Page 5 of Puck You Both

My own cock is a problem I'm ignoring, thick and insistent, dragging against the seam every time Theo's hips buck into me. Later. This part first.

I like this part.

I like it more than I've let him figure out: his cock hot and heavy in my fist, the sounds that get away from him. The exact moment his brain gives up on words and starts transmitting static.

That's when the light changes.

Not much. A shift in the door gap. A shadow where the hallway glow used to be.

I don't look up. Looking up is for forwards. I track.

Big. Very big, filling most of a doorframe. And even in the semi-darkness, there is exactly one head of hair intense enough you could navigate by.

Wall.

Standing in my doorway.

Watching me jerk off my teammate.

This is…definitely not ideal.

Stopping is an option. I could step in front of Theo, invent a stretching program in real time and feign ignorance.

The thought arrives and sits there for a few seconds.

Then, it evaporates, because here's what my body does with the information that both my career and my closet are most likely on the line right about now: it goes calm. Shootout calm, a glassy flat-line where the game slows down and I can see the whole ice.

And then it does something else, something with no business happening at all, as every point of contact gets louder. Theo's cock pulsing in my grip. The wet sounds my fist is making, obscene in the quiet. The heat crawling up the back of my neck.

The fact that I'm harder than I was thirty seconds ago.

If I stop now, Theo panics, loudly, in a building with concrete acoustics, and Wall walks away with a story that has a beginning, a middle, and me scrambling. If I don't stop, however, I keep the room, the pace, the ending, and I deal with Wall on my own schedule.

And then, there’s the other thing… Wall’s not leaving.

The door is his. The hallway is his. There’s a clean exit, and the man is standing perfectly still.

"Patrick—" Theo's voice frays. "Come on. Faster, you absolute—"

"No."

He makes a sound I’ll be replaying in my head later.

I tug his waistband down further, get his balls in my other hand, roll them slow, and watch his knees try to climb my hips. Then I get my fist around him properly, full grip, slick now, tight the whole way.

"Oh my God. Do that again or I will haunt you."

I do it again.

And maybe… Maybe I angle us, just slightly, so the doorway has a better view. Maybe I step back half a foot so nothing blocks the sightline to Theo, shirt rucked to his chest, pants around his thighs.

Maybe my voice sits a bit louder than Theo needs it.

And maybe I'm not proud of it, but I'm not not proud of it, either.

In my peripheral vision, the shape in the doorway hasn't moved. Or breathed, possibly. Eight years and I've never held his attention like this.

It shouldn't be doing anything for me.