Page 38 of Two Guys One Puck
I fight it, but this is the best blow job I’ve ever gotten, and there is no stopping him. He looks up at me, and for the first time, I notice his eyes aren’t fully blue like I thought. They are partly blue but with specks of brown, and the whole bottom corner of his left is brown. A slight smile on his lips tightens them around my cock and the eye contact sends me over the edge.
My balls tighten, and warmth twists in my belly. I caress his face and shoot deep in his mouth. I spasm with pleasure, lifting my hips to fuck into his mouth, driving my cum deeper into him. He takes it with a smirk, sucking me fucking dry.
I’m panting, but we don’t have even a second to recover because someone pulls the door open.
THIRTEEN
KTYTOR
Ibarely get my towel back around my hips and get seated before a figure comes into view.
“We were wondering where you two disappeared to. Not gonna lie, a couple of guys were taking bets on you two fighting it out somewhere.” It’s one of the assistant coaches.
I’m shocked by his candor.
I laugh gleefully. “No one would be surprised. But no, we get along great…off the ice.”
Seaborn snorts, and I glance over at him, daring him to fucking say something.
The coach glances between us. “I’m shocked.”
“We leave it all on the ice,” Seaborn adds, getting it together and playing his part.
The coach agrees with us. “That’s a really mature way to do it. You can’t really control who you face day to day.”
“No, and he might piss me off on the ice, but I’ve come to find him amusing company off.”
“It’s one of the best parts about these camps, isn’t it?” Coach nods. “It’s such a good opportunity to network and get to know the guys off the ice. We’re really glad we can be a part of it.”
I give him a put-on smile. “Thank you for giving us the opportunity.”
“Yes, thank you,” Seaborn says hurriedly.
“Are you two almost done? You’re going to miss dinner.”
“Yes. We started talking and lost track of time. Sorry.” I put on a full act.
“No worries. I love the steam room myself,” Coach says before leaving.
We break out laughing when he’s gone, easing some of the tension.
“Fuck you.”
“I think what you mean is thank you.” I shove to my feet, grabbing my dick through my towel. “I’m hungry. Let’s go!”
“You don’t want me to…” He clears his throat.
“Of course I want the favor returned, but I’m not letting you rush this. I want to enjoy every fucking minute of you making me come.” I’m not sure he’s actually going to do it. He seems pretty attached to his straightness or whatever.
I don’t have time to worry about compulsory heterosexuality. Even if it isn’t a crime anymore, nothing like that would be accepted in my family. I’d been called every slur that exists growing up. But I’d come to believe, like a lot of people my age, that it’s all fucking shit. None of that matters when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun and everything you know and love is at risk.
We change in silence, and I wonder if Seaborn is going to go back to being standoffish. He’s got some post-nut clarity. Or fear. Both embarrassing. I’ll never understand people who don’t own their wants. Life is too fucking short to put on a show for yourself.
Christ. I’m exhausted thinking about living that way.
We eat dinner, and he manages to not completely ignore me. I guess he likes this image of us at each other’s throats on theice, and off the ice, we’re chummy? It’s comical, but if it gets me signed next year so I can get the hell out of college hockey, I’ll take it.
But the second we get back to our room and the door closes behind us, I don’t know what to expect. Neither of us says anything. He moves to the back of the room to lean against the edge of the desk with his hands loosely tucked into his pockets. Total dad energy. I laugh.
