It’s decidedly weird, putting his hockey gear on in his bedroom. He dresses quickly, before the anticipation can twist itself into anxiousness. He has no idea how Matt is going to react to this—it might be the stupidest idea he’s ever had, a total mood killer—but screw it, he’s committed now.
He hears the door buzzer go just as he’s checking his hair in the mirror, and sucks in a sharp breath. Here goes nothing.
The weird feeling doesn’t go away as he pads down the hall in his socks. He feels small in his gear without his skates on.
Bracing himself, he opens the door.
Matt’s dressed to the nines in a navy blazer embroidered in silver and matching slacks, a black lace shirt beneath it with the top three buttons undone. Smoky eyeliner rims his eyes—which go wide at the sight of Nick in full uniform.
Nick tries not to squirm as Matt’s eyes roam over him, taking in the gold and silver socks, the crimson shorts, the home jersey with a shining gold C on the chest.
“Oh,” Matt says, a soft exhale. Brown eyes become impossibly dark. “This is a surprise.”
Nick steps back to let him in, heart racing. “A good one, I hope,” he replies in a husky voice. “Thought I might make it up to you, for tonight.”
Matt’s gaze abruptly turns serious and he purses his lips. “You have nothing to make up for,” he insists. “I pushed, and you stuck to your boundaries. It’s okay.” He reaches out, placing a hand on Nick’s chest, the tips of his fingers brushing the NHL logo at his throat. “But I’m not gonna argue about this.”
His grip tightens as he tugs Nick in for a kiss that fills his blood with fire. His free hand sneaks to the waistband of Nick’s shorts and he breaks off with a snicker as he comes up against thick foam padding. “Jesus, this should not be as hot as it is,” Matt says with a sigh against Nick’s cheek as he shakes his head. “C’mon. Bedroom.”
They race to the bedroom and shut the door behind them—no need for feline interruptions. Nick moves towards the bed, but a tug on his jersey halts him in his tracks. “Oh, no you don’t,” Matt purrs. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed red just fromlookingat Nick like this.
Nick doesn’t feel small anymore. Not one bit.
He stands still as Matt’s hands roam over him, across his solid armor-covered shoulders, down his chest—taking particular care to stroke reverent fingers over his C—lusty smile turning fond for just a moment. With Matt looking gorgeous in that suit, it feels like Nick’s just won a game and Matt’s come down to reward him.
It’s excruciating, waiting like this.
“Y’know, it’s a good thing I used to play hockey myself,” Matt starts, low and conversational, hands creeping up beneath Nick’s jersey as he crowds in close to him.
“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Nick asks, breath hitching as Matt’s tongue trails up his neck, teeth just barely threatening a bite. His nose presses into the hinge of Nick’s jaw and he pauses.
“Because your pads smell fucking disgusting. Jesus, I can’t believe it’s not a turn-off for me.” Matt snuffles a laugh against his skin, shaking his head as Nick freezes.
“I, uh, gotta say, I didn’t notice.” They don’t smellnearlyas bad as they do on a game day, but now that he’s paying attention, he will admit there is a strong scent of sweaty leather that’s not exactly attractive. “Sorry, I can—” He goes to move away, but Matt grips him tight by the wrists.
“Like I said, surprisingly not a turn-off,” he insists, sucking Nick’s lower lip between his teeth with a wink. The next kiss is far too short for Nick’s liking, and Nick can’t help the whine he lets out when they part.
“This look is doing a lot for me, don’t get me wrong,” Matt assures him with a rakish smirk, trailing his fingers across the dragon on Nick’s chest, “but if we keep up with this I’m going to get hard every time I watch you play, and that’s gonna raise some awkward questions.”
“You mean you don’t already?”
Matt laughs at Nick’s playful pout and tugs the jersey over his head—or, at least, tries to. “You clipped your tie-down?” This laugh is louder, and Nick’s cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“Honestly I didn’t think about it.” Putting his gear on is a reflex these days. He completely forgot that the whole point of it this time was to get it taken off him. Matt snorts, kissing him on the cheek as he wraps his arms around him, searching for the strap inside the back of his jersey that keeps it clipped to his shorts.
“You fucking dork.”
At last the jersey is on the floor, and Matt’s gaze trails over Nick’s upper body in his hockey armor and nothing else. Nick is usually an undershirt guy, but not today.
Matt takes care in removing all of the body armor, unclipping it piece by piece with the surety of a fellow hockey player. Yet, somehow, it’s one of the most sensual things Nick has ever experienced in his life—every graze of Matt’s fingers against his bare skin is an electric shock straight through his nervous system, and he’s practically squirming by the time he’s bare-chested. He bites his lip, trying not to fidget under Matt’s intense stare. The musician is still fully clothed and that doesn’t seem fair, but Nick isn’t going to say anything. This is Matt’s show—Nick’s just rolling with it.
Then Matt slides his padded shorts down and a surprised sort of groan punches out of him. Nick cocks his head.
“You wear garters…” Matt practicallywhimpers, reaching down with reverent fingers to trace the strip of elastic lying taut over Nick’s bare thigh.
“Oh.” Nick smirks. “Yeah. Not what you expected?”
“Figured you were a sock-tape guy.” Matt doesn’t look away from the garter belt that holds his long hockey socks in place, face flushed and eyes dark. “This is… a nice surprise.”
