Linemates (First Time Gay Hockey Romance)

by Van Barrett

  No ... for me ... it was muscles. Something about a man, a man without a shirt – with a big, hulking chest. His muscles rippling, sizzling, covered in oil. That's what would flash through my mind.

  It scared the hell out of me at first. Try as I might, giant knockers just didn't appeal to me.

  But I was also insanely obsessed and busy with hockey – so I really buried myself in that. I figured if I got good enough, if I made myself into a famous hockey star, it wouldn't matter who I was or what I liked ... everyone would accept me because of how I played hockey.

  (Ha. Yeah, right.)

  I got older, and by the time I was 16, I knew I had to leave home if I ever wanted to move forward. Making the jump to Junior was the best thing for my career, I thought. I could play against bigger boys – men, really, and develop my game.

  Plus, I needed a new start. Because by age 16, I knew I was into guys. For sure. And I needed to get out, had to get away from all my friends and their girlfriends and the girls who kept pestering me for dates. I couldn't tell them my secret!

  So, I dropped out of school and joined a Junior team. I left my Grandma's house, moved outta town, moved in with a billet family. They were real nice – the Johnsons – and adopted me like I was their own son. The dad was really into training, and he worked with me every night. Showed me how to work out, how to build my body to be the best hockey player.

  They also had a son. Bryce. And guess who got to share a room with Bryce – me, of course! The bottom bunk was his. I got the top.

  I took one look at Bryce the day I moved in. And I can't describe in words what I felt – only that something deep inside me knew. It was like we were supposed to meet like this. There was something in his eyes, something that instantly clicked with me – and it was like time slowed down, and I couldn't breathe. But somehow in a good way.

  Bryce's family didn't know about him. Or maybe they didn't want to know. I'm not sure.

  But that first night? I was supposed to sleep in the top bunk, like I said. Well – that night I didn't sleep in the top bunk, catch my drift?

  Most nights, in fact – I didn't. Honestly, I dunno how we didn't get caught.

  All good things come to an end, though. When we turned 18, Bryce came out to his friends and family. He'd been telling me he was planning on doing it. I froze with terror, and I begged him not to. I told him I couldn't risk being seen with him if he did. But he did it anyway.

  His parents freaked out. They 'let' me sleep on the couch from that point on. I didn't want to – but I had to. So that was the end of that. Because obviously I couldn't be with Bryce anymore. He was pissed, and hurt, but thankfully he didn't blow my cover – he knew what my career meant to me. Enough that I was willing to sacrifice us.

  Bryce moved on. He started bringing around his new boyfriends. I'd see them make-out, I'd hear them fuck when Bryce's parents weren't around. Drove me goddamn crazy.

  But that was the sacrifice I was willing to make. And I thought I could go through my career without giving in ... without anyone finding out. And at first, I could. I was just so excited to be where I was – playing hockey at this level, earning a big paycheck.

  But slowly, once the novelty of being a pro started to wear off, the urges started to creep up on me. No one wants to be alone.

  I can do this, I thought. No one has to know. I can be discreet.

  So I hit up the clubs on the road, when we visited other NHL cities. Never in Winnipeg. That was too risky; too many people knew my face. Always on the road.

  And, well, time passed and soon, I did what I swore I'd never do – I took risks. I got sloppy.

  That's when Burky found out. So here I am. The rest is history.

  28.

  In the Rain

  Callan

  Vance hadn't spoken during my tale. He silently laid in his lounge chair, only a couple feet from me and listened. With his arms propped behind his head, he absorbed it all, not flinching – even when I got to the 'gay parts' of my story, as a straight guy might say.

  I tried not to give him too many details, just to be safe. You never know how much a guy can handle, even when he swears up and down that he's 'open minded.'

  So, afterward, we simply sit in silence. The wind starts to really pick up, with strong gusts coming out of nowhere and blasting us. The occasional sprinkle touches my arms and legs and tells me that it won't be long before we're getting poured on. I can feel it in the air.

  I wonder why Vance is being so quiet. What is he thinking?

  “Um, Ty?” I ask nervously.

  He turns his head and looks at me, his pupils big. “... Yeah?” he says huskily.

  “Well, uh, that's my story. Just curious what you think now.”

  I heard him swallow. “Did you love Bryce?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I nod. “But in that crazy young love kinda way. We fought as much as we got along, honestly.”

  “Do you still love him?” he asks.

  I have to think it over. “Yeah, but I'm not in love with him. I think about him a lot. Probably 'cause he's the only person who really knew about me.”

  “It's wild that you guys snuck around like that. The billet family's son. Holy shit.” Vance sounds a little breathless.

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “It was kind of an insanely sexy – and risky – part of my life. His dad would've killed us both if he knew what we were up to.”

  Vance gasps. He mutters something under his breath but I can't make it out.

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  Vance shifts in his chair. His hands are folded, his fingers inter-locking, and they go to his lap. At first I don't think much of it. But something about him looks ... off. Uneasy. Almost nervous. He stares straight ahead the whole time.

  I take a closer look. That's when I realize Vance's hands are covering something.

  A bulge. In his shorts.

  I know I should be playing this cool, but honestly, I can't. My neck cranes forward and my eyes bug out at the sight. Judging from the size of the package he's trying – but failing – to cover up, Vance is hung. Like a goddamn stud. And the nervous panic he's in, where he's just staring straight ahead and licking his lips over and over and swallowing constantly ...

  Well, it's all insanely cute.

  Of course, it never takes much for me to get excited. And the sight of his big prick coaxes mine out of hiding. I'm glad Vance is staring straight ahead, pretending like's wearing blinders, because if he looked over at me I'd be so fucked. I can't take my eyes off his package. 'Cause it looks like it's growing by the second.

  “Damn,” I say silently under my breath.

  My hand finds its way to my own crotch. Again, I'm glad Vance ain't looking, 'cause I ever-so-gently touch myself. I can't help it. My cock is swollen as hell and just the smallest brush against my palm makes ripples of ecstasy shoot through my shaft.

  But I'm not getting my hopes up. Because I don't think Vance is gay, or bi, or even the slightest bit 'curious.'

  Sure, I think he's probably surprised to learn that hearing about two guys fooling around can make him hard ... but that alone doesn't mean much. I'd say it's exciting to hear about two people being sexually aroused. No matter what orientation they are. So I'm not going to jump to any conclusions about my captain.

  And I'm definitely not gonna flirt, or make him uncomfortable, or do anything that would hurt my standing with the team.

  “What's – what's it like?” Vance croaks out.

  “What?” I laugh. “What's what like.”

  He shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

  But I'm curious. I'm excited, even. I wanna know what he wants to know.

  “You mean, what's it like – being with a man?” I try to guess for him.

  Vance turns and meets my gaze. He nods, his pupils big and dark.

  Is he fucking serious? What does he even wanna know about it?

  The sprinkles that once fell and only sparingly dotted o
ur flesh are now falling faster and heavier. They're not rain drops yet, but they will be soon. I wipe at my thick forearm, slathering my flesh with a thin layer of moisture.

  “I'm not sure how to answer that, Ty,” I say at last.

  He nods. “Yeah. Ha. Forget it. Dumb question, I dunno what I meant by that—”

  I see him slamming the window shut on this conversation, and now I'm desperate to stop it from happening. Like he said earlier: if I don't tell him now, I might not ever tell him.

  “It's like ... he knows just how to please you. He knows the rhythm, the pace you need. He knows when to tug or suck hard, and when he should use a light touch.”

  Vance pushes a deep breath through his nostrils. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was a sigh of satisfaction.

  “I knew it,” he says at last. “With my friends – I mean the ones who I can talk to about things like that? We always joked about that. How awesome it probably is for gay guys, because a man would know exactly how to suck a cock. Like, women always say the same thing about other women, right? Wouldn't it be true for men? But us straight guys – it's like we're not even allowed to think about it!”

  His words take the air right out of my lungs. Did he really just say that?

  “Well,” I speak softly, “you're dead right.”

  “Heh.” His laugh is breathy, deep. Hot and heavy.

  I glance down at his package again. He's trying harder than ever to hide it, his hands see-sawing all over the hardness that tents his khaki's crotch. But he's failing worse than ever. There's no hiding that thing.

  But my excitement turns to disappointment when the sprinkles suddenly mature. They're not light and soft anymore. They pick up speed, they start to fall heavier. The bottom of the storm clouds open at last and spit at us. The rain drops hit our flesh hard, a small searing sting in its place, until we're covered in them – millions of stings that prick us all over until we feel like human pin-cushions.

  “Uh,” I say, raising my voice over the sound of the downpour all around us, “shouldn't we go in?”

  Vance looks at me. His hair is wet already and his bangs fall in front of his eyes. He pushes his locks back, behind his ears.

  “I'm – I'm afraid to!” he says, shouting over the rain.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  He points down. At his crotch. And the hard cylinder that's even more noticeable, with the bulge looking ridiculous in his wet khakis. “I can't be seen like this! It'll go down in a minute – it has to!”

  I stare at that bulge in his shorts, waiting for it to go down. But it won't. Then I look at my own.

  “I uh, I got the same problem!” I shout to him.

  He looks over at me. His head jerks with shock when he sees it. Then he breaks into laughter. “Oh my God!”

  “Yeah.”

  Vance holds his palm up to the rain. “Too bad this rain isn't cold, huh?”

  He's right. It's warm, not cold, and that means our boners aren't going away anytime soon. In fact, the rain feels great, and I don't even have any particular desire to get out of it. The only bad part of being caught in this is that our clothes feel damp. I always wondered what it'd feel like to be naked in a rainstorm like this ...

  I grab the hem of my shirt and start to pull up. The shirt's so wet, it's a struggle to get out of it.

  “What're you doing?” Vance shouts.

  The wall of rain gets thicker. The roar of the torrential downpour drowns everything else out. I start to feel like I'm in a cocoon of rainfall, with only me and Vance around – even if we are in a city of millions, on top of a roof, where anyone looking out from a window could see us if they're high enough.

  “Fuck it!” I shout. “I'm already soaked. The rain feels good on my bare skin. I always wanted to do this.”

  Vance smiles. His hair is sopping wet now and slicked back, flat against his head. The sight makes me crack up.

  “Dude, you look like Coach Stevens with that hairdo!” I yell at Vance as I fling my drenched shirt aside.

  He doubles over with laughter. His gaze deepens as his eyes lower to my bare chest, my abs. His laugh tapers off, slowly replaced by a coarse, starved grin.

  “So?” Vance asks. “How's it feel?”

  “Huh?”

  “The rain!” He reaches out and runs his hand down my abs. “On your bare skin.”

  A tingle ripples up my spine and squeezes my throat shut.

  Doesn't he know you can't touch a guy like that?

  “It feels great! Just like ... a shower! Except more natural. Or something.”

  I stare at Vance. He smiles back at me. He seems to be ... waiting. I can see it in his eyes. It's like he's waiting for something like – an invite.

  And I think, this is fucked up.

  I've been in this situation before with curious straight guys – or whatever you wanna call 'em. Guys who have only been with women, who have never done anything with a man before. They put themselves in vulnerable positions and give you that sexy look, that pouty upper lip and tell you, beg you really, to just go for it. Make a move.

  They don't have the balls to make the first move themselves. They need you to do it. Normally, I don't mind. If a straight guy's giving me that look, I'll pounce.

  But the thing that gives me pause is the fact that they act weird after. No matter how bad they want it – they almost always convince themselves later on that you were the aggressor, not them. Because Lord knows, they'd never do something with another guy if they weren't coerced into it.

  And oh yeah. This isn't just any curious straight guy. This time it's Tyler Vance. My teammate, captain, roommate ... blah, blah, blah.

  No good can come from this. And I know it.

  But I can't stop myself.

  “This really feels great!” I say again. “You should try it!”

  Oh, God, I swear at myself. I've done it.

  But part of me – the part of me that just wants to party and fuck whoever I want and doesn't care if I slash and burn my entire fucking career to the ground – is disturbingly satisfied. And even more so when Vance gleefully grabs the hem of his shirt and peels the wet fabric off his tough, muscled chest. Pink, mottled scar-tissue lines his torso and tell of all the battles he's fought, all the injuries he's endured over his career.

  “God damn,” I mutter. He's gorgeous and he looks so goddamn hot when he's all drenched in the rain.

  “You're right,” he says, “it does feel great!”

  I look down his chiseled abs. A small stream of water runs through the carved-out channels, spilling down his muscled obliques.

  Fuck, Vance. It's enough to make a man's balls ache.

  Then I look lower. My gaze follows his treasure trail. Without the cover of his shirt, his bulge is out, plain as day. What's more, the head of his cock peeks out of his waistband.

  “Your cock is showing, dude!” I shout, pointing downward.

  “What?” Vance yells back.

  I cup my hands around my mouth. “Your – cock! – is showing!”

  He looks down and sees it.

  “Oh!” he laughs.

  But he doesn't stuff it back into his pants where I can't see it anymore. Instead, he acts like everything is fine and normal. The normal where we're just two teammates, sitting shirtless on our hotel roof-top, getting drenched by a downpour while we're both uncomfortably erect ...

  Goddamnit, Vance!

  Vance gestures at me with his finger – a 'come hither' motion. I lean over, both thrilled and afraid for what I'm about to hear.

  I give him my ear. His breath is hot and humid on my lobe. I bite my lip, waiting to hear what he has to say.

  I hear it. I hear it plain as day, but I don't believe it. So I pull back, my face twisted with confusion, and I shout. “What? What'd you say?”

  He shakes his head with a laugh and gestures for me again. We try it a second time.

  His words are the same.

  “I wanna see you jerk it again,
dude.”

  I laugh, but no sound comes out. C'mon – really? Is he serious? Why? Why the hell would he wanna see that?

  I could ask, but ... maybe then he'd change his mind. Maybe the 'captain' side of him would kick into high-gear and he'd laugh and say, just kidding, man! You big dumb gay guy! Got ya!

  I know it's a bad idea, but that just makes it that much hotter. My hands shoot down to my waist and fumble with my shorts' button and zipper. My shorts come flying off.

  This is so dumb, and so bust on so many different levels. After what I just told him? After all the paranoia, the horrible fear of getting caught – I'm doing this, out on a roof-top in plain view? With Vance?

  Who knows – maybe some paparazzi, sitting on a balcony one building over, has a great view of us right now. Or maybe there's a hotel employee in a security room somewhere, watching us on camera. “Holy shit! Is that Tyler Vance and Callan Jones on the roof! And is Jonesy getting naked?”

  But I don't care. I wiggle out of my sopping wet boxers and toss them aside. I'm totally naked.

  Vance turns on his side to watch. He bites his bottom lip and stares as I grip my cock in my hand. I thrum it slowly, deliberately pulling my foreskin until it rolls up my glans ... the skin bunching up all around it ... and then I let it back down, the sheath pleasurably rolling free, my glory throbbing freely in the rain.

  Vance's mouth falls open. He's scooted closer. He's on the edge of his chair, almost creeping onto my chair. He stares at my cock with a drunken lust, watching my every move. I almost can't even bear to look at him. As turned on as I am, I'm still embarrassed as hell.

  So I shut my eyes and indulge in myself. Every stroke builds the pressure undeniably higher, moving me inevitably closer to the peak. With every tug, my sensitive, swollen balls crash into each other. Shock-waves of pain and pleasure crash through me. The relentless barrage of raindrops, stinging my bare and sensitive nether regions, heightens my pleasure.

  And before I know it, I've crossed the point of no return.