Page 46 of Puck Shots
“Please, with a cherry on top—ohhh that’s good, too,” he says, eyes fluttering closed as I suck and draw one of his balls down a little. He brings a hand down to grip himself, and I reach over and swat him away.
“No touching,” I say, and he bites his lower lip, pleading gaze boring down on me. “I promise, I won’t tease you anymore,” I say, and to prove I’m telling the truth, I take his leaking hard cock deep into my throat again, swallowing his cock head the way he likes and making his fingers white-knuckle the bedhead as a rolling growl escapes his lips.
I love that I’m making those sounds come from him, that I’m making him so hard that his cock is practically throbbing in my mouth as his balls get tighter and tighter.
“Fuuuuck, Eli, oh god. Oh yeah. Fucking mother of a fucking, oh holy hell.” He cries out as I repeat the move over and over. “Oh god, I’m going to come.”
I make a noise that I hope he takes as approval and dig my fingers deep into the cheeks of his ass, so there’s no confusion about how much I want to taste him.
The first hot, salty bursts hit the back of my throat, and I swallow them along with his cockhead, and when he coats my tongue on the way back, it’s perfect. Salivating, I swirl his come around his shaft as he explodes more with each thrust until he’s completely spent.
He slips free and swings his leg over to move to lie beside me.
“You are going to have to teach me how to do that,” he says through heavy breaths, one hand resting against my chest. “I’ve never come so hard. I should kiss you more often.”
“You totally should,” I reply with a grin, and he leans forward and kisses me again, his tongue forcing its way past my lips, mixing the taste of us together and holy fucking hell it’s better than anything I’ve ever had in my mouth. I grip the back of his head, deepening the kiss as he pulls me to him, repositioning himself to lie under me as he shoves my jeans further down. The heat of his naked body pressed fully against me like a wall of fire, sending electrical pulses through every cell.
He breaks our kiss for a moment, gaze moving from my eyes to my glasses that have slipped halfway down my nose.
“Here,” he says, reaching up and taking them off, gently placing them on the bedside.
“Now, where were we?” he asks, and I lean in close, rolling my hips a little as I do, his cock shifting to wedge right beside mine.
“I think here is pretty good,” I reply, and then I move in and kiss him again.
***
The rest of this week flies by in a blur of perfect moments in public mixed with the most mind-blowing hookups in the world in private. Things like meals together, or with the guys in the house, playing chess, and Cosmo helping quiz me on the biomechanical principals for class, become the things we basically used to fill the time needed to catch our breaths. He still has training most days and his own classes, too, but when he’s not there, he’s with me and it feels amazing.
“That was great,” I call out to him as he perfectly lobs the puck over the head of Chang, landing it right on the ice in front of Luka, who sends it into the net. It’s a risky play. There is noofficial rule against doing it, but the player has to be careful not to use their hand or high stick it illegally. I was actually able to mirror a lot of the calculations between this play and the lacrosse overhead pass Sam has me working on. But I won’t tell Cosmo that.
“Still feels a little stilted,” he replies, and I shake my head.
“You’ve got the moves down now. When you’re in the game, they’ll come like second nature to you, just wait and see,” I try to reassure him, but he tightens up a little and shrugs. He’s been doing that more and more lately. Mostly whenever anyone mentions the scouts or his chances of getting drafted. It’s like his body wants to curl in on itself and just disappear. I should know. It’s the same way I used to be wherever I was forced into social settings. I found my way of coping; the little label origami I use to keep my focus and my fingers distracted. Maybe Cosmo needs something like that to help him through.
I catch him rubbing the spot on his wrist where he draws the lightning bolt. Maybe that is his way of coping. If it is, it’s not working so great anymore.
“Luka, lets run it again. It has to be perfect,” he yells, and they both return to starting positions. They both look exhausted, but since the list of players to watch came out with their names on it, it ignited an even greater intensity to their sessions. The coach doesn’t really like them doing extra training on top of his planned sessions, but he gets why they’re doing them and so resigned himself to sending a trainer in after an hour or two to force them to call it quits.
They run it three more times together, only landing it once when Luka calls it a night and heads for the showers. Cosmo isn’t done yet, and as I watch him push himself harder and harder, the gap between the guy on the ice and the one who laughs at my terrible jokes grows wider, but I can’t fix him. He isn’t a problem I need to solve. So I don’t try. I just sit there, cheering whenhe gets it and trying not to mirror his disappointment when he doesn’t.
15
Cosmo
I’ve been pushing myself hard all week to get ready for this next game. More so since the NHL CSS list of Players To Watch, came out. Scouts at the games is one thing but being actually named in a list of players they’re tracking makes me more nervous than I thought it would. There is just so much riding on this. My whole future in fact. Coach thinks the advisors will come sniffing around now, too, but he also made it clear he wants our focus on this season. On making the Frozen Four and possibly winning the whole thing. That’s what I want, too, because as devastating it would be to not get drafted, It would be totally shit to lose the season on top of it.
“Did you see the media box is packed?” Luka asks, pointing up into the stands to where the media and scouts all sit ready for the match to begin. It’s like having a giant beacon bearing down on you with them all in one spot. Like I get it, they have a clear view of the rink from there, but fuck, what a way to put the pressure on. But that’s what hockey is. Pressure. Pressure to get the puckfirst, pressure to get up to the cage, to score, to win. My brain starts spiraling, and I strip off my gloves, shoving them under my arm before tracing along the lightning bolt I redrew on my wrist this morning.
“You look a bit green, you okay?” Luka asks, and I swallow the lump that’s risen in my throat, but my mouth is dry and it doesn’t budge much. I trace over the bolt again. My finger brushing lightly over the black ink as I try to quiet the racing thoughts of impending doom.
“Looks like your boy’s here,” Luka says, and my eyes immediately shoot up and follow his stare to where Eli is sitting. He’s three rows back, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. The second he locks eyes with me and smiles, the noise in my head silences. How does he do that?
“You can’t say he isn’t your boy anymore. Is that your jersey he’s wearing?”
“Yep,” I beam, loving the way it looks on him. He’s practically swimming in it, given its size. Thankfully, he tried it on after it was washed or I doubt it would be smelling all that nice. I sweat like a motherfucker out there on the ice.
The cool air fills my lungs as I skate out to starting positions, and when the whistle blows, my nerves fall to the back of my mind, my focus entirely on the play. We win the opening face-off and Rover has the puck. He passes to Luka, and I shoulder the player guarding me and take off as Luka sends it. I pick up and zoom up the side, but there’s two of them coming at me, so when I spot Tyler on my right I shoot it over. He collects, fakes out one defender, then shoots. The puck bounces off the goalie’s skate and is picked up by the opposing team. Not the greatest start but at least we’re at their end. Luka has them tied up in the corner, sticks and skates clawing for the puck. The number twelve elbows Luka in the face but Luka shakes it off but this guy mustn’t want to play today because he drops his gloves andgrabs Luka by the collar of his jersey before laying in three quick punches. I rush over. The crowd is cheering and hollering like a jungle roar egging him on. The whistles are already blowing before I get there. I pull the number seventeen out of my way and then get between the number twelve and Luka.
