He licks at my exposed neck and steadily begins to pick up the pace. I can feel my chest and cheeks flare warm. He lifts away from my neck and gazes down at my body. His smile is pleased as he looks at my flushed skin.
“Perfect,” he says and runs his thumb across the heads of our dicks, collecting the pre-cum that has formed there, giving his hand even more slip as he continues to thrust his length against mine. He looks down at me with warm, lust-filled eyes. “You’re perfect.”
The words have barely escaped his lips before he hunches his back so he can return to kissing me and still have space between us for his hand to work our cocks.
He takes his time. Nothing about the way he frots us together is hurried. The pace he moves is designed to draw this out with no breaks. He moves slow and strong, and it’s absolutely all consuming. He only breaks his kisses to tell me what a good boy I’m being for him. My entire body heats with his praise.
He notices. Grinning like a dog down at me he uses his free hand to palm my cheek again. I lean into it, and he starts to pick up his pace.
It’s all I need. Within a few more thrusts of his hips sliding our cocks together in his hand, I’m coming all over my chest and moaning out his name between staggered breaths.
“Fuck.” The word rolls out of him like a growl as he leans his head to my chest and licks at a portion of my release with his tongue. It’s filthy and I love it. He lets go of myspent dick and quickens the pace of his fist over his own cock as he continues to lick me clean until he asks, “Can I come on you?”
“Please.”
And he does with a series of grunts. When he stills his hand, he bends down and kisses me slowly, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
SECOND PERIOD
ELEVEN
FEBRUARY 16TH—MILAN, ITALY—THE OLYMPICS
Gavin
The Olympic Village is quite a spectacle. There are lights, flags, and people everywhere. The Olympic rings are on display and the torch blazes high above the entire village. Everything looks new. The buildings, the streets, even the lampposts all look like they’ve either been replaced or polished to perfection. The stadium we’ll be playing in is the centerpiece of the village. It’s the jewel of the entire experience. Not that I’m surprised. It’s the Winter Olympics where ice sports reign supreme. It shows. We’re given a hero’s welcome when our bus pulls up to the dorms we’ll be staying in.
There’s a sea of people standing outside the door awaiting our arrival. I can hear them through the bus’s blackout-tinted windows as they surround us, trying to look inside.
“How do we do this?” Connor asks. He’s sitting a respectable distance from me by my side, making sure we don’t look like two men who were attached at the lips and hips twenty-four hours ago.
“Should I go out first and you follow a few people after me?” he asks.
“Not a chance. I’m not letting you out of my sight,” I say, then grin at him. “But I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
His cheeks flush and he flashes me a mischievous smile. Under his breath he says, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
I whisper into his ear, “I’ll make it up to you when we’re alone.”
“Alright,Captains,” Bouchard says as he rises from his seat behind us and places his hands on our shoulders. I haven’t confirmed with him that Connor and I got together yesterday, but he knows. Honestly, I’m glad I don’t have to say anything to him. If I could say nothing to anyone about Connor and me, I would prefer that. It’s not a “hiding in the closet” sort of thing. It’s a “why the fuck does everyone else get to date in peace without it turning into a three ring fucking circus” sort of thing. “Are you two ready to lead us through the fray?”
I look over my shoulder at him. “I’m always ready.”
“Good.” He claps my shoulder. “Because we’re going to need your big ass to clear a path for us. Have you seen how many people are out there?”
“Gentlemen!” Coach Chris yells as he stands and turns around at the front of the bus. He looks sharp in his black suit. The USA Hockey team management opted to carry over the league-mandated dress code for travel during the Olympics as well.
It’s not the only tradition we’re keeping. We’re following the playoff beard rules as well. No shaving until we either win gold in the end or lose during the tournament. It’s not even two full weeks, but it’s long enough for most of us to get scruffy. I can’t wait to feel Connor’s beard between my thighs.I bet it’s soft, not scratchy at all.
“Your rooms are on the eighth floor,” Coach continues. “You’ll see your names on your doors. Keys are inside. And since none of you killed each other at camp, your roommates haven’t changed. Any questions on room assignments?”
“Yeah,” Bouchard says. “Why’d you say, ‘your rooms’? Are you telling me you’re not staying with us?”
“Thank the hockey gods, I am not. I’ll be at the Four Seasons.” He lifts his finger up and his face turns stern. “But don’t you boys start thinking you can misbehave just because I won’t be around to babysit you. Curfew still stands. Ten p.m., every night unless a game runs late. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all answer in unison.
“Good. I’ll make sure you’re all settled in before I leave to get some much-needed rest. I recommend you boys all do the same.” He checks his watch. “Now let’s get moving. Opening ceremonies start at five. You need to be back on this bus by four and I will leave anyone who’s late behind. So don’t get caught up signing autographs out there.” He gestures for us to rise. We do. Then he steps out of the way of the door. “File out, boys! Captains, lead the charge!”
