Fuck, what if he slipped or something? The need to ensure he’s alright rides me hard, so I stand and walk toward the doorway. What I see stops me in my tracks.
Steam fills the empty shower room, floating ethereally, making it feel more like a dream than reality. Especially because in the middle of the cloud stands Vann. Naked—obviously—but the way he’s standing, the way his arm is moving…
He’s pleasuring himself.
And I think I like it.
My breathing picks up as I take in his form. He’s under a showerhead about halfway down, facing the wall and bracing himself with one hand flat on the tile. His head is down, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. The hot water sluices down his muscular body, rivulets dancing like rapids as they hit each bump and groove of his abs.
I shouldn’t be watching him, especially without his permission, but I can’t look away. The muscles in his bicep are tense, showing the effort he’s putting into jerking his hand up and down his cock. And what a magnificent cock it is.
I’ve seen him naked before, athletes aren’t exactly shy about their bodies. Add in that we’re pack, and you can bet we’ve seen all of each other. But looking at my packmates doesn’t usually cause my mouth to water, or send flashes of fantasies through my mind.
Now though, I’m entranced. This is the firsttime I’ve seen Vann hard, and he’s… magnificent. The tip is an angry red, the flesh glistening with droplets of water and pre-cum combined. He’s so thick his fingers barely touch and longer than I would have guessed. I can almost feel how deep it would hit inside me. Fuck. Fuck!
My back hits the wall, and my pants are undone before I even realize what I’m doing. From this angle I have a direct line of sight to Vann, but he isn’t paying attention to me. My cock is hard, the throbbing pressure trapped until I free it from the confines of my zipper. Pre-cum beads at my tip, and I spread it down my shaft, my eager strokes matching the cadence of Vann’s.
I try to memorize how he likes it. He’s not gentle. I’ve never understood the saying‘beat your dick’until now. Because that’s what Vann is doing, roughly taking his frustration and tension out on his own body.
He grunts, then moans when he brings his hand down to grip his knot, squeezinghard. I have to bite my forearm to keep myself from making any noise, revealing my new voyeuristic trait to my packmate.
The alpha’s hand moves faster, his lower abs tightening, and I know he’s close. A few more strokes, and he’s coming. Raven’s name on his lips sounds almost pained. White ropes of cum land on the wall, his hand leaving his shaft to rhythmically squeeze his swollen knot. Milking everything he can from his cock.
I’m not far behind, but when my climax hits I imagine it's my name he’s crying out. Hot cum splashes onto my stomach, but as soon as my dick stops twitching, the guilt and confusion pummels me.
Holy fuck. Oh, shit. What did I just do?
Vann turns around with his eyes closed and his backagainst the tiles, head tilted back. Facing this way, he reveals the other side of his still hard cock, and for the first time, I catch his full tattoo. I knew he had one on his cock, and I’ve been curious about it before, but never wanted to ask. And having never seen him erect, I couldn’t tell for myself what it was until this moment.
It’s a raven in flight. Its wings are tucked into its body like it’s diving forward, beak pointing toward his rounded tip. A raven. Of course it’s a raven.
Vann isn’t mine. He’s hers. He can’t ever know I watched him and got off on it. I hastily shove my cock back into my pants, drag my shirt down to cover my spend, then quickly and quietly dash from the room. Like a coward.
I’ll own up to my cowardice. I’ve felt this level of attraction only a handful of times in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do if Vann found out only to reject me. No, I’d rather live in my fantasies than lose him or the pack.
But a small part of me still whispers,what if?
21
RAVEN
In the few seconds between finding my mark on the ice and the music beginning, everything quiets. It’s like that moment right after you inhale, when your lungs are full but you haven’t yet released that energy. It’s all potential. There’s a serenity to it, but it isn’t calm. My insides vibrate with adrenaline and nerves, deeply aware of every eye on me.
I nod, and then the song starts.
Everything falls away, and it’s just me, my body, the music. The familiar feel of my blades cutting into the ice.
I twist and turn, picking up speed as I glide across the rink from one side to the other, taking up space that I don’t in any other area of my life. Out here, I’m free. My crossovers and spirals are clean and sharp as I work up to the more complicated moves. I land my salchow perfectly and move quickly into a camel spin.
Every now and then, something magical happens out on the ice, and you just know you’re nailing it. This is oneof those times. Each move is sure and steady. My heart beats fast but certain.
This is my show. I’m in control, and I’m going to win.
I dance from one complex move to another, and I know I’m racking up technical points left and right. The music shifts, and this is my moment. If I’m going to do the triple axel, it has to be now. I’ve only landed it perfectly in practice twice, but Coach’s admonishments ring in my ears. I want to stick to a double, something tried and true that I know I can ace. But I don’t want to face her disappointment like last time.
I take the risk. My body spins. Once. Twice. Three times.
My landing falters. My foot goes out from under me, shoulder crashing down to the ice. The crowd gasps, loud even over the music, which keeps playing, each beat a move I’m missing.
