Page 52 of Fresh Ice
Envy curled in Alonso’s gut. He’d never have an experience like that—people couldn’t even tell what he smelt like.
Apart from that one night when Alonso’s heat had hit, even Levy wasn’t familiar with his scent.
Alonso couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if he’d met Levy when they were younger. If Levy had somehow found out his secret then. If Alonso could’ve kept him as someone to confide in all those years he’d felt so alone. Soother.
It was a ridiculous dream—Alonso was grateful enough to have Levy as it was.
Levy shrugged. “Turned out the guy was a total dick, but what can you do? What about you? Lots of cottage holidays in your childhood?”
Alonso snorted. “Yeah, no. Literally can’t even imagine my dad relaxing. Can’t complain, though—it led me to the NHL.”
“I mean…I also made it to the NHL, and it didn’t involve my dad telling me I couldn’t take a break,” Levy pointed out.
“He wasn’tthatbad,” Alonso mumbled, immediately defensive.
Levy raised his hands as they continued walking. “Okay, fair enough.”
Alonso could tell Levy was just saying that to appease him, but he didn’t have the will to get into a fight now, especially about his dad.
It just wasn’t worth it.
By the time they returned to the cottage, they were tired and sweaty, although they’d eaten a picnic lunch on the way there.
They showered again, separately this time, collapsing onto the couch afterwards to veg out. It didn’t take them long to start kissing languidly, hands exploring unhurriedly as Alonso lay on top of Levy, squirming and gasping into his mouth.
Alonso wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without feeling this—without indulging in this type of pleasure. Of intimacy. It was as if his skin were magnetised, the opposite pole deep in Levy, drawing him close.
Alonso couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t get enough of his touches and kisses and the little noises he made when Alonso did something right. Couldn’t get enough of how calm and wanted Alonso felt. Of the way his thoughts would stop spinning and finally settle.
Alonso could feel himself falling. Knew that when he hit the ground, it was gonna hurt like a bitch.
He just didn’t want to stop.
That night, they fucked slow and close together, the sheets lapping over them like waves. Alonso closed his eyes and drifted underwater, Levy deep inside him, a puzzle piece fitting perfectly in place.
When they both came, they wrapped around each other as if they’d drift away if they let go.
**********
As much as part of Alonso was eager to return to playing hockey, going back to the real world was a shock to the system. There was a sense of loss as they drove away from the little cottage where Alonso could exist without worrying about being found out.
Everybody was tense during the first post-All-Star game, the string of losses preceding the break still haunting them. The Austin Boars put up a fight, coming from their own string of defeats, but the Hounds came out on top in the end.
It seemed to set the team up for the rest of February and into March. The mood in the locker room lightened as they fought tooth and nail for wins.
Even the coaching staff, usually displaying zero sympathy or flexibility, was less bitter and short with them. Alonso had no idea if it was the norm in the NHL, but he wouldn’t go to the coaches with anything—they’d bench him at the first sign of weakness.
Alonso could only imagine what they’d do if they found out he was an Omega.
The singular dark spot in the team’s winning streak was Levy’s continued point drought. He was still the same upbeat guy in the locker room, but Alonso saw beneath the cheerful face.
Levy started going to the rink ridiculously early, spending an obscene amount of time in the gym. He was quieter than usual at home, although he didn’t become moody or snippy and still sat close to Alonso at night, dragging him into long make-out sessions every few days.
Alonso tried to help. He would stroke Levy’s hair when they were sacked out on the couch, would get up early sometimes to have breakfast together. He even began adding more and more things to their pre-game ritual—stickhandling during warm-ups, tapping their helmets together before stepping onto the ice for the game. The tactic worked in solidifying the routine they had to keep each game day, but it didn’t seem to succeed in calming Levy down.
Pre-game Levy was his most frantic self. He would become jittery and hyperactive, nerves vibrating off him.
It was just an hour before warm-ups for their home game against the Houston Grizzlies, and half the team was playing two-touch like always. The crowd in a ring, the soccer ball bouncing from one person to the next until it reached Levy. Alonso winced as Levy kicked the ball into the rafters for the fifth time.
