the table and bribe them to swap seats so he can sit beside the girl he came with, much to your uncle’s chagrin. You think about it, though, for a few seconds: where his knee touches yours, his elbow moves so close to your forearm you feel it, there, and then you think about him moving, and it’s nearly like panic. 

Any chance you still want that ring?

It’s selfish how you smile. But he’s smiling, too, and that makes it feel better, a little. Like if you’re doing the wrong thing, together, that makes it less wrong.

nah, just paris. being realistic here.

The hotel balcony or the Louvre?

You’re warm all over, delirious-drunken heat despite the lemon-spiked water in your glass, and it’s pathetic how quick he’s got you, a puddle in the palm of his hand, pressure between your thighs. The room is suffocating, overfilled.

You hear your cousin, for a moment, her high voice recounting shapeless words— hearing her but not listening. You’re glad she’s busy, but you think she might kill Luc when they get home, for the way he’s not partaking in the high frenzy of your extended family, like this wasn’t meant to be his debut and now he’s on his phone, lost under the ruckus. You might be annoyed, too, if you weren’t the reason for it. If the thought of a Parisian balcony and the man beside you didn’t make you shift in your seat.

don’t try to sext me rn

But he puts his phone down, and his knee skims your thigh again, and that ring tingggs against the glass when he hesitates before picking up his water, and you just can’t help yourself. You text again.

the balcony after a day at the louvre.

Your cousin falls back in her seat when Luc’s phone trembles on the table, screen alive again, and her deflation bites at you, but your body’s alight when Luc stands up, plucking his phone from the sparkling chaos of excessive silverware he doesn’t know the purpose of. He excuses himself, leaves without fuss from anybody, and he mustn’t be even halfway to the bathroom before your phone vibrates in the cradle of your lap.

How about the bathroom of this place, for now? I’ll book flights tonight.

i’m not fucking you here are u insane

Just wanna talk.

The free bread on the table’s almost gone and main courses are still miles away, and the tension is building between your mom and one of her sisters, so you go. You tell yourself it’s everything but Luc, but then there’s the stupid, incessant brush of his leg alongside yours, the silken jersey of his stupid-nice pants, tight like barely-holding around his thick thigh, pressing into you like a reminder, and he’s twice as head-spinningly attractive in person. Like all that had done nothing to you at all.

      He stands with his back against the doorframe of a single-stall in the little alcove of a hallway, and he calms when he sees you, visibly so: shy smile hiding teeth and his shoulders relaxing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The cogs twining tension in your torso begin to come apart, letting your muscles breathe.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” And you think that’s his idea of breaking the ice, ‘cause maybe you look a little meaner than you want to, expressionless with arms folded across your body, and you don’t really know why. Luc wants to ask if you’re okay, but that’d be dumb, he thinks. Neither of you have a reason not to be.

There are probably a million things in the air to be cleared, but none of them feel right to begin this conversation with. You don’t know why he wanted to get you alone, but you know you stand a little too close to him, and neither of you mention it. Something’s starting, here, energy between the pair of you, you feel it rising, an upward pull you can’t quite place. It’d be so easy to kiss him.

“Sorry I stopped texting.” Is an easy place to start, an easy way to shake the sly little thoughts about his beard and his shoulders and his lips— and you are sorry. God, are you. The word sorry doesn’t seem big enough for the pit in your chest, tonight. For how cuttingly good he looks in all-black, the dress shirt tailored taut across the expanse of muscle, licks of hair threatening to scruff around his ears. No word could be, you don’t think.

“So am I. Got a lot to catch up on.” Luc shifts like he doesn’t know where to put his hands, pocket-to-pocket and far, far too heavy by his sides. It’s darker here, in this sleek little hallway, and he hopes, if he’s as flushed as he feels, that you can’t tell.

“The girlfriend, probably foremost.” You finally smile, pretty and bittersweet, and it melts him, how your head tilts with it, and all his thoughts fall gooey in his chest. He feels like a bad guy. Maybe he is a bad guy. Maybe he doesn’t really care, though, because you’re here, now, and years of grinding out on the ice and quotes about hard work and planning and structure has marred his perception of fate and luck, but he knows this feels too right to not be something like that. On this date he’d only agreed on to be nice, he feels like the luckiest dude in the world to have found you again.

“If I told you we’re not exclusive would you kiss me?”

You stare dumbly, and you know you should tell him to fuck off, ‘cause the girl he came with is around the corner and a couple tables over, and, God, the nitty terms of their relationship shouldn’t matter, but he's afflicted and he looks it, handsomeness aggrandised by apple cheeks, an open mouth, caught between words and sensibility and what he wants, and it overcomes you: you need him so bad it thrums everywhere, shimmery and heavy in your blood. 

“Would you be lying?”

He answers quick and gaspy, desperate:

“Never. It’s been a month of talking. Nothing defined.”

And it’s not a romantic profession or gesture and it shouldn’t be enough, but it’s like a magnet’s pull on the iron in your veins, the excitement of it, and you're on him, kissing hard, pushing your way around into the single stall with his hands keeping you close, your chest flush to his sternum, his heaving ribs.

      Cutting shadows in the desaturated amber light of this too-nice bathroom, his hands stretch across plains of your body, hold tight— move rougher than his mouth. The juxtaposition is mind-spinning and hot and frustrating all at once, grappling with the gentleness of his kiss, and the way he handles you like you could slip away from him, and he’d do anything to stop it.

Backed against the wall, you spare a thought for what it might be like, later, when you’re not in heels and you have to pull and stretch like taffy to kiss him like this, and it’s all you can think about, the next time, the more more more. 

The idea that this will end flows in and spikes in your chest, and Luc’s tugging at your hair, a little hard, pulling your head back to mouth softly down the column of your neck when “Need you,” falls from your mouth like a plea.

Luc catches your eye for a moment, a touch of gentle concern on his face, seeking clarity as he pants “Here?”, and the understated respect of it takes you further into him, finding his mouth with yours once more.

“I don’t— Just need something Luc.” Your thoughts are disorganised, pathways from your brain to your mouth well and truly in meltdown, but he gets the idea. He gets this little smile on his open mouth when the hand in your hair tightens at the root, makes you gasp, your hips jolt up into him.

“I really wanna touch you.” He might’ve been shy about it, were the circumstances different: were you somebody else, somewhere else— somewhere the sense of urgency is not so overwhelming, the fear of loss not spurring on the need to do this, do it right. But he’s here, practically on top of you, and he knew he was fucked the moment he saw you out front, but he’s a wreck for you, now, long gone.

      He’s caught the fervent nod of your head before the breathy “Please.”, and the word is twisted into a gasp with Luc’s hand pushing between your thighs, fingers lithe and intuitive in angling against your slit, pushing heavy enough through the layers of tights and panties that your hips buck, chasing it.

Hand falling from your hair to your hip, Luc guides, helps you cant your pelvis in rhythm with the cyclical working of his hand, and he studies it, smiling: the look on your face, the lips open but brows tight, unclipped pleasure tingling out, “Oh, God, Luc,” and little uh-huhs falling unstifled from your glossed mouth. 

But footsteps thud outside the door, echo in the hall a little louder than the restaurant’s bustling hum, and Luc feels them, a familiar pull, like skates shredding ice behind him, the feeling of somebody catching up, and it’s like years of that has steeled his composure for nothing but this. 

He hates it, but the rush makes him impossibly harder, fizzes in his muscles all over. He quietens you gently, takes your jaw in his big hand and “Shh, sh, I’ve got you. Gotta be quiet.” falls so close to your lips, numb from his teeth, and he kisses you again as he tears at your tights and pushes beneath your underwear, cold rush of air and then his hand, hot and heavy.

You yelp into him when his fingers take featherlight circles over your bare clit, slow and purposeful and not nearly enough, and your nerve grows tenfold in the moments where you're trying, grabbing at his forearm and grinding, but he’s moved from cautious to teasing: you can taste the difference in the kiss made shallow by his fake-coy grin.

You find it in you, for the slimmest moment, to tune out your frustration, like it’s not beating between your legs cruelly, unsated by the hot little waves Luc’s revelling in, and you swallow hard, thumbing at his cheek so he meets your eye, stars in his, and he’s all you want, then.

“Let them kick the door in if they come looking, Luc. Need you inside me,”

      And the footsteps are long gone, and, like, ten minutes is maybe a generous estimate for the time you’ve got before phones start ringing and people start knocking, but he feels a little like the world might break apart if he doesn’t move you, sit you up on the marble counter’s edge and give you what you’re asking for.

He handles you with ease: it’d be graceful, maybe, if it wasn’t undercut by urgency, by your grasping at the width of him, trying to take down the pearlescent buttons of his shirt while he fumbles with the zip on his pants, all moving so, so fast. It’s mulled with panted hums and your voice, catching, when you see him, breathless with awe and intimidation and a little chagrin, maybe, at how you feel yourself pulse, leak filthily. 

“You okay?” He mumbles at your sudden quiet, nudging at your chin with one hand to look at him while wrangling his pants down his thighs a little further, and the red flourish of his cheeks flips your belly, makes this feel real, open. Like you know him, and he knows you, better than anyone.

“Y’wanna hear how it’s better in person? Can I show you?” It’s self-indulgent, how you reach between your bodies, run a tentative hand over the imposing length of him with a smile, satisfied with how it bests him so easily, makes the big man all blushy.

“Don’t have time,” He finally gulps, centring himself with a fist around his dick, so you can’t touch, and it nearly makes it worse, he thinks, because then you’re touching yourself, big, slow circles over your soaked underwear, the obscene hole in your tights, legs spread with your knees up. He can barely look, not here. Feels criminal to have you without having the time to do it properly, to appreciate you right.

“We have a little time...” You try, gaging, this time, daring, maybe, and he steps into it seamlessly, the tone you’d known from him when he’d shamelessly tell you exactly how to fuck yourself all those months ago, stringing up words over the phone line that would make you blush and writhe and thank him earnestly.

“You can make out with my cock when I get to lay you out and eat this pussy. Not before. For now— hey, look at me,” His eyes are dark and it makes them soft, sincere and dead serious as his words, “I’m gonna fuck you hard and quick and,” He pulls the sticky fabric of your panties to the side, “Then we’re gonna pretend this didn’t happen,”

Your whimper is a little pathetic, gauzy and mostly breath and equal parts the sick reality of the situation and the hot, swollen head of Luc’s cock teasing at your entrance, catching and slipping, “Till we can get back to yours and I can make you mine, good and well.”

And that gets you, and you don’t know if you really knew what it meant to see stars before, but when it pops in, abrupt, the hot stretch pushes deep and fast and with his hands all over you, thumbing at your lip, palming at your neck, you know, finally, you’re acquainted with them.

       It’s stream of consciousness, your comfort with him already prevailing as “S’ really big, Luc.” wavers your voice, shoulders dipped back against the cold mirror behind you, and Luc, for all he would love to revel in it, doesn’t let it preen him, more important things to worry about, his brow furrowing deep. 

“You good?” He strains, nearly bottomed-out, big hands finding their hold on your thighs, and it’s only met with “Please, Luc, need it,” from you. And he says something you think you miss, a little, ‘cause his hips jolt up almost involuntarily and you can’t really think straight, as it is, but it sounds like “Fuckin’ killing me.”.

He holds the back of your legs, pushing up up up to keep you open for him as your hips pull and twist and give way to this new cadence, the throbbing pleasure hitting in your lower stomach and building out, knotting you inside. 

“So wet... Makin’ a mess.” 

It mounts fast enough it could nearly be embarrassing, and it’s not at all helped by the way he runs his mouth, almost to himself, mindless and unfiltered. Rambles of pretty girl and so good for me, a new ballast to his ever-smooth voice: it damn near reverberates in your chest on every thrust, overwhelms you equal to the palpable surges along your nerves as you fall in time with one another.

Deep in the marrow of the moment, under the headiness of the stretch, the rock, waves of pleasure like a rising tide, impending— the pressing feeling remains: pleas of “Tonight?” cut from Luc’s mouth, panting as he grabs your hips and drives into you, his words unvetted by sense or foresight, and you nod, desperate, giggle dumbly when he clarifies “Got any plans later?”.

“Uh...” A little moan, wetting your lips as you collect your thoughts like a mixed up deck of cards, trying to focus like he’s not rutting his cock into you, hunting deeper, deeper, “Gonna... G’na be on my knees, I think...”

“Yeah?” There’s something flashy about his smile, the way his beard softens his face through the ecstasy, the pretty cut of his incisors under a curled lip when your back arches, helps him sink further, hit that spot. You’re done-for when he slows, shallows his thrusts and tracks a hand along your body, fingers lighting a ticklish path all the way down, slipping over your dress to split either side of your clit and stroke gently, back and forth and back, cyclical and unwavering.

It brightens everything, the chill glass along the ridges of your shoulder blades fuses with the uproar of heat and pressure in your pelvis— lemon over split ice, cracking and fizzing. Then it turns quickly, lips into an edge suddenly, brutally.

      It only takes the subtlest of upticks in his pelvis, the head of his cock rutting in just so, and you’re right there, rocking messy turns into his hips as you orgasm, chin tipped back, a cry you can’t contain, and everything slows down: Luc can’t help himself, hungry mouth dipping to your chest. You’re searing hot, skin sheening under the rich, burnishing light, reflexive grasping for his arms, his torso, and you’re so stunning like this, he nearly laughs.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” Is quickly bridled with wet little kisses along your collarbone, fucking you through the afterglow, quick snaps of his hips, now, fingers still there. Your cunt pulses around him, only made tighter by the sight of him when he rights his posture, his eyes rolling and fluttering closed and scrunching, turning your coherent thoughts into choppy whines and something that sounds a lot like thank you, Luc, thank you.

“Still with me, pretty girl?” He asks, but he’s about to lose it, too: the tremble in his voice, his choked breath, it’s not lost on you. You gasp as he reaches for the arch of your back, yanking you up into his torso, a hand feeling for your throat and thumb lining your jaw, heavy comfort like a blanket. His chest bumps into yours, heaving, panting, and you’re too far gone, now, to watch your words, your decorum, your head lolling into him.

“Do it inside me, Luc, please. Please.”

He’s rapt with it, the plea on your face, the gentleness of the ask, in awe of you. You whimper, his mouth pecking softly at your temple, as his hips tick up, he moans, “God. Say it again, baby. Say— fuck. What do you need?” 

You whine for half a moment, try to shove a hand between your bodies to play with your clit, but he’s mean about it, swatting your hand away, steadfast in that subtle cruelty until you give him what he wants, ‘till you say it.

“Need it, Luc. Fill me up. Make me your girl. Need your come, please, come inside me.”

He’s losing rhythm in favour of desperate, rabbity thrusts which shake you, and you can’t really tell, but you don’t think you stop talking, just lose coherency in all your begging, all your neediness, the titillation of hearing him say it: my girl, my girl, my girl while he pins your hips, fucks you into the counter.

With his fingers back on you, then, it’s unstoppable, inevitable. He’s burying his free hand in your hair to tip your head back, and kissing you hard, all messy licking, nipping, a growl when you’re coming, again, your cunt contracting and legs squeezing around his hips, hands clawing under his shirt— jaw hinged open to mewl his name. It’s all you remember when his hips stutter, shoving all the way in at once, barely pulling out before rocking back in, all his muscles wound tight tight tight.

He fills you up, hot and deep, threatening to flow out around where he’s buried. The stretch, the barely-fitting headspin is exacerbated now you’re both used and throbbing and— god, he huffs like he’s sobbing, groaning with the last of his load spilling into you.

You’re both breathing hard, like there’s not enough air to go around, and the oxygen on offer is heavy, hard to take down. Luc smiles to himself with his head bowed, and it’s strange, like the kind he wears after a bad loss but someone’s told a good joke in the tunnel, making dinner plans in the locker room, singing badly in the shower. Something akin to hope set behind it, held in tight: metal-gilded like the onyx in the ring he wears, warm gold.

      He pulls out slowly, and something breaks in your throat, disappointment, maybe, sudden emptiness carding up through your sinews, settling, cheesily, in your chest. You smell his cologne on yourself, shuddering off in waves when you move, find your footing on the ground despite shaky knees. 

You’re both deadlocked within yourselves, rearranging clothes, shakily praying your underwear catch the mess of him, the filthy flow. He’s pinching his buttons closed, and you find the top of your breast striated with long, blotchy rakes from teeth, sensibly covered by the neckline of your dress, but you don’t even remember when he’d done that, too lost in the fervour, the rush, since the moment the bathroom door shut behind you. It fills you, warmth in the smouldering pit behind your sternum, the proof he was there like a badge, or like a brooch. Either way, it’s yours to keep.

And the sweet is hard to keep out when the bitter makes it hotter. You agree you’ll leave first, and he’ll wait a moment before following, and he tells you he’ll call it off with her after dinner, and you nod like you’ve just shaken on a business deal. You should feel bad, but all you can feel is him between your legs, the tear in your stockings, exposed panties under the too-short-for-this dress, the dull ache.

It feels full-circle, like Can’t wait to taste you texted to your phone months ago, and, now, "I’m gonna spend, like, hours, eating you out, later,”, murmured against your ear from behind, matter-of-factly, his hand mapping a line up the side of your body, a sharp, playful little slap to your ass that makes you yelp, first, and roll your eyes after.

He laughs a soft “Huh. I’m serious, baby.”, rubbing at your shoulders.

“Yeah? Serious about Paris, too?” You’re fucking around, now. Almost high-strung, waiting for a knock, for someone to call you out, and this little swirling stroke of luck and fate or whatever the fuck, to fall apart. But, in your blurred afterglow, Luc slotted against you, still nearly-hard on your lower back, you don’t really care. You can’t imagine letting anything ruin it. 

“Mm. Leave it with me.”

      He kisses the back of your head before you finally break away, and pulls softly at your hand as you go. Your cousin sticks out like a beacon at that table when you round the corner to find your family, and the indecency of the mess in your underwear suddenly hangs like heavy raiment over you. 

Your seat and Pierre’s, both empty, jackets strewn and half-full glasses and crooked silverware from restive hands. It should be tell-tale, so obvious. 

But, there’s a blemish of maraschino on her pretty blouse, and she’s big-eyed and grinning and entertaining one of the aunts, not a care in the world. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed. You sit high on tense muscles, legs crossed tight under the table, and join the conversation like you’d never left, like fifteen minutes that felt like an hour or two hadn’t fallen away and changed so much with them. Maybe it’d been twenty minutes.

“Everything okay?” She asks, a genuine sidebar. So nice. 

“Yeah, turns out one of Pierre’s trainers is this guy I was seeing last summer. Got caught up talking about what an asshole he is.” The lie comes easily, and eases both you and her. Your phone throbs in your hand.

How soon can you get a few days off work?

A link to a hotel website comes through, next, then a screenshot of the balcony, a private terrace with a suspended daybed, sprawling city views. Your face must be candy-red.

i’ll see what i can do they’re gonna hate your québécois over there lmao

You wonder, briefly, if you look as out of place as you feel. As fucked-out as you feel. You’d smoothed your hair in the mirror, and he’d told you, doting look on his face, “You look... unaffected, mostly,”, trying to reassure you like your hair wasn’t tangled, makeup wasn’t blurred, the proof of your actions wouldn’t be glaring to anyone who cared to look. 

You could feel your pulse in your hands and throat and teeth, everything, asking “Did I feel unaffected?”. And he’d closed his eyes, groaned a desperate laugh through “Baby, don’t get me hard again.”. But he was already halfway back there.

      Luc, coming back out, walks with strides heavy and confident. Ruddiness crawls up from his collar and he smiles, asymmetrical dimples with his teeth seizing the inside of his cheek, trying to subdue it, the elation that’s so inappropriate, now.

Let em hate it. We don’t need to leave the suite, anyway.

He sits, and all the meals come out like it’s been rehearsed, timing impeccable. Luc pens one more message, and has to pretend that he hadn’t seen you freeze up, squirm in your seat. That he wants anything but to walk you home, now, give you everything he’s promised. With your elbows knocking under the table’s crest, though, it’s like neither of you had ever left. 

(Wait I do want pics of us in the Louvre, so we’ll have to leave for that, at least)

#i wrote this almost entirely on a whim so it's a lil messy but :) here we are :) hope u like it :) #pierre luc dubois #cw: smut #ff.doc #pierre luc dubois x reader #pierre luc dubois imagine #pierre-luc dubois #pierre luc dubois fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey smut #nhl imagines

[is-mcdavo-hot]

Round One | Poll Two

#pierre-luc dubois #devon levi

[cellythefloshie]

;; 12 Days of Kinkmas   Day 10 - Pierre-Luc Dubois - Old Flames

Summary: When you agreed to join your Tinder match for a holiday gathering - and potentially a much needed hookup - you didn’t expect to run into ex Pierre-Luc Dubois and have all the feelings you had pushed aside resurface.  Kinks & TW: exes to lovers, bathroom hook up - while on a date with someone else, unprotected sex, creampie, mild jealousy (Luc is jealous), quickie Word Count: 3720

TAGLIST : @wingedwheelprxncess @mitchymainer @equallyshaw @starshine-hockey-girl  @beccaiscold @samanthasgone​

It had been your third round of introductions for the night as you hung off your date’s arm, your hand leaving the strength of his forearm as you reached out to meet each friendly handshake that came from people you hadn’t planned to remember the names of for longer than the duration of the conversation. Sure, it would have come off as rude if you had said it out loud, but while this was a holiday party for your date, to you, this was just one night. You had met Morgan through one of the many dating apps you had on your phone, but you couldn’t quite remember which one. He had been handsome enough to earn a swipe right, and held good enough conversation for you to take his invite to be his plus one seriously - but it was the promise of the open bar that really won you over. 

Since you had arrived, you had a glass in your hand that was always full - and when it emptied? You offered everyone a sweet smile, excused yourself, and went to the bar. Not that Morgan minded, he had only invited you there so his buddies would get off his back for being the only single guy at the party, and you almost always came back with a drink for him as well. With multiple drinks already consuming you, you were comfortable at his side and found yourself leaning into his strength. You welcomed the touch of his large hand along your back with a smile as you mingled, but the smile faded as your stomach fell and your skin began to crawl. It felt like someone was watching you. 

You slipped away from Morgan like silk ribbon, the careful step of your heel-clad feet giving you enough room to carefully scan the room as you drained your glass of the rest of your drink. The sweet liquor turned sour in your mouth as your eyes fell on a table nearby. It was busy enough that you had overlooked it, but then you spotted that stare. That one you had come to know all too well.  Luc. 

Heart fluttering in your chest, you let out a heavy breath and did your best to pretend you hadn’t spotted him in the crowded room. You should have known he would be here - worst of all, you should have known seeing him for the first time since he had dumped you would hurt this much. Just the sight of him left your mouth parched and your hands gripping your empty glass almost desperately. You needed it to be full because there was no amount of drink that was going to be able to stop the heartache that threatened to take you now. 

Your hand brushed over Barron’s arm slowly, your eyes raising to meet his face as you spoke out, “I’m just going to head to the bar, do you need anything?”

His head shook slowly, barely acknowledging you before he returned to the conversation between him and his company - and that didn’t bug you. Not really. Not when you could still feel Luc’s eyes on your back, but it did make you wish that Morgan was coming to the bar with you. You did your best to remain composed as you moved through the crowded hall. You didn’t trip, you didn’t hesitate - you just had to make it to the bar. When you did, it felt like the safety of finding your own little island after being lost at sea - but it didn’t last long. Your nervous dread was quick to return when you heard that all-too-familiar voice order a drink from beside you, and his all-too-familiar touch carefully found your elbow as if his drink order hadn’t been enough to draw your attention.

“Didn’t expect to see you here…” Luc spoke slowly, his body leaning up against the bar as he waited for his drink. 

You almost cursed. Where did he get the audacity to look better than he did the last time you saw him? His suit was well tailored, the jacket left open to show off his button-down. He wore no tie, and instead had the top buttons left undone, showing off his impressive chest without even trying. You were having a hard time trying not to stare, especially when you noticed just how good his ass looked in his pants. 

You found your confidence with your drink as it was handed to you by the bartender, your eyes flickering up to Luc’s face for but a moment before you turned around, looking out across the room to the wall as you let yourself speak to him for the first time in months. “That makes the both of us…”

You didn’t let yourself look at him as you heard him stifle a laugh and shift in place beside you. You could feel his arm grazing against your own as he moved a little closer, his head leaning in as he looked out over the room. “Who’d you come here with?”

You bit your tongue, trying to focus on the semblance of pain it brought as you brought your drink to your lips for a long sip. Did you tell him? You shrugged a shoulder at yourself, there would be no harm in it. You nodded casually across the room from where you came, your eyes landing on the tall, dark, and handsome hockey forward that had been acquired by Winnipeg last year. 

“Barron, really?” Luc scoffed, drawing your attention for the first time. Your eyes scanned his face quickly as if he wouldn’t notice if you let yourself admire him fast enough. You didn’t quite know what to make of his expression, much like yourself, he was doing well at playing coy. 

“Why? You jealous?” you countered, raising your glass just enough to hide your lips behind it as they threatened to smile. 

“Me? No-” he answered, but you weren’t quite convinced, “I just, didn’t think he was your type.”

And he wasn’t, not that you had set your standards very high as you searched for a rebound. He was tall and easy on the eyes, but you didn’t click - not like you and Luc had all those months ago that made being in his presence feel like a high. A high that you were constantly chasing, a high that you were being reminded of as you stood so close to Luc that you could feel the warmth of his body and inhaled the scent of his cologne with every careful breath. It left you near quivering as you knocked your drink, drinking every last drop so you could turn your attention back to the bartender and ask for another. 

You had to deflect, to get Luc to turn his attention to anyone but you. “Your date must be missing you-” yes, that should work. 

“Don’t have one,” he answer was quick and lad him leaning in a little bit closer, “how long have you and Barron been together?”

You shrugged, taking the drink from the bartender as you refused to look at Luc - knowing full well if you did that you would see him smiling and you would be falling all over again. Instead, you were digging into your clutch, sliding out your phone to take a look at the home screen casually, “a few hours.”

You didn’t know what kind of reaction you were expecting from him but he was silent, and it was killing you. It was only then you let yourself look at him, and found him looking right back at you. He wore that stupid, knowing smile - the one he used to make when he was trying to hold back a laugh - the one you used to love, and it almost made you feel at ease as you reached out to hit his chest playfully. “What are you laughing at?” you raised a brow at him even though he wasn’t laughing. You just knew he wanted to. 

“Nothing it’s just,” he sipped his own drink slowly as if he was trying to find just the right words to say, “you never would have done anything like this before… You’ve changed…”

“You haven’t,” your eyes rolled as you pushed up from the bar, but you didn’t make it a full stride before he reached out, taking hold of your hand to keep you in place. 

The moment he spoke again had you missing he hadn’t; “I’ve missed you…”

“Luc, don’t,” your words were weak as you forced them from your lips but it was already too late. His touch triggered exactly what you feared it might. It ignited your body with a desire for him that you had tried to smother deep beneath the surface. A desire that made you weak in the knees and left your skin feeling as if it were set ablaze by fire. A fire that only he could put out. 

Luc’s touch was delicate as his fingers dragged down the flesh of your wrist and down over the expanse of your palm. By the time his touch had reached your fingers, you were holding your breath and it felt as if it were just you and him alone when in reality you were just two of the many bodies in the crowded room. 

The party was mere background noise as your gaze raised to meet his. Your lips parted as you let out a heavy breath that you had been holding as that stare of his seemed to bore right through you. Luc had always had that look. The one that made your whole body weak for him - and that was something he hadn’t forgotten as his hold on your fingers remained and his eyes were locked with yours. 

Your chest felt like it was going to restrict around your lungs - and before you could stop yourself, your fingers were wrapping around Luc’s in return. With that hold came the gentle pull of your arm. It drew him away from the bar, your steps were careful as you moved out into the crowds of people and Luc followed with no hesitation. 

Tunnel vision took you, the rooming seeming to darken around you both with nothing but the deep amber glow of the lights guiding you back toward the bathroom. You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, not even as you pressed your palm against it and undoubtedly earned a low screech, nor did you hear any evidence that anyone else was in the bathroom with you. Hell, you didn’t even look beneath the stalls for any heel-clad feet before you were pulling Luc in behind you - his large hand reaching up to lock the bathroom door behind him. It was a powder room that was easily meant to service ten or more people during such events, but for the next fifteen minutes - or less - it would serve only two. 

Before the echo of the deadbolt could fade, Luc’s hands were on your body and he was drawing you back so that he could pin you against the door. You met its graffitied surface with a low groan, your head leaning back and your eyes gazing up. Up to his pale green eyes that had darkened with the desire of lust as he looked down at you. It was a look that rendered you still, your body almost falling limp - it only support the door at your back and his body as he leaned into you. You took in the slightest gasp when you let your eyes flutter shut at the first graze of his lips and you held that breath until it burned in your chest. And when you lost it, you lost all your self-control with it. 

You and Luc had never been known for your restraint, especially when it came to each other. You two had gotten into your fair share of trouble together because of it - and as soon as you tasted his lips on your tongue you couldn’t help but feel it was going to happen again. The taste of him was like the striking of a match that ignited your whole body and it was a fire only he would know how to put at ease. 

“How much time do you think we have until someone complains about the locked door?” Your words were rushed against his lips, the kiss you shared with your ex desperate and hungry as your hands reached up for his suit jacket to strip it from his frame.

“I’d say ten, fifteen minutes,” Luc muttered in return, his words breathy as he reached down to grip at the silken fabric of your dress. You could feel his knuckles drag over the sensitive skin of your thighs as he hoisted the skirt upwards. It was an agonizing pleasure to feel his hot touch against your own flesh, in parts you were sure you would never feel him again. The gentle graze didn’t stop until a single digit was extended to trace over the hem of your panties at the apex of your thighs. You watched a light flicker in his eyes, a fire, one that sent his lips curling up into a grin. He didn’t even have to see them to know what panties you were wearing. They had been his favorite after all. “I was going to tell you to be a good girl, and to take these off on the way to the counter,” he breathed out against your lips, “but leave them on, baby.”

You wanted to curse him. To scold him for letting his endearing word slip so effortlessly off his tongue - he didn’t have the right to call you that. He had lost it when he had dumped you - just as he had lost the right to touch you, but you were already breaking that rule with little hesitation - there was just something about Luc that left you weak in all the best ways. So you obliged with silence, the only sound to take the room was the gentle click of your heels against the tile floor as you pushed back from the door and walked slowly towards the bathroom counter. 

And Luc, he watched you strut past him, his hand coming to run over his mouth to hide how he gawked at you - and to muffle sweet French words that slipped from his mouth. You didn’t need to understand them to know that it was absolute filth that was spewing from his mouth. 

On his approach, you hoisted yourself onto the counter top and your manicured nails desperately clawed at the fabric of your dress to draw it up the length of your legs to hitch it up around your hips. The sound of the fabric against your nails created a symphony with the rattle of his belt buckle as he worked it from his waist - and soon, you could feel Luc’s hands against the inside of your thighs as he stepped between your legs and worked down the zipper of his pants. 

“It’s a shame we’ve got to be quick about it,” Luc’s words with just shy of a whisper, his lips curling up into a smile as he watched you squirm on the countertop. Oh, how Luc loved to make you squirm. He remembered it all so clearly, so fondly, how he could make you quiver with his fingers, his cock or his tongue. And the sounds you used to make for him, so soft and lacking control - just the thought of them had his cock raging for you. 

“It’s going to be a real shame when someone comes to unlock the door before you can even get your cock out,” your words were rushed, impatient as you leaned back against the mirror that was at your back. 

“You want me that badly, baby?” he earned a scoff from your lips at his teasing words. His words came with the tease of his fingers, their tips dragging over the supple skin of your inner thigh as they encroached on your slick panties. His eyes flickered up to yours, the gaze of his pale green eyes almost electric as his smile grew into the cockiest of smirks. One that silently screamed: I’ve barely touched you and you’re already so wet for me. 

You could see the corner of his lips curling, no, twitching under the threat of wanting to tease you. But he didn’t speak, not as he drew you to the very edge of the counter and used a single digit to tug your panties to the side. He had already wasted so much time and Luc wasn’t about to miss out on what could be his last opportunity to fuck you. 

A single, thick, finger stroked over your cunt slowly, before drawing back. You were void of his touch for only a moment before Luc was thrusting his cock into you with no hesitation and little care to just how brash the thrust had been. But he was desperate and so were you. Hell, you didn’t care if he got rough, you just wanted to feel something. Legs wound around him, your heels digging into the strength of his hamstrings as if they would fuel each of his thrusts into your core. And that’s when all of what you had been fighting flooded back to you. Every once of feeling you had for Luc had been coaxed to the surface with his simple touch and the dripping of your arousal down his length with every thrust. Your head was made dizzy as it was overwhelmed by the pleasure only Luc could bring and the memories of your time together hitting you all at once. 

As Luc reached up to cup your face in one of his hands, you remember your first time together, and how he smiled when he discovered you enjoyed the gentle grasp of your hand around your throat. 

And when you met his gaze, your lips parted to let out a soft moan - a sound that nearly had him melting between your thighs and had his dropping his forehead to lean against your own. You hated how intimate it had quickly become. You hated how you could feel his every hot panting breath wash over your face. And you hated just how easy it was to reach out to him with both of your hands and cup his face in your hands. You drew him in, your hands sliding over his cheeks as you greeted him with your desperate kiss. Your teeth knocked with his as your fingers found his short curls and you tugged at those curls as he bit at your lower lip. His bite left you moaning, your eyes watering with pleasure as you were struck with just another thing you hated about Luc - you hate that he seemed to never forget just what he could do to drive you wild for him. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning out now that he had already coaxed you to let the first two slip. The only hope of not getting caught now was that the party’s music was loud - but anyone in earshot of the bathroom door would undoubtedly hear you as you drove your throat raw with your pleas; “Oh Luc, don’t stop!” - “Right there.” - “YES!” - “Fuck, fuck!” - “Luc!” 

Your legs quivered around him, your ankles slipping down the back of his legs as your body was driven to the weakness that came with your climax. “I’m almost there, baby,” Luc assured you, his words a soft moan of their own as the grip of your core around his cock left his eyes rolling back in his own pleasure. 

His hands left your face so that his firm grasp could find the flesh of your thighs. he hoisted your legs back up so that they were hooked over each of his hips. It angled your hips for him just right, and he plowed you so hard that you could hear the smack of his legs against your flesh and the counter. It was so desperate, so forceful, that you were sure that he might bruise. Luc didn’t slow with the pain you were sure he must be feeling - and he didn’t stop until he buried himself deep inside you with one final, forceful thrust. It was then you could feel your core flood with his cum - it was enough to almost coax you back to your own climax. Your cunt flexed around him twice more as you let out a panting sigh - and it even earned a groan from Luc’s lips. 

You shouldn’t have let him do that. 

Before you could fully begin to wallow in your regret - and before Luc had even thought about drawing from the warmth of your core, his hands were cupping both of your flushed cheeks. His touch was gentle, guiding your eyes up to his effortlessly, and when he spoke to you his words were soft, gentle and left your heart heavy, “I meant what I said before… I miss you.”

His thumbs stroked over your cheeks oh so slowly, tracing over every angle and down to the sweet flesh of your lips as he waited for even a ghost of a word. “Luc,” you muttered his name against the pad of his thumb, “I can’t get my heart broken again.” And you could feel it already, the fragility of your heart as it threatened to crumble just from being so close to him again. 

“Let me make it up to you baby, one date and if you don’t want to see me again after that…”

You sat in silence for a moment, your eyes flickering over his features and how they had softened so much it looked like he was pleading with you. Your love for him had not yet faded, and maybe a part of his still loved you too…Maybe, unlike what you had been telling yourself,  he had never stopped.

“And your teammate? What do I tell him?”

His smile blossomed at your words, his cock sliding from you with ease before he reached down and fixed your panties back into place. “Barron?” his tone was playful as he scoffed, “I’ll break it to him, and I’ll save him the trouble. I’ll take you home tonight.”

#pierre luc dubois #pierre-luc dubois #hockey smut #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #hockey imagines #;;kinkmas2022

[pensfan4lfe2]

Los Angeles Kings || 2023-24 NHL Season

(Opening Night Roster vs COL)

#Los Angeles Kings #NHL #Anze Kopitar #Drew Doughty #Phillip Danault #Kevin Fiala #Pierre-Luc Dubois #Adrian Kempe #Matt Roy #Cam Talbot #LA Kings #2023-24 NHL Season #Hockey

[neelanders]

#jack hughes #trevor zegras #pierre-luc dubois #montreal gp 2023

[reneserseya]

The Least Penalized Team in NHL

2023.04.VGK vs WPG. 1 round playoff 2023 - 3 game

#vegas golden knights #winnipeg jets #rnsgif #2023 #mark scheifele #pierre-luc dubois

[periodicavocation]

markstrom: (✿◡‿◡) vs pld: (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

jets @ flames | 13.11.22

#jacob markström #pierre-luc dubois #calgary flames #winnipeg jets #jets #flames #not markström pretending he didn't stick his pad out just a lil and pld having to be restrained by 2 dudes #pa.gifs

[niallhoranhasthat1thing]

duber18: Il capo 🐶

#pierre luc dubois #pierre-luc dubois #Winnipeg Jets #my edit

[masoncarr2244]

Vegas Golden Knights at. Winnipeg Jets 04/24/23/

#winnipeg jets #blake wheeler #pierre-luc dubois #jets #nhl #hockey #nhledit #hockeyedit #gif #gifs

[fuvkrutherford]

Pierre-Luc Dubois is the embodiment of YOLO

#Pierre-Luc Dubois

[mensuited]

#nate schmidt #pierre-luc dubois #center #athletes #sports #nhl #hockey #🏒 #winnipeg jets #suit #tie #suits #hat #dress shoes #style #sharp #handsome #sexy #suave #fashion #hunk #stud

[mr-c-c]

Pierre-Luc Dubois and Los Angeles Kings is a Done Deal

The Pierre-Luc Dubois and Los Angeles Kings deal is done. In exchange for Dubois, the Winnipeg Jets get forwards Alex Iafallo, Rasmus Kupari, and Gabriel Vilardi, and a second round pick in the 2024 draft. Dubois and the Kings have already agreed to an eight-year deal with an $8.5 million AAV.  Did the Kings give up too much?   With Dubois' toxic history, how long before his toxic attitude penetrates the Kings' locker room?  If he's dead set on wanting to play for the Canadiens, how long before Dubois decides he doesn't want to be in Los Angeles anymore?  Hopefully he doesn't do anything to make the Kings organization regret signing him to such a lofty deal.

#Pierre-Luc Dubois #Los Angeles Kings #Winnipeg Jets #National Hockey League #NHL #Trade

[thomasschabot]

captain thomas chabot? in this economy? 

thanks for the treat hockey canada!

#if you know me you know i have a soft spot for him #my fav sen by a long shot #thomas chabot #josh anderson #pierre-luc dubois #adam lowry #damon severson #iihf word championship #iihf worlds

[cellythefloshie]

;; Kinktober 2022 Day 12 Pierre-Luc Dubois - Force Orgasm

Summary: It’s time for PLD to meet your friends, and you are very nervous about the introductions at the Halloween party you will be attending together - but PLD has just the right thing to keep your mind from your woes: a wearable vibrator.  Notes: You call PLD “Luc” Kinks & TW: pre-established relationship, sex toys, vaginal fingering, public sex (use of sex toy in a public space - crowded room), overstimulation Word Count: 2598

TAGLIST : @wingedwheelprxncess , @emsully2002​ , @charles11700​

Hand unsteady, you struggled to fix your makeup just right. It had been your third attempt already. Your false lash had been crooked, your eyeliner smudged and your lipstick was not the right color to go with your costume. You let out a frustrated huff as you reached for yet another makeup wide to carefully wipe the lipstick away - and you could only hope that you wouldn’t wipe away your foundation in the process. You needed to look perfect for the costume party, if not to override your own insecurity but to prove to your friends that you were worthy of the man that had quickly become your boyfriend - because hell, at times you still didn’t feel good enough for him. 

He was an NHL player after all, and NHL players didn’t typically have eyes for girls like you. Your friends have been sure to remind you of that when you first matched with him on the dating app you had been shamefully using for months as a last-ditch effort to form some kind of connection with anyone. Some had been so cruel, saying that you had to be getting catfished, you almost hadn’t agreed to meet him at all - but you were glad you did.

The first few weeks you had kept it all on the down-low, not telling anyone, not even your parents, and you and Luc had spent most of your time hiding away in his apartment or your own - but tonight was the night he was finally going to meet your friends. You had protested at first, but Luc was not one to miss out on the chance to dress up for Halloween, especially since he had the night off. 

“You worry too much,” you heard his voice from behind you, drawing your eyes from your own reflection to his in the mirror, “you look great, really.”

You shook your head slowly, a heavy sigh taking your shoulders as you touched up your lipstick for what would be the last time. The two of you would need to be leaving soon. You hung your head for a moment, your hair falling down into your face as your eyes shut. You were in no way ready for this. You could hear his steps as he moved to join you in front of the mirror, his large hands moving over your hips and carefully turning you around to face him. You didn’t open your eyes until you could feel him take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping your head back to look up at him. 

“I know you’re nervous,” he spoke, his words slow, “but you look great, and we’re going to have a good time tonight because it’s going to be you and me. Right?”

“Right,” your word was a mere whisper on your lips as you let your eyes open. 

Damn, he was pretty when he looked down at you like that - with care and compassion in his eyes. His thumb stroked your shin slowly, his smile growing as yours had begun to form. “That’s my girl,” he cooed, “you’ve got nothing to worry about, and I’ve got the thing to put your mind at ease-”

“Oh?” you raised a brow at him, perking up, you loved surprises. 

“You’re not going to be worrying about your friends all night when you’re going to be worried about this,” he spoke slowly as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out a pale pink sex toy that sent your eyes wide. 

It was a wearable vibrator. You swallowed hard. Luc loved his toys, and you had never had any issue appeasing him before, but never did you think he was going to propose something like this. 

“How does it work?” you asked almost hesitantly, and his eyes lit up. 

“It’s not much different than the others,” Luc assured gently, placing it in your palm to ease any worry you may have about it being too big, “you’ll wear it out tonight, and if I feel like you’re worrying tonight, I can just turn it on with the app on my phone - and you know I will…”

And he would. Luc didn’t fool around when it came to your pleasure. 

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle it, Luc,” you pouted nervously, “in a room full of people like that. You know how I get.” 

“Oh, I know,” Luc smiled as he took your face in his hands and let his thumb trace over the lower lobe of your lips, “and if I see you try to sneak away and try to take it out while you’re there, I will make sure the whole party knows who’s making you cum. Now up, onto the counter.”

Your cheeks flushed a bright red as you stepped back and lifted yourself up onto the bathroom counter. His hands left your face and slipped up the short skirt of your costume, blindly seeking out your panties. Fingers tugged at the cotton fabric, dragging them down your legs before dropping them to the bathroom floor - you wouldn’t be wearing any for the rest of the night. You held your breath as he palmed your clit, and let the tips of his fingers rest at the entrance to your core to see just how wet he could get you. 

A knock at the front door shocked your body. You knew your friends would be coming to pick you up, but his touch had always consumed you. Your lips parted as if to call out to your friends who waited outside your front door, but no words left you. You were rendered speechless as he eased a single digit inside your cunt. It was near slick enough for him now. 

“Just a minute!” he called out to the front door, a devilish grin on his face as he leaned in close to you. His every breath washed over your face as he fucked you with a single finger. When he spoke again, his voice was dropped low as if there was a risk of them overhearing, “I can invite them inside, make them sit in the next room while I help you with your costume.” The lie slipped off his tongue effortlessly, his smile only growing as you shook your head. 

“Don’t you dare,” you bit out, your walls clenching around his finger at just the thought, “we should go-”

“We’ll go, when you’re ready to go,” Luc told you firmly, a second finger slipping up inside you, stretching your walls out just enough with the pump of his fingers. He teased you with his fingers, your hands gripping at the edge of the counter until you were dripping arousal down the length of his hand. “That’s my girl, you ready?”

You whined out as you nodded, his fingers leaving a void that the wearable vibrator was eager to fill. You bit at your lower lip as he eased it inside you and you were relieved with how comfortable it seemed to be with part of it inside you while the rest cupped you and rested around your clit. 

Stepping back Luc wiped his hands on the towel and he gave you enough room to ease yourself from the counter. You took too careful steps, gauging just how securely it was inside you. You took an uneasy breath, you looked up at Luc who was still wearing that devilish grin. He was going to have far too much fun toying with you tonight. 

You were in the backseat of the car, sitting next to Luc a little too quiet when he tested the vibrator the first time. You near lurched out of your seat at the gentle vibration - you had almost forgotten it was there. Your eyes shot to your friends first, and then to him who sat beside you, leaning against the cold window, as his phone cast a glow against his smiling features. You began to talk with your friends after that. 

The second time came when the Halloween party was full of life around you. The music was loud, and your drink was too sweet. The jokes were no longer funny, the music too loud and Luc had quickly taken the attention of most of those in attendance. Not that you minded too much, it helped keep some of the focus off you as his hand slipped into his pocket and he sent a powerful vibration into your cunt. You bit your tongue to hold back a groan, your hands fumbling with your empty cup as you had been reaching for the ladle in the punch bowl. Narrow eyes searched through the crowded party, finding Luc with ease. He was seated at a table, surrounded by more people than you cared to count, and while he conversed with them, his eyes were focused on you and how you reacted to the buzz he had sent through your body. 

You raised your brows at him, an attempt to caution him - as if he would listen, it would only fuel him further. And it did. His hand dipped beneath the table and in seconds you were met with another long and intense vibration that had you seeking the bar for support. 

“Are you okay?” came the sweet concerned voice of your friend from behind you. 

The vibrations persisted. 

“Yeah,” you managed a smile and straightened up, “I think I just need to slow down on the punch.” Which was a lie. You were sure you were the soberest person in the room, but you were the only one with a sex toy wedged into your cunt. 

Bending down carefully, you picked up your plastic cup and tossed it into the trash before standing up and offering your friend a smile. “I’m going to go save Luc-”

You moved through the busy party, pushing past dancing bodies and the swarm that surrounded your boyfriend - there was no one more famous than a Jet’s player in Winnipeg and in times like these you hated that. You wanted him all to yourself. 

“Hey,” you spoke softly as an arm wound around your waist. Luc drew you in so effortlessly, taking you onto his lap when there wasn’t a chair for you to sit on. You look down to hide the smile that began to grow - especially as your friends gave you that look - that one that didn’t quite say sorry, no it was one that silently told you that they hated being wrong. Your smile became smug as you eased into the conversations around you, and for a time you actually felt comfortable in a room full of your peers - even Luc was having a great time now that you had gotten over your nerves, but as the night grew later he was growing impatient. 

You had let yourself indulge in one of the party games when you felt the buzz of the vibrator deep inside you. It was gentle, a mere subtle reminder of what you had tucked away in your cunt. You cast a glance back over your shoulder to Luc. You were still seated on his lap and you were sure he could feel it against his own strong thigh. You were being a good girl, why was he trying to punish you? Then you saw the glimmer in his eye. He wanted to play. 

Shifting almost uncomfortably on his lap, you did your best to focus on the cards in your hand. But as the intensity grew, it was going to be more difficult to hide your reactions. Your hand gripped at your cup, your drinking becoming more frequent to keep your mouth from drying, and your conversations grew longer in a desperate attempt to ease the intense vibrations. But he only persisted. Luc wanted to test your limits. He wanted to make you cum. 

It quickly became clear that the room crowded with people was far from a deterrent for Luc, as his hand remained glued to his phone beneath the table and the intensity only continued to grow. Biting down on your lip, you fought back a groan and shifted on his lap in a desperate attempt to ease the vibrations against your clit but it only worsened. The vibrator shifted oh so slightly inside you, pressing up and jittering against your g-spot. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasped out, drawing the attention of those in earshot. It sent your skin ablaze to have so many people looking at you during such a vulnerable moment. Your eyes went wide, looking between your friends and Luc who sipped at his drink to hide his smile. Your palms grew sweaty as you began to panic, and you were quick to find your words as Luc’s vision dropped beneath the table. The intensity of the vibrator had you casually dragging your cunt down the length of his thigh. He was punishing your silence. “Holy fuck is it hot in here,” you added, “I think I need to get some air-”

You tried to stand, but Luc’s hold around your waist only grew tighter. “You’ll freeze out there dressed like that,” Luc muttered to you gently, his hand leaving his phone beneath the table so it could come up and caress your cheek, “can someone grab her some water?”

You wanted to curse him. To whine and beg him to free you of the pleasure that had become almost painful against your clit. You wanted to sneak off to the bathroom and ease the vibrator from your cunt and most of all you wanted him to fuck you - but he wanted to watch you come undone in a room of your peers. 

“Thank you,” you near gasped out as you reached out for the cup of water as it was brought to you. Unsteady hands brought it to your lips, and you choked back each gulp. You chugged it quickly, leaving you breathless and for a moment the intensity against your clit eased. “That feels much better,” you sighed, making sure to meet Luc’s eyes. 

“Does it?” Luc looked at you. Everyone else at the table would see his compassion and concern, but only you would see the flicker of enjoyment in his eyes. “Good,” he stroked your hair back slowly. 

And just when you thought he would let the vibrations fade, his fingers dug into your waist and the intensity returned. He wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. The only way the vibrations would end would be if you came - and you would need to be discrete about it. 

One hand on your drink, the other dropped to Luc’s thigh and you gripped it tightly. You had every intention to leave a bruise behind as you felt the burn of your climax hitting you like a tsunami. You felt as if you were suffocating as you were forced to hold back any sound that would indicate that you were being met by such intense pleasure. Every laugh you forced out, every conversation you tried to uphold sent an ache to your chest as your cunt began to throb around the wearable vibrator. It gripped it like a vice grip, desperate to take it in deeper but it was already at its limits. You craved to buck your hips, to grind at Luc’s thigh until the waves of your pleasure had consumed you so fully it felt like you were drowning - but instead, you were forced to sit on Luc’s lap with nothing more than flushed cheeks and a crooked smile as you came undone.

#pierre-luc dubois #pierre luc dubois #;;kinktober2022 #hockey smut #hockey rpf

[pensfan4lfe2]

Then&Now || Pierre-Luc Dubois

#Pierre-Luc Dubois #Los Angeles Kings #NHL #Columbus Blue Jackets #LA Kings #Then&Now #PLD #Hockey

[ohmykotkaniemi]

Kyle Connor scores the first goal of the game for the Winnipeg Jets.

Pierre-Luc Dubois scores the second goal of the game for the Winnipeg Jets.

#connor #dubois #goal #jets #kyle #kyle connor #luc #nhl #pierre #pierre luc #pierre-luc #pierre luc dubois #pierre-luc dubois #regular season #winnipeg #winnipeg jets