Page 68 of Home Ice Advantage

“Yeah, you’re a fucking teacher’s pet, is what you are—”

Ryan ran his hand slowly up Eric’s dick, very satisfied with the drawn-out noise of protest it got him when he stopped moving. “Well. You should tell me what you like. So I can learn.”

“We have to be quiet, though, just in case my parents come home early.”

“I can be quiet,” Ryan insisted.

“You were pretty loud last time,” Eric said, smirking, and Ryan could feel the tips of his ears turning a bit red, thinking about a completely imaginary encounter, about how it might’ve been if they had been doing this as teenagers, awkward and fumbling and eager.

“Tell me what you like,” he insisted.

“Spit in your hand when you jerk me off,” Eric said, his voice a little rough, “and once you do that, you can—a little harder. Faster.”

Ryan did what he was told and the groan that he ripped out of Eric’s throat when he shoved his hand back down his pants was worth all of it. Eric’s body bracketed him in on the bed, close enough that he could lunge up to kiss him, although it knocked them both off-balance, landed them sprawled in the bed with Eric on top of him. From there it was messy and awkward and stupid, Ryan unwilling to stop touching him but trying to get his pants off at the same time, Eric trying to help but preoccupied with fucking Ryan’s mouth with his tongue, and Ryan yelped again when Eric stopped kissing him, only to nip at his earlobe.

“Shh,” Eric said, pressing his hand over Ryan’s mouth. “We have to be quiet, remember?”

Ryan thought about digging his teeth into Eric’s palm, or licking him, but it was weirdly exciting to have Eric’s hand there, pressing down. In the end he settled for shifting the angle of his hand, being able to watch Eric’s eyes close when he did it.

By the time Eric had managed to kick off his pants and get Ryan’s off too, they were both hard and straining, and Ryan could hear his own ragged breath panting into Eric’s mouth. “Come on,” he said, the laughter bubbling up in his throat, still marveling that something that was basically a mutual hand job could feel like this, “come on, Aronson, make me come,come on—”

Eric’s breathless amusement was audible when he said, “Not doing a very convincing job of playing a good boy, Sully. Always thought once I got you in bed you’d be like this—”

“Shh,” Ryan demanded. “We have to be quiet in case your parents come home,remember?”

Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever had sex like this. When he was actually a teenager, sneaking girls into his parents’ home, they had never been anyone he’d been seriously interested in. When he and Shannon had gotten together, they’d both been young as hell and had never tried anything particularly wild—that had only come later, when they’d been trying to save their failing marriage. It was something else altogether to fall into bed with Eric, a grown man who might have been discovering what he liked, but felt sure as hell about it, and comfortable enough to mess around, comfortable enough to laugh about it.

He looked up at Eric, the glasses slipping down, smudged from Ryan’s nose bumping against the lenses, and felt his chest constrict with the force of his fondness, with everything that had happened to him over the last six months. If he stopped to look at it too long, it was overwhelming. So instead, he concentrated on the way Eric’s hands and mouth made him feel and lost himself in the kiss.

Afterward, when they’d both come and before they’d managed to get out of bed to clean up, Eric propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Ryan with a disbelieving expression. He’d lost his glasses halfway through and his lower lip was still a little red where Ryan had worried it. His chest was still sticky-looking where Ryan had come all over it.

“I really don’t know how you talk me into this shit.”

“No?” Ryan asked, still panting a little. “Because from where I’m sitting, you didn’t require a whole lot of talking.”

“Easy as hell for you, I guess,” Eric said, then groaned as he hauled himself to his feet. “I let you talk me into this even though we have to go out into the hall to get to the bathroom.”

“Better move fast,” Ryan said, unable to stop the stupid smile from tipping the corner of his mouth up. “Don’t want your mom to see.”

Instead of answering, Eric leaned forward and kissed him. It was a different kiss than the ones they’d shared just a few moments ago, fond and almost sweet, over before it began. “Watch it,” he said, as he pulled away. “I’m not getting dragged into this again.”

“Mm,” Ryan agreed, and lay back down. He wasn’t going to think about it. There wasn’t any reason to.

Eric hadn’t been sure what to expect when he’d invited Ryan to come home with him, but it was going better than he’d ever expected.

Ryan and his mother had hit it off immediately, which didn’t surprise him. Ryan was charming, and the kind of blinding, intense earnestness that had made Eric hate him in the beginning translated to most people falling in love with him a little bit, in some form or another. His mother wasn’t immune to Ryan’s charm either, especially when he insisted on helping with the dishes and asked her interested questions about her late husband and her childhood growing up in Côte Saint-Luc. It was a huge relief, really. Eric had hoped that Rosa would like Ryan as much as he did, and it was a weight off of his shoulders that she seemed to.

Rosa hadn’t minded that Ryan was sleeping in Eric’s room, and she greeted them every morning with coffee and a bone-cracking hug for each of them. Eric knew that she was thinking about how he would be gone soon; he tried not to think of it, either. It was a strange little reprieve, like a pocket universe, at his mother’s house with Ryan.

They’d spent their time in Montreal pretty busy. It was strange, walking around with Ryan; he was clearly recognized more often than not, but probably due to the Boston connection, only a few people approached him. No one asked what they were doing there together; no one looked at them askance, although both of them were very conscious of how and where they touched.

Eric had taken Ryan to some of the museums and a few of his favorite restaurants, in Mile End and Rosemont and Little Italy. They had the poutine at Ma Poule Mouillée before Eric dragged him up to the summit of Mont-Royal, to look down over the city and the sparkling lights of the buildings and streets. It was really a beautiful city; Eric thought maybe one of the most beautiful cities in the world. He took a picture of the skyline. He didn’t post often on his Instagram, but it was a nice place to catalog moments that he didn’t want to forget. And Ryan wasn’t in the shot, so none of his old friends would ask any uncomfortable questions before he was ready.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” he asked, when he was done.

“I won’t argue with that,” Ryan said, pulling his coat a little closer around himself.

“You’re cold—we can head down, if you want.”

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