Mike bites his bottom lip when he pulls back, just enough to sting. “Bedroom?” he asks. “Might be easier on your knees.” Fuck knows Mike hasn’t been able to let his knees hit floor since his knee surgery three years back, and the kid took a blocked shot tonight somewhere in the vicinity of his thigh that he has to be feeling by now, the adrenaline fading enough to let the dull throb set in.
Liam licks over his lips again, and Mike knows it isn’t on purpose, knows it’s habit, but it still feels like a tease. “Yeah,” he says, finally, a little raw, like Mike’s already fucked his throat, and god, Mike wants to. He won’t, but he wants to.
Liam follows him to the bedroom, hovering in the doorway while Mike busies himself with the buttons of his shirt. “Clothes on or off,” Mike says, shrugging his shirt off and folding it before he puts it on top of his dresser. “It doesn’t matter to me, but I can’t return the favor if you’re wearing pants.”
Well, he could, but he thinks he’ll enjoy the view better with them off. Liam takes his advice like any boy at eighteen would with the incentive of a blow job, his shirt off and his pants around his ankles before Mike’s even finished unbuckling his belt, and the only reason Mike holds back a laugh is he’s going to have the kid’s mouth around him in a minute, so he’s inclined to be generous.
That and he’s struck by the way Liam’s tenting his boxers, already wet, judging from the dark spot where he’s stretching the material, so hard Mike would barely have to touch him before he went off. “Come here,” Mike says, sitting down on the bed, and grabs Liam’s wrist when he makes like he’s going to kneel right on the floor in front of him.
He tugs, and Liam obediently follows until he’s straddling Mike’s lap, fabric pulling tight around his cock. Mike gets a hand down his boxers, around his cock, sticky wet, like he’s been hard for fucking hours. Probably had been, sitting there at the table with his hand on Mike’s thigh and his heart pounding, cock so hard he couldn’t see straight.
Mike was right: it barely takes anything, just Mike’s hand around him, probably too rough, slicked only with the precome Liam’s leaking, stripping him hard and fast, almost vicious. Liam half curls into himself, face buried in Mike’s shoulder, makes a noise like he can’t tell if it’s good or it’s too much. He comes fast, easy, just something to take the edge off so he doesn’t rub himself off against the sheets like a horny kid when he’s got Mike’s cock in his mouth.
Mike’s selfish, and he wants to get his mouth on him, to have him struggle to keep his hips still, to keep his hands out of Mike’s hair, all the things he’ll have been told is the only polite way, all the things Mike doesn’t give a shit about, because the more sex reminds him of a fight the hotter it gets him.
Mike lets Liam gather himself, panting into the column of Mike’s throat while Mike cleans his hand off on the sheets. The other hand he lets slide down the back of Liam’s boxers, briefly warring with himself as to whether it’d really be that bad to fuck him, because he’d love to hear the noises he’d pull out of him two fingers in, let alone balls deep. His ass truly is a work of art. It’d be a shame not to take advantage of the opportunity.
But when Liam shifts back against Mike’s hand, Mike regretfully pulls it away, because he has restraint and dignity, and also because Liam’s mouth is a pretty decent consolation prize, especially when he looks at Mike like that, drowsy eyed — a proper set of bedroom eyes, for once — mouth slack and slick and sweet.
“You with me?” Mike asks. Liam nods, and Mike gently nudges the kid off his lap, raises his hips up to slide his briefs down and off. When he shifts up the bed, Liam’s eyes follow, fixed on his cock, then jumping up to Mike’s face, his cheeks going pink — pinker, darker than the afterglow flush he was already wearing.
“Come here,” Mike says, and when Liam shifts up the bed to kiss him Mike lets him for a minute before he pulls back, rubs his thumb over Liam’s bottom lip. Liam swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and Mike’s as gentle as he can be when he nudges Liam down, until he’s between Mike’s legs, looking so out of his depth that Mike figures he should offer him some direction.
“Gentle, no teeth,” Mike says. “Don’t choke yourself.” Not that he has anything against either of those in certain cases, but they’re definitely at least intermediate level. He doesn’t really trust the kid to know what he’s doing, especially considering the expression currently on his face. Liam nods, determined looking, like he’s going to master Mike’s cock if it fucking kills him, which is kind of flattering in a way.
Liam’s tentative at first, attempts couple moves more suited for porn than actual sex, showy and unsatisfying. He settles when Mike gets a hand in his hair, holds him still long enough to get the head of his cock between his lips. Liam doesn’t fight the hand; on the contrary, his eyes flutter shut when Mike’s fingers tighten, and it’s so easy to push in, just a couple inches, not deep enough to choke him or fast enough to get a graze of teeth, just enough that it’s as much fucking him as pushing into his ass would be.
Liam puts his hand on Mike’s hip, and Mike stops, because he’s not a total asshole, but all Liam does is tug him forward.
“Fuck, are you serious?” Mike asks.
Liam opens his eyes to look up at him, his expression a pretty clear ‘bring it’, and Mike’s sure as shit not going to argue that.
Mike thrusts shallowly, because someone gagging around your cock is kind of hot in theory, but it tends to derail shit pretty fast. He keeps his hand fisted in Liam’s hair, just enough to keep him steady. Liam’s grinding his hips against the sheets, enjoying this, getting off on getting his face fucked, and there is not a chance in hell that Mike’s going to let this end before he can spread him out on these sheets properly, eat him out until he’s begging. Stretch him out around his fingers, around his cock, see if he takes it as sweetly as he does this, eyelashes brushing his flushed cheeks, such a pretty cocksucker.
There’s no technique to this, just the wet heat of Liam’s mouth, his hair hopelessly tangled in Mike’s rough grasp, but that’s fine, it’s working just fine for him, Mike watching the head of his cock slide through Liam’s lips, the accidental graze of his teeth once enough to ratchet it up a little more, get Mike’s hand twisting tighter in Liam’s hair.
“Liam,” Mike warns when he’s getting close, but Liam just looks up again with that same ‘bring it’ look, a look Mike could get used to. A look he wants to get used to, wants to take advantage of. He comes in Liam’s mouth, and Liam swallows inelegantly, coughing a little when he pulls off, wiping his mouth and making a face, but Mike’s too content to laugh at him, just gestures Liam back to him.
He loves tasting himself in someone’s mouth, and Liam kisses back slow, easy. Drugged, practically, like he’s settled, like all it took was someone fucking his mouth to get him comfortable in his skin. He’s lying half on Mike, shifting a little, hips hitching against Mike’s belly. He’s hard again, which Mike would be more flattered by if he wasn’t eighteen.
Mike nudges him onto his back, and he goes, easy, almost fucked out already, lifting his hips up obediently when Mike tugs his boxers down his thighs, taking him in without any ceremony.
It’s easy to get him off like this too, just takes hard suction, no technique. Liam’s hips shift up like he can’t help himself, and Mike takes it, figures it’s only fair after the kid let him fuck his face.
Besides, he likes the way Liam pushes between his lips, hard and hot and fat, likes the way the muscles of his thighs go tense when he moves, skater’s thighs, a skater’s ass that Mike gets his hands on to pull him deeper. He’s not the beginner Liam is, and even if he does gag, he just gets off on it, so he takes Liam in deep, hard. He knows he’s going to sound fucked up tomorrow, rough, that Liam’s going to think of this every time he hears him.
When Liam grabs at his hair, it’s clearly meant as a warning, but Mike just leans into the grip, takes it while Liam’s halfway down his throat, Mike’s nose against skin. He
swallows around him as Liam comes, shaking under his hands like he’s been taken apart, moaning, wordless and almost sharp, as his fingers get tighter in Mike’s hair, fisting it roughly. Mike keeps sucking him until Liam tugs him back, and Mike slides his tongue against the head of his cock, gets another weak spurt against his lips. Liam watches him do it, eyes half-lidded.
“Fuck, Mike,” he says, raw, hips nudging forward, cock rubbing up against Mike’s lower lip, jerking when Mike turns his head. Mike’s beard is rubbing against no doubt oversensitive skin, but it seems to be in a way Liam’s into. He makes another noise, rough and overwhelmed, before he's reaching down to rub his thumb over Mike’s lips, which are bitter with the taste of his come.
Mike sits up, and Liam looks up at him, stupefied, hair a lost cause, lips red and wet. He looks so fucked out that Mike couldn’t send him home to Rogers right now even if he wanted to, and he’s not sure he does. Should, knows he should, or make up the couch — for Liam, obviously, since that path leads to the murder of Mike’s back. But he honestly doesn’t have the heart to kick the kid out of bed while he still looks like he’s been hit in the head by a hammer, or his first blow job, or a combination of the two.
Mike just gets the covers up around them both, reaching into his pants, left within arm’s reach, for his phone so he can make sure his alarm is set. Liam seems to take that as permission to plaster himself against Mike’s back, nose between his shoulder blades. Mike nudges him back, because they’re not fucking cuddling, and if they are, Mike is not the fucking little spoon, and Liam goes peaceably enough, giving him the wide, dopey smile of the freshly laid.
“This is not going to become a thing,” Mike warns.
“Okay,” Liam agrees immediately, looking like he doesn’t believe Mike at all.
Fuck, Mike doesn’t believe himself at all. He’s too fucking old for this shit. There should be a rule against fucking impressionable rookies, just in case they imprint on you like ducklings.
“Just go the fuck to sleep,” Mike groans, and is too resigned to move when Liam slings an arm around his waist, tucks his face in his shoulder, and appears to do exactly that.
Chapter 3
It happens again. Mike doesn’t know why the fuck he’s even surprised.
The morning after Mike’s spectacular lapse of judgment, they wake up early enough that Liam has time to take a shower before heading home. He comes out fresh and clean, painfully boyish, and looking marginally less like he spent the night getting his face fucked and then insisting on fucking cuddling, who is this kid?
Marginally less is still a little. A little too much, honestly, and Mike was a fucking idiot because Liam’s skin is red with beard burn, something he hopes Rogers doesn’t notice, or at least pretends not to. Rogers is a worrier, so that’s unlikely, but if Mike doesn’t keep hope alive he’s going to have to crawl into bed and hide until Liam’s all shiny white and innocent and not a pain in his fucking ass anymore.
It’s tempting to just give up the day as a total wash when Liam bounces out of Mike’s place, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, managing to press a kiss against Mike’s jaw while he’s distracted, then disappearing before Mike can tell him that no fucking way are they doing that, no, bad rookie.
After Liam leaves Mike tries to drown himself in the shower, and when that fails, he puts on his big boy pants and goes to practice.
Practice is thankfully uneventful, other than the way Rogers keeps eyeing Liam like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Mike gets the fuck out of there the second he can, debating picking up some whiskey and trying to drown himself that way, or maybe going out tonight, finding someone a little closer to his age, to his type, fucking someone who won’t need to or even want to spend the night with him.
Of course, that’s all derailed when Mike gets to his parking spot to find Liam sitting in the bed of his truck, hair still wet from the showers because he’s a fucking moron who really needs to take Alberta winter a little more seriously. If he catches a cold, Coach Mulligan will have his pretty little head.
“Out of my truck,” Mike says, and Liam climbs off, coming to hover in Mike’s vicinity. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, no.”
“I told Roge I was going to your place to play video games,” Liam says, looking proud of himself.
Mike stares at him. “What did he say to that?” he asks.
Liam scowls. “He laughed at me,” he mutters.
Mike knew there was a reason he liked Rogers.
“I’m not playing video games with you,” Mike says.
“I know that,” Liam says. “But Roge already left, so you might as well take me home.”
Fucking brat thinks he’s being clever about this, god help him.
Mike unlocks his car door. “You make good money, rookie,” he says. “I’m sure you can afford a cab.”
Liam’s lower lip juts out.
“Are you actually pouting at me?” Mike asks.
He is. He’s fucking pouting at him.
“Are you five?” Mike asks.
Liam’s pout intensifies.
This is why you shouldn’t sleep with teenagers. This is his punishment for being a bad person.
Never again.
*
Mike has no idea why Liam is in his house, but goddamnit, he is.
“We’re going to play video games,” Mike says. “And you’re going to deal with it.”
“Fine,” Liam says completely insincerely, then goes to examine Mike’s console set-up.
“These games are all old,” he complains.
“I’m old,” Mike says. “Deal with it.”
Liam, with a great show of reluctance, picks a first person shooter, and then sags with disappointment when Mike hands him a controller. But Mike is a man of honor. Usually. Okay, occasionally. The point is, he said they’re playing video games, so they’re playing fucking video games.
They’re halfway through a level when Liam theatrically yawns, and Mike senses movement out of the corner of his eye.
“If you try to put your fucking arm around me right now, I am going to break that arm,” Mike warns, not looking away from the screen.
There’s a baleful silence radiating from the other end of the couch.
Mike doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t. They will play video games and then Mike will take him home. Liam will go to bed early like a good rookie with a game the next day, and maybe Mike will stop hating himself for giving in to a great ass, an angelic face, and a fucking pout.
*
They’re in Mike’s fucking bedroom because Liam is an unrepentant tease and Mike is a bad man.
He hates himself a little right now.
Not enough though, because Liam’s mouth is red, skin scratched up again from Mike’s beard, and when he tugs his shirt off, Mike can see he’s flushed down to his chest, like all it takes is a little bit of kissing before he comes undone.
Mike reaches to unbutton his own shirt, and Liam says, “Stop,” fast. Mike does, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Keep your clothes on,” Liam says bossily, then, almost shy, “Could you keep them on?”
Still a virgin and the kid’s already becoming a kinky little fuck. Mike can’t say he disapproves.
Mike drops his hands from his shirt collar, reaches out to reel Liam in by the belt loop instead. Liam’s cheeks are flushed darker now, as much embarrassment as excitement.
“What,” Mike says, leaning down so his mouth brushes Liam’s ear. “You want to blow me, sprawl out naked while all I’ve got is my dick out?”
Liam exhales, hard, then shakes his head decisively. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, bossy again. “And I want you to do it with your clothes on.”
Mike feels kind of like the air’s gone out of the room. Fuck this fucking kid, Mike’s heart can’t handle this shit.
“Strip,” he says, short, and Liam pulls back to do just that, shucking his pants and boxers and crawling onto the bed, hands and knees. Mike wonders if he knows
what he looks like, broad shoulders, trim waist, the line of his spine, the sweet curve of that fucking ass. He probably does. He probably planned it this way, and Mike can’t even begrudge that right now.
Mike ignores the bed, going straight to his bedside table. Liam scowls at him, clearly feeling ignored, until Mike pulls out a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube, then his breath goes sort of shaky. Mike isn’t going to keep asking him if he wants this. He’s pretty sure the kid will make it very clear whether or not he’s good; he isn’t exactly the type to suffer in silence.
Mike gets behind him on the bed, can’t help but take a moment to admire him. His body’s all compact muscle except for the last traces of baby fat, thick skater’s thighs, an ass Mike wants in on. He nudges Liam’s thighs wider, until he’s spread out, obscene.
Liam’s hair curled loosely as it dried, and he smells like ice and the locker room and the stupid body wash that all the younger guys seem to think makes them irresistible to women. Mike’s fingers curl around his hips, pull him closer, and Liam’s breath catches, first when Mike tugs at him, and then when he brushes his mouth against the small of Liam’s back, soft untouched skin under his lips.
“Liam,” Mike says, low.
“Yeah?” Liam asks, uneven. All his cockiness has abandoned him, and he sounds like what he is: a virgin splayed out, naked, bracketed by Mike’s body.
“You say stop, and I’ll stop,” Mike says. He can feel Liam tense up beneath him, preparing to say something, but it just comes out as a rush of air when Mike gets his face between Liam’s legs, rubbing the flat of his tongue over Liam’s hole.
Mike’s always loved eating someone out, man or woman, loves pulling reactions out of them, the sweet ache that usually accompanies making someone beg, having them fall apart beneath his tongue, around his fingers. Liam isn’t an exception: he’s beautifully responsive, his breath hitching, moaning so low Mike’s unsure he even knows he’s making noise. When Mike pulls back just long enough to slick his fingers, Liam makes a protesting noise, hips nudging back.
Thrown Off the Ice Page 3