Fletcher let out a breath through his nose as he forced a slight smile. A golden boy smile, as Taylor liked to call it. Well, if they wanted golden boy then Fletcher would give it to them. He didn’t have any other option.
“Three, two, one,” the photographer called out before blinding them with the flash of the camera.
They took a few minutes to show the photo to everyone before the director nodded in approval. “We’ve got it, boys. Great work.”
Fletcher carefully placed the helmet on the ground before dropping Taylor’s hand. “Fletcher, hey,” Taylor called out softly with heartbreak in his voice. Fletcher didn’t look back.
He stood up, walked off the set, and didn’t stop walking until he reached the bathroom. Fletcher placed his palms on the cold marble of the sink to ground himself. He told himself to breathe. That they were almost finished with the press tour. They would be flying out of New York City early the next morning and heading back home. To Jacksonville, Florida. To hell.
Fletcher was drowning. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning and he wanted to die.
He was right back to where he started. He was back on the team he hated. He was back under the controlof his family. And his boyfriend—the man who was supposed to love him more than anything in this world, had trapped him here.
What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t leave. His father made sure of that in his new contract. He and Taylor were stuck there for three years with no-trade clauses. And then after that? Three more years of uncertainty until they would be free agents. He was actually fucking stuck here.
Fletcher shrugged out of the suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to splash water on his face. He tried to breathe. He needed to calm down. This was their last photo shoot. They had already finished their last interview. Fake smiles, fake loving hand holding, fake laughter.
He knew it all too well. Fletcher had spent his whole life feeling consumed by the thought of never being loved. But now that he had found someone who loved him, he felt smothered. He was powerless and had no control.
* * *
Fletcher didn’t speak to anyone on the ride back to their hotel. He and Taylor sat shoulder to shoulder in the middle row as his mom and their new agents chatted in the row behind them.
Taylor reached over and put a hand on Fletcher’s thigh. Possessively. Reminding Fletcher that he was completely his. Fletcher affirmed it silently as he turned to look at him. His hand slid up Taylor’s jaw as he leaned in to kiss him chastely on the lips.I’m nothing without you. Love me, take me, control me. I’m yours, Taylor. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Even if I hate it. You’re the only thing I have that’s still mine.Taylor kissed him again on the forehead as they pulled apart.
Fletcher tried to ignore the “how cute” comments their agents made in the row behind them. Probably wishing they got it on camera to promote their#betterhockeycampaign.
The driver pulled off and let them out at the curb in front of the hotel. Dozens of fans and paparazzi waited outside the entrance of the hotel, calling out to them. Waving pride flags. Asking for photos. The sentiment was sweet, but they could get just as obsessive as the haters did. If not, even more.
They didn’t expect the whole world to act like this. They never asked to be sensationalized like this, especially overnight. Not to this extreme. They all acted like he and Taylor owed them something. But they had nothing to give. Not really. The only thing they had to offer was the love they shared for each other and the love they had for hockey. Even if Fletcher was slowly losing it.
Taylor protectively placed his hand on the small of Fletcher’s back as he guided him inside. Fletcher put on a fake smile and waved. Taylor gave them a polite nod.
They had a room on the floor above his mom and their agents, so they waved goodbye until the elevator brought them up one more floor.
Taylor unlocked the door with his key card and slipped out of his shoes. Fletcher went through the same motions he always did. Shoes off. Jacket off. Walk into the bathroom. Shower on.
Fletcher undressed completely before stepping into the hot shower. Steam filled the bathroom with the closed door holding it in. He stepped under the water and let out a deep breath as he let it fall over his head. The water was so hot that it burned his skin, but he welcomed it.
The bathroom door opened a few seconds later as Taylor walked in and shed all his clothes. He reached behind his head toremove the black hair elastic from his hair that held it together into a sleek, singular braid. His hair had gotten so long. Fletcher loved it.
Taylor pulled open the glass shower door and stepped in behind Fletcher, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and nipping at the skin.
He placed his hands on Fletcher’s hips and pushed Fletcher roughly up against the wall of the shower. Fletcher pushed himself up against Taylor’s hard erection, planting his hands against the wall, palms pressed into the cool tile. Taylor slicked Fletcher’s hole open with lube or soap or whatever the hell it was before sliding into him. His sculpted body pressed up against Fletcher’s, pinning him against the wall as Taylor gave him hard, tantalizing thrusts. “Fuck,” Fletcher cried out.
He hated him.
“Harder,” Fletcher bit out through clenched teeth. He wanted to feel every inch of Taylor as he moved inside of him. Taylor let out a deep sigh and dug his nails into Fletcher’s skin. Taylor reached up to cover Fletcher’s hand with his own, intertwining their fingers. He nuzzled his head in the nape of Fletcher’s neck, hot breath tickling Fletcher’s skin, and took him savagely from behind.
Audible whimpers escaped Fletcher’s lips as Taylor moved in and out of him. Taylor’s other hand slid up to roughly grip Fletcher’s jaw. He leaned in nipped on the skin of Fletcher’s ear. Fletcher cried out in pleasure as his body slammed against the wall with each thrust. Each thrust hit his prostate like a stroke of lightning.
He hated him.
“Please, daddy,” Fletcher cried out, begging for something. He wasn’t quite sure what hewas begging for exactly. He said it like it was Taylor’s punishment, remembering the way Taylor refused to fuck him if he kept calling him that.
But of course, he still did. He couldn’t resist Fletcher. He was just as powerless as Fletcher was. Just in completely different ways.
The worst part about all of it was that Fletcher loved it. It made him feel sick to his stomach. He was messed up in the head for wanting this. For giving himself completely to Taylor in the way that drove himself to insanity. His body craved it—his body craved Taylor.
