by R J Scott
The dragon inside me roared loudly again, and I had to physically make myself stay where I was. The cops were the right people to tell. They would come here, make sense of all this, arrest Rolf, and put everything to rights.
“What do you mean, you think you know what he said?” I asked after a little while.
“It wasn’t so much what he said, but the way he said it, and he smiled at this woman who jogged past and anyone looking would think it was just two guys talking, but Bucky didn’t like it.”
None of that made sense, except maybe for the Bucky part. I spotted him in the crate in the corner, curled in a ball, his gaze fixed firmly on me and Ben.
“He knew I was upset, so I thought I’d put him in his bed,” Ben explained, then edged closer to me. I pulled him in for a sideways hug and we waited for the cops in silence.
They arrived at the same time as coffee, and then I had to listen to the story of how that asshole Rolf had likely followed Ben to the park, intimidated him, implied that the way he’d get what he thought he was owed was over Ben’s dead body. I attempted to stay quiet, held him as he talked, and then when it all got too much and I wanted to hit something, I eased myself away.
Standing with Westy, watching Ben explain, I really wanted to hit something. Someone. Anyone.
The cops were thorough. They documented it all, took notice of what Ben was saying. They couldn’t do much about what Ben thought Rolf had meant, but they updated their records. When they left, it was me who shook their hands, and me who tidied up the coffee mugs. Westy left soon after, not even asking if I wanted to be driven home. He knew the score as much as I did.
I took Ben to bed, undressed him carefully, gently laid him down, and held him close.
I didn’t sleep until I heard his even breaths, and I spent most of that time staring at the picture of Ben and his husband, Liam, which was no longer face down.
If Liam was looking down at him now and seeing what an asshole his brother was, I bet he wanted to come back as an avenging angel or some shit like that. I could have reached over and turned the frame, but it didn’t freak me out to see Ben so happy with his husband. If anything, it was comforting to think that I could look out for Ben here, and maybe Liam could keep an eye on him from up there.
When I woke, he was gone, but I heard the noise in the kitchen, smelled the coffee, and he seemed calmer than last night.
“Maybe I overreacted,” he suggested.
“Things always look better in daylight,” I said. “Doesn’t mean they weren’t awful in the dark.”
I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say, but he hugged me, we kissed, and he promised to be careful at the shelter that day.
Practice was a bastard. It didn’t help I was low on sleep and trying to defend against Ten, but I was as useless as a five-year-old on the ice. So much so that Jared called me on it and took me off the ice.
“What the hell?” he asked as we headed for the locker room.
“Didn’t sleep so good.”
Something in my tone must have told him a story of sorts. He didn’t get in my face about protecting Ten, or keeping my fists up, or not slashing the opposition and drawing stupid penalties. He ordered me to the showers and told me to go home.
I promised I would.
I lied.
The shelter was quiet, and I found Ben with the puppies, my man on the floor hugging each puppy that wanted it. He looked up when I walked in and he grinned at me.
Seemed there was nothing in this world that was so bad a puppy couldn’t fix it.
I joined him on the floor and we chatted about hockey, the Cup, the shelter, puppies, and that time I lost two teeth to a hundred-mile-an-hour puck to the jaw.
Not once did we talk about Rolf or his threats, but I made damn sure to mention everything to the security company, and I also might have hired someone to watch the place and keep an eye on Ben. Just in case.
He didn’t need to know that, though.
Second period of our first game against Florida, and I really wished they’d benched me. I’d already spent time in the penalty box, twice, for infractions that had been accidents, not deliberate in any way. My head was messed up and I needed to get back in the game, because I was not going to be the one responsible for the Railers not getting to the final. Seven games in this round, and all we had to do was win four of them. The Stanley Cup was tantalizingly close.
I felt the tap on my shoulder, didn’t even have to look up to know it was Jared. Mads was living up to his name; I could see the tension bracketing his mouth and the confusion in his eyes.
I nodded at him. I knew what he was going to say. This was a tied game at two goals each, and we were so evenly matched it was painful to see. We had more chances, but their goalie was on form and nothing was going in.
All he did was nod back, and when I went over the boards for the next shift, I was focused on the hockey and not on Ben.
The game was ragged. Neither team seemed to have the edge, and there was a randomness to the shots that went into the net. Lucky bounces, hits on the goalies, the net coming off the moorings that held it in place on two separate occasions. The mood was of confusion and madness, and it wasn’t too long before the consistent targeting of our forwards paid off for the other team.
When I saw their D-man push Ten into the boards, I was relieved. Not that Ten was hurt—which he wasn’t, because he clambered to stand very quickly—but because I had a legitimate reason to pummel on someone.
Getting sent to the bin for a two-minute roughing call, I at least felt I had worked out some of the tension inside me. In fact, I was grinning and chirping at Tampa’s D-man, who shouted obscenities at me.
Until the crowd roared, and I looked back at the game. Ten on a breakaway, Ten dazzling the crowd. I could feel the goal on its way, and I stood up, watching. But I could see the Tampa captain, heading right for Ten, just as fast, but the trajectory was wrong. I shouted at Westy to get between them, but he wasn’t placed right where I would have been. Ten was open, vulnerable, and then time slowed for me. With the chilling certainty that they would collide, I couldn’t help the curse of complete horror that left my mouth. Ten must have caught on at the last moment—at least his head was up—but the impact of the two men colliding, sliding into the wall, was enough to silence the arena. A tangle of arms and legs, the two men were utterly still for a moment, and then everything sped up again, the teams rushing to the two of them, helping them to stand.
Fuck. Was Ten injured because I’d felt it so fucking necessary to beat on someone? Was I that much of a Neanderthal the only way I could handle my own pain was to dish out pain to others? I held my breath. I think the entire arena held their breath.
And then Ten was standing, shoving at Tampa’s captain and chirping at him. I didn’t see that happen much with Ten—he was too fast to get caught normally—but to see him standing toe to toe with the guy who’d taken him off his skates had me grinning like an idiot. I looked at the bench, watching Mads standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. I willed him to stare at me, to connect with me over the fact Ten was okay. He didn’t look my way once, but he did squeeze my shoulder when I was back on the bench. He knew what it was like to be in the bin watching the guys you were protecting left vulnerable.
Which just circled my brain back to Ben.
We won the game, but it was only a rebound goal off their goalie’s blocker that took us to victory. There was nothing clever about that night’s game, no finesse.
As soon as I could, I checked my cell. Ben couldn’t come to tonight’s game—he had a shift to cover at the shelter—but DK was with him, and the security company assured me everything was quiet.
There was a text from Ben, a congratulation with an added kiss. And weirdly, one from my mom, who suggested we should soundly beat Tampa quickly, almost as if she knew what she was talking about. I sent her back a promise we would, then turned my attention to Ben’s text. I considered what to write
but could think of absolutely nothing.
So, I did what any self-respecting lover did when he wanted to talk to his partner.
I grabbed a cab and made my way to the shelter. No game tomorrow, no practice, just optional skate.
And tonight, I really wanted to spend time with Ben.
Chapter Eleven
Ben
I waited for Max to arrive. I knew he’d show up. Call it a hunch or the Force or a good guess, but I could feel him coming closer. Imagine his shock when he showed up at the locked gates of the shelter and I was waiting for him, motor running, ready to take him on a real date.
“Hey,” he cautiously said while paying and tipping the driver.
“Hey yourself,” I replied, ass resting on the bumper of my car, arms crossed, the ultimate picture of Mr. Cool. If only my interior was as chill as my exterior. My stomach was a jumble of nerves, my heart was skipping a beat, by the feels, and my cock was plumping up just looking at the man in his suit and tie.
Max looked through the gates at the shelter. Crickets chirruped and a dog barked. The air was heavy with humidity. The steady hum of city traffic surrounded us.
“What’s going on?” He pulled his blue tie out from under his shirt collar and shoved it into his front pocket. Then the jacket was removed, showing off thick arms wrapped in soft cotton.
“We’re going on a date.”
He glanced back at me, one eyebrow climbing upward.
“We are?”
“Yes. We are.” I opened the passenger side door for him. “We have to hurry, though. It closes at ten.”
“Uh, that only gives us about forty minutes.” Max showed me the heavy watch on his left wrist.
“Which is why I’m telling you to hurry.” I waved a hand at my car’s interior.
“Wait,” Max looked around him. “I thought DK was with you.”
“He was. Now he’s not.” Another jerky motion at the open door.
He walked over and got into the car. I shut the door like a real gentleman, then raced around the front of the Jeep and dove behind the wheel.
“Good thing the game didn’t go into overtime,” I said, pulling away with my confused date at my right. I turned up the stereo and Teddy Pendergrass oozed out of the speakers.
“Good thing.” Max buckled up, then hit me with a firm look. “What is all this about?”
“It’s about the fact we’ve never had a date.” I glanced quickly at him, then back at the road. Teddy was crooning about turning out the lights. Mm-mm-mm, that sounded good. Me, Max, a bed, and a dark room. Or a room with lights. I was good with either scenario.
No, dammit. No. This is a no-sex date night. Be strong, Benton!
“I didn’t know we were doing the whole dating thing.”
Worry set in. I concentrated on the traffic leaving the city.
“I didn’t either at first.” I’d decided to be honest with the man. He had always been one hundred percent honest with me. No false promises or honeyed words to get me into bed. Not that he’d needed them, but still…
“And now you think you want the dating thing.”
“If you do.” Argh. No, that was backpedaling. Be strong, Benton! “I mean yeah. I want to date you.”
I jerked my chin up a bit as I zipped along, my speed maybe a bit higher than it legally should be.
“Huh.”
I threw him a look, but he seemed well and truly into himself, so I let that admission bounce around the inside of the Jeep as we hightailed it to Hershey.
When we pulled up at the park, Max’s bushy eyebrows knotted up. “So we busted ass to get to an amusement park?”
“Well…yeah.” I threw open the door and got out of the car. He did the same. I checked my watch. I’d made the twenty-five-minute drive in less than twenty, so we had about fifteen minutes before the park closed for the night. “There’s something important I wanted to say to you in a special place. Come on.”
Max muttered something under his breath. What it was, I didn’t know, but we ran to the gates, paid to get in, and hustled past roller coasters and water rides, breathlessly arriving at the Kissing Tower with just ten minutes to closing.
“I’m going to pass out,” Max panted as the disgruntled park employee ushered us into the rotating cabin. We were the only ones on the ride, which was good. I’d been hoping for a little privacy for my great confession. Also, if Max blew me off, no one would be there to see me cry.
“Don’t pass out yet.” I took his hand and led him to one of the candy-kiss-shaped windows. The ride started quickly, probably because the employees wanted to go home. Up the cabin rose, two hundred and fifty feet into the air, as it slowly rotated. We sat down and looked out the candy-shaped windows, working to catch our breath.
“This is really something,” Max said as the cabin slowly turned, showing those inside a panoramic view of the illuminated park and the lights of downtown Hershey. My gaze was on him.
“Yeah, it really is.”
He turned on the padded bench and settled his beautiful brown-gold eyes on me.
I leaned in and kissed him. We were in the kissing tower, after all. He responded with simmering heat that was evident and burbling below the surface.
I cupped his face, the rough scratch of his beard on my palms crazy pleasant.
“I really like you and I want to date you. In public. Holding hands and whispering over a candlelight meal sort of dating.”
He seemed to digest that news slowly. The cabin continued to rotate. My belly felt a little queasy, and not from the mellow ride we were on.
“Okay, I’d like that too.”
He hauled me to him, plastering his mouth over mine. Somehow, by the time the cabin was back on the ground, I’d been pulled onto his lap, facing him, and was having my neck feasted on by a ravenous hockey player.
The doors opening on the cabin and the shout from a disgruntled park worker broke into the sensual moment. I leaped up, we both shoved at our erections, and we exited the ride looking rather sheepish. Max took my hand. That made me feel lighter than I had since Rolf had threatened me.
“Okay, you lost that loving look. What’s wrong?”
“Just thinking about Rolf.”
“Did you hear from him again?”
“No, no, he’s not that stupid.” We were shown out of the park and walked to my Jeep, fingers woven together, giving me strength that I gladly soaked up. “Let’s not talk about that hateful bastard. Tonight is supposed to be about us. DK and my aunts are down in D.C., so I don’t have to fret over them.”
“What are they doing down there?”
He led me to the car, then eased my back to the driver’s side door, stepping up nice and close, pressing his chest to mine.
“They wanted to take him to his first sit-in. Protesting for women’s rights.” He nudged at my jaw with his nose, intent on getting back to tasting my neck. I let him nibble. It was just him and me and a thousand moths flitting about under the light overhead. “Mmm, that’s so nice. Want to find a place to eat then go back to my place?”
His head came up quickly. “I think Stan lives around here.” He gave the parking lot a look. “I mean, not here, obviously, but in Hershey. Maybe we could stop by and have a drink. Might be nice to spend some time with another couple.”
“Yeah, that would be nice. Where does he live?”
“Somewhere in Hershey. Big gates, according to Lockhart. We can just cruise around until we find it.” He buried his face back in my neck. I shook my head. He sighed and pulled back to look at me. “No, you don’t want to visit Stan?”
“Oh, I do, I just need you to think about what you just suggested. You said that I should cruise around an affluent neighborhood, after dark, checking out the rich folks’ houses.”
He mulled it over for about five seconds, then his brows untangled.
“Oh,” he murmured.
“Yeah.”
“That truly sucks.”
“Tell me. So, how abou
t we skip that possibly unpleasant scenario and just go find a quiet place to eat then go home.”
“Italian. I’m hungry for Italian. And you.”
I was hungry for him too, but fettuccine did sound good. “We could get it to go.”
“What about the real date?”
“We rode a ride. That technically constitutes a real date.”
You’re a weak, weak man, Benton.
His chuckle was rich. “That we did. Takeout it is.”
We took our takeout to my bed. We lay among tin foil pans filled with fettuccine Alfredo, lasagna, and spaghetti and meatballs, nude, feeding each other between long, sloppy kisses. Pasta began to slide from our forks, long strands slithering down my side to the sheets, or fat, round meatballs rolling down Max’s hip to rest beside his hard cock. I sucked on a pair of meaty balls—all covered with red sauce rich with garlic. Max snorted and chuckled throughout, his hair and beard thick with sauce, my chest and dick coated with rich, cheesy Alfredo sauce.
The covers were a mess, the sheets stained and ruined, but we rolled around in the seasoned sauces anyway, play giving way to passion as one hunger bowed to another.
Lubing up his ass was sloppy fun. I pushed my fingers deeply into him as I sucked on the fat head of his prick. Max tugged and pulled until I was straddling him, my knees on either side of his head. He greedily took me into his mouth. Two fat fingers coated with lube and probably Alfredo sauce found my ass. I rocked back onto those eager fingers, gasping around his cock as he hooked them perfectly and stroked my sweet spot. I got lost in Max, and it was just what I needed. Loving the man wiped the worry from my mind. There was no Rolf, no elderly aunts, no teenaged boy alone and unwanted by his family, and no shelter teetering on the edge of foreclosure. For this one wonderful short span of time, it was just me and Max.
He came first, coating my tongue and throat. I shuddered wickedly, the heady taste of him combined with the scratch of his fingers along my prostate pushing me over the edge. Max hummed and suckled, never pulling off or gagging, taking my wild thrusts while working my ass madly.