by R J Scott
Yep. Those were the magic words, it seemed. Not something raunchy like you’d hear in gay porn. Nope. I blew apart because Mads told me he wanted more than sex with me. He held on to my leg tightly as I flailed and whimpered. His lips captured mine, swallowing the sounds of a man lost in orgasm, which was smart on his part. We were in a hotel with the head coach sleeping on the other side of the wall.
When the tremors subsided, he lifted his head and released my thigh.
“Shit… that was intense.” I huffed, then ground a bit harder into him. “Your turn.”
“I don’t have to come every time we lie down together,” he said between soft kisses placed along my biceps.
“Well, yeah, you do. That’s kind of the point,” I replied, and got a tutting kind of sound.
Swell. Miss Perkins the health teacher was back with another lecture on something that would have me sleeping on my textbook within seconds.
“Oh, impetuous and randy youth,” he teased.
I pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, my hip bone right on his cock. He sucked air through his teeth when I bumped his dick accidentally-on-purpose.
“Tennant, you’re sort of missing the point here. Making love isn’t all about the orgasm.”
“So, you don’t want to come?”
He looked up at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Yes, of course, but it doesn’t have to be the main objective every single time.”
“So, you do want to come?”
His laughter was honest and made me grin. “Yes, Tennant, I would like to come, but seeing you writhing under me when you came was incredibly erotic.”
“You liked that, huh?” I wiggled my ass around. “Did you have fantasies about making me come, Mads?”
“Every fucking night.” He tugged my mouth back to his. I got all wild and hungry, sucking on his tongue while grinding on him. “I jerked off to those fantasies too.”
“No shit,” I panted over his lips, my hips driving down into him hard. I felt a shudder go through his big body. “Fuck, that’s hot.” I bumped my budding erection against his prick.
“Christ, you’re almost hard again.”
He began working at my pants then. Eager, hard tugs on my jeans until they were down over my ass. I wiggled free of the denim, then leaped back into bed. That was when I saw the head of his dick peeping out of the top of his boxers. My briefs felt tight again.
Mads grabbed my hips and held me in place. Then he began jacking me up and down over him. The contact and rasp of cotton was unbearably delicious, just like his scorching kisses and the way he pumped up when I ground down. If only he’d let me get my mouth on him. He rolled me onto my back without warning, his eyes burning with need as I pushed my leg between his. Mouth sealed over mine, he began humping me hard. The bed thumped into the wall with each powerful thrust. I pawed at his back and arms, trying to get enough air into my lungs. Then he came. His head fell to my shoulder and all his ropey muscles contracted. I felt his prick kicking, then the hot flood of spunk soaking through our underwear. My balls tightened yet again and I lost it one more time.
“Tennant, you’re going to kill me,” he whispered beside my ear, then took the lobe between his teeth.
That off-the-cuff comment startled me. “Is it your heart?”
Of course, I knew about that condition of his. Everyone in the family—hell, the world of professional hockey—knew about his heart. And here I’d been pushing him to have sex. What if he couldn’t have sex?
“Shit, I’m sorry. Should you not be doing this? Are you stroking out on me?!”
“Tennant, no, I’m fine. It was a joke.” He nipped playfully at my jaw.
“Fuck, man, don’t do that to me ever again.” I thought I might faint with relief.
“I won’t, I promise. But you really are going to do me in.”
“You’ll die smiling, Mads.” Coming back with some humor was good—made me feel less freaked. I hoped he was okay with joking about it. “I was kidding about the dying part.” I pushed to my elbows so I could press my mouth to his. “Like, you know I was kidding…”
“I know you were,” he murmured between soft, searching kisses.
I fell back onto the bed in relief, Jared nestling into me, his weight incredibly appealing as it settled over me.
And that was how the home frottage sessions began. When we were on the road, there was no more petting. Mads had laid down that law after that one night, and I kind of understood it. We were walking a fine line with this relationship… if that was even what it was. Being discovered with our pants literally down would be one major mess for Mads and the team. Knowing he was just a few doors down when we traveled was torture. When we were home, I was at his place, because all I owned was a piano and a PlayStation, which he commented on all the time. I found his worry about my undecorated place funny.
Mads was unlike any lover I’d ever had. He was tender, methodical, patient, and determined to take things S-L-O-W. He was humorous, sharp, smart, and totally devoted to Ryker. The only complaint I had was how leisurely Jared Madsen really moved. I’d thought slow would mean a date or two then getting into the monkey sex. Nope. With Mads, slow meant moving at the speed of a fucking glacier.
“I don’t want you to regret being with an old man,” he said whenever I begged, pleaded, or demanded he fuck me, or at least let me suck that fat, uncut cock of his. I told him repeatedly over that long, incredible month that there was no way I’d ever feel that way, but he stuck to his guns. And along the way, I learned things about taking my time, pleasing my partner, and not being all about the money shot. Each time we came in each other’s arms, I grew a little closer to the man, trusted him a little more, and fell a little deeper.
He and I both went through a ridiculous amount of underwear from mid-September to Halloween, but I didn’t complain. Well, not too much. Okay, I bitched constantly. Then the first weekend of November arrived, and with it the knowledge that we were going up against Boston and Brady in a Sunday afternoon matinee game.
Brady would arrive sometime late Saturday. We were to meet up at this clubby pub down by the Capitol building and do dinner. Mostly Brady wanted to check up on me and touch base with Mads, I assumed. Whatever. I was too busy trying to make Coach Benning acknowledge how much better suited I was for the first line to worry over Brady trying to dictate my life. Benning, the stupid shit, had this mental block about playing the old vets no matter if he had someone faster, younger, stronger, and hungrier. It drove me—and several sports writers—nuts.
While I was shoving clean clothes into an overnight bag, my phone chirruped. It was my mother ringing. Guilt instantly washed over me. Her calls had gone to my voicemail nine times out of ten over the past six weeks. Not that I didn’t want to talk to her. I did. It was just Mads. Really, Mads and hockey were my life now. But still, she was my mom…
“Hey there, Mom,” I said with all kinds of cheery goodness.
“Tennant, I’ve been trying to contact you for days. What good is having a cell phone if you never answer it? Your father was starting to worry that you were in a ditch somewhere.”
“Right, it was Dad worrying about me in a ditch.” I had to chuckle at her. I tossed a handful of clean underwear into my duffle.
“Don’t get sassy. There were two reasons I was calling. One was to ask if you’ve been playing the piano. Have you?”
I glanced at my dusty piano. “No, not recently.” I’ve been too busy playing hockey and grinding on Mads, Mom.
“I was afraid of that. Put the PlayStation controller down occasionally and play that piano. You’ll thank me someday.”
I rolled my eyes but mumbled something to placate her.
“Secondly, you remember Jennifer Gates?”
I froze with a clean T-shirt in my hands. “Uh, yeah…”
“She just completed her studies and has come back home to start teaching kindergarten over at your elementary school. Isn’t that exciting? She’s staying with
her parents until she can find an apartment. Well, you know how much your dad and I always thought of Jennifer, so I invited her and her folks for Thanksgiving dinner. Tennant? Honey?”
“I… Uh, I’m here, Mom, just thinking.”
I dropped the shirt I’d been gripping into my duffel bag. Jennifer Gates. Nice, sweet, perky Jennifer. My beard all through high school. Hell, I’d even fondled her boobs the night of junior prom just to keep the ruse going. When she’d moved off to Colorado to get her education degree, I’d pretended to miss her like a boyfriend would miss a girlfriend. My eyes drifted shut. Mom started talking about old times and how Jennifer had always been so smart and clever. Oh, and those big brown eyes of hers always sparkled.
“… after we eat and spend the evening. Maybe you and her can rekindle?”
I opened my eyes and stared down at the bag I was packing to take over to Mads’ place. “Mom, can we do a video chat?”
“Oh, sure. Let me grab my coffee.” She dashed off.
I sat down beside my bag. The bag holding the clothes that I was taking to my gay lover’s. Wow. Okay. This was not how I’d planned this. Actually, I’d never planned it at all.
“Okay, I’m back. Dad says hi.”
“Tell Dad to stick close, okay?”
I got us into the video chat, my fingers shaking so badly I almost dropped my cell a few times. She accepted the call, and then there they were, heads side by side, smiling at me. Nope. No. I couldn’t do this. Not like this. Not over the phone.
“Here’s Dad.” Mom patted his cheek. “He’s very happy about Jennifer coming back home too.”
Okay. Yeah. It had to be now… like this. Fuck. Shit.
“Mom, Dad, I’m really happy that Jennifer is back home.” Mom gave Dad a knowing wink. “But I’m not going to rekindle anything with her because… well, there is nothing to rekindle.”
“Oh, Tennant,” Mom said as Dad stood bent over behind her, his dark eyes locked on me. “Of course, there is. You took that girl to every dance. She went to all your games and cheered you on. Everyone knew you two were a couple. Why, you and Jen were chosen “Most Likely To Live Happily-Ever-After” in your yearbook.”
“She’s available, son.” Dad chimed in. “Your mother asked.”
“Oh God,” I moaned.
“I didn’t ask Jennifer,” Mom quickly clarified. “I asked her mother. You need to make sure you fill in the important details,” she gently scolded the man standing behind her.
“Mom, it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s available. I’m not.”
They both took a second to digest that announcement. It kind of shocked me too, but now that I’d said it, it felt right. Mads was the only person I wanted to be with.
“Oh, well, you never mentioned you were seeing a new girl…”
I took a deep breath as I stared right into my mother’s eyes. “That’s because it’s not a girl.”
And all the air on planet Earth was sucked into a vortex. Had to have been, because breathing got damn difficult. Mom looked shaky. Dad… Dad was spinning wheels for sure.
“Are you saying that you’re gay?” Mom finally asked.
I sucked in a huge breath of air and nodded. Mom sat in our kitchen looking at me as if she didn’t know me. Dad walked away. I started to tear up. Fuck. My father had just walked out…
“Tennant, oh honey, why didn’t you tell us sooner? I wouldn’t have pushed Jennifer on you if I’d… Bruce, come back from the window. Dear Lord, he’ll think you walked out.”
Oh. My. God. He’d just gone to look at the back yard. That was what he always did when he was hit with shit out of the blue. He’d go look at the yard while he processed. Said he found the yard calming.
He was looking at the yard. He didn’t walk out. Oh fuck. I started crying.
“Tennant? Son. Oh, Bruce!” Mom started crying.
“Son.” That was Dad. I cried even harder, my tears splattering on the front of my phone. “Tennant, don’t cry. Please. It was just… unexpected news, that’s all.”
“I didn’t want to tell you guys like this…” I coughed, snuffled, then used the shirt I’d just packed to wipe my face and phone. “But the Jennifer thing. Mom, I don’t want her thinking there’s anything between us. There never was. Not like that. I lied to her. I’ve lied to so many people. Dad, please don’t walk out again.”
“I won’t, son. Don’t you worry. Not ever.”
That made me cry harder. I’m not sure how long Mom and I sat there weeping and trying to talk. We said all kinds of things, the three of us. Most of it was stupid apologies from both sides. I was sorry for being born gay and they were sorry for not being better gay parents, which made me snort-laugh so hard my sinuses vibrated. Then I told them that I loved them. And they told me the same thing.
“This boyfriend,” Mom asked after the tears were finally drying on all our faces. Dad had gone a little weepy too. “Is he nice? Does he treat you well?”
“Yeah, he does. I’m not really comfortable with this yet—talking about it with you guys—but he’s great.” Telling them the man I was seeing was Mads just was not happening today. No way could I do any more drama.
“Maybe you could talk to Brady or Jamie about him? I’m assuming they’ve known for some time. Parents are always the last to know.” Mom sighed. Dad rubbed her shoulder. I sure had fucked up their day.
“No, neither of them knows. Just you, and Mads, and some of the Railers’ team and management. Not the whole team, just the captain. I came out to Mads first. There was a fight on the ice.” I tried to explain. They both got all sorts of fired-up about the slur. And that made me want to cry again, but I held back the tears. “Please don’t tell Brady or Jamie. Let me do it my own way, okay?”
“Yes, of course, son,” Dad hurried to say.
Mom nodded, then took a shaky sip of her tea. I’d bet they’d both have something way stronger than coffee or tea to drink after this talk ended.
“Tennant? Should we join GLAAD?” Dad asked.
“Oh, Bruce, I think we should,” Mom gushed, like joining GLAAD was the best thing since strawberry jam or Sir Elton John. “We can march with Tennant during Pride Week. Would you like that, Tennant?”
“That would be epic.”
I honestly didn’t think I could love them more than I did right then. I cried again. They did too. I was still working on getting Weepy Ten under control when I finally got myself together enough to head over to Mads’ place. This was big, and I needed him.
Nine
Mads
Casey’s latest text said she was fine, and sorry, but her dad, Ryker’s grandfather would be the one picking him up to take him home, and that it would be before the game this weekend. She was always so organized, and strict. She’d said no to Ryker staying for the Boston game, said he needed to get home to study for tests and Ryker didn’t argue. He respected his mom and even though he was disappointed about missing the game, he admitted he needed the extra studying time. Casey was a good mom, responsible in a way that I admired. She hated Ev as much as I did, although she’d had to handle him being in her life while I could get away with avoiding him.
I didn’t envy her that at all.
The text had arrived at some point in the night but we’d only just woken up to it, me still on the sofa where Ryker had left me at ass o’ clock this morning, and him stumbling out of the spare room rocking a serious case of bed head.
Coffee. I needed coffee, a shower, and more coffee, in that order.
Ryker’s grandfather would be here in thirty if I read the text right.
“I don’t know what’s up with your mom, but grandpa is picking you up,” I informed Ryker on a yawn, and when he didn’t answer I looked at him curiously. He looked guilty, like there were a hundred secrets behind those crystal-blue eyes. “Ryker?” I asked.
He took one wide-eyed look at me and went back into his room.
It’s too early for this shit. Even if it is ten thirty, it
’s still way too early.
I made coffee, had my shower, and still had ten minutes to spare before Ev arrived at my door. I picked up a throw cushion to tidy it, then threw it back on the floor. I wasn’t changing the way I lived for Ev, and my place was clean, and homey, and mine.
Knocking on Ryker’s door, I heard a muffled “come in” from inside, and pushed in. The room was his place at my place, so to speak. The posters were of the Railers, all signed, but he also had some pictures up of me and him together, and one that his mom had done of the three of us together at his fifth birthday. That day had been the very first day I was, by law, allowed anywhere near my son. A beautiful day. Hockey gear in the corner filled the room with a stale, sweaty smell, but it was one I was used to, and he was a teenage boy; their rooms stank.
A very dejected-looking Ryker sat on the edge of his bed in one of my Railers hockey jerseys. The dusky blue looked good on him, but he was pulling at the hem and unraveling the stitching.
“Wassup?” I said, and sat next to him.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he murmured, but didn’t look at me.
I wasn’t sure what to think of my son sitting there not able to look me in the eye, or of the fact that he’d actually willingly called me Dad instead of his normal Jared.
“What for?”
“I told grandpa what you said, about me staying on at school, but he said I didn’t need to do anything you said, and that he’d pay for everything, that I didn’t need your money…” He stopped talking.
“He’d pay for what?” I asked, ignoring the whole concept of my own child not having access to my money. Twenty-five percent of everything I earned went into a fund for Ryker, not that he knew that yet, not until he was twenty-one. Of course, he’d likely be earning his own millions then, but I was the father and I was providing for my child just like I sent another twenty-five percent to Casey every month, regular as clockwork.