by Van Barrett
***
Rust, meanwhile, was busy with his new team.
That first year with Dallas was about as perfect as it could be—minus the ending. But Rust felt great and loved his role on the new team. They did well in the regular season, securing the #1 playoff seed and going all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals …
… only to lose a heart-breaker in 6 games.
But Rust had been through adversity enough times in his career. Sometimes, coming that close to something, only to have it snatched away—only hardened your resolve and made you want it more than ever.
The following year, on Rust's last contract year, Dallas made it back to the Stanley Cup Finals.
The final series went to 7 games.
And in the 7th game, the game ended up tied, and went to sudden-death double-overtime.
Clay was so nervous, and felt so sick to his stomach, he couldn't barely stand to watch the game.
In fact, late in that second overtime, when Rust wound up for his big slapper? Clay watched it all through the cracks of his fingers.
***
Rust's BMW pulled into the gravel driveway at Second Chance Horse Rescue. The crowd of employees and friends of the farm quickly surrounded his car, eager to get a peek inside at the famous athlete—and the most prized trophy in all of sports.
Rust's door opened, and the crowd backed up to give him room. He waved at everybody, waved at the cameras, winked and waved at Clay—who stood, above the fray, with a smile he could barely contain. (Although he certainly tried.)
Rust opened his passenger door, unlatched the belt, and pulled out Lord Stanley's Cup—and, to much cheering and whistling, he raised the silver trophy high above his head for the crowd.
Every player gets his 'day' with the Cup, and for Rust, it was only natural that he should spend his day with the Cup at Clay's farm. He thought he owed his comeback to Clay and those horses, after all.
So the news camera followed Rust, Clay and the Cup around the farm. The camera crew got footage of Rust walking from stall to stall, and letting each of Clay's horses take a few bites of fruit and grain out of the trophy's chalice.
Hours later, once the Sun had set and everyone at the party had stuffed themselves on the catered food and had their pictures taken with the Cup, it was time to go.
Rust and Clay stood out front and waved at everyone as they left, until at last, they were finally alone.
“So fuckin' proud of you, buddy.” Clay said, grinning at Rust once the last car was out of sight. “You really did it.”
“Thanks to you.” Rust bumped his hip into Clay's. (Clay's hip, by the way, wasn't a bother anymore—since he adhered to his daily stretching regiment, despite his griping.)
Clay motioned towards the Cup. “You know, I still haven't touched it.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah …” Clay grumbled. “Bad omen and all that.”
According to hockey legend, there's a curse with the Cup: touch it when you haven't won it, and you'll never win it. Not a big deal to everyday people, but to athletes with aspirations of becoming a hockey player, it's serious enough to cause some concern.
“Clay …” Rust trailed off, laughing, “you're not thinking of joining the NHL at age 39 now, are you?”
“Hell no.”
“So who cares? Forget the curse, touch the damn thing!”
But Clay shook his head like a frightened puppy.
“I don't know—it's, it's written in my DNA or something. Not supposed to touch it. Obviously I won't win it … but what about you? Maybe the curse will jump from me to you and you won't win the Cup ever again.”
Rust stifled a laugh. “Clay.”
“Yeah?”
“I guess now's a good time I should tell you something.”
Clay swallowed nervously. “Shoot.”
“I'm going out on top,” Rust said simply.
Clay shot him a look. “What? Really?”
“Yeah, bud. This is it. I'm 35. I love hockey and winning this beaut--” Rust stopped to kiss the Cup once more, “--was one of the best feelings in my life. But every day is getting harder and harder. And more than that? I love you,--”
“And I love you,” Clay interjected, as he always did when those sacred words were spoken.
“--and I'm always thinking about the day when we can finally be together for real. So here it is, Clay. I'm going out on top. I'm retiring from hockey and I wanna stay here, on the farm, with you.”
“Yeah?” Clay's grin spread from ear to ear. “You really mean it?”
“Sure do, bud.” Rust smiled right back at him. “As long as you still want my old ass out here, anyway.”
“Of course I do!”
The two men shared a long, happy kiss, with the Cup on the floor between their legs.
Rust pulled back. “So hockey's over for us. That means no curse. Go ahead and hoist Stanley, already.”
Clay smiled eagerly. He bent down, grabbed both ends of the Cup, hoisted it into the air and planted his lips on the trophy for a big ol' kiss.
One way or another, he'd finally accomplished a childhood dream.
“Fuck yeah,” Clay growled, smiling.
And while he held that Cup in the air, Rust surprised him by suddenly fondling the crotch of his jeans.
“Oh,” Clay gasped as his cock quickly began to pump and stir. He quickly expanded against Rust's palm.
“This part was always my fantasy,” Rust said as he unzipped Clay's pants and lowered himself to his knees. He reached into Clay's boxers and pulled out his thickening cock. “Blowing you while you've got the Cup in the air. Fuck yeah, man.”
“Oh my God …” Clay whimpered.
And he kissed the Cup again and again—his warm lips smearing against the cold, polished silver—as Rust's hot tongue snaked up and down his firming length.
And then his cock was wrapped tight in those sweet lips—and passing in and out against Rust's deliciously warm, silk-smooth cheeks.
“Oh, Rust! That's so good …”
THE END.
A Word From Van Barrett
Thank you so much for reading – I hope you enjoyed the story.
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Also by Van Barrett
Break Away (First Time Gay Hockey Romance)
Jocks are nothing but trouble.
Student journalist Lane Matthews knows that all too well, which is why he's dreading his latest assignment: to write an intimate exposé of the most popular athlete on campus, River Brame.
But River isn’t your typical goal-scoring stud with a stupidly good body -- and Lane soon learns that the North Dakota captain is hiding a softer, sweeter side under that hard body. Lane has to stay professional and remind himself that River is straight, and not looking to score with a gay sex columnist. Even if he could swear that River is flirting with him ...
Where there's smoke, there's fire.
River’s dazzling skills and jaw-dropping physique have him destined to be a star in the NHL -- but the cut-throat media is desperate to smear his name. Lane’s feature story will help River set the record straight and dispel the damaging rumors. Can Lane help River extinguish the embers of controversy ... or will they ignite an even hotter one?
As the two men grow closer, suspicions about their friendship start to spread. Can River manage fame and a secret life? Is Lane chasing more heart-break and humiliation? And will their secret passion drive them apart ... or can Lane and River break away and find their path together?
***
Break Away is a 130,
000 word novel with a HEA. Narrated in past tense, dual first-person. No cliffhangers or cheating. A hot slow-burn with twists and turns!
***
Read an excerpt of Break Away after the following teasers!
Seven Nights (First Time Gay Romance)
Two straight guys. Seven Nights.
Months before graduation, Austin Rockwell makes a rare ‘mistake’ at a party. It’s the kind of innocent slip-up that a normal college guy could write off as a curiosity. But for the son of a prominent politician, it’s a scandal waiting to blow. Can confused Austin continue on his path like nothing ever happened?
Rugged and deep, Cedar Marten is as natural as the lush Minnesota north he calls home. The air’s fresh, the fishing’s great, and the girls can’t get enough of him. So why does he feel like something’s missing?
Before he jump-starts his career under his father’s watchful eye, Austin escapes to a lake resort to get his story straight. Will his burning but conflicted passions ignite when he meets the handsome and easy-going stud, Cedar? Would Cedar even go for a guy …?
***
Seven Nights is a 118,000 word stand-alone romance novel with a HEA. Narrated in past tense, dual first-person. No cliffhangers or cheating. Hot and steamy MM scenes are depicted. Contains light MF elements.
Linemates (First Time Gay Hockey Romance)
Callan Jones is a bright new hockey star having the time of his life -- and the hard-hitting, goal-scoring, trash-talking winger has the whole league riled up in a hissy-fit. Only one thing could ever trip up the invincible youngster: the fact that he likes guys. Good thing he's managed to keep that secret under wraps ... right?
Ever since Tyler Vance lost the Cup by a goal, his team's been caught in a downward spiral -- with him at the helm. The fans gossip that the captain's heart isn't in hockey anymore. Who knows? Maybe they're right.
A shocking trade between two bitter rivals takes the hockey world by storm. Now it's up to Vance to make sure Jones fits in with his new team. Will the truth about Callan's trade come out? And will it have the power to change everything?
***
Linemates is a 115,000 word stand-alone romance with a HEA! Narrated in present tense, dual first-person POV. No cliffhangers or cheating. Steamy MM scenes are depicted. Light MF elements depicted.
Excerpt from: Break Away
Prologue:
A Year Prior
Excerpt taken from last year's final edition of the Bitch and Moan!, a sex, dating and relationship advice column published in the Dakota Student – The University of North Dakota's student newspaper.
***
Dear Bitch and Moan,
Help! I can't take it anymore!
I've been with my boyfriend for just shy of two years now. Our relationship would be pretty great if not for one major problem: he wants something I can't give. And that's oral sex.
See, ever since the very first time I got on my knees for a guy, I've hated giving blowjobs. And with what my boyfriend is packing? Forget it. No way. He's just too big, guys. I've tried to go down on him once or twice, believe me! But I had to call it quits after a minute or two, because my jaw was just too achy and sore. And then I was way too pissed at him and the mood was ruined.
Lately, he's been hinting that he wants me to try again. With summer break just days away, we'll have more time together – and that means I need to come up with more excuses to dodge the BJs he'll want. What do I do? I'm running out of ideas.
Sometimes he says, 'but babe, practice makes perfect!' But I'm certain I'll never get that thing down. I have to make him realize he has to live without oral sex. Shouldn't guys just be happy with vaginal sex??? I mean c'mon! He's already getting that!
Normally I'd just dump the guy. But besides the big problem between his legs, this guy is otherwise a total keeper. I hope you see my dilemma. Help me convince him to see the light, Bitch and Moan!
Sincerely,
Throbbing Miserable Jaw, in Gallery Apartments.
***
Dear TMJ (love the acronym, by the way),
Hi! It's me, your boy Moan. The first solution to your morbid mandibular problem that pops into my mind is: give your boyfriend my phone number! Because I'd be more than happy to show him exactly what one man can do for another! Haha, don't get mad, I'm only kidding.
Seriously though, TMJ, there's two major things that stand out to me in this letter of yours. First, let's start with Part 1: sucking cock.
Brace yourself, because you're probably not going to like hearing this. I have to agree with Big Dick BF on at least one point: practice does indeed make perfect. There's a plethora of cock-sucking techniques that can enhance his pleasure while relieving your pain and suffering. Have you already added these mutually-beneficial weapons to your arsenal?
For example: a long, drawn out tease can get his desperate pecker absolutely pulsing with lusty excitement before you've even opened your mouth. Here's a question for you: when you start to get sore and achy, do you switch to your hands? Trust me, from a guy's perspective: a blowjob is an amazing sexual pleasure. But a handjob can be a very welcome interruption that coaxes us dangerously close to the edge. And your jaw will thank you for the reprieve, too! (Plus, as visual creatures, we like seeing our cocks. Especially when we're diamond-hard, our veins are throbbing, and we're dripping with our lover's saliva. The sight alone can push us over the edge!)
Here's an idea: have you tried looking up any oral sex workshops here in Grand Forks? They do exist, and they absolutely do help. And you can take my word on that, because I personally graduated from a blowjob bootcamp my freshman year. I went just for shits and giggles, thinking I already knew all there was to know about slobbin' the knob. But you know what? They broke me down and built me back up, and I'm a better dick sucker because of it, yes sir! My boyfriends sure think so, anyway.
But maybe that kind of setting is just too risque for you, TMJ. I am, after all, picking up on something of a, ahem, puritan vibe from you. No offense, I'm just callin' it like it is. Anyhow, if that's the case, you might opt for a blowjob practice regimen that's a little more private and can be done behind closed doors.
You could start a nightly popsicle routine. That's fun and flavorful, and while you're sliding your lips up and down that icy pole, you might even find yourself suddenly in the mood to give the real thing a try. And believe me, you'll turn BDBF on in the process. So, err, maybe you'll want to do this alone, so you won't give the poor boy another bout of blue balls?
Okay, TMJ, this is my last recommendation. It might be a long shot, but if he's truly so effing big that no popsicle comes close to matching his stature? Check out this product called Clone-A-Cock. Basically, you'll get him hard, and then you'll make him ram his rod into a mix of putty for sixty seconds – and you'll do your best to make sure he stays hard for those sixty seconds. Yes, this process is totally awkward, sweet, fun, sexy, and completely horrifying all at once – wee! The joys of being in a committed and loving relationship!
After he pulls out, you'll pour silicone into the penis mold he just fucke-- I mean, created. Let it cure for a day, and voila, you'll have yourself your very own, life-like model of his cock. That's right, your very own replica of Stud McHung's member, for you to practice on! Or stick it on the living room mantel for one hell of a conversation starter. Note: Don't actually do that. It'd be super creepy.
Who knows? In time, you might even learn to enjoy his hot and huge manhood, swelling as it passes between your lips … (Ugh, sorry. I get carried away when I think about big dicks. And your boyfriend sounds like a 'total keeper' indeed.)
If you're really, truly giving this an honest go, and he's still being impatient about the severe lack of dome? You could try making him suck his own likeness – but only if you're feeling vengeful, because trust me, many straight guys are crazy squeamish about that kind of thing. The point is, he'll witness firsthand just what you're dealing with here. Because it's true, some guys seem to think that deep
-throating a cock is something all women can easily do. And those that can't just aren't trying hard enough. They'll change their minds when they try it themselves.
Okay, TMJ, as I said earlier, there were two issues with your letter. And now it's time to deal with Part 2: the issue of sucking cock. See, I just wrote all those words up there about how to suck cock like a pro. But a funny thing occurred to me – you didn't write that letter asking me how to improve your head game. You wrote to me asking how to convince your boyfriend to forego head forever. And yet you say this guy is a keeper?!
Tsk, tsk, tsk! Give your head a shake, TMJ! You also say you've tried to go down on him 'once or twice.' Once or twice? So it's probably safe to assume it was actually just once, right? Do you really mean to tell me that you can't remember if you sucked your boyfriend's dick one time or two times in the two years you've dated? I could be wrong – although let's face it, I never am, wink wink – but I'm seeing red flags here, TMJ.
I don't wanna throw you into the fire just yet. Tone and meaning can get lost in text. I know that. If your guy's being an asshole about how much he wants oral, or trying to force you, that is a serious turn off and I wouldn't blame you one bit for not wanting to service him. So, ask yourself, is he impatient? Is he not understanding your struggles? If so, let him know! Relationships thrive when issues are approached with open and honest communication, and this is especially true with sexuality.