DISCLAIMER - No matter how many times I close my eyes and make a wish I still don't own these beautiful boys... more's the pity. This is purely a work of fiction, not intended to imply anything about these guys or their lives.

Author's notes - Written for the Contre La Montre unusual kisses challenge in 42 minutes.

Odd pieces of equipment and clothing still littered the bench in front of Michael as Tom sneaked up on him in the midst of packing his gear away after the game. Tom had waited until he was sure the locker room was empty except for Michael, loitering as inconspicuously as possible in the corridor outside. He'd watched as people left in ones and twos, aware of the occasional curious stare directed his way.

When he was finally sure that the coast was clear, Tom slipped inside. Michael had his back to the door, stuffing his sweaty jersey into the bag. Tom moved up behind him on quiet feet, snaking his arms around him and sliding his hands over Michael's eyes.

"Guess who," Tom purred, his voice low and teasing.

There was a moment's tension at the first touch, but then Michael visibly relaxed, resting against the body behind him.

"Hm..." Michael pretended to consider the question. "Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Or..." He finally twisted around until he was face to face with Tom, grinning hugely. "Hey, Tom, I didn't know you were coming to the game."

"Surprise!" Tom looked pleased with himself. He knew Michael enjoyed these charity hockey games and played in as many as his schedule allowed. "Happy to see me?"

"Or is that just a hockey stick in your pocket?" Michael quipped. He glanced around the otherwise empty locker room before adding, "Your timing is impeccable."

Tom looked slightly embarrassed as he admitted, "Actually, I waited outside until I saw everyone else leave."

"I like the way you think." Michael's grin hadn't dimmed a fraction. "Though if you'd come a little sooner you could have scrubbed my back in the shower."

Tom snorted. "If I'd been in the shower with you I'd definitely have come a lot sooner."

"Why, Tom, I didn't know you were such an exhibitionist," Michael teased, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Tom crowded him, pushing him back against the bench. "You have no idea how hot it got me watching you out on the ice. I kept thinking about you and me, sex in the sin bin..." Tom paused, taking in a deep breath of the steamy locker room air. "Mmm, sweaty jockstraps, my favourite."

Laughing, Michael reached round and swatted him on the ass. "I can see that I've been a bad influence on you. You never used to be this kinky."

Tom pressed his crotch against Michael's, letting him feel just how hard his cock was inside his jeans. "Oh no, you're a very good influence, Mike." Tom ground his hips purposefully, grinning at the sharply indrawn breath he got in response. "See?"

"Fuck!" Michael muttered. He reached up and grabbed hold of Tom's hair, dragging him closer. Without warning his mouth latched onto Tom's and he kissed him roughly, his teeth nipping at Tom's lips. His tongue forced its way inside, thrusting hard and deep.

After a few moments filled with the wet sound of their mouths connecting, Tom's hands moved and he gripped Michael's shoulders, pushing him away. "Jesus, Mike!"

"Changed your mind about making out in the sin bin?" Michael's eyes were a dare.

"Fuck, you're crazy!" Tom wasn't quite sure whether Michael was serious or not and he wasn't entirely certain if he wanted to find out.

Leaning forward, Michael initiated another hungry kiss that had Tom's hips jerking against him helplessly. Too soon he pulled away, just far enough to speak, his breath hot on Tom's mouth. "Let's get out of here."

His eyes were dark as he slipped out of Tom's grasp and began throwing the rest of his things into the open bag. Just before he zipped it shut Michael's hand dipped inside and pulled something out. He tossed it at Tom, who caught it instinctively.

"Here," Michael said, "to keep you going until we get back to my place."

The grin on his face turned wicked as Tom's mouth fell open, realising that he was now clutching Michael's jockstrap.