Adonis managed to make a noise of agreement around the cock.
“I’m going to fuck your throat first,” Bash informed him.
Adonis grunted as Bash began to do precisely that, thrusting into Adonis’s mouth, hitting the bag of his throat, as he gripped Adonis by the hair, holding his head in place. Adonis gagged with each quick, powerful thrust, his eyes watering. His cock was almost painfully hard in his pants.
“Fuck, baby,” Bash said, and then let out a loud grunt as he buried himself deep in Adonis’s mouth. Hot spurts of salty cum filled Adonis’s throat, and he swallowed, using his tongue to coax a long, shuddering orgasm out of Bash.
The pleasure, both of having Bash in his mouth and of knowing that Bash had used him to have this orgasm, was overwhelming for Adonis. He touched his cock through his pants, and that was enough. Even as the last spurts of Bash’s cum filled his mouth, his own orgasm hit him, and he moaned deep in his throat, the ecstasy of a mostly hands-free orgasm.
Bash held Adonis’s head firmly in place and thrust three more times, slowly, into Adonis’s mouth, before releasing him.
Adonis gasped and wiped his mouth. “Holy fuck,” he gasped, out of breath. “I came in my pants.”
“Didyou?”
“Yes,” Adonis panted. He stood up on shaky legs and, using his phone flashlight, showed Bash the mess he had made in his underwear.
“Holy shit,” Bash said, his eyes twinkling in the light of the flashlight. He dipped a finger into the sticky mess of cum, scooping some of it out, and brought it to his mouth. He sucked his finger clean, never breaking eye contact with Adonis.
“Jesus,” Adonis whispered.
“Good boy,” said Bash. He winked at Adonis and then left the storage closet.
Chapter 13
Bash
Something had changed in Cort Styleton after the incident in Minneapolis. He didn’t become a pleasant person overnight (in fact, he had been deeply unpleasant when he had woken up dehydrated and hungover the morning after his adventure), but he was at least tolerable.
He was less reckless in practice and was more willing to listen to Bash when Bash gave him instructions or gentle coaching. He passed the puck to other guys. He didn’t always go for the shot himself.
They didn’t talk at all about the night in Minneapolis. When he had woken up, he didn’t remember much of what had happened the night before. Bash had already been awake and had handed him a glass of water.
“You fucked up last night,” he said instead of good morning. “But I’m not going to tell Coach. Just don’t do it again.”
Cort had drunk the water and seemed grateful.
He stopped making jokes about Bash’s shoulder and his recovery. More than once, he went to Bash seeking advice about a play or a maneuver. Bash realized that the kid was starting to trust him. It wasn’t lost on him that when Cort had needed help in Minneapolis, he had called Bash.
That wasn’t nothing.
So, he tried to give the kid a second chance. No one should be judged on their worst mistakes or on a bad first impression. He tried to assume that Cort could, and would, be better.
“Is it still bothering you?” Cort asked one day after practice, in the locker room, while Bash sat on a bench, massaging his sore shoulder.
“Is what still bothering me?” Bash asked.
Cort sat across from him. He, like Bash, wore just a towel. “Your shoulder,” he said.
“Yes. Not as bad as it was, but it still hurts sometimes.”
Cort nodded. “I can tell.” He leaned in a bit. Too close for Bash’s liking, but he didn’t say anything. The other guys on the team were busy joking, talking, and changing. “You know,” Cort said, “if you need some help with it, I know some people who can help make it feel better.” He looked almost bashful. “I feel like I owe you after what you did for me in Minneapolis.”
His voice was low, but Bash was still surprised that Cort even dared bring up the Minneapolis incident. He didn’t like the sound of whatever Cort was saying.
“What do you mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Again, he wanted to assume the best. But with Cort, it could be hard.
Either Cort got cold feet, or whatever he was thinkingwasn’tactually nefarious. He laughed. “I just know a good yoga studio, man,” he said. “Nothing weird, if that’s what you were thinking.” He raised his voice a bit, no longer making the conversation private. “If you need anyone who runs a good hot yoga studio, let me know.”
