“No,” Daniel whines. “We were having a nice time.” He presses the advantage of his height again, trying to back Austin up against a pillar.
“Listen,” I say, grabbing Daniel’s shirt, but he rounds on me violently and I get zero warning before his fist collides with my face.
Jesus Christ.
I’ve never been punched before. I’m a skier, not a hockey player. The impact is enough that my vision and hearing both blank out for a second as I drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Someone shouts, and when I can see and hear again, Austin is standing over me, and the rest of my team must have received some kind of maple-scented bat signal, because Matthieu, Spinner, Kage, and everyone else are pushing through the crowd. Unfortunately, Daniel must have also sent up some high-pitched frequency that only the French can hear, because he’s got reinforcements coming too.
I’ve never been in a bar fight before. Don’t really feel like changing that tonight. I scramble to my feet. Or I try, but my feet keep skidding out from under me on a floor made slipperyfrom snowy boots and a few spilled drinks. Then strong arms lock around my waist and hoist me upward. I start to fight them off, until I notice the plaid shirt around the arm and my next round of self-defence dies. Because it’s Austin. I stop struggling and instead get myself turned around, keeping low as we duck and weave our way through the angry crowd. Hopefully, with us out of the way, cooler heads will prevail, but I don’t want to wait around and see. I stay close to Austin and eventually he leads me down a narrow hall and out the back door into the chilly evening.
“What the fuck was that?” I say, panting as my breath turns to white vapour clouds.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” Austin shoves me backward, but while there’s a spark in his gaze, his words have an edge of laughter to them that says he’s not angry so much as hyped up.
“What the fuck wasIdoing? What the fuck were you doing? Flirting with Daniel? Seriously? That guy has always been an asshole.” He cut me off at a meet in Val d’Isolde last year. It was so blatant I even filed a protest with the officials. They eventually disqualified him and I moved up to fifth place. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me.
“I wasn’t flirting,” he says, sounding genuinely confused that I would even suggest it.
“He certainly thought so. He was all set to give you a hand job right there in the middle of those two women singing Taylor Swift.”
“And I told him no.” His eyes narrow unexpectedly. “I don’t need you coming to my rescue.”
“Of course you do. Someone has to save you from ze handsy Frenchman.” I do the last part in Daniel’s stuck-up accent again, which makes Austin laugh.
“Don’t be dramatic, Zed.” Austin puts a hand on my face, brushing over the same spot Daniel punched just a few minutesago. It throbs so much my eyes water. “Does that hurt?” he asks, voice getting soft.
“What do you think, dumbass?” I poke at it too, wincing at my own touch, which is much less gentle than Austin’s. I don’t think anything is broken, but it’s swelling. Goddammit. We even have that photoshoot tomorrow. Tara’s going to kill me.
“Let me look at it,” Austin says, backing me up until my heels hit the wall. It’s like Daniel with the pillar, except there’s no aggression. Only concern. Gently, he touches the lump on my cheek again.
“Your fingers are cold,” I whine.
“They are not.” His brow creases. “Shut up. We were inside five seconds ago.”
“Let go,” I try to pull free, but he grabs my chin, holding my face in place so our gazes lock. The air around us is changing, and something under my clothes warms. We’re all alone out here, with only the occasional rush of a car passing on the other side of the building and the muffled sound of music coming from inside the bar.
I lick my lips. A voice in my head says I need to get out of whatever is going on here. Not that I’m in danger, but we’re standing on the edge of something and one good push will have us tumbling over the edge.
I go for humour, hoping to defuse the growing tension.
“If you’re going to be all Papa Bear, the least you could do is kiss it better.”
His fingers tighten on my chin. Alarm bells sound in my head. Austin’s face goes deadly serious, and I hold my breath as he gets even closer than he was a second ago. I jolt when his lips brush over my cheek. Once. Twice. I’m holding my breath and suddenly, even if he released his hold on me, I don’t think I’d squirm away.
“Better?” he asks, voice turning rough.
“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”
He’s so close there’s no room for light between us. Just a waft of his breath before his lips move from my cheek to my mouth. He hovers for a second, and even if we aren’t touching I can feel him. Feel how close he is. I close my eyes and let what’s about to happen finally happen.
He kisses me. For real this time. Lips on mine, warm, soft, then firmer as he moves over my mouth, asking a silent question that we’ve never dared to ask each other before.
We have been best friends since we were nine. I came out before he did. Some of our teammates have joked how there’s no way we’ve never hooked up, but it’s true. Austin is my best friend. My brother on the snow. Why the hell would I risk fucking any of that up for an orgasm when there are plenty of willing bodies on any given race weekend? Austin’s not the only one to hang those goggles on the door for a few moments of privacy.
But now he’s kissing me. He’s taking the risk. Seems like the least I can do is risk with him. It’s not like I’ve never thought about kissing him. Just haven’t acted on it when safer options were available. Now, though, I pull him in, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.
There’s nowhere to move with the wall behind me, but he crowds up against me, pressing his whole body against mine until I don’t feel the cold air anymore. We’re more than kissing now. This isn’t only about making me feel better after getting punched by a dickhead. I keep tugging on his shirt, trying to find any little inch of space that needs filling, until he finally catches my wrist and lifts my arm over my head and shit, that’s hot. He runs his lips over my cheek and down my jaw. His hips press against mine and holy hell. I groan, finally letting go of his shirt so I can wrap my hands around his ass and rub against him. My dick is already getting hard in my jeans, which is wildbecause it’sAustin. I’ve never truly considered this could be a possibility. Never seriously imagined him while I—okay, that’s not true. Because at the end of the day we’re dudes who like other dudes—or in Austin’s case, dudes and also the ladies. And there were definitely nights when we were teenagers who only thought about skiing and sex—even though neither of us had ever actually had sex at that point—where Austin tried to hide his soft whimpers as he jerked off under the covers in the hotel room bed next to mine. And maybe I jerked off too while I listened to him.
My hips roll, thrusting my already aching dick against my fly. Against him, and the hard length that’s formed inside his pants too. He groans, pinning me against the hard concrete.
