by RJ Scott
Why was he telling me that? Was he likening Ethan to Andrew and labeling him a failure? No fucking way. I bristled.
“Every player has a different journey,” I said, and the dad took a step back. I waited for him to argue.
“I know,” he said and shook his head ruefully. “Andrew is so jealous that his little brother is learning it all for new, wishes he could be back here. Between you and me, I think Andrew is finding Juniors overwhelming, and he wants to push harder, but I want my kids to be kids. You know what I mean. But if it means that much to him, then what can I say? So I was going to ask you, do you do private lessons?”
“That was my question as well,” the second man said.
I was lost for words. No, I hadn’t even thought of something like that.
“We don’t have a lot of money to throw around,” Ethan’s dad said, lowering his voice, “but it means something to my sons. Hockey means something.”
“I can help them,” I said. “No charge, if you can get them to the rink.”
Only later, in the shower did I wonder why the hell I said I’d help for no money.
Stupid? Or maybe this was an atonement of sorts.
Whatever it was, I felt positive, and for the first time in the last few days, the blackness was held back enough that I kissed Hayne into the bed and then rolled so he was lying on me.
“Wanna fool around?” I asked and stole a ramen-flavored kiss.
Hayne grinned down at me and kissed me back in answer.
I was lost.
In Hayne.
Fourteen
Hayne
Sex was never just sex with Scott. Not that I knew what “just sex” was. I’d never had anyone look at me or touch me or taste me as Scott did. He was always gentle and patient, probably sensing my innocent state by the way I trembled at his touch or came far too quickly.
“God, you are beautiful,” he whispered as his hands slid up my chest. He plucked at my nipples, the attention turning them from light pink to a dark rose.
I watched my body react to him, the flush of desire making my skin glisten, the flood of blood to my tender nipples and cock. I let him touch and tease, sighing and moaning as he began to play me as a fine musician would a harpsichord. Yes, that was us. Scott the sexual maestro and me, the virginal apprentice.
“Mm, ah… did you know that there’s an instrument called a virginal?” I asked because I said stupid times at inappropriate times.
Do we really want to talk about keyboard instruments from the early baroque period when we have a man’s stiff dick resting right between our ass cheeks?
“Uh, nope, did not know that.” He grabbed my hips and lifted me, nudging until he could spread his legs. I settled between them, and I could feel the thick shaft nestled between my tightly closed thighs, the velvety head pressing ever so gently on my hole. “Hey, it’s okay, relax. Here, come here.” He released a hip and pushed his fingers into my hair, easing me forward enough that he could lick into my mouth. I sucked his tongue greedily. He raised his hips just a bit, a mere inch, but oh my God, the sensations that small movement caused. His cockhead rubbed over my asshole, gliding up, then back, the slippery trail of precum that leaked from him easing the friction.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I panted, and so he did it again and again, all the while nibbling at my mouth, his tongue sliding over my teeth and lips. “I’m not…” I gasped when his cockhead moved over my hole again. “I’m not sure…” Words. Make words, Hayne. “I’m not a well-used harpsichord.” That made him chuckle gruffly, then pump a bit faster, which made my words flitter away like sparrows. “No one has ever touched my keys.”
“I know,” he said, his fingertips roaming over my ribs. “And we’re not going there tonight.” Disappointment mingled with relief. His dick was impressive, thick as hell, and long. “We are going to play just a bit, though. You okay with that? You want me to play with your ass?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
“Grab the lube.” I gave him an uncertain look, my heart thumping madly. “I promise I will not penetrate you with my dick. But we are going to need lube. Trust me?”
My mouth dropped to his, the kiss speaking for me. “I do trust you. I love you.”
He pushed back the wall of curls curtaining our faces. “I love you too. Reach under the bed, pull out my hockey bag.”
Not wanting to know why he carried lube with him, I bent over, his strong grip keeping me in place as I pawed around under my bed. My pinkie snagged the strap, and I pulled the bag out and up onto the bed.
“Get the lube out. There are packets. Side pocket.” He never stopped touching me as I searched with shaking fingers until I found strings of condoms and lube. “Good man. Now, get us slicked up. Your dick and mine.”
He lay under me, hazel eyes hooded, rough palms now rubbing my ass as I tore open packets and applied clear lube to his cock, then mine.
“Now, we bump and grind.” He positioned me as I had been, between his thick legs, his cock locked between my thighs. He thrust up. I bit down on my lower lip and whined in pleasure. “Now you move. Yeah, use your knees. Oh fuck, good, yeah. Nice. Hayne, that’s so fucking hot.”
I began pumping my hips. He groaned out loud, the sound erotic and beautiful, flowing into the air with the soft strains of Berceuse in D-Flat Major as I moved against him. My dick rubbed steadily on his stomach, the friction sending shock waves right to my balls. He spread his legs wider, sliding his hands under his knees. I crossed my ankles and pinched his dick with my thighs.
“Fuck, oh fuck… I’m going to… Fuck.” He grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands, his legs falling back to the bed. “Faster. Fuck, Hayne, that’s perfect. Faster.” He bit down on my shoulder, his steamy breath blowing past my right ear. My balls drew up tight when he closed his legs and thrust up like a man possessed, his fingers holding my ass. The hot wash of cum on my hole sent me over as well. My cock kicked and spewed, coating our bellies with spunk. I whimpered as my release rocked me to the core. Then he touched my ass with a slick finger. I shouted and pumped my hips, using my thighs to milk more out of him. He rubbed at my hole as I shot another thick wad.
“Oh God.” It was all I could think of to say. I lifted my ass just a bit, to get more of his finger into me, but he pulled it away. “I want more…”
“Next time,” he whispered, his lips skimming over my damp cheek to my mouth.
The kisses were soft now, like the dulcet notes bouncing around the attic. I never wanted to leave this bed or his arms. My head fit perfectly under his chin. I was a mess. Cum coated my ass, balls, thighs, cock, and chest. Scott wasn’t much tidier. Yet we lay there with the stars twinkling above us and Chopin on the stereo, kissing and telling each other the things that lovers say in the dead of night after the lust has been spent. Eventually, we’d have to get up, wash up, and change the bedding, but right now, we were still in that place where two are one, hearts entwined. It was where I wanted to live the rest of my life.
A few weeks later, I glanced up from my thesis paper to see Ryker Madsen dragging his backside into Cream the Beano.
“Coffee, stat,” he groaned.
I motioned in the general direction of the coffee pots, then remembered that I was at work. My customer service skills had taken a massive hit the past few weeks.
“I’ll get that for you,” I offered, but he waved me off, leaving me to stare at my paper, which was due in exactly two weeks. As was my senior project painting and the paper that I had to turn in for my senior seminar class, and finals needed to be studied for, amid working and trying to spend time with Scott, and house-hunting, and filling out applications for full-time jobs nearby. Not to mention getting ready for commencement which was May 10th.
I must have made a sick little sound because Ryker turned from the pot that held the regular coffee to give me a sympathetic look.
“I heard that exact same sound from Jacob last night.” He poured himself a tall cup, then fixed it to
taste as I sighed, sighed, and sighed again. “Let me guess. Senior thesis?” I nodded at him as he sat down across from me, blowing into his coffee, his pretty eyes puffy and rimmed with red. “I figured. Jacob’s is something about a base model in evaluating the amino acid profiles when feeding soybeans or something like that.”
“That’s horrifying,” I replied.
Ryker nodded and took another sip. “What’s yours?”
“Oh, it’s a paper on the reflect figure/ground relationships within the parameters of Jung’s Red Book and symbolic artwork.”
His face went blank. “Okay, now that is horrifying.”
I giggled a bit, the first time I’d done that in the past two hours. “You want to talk about scary, listen to the requirements.” I cleared my throat and did my best Professor Tritchie impersonation. “Your paper must be word-processed, double-spaced, one-inch margins, twelve-point font Times New Roman only. No silly fonts will be accepted. It must be spelling and grammar checked,” I said, in a deep, nasally way that made Ryker snort. “Name and page number on each page, each paragraph numbered, and you must write your thesis statement in bold. Cite all your sources, make sure to include a bibliography/works consulted page. Careful and considerate citation is critical!” I shouted, and Ryker laughed out loud. “Your paper must be at least twelve pages long; fifteen to twenty pages would be preferable, but twelve will get you a passing grade if all other points are met.”
“C’s get degrees,” Ryker tossed out. “You got to APA format all that?”
“My God, I don’t know. Maybe?” I began to scour the paper requirements for the formatting. Ryker slid it away from me, putting an arm on it, then dazzling me with a killer smile.
“Had to do the same thing for Jacob last night at three in the morning.” I blinked at him, then what he was doing settled in, and I gave him a weak smile.
“Thanks. I’m feeling majorly overwhelmed,” I confessed, pulling my wild hair back into a thick ponytail.
“Yep, I feel you. Jacob is freaking out. He’s got slight control issues anyway, but this final push to graduation is making him two shades shy of a lunatic. Honestly, I’m kind of worried he’s going to burn out.”
“What’s your paper on?” I inquired as two girls came in to grab some candy and milk before classes. I rang them up helped myself to a cup of coffee, and sat back down with Ryker.
“I’m a junior, so I’m skipping it all until next year.” He peeled off his Eagles jacket, exactly the same kind that Scott wore, and tossed it onto the bench next to him. “My only concern this year is what I’m going to do next year without Jacob here.”
I could see the sadness in his expression. “Yeah, I kind of get that. I’m looking at six weeks at my current house, and then I have to move out. Grampa’s money is about gone. I also need a job, like a full-time one with benefits because making a living as an artist is a pipe dream.”
“Dude, no, it’s not. Your stuff is good. We all saw that winter painting when it was in the museum. You could totally make a go at painting.”
“Yeah, no. And I’m not willing to cut off and sell my ear, not yet anyway.”
“Hey, listen, I’m serious. All you’d need is a website and an online store. Easy-peasy setup. Then you sell your paintings online, skip the museum shit, and roll around in cash.”
I stared at him. Hard. “What happens when I don’t sell any?”
Ryker sighed dramatically. “You will sell them because they’re good.”
“But I won’t have a studio because I have to move. And where will Scott go to live? How can I paint when I’m working sixty hours a week to survive? Why did I pick such a prick of a subject for my thesis?! Ack, why is my life like this!?”
“Dude, breathe before you pass out.”
My head hit the table and stayed there, forehead thumping from the impact. “Did I mention we have to move?”
He patted my head. “Yeah, do did, twice. Life is a big boner at times.”
I sat up. “Yeah, it is. So, what’s going to happen with you and Jacob during the summer? Do you live near him?”
I poked at my coffee with a red plastic stirrer. I didn’t really want it. I’d taken in so much caffeine in the past two days I was getting queasy, but there was so much to do…
“No, he’s here in Minnesota, and I’m going to be with my dad in Harrisburg this summer. He’s getting married, and then I’m on house watch while Ten and him are honeymooning. Then there’s summer hockey camp, and BLAM! I’m back here on campus alone.”
“Maybe Jacob can come stay with you at your dad’s.” I pushed the coffee away after taking a tentative sip.
“Not likely. Farm work doesn’t include vacations. Cows have to be milked and fed every day, crops need to be harvested. I’m hoping to go to him as often as I can, but… I don’t know. It’s going to suck.”
My head bobbed. Yes, it did. “What are we going to do about Scott?” I ran the tip of my index finger over the edge of my laptop, which had gone dark from nonuse. Ryker lifted an eyebrow. A rush of people filed into the coffee shop, the between-classes surge. Ten minutes later, after I’d made more coffee, I was back at the employee table under the TV that was bolted to the wall. It was muted and locked on CNN, so no one ever glanced at it.
“You asked me about Scott. What do you mean what are we going to do with him? Is he using again?”
“No! Oh, sorry, no, he’s clean. I just… what are we going to do with him? Where will he go for the Summer?”
Ryker shrugged, his face a mask of sorrow. “I wish I knew, Hayne. Maybe I could ask my dad if he could stay with us, but he really should try to make amends with his family, you know?”
My eyes closed on my exhale. When I opened them, Ryker was waiting, his coffee sitting beside mine, both half full.
“I’m not sure he’s there yet, emotionally. We don’t talk much about his family. Mine is cool and would totally take us in, but I’m not willing to burden my mother and grandmother like that. I’ll be twenty-three in July. I should be able to live on my own.”
“Yeah, well, that was the standard for our grandparents’ generation. Most of my friends would be happy to have an apartment and some cash left over for food. Life is hard for our generation.”
I knew that Ryker came from money. His father had played professional hockey, and his dad’s fiancé did as well. Even people like me who knew nothing about sports knew Tennant Rowe’s name. To hear him speaking with such feeling about those who didn’t have it as well as he did said a lot about him as a man. I had nothing to say and no solutions for any of our problems.
“Well, I better haul it over to the rink. We have a scrimmage today, then a game on the weekend,” he said, pushing to his feet and sliding his arm into a coat sleeve. “We’re going to do Chinese tomorrow night, just to get Jacob outside for an hour before his brain leaks out of his ears. Want to join us?” I began to beg off, but he wasn’t allowing that to happen. “It’s OU students eat for half price at the buffet place down on Spangler and March in town. I’ll swing by around seven.”
“Okay, sure that’ll be nice.” I smiled warmly up at Ryker.
He swatted my shoulder playfully. “Cool. And listen, about life and all that? Things have a way of working out. Ten tells me that all the time.”
Off he went in a hurry, jogging out of the coffee shop, shouting a greeting to someone he knew. My phone buzzed, and I smiled to see a quick text from Scott. He was working with the kids and sounded upbeat and full of energy. His next text was temptation personified.
Come to the rink.
Why?
I miss you.
I miss you too. My paper is sickly and needs help.
I’ll help you at home. Come on, you know you want to…
Ugh, I did. I so wanted to. I loved sitting in the seats and watching Scott on the ice. He was so strong and graceful, a masculine mix that made me tingle from head to toe. I glanced at the clock over the door. Twenty minutes until I could clos
e up. If I hurried to the rink, I could spent an hour there, and then went right home and got to work. I hit him back.
See you in 30.
YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!
Scott’s reply made me laugh. Filled with an energy I hadn’t felt before, I hustled around, washing pots and scouring counters. As soon as the hour hand clicked onto the five, I was tallying up my register, and I was out the door, paper still unwritten. I bounded out into an April afternoon, the air cool but with that gentle caress of spring riding the chill.
Bag bouncing off my back, I ran to the ice rink, waving at several Eagles players who were filing in for the scrimmage game. Scott met me at the door, sweeping me up and twirling me around until I screamed and pretended to gag.
“God, you’re pretty, even when you’re turning green,” he teased, pecking me on the lips, then leading me to my usual seat behind the Eagles bench. “We’re going to be out there for another half hour. Then the team comes on. You okay with that?”
“Yep.” I patted my backpack resting on my thighs. “I might work on my thesis a bit if that’s okay?”
He dropped into a crouch, his fingers taking and tugging a stray curl. “As long as you’re nearby. That’s really all that matters.” He released the strand, and it bounced back into a corkscrew. The kids on the ice shouted his name, and his eyes lit up. “Work. We’ll walk home, and I’ll make us dinner.”
“Ramen or tater tots with cheese?”
“It’s a surprise.” Off he went, moving far more gracefully than a man should in ice skates with clunky plastic green covers on the blades. Funny, but when I opened my laptop and inhaled that brisk icy air, my fingers began to fly over the keys. Glancing up from time to time, I spied Scott with his young skaters and felt a kind of serenity settle in my breast. The man really was my inspiration.
Fifteen
Scott