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“Ugh. Never again.” Ishir took his cup to the counter, sitting beside Zee. “How wasyournight. When did you get in?”
Zee quirked an eyebrow. “I got in way before you.”
“Wait, what? Don’t tell me you struck out.”
“Psh, as if. Nah, just wasn’t feeling it.”
“Oh. Okay.”
It turned into a pretty normal day. Practice was a little brutal, but Ishir took a nap afterwards and felt mostly revived.
Ishir and Zee had fully intended to cook something for dinner but ended up ordering something instead, sprawled on the couch with their quinoa bowls in hand.
Ishir was fully zoned out, shovelling food into his mouth, when Zee decided to ambush him.
“Hey, so…do you still do that thing?”
“Do what?” Ishir asked, distracted.
“You know. That thing where you can’t come unless you have a good game.”
Ishir choked, setting his bowl on the coffee table as he tried not to die.
“Oh, shit.” Zee smacked him on the back.
“What the fuck?” Ishir gasped as his lungs cleared up.
That had been the last thing he’d thought Zee would bring up. He’d almost managed to forget Zee knew it at all.
Ishir had improved a lot with his rituals since he was a teen. His OCD was mostly under control—even during high-stress times like the playoffs, he’d developed ways of working through his compulsions so as not to be debilitated by them.
There was one thing he’d never really worked on, though.
Ishir wasn’t allowed to come unless he scored a goal.
He couldn’t quite remember how it had started. Maybe he’d jerked off after a good game and realised how much better it was when he felt like he deserved it. How it felt even better if he intentionally held off when he didn’t.
He’d been fifteen and at the peak of his hormonal horniness. It had been a boost, feeling disciplined enough to hold off even if he woke up in the middle of the night, hard and almost at the edge.
There was a tangible reward for when he produced and abstinence for when he didn’t, and the world madesense.
It didn’t just improve his performance—it had also given him an excuse for his lack of interest in Omegas, to rationalise all the times he hadn’t reciprocated someone’s attention at a party. It wasn’t Ishir’s interest in the large Alpha in the corner. It was just that he couldn’t come, so what was the point of making out with the Omega?
Zee found out when they were seventeen. They’d been in some random hotel after a Juniors away game, wasted despite the fact that they’d lost the game. They’d been dumb enough at that age to take every opportunity to drink.
“Can’t fucking sleep,” Ishir complained, tossing and turning on his creaky bed—the junior teams always seemed to find the shittiest hotels to stay at.
Zee groaned. “Just go take a shower and jerk off.”
“I can’tjerk off,” Ishir retorted unthinkingly.
There was a pause. “Why? Like…your dick doesn’t work?”
Ishir burst out laughing. “What?”
There was rustling from Zee’s side of the room. “You just said you can’t jerk off.”
“Yeah, like, I’m not allowed to.”
