by Avon Gale
“I’m not having a gay freak-out,” Lane said against his arm. He took a deep breath and then rolled onto his back. “You remember the last time we did this?”
“You mean the only time we’ve done this, before this one? Yeah,” Jared answered, his hand a comforting weight on Lane’s chest. “I remember.”
“I told you about the waitress who brought me home?”
“Yeah?” Jared was clearly confused. “This is not where I thought you were going.”
“Try harder to follow along, Bastian,” Lane muttered, and then looked up at the ceiling again. “She’s my best friend.”
“...Yeah. Sorry, Atreyu. I’ve got nothing. Umm. Good?”
Lane closed his eyes. It didn’t make it easier. Why couldn’t the pizza arrive in a perfectly timely manner and spare him the conversation? “I’ve never had a best friend before.”
“I’m going to skip any more references to that movie, because I don’t remember any more character names.”
“Artex, but he was a horse. There was also that really cranky giant turtle, but I don’t remember its name.” Lane opened his eyes. “You’re laughing at me.”
Jared threw his hands up in the air. “You’d get that if you could be on my side of this conversation.”
Lane grabbed Jared’s hand and put it back on his chest. But when he heard Jared inhale sharply he thought maybe he was pushing for something he couldn’t have. He tried to push Jared’s hand off, but Jared wouldn’t let him, and they ended up in a weird scuffle that turned into the two of them wrestling. Jared won, because even though he was shorter, he had at least twenty pounds of muscle on Lane.
Lane ended up on his stomach with Jared on his back, and he liked a lot about that, or would, if he weren’t mad at having lost. He was a little competitive. “Damn it.”
“Just tell me what the hell is going on, Lane.”
Lane twisted—partly because he liked how it felt to not be able to get away. Or maybe that was the only reason. “See? Now you sound upset. And that’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Jared leaned down and bit him on the back of the neck. Hard. And he kept biting. Lane fought him, because ow, and twisted around so he was on his back and Jared was pinning his wrists to the bed. Oh, he was mad. He was so angry. But instead of kneeing Jared in the crotch—he was mad, not stupid—or yelling or being obstinately silent, he snapped, “I really like you.”
Nothing happened for a minute. Lane didn’t know what Jared was thinking, because Lane’s eyes were closed so tightly light couldn’t get through.
“Lane?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you open your eyes and look at me, please?”
Lane opened his eyes on an exhale and waited. Jared’s eyes were dark, but he smiled and said, “I like you too,” and kissed him gently on the mouth. Then he let him up, sat back on the bed, and watched him.
“Oh.” Lane nodded. He was embarrassed as hell, but apparently that was okay. He took Jared’s hand and put it back on his chest, and they quietly stayed like that until the doorbell rang.
I really like you.
By all measurable standards, Jared had had a fantastic day. He’d never gotten a hat trick in his professional career, and he’d won the shootout and been named as the first star of the game. A rivalry game, at that.
The Renegades were first place in their division, and even if it was just for a day, it was all because of Jared. And if that weren’t great enough, he’d followed that up by having really good sex with a hot guy who thought he was hot and who wanted Jared to fuck him later. And now he was having pizza and a cold beer, and the hot guy was sitting across from him in his apartment with his hair sticking up and no shirt on. Saying weird things and making Jared want to hit him in the mouth sometimes. That was all right.
But it wasn’t all right that every time he thought about Lane with his hands over his face like that, he remembered how his stomach had dropped to his feet and he’d kept telling himself, “Just let it go. This is sex. It doesn’t matter.” Except it did matter, and when he thought about Lane saying “I really like you,” it made Jared want to hide behind his hands.
He’d been avoiding anything like that for almost thirteen years. Oh, he remembered how great it felt at first, falling for someone. But he also remembered how goddamn awful it was when it ended. And when Lane said that, made that confession, Jared almost, almost told him something like, “I like you too, kid, especially that mouth of yours on my dick.” Something that downplayed what Lane was telling him.
But he didn’t. He liked Lane too. A lot. More than he expected to, considering they barely knew each other. He was a lot older, and this thing couldn’t possibly go anywhere. But then he remembered thinking his career was over one day, and then being the first star and scoring a hat trick a week later. He decided, what the hell, why not go for it? He was terrified, but waiting to shoot that puck during the shootout was also terrifying—not that he’d admit that to anyone—and that had turned out okay.
But he was worried about Lane, because Jared knew how it had fucked him up when his first and only relationship ended in a broken heart and the end of any possible career for him in the majors. He knew it wasn’t the same thing. He wasn’t a manipulative asshole who convinced vulnerable, starry-eyed nineteen-year-old kids that he was really interested in their career and was just as shocked as they were to find there was an attraction. And “Shore, I’ve never felt this way about a player. You have to understand. I want you so much, but I don’t want to hurt you—”
“Hey. Are you okay? Because you’re glaring at that piece of pizza like you hate it. And if you do, can I have it? I’m starving.”
Jared blinked and looked across the table at Lane, who was regarding him with clear blue eyes. It made him feel better to know that Lane wouldn’t have been Andrew Whittaker’s type, because Lane might be awkward with his social skills, but there was no denying he was an amazing hockey player. Plenty of coaches had probably told him that too. So Andrew’s sudden interest and praise wouldn’t have made Lane want to go to bed with the guy.
“Umm. Is it me...?” Lane was still eyeing Jared’s pizza slice.
“No, moron,” Jared said, taking a breath and focusing on the present, letting the past settle back into his memory, where it belonged. “But you’re not getting my pizza.”
Lane looked like he wanted to ask him something, and Jared considered giving him the slice of pizza anyway because he wasn’t sure he had any answers. So he asked a question, because that seemed like a good diversion tactic. “What was it you were telling me about—what’s her name? Zoe?”
“Oh.” Lane nodded, taking the last piece of pizza out of the box. “We might need another pizza later, Jared. I have my per-diem cash. It’s not a lot, but there’s a coupon on this box. See?”
“Lane,” Jared said and cleared his throat.
“Right. Zoe. I was telling you that because I... don’t really have friends. I mean, I have teammates and stuff, but not like, friends.”
Jared waited patiently and took another drink of his beer, expecting Lane to continue. It was like pulling teeth. “And...?”
“And I just met her, and she’s my best friend,” Lane mumbled, not looking at him.
Jared had a weird feeling he knew what this was about. That whole I-like-you thing. “But you’re not sleeping with her.”
“No.” Lane shook his head. “She’s bisexual, though. You are too. Right? I mean, that’s what I figured you were, after you told me about that girl in Jacksonville. But Zoe told me I shouldn’t make assumptions about people’s sexual orientation, Lane,” he said, clearly reciting something he’d heard more than a time or two before. “But I’m right, aren’t I? You like both guys and girls.”
“Sure.” Jared winked. “At the same time, even.”
“You can’t fuck them at the same time. You only have one cock,” Lane said, and then he grinned. “If you had two, maybe you could keep up with me.”
/> “Oh my God,” Jared groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “Sometimes, Lane? Sometimes I think if I typed ‘douche-bag hockey player’ into Google, it’d give me a picture of you.”
That made Lane’s face fall, which consequently made Jared feel like an asshole.
“I’m teasing,” Lane said defensively. “I like your cock, believe me.”
Jared was horrified to feel himself blush. “Good. And you know what I mean, about both at the same time. If not, while I’m catching up, you can watch some videos on my laptop.”
“Really? Cool. I don’t know anything about girls. I mean, Zoe is really pretty. She’s got red hair, and I don’t think it’s real—the color, it’s her actual hair—and all these tattoos. On her arms and stuff. And she has her nipples pierced.” Lane’s voice dropped to a low whisper, as if someone were going to overhear. It made Jared laugh so hard he almost asphyxiated on a piece of pepperoni. “I didn’t know people did that. I really want to see them actually, but I don’t want to ask her and make her think I’m just trying to see her tits.”
“But that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
“Not to do anything with them. But I like looking at her. Is that weird? I spent the night at her house because my roommate is really into trying to get me laid. With girls.” Lane took a breath, and Jared was charmed, turned on, and slightly shocked that Lane was actually a real person. “Anyway I saw her in like, stuff girls sleep in? A thin tank top thing and shorts. And she hit me with something because I kept looking at her tits. But the material was really thin, like I said, and I could kind of see the nipple rings. Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not.” Jared’s voice was a little strangled.
Lane looked very concerned. “Why not?”
“Because I have no idea why this story is getting me as hot as it is. There’s no reason it should be—and yet.” Jared looked down at his lap and then back at Lane.
“Well, I don’t know why either,” Lane said with his usual earnestness. “Is wanting to pet her the same thing as wanting to sleep with her, though? Because I don’t think it is.”
Jared stared at the ceiling fan, watching the blades moving slowly. “I have absolutely no idea what to say right now.”
“Are you mad?” Lane didn’t sound worried, just interested. “I guess maybe, since I’m sleeping with you, I shouldn’t talk about how I’m not sure about sleeping with other people. Hey, why are you staring at the ceiling?”
Jared shook his head and finally looked back at Lane. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” Lane finished his pizza. “This was really good. Next time we should get some breadsticks. I hope they’re open late. I didn’t realize what time it was.”
Jared stood up, walked over, and grabbed Lane’s arm. “Come on. You’re right. It is late, and I do want to fuck you.”
Lane hopped to his feet gracefully. “Can I kiss you?”
It was such a weird question, but that shouldn’t be all that surprising, should it? “Why do you think you have to ask?”
“We’re not in bed or anything.” Lane reached out and traced his fingers over Jared’s shoulder and his collarbone. “I didn’t know if it was okay.”
“Do you want to?”
“That’s why I asked,” Lane responded, like Jared was stupid.
“Well, Lane, I never know for sure.” The way Lane was touching him made Jared shiver. It was light and almost hesitant, but somehow that made it all the more arousing. “Yeah. Of course you can kiss me.”
“Good.” Lane leaned down and kissed him, a lot less awkwardly than Jared expected.
They kissed in Jared’s living room, with the empty pizza box on the floor and two bottles of beer on the table—his empty and Lane’s half-finished.
When Jared pulled back from their kiss, Lane’s eyes were closed.
“Why’d you tell me that? About Zoe.”
“Because I just met her, and she’s already my best friend. And I just met you too.” Lane opened his eyes. They looked drowsy—blurry—and Jared could feel Lane hard already and pulled him a little closer to kiss him again.
“Are you worried you can’t have two best friends?” Jared joked, not really thinking about it until Lane went still against him.
“Is that what you are?”
And there was the question he didn’t want to answer. “Do we need to do this right now?”
“No,” Lane said, surprising him and moving closer. “We don’t. I want to do the other thing. And I haven’t ever done it before, but I bet I’ll be better at it than I am at talking.”
Jared laughed against his mouth. “That’s probably true,” he agreed and drew Lane with him into the bedroom.
They got on the bed and kissed with a lot more heat than before. Lane tugged Jared’s jeans off and wrapped his hand around his cock.
Jared slid his fingers down, covering Lane’s hand—but not to stop him. “Tighter. Like this.”
“Okay. But don’t get off,” Lane ordered him bossily. “I don’t know if we have time for you to catch up, even if I want to see those movies.”
Jared made a strangled noise that was half laugh, half moan and pushed Lane back on the bed. He kissed him so hard, it was almost too rough to even be a kiss. But Lane kissed him right back, all movement and energy beneath him. When Jared couldn’t breathe, he pulled back and said, in a rush, “No. I don’t want to be your best friend, Lane. I want us to be friends, but I want a lot more than that. Okay?”
“Okay. Good. Me too. Could you fuck me now?”
“Yes,” Jared groaned, momentarily burying his face in Lane’s shoulder. “God, yes.” He moved off of Lane to find the lube and a box of condoms. Then looked back at Lane sprawled naked on his bed and had to stare at the ceiling again.
“You do that when you’re impatient.”
That was an understatement. Jared opened the bottle of lube with one hand, and Lane shuddered hard when his fingers slipped down over his balls and went lower. Jared liked that a lot, so he teased Lane for a few minutes. He liked how Lane started mumbling hurry and the way he kept trying to grab Jared’s hair—but it was too short to really get ahold of.
“Relax,” Jared said as he pressed gently. Lane gave a wild, short laugh and twitched beneath him. “And stay still. Or do I need to tie you up?”
Jared didn’t think either of them were expecting the reaction that got. Lane arched off the bed, moaning and coming all over his stomach. Which was giving Jared ideas that he couldn’t entertain, or else he’d do the same thing, and that wouldn’t be very helpful, given the goal.
It made Lane relax a little. Enough for Jared to gently ease his finger inside and move it, watching carefully to see if that was all right. Lane leaned up on his elbows to look down. “Sorry, that was... I told you to probably stop talking and go faster.”
“Shh. Lane.” Jared pressed him down so he was lying flat on his back and then carefully added another finger. He could see Lane grabbing at the blanket beneath him, and that was really hot, especially when he moved his fingers a little harder—then faster.
“What—oh, that’s—I tried this once by myself, but it was hard to get in the right position, and could you maybe, that’s very—oh—oh—”
Jared bit him on the shoulder, amused at how Lane’s litany turned into moans and half-finished phrases when Jared hit the right spot with his fingers.
“That’s going to feel really, really good when it’s your cock,” Lane said, all wide-eyed and panting. Jared had to act fast, or he was going to be embarrassed.
He sat up, wildly looking around his room for something that would work. He briefly entertained the thought of getting his hockey tape out of his gear bag, but it was in the other room. And yeah. Saving that idea for later. In the end, Jared grabbed his discarded T-shirt and unceremoniously tied it around Lane’s head and knotted it in the back.
“Stop talking. Seriously. Because if you don’t, we’re neve
r going to get to the part you just said. Because, for some reason, I find these things you say in bed hot, even if they’re really weird. And also, you know, there’s no manual here, Lane. If something hurts, make a noise, and I’ll stop. If it feels good, moan or something, and I’ll keep going. But try not talking and just....” Jared searched for the right word. He was having trouble talking. It turned out Lane with that shirt in his mouth was just as hot as the thought of the hockey tape. “Just let me. Okay? Let me. I promise it’ll be good.”
Lane watched him, and Jared could tell he was apprehensive. With sudden insight, he realized that Lane didn’t like to be out of control. That’s why he talked so much—it was a way to get it back. Usually it didn’t work because he was so bad at talking, but for some reason, he was better at it in bed than other places. Or else Jared was just crazy, really turned on, and about to fall stupidly, stupidly hard for him.
Or you already have, you moron.
Lane nodded, and Jared told himself he now had to make good on the promise and went back to working Lane open with his fingers. Lane kept trying to talk, which Jared ignored, and he had to push Lane back on the bed two or three times before he finally got himself ready and slicked up the condom. He settled between Lane’s legs and pressed in slowly, even though he thought he might die from how good it felt.
Lane’s eyes were great because they were just as expressive as he was—but way less bossy. It gave Jared something to focus on that wasn’t how good Lane felt—hot and tight. It was almost painful to not lose control and fuck Lane until he couldn’t move.
When Jared started moving a little harder, Lane widened his eyes and they rolled back in his head. His body bowed, and that was it. Jared gave a breathless laugh, grabbed Lane’s hands, and started fucking him harder and harder. Eventually the shirt in Lane’s mouth came out, but that was fine. He didn’t seem to be able to talk.
Lane came before he did—again. That was gratifying, and it also made Jared wildly jealous. Damn twenty-year-olds. Lane got his hands out of Jared’s death grip and scratched down his back. Clearly Lane remembered he liked that. And he moved a little beneath him, like he was trying to figure out if he should do anything to make it better. If he were capable of speech, Jared would have told him that it was impossible to make it better.