His mouth is greedy and rough and it’s the best fucking blow job of my life. And I watch the whole embarrassingly short moment with wide eyes. Because watching Luke bob up and down on my cock is just as incredible as how it feels. And I come faster than I ever have in my life.
This man is… I mean, maybe it’s the hormones, but he’s everything. The answer to every question I’ve had about myself was just answered. Thanks to him. I lie there on the carpet panting as he kisses his way up my body. He avoids kissing me on the mouth though. He kisses my cheek and my chin and then my ear where he whispers, “We’re making fast work of that to-do list.”
“Yeah.” I smile up at the ceiling.
“You okay?”
I turn my head so we’re eye to eye. “I’ll let you know when or if I’m not. I promise. I may be a rookie but I’m not confused. Not anymore.”
“No?” He seems shocked.
I push up on my elbows and he moves aside so I can sit up. “I’m bi and I’m curious as fuck. And I want more of this.”
“With me?”
I stand and pull him up with me. “Only with you.”
“Cool.” He nods and turns to grab his pants off the floor.
I put mine on too and decide not to take that ridiculously inadequate response personally. Luke has his emotions locked up in a box, the way I normally do. I know now that’s why he’s aloof and standoffish and sometimes downright fucking cold. My trauma is my mom’s death and his is his parents’ rejection. I get it.
I kiss him again. “Merry Christmas.”
“You too,” Luke says, and then he grins and it’s feral and impish and fucking perfect. “Santa was good to me this year.”
I head up the stairs with a smile on my face and the sound of his laugh in my ears.
A week later, on New Year’s Eve, we’re not having the same luck we had before Christmas. It’s an afternoon home game against San Diego and we’re losing by one with twelve minutes to go. I don’t want to lose this game because then we’ll slip to second in our division. That’s not how any of us want to go into the New Year and it shows in how aggressive and desperate our play has become.
There’s a fight in front of the net and San Diego takes a five minute penalty because they instigated and now one of our guys is bleeding. Luke is out there being mega-alpha Captain, in the refs face, in the other captain’s face. He’s just being a general menace and I store the images in my brain to pull out later when I’m alone and can bask in how hot he is right now.
Coach walks down the bench and stops behind me. “Prince, get out there. You’re covering Baxter while he’s getting stitched up.”
I hop over the boards and skate over to the puck drop to take my position as a winger. Luke is squared off at center ice but our eyes meet briefly through our visors. The game continues, amped up from the fight and more aggressive than ever. But somehow, while two defensemen are battling for the puck in a corner, I see an opportunity. The guys tussling in the corner are too focused on the fight and not what they’re fighting over. The puck. I manage to get my stick in there and steal the puck. I break away, skating down the ice at full speed, and I can hear swears and the huffing breath of the San Diego defenseman on my ass but I keep moving, past the blue line. And then a stick starts to tangle with mine for the puck. I skate harder and the crowd roars. But I know the defenseman is going to either fuck up my shot or take me out. He’d rather take another penalty than allow me to score.
And then I hear him. “Rookie!”
My eyes move left and there’s Luke. I pass him the puck at the exact same moment a defenseman comes crashing into me sideways. I don’t see what happens next. My vision is only ice, helmet, a San Diego glove in my face. And then, so much swearing and yelling.
A whistle.
I’m free of the body that was crushing mine and, as another whistle pierces the air, I sit up. Just in time to see Luke getting hauled off toward the penalty box by a lineman. But he’s holding up a hand in victory.
A teammate skates over and yanks me to my feet. “You okay? That asshole left his feet to hit you.”
“Did Luke score?” I look up at the Jumbotron and see we’re tied. He fucking scored!
“He did,” my teammate confirms and then smiles. “And then he decked the dude who hit you.”
“Fuck,” I say, and it comes out in awe. My eyes track to the penalty box, but I skate in the other direction, to the bench.
“Alexander’s first Gordie Howe Hat Trick,” my teammate chuckles.
Right. In the first period Luke had an assist. And now a fight and a goal. It’s called a Gordie Howe Hat Trick and they’re more rare than you would think. It’s not exactly a badge of honor but fans think it’s cool and as players, we’re honored to be associated with a legend like Howe for any reason.
“Luke’s first Gordie Howe Hat Trick.” Coach chuckles as I climb over the boards and onto the bench. He taps my helmet. “Good job, Prince.”
“Happy to be part of a first for him,” I mumble.
