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He just looks at me.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi."

"You got a shutout."

"You got two goals."

"I'm aware. Gunnar's been reenacting it."

The corner of his mouth goes up. Just a little. He holds out his hand.

I go to him.

He doesn't give me an order. He doesn't say strip or kneel or hands. He kisses me. Slow. Like we've got all the time in the world. His hand comes up to the side of my face and stays there, his thumb on my cheekbone, and he kisses me until I forget there's a party downstairs.

"Rules," he murmurs against my mouth.

"Still the rules."

"Word?"

"Whistle."

"Good." He kisses my jaw. "I want you on top."

I pull back. I look at him.

"You want me to⁠—"

"I want you to ride me." He's not looking away. His face is color all the way up to his ears. "Slow. I want to watch you."

We undress each other. That's never happened before. I pull his shirt off and he pulls off mine, and I kneel to take off his sweats, and he steps out of them and then pulls me up again, and we stand there naked in the lamplight, and I put my hands flat on his chest and feel his heart going.

He lies down on his back on the bed. I climb on top of him.

He gets me ready himself, his fingers slick and careful, with me straddling his hips and my hands braced on his chest. He takes his time. He watches my face. When I'm shaking and wet and open, he holds up the condom, and I take it from him and roll it onto him, slow, and he groans and lets his head fall back on the pillow.

I take him in.

I do it the way he said. Slow. An inch at a time, sinking down on him with my hands on his chest and my eyes on his face. He doesn't push. His hands are on my hips, and he's not holding me down, he's just holding on. His mouth is open. He's breathing like he's never breathed before.

When I'm all the way down, I stop. I sit there with him all the way inside me. He fills me up so much I can feel him everywhere.

"Theo." It comes out broken.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I know."

I start to move.

It's nothing like the hotel. It's nothing like the cage, or the bed the morning after center ice. It's slow and quiet and it goes on forever. I rise up off him and sink back down, and every time I sink down, he makes a low sound in his chest that I feel in my thighs. His hands move over me like he's trying to memorize me. My hips. My stomach. My chest. My face. He pulls me down and kisses me and doesn't stop moving his hips up into me, slow, and I hold onto his shoulders and kiss him back and we just move together like that, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"Look at me," he says.

I look at him.

He's looking at me like he did on the ice. When he held his stick up. Like I'm something he can't believe he's allowed to have.