I never saw the slap shot from center ice. It sailed over my glove hand, hit the pipe, then dropped down behind me like a grenade. Which it kind of was. The home fans exploded. I turned around to stare at the fucking puck. Then I beat the holy shit out of my goal with my stick. Dale Asaba, our third-line left winger came over to talk me up. I did not want his voice in my ear and politely told him so. He patted my helmet then skated to the bench for a line change. That was it. I vowed that I was done dicking around with Cam Evans, his need to linger in the closet, and my need to feed what was becoming a sick obsession. Filled with resolve, I slid back into the net, the pipe resting on my spine. No way was anyone getting anything past me again. The remaining minute plus trickled away. The buzzer sounded. We took a TV break. When I arrived at the bench, Ivan began telling me to put the tying goal from my mind.
"I’m good, I’m good," I told the goalie coach. The man tugged on the knot of his tie. He looked to the corner. I tensed when I felt Cam lean over to whisper something in my ear. He smelled clean. I smelled like a sweaty shoe with a rancid athletic supporter hidden inside it. "I’m good," I told the veteran.
"You are. You’re damned good. Too damned good for my peace of mind," Cam whispered as the fans chanted, stomped, and made some real noise. "Don’t let our shit fuck this up for you."
"Our shit?" I asked, not daring to look at anything but the trainer dabbing some goop under Tony Vicente’s eye.
"Yeah, our shit," he said before he clapped a hand to the back of my sweaty neck. "Now find your fucking center, focus, and show these assholes what you can do."
I pulled back, stared at him for a full moment, then returned to my net. Right. Our shit. When had it become “Our shit”? Probably when he kissed me. Yeah, that would have been the moment. I worked my crease on instinct. I dug deep, pulled out my concentration from the wall of confusion it had been hiding behind, and resigned myself to playing the best hockey I could for the next five minutes.
Four-on-four hockey commenced. I not only found my center, I bitch slapped the Marauders with it. I blocked four shots in one ten-second assault on the net. Two minutes into overtime, Brad did what Brad does best. He pulled Michael Dewey, the Marauders’ tendie, to the left after a breakaway. As Dewey surged left, Brad deked to the right then flipped the puck into a two-hole shot that made me wince in sympathy. The fans fell silent as the red light behind the Marauders’ goal lit up. I tossed my arms over my head in celebration. Within a second the whole bench was in my space. I accepted a pat, rub, and even a few kisses to my helmet. The stadium was like a morgue. The rush was incredible! I was flying so high I barely noticed the warm hand settling into mine as the congratulations began to ebb.
"You did one hell of a job, Jacobi." Cam’s smile was brittle.
"That was some pretty intense mentor-y shit you passed on," I replied, trying to keep in mind that photographers were snapping pictures by the hundreds. Cam patted my head. We left the ice, me following him, to the visiting team locker room.
I emerged from the chaos an hour later, still smiling, to board the bus. The vibe was cheerful, the win really helping to boost confidence as well as morale. I dropped into a seat toward the back. The window at my right was cleared from the heater running full bore. Someone reached over the back of my seat, ruffled my wet hair, then sat back down. A body plopped down beside me. Brad began talking. I nodded at the appropriate times, laughed when it was necessary, and joked when the time called for it. But the celebratory mood was lacking until Cam climbed onto the luxurious chartered bus. No matter that there were close to thirty men crammed into the motor coach, he didn’t take a seat until he had located me. I inclined my head an inch. He dropped down then fell into a rather animated conversation with one of the trainers. I had to wonder where my “Fuck it!” resolve had gone.
Brad talked until we entered the hotel, and even on the ride up to our floor. I was sharing a room with a big Finnish D-man by the name of Likka Erola. Likka maintained a massive bevy of puck bunnies even though he shaved his head and wore clothes that were at least forty years out of date. See, Likka, for all his flaws, had the biggest dick I have ever seen that was not in pornography. The first night we were here, he sauntered out of the bathroom after a shower, naked as the day he was born. I couldn’t help the way my eyes bugged out of my head when I saw the baseball bat he called a cock dangling down the inside of his thigh.
"Big dick, ya?" I nodded dully. He roared with pleasure, took the anaconda in his hand and told me that American women were huge fans of his big prick. Personally, I tend to shy away from something that looks like it should be found under a Clydesdale, but dayum, that dick of his was impressive.
"So, Jack-Oh-Bee," Likka said as I swiped my key card through the lock, "I have two hot babe coming up. You do good for team, I do good for you. You pick which to fuck."
"Oh, wow, thanks, Likka." I threw my duffel onto the double bed I had claimed. "But you do know I’m gay, right?"
The towering man studied me intently. "Ah!" he said as his light blue eyes grew wide with understanding. "So that is why you are so dumb with my dick! I am sorry, Jack-Oh-Bee, but I do not do the man sex thing."
"That’s cool," I grinned, already backpedaling to the door since Likka was unzipping his pants to free the monster. I rushed out the door, said hello to the twin redheads, then closed the door behind the giggling women. "Oh man." I snorted then looked down the corridor. Cam was just stepping out of the elevator. He paused, surprise at finding me alone in the hall clear on his handsome face. "Likka is entertaining," I said.
"Ah," Cam replied knowingly. "Would you like to hang out in my room for a while?"
"Oh, uhm, yeah sure, that would be cool." I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. Cam walked up to, then past me, his expensive cologne quite pleasant. I padded along beside him, feeling underdressed. He was in a sleek blue suit. I was in jeans and a Marianas Trench long-sleeved tee with a ski vest. Real classy, right? At least my hiking boots were new. Cam ran his card through the lock, never saying one word until we were safely ensconced inside his room.
Five
"Nice," I said as I checked out the private room. "So how do I go about getting a suite with no rutting Finn in it?" I asked, eying the neatly made California king.
"Addendums to contracts are wonderful things." Cam deposited his bag to the floor in the corner. I was hunkered down checking out the contents of the mini-fridge when he dropped an anvil on my head. "That kiss the other night… I can’t stop thinking about it. Can you?"
I grabbed a bottle of flavored water, stood up, then twisted the plastic cap off my drink. "Do you ever gently lead up to something?" I asked before downing half the bottle. Cam shook his head.
"No, I didn’t mean it like that. Please, sit down." He waved at a brocaded chair in the corner beside the bed. I lowered myself into the seat. Cam sat on the edge of the bed, working at the knot in his tie. "I shouldn’t have done it. I know you’re dating Brad–"
I leaned forward, my elbows to my knees. "No, not really. We made out once, that’s it."
He stopped tugging his tie out from under his collar. I nodded at the dull look he gave me. The room began to feel overly warm.
"Oh. He seems rather… He seems to think otherwise." Cam resumed pulling his tie free.
"Yeah, I know. I guess…" I stared at my water bottle." I guess I’ve kind of let him think something might happen, you know? I mean I like him, and he’s a good kisser but, yeah, it’s not a thing."
"Do you find it easy finding men to…"
"Sleep with?" I leaped in when he tripped over it. I had never seen a man so conflicted. Cam leveled a dark stare in my direction. "I didn’t mean to sound like I was talking down, but if you can’t even be honest with yourself, how the hell are you going to ever be honest with someone else. Can you even admit that you’re gay?"
"Yes!" he snapped, shooting to his feet. He began circling the room as he peeled his dress shirt off. He wore a p
ristine white wife-beater under his shirt. My cock twitched as I ran an appreciative eye over his bared biceps. "I’m gay, Jacobi."
"Good man." I saluted him with my water bottle. "Now can you tell me what it is two gay men do with, and to, each other?" I asked, placing my ankle to my knee. The man resumed his pacing. He had a nice stride due to his long legs. My gaze kept going back to his arms. Then they would drift over his shoulders. I love nice arms and shoulders.
"Stop it." Cam paused in front of the sliding glass door. The patio outside held several inches of old snow. "You make it sound as if it’s so easy. Like coming out is a fucking lark. Not all of us were raised in a generation of tolerance like you were. Some of us… Hell, some of us can’t even begin to work out how to tell our mothers that we’re gay." He began drawing something in the steam on the slider. I felt horrible. I had been pretty glib.
"It’s not as easy for the younger gays as you seem to think it is," I said to his back. "I mean, yeah, it’s a lot better for young dudes now to be open, but it’s still a stigma. We’re still facing oppression all over the world."
"I know." He sighed, lowering his index finger when the most atrocious tree I have ever seen drawn on a steamy window was completed. Cam Evans may be a goaltending god, but he sucks donkey dick when it comes to drawing. "So, do you find it easy locating partners? I’m tired of slumming around in men’s rooms or dark corners in seedy bars."
I exhaled slowly. Man. I turned my thoughts over for a few seconds. "Okay, first off, for me, finding partners isn’t an easy thing. I don’t have time for cruising gay bars. My whole life is this," I said as I swung my bottle of water in a circle to encompass the room. Cam turned from the outdoors, his eyes settling on me. "Hockey is all I can do at the moment .Sure, I want someone special, but this break may be the only one I ever get. I worked my ass off to make it this far."
"And I’m fucking this opportunity up for you, aren’t I?" I quickly began to argue it, but the man was too sharp. He held up a skilled hand. "Don’t deny it. I know this bullshit is shattering your concentration. It is mine as well. I keep telling myself that I need to come out before I put a gun to my head but–"
"Cam, do not ever say that again. Ever." That he would even mention it scared to me my marrow. He padded back over then dropped to one knee in front of me. My entire body reacted to his closeness.
"I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to toss out like that." He reached for my hand, the one laying on my thigh. His touch was electrifying yet soothing, if that makes any sense. Like my fingers had been seeking out his for as long as I could recall. "I don’t know what to do. Do I come out then find someone to love openly? Or do I find that special someone before I come out? Would someone be willing to be at my side as I batter down the closet door? Would they, Jacobi?"
"Yeah," I said, my voice nearly nonexistent. "Yeah, someone would be willing to be at your side for that, and so much more."
Cam lifted my hand to his face. Eyes closed, nostrils flared to inhale my scent, he rubbed the back of my fingers against his freshly-shaved cheek. My grip increased on the water bottle when he placed his lips to my fingertips. I was now beyond erect. I was harder than stone. My balls were beginning to ache. His dark eyes were finely attuned to the task at hand, as it were. My breathing became jagged, raspy.
When the tip of his tongue moved over the end of my index finger, I thought I would blow apart right then and there. I didn’t though. My head actually fell back to the chair when he slid that index finger into his mouth. I heard the heater coming on. The room was way beyond warm. It was stifling. I had to get some clothes off. So did Cam. Now.
"I want to take you to my bed, Jacobi," Cam said then ran his tongue between my fingers. "Did that sound totally archaic?" he asked after a groan rumbled up from deep within me.
"God, no, it sounds like… I do too, I mean, fuck… Yeah, it sounds good, Cam. Really good." I found him staring at me. Right then it happened. Cam still says he felt it as well. Call it what you want: kismet, destiny, fate, fortune, lot. At that moment, in that suite with the ugly tree on the misty sliding glass door, two men fell in love. My water bottle hit the floor. I reached for him, my fingers weaving into that nicely styled brown hair. It was thick, springy, soft. Just as I knew it would be. I used that hair to pull him up as I leaned forward and down.
His eyes drifted shut before mine did. His lips parted with ease. My tongue met his. They danced a fiery dance. A flamenco, if one dance needed to be picked. When the kiss broke, we were both gasping for breath. Cam pushed me back into the chair gently. His hands moved over me softly, palms flat, fingers splayed. Even when I knew it was coming, the moment his right hand moved over the bulge in my pants, my mind left my body. Don’t know where it went. Maybe on the floor with my water bottle? All I know is that I was nothing but a shuddering mass of nerve endings that all cried out at once.
I have to give the man props, he didn’t act like a man who had been mourning the loss of sexual partners. Cam looked to be in total control. Until he freed my cock from my jeans. Then his grasp on that famed calm, cool, and collected demeanor slipped a bit. I lifted my ass in anticipation. He had a moment or two with the laces of my boots, but eventually they were discarded, as was any other bit of clothing I was wearing.
"I’m negative, just so you know." He glanced up at me, his teeth toying with a nipple. My balls contracted tightly. My fingers dug into the arms of the chair. Cam grabbed the base of my cock. His fist tightened. I moaned loudly, my head kicking back sharply.
"So am I. I have condoms but no dams." Fucking hell. I hated this part. It always feels awkward.
"I hate dams."
"Me too. I want you to come down my throat." I wanted to ask when, but he took me deep into his mouth at that moment, so I got my answer. His fingers opened to release the constriction around my cock. Someone cried out. The shout bounced off the lovely tan walls. The cry of passion was mine. I came hard. So hard that Cam gagged when I pushed his head downward. He took all of me, even if it did make his eyes water slightly. I pumped in and out of his mouth, my hips pumping and thrusting until the tremors began to abate.
I rasped out a shaky apology. Cam stood up, took me by the hand, then led me to the bed. The man didn’t have to ask. I sat on the mattress in front of him, staring into chocolate eyes as I shoved his pants over his ass. The high-priced boxer briefs came next. Cam’s prick jutted out, thick and veined, the head deep purple. I lapped at the droplet of clear liquid that threatened to drip on the floor.
"Fuck, you taste good," I said. I had every intention of sucking him off. I cupped his balls, pondered sliding to the floor so I could suckle his heavy orbs, but Cam had a different plan. One that involved me on the bed, ass in the air, his prick buried deep inside me. Who was I to argue with the living legend? I gave him what he wanted, gladly. He rode me hard. Harder than he would have normally. He pounded me into the wall, off the side of the bed, then once more into the headboard. I clawed at the bedding like a cat, trying to get purchase. Cam’s cock was relentless. When his orgasm arrived, he thrust into me so deeply I had to bury my face into the mattress to smother the whimpers of pain. The man came and came and came, repeating my name with each pulsing spurt of ejaculate.
"I am so sorry," he whispered afterward. He slid out of me, removed the used condom, and then crawled into bed beside me. I was kind of out of the talking mood at the moment. My ass was sore. He curled up beside me, stroking my hair from my face as I lay there covered with sweat. "I would fully understand if you left and never came back."
"It’s okay," I said, rolling to my side to face him. He glanced down at my body then he kissed me with such emotion I forgot about the pain. I threw a leg over his hip, sucked his tongue into my mouth, and began working on getting him into the game yet again. My head was clear now. All the murky shit had left. All it had taken was recognizing that Cam was the one. Brad, well, I’d have to be dealing with him tomorrow. Who knew how long it would take Cam to deal. Even
if it took years, I would be here.
"Hey," I asked as I sucked on his neck a few moments later. He grunted. Our semi-erect pricks were rising up once more, his sensitive head nudging mine. "You know what I think?"
"That you need to fuck me?" he asked, his fingers roaming over my shoulders.
"Well, yeah, that too," I murmured against his thumping jugular. He chuckled warmly. I tried to get closer to him, needed to get closer. I rolled him to his back then ground my mouth against his. When we came up for air we were rigid again. My elbows were locked, my hands fisted on either side of his head. "I think someone needs somebody at his side when he comes out."
"Any someone?" he asked, reaching up to shove my damp hair from my eyes, our bodies sticky with drying sweat as well as semen. "Or a special someone?"
"A special someone," I replied then claimed his mouth, and his love, with another kiss. "This special someone," I whispered between forays into his mouth.
"You do realize I’m jealous of you, your skill, your age? I’m battling with the knowledge that my career is just about over." I tasted his lips tenderly. "I wanted to ship you back to the AHL the day you arrived. So cocky, so sure of yourself and the power of your youth. Fuck, you make me feel old yet young at the same time."
He flung me to my back. I let him be the aggressor. He needed to remind me that I was the pup and he was the old dog. I was the student; he was the master. I was the heir apparent, he, the reigning monarch. I gave up the reins to him. The dude needed to have some sort of control over some part of his life. When he was hard again he took me with gentle passion. I cradled him to me, my arms and legs wound around his damp body. Cam moved with deep strokes that left me whimpering and spent underneath him. I climaxed first, my seed coating our chests as Cam pumped in then out with sure, strong strokes. His orgasm followed a few moments later. I clenched around him as he convulsed, panting like he had just completed drills, then dropped down onto me. The weight of him pressing me into the bed as his cock kicked inside me made me mad with renewed need. I kissed him hungrily. He groaned into my mouth then disentangled himself from me.
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