Page 30 of Home Ice Advantage

Eric squeezed his thigh to let him know that it was fine, and whether it was just the extra pressure or the fact that he’d been panting for it all fucking day before this, Sullivan came, shivering and with a noise that seared itself immediately into Eric’s brain.

He swallowed. Ran his tongue over Sullivan’s dick until it stopped pulsing, until Sullivan made a pained little whimper that indicated it was too much. Eric pulled off and leaned back to survey his handiwork and again, the picture it made... Fuck. Sullivan was still panting and red-faced, his eyes closed, his dick wet with spit and come, still hard and curving up toward his stomach, the rumpled pants and boxers pulled down around his thighs.

For a second, Eric felt transfixed, still on the floor but unable to move. And then Sullivan opened his eyes, huge and dark, and held out his hand. Almost against his will, Eric took it. Let Sullivan’s strong grip yank him to his feet and into an embrace.

He was furious at himself for being in a position to discover that Sully, postcoital, was acuddler. He molded himself up against Eric’s body, mess and all, and kissed him like Eric wasn’t dying himself, like his erection pressed between them wasn’t painful as hell. He took Eric’s face in his hand and angled him into the kiss, mouth salty and warm.

“Fuck,” Sully was saying, “that was—fuck. Can I—”

“Oh,nowyou’re asking for permission?”

Sully looked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded, and said, “Okay, well, do you want me to suck your dick or not? Because I can go home.”

For a second, Eric thought about telling him to fuck off. Telling him that of course he didn’t want this. That would’ve been the most obvious lie he’d ever told. Instead, he said, “Do you have any clue what you’re doing?”

“No,” Sully said, frankly. He was still holding Eric like they didn’t hate each other, like they weren’t in the arena, like this was all completely normal. For a second, Eric wondered whether Sully was the crazy man, or if he was. “But you clearly know what you’re doing. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you want. I can learn.”

Eric would have pinched the bridge of his nose again, if his hands hadn’t been full of Sully. “This isn’t a small-area drill.”

“It also isn’t fucking rocket science, bud. Come on. I’m not gonna bite you unless you’re into that.”

The fact was that even if Sully had been inclined to bite, Eric probably would’ve risked it. His whole body burned with wanting, with anticipation. He disentangled himself from the half embrace, pushed himself away from Sully’s body, the warmth coming off of him in waves. He exhaled, shaky, and said, “Get on your knees.”

To his surprise, Sully did it, eagerly, slid off of the desk, yanking his pants up as he went. He got down on his knees easily enough, with a little wince: hockey players might have been strong, but they weren’t necessarily flexible. And Eric knew from experience that the floor was hard on the knees. Neither of them was getting younger.

Sully looked up at Eric from that position, his mouth still a little swollen from making out, from biting his lip when Eric went down on him, and said, “I’m going to get better at this.”

“What do you mean, get better at this?” Eric asked, pulling his own pants down.

“I mean I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sully said, “but I’m going to—I hate beingbadat things. I’ve always been good at learning.”

Eric still felt like he should probably be entering concussion protocol. The conversation wasn’t doing much to help. “Sully, I mean this in the worst way possible, but what the fuck iswrongwith you?”

“Nothing,” Sully said, grinning that foxy grin again. “I’m just competitive. You get it, I’m sure.”

His hands were warm on Eric’s thighs, and he licked his lips again, and Eric’s brain decided that it wasn’t worth arguing anymore. His dick was painful now, straining upward, and he had to take hold of it and stroke it, just to keep himself from making an embarrassing noise. Sully’s eyes followed the line of his hand the entire time, dark and hungry.

“Shut up and suck my dick,” Eric said.

“Okay, but you were the one with the hang-ups about this,” Sully retorted, before he pushed Eric’s hand away and took a closer look, like he was examining some kind of a tactical diagram. And then he leaned forward and ran his tongue experimentally over the head of Eric’s dick, down the length of it. The whole time he did it, he didn’t look away from Eric’s face, like he was gauging his responses and adjusting accordingly.

When he finally slid his whole mouth around it, Eric couldn’t help the involuntary, pained groan that ripped itself out of his mouth. Even though it was awkward and the rhythm was off as Sully went on by trial and error, it felt so fucking good.

Itlookedso fucking good, Sully’s mouth stretched wide around him, the way he’d glance up through his thick, short eyelashes every now and then for guidance. What he lacked in technique he made up in enthusiasm, choking occasionally, eyes watering, but when Eric tried to push him away, he stubbornly kept at it. Thinking about that, feeling it, every part of Eric felt drawn and tight, trembling on the edge.

Sully’s hands on his thighs, his ass, his balls, like he was learning Eric’s body almost as much as he was learning how to suck a dick. He had to pull away, gasping, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips and chin slick with spit, red and swollen, his eyes huge, like he was getting off on getting Eric off all over again.

Eric’s dick twitched in Sully’s hand and he said, “Well?”

“Gimme a second,” Sully panted, “it’s, uh, an adjustment. I’ll figure it out.”

“You can use your hand to—”

“Yeah. Shit,” Sully sighed, as he went back down. Finally, he wasn’t looking, wasn’t analyzing. His eyes were closed, like he was lost in it.

Eric remembered, belatedly, that he was supposed to be offering instructions. He was supposed to be telling Sully what to do. But letting him figure it out on his own felt so satisfying and so right that he couldn’t find the words even if he’d wanted to. Could only hang on to the desk for dear life, his legs shaking jelly, while Sully went to work. While he watched Ryan Sullivan, Cup champion and three-time playoff MVP, on his knees, eyes closed, intently concentrating only on Eric. It was too much to handle.

He managed, belatedly, to get his hand into Sully’s hair. It had been an unremarkable sandy brown during their playing days and now it was mostly silver-gray, only hints of its original color flashing through. It felt soft under his hands as he shoved Sully’s head down. Sully choked but gamely went along with it, gasping around him. That was the final thing that pushed Eric over the edge. The orgasm seemed like it went on for a long time, like an out-of-body experience.

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