Page 31 of Game Misconduct

“Tell me—”

“I’m trying to pretend it’s you,” he said, his voice a little higher, ragged. “I’m—faster now. I can’t—”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Need me to get you off, needme—”

“Why do you think I—fuck, Danny, I haven’t felt like this, not ever...” He breathed out again, almost a sob, choking it down in his throat.

Danny thought about his dick in Mike’s mouth and how it would sound if he shoved it in hard. Probably like that. “Likewhat.”

“I don’t know,” Mike whisper-shouted. He sounded desperately turned on and furious and Danny loved it. “I don’t know how to, how to say it, you just, you fuck me up.”

“I would,” Danny said. It was a promise. More. “I would, Iwouldfuck you up, I’dmakeyou—” Mike made one of those whimpering noises again, and Danny’s hand sped up as he said, “Shh, shh, you have to be quiet, remember? I don’t think you’re winning this one.”

There was a noise on the other end of the line, another choking sob. “Fu-u-u-ck.”

“Are you close?” He could feel it, prickling over his entire body. “You have to be quiet, babe. You have to—”

Mike wasn’t being quiet. Oh, he was trying, but he was a fucking mess, and Danny couldn’t see it but fuck he could hear it. He had reduced Mike to a whimpering, groaning incoherency, and he could hear a noise like Mike had smacked his head on the wall. Danny loved that about him, that he was a guy who by necessity had to have control of his body to do well at his job, but Danny could strip that from him so easily. He couldn’t even answer, he was that worked up, and he made a noise like Danny’d slapped him when he came.

Hearing that tipped Danny over. It took him a minute to recover, still shuddering with how good it felt, how guilty he felt. But: demonstrably, Mike had lost that bet.

“I’ll send you the drills tomorrow,” Danny said, still a little breathless, and Mike groaned.

“Fuck, I hoped you’d forgotten about that.”

“Not a fucking chance, buddy.”

“Oh, fuck, I gotta go,” Mike said, sounding momentarily panicked.

And then the line was dead and Danny was left alone, in the dark, as he should have been.

I wanthe started to type, but stopped and deleted it.

Chapter Three

November

Mike was not thinking about Reed’s face—horrified and impressed—when he’d slunk out of the bathroom, leaving a smear of gray paint behind on Reed’s brand-new wall. He hadn’t even been able to say anything about it because it was clear enough what he’d been up to. It had been a stupid fucking idea, but he had zero self-control when it came to Danny. He’d mumbled an apology and beat a hasty retreat into the crowd.

Luckily, Reed had been either too embarrassed or too understanding to say anything, or practices would have been unbearable after that. There were, like, hockey bros. And then there were hockey bros who knew what you sounded like when you were coming your brains out and if he’d had the choice, he definitely would not have put Reed into that category. Ever, under any circumstance.

For one thing, Singer probably would’ve murdered him.

And it wasn’t like Danny had given him any time to actually recover. True to his word, he’d messaged Mike in the morning,give me your email address. Mike had thought about refusing, but a bet was a bet, and he’d lost. So he gave Danny his Gmail and right away received a list of files with names likeSt. Cloudandhorseshoe skating drillsandoffensive blue line supportand for a minute Mike stared at his email and thought about catching a flight to Pittsburgh, tracking down Danny to wherever he lived, and murdering him.

this is shit i learned in juniors

Yeah, and when’s the last time you did them, really did them, for hours on end until you can’t fucking do them anymore?

Mike thought about it. Probably the last time he’d done drills that hardwasin juniors, or maybe peewees. The closest he’d come was when he was trying to make the team but even then, it was mostly general conditioning. Skating, strength, boxing, and Muay Thai to make himself more useful in the role that Coach had brought him onto the team to perform. Not precision work. And generally, he was only ever on the ice for the shorter practices and morning skates they always had during the season.

“So how many of these do you want me to do?” he asked Danny, early in the morning. Bee was at Mäkelä’s, or he wouldn’t have risked calling in the apartment. Not after the Reed catastrophe.

“Pick one or two per day, and do them until you can’t anymore,” Danny said in the tone of voice that Mike had come to associate with sex, and it was kind of embarrassing that his dick perked up at the sound of it. Like. Maybe there were worse ways to try to improve your game, but still. “I’m talking hours.”

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