He gripped Rylan’s cock hard, stroking fast. Rylan cried out when his body shuddered. A fire ignited at the base of his spine and burned a path through his balls and out his shaft.
“Oh, yeah,” Brett growled in his ear.
Throbbing in Rylan’s ass matched the pulsing of his cock. Brett held him tight, working his cock and milking him dry.
Brett turned off the water and Rylan reached out and grabbed two of the thick towels from the shelf mounted to the wall beside the shower. As they dried off Rylan stifled a yawn.
“I’m going to need some sleep before I have to show up and skate later,” Rylan said.
“How about I go rustle up some breakfast for you first?”
Brett’s offer sent a wave of warmth through Rylan, making him smile. “That would be great. I appreciate it, thank you.”
Rylan left the bathroom and pulled a pair of boxers on before settling in the bed to watch Brett hop around on one foot while he dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He collected his wallet and key. “You sit tight, I won’t be long.” Brett reached the door and stopped suddenly, staring down at the floor for a second.
“What?” Rylan jumped when Brett jerked the door open and darted into the hall. “Brett?” He scrambled out of the bed.
Brett glanced back at him, holding one hand out to stop Rylan before he growled and stepped back into the room, slamming the door shut. He held up a postcard. “There was no one out there.”
With shaking fingers Rylan took the postcard and read aloud, “Being seen flaunting yourself with that man contaminates what you had with Celia. Be faithful.” He frowned and looked up at Brett. “What the hell?”
“You didn’t see anyone who was even slightly familiar?” Brett asked. He locked the door. “We’ll get something delivered.”
Rylan shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
Brett threw the postcard onto the table. “Well, someone sure as hell saw us.”
Chapter 6
Brett paced back and forth in the dressing room, which in this case was one of the locker rooms used by the sports teams that called the arena home. He’d been to practice every day with Rylan which led to a request to do the introduction of Celia’s tribute by Celebration on Ice co-owner Lars Sweeny.
Lars was a quiet, pleasant enough man, but that was the extent of Brett’s opinion of him. The company seemed to run smoothly and the performers and employees appeared content. His wife, Kathryn, was another story. Brett couldn’t tell if it was him in particular she didn’t like, or if she was a generally sour person. Celia had never complained about the Sweenys, in fact barely mentioned them in her emails and during phone conversations with Brett. Kathryn had been coldly polite when introduced to Brett, an attitude he shrugged off since she obviously adored Rylan and Celia. Brett wondered if it was something as simple as her being unsure how to act around him.
The world knew Brett as a hockey player. He’d begun his career as a team enforcer in the minor leagues and moved up to the majors as a power forward. The world knew his little sister as a world class figure skating competitor, Olympian, and professional ice dancer. They’d both begun skating about the same time they learned to walk. Being in front of a crowd was nothing new to Brett, and he’d given more than one interview over the course of his career. However, skating to the middle of the arena and giving a speech without falling on his ass or stuttering had him utterly terrified. Even his pre-game—show—whatever meditation hadn’t calmed his nerves.
The costume designer hustled in, a suit jacket slung over one arm. “I think this will look amazing on you,” he said. Brett couldn’t remember his name.
Brett nodded. “Thanks.” In the last hour he’d had his hair trimmed, skates polished, and decals from his hockey team added, then make-up applied despite his protests that hockey power forwards didn’t wear make-up.
The jacket was held up so he could slip his arms into it and then it was pulled up over his shoulders. He had to admit the slightly stretchy black trousers and shimmery white, tight fitting pullover shirt they’d created for him looked great and felt wonderful on his skin. Even though he wouldn’t be doing anything more than simple skating he did wear a cup in case he forgot everything he’d learned since age two and fell. The dancer’s belts the male performers wore were uncomfortable until one became accustomed to wearing them, and there was no need for Brett to do that. Oddly enough the cup gave him a measure of security and boosted his confidence. He wondered if Rylan’s belt did the same thing for him.
He turned one way, then the other to look at himself in one of the full-length mirrors brought in for the performers to use when they dressed. “You do good work,” he told the costume designer.
“Thank you! I like how this jacket turned out. Little bit of tux and a little bit of performer. One of my better creations.”
Brett laughed and buttoned the jacket up. It was black with pipping in the colors of his hockey team. Sewn along the hem were fabric replicas of Celia’s medals and his team’s logo. The whole look was formal, classy and nicely represented what they’d both accomplished during their lives on the ice. He pulled on his skates and laced them up then stood still while the designer adjusted and tugged the material of his clothes into place.
Rylan had already skated two routines as part of the entire group and was in a different part of the arena with the other performers. Brett would have liked to spend a few private minutes with him before going out and addressing what looked like several billion spectators, but that wasn’t going to be possible. Rylan had changed and left the locker room while Brett was getting his hair and make-up done.
Dear Lord, he never wanted to think in terms of hair and make-up rituals about himself ever again.
When exactly did Rylan become the guy Brett turned to for support? They’d been together here in Vancouver for about a week, and without warning Brett was thinking of Rylan as someone to gather strength from. When they weren’t together, Brett missed Rylan’s company, the way he smiled, and the feel of his flesh under Brett’s hands. Maybe his original assessment that Rylan was like an addictive drug was more accurate than he’d thought.
The athletic cup Brett wore reminded him that thoughts leading to his cock swelling probably weren’t the best idea right now. He needed to focus on his speech and not wiping out on the ice in front of the trillions of people watching.
Brett rubbed his moist palms on a towel and took a few deep breaths. Since when did he get stage fright?
The costume designer held the locker room door open and waved Brett grandly out. It was a short walk to the performers’ waiting area just off the ice. There was a glossy multicolored curtain dividing the ‘backstage’ from the ice and everyone was assembling and waiting for the signal to get in position in the arena. There was a closed-circuit screen for people remaining backstage to watch the performances.
Brett looked around for Rylan. He stood near the curtain, looking cool and composed. The consummate professional. Pretty much the opposite of what Brett felt. When he turned his head and glanced at Brett over his shoulder it took Brett’s breath away. Rylan smiled softly, almost shyly, and held up one thumb. A slight shaking of his hand was the only clue Brett had that Rylan might be nervous.
The lights in the arena were lowered and all the performers other than Rylan skated out and lined the perimeter. Each stood, like a statue, at regular intervals. All of them wore a simple dark purple outfit with a smattering of white beads across their chests which shimmered and glistened with every breath drawn. It reminded Brett of little waves. Each held a white and purple orchid. Lars followed, wearing regular shoes and a tuxedo. He stopped just off the ice, near the sound system, and picked up a wireless microphone. Small pinpoints of soft lights in various shades of purple danced across the arena and bathing the entire stage of ice in purple.
Lars began to speak. “Every performer knows their troupe is like a family. As many of you know, we’ve lost a member of our family. Celia Rocha would be the
first to remind us that despite her passing our show must go on. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t still include her and offer tribute to her. Tonight, we’re deeply honored to have her brother, Brett Rocha, with us to introduce Celia Rocha and Rylan Hennessy in one final routine.”
Brett barely remembered to take the guards off his skates before the costume designer gave his shoulder a little push and said, “You’re on.”
As he was about to move the curtain aside and take to the ice, Rylan appeared at his side, took his hand, squeezed gently, then winked. “You’ll do great,” Rylan whispered before he let go and stepped away.
Brett swallowed the lump in his throat and squared his shoulders. He stopped beside Lars long enough for the mic to be handed to him, then using the broad, powerful strides of a hockey player he skated to the middle of the arena.
He’d practiced and rehearsed his part during the general rehearsals. He knew this.
You can do this for Celia. And for Rylan.
A white and lavender light illuminated him. He closed his eyes for a few beats and tried not to think of the quadrillions of people watching and listening to him.
One big, deep breath and Brett began, “When the Sweenys asked me to say a few words before Celia’s tribute I was so touched. Most of you know Celia Rocha as a beautiful young woman and talented skater whose life was taken far too soon. I know Celia as those things too. I also know her as my little sister. The girl who’d ask me to get autographs from my teammates, but never asked for mine. True story.” Brett paused while a ripple of laughter flittered through the audience and performers. He remembered to do a forty-five degree turn and face another section of the seats. “When we were little we had this home ice cream making kit and she always wanted weird flavor combinations and insisted on using food coloring to make it purple. I think I was twenty before I realized all ice cream didn’t come in some shade of purple.” Another pause, more laughter and this time Brett not only turned but skated a few yards toward the far end of the arena. “I could stand here and list off her awards, medals and accomplishments, but that was only one aspect of Celia. What I remember is the sister who’d race me across the pond near our house—and beat the crap out of me, by the way—who would keep every clipping and video I was even remotely mentioned in and after every team loss she’d have a pint of ice cream sent to me. My ear is still ringing from her squeals when I made the major league.” That inspired a bit of applause. Brett skated back to his original position and turned again. He put his free hand over his heart. “Seeing the outpouring of condolences from Celia’s fans has helped me much more than any of you will ever know. Purple and white were to be her wedding colors. I’m sure you’re tired of listening to me and are thinking, get on with the skating. Celia was about this big when she entered her first competition.” Brett moved his hand off his chest and held out at waist height. “Rylan Hennessy was only a tiny bit taller.” He moved his hand up an inch. “But, could they skate! Together they were mesmerizing, right from that very first day they practiced together.” He paused for a moment to compose himself. “Tonight, thanks to computers and technology, they’ll perform their farewell routine, a mix of figure skating and ice dancing.” As he began to skate backward to the staging area he turned a bit and held one hand out. “Celia Rocha and Rylan Hennessy.”
When he reached the off-stage section, Brett turned off the microphone and returned to his seat near the sound system. The arena went black while Rylan skated to the center. When the lights were raised, he stood in a spotlight of very pale lavender. His outfit was such dark purple it was almost black. Starting at his shoulders and spreading out across his arms and down his chest and torso were jagged splotches of variegated shades of purple, from very pale, to vibrant to dark, meant to mimic flames.
A special screen had been set in place along the perimeter of the arena as well as the larger ones hung from the ceiling. Celia’s image was projected on the screen. Her outfit was similar to Rylan’s except the base was white with jewels adorning her neckline and waist, a short skirt of iridescent pale purple fell across her hips. She appeared to be standing just in front of Rylan, her hand in his and their arms raised to point at the ceiling, heads tilted back with Celia’s almost laying over Rylan’s shoulder. Brett counted off three beats before the music played and ‘they’ began to skate.
Brett had seen parts of this segment of the show, but only Rylan’s part. He hadn’t watched Rylan practice with the computer-generated version of Celia. A number of her recorded performances were used to create a film image that was projected on the screens. Rylan would skate closer to the screens during the segments where he and ‘Celia’ would skate together.
Rylan picked up speed, extended one arm, and turned as though he was holding Celia’s hand. They twisted and turned culminating in a curved lift that took Brett’s breath away. Brett knew the names of their moves, even if he’d never executed those movements. There was a diagonal step sequence followed by a lift and spin. That move always made Brett wonder if the material covering Rylan’s legs was padded somehow so when Celia stood on his thigh her skate blade didn’t slice through.
For the solo segment of his performance Rylan moved to the center of the arena and matched the movements of Celia’s image. There was the Biellmann spin, one of Brett’s favorites, a cantilever, the traditional camel position, Salchow jump, edge jumps, then spirals. When Rylan moved closer to the screen he executed a lift with Celia over his head. The agility, strength, and balance something like that required amazed Brett. Then there were side by side shotgun spins and the routine ended with twizzles, another of Brett’s favorites.
Seeing Rylan skate like this, the way his body bent and twisted, alternately fascinated and aroused Brett. Watching him and ‘Celia’ brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t realize how quiet the arena had become until Rylan skated to the center of the ice and stopped so fast tiny bits of sparkly white crystals sprayed up. His final pose was a spectacular sight. One arm pointing skyward, head thrown back so his silky hair fluttered, chest heaving and tiny, glistening rivulets of sweat trickling down his neck.
Brett jumped when applause erupted all around him. Movement to his side and behind him made him turn in his seat and look around. Everyone was on their feet, everyone but him. That made him feel foolish and it took another second for his brain to get his body in gear. Smiling broadly, he stood, clapping his hands together so forcefully his palms stung. Rylan had stopped so he faced Brett. That’s when Brett noticed Rylan watching him. He nodded and stopped clapping long enough to hold up both thumbs then blew a kiss. Rylan smiled softly and gave one tiny bow of his head.
The other performers and many of the crew rushed to join Rylan in the center of the arena. White and purple orchids rained down from the seats and covered the ice as Rylan led the others off the ice.
Brett made his way from the seats to the curtain and hurried to meet Rylan ‘backstage’. He’d gotten friendly with many of the performers and crew and it was no secret he and Rylan were more than just friends. Several of them turned and motioned him through the group to Rylan. Brett had come to realize what good people Rylan and Celia’s friends were.
Rylan wiped moisture from under his eyes then grinned when he saw Brett. Rushing to him, Brett pulled him into a hug, lifted him up, and spun him around before setting Rylan on his feet, kissing him. “You were amazing!” Brett gushed after breaking their kiss.
Rylan leaned back and reached up, running his thumbs over Brett’s cheeks to wipe his tears. “I—” his voice cracked and he glanced down.
“I wish you would stop these public displays,” Kathryn Sweeny snapped.
Rylan immediately stepped away from Brett and out of his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m not,” Brett growled. “Rylan and I care for each other, this is hardly out in the middle of a performance, and it’s not as if we did something obscene. Get over it.” He bit back more vicious words about if Rylan had been kissing
a woman it was unlikely she would’ve cared when Rylan took his hand and squeezed. She was Rylan’s employer and Brett had to temper his words and respect that, even if she didn’t offer the same in return.
“I do not allow public displays between performers, or between them and their significant others beyond a hug. Our fans have certain impressions we have no control over, but our ticket sales to some extent depend on those impressions. It’s a standard rule for everyone in the company,” Kathryn grumbled.
“It won’t happen again, Mrs. Sweeny.” Rylan squeezed Brett’s hand harder as he spoke. Brett immediately noticed Rylan would call Lars by his first name, but not Kathryn.
Mrs. Sweeny clapped her hands together and silence fell over the area. “Everyone, don’t forget there is an after party which VIP guests will also attend. Dress appropriately, no more than two alcoholic drinks and best behavior for us all.”
Brett sort of hated that she treated her performers like children, but it wasn’t surprising. He’d been around enough coaches and stage parents to know one when he saw one. During competitions, it was the job of many coaches to keep young athletes in line and assure their safety. Those habits likely didn’t die easily. In short order the locker rooms were filled with performers washing stage make-up off and changing to formal party wear.
These parties were nothing new to Brett, his parents had, after all, not only been Olympic athletes, but ran a training center for future medalists. High profile guests and patrons of figure skating and ice dancing in general attended these things, then donated gobs of money. Brett donned his tux and went with the others to the section of the large complex where the party was being held. He and Rylan walked close enough together their hands would brush but that was the extent of their physical contact.
As they walked Brett slowed his steps and the group thinned out to groups of twos and threes, separated by a few feet. Brett leaned down and whispered in Rylan’s ear, “What are you wearing under that suit, which looks mighty fine on you I might add.”
Edge Jump Page 8