When I glance up, Hart has leaned his head back, biting down on the pad of his thumb to prevent any more noises from coming out. Still, there’s a soft sigh slipping from him every time I suck him in on my way down, making sure to flick my tongue over his tip.
It doesn’t take long before I can taste the salty note of his precum. Tentatively letting go of his hip, I trace my fingertips down his groin to his balls, squeezing them lightly as I hum around his erection.
Hart curses, the muscles of his thighs going tense around me. He’s tapping my shoulder, trying to push me away, but I don’t budge as his hot release spurts into my mouth.
“Fuck, did you swallow?” he wheezes, offering me a hand that I ignore. Instead, I get up and grab his face with both hands.
Our lips clash together another time, and the moment he opens his mouth for me I release his cum into it. Hart’s eyes snap open, his head jerking backward, but I keep him firmly in place.
A last drop of cum is dripping down my chin when I finally let go. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, then smear it across his stomach.
“You wish.”
“Fucking asshole,” he huffs, but he’s already pushing the jockstrap halfway down my thighs.
I groan with relief when he finally frees my erection of the protective cup. For a moment he holds my gaze, then, with a small smirk on his lips, he spits into his open palm before he pulls on the elastic of my compression shorts. My forehead drops onto his shoulder as he wraps his hand around my dick. My nails dig into his naked asscheek as I look for support.
“What, I only get a lousy handjob in exchange?” I taunt, but my voice has lost all its bite. His grip is just firm enough, the calluses on his fingers providing the roughness I crave.
Hart growls, his chin dipping down so he can press his lips against the shell of my ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps all over my skin.
“You fucking brat. Be grateful I’m letting you come at all.”
And that’s all I need.
Surprised by my own orgasm, I scream out as my hips snap forward, trapping Hart against the wall as I spurt into his hand.
For a second, I feel like blacking out, my body reaching its capacity after an intense game topped off by an orgasm. I blink rapidly to clear my vision as Hart tightens an arm around my waist.
Reaching out for the nearby locker, I disentangle myself from him and sink onto the bench. My chest is rising and falling rapidly as I pant. I loosen the Velcro of my shoulder pads, but there’s no strength left in me to lift it over my head.
Next to me, Hart is staring down at his cum-smeared palm.
“You’re welcome,” I tell him roughly, which earns me a raised brow.
For a moment, I think he’ll reach out to wipe it on my face, but then he lifts it to his mouth instead, his tongue licking it clean in lazy strokes.
Somewhere above us a buzzer sounds, and a moment later the arena erupts with cheers.
Xander, December 3rd
Meeting off campus at a diner had been Nate’s idea. I guess he’s got his eyes on the curly-haired waitress, going by the looks she throws him before we sit down. Behind the counter there’s a neon sign spelling out “bats & badgers,” though I’m pretty sure the second word is still new; it shines in a slightly different red. The mix hurts to look at, like a too-bright phone screen.
I’m not a big fan of milkshakes, but I pick up the folded menu anyway. It helps me block out Nate, who’s looking at the door every time it opens to check if it’s his twin. After what happened when I last saw Van der Hoff, I have no idea how I should interact with him. I’ve had a few casual hook-ups over my years at St. Bernard’s, but none of them were the brother of my best friend.
Sitting together in a diner to talk about an expel- and hockey-league-ban-worthy secret isn’t what I usually do after getting off together. I’m not about to have The Relationship Talk with someone I’ve kissed once and then jerked off with. It’s beside thepoint that he also hates my guts, and I’m not sure I can stand him either.
However, I do think chatting about where this leaves us for next year would have been a smart move between the two of us. But there hadn’t been any time left, barely enough for me to make it back into the other locker room before my teammates came walking in, carrying the weight of our loss against the Badgers.
“Hm?” I mutter when I notice Nate is looking at me expectantly, meaning I missed his question.
“Do you know yet if you’ll go home for Christmas?” he repeats himself, hopefully thinking I was too lost in the selection of ice-cream sundaes and crazy milkshake combinations, such as cinnamon-cranberry-mint.
“Probably not. I mean I’ve just been home for Thanksgiving. I can’t afford another plane ticket.”
“You should come home with me,” he says immediately, like he expected my answer.
“What?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s invited me in the past, at least once a year since we’ve known each other. Nate is exactly the kind of person who wants to have his friends and family around himself all the time. He’ll probably call me every day if I decide to stay behind in our dorm.
