Power Play

[BluesDog]

Chapter Seven


ZACH



We frolic and gambol across Trevor’s bed for another couple of hours, unable to satisfy our desire or our hunger. Finally, I pull my mouth free from another toe-curling kiss long enough to glance at the clock.

“Ugh,” I complain. “We better get moving if we’re going to make it to Fowler’s class.”

Trevor scowls. “What’s up with this obsession on making it to that class? I can think of much more satisfying ways to pass the time.” He wraps his hand around my cock while running his tongue around his lips.

“Don’t tempt me any more!” I beg, pushing his hand away while thrusting my hips into his massage in a clear case of mixed signals. “If we both miss class at the same time, he’ll be suspicious.”

He scoffs, “So the old lech is suspicious. We’re adults. What’s the big deal?” He rolls me over on my back to pin me to the bed while he kisses my throat. He continues to rub me, and I quickly grow hard again.

“The big deal,” I gasp, “is that he is a very sub…oh, fuck, right there… subjective grader. No pattern to how he judges… oh, yeah, that’s it… judges our work.” Trevor has started licking and nibbling one of my nipples. “And there’s no sense in… oh, jeeze, don’t stop… in giving him a reason to… a little to the left… lower our grades.”

He sits up with a huffed breath. “You’re kinda ruining the mood here, Zach. Why are you worried? You have a solid ‘A’ in the class.”

“Because Fowler luuurves me,” I say in a singsongy voice. I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. “You, not so much.”

He thinks for a second. “Now that you mention it, he does seem to glare at me whenever he can. It’s like he thinks I’m tracking dog poop into his classroom. What’s up with that?”

“No idea, but corrupting me isn’t helping your case.”

Trevor smirks. “You were hardly innocent before I ever got you in my clutches. I suspect the last few hours have only touched on the depth of your depravity.”

“You suspect?” I ask sarcastically.

He screws up his face. “Is ‘hope’ the more accurate word?”

I give him a light kiss that somehow extends and deepens into something more erotic than I intended. “Good luck proving that in court.” I slap his ass. “Let’s move. Can I take a shower?”

His face lights up. “Now there’s an idea. I’ll join you.” His hands are roaming over my back, and one long finger has started to probe downward into the furrow of my ass.

After pushing him back on the bed, I laugh, “Us both in the shower only ends one way… with my legs around your waist as I’m fucked against the tiles.”

He gives me a baffled look as his hands run up the inside of my thighs. “Well, duh! What’s wrong with that.”

“And we stumble into class thirty minutes late. Kinda defeats the whole purpose of going.”

Trevor throws his hands in the air. “Finally we agree! Get the water running, and I’ll be there in a second to nail you to the wall.” He tries to pull me into an embrace on the bed. “We blow off class while we blow each other.”

I pull free from him, rolling off the bed and onto my feet. “My brothers told me about guys like you.” I twist away from his reaching hands. “One-track minds and roving hands.”

“So they warned you away from me?”

I think for a moment. “Now that I look back, the general idea was to find one of you sex fiends and hold on for dear life.”

He groans loudly as I gather up my scattered clothes. “You can’t leave me in bed alone,” he pouts. “Bring that beautiful ass back over here.” I pause in the door to his bathroom to stretch and flex for a second. “You’re killing me!” he yells as I grin at him over my shoulder. I shut the door and loudly snap the lock in place. I hear his muffled shout as he rattles the door knob, “You locked me out? You bastard!”

After I shower quickly and wash my hair, I see that Trevor has stripped the soiled sheets off of the bed. He carries his clothes into the bath to take a shower, stopping as he passes to give me a quick kiss while muttering, “Killjoy.”

We are pretty quiet on the way back to campus in Trevor's SUV until he growls at me, "I am so fucking hard just sitting next to you."

I look at him over my sunglasses. "Really? Prove it!"

"What?" he yelps.

"Unzip your jeans and show me how hard you are. I think it's all talk."

"Here? What if someone sees?"

I snort, "Just as I thought."

With a snarled curse, Trevor yanks his zipper down and digs his cock out of his fly. "Need more proof?"

"Maybe a taste?"

He first eyes the console between us and then the space between him and the steering wheel. "Maybe if I..."

"No, I'm not sucking you off in the car," I say. "Rub your thumb over it." He cuts his eyes at me. I nod in encouragement. "Go on." We are stopped at a light. His body tenses and bucks as Trevor fingers his dick, clearing the precum from the slit. We accelerate through the intersection, and he holds his hand out to me, groaning as I take his thumb in my mouth, licking the salty, musky taste clean. He tries to watch me and the road at the same time, snapping his head back and forth.

I settle back in my seat, commenting, "I was wrong. You are pretty aroused."

Trevor stuffs himself back into his jeans, whispering, "Goddamn, Zach, you're gonna be the death of me."

We get to class with only a minute or two to spare, and go to our usual place in the last row. Trevor sits down first, watching as I lower myself gingerly into the seat. He chuckles and whispers , “So you’re feeling it?”

“Oh, yeah,” I grunt.

He stretches his long legs in front and laces his hands behind his head. “Another job well done for another satisfied customer.”

“I said I was feeling it,” I retort. “I am in no way satisfied.”

“Oooh! A challenge?”

Before I could answer, Professor Fowler calls out, “Gentleman? May I start?”

“Sorry,” I say with a smile as I open my laptop to take notes.

All through the lecture, I look over at Trevor to find him watching me, or sometimes I watch him as he concentrates on his computer screen or on the teacher. We exchange smiles sometimes, and other times we share heavy-eyed glances of desire.

When class is over, everyone else stampedes for the exit, Professor Fowler leading the charge to freedom. Trevor and I are left alone in the silent empty room, shyly smiling at each other.

“What do you have going on now?” I ask.

Trevor tucks his hair behind his ear, saying, “Probably head over to the grill at the Student Union for a snack.” He grins wider. “As you may know, I was distracted and missed lunch. In about forty-five minutes I have practice.” He stops me from jamming the rest of my stuff in my backpack to grab my hand. “You?”

I can’t keep my tongue from sweeping across my lips. “A couple of hours free then I head to work.”

He leans forward to whisper in my ear, “I would suggest we look for an empty broom closet, but that would just make me want more.”

Laughing softly, I say, “I’m already sore. You have to give me a little down time.”

He kisses me gently on the throat and moves over to mouth me in his favorite spot where my shoulder and neck meet. Suddenly he pulls away and frowns at me. “You don’t smell right.”

I blink my eyes in confusion. “What?”


“How can I pop wood on your smell when you don’t smell like you?” He sniffs me suspiciously a couple of times.

“Could it be that you’re smelling your soap and your shampoo on me?”

Trevor narrows his eyes at me. “That’s it! You’re right. No, that won’t do.” He pulls out his phone and starts a note to himself. “Tell me what you normally use, and I’ll make sure I have it for next time.” I give him a couple of product names. “At least I don’t have to special order these from Tuscany or something like that.” He gives me a satisfied smirk. “Next time I’ll be able to get all pervy on you.”

“I can’t wait for the next time,” I growl huskily.

His face softens. “Me neither,” he whispers. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Some friends are coming over to watch the Flyers-Bruins game. Are you interested?”

“Is that… hockey?” I ask.

He laughs, “Yes, you infidel dog. Philadelphia against Boston. Big deal among the True Believers.”

“I'd like to do that,” I tell him.

He grins. “Yeah?” His voice lowers again. “I had a really good time with you today. Probably the best time I’ve ever had in bed.”

“Me too.” I agree. “Certainly in the top five.”

He looks startled. “Top five?”

I smile. “Sure. I know how competitive you are. You’ll bust your balls trying harder until I tell you you’re the best.”

He groans, “You’ve already discovered my weakness.”

I rub my thumb gently along his jaw. “I promise to use my power only for good.” I pick up my backpack. “We better get out of here before we sit back here making out through the next class.”

“Ugh! Responsibility sucks!” We walk out. “I’ll call you tonight?”

“OK. Don’t watch my ass as I walk away.”

He chuffs a laugh. “I’d say I won’t but I’d be lying.”



After work, I am home at a little after one o’clock in the morning. After putting on clean boxers and a t-shirt, I am brushing my teeth when the phone chirps that I have a new text. The corners of my mouth turn up when I see Trevor’s face on the screen. The message is short.

----awake?

----barely

----wont keep you then

----thats okay

---- thinking about you

----me 2.

----still sore?

----stop gloating!!!

----cant help it baby thats me

----LOL thats what bugs me

----CU 2morrow

----cant wait

----good night

----ditto


The next night, I ride my motor cycle over to Trevor's for the game-watching party. When he opened the door for me, I was glad that Rory and Rob had talked me into wearing something other than a tee or a sweatshirt. He was wearing the usual jeans and sneaks, but the tight black sweater over a lime-green polo shirt looked casually stylish.

“Here, I’ll hang up your jacket,” Trevor tells me as he opens the hall closet. The opened door makes a barrier between us and the rest of the room, and he pulls me tight to his body, kissing me hotly. “I’m not really hiding this from anyone he whispers in my ear. I just don’t want to listen to all the shit they would chirp at me if they see us.”

“Got it,” I say as I nuzzle his neck.

He kisses me again, and murmurs, “That’ll have to keep us until later.” He smirks at me. “Ready to face the lions?”


Trevor introduces me to everyone, some I already knew: his team mates, Phillip, Alex, Garrett, Ryder, Riggsby, Kirksy and Knuckles, the last three just nicknames, I think. Then the women, Jessica, Brittany, Ashley, Megan and Amber, at least two of whom were there with Trevor’s best friend, Garrett.


We go into the kitchen where there are several foam coolers packed with ice and beer. Trevor asks me, “What would you like to drink? There’s beer, probably some wine around if you want that. On the counter is some foamy pink frou-frou drink that the women are pounding.”

I make a face. “Nothing pink. I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”

“A Sam Adams lager for the gentleman,” he says in an especially thick parody of his Boston accent. "It's a wicked pissah to get ya hammad." He yanks off the top before handing me the bottle. We are chatting a bit about Fowler's class today, when one of Trevor's teammates comes into the kitchen, Knuckles, I think, or maybe Riggsby. Geez, it's like I stumbled into Capone's Chicago hideout. He and Trevor start talking about their last game while I sip my beer. Before I know it, Trevor's hand is on my back, lightly caressing me. As they talk, his hand slides lower and lower, first the small of my back, then hooked by my waist on my belt, and soon his hand has slipped into the back pocket of my jeans and is slowly kneading my ass.

"Holy. Fuck," booms a deep voice from behind us. "What is going on here?"

I turn around to see another hockey player, a huge mountain of a man with spiky black hair, Philip, I think, who is looking from Trevor to me to Trevor's hand cupping my ass in my jeans pocket, his cobalt-blue eyes flicking from one to another and his mouth gaping open.

"Ostropov, get your ass in here," he bellows over his shoulder. "You won't believe this."

Garrett storms into the kitchen. Philip gestures to Trevor's hand on me, and Garrett's face darkens as he yells, "Motherfucker!"

Philip grins, "You owe me 20 bucks and a six pack, asshole!" he says to Garrett as he slaps him on the back. "I told him that you had gotten laid, Wellman. You've been walking around with a shit-eating smile for a couple of days. I knew something was up."

Garrett glares at me, his cunning eyes narrow, saying, "I'm disappointed. I thought you would hold out a bit longer, man." Everyone laughs as he stomps out of the room.

Someone calls from the other room, “They’re about to face off,” so we settle down to watch the game. As I sit on the couch next to him, Trevor watches me with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. I try to scowl at him, but I can't keep from laughing. "Yes, damn you," I hiss. "Still! And you don't need to look so cocky." He leans over to kiss my neck.

It’s great watching a hockey game with Trevor because he is patient enough to explain a lot of what’s happening on the screen, but he is also enough of a fan of the game that he has a ton of entertaining stories about the players and the coaches.

My concentration is hurt by the arm that he has lightly draped across my shoulders, sometimes reaching up to finger my hair, sometimes softly thumbing my back. One of my hands rests on his leg, and occasionally I “innocently” shift in an attempt to caress the sensitive skin of his thigh along the inseam of his jeans beneath my fingers. I don’t give him a glance when I try that, but his breathing comes a little harder and a little faster.

At the end of the first period, Trevor goes upstairs to take a leak. I'm standing up behind the couch, halfway watching the interviews, when Garrett comes up behind me, touching me lightly on the shoulder. "Can you step outside with me for a second, man?" he asks.

"Do I need my coat?" I asked.

"Nah, we won't be but a second," he tells me.

We step into the tiny backyard, where the snow from a couple of days ago is practically undisturbed. The air is frigid, so I jam my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. "What's up?" I ask.

Garrett doesn't seem to be affected by the cold as he looks at me intently. "Everyone tells me I was kinda rude to you at the pizza place last week." He's almost glaring at me. "I already had a few beers, so I don't remember much about it. But I wanted to tell you I'm sorry if you were offended."

That kind of non-apology, not "I'm sorry I acted like an asshole," but "I'm sorry you took it the wrong way," is all I think I'm going to get out of him, so I say "It's no problem."

"Great!" he says. "So what's going on with you and Trevor?"

Cautiously, I ask, "What you mean?"

He makes an irritated face before clarifying, "Are you in a relationship now, like boyfriends or something, or what exactly?"

I want to tell him it's not his fucking business and go back inside the warm condo, but I don't want to piss off any of Trevor's friends, so I think for a second and tell him diplomatically, "We haven't really figured all that out ourselves yet."

"I just think you should know," Garrett tells me, "that Trevor and I have been friends for a long time. We are as close as brothers, and I've got his back."

"That's good," I say.

"He's got a big heart and always sees the good in everybody even when they're fucking him over. He's really vulnerable these days because he's looking for somebody to fill a void, so if some guy comes along just looking for a warm hole to plug his cock in for a while and then dumps him… That'll fuck him up pretty bad."

I'm getting pissed off, but I fight to keep my Italian temper under control. "I care for Trevor, so that's not how I look at him. I care a lot as a matter of fact."

"Maybe, maybe not. I have to also consider that he comes from money, and in a few months, after the NHL draft, he'll be offered beaucoup bucks to sign a contract with some team. I have to be on the lookout for somebody itching for a big payday like that from him. He trusts everyone, so I have to be cynical for both of us."

My fists are balled up inside my pockets, and I want nothing more than to show this jerk how much I learned from my brothers about South Philly street brawling. He might have about 20 pounds on me, and I am really angry, and I can guaran-damn-tee you that he would remember tangling with me for the next couple of weeks.

Instead I grit my teeth staring off into the distance and count to twenty. With a clenched jaw I say, "As apologies go, you're working on a beauty there, something world-class. It takes talent say you're sorry and insinuate that I am both a slut and a gold digger at the same time." I slowly clap my hands a few times. "Congratulations. Well done!"

Garrett holds his hands up as if to appease me, but his eyes are cold and hard. "I'm just saying that I'm looking out for Trevor."


TREVOR


I come downstairs to find that Zach is no longer sitting on the couch, but I figure I missed him in passing as he went to piss, too, so I go into the kitchen to snag another couple of beers for us. I am excited by how well he is getting along all of my friends, and he doesn't seem to be too fazed by a little PDA in front of them. Some guys might be freaked out to show affection in front of a rowdy bunch of hockey players, but Zach is totally cool with it. That's important to me, especially since in his tight black jeans and plum-colored dress shirt he is too hot to keep my hands off.


While tossing the bottle caps into the trash under the sink, I looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. "Fuck!" I snap when I see Garrett and Zach in the back having a very tense conversation. The body language is not good. Zach's shoulders are hunched, and his hands are thrust in his pockets. The cold breeze is ruffling his hair. Garrett has his arms crossed over his chest, and his jaw is thrust forward aggressively in a way that I have seen in hundreds of fights he has been in on and off the ice.

I slam the beer bottles down on the counter and rush outside. As soon as him through the door, I say as cheerfully as I can, "What's going on, guys?"

The tension is thick, and the silence drags on for way too long before Zach says, "Garrett was just explaining some of the more obscure rules of hockey to me."

I come up behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest, saying, "Okay? You should've brought your coat out." I give Garrett a hard stare, but the son of a bitch can't even meet my eye. "Did you get it all figured out?" I asked Zach. There is so much tension in his body, it's like I have my arms around the tree.

After another uncomfortable silence, he stiffly says, "Sure." I'm not sure what's going on between them or why Zach won't tell me anything, but I let it slide for now.

Garrett says, "Trev can explain all that shit to you better than I can, so I'll leave you in his capable hands." He goes back inside without saying anything else.

I hold Zach closer to whisper in his ear, "If you are tired of watching the game, we can go upstairs to study if you have any homework to do." I feel a little the tension drain out of him.

He turns his head a bit to look me in the eye. "Study, huh?" He leans back a little more tightly against me. "I'll have to check my notes, but I don't remember that I have a paper due on the mating habits of the North American hockey player."

"Damn!" I whisper to him. "I could totally get into helping with your research on that. How about general anatomy? Anything we can do with that?"

"Nope. I guess you are stuck watching the game."

"We don't have to. I can catch the highlights later."

"No way! I'm having a wicked pissah of a time."

I groan, "You need to work on the accent." I hold him tighter. "Do you have to go home right afterwards or can you stay a while?" I wrap one of his curls around a finger, pulling it out tight and letting it spring back a few times.

A knot in my stomach grows during another long silence that follows before he says, "I hope you don't think too badly of me, but I brought spare boxers and a toothbrush."

My mouth stretches into a painful grin, and a warm feeling flows through me. "Why would I think badly of you because of that?"

Zach's voice is just a husky rumble as he replies, "Because I didn't bring any jammies at all."

"Fuck. Me. Raw," I moan. "I am so hard right now, like Olympic-class hard, just for you."

"Good!" he smiles. "At least I won't be the only one to go back in with a boner to flaunt in your friends’ faces."


“Hmmm… maybe we better stay out here for another minute or two?” I ask.

He snickers, “I doubt if the situation will improve anytime soon.”

I bury my face in his neck. “I have plans for you later.”

“Sounds promising.”

I push one hand inside the waistband of his jeans, trailing down his warm, velvety skin. He hisses with pleasure as I ghost my fingertips along the hot length of his cock and through the patch of his trimmed pubes.

“You know what a hat trick is?” I ask.

“A player scores three goals in a hockey game,” he states promptly.

“Exactly. I’m giving you a sexual hat trick.”

Zack asks, “What is that, he asked with heaving chest?”

I chuckle. “You come in my hand... you come in my mouth...you come with my dick buried balls-deep in your ass.”

“Throw in humping your leg while kissing and that’s a plan I can live with.”

“Nope! Hat trick has three elements.”

“I want four… call it hitting for the cycle with a single, a double, a triple and a home run.”

I bump my crotch hard against him. “You are not bringing baseball analogies into my bed! You wanted that kind of action, you should have gone to a baseball college like Miami or Arizona State or LSU.”

He turns his head to grin at me. “So you’re saying that if I had worked my college application better, I would be on a campus with palm trees where I have more variety of sexual experience and wouldn’t have to chip the ice off my ‘nads every couple of days?”

I kiss his ear. “When you put it that way, it sounds like I have my work cut out for me.”

“Bet your ass you do!”

Zach started to shiver a little in my arms. “Come on,” I tell him. “It’s too cold to be out here without a coat. Let’s go inside and parade our hard dicks around so they wonder what we’ve been up to out here.”

 

[Craiger]

Oh! I like! The pics give a real tweak for the imagination. Leave it to Garrett to sour an evening. But our guys have a strong sense to get beyond it, at least for this time... Great chapter, BD. Thanks.

Craiger

 

[Autolycus]

A great new chapter - one that leaves us eager for more!

 

[Junior42]

Such an amazing story. I love it!

 

[uncut702]

Another riveting and HOT chapter! I hope Garrett doesn't screw things up for our boys, Thanks for writing and can't wait for more!!

 

[Kyanimal]

Fantastic chapter! On "Pins and Needles" for MORE!

Also digging the underlying !

Now ... get Thee back to the keyboard, Buddy!

And, Yeah! ... No Matter What ...

Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Rickrock]

Great chapter. It was getting a little tense for awhile.

 

[ronboy]

Love it, love it, love it!

 

[BluesDog]

Chapter Eight

ZACH

After only a few hours of sleep I wake up early on Saturday morning when my phone chimes that I have a new text.

—Let me know when you wake up.

With a big grin I text Trevor back.

—I’m awake.

The phone rings after a few seconds.

“You’re up early,” I tell him.

“Been up since the hairy butt crack of dawn,” he replies.

“Ugh! Why?”

“Running ten K before breakfast.”

“I’m disappointed,” I laugh. “I thought the heavy breathing was because you miss me.”

“Partly,” he concedes. Then, “What are you doing now?”

“Still in bed. Why?”

“Now the panting is definitely because of you,” he groans. “Don’t make me think about you in bed. I can’t run with my dick slapping my chin. What are you wearing?”

I snicker, “Are we about to have phone sex? And by the way… your chin? That’s some wishful thinking.”

Trevor replies, “I thought that would get your attention. Actually, I just turned onto your street, and I’m hoping you’ll share a drink of water with a thirsty jock.”

Excited, I hoot, “I’ll meet you at the door.”

I flash my toothbrush around in my mouth a few times before hurtling down the stairs. When I open the front door, he is just jogging up.

It should be a crime to look that good this early in the morning, his face pink from the exercise, those killer dimples, that body honed to perfection. Damp tendrils of blond hair escape from a black knit beanie cap.

"Hi," I say. "Is that my hat?"

Trevor grins. "I found it between the bed and the wall after we... you know. It's mine now."

I scoff. "We'll see about that,"

After stepping inside, he says, “Don’t touch me. I’m all gross and sweaty,” but he leans forward for a kiss. He eyes my t-shirt and plaid flannel sleep pants. “I was hoping to catch you in your skimpy drawers.”

“You’ll have to wait for a day when it’s not below freezing,” I tell him. “Like July, maybe. Come on into the kitchen.” I am a little embarrassed for him to see my house. His place is so modern and luxurious while mine is furnished with castoff furniture from everyone’s family’s basement, and the old row house itself is cramped and dingy.

After I toss a bottle of water from the refrigerator to him, Trevor thanks me while saying, “This is a nice place.”

I look skeptically at the faded wallpaper, the cracked linoleum, the scarred counter tops, the appliances that practically count as antiques. “Seriously? It’s a step above a slum.” I smile, “But it’s home.”

As he takes a swig of water, his stomach gurgles loudly, and he blushes. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

Trevor ducks his head, looking at me shyly from under his long lashes. “Aways.”

“Stay for breakfast?”

“It’s not a problem? We could eat out. There’s that diner just around the corner.”

“Not at all. I can cook something here,” I assure him. “I’ll put on some coffee now.”

“Could I take a shower? And maybe borrow a shirt?”

“Sure.” I lead him upstairs.

On the landing outside the bathroom, he leers at me, “Wanna join me, babe?”

Laughing, I show him the tiny shower stall. “Only one of us could be under the water at a time. The other one would have to stand out here in the hall.” I demonstrate the quirks of the plumbing so he can adjust the temperature of the water, and I grab a clean t-shirt for him from my room, tossing it to him as I go back down.

A quick search of the pantry and the refrigerator reveals that it is almost time to go to the market to stock up, but I find eggs, cheese, some vegetables and a leftover grilled pork chop and set those out on the counter.

The coffee is almost ready when he pads barefoot back into the kitchen, his hair slicked back and his skin flushed from the hot water. I ogle him and offer a low wolfish whistle of appreciation. Trevor pulls me tightly against his body as we kiss hard.

“Well, good morning,” I sigh out of breath as we break apart.

“I feel better after the shower,” he announces, “so you deserve a proper greeting.” He looks at the stuff spread out on the counter. “Wow! You’re making real food.” He looks at me in amazement. “I thought you were offering bagels or cereal or something.”

I laugh. “Nope. I’m making a fritatta.”

“What’s that?” he asks as I dice the mushrooms, onion and peppers.

“Like an omelet but since it is Italian, it’s better than anything those dim-witted French came up with.”

“Of course.” He watches me. “I don’t think that anyone has ever cooked for me that wasn’t paid to do it, like in a restaurant.”

I look at him. “Really? Your mother didn’t cook?”

His face goes completely blank the way it did the last couple of times that I mentioned his mother. He is silent for several seconds before stiffly saying, “No. We had a cook. I doubt if my mother is even aware that kitchens exist.”

Okay… ix-nay on the other-may…I turn back to chopping the vegetables. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask.

Trevor’s good cheer returns. “Great. With a little milk?”

Placing a cup on the table, I urge him, “Have a seat.”

As I crack the eggs into a bowl and start beating them with a fork, Rob stumbles into the kitchen in a sweatshirt and boxers, eyes half closed and hair sticking up in every direction. “Coffee,” he croaks. I pour a cup for him, sliding it down the counter.

He leans one hip against the counter, holding the cup up to his face with one hand to slurp from it while the other hand scratches his balls through his boxers. Catching me staring at him, he growls, “What?”

I jerk my chin at his crotch. “You need some ointment there, Skippy?”

Rob mutters, “My balls itch.”

“And you have to work them over in the kitchen?”

“All balls itch, Aunt Prissy, and ya gotta tend to them when the need arises.” He squints at Trevor. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Now Rob is scowling. “You weren’t…” he looks at me, then back at Trevor. “You weren’t here all night were you?”

Trevor looks confused. “No I just came by a little while ago.”

“Oh, okay.” Rob looks relieved. “I was gonna say, if you were here all night that was some stealthy ninja fucking.”

“What the hell are you yapping about?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes at me. “C’mon, Zach,” he sighs, exasperated. “Everyone on the block knows when you find your happy place. I’m just saying that I didn’t hear anything from that quarter last night.

I stop working on the frittata to glare at him. “Are you saying that I’m loud in bed?”

Rob smirks. “Heavy metal concerts are loud. Jet airplanes taking off are loud. You, my friend,” he pauses dramatically, “are in a class by yourself.”

As I huff in disbelief, Rob studies Trevor shrewdly, “The fact that this guy is grinning in agreement and not running for the door in terror tells me he has experienced this phenomenon first hand.” I cut my eyes to Trevor, and the traitor does have a wide grin on his face. “So you finally bagged the wily Zach, dude… took long enough. High five.” He holds his hand up to Trevor. “Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

Rob sips his coffee and grins with pleasure at us for a few seconds before his smile fades. “Oh, wait. No… no…. this won’t work for me.” He waives a hand frantically between us. “Oh, fuck me!”

“What now?” I demand.

“I have enough trouble with just one of you. When Rory sees a whole stable of Abercrombie models…”

He is interrupted by his girlfriend singing as she comes into the kitchen, “Zach is making breakfast and there’s eye candy! Rory must have been very good!”

Rob groans, “Too late.”

Rory is wearing one of his shirts that hangs down to mid-thigh on her. She comes up behind me at the stove and throws her arms around me, resting her head on my back. “I haven’t seen you in days! Good morning, Sunshine.”

I pat her arm that is around my chest with one hand while I pour her coffee with the other. At the same time, Rob is stirring two packets of sweetener into her cup. We have the routine down.

“Thank you,” she chirps as she takes the cup. She looks over at Trevor. “Hi! We met before. I’m Rory.”

“Trevor.”

“Yeah.“ She cocks her head at him with a puzzled look. “You spent the night here?”

Rob howls with laughter as I yell, “Jeez! Your motherfucking boyfriend already delivered a scathing review of my rude and antisocial noise in bed. Don’t you start on me, too.”

“Baby,” Rory caresses my arm soothingly, “You’re just passionate. That’s what we love about you.” She throws her arms around me again, resting her head on my back. “We wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rob grunts. He shakes his head at Trevor. “Welcome to my world, dude. You now have a front-row seat for the Rory and Zach show. Plenty of misery for both of us.”

I catch Trevor’s eye. He laughs, but I can tell he’s not sure about what he is watching. I assure him as I try to extricate myself from her embrace, “She’s not usually this grabby.”

Rob snorts, “True. I think that she is establishing her prior claim for your benefit.”

Somewhat reassured, Trevor says, “Okay, but if she pees on him to mark her territory, I’m outta here.”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” I beg.

“Zach?” Rory whines.

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to make me eat cold cereal with Rob are you?”

“Naw, baby girl. There’s plenty for you.” I take the fritatta out of the oven and divide it in quarters.

“Yea! You’re the bestest. I love you, Zach.” she giggles.

Rob protests, “What about me?”

“I made enough for you, too.”

“Yea! You’re the bestest. I love you, Zach.” Rob squeals just like Rory did.

After draining a container of cut-up melons and berries, I divide it among four plates. Adding a wedge of frittata and a slice of toast to each one, I put them on the table.

I tell Trevor, “If Rob reaches into your food, feel free to stab his hand with your fork. It’s pretty much a free-for-all around here.”

He took a bite of the frittata and groaned in appreciation. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“I only know a few dishes, stuff my mother taught me to make,” I admit. “She is always afraid I’ll start living on take-out and pizza.”

“It’s delicious,” Trevor says. “Thanks for making it for me. I guess that your mother is a good cook?”

Rob answers, "She's a great cook. Get Z to take you to her house for Sunday dinner. You'll think you've died and gone to Heaven by way of Italy."

"I've been angling for an invitation," Trevor says, laying a hand over mine on the table. "So far, I've been shut out."

I grin at Rob, "Can you see him up against the brothers and the in-laws?"

"Yeah, ummm ... no," he winces. "When you go, channel your inner hockey goon
or pack some heat. It'll get ugly fast."

“Don't scare him, hon. When you stay overnight, ask him to make blueberry pancakes for us,” Rory says. “I mean for you,” she quickly amends.

“Yeah, right,” Rob laughs.

“So how did you kids meet,” Trevor asks.

Rory pipes up. “I was struggling with Geometry in high school, and the teacher recommended a tutor. I was expecting some math geek but this adorable face comes strutting in. Rob was so sweet and gentle, completely unlike any of the other boys in school. It was love at first sight.”

“Damn, woman!” Rob grumbles. “You make me sound like a total wuss. You might as well say you liked me because my vagina is so pink and fresh.”

Rory kisses him with a mischievous grin. “It’s true, you know. His makes mine look all dried up.”

Trevor, Rob and I all groan. “Too much information!” I squawk, scrubbing my hand over my eyes. “I can never unsee that visual!”

“Men!” Rory spits out.

“Changing the subject now.” Trevor turns to me. “How do you figure into all of this?”

“I met Rob at Freshmen Orientation,” I say, “and we hit it off right away.”

“What can I say?” Rob preens. “I’m a likeable guy.”

I grin at him. “I must admit that if I knew about his va-jay-jay business then, I would have run the other way, pink and fresh or not.” He throws a strawberry from his plate at me with a snarled curse. I pop it in my mouth as he glares at me.

After breakfast, Rob and Rory wash the dishes while I walk Trevor out.

“I have a game tonight,” he tells me at the door. “Are you working?”

“Only until around ten o’clock tonight.”

“Cool. I’ll call you later? Maybe get together?”

I kiss him. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Thanks again for breakfast. It was fantastic.”

I hold him close to whisper in his ear, “I can’t wait until I cook for you again. I’ll make you work all night for your food.”

He laughs, low and rich, a sultry sound. “Look forward to it. I’ll bring earplugs for everyone.”

I kiss him one last time and punch his arm. “I like the way you think.”


TREVOR

I leave Zach’s house in a damn good mood. Once I was past his initial suspicion of my intent, he has been as warm-hearted and generous as I could ask for. His friends are open and accepting, and at breakfast I felt as comfortable as if we had been a group for years rather than practically strangers.

After completing my run, I shower again at home and take a nap for a couple of hours as I normally do on game days. We play the University of New Hampshire tonight, and although there is still a lot of the season to go, they are clearly our competition for the league championship and the top spot in the post-season tournaments.

In the late afternoon, I head over to the Ice Arena, already getting my game face on. I have a mix of songs on both my iPod and my phone, mostly AC/DC and Iron Maiden heavy metal that I have used for most of my collegiate career for motivation during workouts or pre-game rituals. Hockey players are a bunch of superstitious bastards, and if I have a good game after some random event, I’ll bust my ass to reproduce that random event before every game. I know it’s stupid, but it’s something I have to do. I use the mix tape of music to get my head in the right space while I methodically go through my routines… how I lay out my equipment… the sequence I use to dress… the way I retape my stick… the order of warm-up exercises I do.

A couple of years ago there was one poor fucker that didn’t have any clean socks before a game and wore a dirty pair as he scored a hat trick. After that, of course, he couldn’t wash them and wore the same stinky socks game after game. When he took his skates off, the smell could make your eyes water and everyone gave him hell for it, but he stuck with those nasty socks for most of the season.

I’m riding a three-game scoring streak with both goals and assists in every game. The streak started right after I made out with Zach the first time at the frat party.

Coincidence? I don’t think so.

I’m keeping this nugget of info to myself for the time being, waiting to see how it plays out. I thought about telling Garrett, but he’d just seize the opportunity to rag my ass, and I’m afraid to tell Coach for fear that he’d have Zach in here kissing every player before every game.

I am sitting in front of my cubby in the locker room, zoning out to the music roaring through my earbuds, threading new laces onto my skates when the Coach sits next to me. Yanking the headphones off, I nod at him.

“I want to tell you, Wellman,” he says gruffly, “you’ve been playing top-notch hockey lately. You’re looking good, son.”

I feel a little glow at his praise. He’s tough, but fair, and compliments aren’t thrown around lavishly.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“And you’ve shown a lot of leadership this year, something we haven’t had a lot of for a couple of years, maybe not since Matt Lysenburg.”

“Yeah. Matty was something.” Lysenburg had been an intense force on the ice when I was a sophomore. “He scared the shit out of me. Hell, he probably still could.”

Coach chuckled. “Matty scared me sometimes, too. I see a lot of him in you.” I looked at him in surprise. “Not the intensity… you don’t need that to motivate yourself… something intangible you both have, though.”

“Wow, thanks!”

He slaps my shoulder pads. “Keep up the hard work and just play your game,” he says, his eyes drilling into me. “You don’t have to be the star out there on every play because you have it in you to make everyone around you better. Keep your head screwed on straight and keep slamming the rubber to the back of the net.”

“Will do, Coach.”

“I’m shuffling a couple of players around tonight, putting Babineau on your line to take McNamara’s spot since he pulled the hammie. Keep an eye on him, okay?” He shambles off, and I exchange a glance with Garrett.

“Fuck!” he grunts with a wry smile. “Just what we need, more fuel for your ego.”

We skate out to start the game. The roar of the crowd always gets my blood pumping, and Coach’s talk with me really has my motor revved. It was like something that my Dad would have told me…Play my game.

I slide down the line of players, looking for Andy Babineau, a huge Freshmen from upstate New York, one of last year’s top recruits. In spite of his size, with his messy blond curls and baby face he came to be called “Bambi” by almost everyone. He looks nervous, but I catch his eye and give him a curt nod. “You ready?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he says nervously.

“You’re not trying to fill Mac’s shoes,” I remind him. “You can’t beat the goalie with the speed of your stick.”

He swallows hard. “Okay.”

“I can’t either. My slap shot is more dangerous than my wrist shot, so look to pass to me out a distance from the net and Garrett closer in. You’ll always find his fugly mug hanging around the pipes.”

I slap the back of his helmet with my fist. “Have fun,” I grin. “It’s only looks like a game.”

Our line starts, and we win the face-off. We fly down the ice, making crisp passes, Bambi to Garrett to me and back, easing smoothly into the offensive zone. Bambi shoots the puck towards the net from the half-wall, and Garrett, true to form, wheels out from behind the net and jams away at the rebound, trying to deflect it through the goaltender’s five-hole. New Hampshire’s top defenseman pulls the puck free and powers it out of the zone. Our defense grabs it and holds on in the neutral zone, waiting for the forwards to clear so the second line can go in.

Our left wing snags the puck and cycles it down low. The forwards pass it from one guy to the next without any more shots on the net, but they are wearing the defense down. Their guys are starting to look a little winded.

One after another, the second line comes off for a change, and Coach shouts for our line to replace them. As soon as Riggsby comes to the bench, I vault over the boards and skate into the offensive zone as fast as I can. The left wing passes me the puck on his way to the bench. I haul it in on my stick on the tape. I don’t have the angle, so I flip it back to our defense before moving to a better position. The UNH defender trying to cover me can’t keep up. Even though it’s only midway through the first period, he’s running out of gas. He’s a big ugly sucker, though, and isn’t giving up easily. Every chance he has he slams me hard into the boards and manages to keep finding some crease in my pads to ram the butt of his stick into. One vicious body check sends my mouth guard flying. I wonder if I’ll be pissing blood later. The refs miss all of that, though.

Garrett passes the puck to Bambi, who doesn’t even hold on to it for a second. He cocks his stick back and fakes the slap shot, redirecting it nimbly to me. I have the perfect angle, and no one can move into my shooting lane to block the shot.

Time slows to a crawl. My stick arcs back. I swing it forward, dropping my shoulder to get more torque on my stick. Contact with the puck vibrates through the stick to my gloves. It flies toward the net, rising like a bird on the wing.

The UNH goalie twists too late.

The puck spins past his shoulder.

The lamp glows.

The horn sounds.

The crowd roars as my goal streak reaches four games.

Bambi reaches me first, towering over me. “Great fucking pass, Junior!” I tell him. He blushes. I slap gloves with rest of the team as we skate back to the bench.

We lead three-two with seven minutes left in the third when I "accidentally" hook the skate of the UNH goon that has been tormenting me all night. He takes a tumble to the ice that looks fake to everyone in the arena except the ref who sends me to the penalty box for a minor. I show some acting chops of my own with several gestures of outraged innocence, but I am grateful for the opportunity to take a rest. This a-hole has been roughing me up all night, and I will feel the bruises for sure tomorrow.

The guys are doing a bang-up job killing off the penalty. Every time the New Hampshire slob skates by me he chirps, “Having fun, Pretty Boy?” I ignore his ass and yell to my boys to slam the door on these wankers. The flow of the game moves the other way, and Snagglepuss glides by the penalty box snarling, “How about you suck my cock later?” I don’t even bother to look at him. A win here puts us two games up in the conference standings on UNH and four up on third-place Boston College. We’re in great shape.

Deep in the UNH zone to the left of their goaltender, the linesman drops the puck. Riggsby wins it for us, kicking the puck back to our defense. They pass it sharply around a few times and out of the zone. By the time New Hampshire corrals the puck, my penalty is expiring.

The clock ticks the seconds away. Five seconds. I leap to my feet in the penalty box.

Three seconds. The timekeeper grabs the door to set me free.

One second. A New Hampshire defenseman loops a soft pass to their forwards.

Zero. The door swings open.

I jump onto the ice just as Knuckles— Danny Freimark— slams into the New Hampshire puck carrier, flattening him out with a jaw-dropping open-ice body check, freeing the puck. Garrett gets to the puck before anyone else.

“Garrett!” I bark at him, slapping the blade of my stick on the ice. I spin and dart towards the New Hampshire zone, confident that Garrett would find me. Half a second before I cross into the zone offside, the puck slaps my stick right on the tape. Another perfect pass.

The defense is all out of position behind me, even Snagglepuss. It’s me against the UNH goalie. I loop wide, and the goaltender’s eyes look as big as dinner plates. He tries to cut the angle by skating in tandem with me.

I feint a shot to his right. To my amazement, he bites on the fake big time even though the angle is so narrow that the puck would have to pass through about a two-inch keyhole to score.

The backhand shot wheels into a wide-open net to put us up four-one.


When the guys catch up with me to celebrate, Garrett slams into me so hard I am almost knocked to the ice. “You can send me passes all day like that,” I tell him.

Time is running out for New Hampshire. Their coach cobbles together a lineup of speedy little suckers that may be able to wear us down so late in a hard-fought game. My legs feel like they are weighed down with lead, and these guys seem to be fresh as they were at the start of the game.

With a couple of minutes left in the game, Bambi, Garrett and I are sent back in. I see Snagglepuss leap over the New Hampshire boards to keep the pressure on me. I can tell by the labored way he skates that his legs are not any fresher than mine, but he crosses the ice as quickly as he can and body checks me into the boards directly in front of the ref. I go down hard, catching a kick from someone’s skate in the hip as I hit the ice.

Garrett screams,“Fucking dipshit,” at Snagglepuss.”Go home and fuck some more sheep.”

“Real smart move, fuckwad,” Bambi bellows as points to the time ticking away on the scoreboard.

They help me back to the bench where the team trainer checks out the bruise on my hip. It hurts like a bitch, but it looks like we’ll win this one, so that eases the sting.

Shorthanded with Snagglepuss in the sin bin, UNH is unable to mount another scoring threat. As the crowd chants down the expiring seconds, I catch Garrett’s eye and ask, “They have sheep in New Hampshire?”

He grins and shrugs. “Who knows? But look at him… you know he’s doing something unnatural.”

During my post-game shower, I hang under the hot water so long my hands are becoming wrinkled, but the cascade feels so good on my battered body. Tonight was one of the two or three most physical games I have ever played, and I’ll feel it for a while. I reluctantly decide that I’ll have to call Zach once I’m done to let him know that I’m too beat up to see him tonight.
After the shower I have a long session with the trainers they can check me out after the mauling that I suffered from Snagglepuss. Since I am wearing only nylon training shorts, the bruises on my chest and thighs are a technicolor nightmare. “Damn, dude, he worked you over good, didn’t he?” one of them tells me as he spreads a numbing cream over my skin. I wince, hissing at the sting, “I had two goals and an assist. The bruises will fade, but the beatdown I gave him will be on the eleven o’clock news.”
“Yep,” he agrees. “You’ll be sore for a day or two, so take it easy until Tuesday.”
He digs a thumb into a scrape on my neck. “Fuck!” I growl. “You ever heard of malpractice?”
“Jeez!” he scoffs. “You hockey boys are so tough on the ice and such pussies everywhere else.” He pops me on the back of the head. “You’re done here. Go home.”
Before I dress I dig my phone out of my bag and call Zach.
“Hey,” he answers. “Nice game, hockey boy!”
Pleasure floods through me at the sound of his voice. “Not a bad day at the office.”
“You coming over?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate before I say, “You bet! But I’m pretty beat up, so don’t expect too much out of me.”
“No problem. I cuddle with the best of them. Plus I give a mean massage.”
I groan with pleasure. “I’ll take you up on that. See you in a few.”
Zach’s house is very quiet. “Justin is staying over at his girlfriend’s house tonight, and Dan went skiing up in the Poconos. Rob and Rory are at a movie, I think," he tells me.
He locks the front door before turning to me with a wistful gleam in his beautiful eyes, his lip curling upward as he leans toward me in the silence. He places a hand on my bicep. It is a light touch, but I flinch because the guise there is one of the worst. He looks at me, startled. “What is it?” he asks.
“Oh, you know,” I say, playing it down. “I went to the fights and a hockey game broke out.”
“Are you hurt?” Zach asks, concerned.
“Just a little bruised and banged up.” I lift my shirt to show him some of the marks that the UNH team left on me.
He looks shocked. “Are you always like this after a game?”
“No. A thug in a jersey with the number eighteen was on a mission to make me suffer for his small dick. He had a really rough, physical game with a lot of chirping.”
“Chirping?”
“You know, insults, threats, that sort of shit, trying to piss me off, calling me ‘pretty boy’, trying to get me to suck his tiny dick.”
“Wait!” Zach says, grinning. “He was flirting with you? I’m okay with beating you up, but I stake a prior claim to any blow jobs you offer.”
“Noted.”
“Want me to follow him up to New Hampshire tonight and rough him up? A little South Philly Justice?”
“Fuck, no,” I grin. “He’s not worth the trouble. Tell me more about this cuddling you have planned.”
Zach takes my hand to lead me upstairs to his bedroom. The only light is the soft glow from a bedside lamp. He kicks away his sneakers as I struggle to pull my shirt off.
“Let me help,” he says, easing the hem of the shirt up to shoulder level, then gently twisting it over my head, followed by one arm, then the other. He has my belt off and my jeans shoved down my thighs before I realize what he is doing. “Sit on the edge of the bed… let me get your shoes.” He kneels between my knees, pulling them off along with my socks.
In the blink of an eye I am down to my boxers, watching as he strips off his own jeans. It is hot as fuck that he has totally taken control. I say hoarsely, “You realize this is the beginning of every porno fantasy I have of you.”
He shakes his head at me. “Watch yourself, hockey boy. None of those shenanigans tonight.”
“’Shenanigans’, grandpa?” I scoff. “Next you’ll be telling me about drinking bathtub gin with the flappers.”
“Can the commentary and scoot your ass over so I can get in bed.” He crawls around me and stretches out, patting the duvet to invite me to join him.
We lie next to each other, face to face. Zach grins happily at me, whispering, "Hey!" The back of his hand ghosts along my jaw
"Hey yourself," I whisper back. I reach up to push his dark curls back from his face.
He grabs my hand to lift my knuckles to his lips. "Say the word and I'll whoop that goon's ass for you."
I smile. "Maybe if we meet New Hampshire again in in the post-season, I'll let you send him a message."
"My pleasure." He leans in to kiss me softly, his tongue flickering across my lips until they part to let him dart in, hot and sweet.
"Roll over, babe," he murmurs. "Let me massage away the ache."
I curl up on my side with my back to Zach, and he starts kneading my aching shoulders. “Oof!” I sigh in a state of bliss. “I’ll give you about thirty minutes to stop doing that.” His laugh, soft and husky, sends a shiver through me. As I relax, his long fingers dig deeper into my tired muscles.
“Tell me about your family,” I ask.
He sounds surprised. “My family? What about them.”
“You always talk about them. I want to know more about them.”
He kisses the back of my neck, but is quiet for a minute. “I’m going to dinner at my parents tomorrow, so if you’re free next Sunday, I’ll tell them I’m bringing you with me next time,” he says softly.
I grab one of hands from my shoulder and pull it to my lips to kiss the palm. “I would love to do that.”
Zach resumes massaging my back. “Be careful what you ask for,” he croons. “You’ll be sorry!”
“Four brothers?” I prompt.
He snickers behind me. “You are relentless. Like a bulldog with a steak bone.”
I chuff happily.
“Okay, my oldest brother is thirty-seven,“ he starts quietly, “He’s named after my dad, so he’s called ‘Nick Junior’. I always call him ‘Nicky’ because it irritates the snot out of him, since he’s a detective with the Philly police department and thinks I’m not showing him enough respect.”
As Zach talks about his siblings and the nieces and nephews, the hypnotic cadence of his voice eases me into a half-asleep state, and then I drift off to sleep as Zach’s strong hands gently relax my sore muscles. I awaken to find the room almost dark. I look at the digital display of the clock next to the bed… almost three in the morning.
My head is resting on his chest, our arms around each other and our legs tangled together. The warmth of his skin beneath my cheek and the gentle rise and fall of his breath seem oddly familiar. The door to the hallway is open, and a light on in hall so the room is not completely dark but that there is not enough light to be distracting. Half-awake, I realize that he had set that up so I wouldn’t stumble around in the dark in an unfamiliar place if I had to get up during the night.
I feel very warm and tender towards Zach. I shift a little so I can see his face, relaxed in sleep, his mouth parted a little. He has such a generous spirit that part of me wants to awaken him with a dozen sweet kisses and lazy caresses while part of me is content to drowsily watch him peacefully dream.
In any event, I am about half-way in love with him already.

 

[Kyanimal]

Wow! Geeze! What can I say? AWESOME!!

THANK YOU!!

Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[BelovedEnigma]

Awwww... Love it!

 

[Craiger]

That, BD, was such a romantic chapter. However I want to hear about the other half of the love that Zach deserves. Oddly, Trevor was the pursuing one, but Zach seems to have reversed the role and has him in the trap now.... It will be interesting to see how things go at the family dinner. I also learned more about hockey than I ever knew. Thanks!

Craiger

 

[Rickrock]

Aww, this ended with such a gentle love scene. The play by play of the game was also good and interesting. Thanks

 

[uncut702]

Such a great story, so glad they found each other!! Can't wait for more, thanks for writing!!

 

[BluesDog]

note: I appreciate all of the encouragement you guys have given... it means more than you can know.

You may notice this chapter has a bit of discontinuity in it. I want to turn up the heat on Zach and Trevor's emotional involvement, and while the action in this chapter takes place only nine days after the guys' first kiss at the frat party, the connection, especially on Zach's part, is much deeper than is realistic even for an unrepentant heart-on-the-sleeve romantic like myself.

CHAPTER NINE

TREVOR


I wake up the next morning the same way that I had fallen asleep, tangled up with Zach in his bed with his head resting on my shoulder. A narrow shaft of sunlight slants through the curtains, gilding Zach's face and highlighting the dark stubble along his jaw. His full lips are slightly parted, and I watch him sleep for a few minutes, thinking how wonderful it is to wake up next to him.

Unable to resist, I gently caress his beautiful face, tranquil in his sleep, looking like a Renaissance painting of a Florentine angel with the riot of his dark curls and the curve of his long lashes against his cheek. He buries his face against my neck, complaining, "'S'dark." His voice is gravelly with sleep and sexy as fuck.

Chuckling, I use my fingertips to gently pry one of his eyes open, whispering, "It's not dark, Zach, it's after eight in the morning."

He slams his eye shut and burrows deeper into my neck. "Too much light!" he moans.

"Ya gotta let me go for a second," I say. "I have some business to take care of." I pry myself free from his grasp, laughing at his groans and his frantic attempts to keep me in his bed.

"Don't leave," he sulks with his eyes screwed shut. "Too cold. Stay and keep me warm."

"I'll be right back, you big baby," I tell him, finally escaping down the hall to the bathroom. After I take a piss and wash my hands, I decide to brush my teeth as long as I'm up.

"No fair!" I hear Zach yell from the bedroom. He stumbles into the bathroom with me, scowling at me. "My mouth tastes like I've been chewing dirty gym socks, and now you have minty fresh breath." He elbows me away from the sink and grabs his toothbrush.

I rinse my mouth out and spit, grinning at him, "Meet you back in bed, baby!" I smack his ass and twist away, laughing, as he tries to slap me back.

Zach is right that it is a very cold morning, and I dive back in the bed burrowing under the covers. I don't wait long before he jumps into bed on top of me. "Oof!" I grunt as his weight falls on my chest. "Good morning,"

Zach's lip curls as he leans in closer to me, his eyes probing mine, offering a mischievous challenge. "Good morning, sunshine." The room is silent as he hovers, his face only inches above mine for a few provocative heartbeats. "Are your bruises any better today?"

I stretch and flex beneath him. "Yeah, not as achy as I was last night." Zach closes his eyes and lowers his head to capture my mouth with his lush lips. I savor the sweetness of his mouth working against mine. My crotch tingles with excitement at his assault. The man knows how to kiss. His tongue darts against mine as he deepens the kiss. My resistance to the temptation melts away, and I return the kiss hungrily, craving more of his honeyed passion.

I can't break away from him, but our touch is gentle, not aggressive. It is all warm breath and the sweet taste of Zach's lips crushed against mine, our increasingly hard breathing filling the sun-dappled room. I open my mouth wider, and Zach's tongue dances and swirls around mine. Our arousal perfumes the air, as I gently nip Zach's lip between my teeth.
Our kiss is interrupted by the alarm on my cell phone. "Sorry," I mutter as we break apart.

"What is that?" Zach asks me.

"It's the alarm," I say as I get out of bed to turn it off.

"No, what is the song?" he wonders.

"Oh,'Kashmir' by Led Zepplin." I show him the display.

"You listen to a lot of that classic rock, don't you?" he asks.

"I guess." He's looking at me intently. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh, hell no," he grins at me. "I can get my groove on to the oldies. I just noticed that you listen to a lot of that kind of music."

My voice thickens as I flop back on the bed and admit, staring at the ceiling, "My dad listened to it, and I guess I picked it up from him."

Zach doesn't say anything for a few moments, and I turned to look at him. His face has softened, and he gently rubs his thumb along my jaw. "You always have the sweetest look on your face when you talk about your father," he whispers. "Just looking at you, I can tell how much he means to you.”

"I wish you could meet him."

"Me, too."

I lean out of bed to grab my jeans from the floor. "Let me show you something," I say as I pull out my wallet. I extract a torn photograph, and hand it to Zach. He gently takes it by the corners and leans up against the so we can look at picture, our heads together.

He is quiet for second, and then he gasps in surprise. "I thought the man on the left was you," he exclaims, "only with shorter, darker hair." He looks at me with wide eyes. "But that's your dad, isn't it?"

"Yes," I say softly. "And the little devil in front is me." It’s a picture of me in my first hockey uniform, about five years old. I am scowling and aggressively brandishing a tiny hockey stick, while my father grins with delight at the camera.

Zach looks at me with wonder and then back at the photograph. “You look so much like your dad now,” he tells me, “but I can't believe that is you as a little boy. It's hard to look intimidating with those blond bangs falling into your eyes and those chubby little cheeks, but I think you pull it off.” He fingers the ragged edge where the photo had been torn, and I suspect that he knows that my mother has been violently ripped out of the picture, but he doesn't say anything about it as he hands the photo back to me and kisses my cheek.

"So that's where I get my taste in music from," I tell him. "I remember from your playlist on your phone that you listen to a lot of different styles. Where does that eclectic taste come from?"

“I inherited the discarded tapes and CDs from seven older siblings. I am the youngest, so I got all of the hand-me-downs as everyone got tired of what they were listening to." I have my hand under his shirt caressing his torso. His skin is warm and velvety beneath my probing. “One brother is a metal head, another likes jazz. I have one sister listening to nothing but country and another who loves the Seattle grunge scene. I ended up listening to all of that, everything, really except boy bands.” He grins. “I have to maintain some standards.”

I point to an acoustic guitar in the corner. "Does that mixed taste extend to the music you like to play, also, or is it just what you listen to?"

He chews his lip, thinking for a few seconds. "I play all kinds of stuff, too, I guess."

"Will you play something for me?" I ask.

"Now?"

"Only if you want to." I assure him. He shrugs and crawls out of bed, padding across the room to grab the guitar.

He perches on the edge of the bed with one foot tucked beneath them, bending over the guitar, tuning it, looking at me beneath his crowd of lashes from time to time, until he has the pitch of each string adjusted to his satisfaction. He strums a couple of minor chords and then launches into a version of the Rolling Stones' "Paint it Black" that blows me away. His fingers fly with assurance over the strings, and even with his sleep-roughened morning voice, I can tell he has real talent.

"That's a bit before your dad's time, I imagine," he tells me when he finishes, "but it pops up so often on soundtracks and in video games that he keeps coming back for each generation."

"I'm almost literally speechless," I tell him. "That's amazing."

He scoffs," It's just something I play around with."

"Did you ever play an open mic nights or anything like that?" I ask.

Zach makes a face, his mouth turning down at the corners. "I used to, when I had more time."

"Play something else for me," I beg. "Don't you write songs, too? Play something that you wrote."

He blushes a bright pink. "Oh, you don't want to hear any of my crazy scribblings."

"I'd love to hear something," I protest, kissing his neck to sweeten the request. "I'm sure that I would love anything that you wrote."

After much petting and cajoling on my part, he shakes his head doubtfully, "Don't say I didn't warn you!" and launches into a lively lilting melody picked out on the strings that is a rhythmic dance of some kind, maybe like a samba. I'm not sure what the song is about since the lyrics are in Italian, but the tune is punctuated by lively percussive slaps of the heel of Zach's hand against the instrument. I can only stare at him in amazement.

When he finishes, I exclaim, "You really wrote that?" He nods shyly, with a pleased grin on his face. "I don't believe it! What’s it called?"

His smile turns devious and he rattles something off Italian. I ask, "What does that mean in plain English?"

"The title translates as 'My Boyfriend is a Hot Hockey Player.'"

I only stared at Zach, my mind blank. I didn’t know what to say.

“What’s wrong?” he asks after a long silence.

I take a deep breath. “Two things,” I finally choke out, my voice rough and scratchy. “One… you think that I’m your boyfriend now?”

Zach’s skin turns dark with embarrassment as his eyes shift away from me. “It’s just some stupid song.” He puts the guitar aside. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” His face is suddenly closed and guarded.

Grabbing his hand, I soothe him, “Hey! I hope it does mean something…Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”

He chews his lip for several seconds. “I guess... maybe.” He still looks away from me. “What do you think?”

“Fuck, yeah!” I pin him to the bed before peppering his face with dozens of light kisses.

He laughs, “Hey! I thought I have a hockey-player for a boyfriend, not a golden retriever!”

"Second! You wrote a song about me?" I chortle with delight. I am really touched by the gesture. "Play it for me again so I can record it" I say as I grab my phone.

"Oh, bad idea." He hesitates. “It’s pretty rough.”

"Please?" I ask. “If it’s about me, don’t I have some kind of rights to hear it whenever I want?”

He smirks at me. “I never said it’s about you… vain much?” I start to nuzzle his neck again.

“Maybe it’s about my other hockey-playing boyfriend.”

I growl, “Point him out… I’ll beat the snot out of him.” I give him a long, deep kiss. “You’re mine now!”

Breathlessly, he complains. “No fair scrambling my brains with kissing!” he sighs. “You kill my ability to say ‘no’.”

“Putty in my hands after a few kisses?” I smile. “That’s useful to know!”

"Damn! I should have kept that to myself! Just don't show it to anyone else," he begs, "I'm not ready for that." After setting my phone up to make a video, I give him the sign that I started recording. He plays the song again, and now that I know how personal it is, I love it even more.



ZACH


As soon as I stop playing the song, Trevor thumbs off his phone, tossing it onto a pile of his clothes on the floor. He shoves his flannel sleep pants down his massive thighs, the powerful muscles twitching beneath the golden skin. "I can't tell you how much that song means to me," he growls. "No one ever did anything like that from me. Period. Never!"

The way his eyes are fixed on me sends desire burning through me like wildfire, even without seeing how his swollen cock strains at the fabric of his blue boxer-briefs. I feel overpowered by him… his size, the heat radiating off of him, the scent of his arousal. He kneels on the bed straddling me from behind after I rest the guitar on the floor. I groan softly as he cocoons me against his body and I lean back into his embrace.

We remain quiet for a while, his hands caressing my chest, my hands ghosting along his thighs. I am washed with a warm feeling as I think about the fierce little boy in the photo and the teenager mourning a lost father and the man with me now, so starved for affection that he has powerful emotional reactions to almost unconscious gestures on my part like writing a silly song or making him breakfast. My heart hammers against my ribs like a wild bird in a cage, overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings. We are hurtling towards a cliff together and part of me is exhilarated and part wants to slam on the brakes before it is too late.

He reaches to cup my balls through the damp fabric of my underwear, then tugs my T-shirt over my head and tosses it aside as he drags down his briefs, adding them to the pile on the floor. His cock, iron-hard and hot, is jammed against my hip.

Trevor falls back on the bed pulling me down with him effortlessly, kissing the back of my neck and my shoulders, working his way down my spine while he kneads the muscles of my ass. At the small of my back, he reverses and works his way back up the stubble on his chin lightly scraping my skin, causing me to shiver with want and need. He nuzzles his favorite spot where my neck meets my shoulder, kissing and nibbling my ear, sharp little bites jolting through me. I arch my back, turning my head to catch his lips for a kiss.

"How do you keep doing this to me?" I moan. "Reducing me to trembling need." His heart pounds against my back, and his cock pulses against my ass. Where we touch naked skin to naked skin, I feel hot and liquid, loose with desire.

I writhe in his arms, twisting so that we are face to face. I flex my hips to slide my hard ridge of flesh along his thighs, whispering wordlessly as I kiss the pulse at the base of Trevor's throat. As I caress him and taste the salty/sweet skin of his chest, shivery little thoughts flicker in the back of my mind and quickly grow from uncertainty to need.

Kissing and tonguing my way up his throat, I can feel his hard, panting breath hot against my cheek. I find the tendon straining in his neck and seize it as mine. My lips create a seal while my teeth sink into his flesh, marking him. “Mine,” I whisper against his soft gasp of surprise and pleasure. “Yours,” he sighs back.

I raise my eyes, surprised by what I find there. Trevor’s face is flushed, and there is a gentle look of wonder in his eyes. My heart flutters for a moment. When he looks at me like that, it is impossible to breathe. We share a lucid moment of unconditional and wordless awareness. We whirl again into the vortex of passion, but even as he effortlessly flips me and pushes my shoulders back onto the bed, I know this time is different, this time is not the aggressive wrestling for control that resembles a fist fight as much as sex.

I pull myself up on my elbows, wanting time to pause for a moment so I could understand, but Trevor closes his dream-filled eyes, lowering himself onto me as his mouth lands on mine, hot and seeking. I resist my desire for maybe for two or three heartbeats, too confused to let go, but he cups my jaw, deepening the kiss.

Then I open to him, and that’s all it takes.

The sweet flood of emotion at that taste of his lips ruins me. Trevor takes long, gentle pulls from my mouth, the kiss enveloping us warmly. I heave myself further up on the bed, and he follows me eagerly. I free my arms from his grip to yank him closer. Fused at the mouth, we thump and coil on the bed. One breath I am on my side, thrusting my legs between his, but in the next the world tilts, and I am on my back, Trevor’s hot mass of muscle crushing me against the mattress, his legs curling around my waist.

All the while we are kissing, always kissing. And what kisses! Warm, and wet, we can’t keep our mouths apart. As I moan into his mouth, Trevor finally pulls away for a moment to smile at me. I give a little cry at being deprived of his soft, lush lips, as he smiles, “You act as though you had never been kissed before.”

“I thought I had,” I whisper, “but I was cruelly misled.”

Covering my mouth again, Trevor makes a clumsy effort to strip me of my underwear, but he won’t release my mouth long enough to pull them down my legs and I won’t release my grasp on his ass long enough to help. I stroke his warm, silky skin, my hands dipping down into his crease to tease his hole, and he lets out an enormous groan. He grinds his dick against mine, and I arch hungrily against him, panting, aware of nothing but his golden skin and jutting erection. As I pull free, it is Trevor who grumbles at the loss of contact, but he sighs happily as he watches me strip off my boxers.

There is something different between us, and that resonates deep in my core. This feels special, and even if we are going to end badly, I know already that I am going over that cliff with him. The chances are that Trevor and I are destined to end shitty may be written in the fucking stars somewhere, but that doesn’t stop me.

When it comes to Trevor, I can’t think straight, I don’t want to think straight. My heart belongs to him, and I can’t take it back. That realization makes my breath catch in my throat, and I stare into his beautiful eyes for a moment.

He looks as though he is reading my thoughts, but he drags me back into a tender embrace, skin on skin. He is on top again, overwhelming me with his raw desire. His dick scrapes against me, ambitious, greedy.

I begin to feel greedy as well. Plunging forward recklessly, I am going to reach an inevitable conclusion in the next couple of minutes. That isn’t okay. This tender moment deserves to last.

Cupping my palm against Trevor’s cheek, I give him a soft caress, pulling him to my side. His body feels so right against mine, my other half that I had not realized I was missing.

“Take it slow, baby,” I urge, rubbing his chiseled chest with my hand.

“As slow as you want,” he says simply, holding me closer for access to my mouth. We kiss again, even softer and sweeter this time, a kiss that makes me ache with longing.

Trailing a hand down my torso, he takes us both in hand, pumping his fist against our twinned shafts. I swallow a yearning groan, so close to the edge. Slowing the motion of his hand, he takes a deep breath.

“Can I suck you?” he asks tenderly.

My eyes squeeze shut with craving. Yes, yes, yes! I want to shout, but I shake my head, staring deep into his warm eyes.

“No. I want you inside me.” For a few heartbeats, all he does is blink at me, wondering what I am asking.

“You want to fuck?”

I clear my throat . “No… not fuck. I want you to make love to me.”

His eyes fill with passion, but he doesn’t move.
“Don’t make me beg.” I plea

“I would never,” he says gently. “Where do you keep…?” He drops his face to nuzzle my neck.

I lean over him to reach for my bedside drawer to pull out lube and a condom. As soon as Trevor sees them, he holds out his hand, and I press them into his palm.

He tugs me closer as he smears lubes over his fingers. I loop a leg around him and lift my ass up off the bed. Trevor drops his mouth to mine in another soul-searing kiss so that when he finally reaches his slickened fingers over to caress my hole, I shudder and groan. My body pulses and throbs with expectation.

Trevor’s long fingers worm inside me. One… then two… then a third, twisting and probing, stretching me out. This is so different from anything I had experienced before, tranquil and gentle, a slow and delicate process. I press against him, my body undulating in rhythm with his unhurried exploration.

I begin playing with his hair, tangling and untangling my fingers in it. With my free hand, I rub up and down his beautiful back, feeling the powerful muscles bunch under my fingertips. Leaning over, I lavish kisses into the smooth, velvety skin of his broad shoulders, unable to think of anything except that my arms are full of this beautiful man and I belong to him.
Each time I crush my lips against him, I think my other half… my other half. And all the while, I squirm against Trevor’s fingers, my body hungry for more.

“Come on, baby,” I gasp. “Take me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice tender.

“You could never hurt me,” I whisper, pushing down on his hand. He stretches his fingers inside me, rubbing against my spot, making me moan, “Oh, yes, please! Do it.”

“Jesus fuck!” Trevor whispers. “You are so beautiful, Zach. I ache for you.”

“I want you, Trev.” The look in his eyes makes me melt.

“I’m yours, baby. Only yours.”

I try to roll over onto my stomach, but he grips me firmly. “No… please let me watch your beautiful face.”
It is the most erotic request I have heard in my entire life, and I melt even more for him.
I lay back against the pillows, flexing my hips up, ready to have him inside of me, needing him to make me complete, my missing half.
With a look of absolute concentration, he positions that fantastic body over me, bending his knees to wedge himself against me. He is so gorgeous with his face suffused with arousal. He rips open the foil packet with his teeth and sheathes his cock in latex with practiced skill.

I could stare at him for hours, looming over me, ready to make me his.

As he looks down at me, biting his lip in anticipation, I take his face in my hand, compelling him to keep looking at me. My thumb slides across his beautiful cheekbone, over his sharply-edged jaw. “Look at me,” I ask.

When those warm brown eyes connect with mine, time grinds to a halt.

“Jesus, Zach,” he whispers, his voice husky. Gently, without breaking eye contact, I lift my head for a very soft, very sensual kiss. I know it is more intimacy than I could have handled before, but I am lost in Trevor now, and there’s no turning back.

He holds my gaze, his eyes full of wonder, but locked with me. His mouth softens into the kiss, and his big hands wrap around my chest, pinning me in place. We kiss sweet and slow, until he moans and hauls my legs around his waist to hold me closer.

“That’s the way, baby,” he breathes. “Now open yourself for me.” I do that precisely, and his eyes never leave me.

Easing into me achingly slowly, he does exactly what I’d asked for… he makes love to me, sweetly, gently, leisurely. He watches my face the whole time, the look of amazed wonder never leaving his eyes. If overcome by passion, my eyes drift shut, Trevor gently caresses my cheek, and implores, “Zach, baby, look at me.” I always do it because I am rewarded with his dazzling smile. When he breaks our connection, it is only because his eyes roll back in his head with a shuddering gasp.

Trevor buries his face in my shoulder and blushes. Jesus, I love that blush. I ease closer to him and pull him into a hug. Then we are kissing again. Trevor’s hands comb through my hair, and he chuffs out a satisfied sigh. Every brush of his lips against mine is gentle and unhurried. We make out like two guys who can’t think of anywhere in the world they’d rather be, and every moment of it is enchanting.

 

[Kyanimal]

I have a Bachelor of Science, in Communication, from Northwestern University. My favorite classes involved Imagist Poetry/Writing, discovering the Force of the Exact/Precise chosen words, at just the right time/cadence, to create a Strong picture/reaction in the minds of the readers.

YOU, BD, have just proven to be a Master at that!

My appreciation of this chapter is not only in light of it's HOT content, but also the Talent through which it's been presented!

I know how long it took me to read it. I can only imagine what it took you to write it!

AWESOME, Dude!

THANK YOU!, and MORE, Please!

Keep Smilin', and Writin'!!
Chaz

 

[Craiger]

BD, I have to agree completely with Chaz. The sensuality and eroticism are awesome. My dying wish would be to experience such an enrapturing encounter. Thank you!

Craiger

 

[BelovedEnigma]

Emphatically wonderful and masterful! Well worth the wait!

 

[Junior42]

I love this story. One of my favorites.

 

[uncut702]

WOW!! That was so emotional and yet SOO sexy!! I am in love with both of these guys! Thanks for writing and can't wait for more!!