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Home Advantage	By : Lazvernius Category: Individual Celebrities > Rugby Views: 1025 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the people I am writing about in this fanfiction. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Home Advantage
- 1
Righty ho, Disclaimers and explaination. I do not own either of these fine gentlemen, and I suggest you turn on ESPN this weekend and watch Cullen play, coz hes the man. (the Yellow number 15)
None of this ever happened (obviously) and there is much slash in this, leave now or dont complain.

Home Advantage.
Lazvernius.

It wasn’t much of a home advantage. They beat us soundly. I guess it was because we weren’t really at home. Sure, Napier was in Hurricanes territory, but since none of us lived there, we all stayed in the hotel, just like a game away. The oddest thing was that the other team, the Bulls from Pretoria, were staying in the same hotel. It had been hairy all week, but now they had won, I feared blood would be spilt.

They had won.
I closed my eyes and saw, once again, Van Der Westhuizen sitting at the back of the scrum, ball in hand, poised to go left or right. He went left, I went right, and he had a try in the corner.
That was the turning point of the game, and it was my fucking fault.
Where are roommates when you need em? I needed someone to sound off to, to convince me that I did well despite that. Brent Ward, my current roomie, was off somewhere. I presumed it was somewhere he would need ID, but I couldn’t be sure.
I decided to search out Tana, my best buddy on the team. He had a roomhimshimself, but typically, I couldn’t remember the number. I was sure I had heard it somewhere… the hotel staff! I had heard them say “put the captain in five oh two.” Tana captained the Hurricanes, and I jumped into the lift.

I walked into room 502 without knocking. Why bother, when I knew I was welcome?
I was closing the door when I realized something wasn’t right. The room was dark and flickering, in a light I knew as candles
“Hello, Christian Cullen” the voice was soft and melodious and unmistakably South African. I turned from the door and cursed inwardly. I had gotten the wrong captain. From the bed stared the chiseled features and eerie blue eyes of Joost Van Der Westhuizen.*
“Sorry mate, er, wrong room.” I fumbled behind my back for the doorhandle.
“But now you are here, why don’t you sit?” he said, gesturing to the end of the bed. I could find neither the doorhandler thr the words to refuse. I sat, gingerly, on the end of the bed and tried not to look Joost in the face. Older members of the Hurricanes called Joost ‘Ole Blue-Eyes’ and threatened to call me that too, because of my clear blue eyes. But I could not match his gaze which was strong and penetrating, not absent and dreamy.
As we were only really comfortable with each other on the field, I threw forward a comment
“You’re not here to hassle, are you?”
“With all the tries you have put on my teams? I doubt it Christian.” he leant forward and hit me with a stare. This time I returned his look, blue meeting blue. Something in this pleased him, and he smiled.
“Do you need someone to talk to, Christian?” I remembered what I wanted to talk about, and blushed. “Can’t talk to me, about me, Christian?” I blushed deeper. “Then just talk, Christian. Talk as if no one was listening. I will help you. I promise.”
I’m getting a strange kick out of his accent, and there is something oddly stirring about him saying my name in it, over and over again.
I look toward him and the blue eyes look sincere and friendly.
And I start talking.

“I can’t fucking believe I missed him.” I spoke of Joost in the third person, as if he were not in the room. “Normally I can read plays like that, easy as pie. Why the hell not that one? Why not that time? And why won’t it go away? I try to get it out of my head but it stays. I try to sleep but I can’t. I can’t sleep. Me, guy voted most likely to sleep through a nuclearlosilosion! For gods sake, I have to make it leave!”
Through my diatribe I didn’t notice Joost moving close behind me, and I jumped when he put his hand on my shoulder.
“You think too much.” There was humour in the accent “I can help you there…” his voice dropped to a whisper, and Joost put his mouth close to my ear. “Take off you shirt, and lie down.” His words shivered down my spine and I breathed out heavily. Before I knew what my hands were doing I had taken off my shirt and was lying back on the bed.

I had no clue what Joost was planning to do not even when he picked up a candle. The glare from the flame reflected off his eyes, making him look blind.
The first drop of wax made me gasp, its burning sting fading into a feeling of warmth. Joost continued dribbling wax onto my chest, running it in strange patterns down my ribcage. I felt a stirring in my groin and fought not to moan. This was indescribable. Later I would feel shame, but for then I just felt, without complication, for the first time in so long.
As the wax hit my left nipple I let out a sharp hiss and the feeling in my cock became more pronounced. It was a combination of Joost- his elegance, his accent, his startling eyes; and myself the feelings of anger and my desperate need for release.
Joost continued with the wax, hitting my other nipple and continuing down my stomach. I was groaning in a low voice when he reached the waistband of my shorts.
I tried to conceal my disappointment when Joost replaced the candle. Before I could sit up however, Joost was leaning over me.
“We are the same, you know.” His breath smelled sweet and he locked his stare onto mine. “Same eyes.”
Then he kissed me. I had neither the time, nor the want, to ask what the hell was going on. I opened my mouth and received his tongue eagerly. The kiss was long and skilled as Joost's tongue fought a furious battle with my own, one that Joost won by squeezing my groin hard. I groaned into his mouth. Unfair tactics really. Not that I would complain.
He drew away smiling in the direction of the bulge in his shorts. The reaction was obviously the one he wanted. Joost removed his shirt and I drank in the sight of him, tight muscle, and slim scars on the ribs – the legacy of a thousand games of rugby.
His next kiss was far more patient, he straddled my waist and stroked my hair. I lifted my hands and explored the skin of his torso. He pulled away and smiled down at me, his eyes both asking a question and providing the answer to what was to come.
“Yes,” I said. My voice hung in the air like dew. Joost smiled.
Getting off me, he picked up the candle once more, and his spare hand drifted to the fly of my shorts. With an oddly practiced movement he undid them, and I arched my back to allow him to remove both the, and my boxers. I lay in front of a man, who less than an hour before had been my deadliest enemy, buck naked and undeniably horny.
However, Joost didn’t seem to notice. He was looking into the flame of the candle, watching it dance as he moved it. It was oddly hypnotizing. However, before I knew any better he was dripping more wax over the lower portion of my stomach. Now that our relationship had gone far beyond platonic I didn’t have to bite back the moans. And moan I did, as the wax was spilled over my thighs, getting so close, but staying so far away. When Jooinisinished his torture, I slumped back with my eyes closed. If I hadn’t been hard before, I certainly was after that. God.
Then my world exploded. My eyes shot open and I bucked my hips wildly. Joost had wrapped his mouth around my cock and was sucking gently. Feral noises rose in my throat as he began to lick me in time to my frenzied thrusts.
“Harder,” I gasped “harder!” Joost obliged. Gentle wasn’t really his style anyway. I tried to grip the sweaty bedsheets as his head bobbed up and down. This was incredible. I soared to another universe and came back with every skilled stroke. Yet it was torture, I wanted to cum, needed to cum, and he wasn’t about to let me.
“Please, Joostie,” my voice rasped, “please.”
And he took his mouth away, leaving me thrusting into empty air.
“Do you want this, Christian?” the blue eyes shone
“Yes!”
“Do you want me, Christian? Say ja…” his accent, thicker than ever, entered my gasping mouth and flowed richly into my veins.
“Ja, ja! Please Joost!”
He smiled. “Very well.”
And his mouth was back where I needed it, one long stroke from balls to tip, before he concentrated on the head. As he sucked it hard I feared I would be driven insane by the end.
But then, with a shudder, it was all over. Barely a sigh on my part, odd considering the other strange noises I made during that. I was utterly exhausted though, and prayed Joost did not want anymore from me. Fortunately, he was content to just lie with me, pressing all my sore spots in all the right ways. The kiss he bestowed upon me was long and lazy; his mouth tasted musky with what I realized was my own seed. There was no duel for supremacy. We were here, that was enough.
Joost drew away slowly and looked into my eyes. His strong gaze had softened somewhat, but was no less penetrating.
“When is the next game?”

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*Prounounced "Yoest Van Der Vesthizen"
A/N, "Ja" is Afrikaans for "Yes" (didnt want to put an asterix, coz it woulda killed it)

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