Coach's Challenge

by Avon Gale

  Troy might have said something caustic, but he heard the simple honesty in Shane’s voice and messed around with a few puzzle pieces while he tried to think of what he wanted to say. “Maybe nothing went the way it was supposed to, but that doesn’t mean it went the wrong way.”

  Shane’s eyes met his, and he slouched down in his chair. “I guess that’s true.” He seemed to shake off his melancholy. “Can we make this some kind of competition or something? Like, the first person to get four pieces together wins?”

  Troy considered that. “First person who gets their corner connected wins… wins what?”

  “A blowjob? Gets to fuck? Get fucked?” Shane flushed and mumbled, “I mean, if you wanted to go the whole, uh… sex route.”

  “I definitely want to go the sex route. I didn’t really invite you over to do a puzzle all night, North. I just thought it’d be nice to actually talk for a bit.”

  Shane glanced up at him. “First we’re fucking. Now we’re talking? This is a bad idea, Cally.” His tone was light, but Troy knew he wasn’t necessarily joking.

  Hell, he was probably right. Troy had his share of one-night stands and had dated casually a few times through the years, but he’d never sat down and done a puzzle with any of them. Not the time to think about that, though. They should get back to the thing they were good at.

  “All right, then. First person to get their corner gets to decide what we do next. How’s that?”

  “Sounds good,” said Troy, and they went at it with the determination of two men who liked competition maybe even more than winning. He was much better at it than Shane, but he in no way underestimated his opponent. He knew Shane would play dirty.

  “Sometimes I get off thinking about you fucking me after a game,” Shane said, conversationally, as he searched through the pieces. “Like, right after a game. Behind the bench out on the ice.”

  Troy could picture that easily. Shane sweat soaked and flushed from winning—it was a fantasy, so that meant they won—bending over while Troy fucked him. Maybe still on skates, so he was taller than Troy. Out loud he said, “What happened to all your gear? It just magically fell off or something?”

  Shane was not amused. “Really? You’re thinking logistics instead of how hot that’d be?”

  “I’m a coach. We like logistics.” Troy was definitely thinking about how hot it would be.

  “You could leave some of my gear on and just pull my pants down,” Shane suggested. “Or you could blow me in the penalty box. That’d be hot.”

  “It’d be easier if you blew me,” Troy pointed out as he snapped a piece into place. “Suit pants are easier to deal with than all that padding.”

  “You could use the padding to cushion your knees, since you’re so old.”

  “Or because the floor of the penalty box is disgusting and I don’t want to explain that to my dry cleaner.” Troy snapped another piece into place. “Really, it’d be easier if I just fucked you in my office. Over my desk.”

  Shane was searching with a lot more intent through the pieces as he eyed Troy’s section. “Would you put your tie in my mouth to keep me quiet?”

  Troy smiled. “Who said I want you to be quiet?”

  Shane sucked in a sharp breath and went back to his puzzle. “Oh look,” he said a few moments later. “I won.” He threw his arms up in victory.

  Troy suspiciously peered at the board. Shane had made a corner, but he’d done it by jamming a piece that didn’t belong in between two others. “You’re fucking kidding me. You’re trying to cheat at puzzles?” Troy crossed his arms over his chest and used his coach voice. “Cheaters never win, North. That’s an automatic forfeit.”

  “Oh no,” Shane said, eyes wide. He even bit his bottom lip, which made him look absurd. “Gosh, Coach. I’m so sorry. I guess you win and we have to fuck now.”

  “No. The deal was the winner gets to choose what we do next.” Troy drummed his fingers on his cheek in thought. “I also have a puzzle with an owl on it. A white owl in a bunch of snow. So it’s probably not that much easier.”

  “You bring another puzzle into this, I’m gonna dump a glass of water all over this table.” Shane’s arms were crossed, his face flushed, his dark eyes flashing. “If you really want to keep doing this, I’m gonna go downstairs and watch a movie until you come to your senses.”

  Troy gave up and laughed. He was definitely not interested in doing puzzles anymore. “Fine, you brat. I win, so I get to pick. And I want you to fuck me.”

  Shane blinked. “Yeah? You were serious about that?”

  “Sure. You’re not one of those guys who buy into that whole thing about taking it making you less of a man or anything, are you? That seme-uke bullshit? Because I’m not and I don’t think you are.”

  Shane’s mouth fell open. “Did you just make a yaoi reference?”

  “Would you stop acting like I’m ancient? I’ve been gay longer than you, Shane. I’ve picked up a lot of knowledge over the years.”

  “Someone showed you Tumblr, huh.”

  “Bowie’s son, Jason. He’s a goalie in Tulsa for the Phoenixes.” Troy stood up. “Well? You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I can’t remember which one is which, with that seme-uke thing. But no, I don’t think it makes me less of a man to get fucked. Hell no. I like switching it up, but honestly, most guys I’ve been with want me to top.”

  “Well, this one wants you to top too, so suck it up and get ready to fuck me.” Troy walked over, grabbed Shane’s shirt, and tugged. Shane gracefully got to his feet and seemed to have no problem as Troy dragged him away from the puzzle table and toward the door.

  Like Shane, Troy tended to hook up with people who immediately assumed he wanted to top. Which he liked, definitely. But getting railed was on his list of favorite activities, and it had been a while since he’d done it. That was one reason he wanted Shane to fuck him. The other was that he didn’t go in for any of those stupid assumptions about topping and bottoming. He liked to fuck and he liked getting fucked, and if someone thought that was a comment on their masculinity, they could fuck right off and do it with someone else. Troy was nothing if not contrary, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t enjoy something because straight men didn’t think he should.

  Shane fucked Troy on all fours, which was always a favorite, no matter which thing he happened to be doing. Shane definitely didn’t hesitate, and he knew what he was doing. He easily fell into a rhythm and worked Troy’s dick with his hand in time with his thrusts. The initial discomfort faded away fairly quickly, and Troy was glad that Shane had him facing the mirror across from his bed. He liked seeing Shane behind him, sweaty tattooed skin glistening, his face open and honest as he panted for breath.

  He even liked the sight of himself, bent over and taking it from someone else—someone younger, physically more imposing—Troy’s height had nothing on Shane’s muscles—and, fine, someone who was his player. Wrong it might have been, but Troy got off on it, no question.

  “Think I’d like to fuck you over your desk.” Shane’s fingers were tight to Troy’s hips, and he clearly didn’t have a problem with the mirror thing either, because he met Troy’s gaze in their reflection without pause. “What would you do if I came in after a game and bent you over, huh?”

  “Try it and see.” Troy’s arms trembled as he held himself up on his forearms, and his eyes crossed as Shane’s dick hit him perfectly while he rubbed a thumb over the head of Troy’s cock. He dropped his head down and shuddered at how good it felt—the sting of sweat in his eyes and the little shocks of pleasure that echoed in his balls and up his spine as he got closer to orgasm.

  “Mmm, fuck, you feel good,” Shane panted. “You look good too. Goddamn. Bent over and taking my cock like that…. You like it?”

  “Stroke my cock faster, and I’ll show you how much I like it.” Troy clutched at the bedding and raised his head to see himself, wild-eyed and flushed, seconds away from the edge. Shane wasn’t looking at him in the
mirror anymore. Instead he was staring hard at Troy’s back as he concentrated on making it good for both of them.

  “You’ll get there when I’m ready.” Shane leaned down and bit him on the shoulder—hard enough that he knew it would leave a mark, leave imprints of Shane’s teeth on Troy’s skin.

  Contrary as ever, Troy came two seconds after that and was dimly aware when Shane said, “Oh, of course,” and smacked him on his sweat-soaked back. Troy lost his balance somewhere in the rush of pleasure from his orgasm, but he did manage to raise his head enough to watch Shane as he half collapsed on Troy’s back. He could feel Shane shiver as he came, hear him gasping for breath with his head next to Troy’s.

  “That was more fun than puzzles, right?” Shane asked sleepily as they took a moment to simply lie on Troy’s bed and recover.

  “Well,” said Troy.

  Shane flopped a hand out and it landed on Troy’s upper arm. “Just say yes, Cally, and I’ll blow you at midnight.”

  It was already 12:03 a.m., but Troy didn’t bother to tell him that. “Yeah. It was.”

  Shane smiled at him, and Troy smiled back.

  “We’re so screwed,” said Shane.

  “We are definitely screwed.” Troy leaned over to kiss him. That blowjob would have to wait a bit. If there was one thing that remained the same about this and every other New Year’s Eve, it was that Troy wasn’t getting any younger.

  Chapter Eleven

  CONTACTS WAS crowded, and it took Shane a few minutes to find Troy at a table near the back. It was karaoke night, and while neither one of them was fond of the activity, it was always entertaining to watch. Although Shane wasn’t entirely sure how, they came there on Wednesdays now. Together. Then they went home and fucked. But they’d done that before New Year’s. This was different. This was like… dating or something. Maybe.

  It’s definitely dating, idiot. You text him about stupid things you see at the grocery store. You almost bought him a puzzle of half-dressed hockey players just because. Admit it.

  He shook it off and went to the bar to get a drink. He was never clear on whether Contacts actually had table service, or if River—the only reliable bartender—would just come over if they weren’t that busy and take their drink orders. They were usually pretty busy on Wednesdays, so Shane paused by the bar and waited.

  “There’s my favorite hot jock,” River exclaimed as he hurried over with a bit of sashay in his walk. Shane had been surprised to learn that the surly-looking guy with the beard and the facial piercings was River’s boyfriend, Ben. He was as quiet and gruff as River was flirty and sociable, and Shane might never say it out loud, but he sort of thought they were adorable together. Apparently Ben owned a tattoo and piercing shop, and River was in the process of fundraising to open a LGBTQA bookstore and community center. He had a Kickstarter and everything. Shane would have a brick with his name on it for his contribution to the campaign.

  “What? No pirouette?” Shane said when River came to a stop in front of him. River was a former ballet dancer, and he had the moves to prove it. He did a perfect spinning turn and flashed his smile at Shane.

  “What do you want, sweetie? Your boyfriend got a Miller Lite, as always.”

  “Troy’s not my boyfriend.” Shane scowled as River recited it along with him. They also did that every week, which, ugh. “And I’ll have a Coke.”

  “Also as always.” River winked. He had on his purple lipstick and glittery eye makeup. “With a cherry in it?”

  Shane leaned against the bar and gave him a playful leer. “Make it two.”

  River laughed and handed the drink over. “Got a game tomorrow?”

  Shane wondered if he should be concerned that he went there often enough for River to know his schedule based on his drink order. “Yeah. You want some tickets?” He offered them all the time, but River taught ballet in addition to working at Contacts, and never seemed to have a free evening.

  “One day I’m gonna take you up on that.” River handed another Miller Lite to Shane. “For Mr. Tall, Dark, and Intense over there.”

  Shane paid for the drinks—as usual, River only charged him for the beer—and joined Troy. “Hey. River sent this over.” He took one of the cherries, sucked on it, and met Troy’s eyes while he did.

  Troy scowled, but Shane knew it was his “Stop doing that. You’re turning me on in public. So really, don’t stop doing it” scowl. “Who said I wanted another one?”

  Before Shane could answer, someone got up on stage and decided to torture them with a rendition of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

  “Maybe River knew that guy was up next,” Shane said, wincing. Troy snorted and took a drink of his beer. “You want this other cherry? Thought you might want some kind of flavor to go with that piss water you’re drinking.”

  “Offering me your cherry, Shane?”

  Shane laughed outright. “You’re a bit late for that, man.”

  Troy grinned back at him. “That’s fine with me. I like my men with a little experience.”

  Shane choked on a sip of his Coke. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Really? How long have we known each other?”

  Shane ate the other cherry and shook his head as he tapped his fingers along with the terrible music. No one knew the words to that song. What would possess anyone to try to sing it? And it seemed to be fifteen minutes long. “So, you worried about the playoffs?”

  Troy shrugged. Talking about hockey was as natural as breathing, and it was nice to be out with someone who understood how hard it was just to turn it off and leave it in the locker room. “Won’t have anything to worry about if we don’t win some more games.”

  That was true. The Ravens were previously a strong team in the regular season, but they were barely above .500. It was going to come down to the wire as far as earning points, and Shane wasn’t sure how it would all shake out. The Ravens weren’t playing like assholes, which was great, but that hadn’t translated to wins.

  “That bother you?” Troy asked. He wasn’t any good at sounding casual, so Shane appreciated that he didn’t try.

  Shane shrugged and pushed his glass from side to side with his hands. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s weird to think that in a few months, I’ll be done playing hockey. But it has to happen sometime, you know?”

  “You really don’t need to retire,” Troy said. “I know Bowie’d sign you again if you wanted to play next season.”

  Shane raised his eyebrows. “Should you be telling me that? I mean, isn’t that, like, against the rules?”

  “Isn’t that, like, our thing?” Troy mimicked. Which, okay, fine. He had a point. “And I mean, come on, Shane. It’s not like you’re stupid. You have to know he’d be willing to extend an offer if you wanted.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know, though. I mean, I think about not playing hockey, and I think it’s mostly weird because I don’t know what I’d be doing instead.” Shane made himself stop pushing his glass back and forth. That was something he should have thought about before, but for some reason, he’d been so intent on ending his career on his own terms he hadn’t thought about what came next. “I should have done something so I wasn’t in this situation. Had some kind of backup plan.”

  Troy was quiet for a moment as he absently stroked his beer bottle with long fingers. “Sometimes you have a backup plan, and that goes to shit too.”

  Shane had no idea why Troy saying stuff like that made him feel better, but for some reason, it totally did. “You’re such an inspiration, Cally.”

  “Yeah, well. I try.” He turned his piercing blue stare at the stage. “If I won a golden fiddle, I’d use it to brain that guy for trying to sing this. Jesus Christ.”

  Shane couldn’t say he disagreed.

  “You thought about coaching?”

  Of course he had, but he had no idea how to even get into that. “I… well, I mean, maybe? I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

  “You would be.” Troy s
ounded typically self-assured. “You’re good with the team. In the locker room, at games, in practice. You’ve stepped up, and it shows.”

  Warmed by the compliment, Shane ducked his head. “Thanks.”

  “I know you probably didn’t mean to get this involved, but I’m glad you did.”

  “Stop it, Cally. You’re freaking me out.” Shane listened to the next singer deliver a fantastic version of Pat Benatar’s “Heartbreaker,” and thought about what Troy said. “I think I would like it, yeah. But I have no idea how to even get into that.”

  Troy shrugged. “Well, unless Brian Quinn impresses the fuck out of me in the near future, we’ll probably have an opening.”

  Shane frowned. Something about that nagged at his innate sense of fairness. “Cally, I can’t coach here.”

  “Why not?”

  Was he serious? Did he miss the part where his hand was on Shane’s knee under the table? “Umm, because we’re sleeping together?”

  “So are Samarin and Ashford, and their team seems to be doing pretty well, winning the Kelly Cup and all.”

  Shane stared at him. “You’re not saying you’re fucking me for team morale, are you? Because I’ll throw what’s left of this drink in your face. Wait. And maybe be kind of flattered? You make me feel complicated things, Troy.”

  “Yeah, well. Like I said, I try. And you wouldn’t do that with your drink if it meant River had to clean it up, and you know it.” Troy was also fond of the bartender, and Shane knew he’d contributed substantially more than a brick-worthy amount to the Kickstarter.

  “No. I’d borrow a mop and do it myself. It’d be worth it.” Shane didn’t know why the idea of coaching the Ravens in any capacity made him so uncomfortable, but it did. “It just…. There’d be other people who were more qualified than me. I’d feel like I got the job on my knees, you know?”