by N. J. Lysk
Uri opened his eyes and closed them again; somehow the artificial light of the bathroom was too harsh on his eyes after his brain had been all but fried. He tilted his head to the side, slowly becoming aware of where his limbs were.
They were all still attached, even his cock, floating in the hot water that felt like a little too much at the moment. He only realised he was gripping Thomas’s arm hard enough to hurt him when the man shifted under him and the movement pulled at his nails. He snatched his hand away, turning to the right to check. There were five half-moon circles embedded into Thomas’s pale skin—all of them reddened, one of them bloody.
Uri’s brain snapped to attention like he'd been plugged in. "Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Thomas’s arm around him pressed them closer together again. “You can make it up to me?” he said, voice strained.
He was still hard. He had to be very close to finishing, but he’d stopped trying to get off the minute Uri had.
Uri could have let him rub off against him, but suddenly he couldn’t bear to miss the look on his face. He’d only seen it once and he was already addicted. When he turned in his arms, Thomas let go, spreading his legs to give him room, and a moment later Uri was sitting back on his own feet and had Thomas’s beautiful cock in his grip, his other hand tangled in Thomas’s damp blond hair to drag him into a kiss.
Thomas opened up to it like he was starving, pressing into every point of contact, starved for touch like no one had touched him in years instead of minutes. Uri plastered himself as close as possible while still stroking his cock—hot and silky and twitching on the upstroke. He must have been doing something right because Thomas’s writhing came to an abrupt halt as he forgot himself and bit down hard on his own bottom lip, a pained agonized sound escaping anyway as he clenched his eyes shut as his dick pulsed and started filling the water between them with spunk. He kept hold of Uri by his shoulders, scratching a little as he chased the last few drops of pleasure. Then he went limp with relief. Uri sat back, loosening his grip and absently running his hand under the water to get it mostly clean—all the while he didn’t look away from Thomas’s face. His neck was exposed, the graceful curve of it begging to be licked, bitten—
He quickly glanced away, then shuffled back until he could put his back to the other side of the mini pool. By the time he looked up, Thomas was sleepily blinking his eyes open and offering him a satisfied smile that got his spent cock twitching.
The beta lowered his gaze, then met Uri’s and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
And, of course, even in a bathtub with their shared release floating between them, Uri couldn’t keep from blushing.
SLEEPING OVER WASN’T a big deal. Thomas had offered, understandably given how late it was when they were done showering after their languorous float in. Uriel had to be up early—going to the concert had already been a bit of an indulgence—so he should have checked the time for the night bus and jetted his way home. But he'd been tired, and more than that, pleasantly drowsy after more orgasms than he'd bothered with in a long time...
"You want a shirt to sleep in?" Thomas offered. He was blinking a lot to keep his eyes open, which made Uri want to tuck him into his gigantic bed and kiss him goodnight.
"No," he said.
Thomas was already halfway turned to his bedside table before he processed the words—before they both processed them, really. "No?" Thomas repeated, turning back with a smile slowly taking over his face. "Well..." His eyes slid up Uri's torso until their gazes held. "I guess I'll live."
Uri put a knee down on the bed a little cautiously, half expecting to be kissed and fairly sure he wouldn't resist. But Thomas just threw the covers back and extended an arm in invitation.
He'd been right; he didn't resist. He was pressed against Thomas's bare chest before he could think better of it. And, dammit, why should he think better of it? Maybe this wasn't— What it wasn't, but there was no rule that said tenderness was forbidden between casual partners; they'd given each other pleasure, and now they were giving each other the precious comfort of human touch.
Thomas sighed into his hair, tugging him infinitesimally closer, and Uri closed his eyes and relaxed into the warmth and safety of another living body keeping the night at bay.
Chapter Five: Thomas
Thomas was an idiot; there was no way around it.
When he’d done it, he had thought that it was just daring enough to be charming without crossing the line into... well, stalking. Now, in the cold light of morning—well, noon, because his companion had rolled off bed so quietly he’d slept right through it—it seemed less like an inspired romantic gesture and more like a completely pointless one.
He’d entered his number into Uri’s phone while the other man had been showering, sure, but he hadn’t told him about it, so how was the guy meant to know he could call if he wanted? The night before, loopy on endorphins and eating a pre-made meal in their underwear after their stomachs grumbling had interrupted their cuddling, it’d seemed like the kind of thing he could mention at any time. But they’d eventually grown sleepy again and once Uri had agreed to settle under his arm, Thomas hadn’t wanted to risk speaking for fear that he’d make up a reason to leave.
He was pretty sure Uri didn’t want to leave—no way was Thomas imagining their banter, or their insane sexual chemistry—but he’d been getting the impression the man thought he should. He probably didn’t pick up strangers on the basis of a single conversation that often. He had to get offers by the bucket load, what with the pretty eyes and the amazing arse, but the equally enticing blushing gave away his inexperience in that area. He probably just told them he was too busy saving some orphans, which could have made him something of a dick, really, but Uri didn’t seem to be judging anyone else for their own contributions to society, he simply needed to do what he needed to do. He wasn’t proud of it any more than he was proud of his looks, if anything he acted like spending time helping others was an eccentric preference he had to be excused for.
Thomas closed his eyes, swallowing as he remembered the sight of his hand around Uri’s straining cock, almost as good as the soft, slippery skin of Uri’s back against his own erection. Or Uri’s dark eyelashes fanning against his cheekbones as he sucked Thomas’s cock like he could never get enough.
He rubbed at himself, not sure if he’d woken up hard or if he’d turned himself on reminiscing about the previous night. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t going to last long either way. He wanted... Dammit, he’d wanted a morning blowjob—one more chance just to check he hadn’t hallucinated the one against the wall, maybe. And he wanted to return the favour, too, even if he didn’t manage the level of expertise Uri had demonstrated to be adept at. And...
And he wanted to get fucked again. Hard and thorough and... He could still feel it, deep inside as he clenched with every thrust. He wouldn’t have minded feeling it a little more even, a little twinge of pain on top of the soreness to contrast with the shivering pleasure of his hand on his cock.
Or Uri’s tongue... He sped up, almost able to recall the sweet sensation of being sucked dry, and just like that he was adding a little more to the mess they’d made of the bed. He panted at the ceiling, brain reeling despite the relief.
He’d fucked up, he realised with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He’d blown his chance.
ROMANTIC WOES OR NOT, he still had to make it to afternoon practice. He loved his team and the new line configuration the coaches had decided on could outperform any he’d experienced.
It probably had something to do with the fact that their left-winger, Cartwright Johnson, was an omega and their centre, Keenan Avali, was an alpha. Thomas was keeping those thoughts to himself, where they belonged. Even so, he could hardly miss that his linemates needed him to act as go between for most of their conversations, but could pass to each other like they had eyes on the back of their helmets.
He didn’t really mind playing in
terpreter, and Uri had guessed right that he went to most optional practices anyway. But now he felt a little responsible for their well-being; if he wasn’t there, he wasn’t sure they’d know how to talk to each other, even about hockey.
He didn’t want anyone—well, omegas—discriminated against, of course, but he still had to wonder what the coaches had been thinking to put them on the same line. Could they have known they’d play this well together? Or was that a happy coincidence and the awkwardness between Carry and Keenan the price they were all willing to pay for scoring?
Thomas was certainly willing to put up with it if it meant he got to play hockey that was more like a choreographed dance than an improvised game. It was still exciting, of course, but there was a deliberateness to their plays he found intoxicating, like they had tapped on some underlying force pushing them around and learned to control it. It was a bit like magic.
And maybe he was a little bit of a workaholic, so what? He had the best job in the world, why shouldn’t he love it?
"Hey," he told Carry, taking the seat by his side. Carry looked up to offer a weak smile—the boy was shy to a fault, or maybe that wasn't quite right... Uri was shy, Carry was... reserved. Like he'd put up a barrier between himself and the world. "How're you doing?"
Carry lifted his head and turned to look at him, not meeting his eyes for long because that wasn't something Carry did—not unless you'd messed up a manoeuvre enough to piss him off—but he'd definitely noticed something. "You sound... did something happen?"
Thomas laughed, embarrassed but also a little pleased. He shoved on his shoulder pads, looking down to secure them for the first time in years. "I had a late night," he explained. "Overslept."
"You... Oh," Carry said softly. "You had a—" He cut himself off, audibly swallowing. "That's nice."
This last was said with some effort and Thomas's insides twisted when he understood why; Carry wasn't allowed to have nice nights. Omegas weren't supposed to have sex before they bonded, at least not with alphas. Sex with betas was overlooked, but Thomas couldn't imagine it felt like enough—like being shown a steak and then being offered a salad as compensation. "It was nice," he agreed, "But I fucked it up."
That picked his linemate’s curiosity. "How?"
Thomas shrugged. At least his stupidity could make Carry feel a little better about his own situation. "I didn't get his number. I... I put mine in his phone, but then I forgot to tell him. So..."
He expected a snort and to be called an idiot, but Carry hummed thoughtfully and asked, "Did you tell him who you were?"
"What?"
"Did you tell him your full name? That you played hockey? Your team?"
"Er... I... I told him my first name, not... I don't think I told him the team's name. I said I played hockey professionally," he added, feeling all the more idiotic for Carry's lack of criticism.
"Well, we're local," Carry pointed out. "If he wants to find you, he can try looking up our rooster."
And then, like a bucket of cold water, Thomas remembered Uri had given him key information—he volunteered at the local adoption centre in Peckham. Except of course he couldn't show up at an adoption centre to see if... "But he won't know I want him to call me," he told Carry. "That was kind of the point of giving him my number."
"Why wouldn't you want him to call you?" The omega asked slowly. "You obviously had a nice night—"
"Okay, people!" Sven clapped to get their attention and Thomas bit his tongue on his answer.
It was time to get to work.
EXCEPT WORK didn’t work. Normally, Thomas hit the ice and forgot the world outside existed.
Today, the outside world was clearly intruding.
Damn all the gods above and beyond! He’d missed one practice. But one practice without him was apparently all it took for Keenan and Carry to misplace their amazing synchronicity. He stopped again, this time next to Keenan.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, doing his best to keep his voice low.
Keenan huffed, straightening his posture only to let his shoulders drop. “No idea.”
“Did something happen this morning?” he insisted.
“No.” Keenan shrugged. “We missed you, sure, but...”
“Were you playing like this?”
“We were doing drills, mostly, and then... We practiced passes, it was okay.”
“Okay,” Thomas repeated, more of an intention than an affirmation. Things were most definitely not okay, and they had a game coming, too. “Just... try and keep track of Carry, will you? It’s like you have forgotten he exists or something.”
He didn’t stick around to hear Keenan’s objections, just went back to his position, nodding at Mike to signal he could go ahead with the face-off.
Keenan won it, so it wasn’t like he’d lost all of his hockey skills.
It didn’t do them much good; his centre still got his passes—mostly—but he was missing Carry’s so consistently it wasn’t hard for their opposing line to overwhelm them. Not to mention the way Carry was getting visibly angrier every time one of his passes was missed and making mistakes of his own. Keenan must have noticed because for all that he wasn’t looking at Carry when he had the puck, he was stealing nervous looks afterwards. The idiot.
Everyone else noticed too, of course, and then things got really awkward when Sven took Carry aside for a private conversation. Thomas didn’t need to be able to smell either of them to tell Carry wasn’t enjoying the conversation.
Keenan, standing by his side like he’d been frozen solid, was clearly eavesdropping—Thomas thought the distance wasn’t too great for an alpha nose and he couldn’t explain his constipated expression otherwise.
“You okay—?” he started to say, when Carry turned around and flew at Keenan, stopping in a cloud of ice dust.
“Avali,” he said, more demand than acknowledgment. “Let’s practice.”
Keenan followed him like he’d got a hook right into his mouth. Thomas blinked at the scene. If anything, he’d assumed the two of them didn’t talk because Keenan didn’t want to give Carry orders... What in Hades was going on?
“These two,” Sven muttered, startling him a little.
“So that isn’t...?” Thomas waved a little to indicate the whole situation.
“Don’t ask,” his captain replied a little sharply, then quickly apologized, “I just mean, I don’t really know what’s going on.”
Thomas sighed. “That makes two of us. Guess that’ll teach me to skip practice.”
Sven tsked, leading the way out of the ice. “Don’t you start, it was optional. You should rest sometimes, rookie. Can’t play non-stop. There’s other things in life, you know?”
He laughed, perhaps a little bitterly, but Sven was a nice guy and he didn’t press him when Thomas shook his head in response to his raised eyebrows. “I’m not very good at other things,” he explained.
“Maybe you just need more practice,” Sven pointed out, holding the changing room door open for him.
And fuck him, because he was right. What kind of idiot let a man like Uriel walk out of their life like that?
HE COULDN’T DO MUCH about Uri, at least nothing that wasn’t a little creepy, but he could go shopping before his sisters arrived for their visit. It’d be a lot of food, even if Colleen and Valentina weren’t staying over—he had a guest room and if they’d brought a sleeping bag and one of them slept with him, they could all actually stay, but they’d discovered that with no one left in the house, their parents tended to take even more of an interest in what they were doing outside it. It was easier to just take turns getting out. Except, of course, that it was always Thomas’s turn; a wide array of snack foods was the least he could do.
Colleen had a project of her own to work on, anyway, something about bilingualism that Thomas had promised she could present to him as practice before doing it for her class. He didn’t see why she was so worried, she had always been amazing at languages—her French progressing fas
t enough they’d finished the academy courses on the same year despite her being two years younger—and she definitely knew how to charm a room.
Not that it mattered, if she wanted his help, she got it.
He picked an extra bag of gluten-free chocolate cookies for Grace, then realised there was no way he could get by with just his arms and awkwardly wobbled to the till to find a basket. The cashier gave him an amused look he thought might have been half flirtation. He shrugged, silently admitting he was a dork and turned back with the basket in hand. He still needed eggs for breakfast...
By the time he’d put away all the groceries, he was too tired to make dinner so he took one of the perfectly balanced meals the team had a food service make for them all. If he hadn’t wanted a little more variety, he could have spent the rest of his life without cooking except when he had visitors, but his dedication to hockey didn’t go as far as giving up chocolate cake.
“Nice,” Val told him as soon as she opened his fridge the next afternoon. She got the pack of grapes he’d bought for her and shoved two into her mouth, Thomas and the other girls liked to tease her that she was going to be six feet tall if the way she ate was any indication.
“Really?” Colleen asked walking into the room with her empty glass. “We just had lunch.”
Thomas poured her some of the apple juice since he was already holding the bottle. It did not remind him of anyone else.
“Thomas?”
“What?” he asked, realising he must have missed something when his sisters shared a bemused look.
Colleen raised an eyebrow. “You alright? You were in another century altogether.”
He laughed at the way she’d used their grandmother’s accent and saying. “I’m good, just distracted. You guys wanna finish the movie before Eira and Grace come back and make us watch something educational?”