"That ring." I clenched my jaw and then forced it to release. "You wore your championship to my apartment and now it's wrapped around your cock."
"Joel—"
"Don't stop. Drag it through the mess you're making. I want to see your Stanley Cup ring dripping with your own pre-cum."
His face twisted, but he did it, his ring hand sliding up and down his cock, the metal dragging through the pre-cum pooling at the head.
"Why do you wear it?"
His hand kept moving, the ring slick now, and when he answered, his voice was barely a whisper. "Because it's the only thing that feels real. Because everything else feels like it's happening to someone else. Because when I look at it I remember that I can do hard things, even when I'm—"
He broke off with a moan, his cock throbbing in his grip.
"Come on it."
"What?"
"You heard me. Come on your ring. I want to watch you ruin it."
His hand moved faster, his breath ragged and desperate. He was fighting it, trying to hold back, and then his whole body arched off the bed and he was coming, cum spurting over his fist and his ring and his stomach. His championship was coated in it, dripping white between the diamonds, and he was shaking.
I was on the bed before I knew I'd moved. I shoved his thighs apart and dragged two fingers through the mess on his stomach and pushed them inside him.
He gasped, his body clenching around me. "Joel—"
"Shut up." But there was no venom in it anymore. I fucked him with my fingers, stretching him open, feeling the heat of him grip and flutter around me. When I found his prostate, he cried out and grabbed for me, his hand landing on my shoulder, the ring wet and cold against my skin.
I turned my head and pressed my mouth to his wrist, tasting the salt of his sweat where it mixed with his cum on the metal. Ilicked a stripe up his ring finger, taking the taste of him into my mouth, and his whole body shuddered.
"I missed you." I added a third finger, twisting, spreading them apart to feel him stretch. He moaned and bore down on my hand. "I missed you so fucking much, Red."
"Me too. Please—"
"Please what?"
"Fuck me. Please, Joel, I need—"
I pulled my fingers out, and he whined at the loss. My jeans were unbearable now, the denim rough against my cock, and I shoved them down just far enough to free myself. I was leaking, the head of my cock flushed and slick, and when I lined up against his hole and pushed in, the sound that came out of me was barely human.
He was so fucking tight. Hot and slick from his own cum on my fingers, his body opening for me inch by inch, and I had to stop halfway just to breathe. My arms were shaking where I braced them on either side of his head.
"Move," he said. "Joel, please, I need you to move."
I bottomed out in one thrust, and we both groaned. He was clenching around me, his body trying to pull me deeper, and I had to hold still for a second just to keep from coming right there.
His grip tightened on my shoulder, the ring pressing harder into my skin, still slick with his cum.
I pulled back slowly, feeling every inch of him drag against me, then slammed back in. His whole body jolted, his head tipping back, a moan punching out of him.
I fucked him hard. My hips drove into his, the headboard hitting the wall, and his nails raked down my back and his legs wrapped around my waist. Every thrust punched another sound out of him.
"I'm sorry." The words came out broken, punctuated by my thrusts. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"Don't." His voice was wrecked. "Don't apologize while you're inside me. Just—" He pulled me down and kissed me.
I slowed down, grinding into him instead of thrusting, and he whined against my mouth.
"Joel, don't stop—"
