Across the Pond (Raptors Book 2)

by RJ Scott

  Ryker was playing as if he had rockets on his skates, the give and go between him, Alex, and Jens enough to have me dizzy, but they were getting closer until one of the Toronto guys slammed into Alex and pushed him right into the Plexiglas.

  “What the fuck!” I shouted, but it was okay because next to me, Mark was cursing the actions of the other team. Toronto had the puck, shuttling it between their forwards, and the camera followed them, but all I wanted to see was whether Alex had made it to a standing position. Was he hurt? Where was he?

  “Fuck, do you see that?” Mark said and rose to his feet. I followed suit, knowing that if I could just see around the side of the TV, then I could see Alex. He wasn’t lying on the ice; he wasn’t hurt. Hell, he was front and center, stealing the puck, up on his skates, passing to Ryker, who had two skaters worrying him, skating backward, and he pressed forward.

  “Go, go, go,” Mark shouted, urging them on, even though they couldn’t hear us. The noise on the TV was deafening, Toronto unhappy, the Raptors fans yelling encouragement.

  “Ryker’s taking a shot!” Mark shouted, and we went closer to the TV, Twiglets crunching under my feet as I went from despair and worry to elation.

  Ryker drew the two defensemen to him, messing with the puck, stopping dead on the ice, and reversing his direction and speed on a dime, and Alex was free. There was space. The defensemen didn’t stand a chance, the goalie watching the action to his left.

  At the very last moment Ryker slammed the puck to Alex, who didn’t even move. He angled his stick, and it was in. The lamp lit, the goal horn sounded, and suddenly we were only two goals down, with at least eight minutes on the clock.

  Mark and I hugged and danced in a small circle, as if the Raptors had won the cup when actually it was one goal that might not mean anything if we didn’t get two more. Which of course we didn’t, but damn it, we shone for those few bright moments, and even Coach looked proud of Ryker’s line, touching their shoulders. I could see Alex’s grin from here, the sweat on his face when they panned in, the sheer delight in his expression.

  My man was on a hockey-high, and damn if I wasn’t there with him.

  The next two days were excruciatingly hard. Not because the shots from the park were flooding social media, which meant Alex’s image was front and center of everything I was doing, but because I missed him. I wanted to hold him and hug him and make the world a safe place for him. He texted me when they landed.

  need to talk, landing at one

  That was all it said. No kisses, no explanation, nothing, and my heart sank. Maybe him being away this long had given him perspective, and he’d decided he couldn’t take us any further. I didn’t blame him. He was a player on the rise, with a reputation to uphold and a family that expected certain things from him, but I was the older guy who didn’t even live in the US. I was going home, and we’d have the entire ocean between us.

  I sent him a reply, telling him I’d pick him up from his place, and added an x, just so he knew that whatever he had to say to me, that I was coming to him with hope at least. Then I deleted the x. Then I added it back. Then I sighed, shut my eyes, and let the short distance between my thumb and send meet in the middle. It had gone with an x on the end.

  Then, as is my British way, I started to worry and made myself a cup of tea, finishing off the remainder of a packet of Digestives as I sipped the hot drink out by the pool. Jason came out with a beer around eleven, and we exchanged mindless talk about nothing at all, and then it was half an hour until two, and I thought that Alex would probably be home from the airport now.

  He was waiting for me outside his place, a duffle over his shoulder, looking way too sexy to be allowed out at this time of night. I pulled up, and he clambered in, belting up and shoving his bag into the back of the rental, awkwardly and in a rush. Then he faced me and spoke as the interior light faded.

  “I don’t want to go for a drive into the desert,” he announced and paused for a moment. He was breaking things off. I could feel it in my bones. “We should get a room,” he said in one big rush.

  I went from sad acceptance to surprise in an instant. “I’m sorry?”

  “A room.” He twisted to face forward. “I borrowed stuff from Ryker’s bathroom. He doesn’t know. I want to know everything is real, and we need a room to talk.”

  “Talk?”

  “Out of the city, the desert, find a place, stop, get a room, talk, and maybe more. Now, go,” he said and placed a hand over mine.

  It sounded to me as if he was on the edge, as if what we really needed to do was talk at depth, look at the ramifications of what he was suggesting, maybe even take a step back and find a way to calm down.

  Still, when I got the room, after driving for an hour, where we talked hockey and in particular the Toronto game, he was the one to lock the door behind us.

  Eleven

  Alex

  I had never done anything like this before.

  Sure, I’d fantasized about it, even gone so far as to jerk off a few times thinking about it. Which was another sin, and something that I should confess about, but I wasn’t about to tell Father Delgadillo about that or what might happen here tonight in this bed. A crisis of faith was beginning to take hold. I wasn’t sure if I was happy about that or sad, but I was happy to be here in this run-down motel, looking at Sebastian eyeballing the tacky wallpaper. I’d heard rumors about this place in hushed whispers from the guys on the team, which was why I’d suggested it. The sleazy aspect of The Gila Monster Motor Court in reality far outweighed the tawdry whispers passed down from one Raptor to another.

  “So,” I said, tossing my bag to the floor, my resolve to be with Sebastian tonight in a biblical sense starting to weaken a bit when his gaze left the wide bed and flittered to me. He had such pretty eyes.

  “Yes, well, this establishment seems to be a bit dodgy,” he said, waving a well-manicured hand at the bed, wall, bathroom, and ceiling. He made a wide circle, one thin eyebrow arching. “Are we sure we want to talk here?”

  “Well, yeah, the guys say this place is discreet.” I tugged on the knot of my tie, then pulled it out from under my collar.

  “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand? Perhaps they said disgusting, and you thought they said discreet.” He folded his arms over his chest, popped out a hip, and hit me with a look that made me smile, just a little.

  “No, the word was discreet. Like, if you’re looking to do something secret with someone you don’t want the world to know about…”

  “Ah yes, so an adulterer’s paradise.”

  “Hookers too.” I shrugged out of my suit jacket and tossed it to a ratty chair in the corner.

  “Yes, of course.” He sighed in that rather British way of his. “Perhaps we might be better suited to talk in the men’s room of that truck stop we passed. It was probably cleaner.”

  “This isn’t so bad.” I began to unbutton my dress shirt, working to appear indifferent and utterly cool. Pity my hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t work the first button.

  “Alex, what is this all about?”

  “Sex. It’s about sex! Estúpido botón de mierda!” I snapped and yanked, sending the button flying across the room. It hit an ugly painting of a lady on the beach waving at a ship, then fell to the worn carpeting. “Great. Ugh, now I have to sew that back on.”

  Sebastian walked toward me, took my hands from my shirt, and began slowly pushing the next button through the hole, his gaze locked with mine. My breath got shaky. When the button was free, a wicked shiver ran through me.

  “I’m not sure that you’re as ready as you think you are.”

  I grabbed the back of his neck, pulled his mouth to mine, and kissed him into the nearest wall. He squeaked a bit when his back hit the doorframe. Or maybe that soft mewl was in reaction to my cock pressing into his pelvic bone. I licked into his mouth, ground my hard-on into him, sucked on his tongue until he began to melt. Then I broke the kiss.

  “I’m ready.”
I rubbed against him, moving a small step to the left to line up our dicks. I nearly came unraveled when my cock rolled over his. I dipped into his mouth for another taste, a longer, wetter one that left us both wobbly and winded. “See how ready I am.”

  His hands slipped up my back, pulled me closer. “Why are you so ready now? What changed? I’ll not bed you until you’re sure you’re ready, and not just physically. You need to be one hundred percent willing and prepared for this to happen.”

  “I am, I swear it. Why are you being this way? I know you want me.” I thrust against him. He inhaled sharply, his fingers now biting into my shoulder blades. I teetered on the edge of an orgasm.

  “Yes, I do, obviously, quite a great deal, but, Alex, our relationship isn’t about a quick fuck in a seedy hotel. You’re—”

  “Say a virgin, and I will freak. I mean it. I’m tired of being the only one in the locker room clinging to something that I’m not sure I even believe in fully anymore! Why should I let the church tell me what to do when they don’t even care about me? Why should I follow some stupid moral code of conduct that’s outdated? And why should I care what my family thinks about anything I do when as soon as they find out I’m gay, they’ll turn away from me? Tell me why I should give a fuck about them and their rules!” He blinked, obviously taken aback by the anger that had swept over me. I stepped back a few paces, leaving him jammed against the doorframe, and dropped down onto the edge of the bed. I was honestly shaken at how mad I’d just gotten as well. “I’m sorry.” I coughed, dropping my elbows to my knees as I worked on flushing the resentment and confusion from my soul. “I wanted this to be about us, about connecting on a grown-up level. About me becoming a man.”

  “Having sex with someone does not make you a man.”

  “Well, what does?” I glanced up from the floor to him. He tugged his shirt down and padded over to the bed. When he sat beside me I let him hug me into his side.

  “So many things.” His voice was soft and calm; his fingers rested on my shoulder. “How you treat others obviously. Respecting your elders, being kind to animals and those weaker than you, being compassionate. Having integrity, confidence, a sense of humor, loyalty, empathy. Being direct, being honest, being a gentleman. I would wager that if you asked a man this same question fifty years ago the reply would have been much different.”

  “I’m not confident at all,” I mumbled, feeling as if someone had thrown me into a blender, yet again.

  “I disagree. I’ve seen you on the ice and out in public. You have great confidence in your skills.”

  “There’s more to life than hockey. How can I be this much of a mess?” He slid his hand to the back of my neck, his grip tightening, then working the stiff tendons.

  “You’re not a mess at all, and dare I say that you possess a goodly number of those masculine traits. What you’re experiencing is growing pains. We all go through this, but it’s sometimes much harder for a gay man to come to grips with what he is and where he needs to go in life. Being raised in a devout family is making your journey that much harder.”

  “I used to find a lot of strength in the church, but now…”

  He leaned over just enough that his head rested against mine. His fingers kept kneading the rock-hard muscles of my neck and shoulders.

  “Perhaps you could look into attending a different church. Something more open and welcoming than your current church seems to be to our community,” he offered. I made a sound of utter disbelief. Leave the church? Dios nos salve. My mother and grandmother would die of shock and broken hearts. “It was just a suggestion. I know your faith is important to you.”

  “Sort of yeah. It would be stronger if I felt welcome,” I confessed, the first confession that I’d been to in months.

  And as alarming as that was, it wasn’t upsetting me as it should. Maybe I could find a new place of worship. Somewhere that would accept me as me. Alejandro Ricardo Santos-Garcia. A gay hockey player with a marvelous British boyfriend. I moved my head just enough to be able to press my lips to his cheek. That soft scruff that he worked so expertly rubbed against my lips. God, I loved that sensation so much. His eyes drifted shut, the fingertips working my neck slowed, then stopped. He rolled his head, his mouth seeking mine. The kissing grew from a gentle, yearning thing into roaring passion in a matter of seconds. The fire was a hot one, one I couldn’t contain and really didn’t want to. Sebastian took the lead this time, easing me back to the bed, his concern about cooties seemingly forgotten as he nibbled down along my jaw to my neck while his nimble fingers worked on those tiny, pesky buttons.

  “Ahh, sweet,” I gasped when his hand parted my dress shirt and fell to my bare chest. “Give me more.”

  He did. With tender touches and sweeping caresses, we discovered each other’s bodies, bit by bit, removing one article of clothing, then tasting and touching that exposed patch of skin. We moved across the bed, rolling one over the other, legs and arms tangled when we were down to our briefs. I wanted so much. I wanted him, his body, his smiles, his hot skin pressed to mine. I wanted it all, but I had no clue how to ask for it. Sebastian knew, though. Somehow, he knew how to love me and encourage me to request what it was I needed the most.

  “There, yes, higher, slower, kiss me now. Let me taste your shoulder.” Simple soft pleas that led us higher and higher, our breaths shaky, our cocks weeping.

  “Love the taste of you,” he purred, licking his way down my stomach, his hands braced on either side of my waist.

  I arched up, eager, like a young stallion turned out among the mares with no clue how to proceed but with a frenzied need to do something, even if it was wrong. But it wasn’t wrong; Sebastian wouldn’t let it be wrong. He eased himself between my legs, eyes burning hot when they touched mine, and then ran his lips along the hard ridge of my dick. Even through the thin cotton the sensation was incredible.

  “Hurry, shit…” I could feel the tingle in my balls.

  “Think about hockey,” he murmured, nudging at my dick with his nose, pushing it up to lie on my belly. I trembled and cussed in Spanish when he freed just the tip of my cock, the slick head peeking out of the elastic band of my blue boxer briefs. “Think about anything but me doing this.”

  Arms resting on me, he took the head of my cock into his mouth. I bucked just like that callow young stud horse, my hips jerking up, my hands wadding the ugly green bedcover. God, he was good, so good, so incredibly good. He sucked, using the tip of his tongue to press into the slit, then wiggling his chin to expose more and more of my cock. Each inch that slid free, he swallowed until he had me all the way down his throat. I came far too fast, the white explosion of pleasure starting at the base of my spine was on me before I could even shout a warning. Sebastian moaned as I filled his mouth, swallowing greedily, his hands coming to rest on my lower belly, applying soft pressure as I writhed and shuddered under him.

  “Hell… ah hell,” I panted, my limbs like jelly, my skull stuffed with batting. Sebastian tucked my spent dick back into my shorts, climbed up over me, and laid his long, lean body atop mine. “That was… you’re wonderful.”

  “Have you ever tasted yourself on another man’s tongue?”

  “No, never…” A wave of wantonness washed over me. “I want to.” I slid my hands into his hair, then led his mouth to mine. He lapped at my lower lip, then slipped his tongue into my mouth, rubbing my taste over my taste buds. I loved the taste of him, of us, of me on his tongue. He rocked his hips into my belly, his erection a hard reminder that he’d not found his release. I released one hand from his hair and eased it between us, slipping my fingers into his briefs. He hissed when I took his cock in my hand. I stroked the length of him, loving the soft steely weight of his dick sliding over my palm.

  “Oh, that is lovely,” he whispered into my mouth while I pumped him. “Tighter, mm, yes, now harder… harder… ah shit, yes. Just like that.”

  When he came, his face was buried in my neck. My eyes were closed. His cock pulsed
in my hand, coating my fingers with hot spunk. He fucked madly for a moment, using his cum as lubricant. His dick leaked more and more cum with each frantic thrust. I groaned along with him. His weight settled on me for a few moments as we both drifted back down. Then he lifted his head and slanted his mouth over mine. I explored his mouth, melting back into the covers, my hand still between us, his cum cooling between my fingers.

  “Did you enjoy that?” he asked softly, his lips pink and slick from kissing.

  “Dios, si. God, yes, so much. So much…”

  “Me too, so much.” He gave me another kiss, then wiggled off me, rolling to his feet. I sat up, my hand a gummy mess, and stood. “Let’s grab a quick shower if we dare.”

  We snuck up into the bathroom as if there was a serial killer or an eight-foot cockroach hiding in the shower. There wasn’t. And amazingly, the bathroom was pretty clean. Clean enough for me anyway. Sebastian tutted and tsk-tsk-tsk’d at the towels and the toilet that made bubbly sounds. I was too woozy and glowing to make unhappy mom sounds. The shower was barely big enough for me, let alone the two of us, but once we wiggled in and pulled the curtain around us, the close quarters was just about perfect.

  “We should have chosen a more tasteful suite for our first rendezvous,” he said as he lathered cheap motel shampoo into my hair. I grunted in reply, too far gone in contented lover mode to even make words happen. I was so in love. Everything about him, about us, about this room and this shower and this shampoo that smelled like the lemon stuff Abuela mopped her floors with… it was all just perfect. His fingers massaging my scalp, the feel of his nude body tight to mine. “Something like the Tucson Century Towers. Five stars, massive rooms with superb amenities. That should have been where we made love.”