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Chest heaving, tendons straining, lips still swollen from their earlier workout, sated Noah is a vision. A wet dream come to life. I want to massage the hard curve of his shoulder, trace the peaks and valleys of his muscles, brush my thumb along his square jaw. But that’s not how fuck buddies work.
I can admire during sex, not after. Never after. That’s how things go from sex to something more, and I don’t do more.
“Still with me, big guy, or did you blow your mind with your load?” I give his nipple a gentle pinch to get his attention.
“That…” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I don’t think I’ve felt anything so intense in my life.”
“That’s just the beginning. Wait until I introduce you to your prostate.” I start to lift off him, pausing when he grabs my hand.
“Thank you.”
Whoa, not good. I wanted to rock his world, and mine, not make him feel grateful.
“First rule of fuck buddies, there’s no need to be polite. For example, a good host should give you dibs on the first shower since I went first last time.” This time I do lift all the way off his lap. “But I’m the one with cum dripping out of his ass so I call dibs again. I promise to be quick though.” I grab my clothes and jog upstairs, hoping he makes his way to his room before I come back down.
Chapter 13 -Noah
It’s only because of muscle memory that the puck doesn’t slip between my legs.
One minute, the other team is working it around our end of the rink, the next, gravity is pulling me to the ice, and I feel it hit my pads. The ones in my shorts instead of the ones on my knees, meaning I just barely stopped its trajectory.
The puck is so buried, no one else knows where it is. All they know is there’s no goal since the flashing light isn’t going off, but like sharks swimming in chum, players sense its presence, hovering over me to see if there’s an opening to get their stick on it. It’s not until the ref whistles for a faceoff that I rise and reveal it.
People will praise me for being in good position or claim that my lightening quick reflexes enabled me to make the save, and while there’s some truth to that, it’s more accurate to say dumb luck stopped that puck. I’m not anticipating the opponent as well as I usually do, especially during the first period when everyone’s fresh. Fortunately, my body reacted before my brain made the conscious decision to move so we’re still up by one for our home opener.
“All good?” Niko asks as he skates by me while the ref collects the puck for the faceoff.
It still boggles my mind how perceptive he is in his second year, though if anyone can spot when I’m off it’s him. And while no one wants to hear that their goalie’s head isn’t in the game, I have too much respect for my teammates to blow them off with silly excuses.
“Got lucky on that one,” I admit.
“Were we blocking your view?” He knows none of our defenders were in my line of sight, but he’s giving me the out anyway in case my pride demands it. That’s not my personality, but other guys need that coddling, and Niko’s learning how to manage different personalities. He’ll make a good captain one day.
“Nope, I was just slow to react on that one, but I’m good.”
The ref drops the puck and Luca’s on it right away, winning the faceoff and circling around the goal to give it to me so I can slow things down and set up the offense. Most of the players start migrating toward the other end of the rink, though Niko hangs back to take the pass I send him. He takes his time moving the puck, passing it around until a tiny window opens up for Justus.
Niko delivers the puck to him right in front of the goal, but instead of taking the shot Justus spins away from the net, turning one hundred and eighty degrees and flicking the puck over the goalie’s shoulder. Lights flash as the crowd goes wild, both because we put another point on the board and because that was one hell of a trick shot.
For the next two periods both teams go back and forth controlling the game, and while they get one by me when I come out of the crease to challenge a fast break, that’s the only score they get. Niko is virtually a solid wall between me and the other team, and if they do manage to get off a shot, I time my blocks to land on the puck instead of giving up a rebound opportunity and an easy score. It’s a delicate balance, and one I’m typically pretty good at, which is how Niko could tell I was a little distracted in the first period.
He’ll probably ask why in the locker room, and I'm man enough to admit the truth. It was a glimpse of Tripp’s hair—which is now dark at the root and sort of emerald green at the tip—that got me. What I won’t admit is that I suspect the green is because I asked why he chose blonde instead of green or blue when he was writhing naked on my lap.
Normally, Tripp wouldn’t catch my attention during a game, but Luca happened to crush one of the opposing forwards into the boards right where he and Xander were sitting. And while that’s happened before without causing me to lose focus, this is the first time it’s happened since we became intimate.
The fact is, I haven’t seen or spoken to him since he took me inside him nearly two weeks ago, and I wasn’t mentally prepared for the emotions that accompanied that first glimpse. I’m not talking about the things that plagued me initially, like why he hadn’t called or whether he was deliberately avoiding me, I’m talking about the sense of longing that hit me hard enough to steal my breath.
Even from twenty yards away, I could see how the green in his hair made his eyes pop, giving him an even more naughty air than he usually possesses. That alone was enough to take my eye off the game, but when I realized he was wearing my jersey… I’ve never had the urge to stake my claim on anyone, and Tripp certainly isn’t the type to let anyone claim him, but in that moment, I liked the idea of him being mine.
I suppose that’s why he was so concerned about getting our labels straight, so I wouldn’t confuse fucking with something more. That could also be why he hasn’t called. I hope that’s the reason, anyway. I’d much rather he put a little distance between us to manage expectations than to have him decide he’s not interested. Although, that distance is what got me off track during the game…
“Epic, man. Just epic.” Luca is slapping Justus on the back along with half a dozen other guys when I enter the locker room, and the noise in my head instantly fades to nothing as I watch them shower him with praise. This right here, this brotherhood, is what I live for.
There’s something about pushing our physical limits together, sharing blood and sweat, battling exhaustion and chronic pain, that binds us on a deeper level. Makes us function as one, like we share the same mind. It sounds corny, but when you see it come together… When you see a guy make a blind pass that he just knows his teammate will be there to receive, or you can communicate how you want a play to develop with a single look, the only explanation is that we’re mentally connected. We’re never truly alone.
I think that’s why I never got too hung up on the questions about who I am off the ice. My teammates, my brothers, were always there. Now that I’m edging closer to retirement, closer to the end of that bond… I guess maybe that’s part of why I’m asking the question now, although I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be examining things too closely if it weren’t for Tripp.
Dammit, why does it feel like things always come back to him?
