Page 38 of Rule 5: Never Crush on the Captain
I’m an athlete, I tell them, regrettably. I last forever, and it doesn’t matter if they make me orgasm or not. They look relieved at that.
I felt relieved when I had Stella. I could be a good dad and focus on good dad things. Hooking up with women doesn’t belong to that category.
But now I feel like I’m on the edge of explosion. My cock juts against Vinnie’s. I think this is called frotting, part of the category of porn that I shy away from.
Because I don’t want to be that guy watching men kiss and suck and fuck in the dark of the night, my sheet over me, my door shut. I don’t want to think that I might be missing something, that I might want something, that I’m not prepared to miss, not prepared to want.
I prefer wandering into the normal porn categories on the rare occasions when boredom and a desire for sleep cause me to venture onto the x-rated side of the internet, and if my eye lingers on men’s cocks for longer than they should or their hard chests or thick thighs... Well, that’s just because I take care of my body too. It’s not strange. I would almost be a bad athlete if I didn’t look, right?
“Evan.” Vinnie moans my name. There’s so much hunger and happiness in it.
I stroke his cheek. “How long did you feel like this?”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bopping, and I wish I hadn’t asked.
Maybe he always felt like this, from when we first met as rookies, back when we were muscles and power and hopes and dreams.
Maybe there was an undercurrent of lust in all our interactions, a thread of energy that makes him aware of where I am on the ice at all times.
I’ve always been aware of him too.
Or maybe this is all about physical release and I’ve made things awkward, jutting into romance, a sign that I’ve only been with women with a fondness for champagne and compliments even outside of Valentine’s Day.
I brush my lips against his, so he doesn’t have to answer and sink into his mouth.
Precum spills from our cocks, coating them in a liquid veneer. I grip them together. They’re almost the same size, but I note every difference. I grasp our cocks in my hand. I can barely hold them, neither of us is small.
“Fuck, Evan.” Vinnie’s eyes dart close. His lashes are short, but I wonder how I’ve never noticed the adorable way they curl. I feather kisses on the side of his eyelids, letting myself inhale his salty scent.
Then he’s sliding his way down, our bodies slippery with sweat. And then my cock is in his mouth. He’s kneeling over me in my bed, sucking.
My heartbeat accelerates, and I grab hold of the sheet, as if there’s a risk that he might send me soaring above us. I already feel like I’m soaring, like I’m pumped with the helium balloons at Stella’s birthday. If he lets go of me, who knows where I might end up.
His tongue rubs me just so, his suction is strong, and then...
“I’m going to...”
His suction strengthens.
I attempt to warn him again. “I’m about to...”
I glance down at him, wondering if he’s not paying attention. He winks.
And that’s it.
I explode.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vinnie
Evan is being very quiet. I slide up, carefully. I’ve gone too far. His eyes are closed, his chest moving quickly.
I need to get out of here.
I step off the bed.
Then his hand closes against my wrist, and he yanks me toward him.
