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7

Paul

P ractice the next morning is rough, thanks to Preston. He’s not even on the ice since he’s still healing up from his shoulder dislocation, but that doesn’t stop him from yelling shit at us.

“You’re useless if you can’t keep your emotions in check!” he yells at Brendon as he and Riggs get into it. It’s interesting how aggressive he gets on the ice when it’s not in his nature at all once he leaves the rink. But the younger player has a lot to learn, and Brendon is not taking any prisoners today.

“Fuck off!” Brendon yells across the ice and spins on Riggs again.

“If you can’t read the plays and anticipate where the puck is going to be, what the fuck are you doing out here?” Brendon’s face is red with frustration and exertion. Something is going on with him, but I don’t know what.

Riggs gets into Brendon’s face. “Maybe the problem is your lack of accuracy!” Then he pushes Brendon. I can see it playing out before it happens, so I grab the back of Brendon’s jersey and pull him backward.

“Let it go. He’s a snot-nosed brat who doesn’t know how to take criticism,” I tell Brendon, wrapping an arm around his chest.

“I’m going to beat it into his fucking head. Smart-mouthed little shit is going to learn,” Brendon growls, and I have to hide the way my body reacts to it. It’s hot as fuck when he gets worked up.

Preston yells something that I don’t listen to, and Brendon looks over at him.

“What do you think it’ll take to ruffle his feathers?” Brendon asks, watching him tear down Riggs. I swear Carmichael gets off on pointing out everyone’s flaws.

“Pretty sure Jeremy is his only weakness.”

I spin Brendon around until we’re facing each other and after a minute, he grabs my hand and my hip and attempts to dance with me. I laugh and follow along, glad to see him doing something that is so very him.

“You’re crazy.”

A big smile splits his face. “You mispronounced awesome.”

Coach blows the whistle, yelling instructions at us. We line up like we’re told and start running some puck-handling drills, then move into speed drills, all the while Carmichael is telling everyone how much they suck.

“I don’t think you could skate any slower if we tied anvils to your fucking skates!” Carmichael yells, and I sigh.

“Why don’t you fuck off?” Brendon hollers at him.

Their eyes lock with cold fury.

“Are you trying to get your ass kicked today?” I smack his helmet, and Brendon turns to glare at me.

“He’s a fucking dick, and no one will call him on it because they’re scared of him. Fuck him,” Brendon spits.

“He’s definitely not taking it easy today,” Jeremy sighs. “I didn’t think he could be this much of an ass when he’s not even on the ice.”

We race back to the other side of the ice, in between cones, and come to a stop with the rest of the team.

“If your stamina in bed is anything like it is on the ice, I feel sorry for whoever you’re fucking.”

I don’t know who Preston was talking to directly, but Brendon tenses, his face turning almost purple.

“Jesus,” Jeremy mutters like he knows something I don’t.

“Leave it alone,” I grit out behind Brendon, but he’s already turning toward Carmichael, anger and frustration vibrating around him.

“If it takes you that long to get your partner off, you’re doing it wrong!” Brendon yells back,

What the fuck? I’m clearly missing something. I turn to Jeremy who is blushing, his eyes wide. I’m apparently the only one who doesn’t know. Great.

The bastard smirks at Brendon. “How the fuck would you know? When was the last time you got someone to finish without help?”

Say what?

Jeremy groans, and before I can react, Brendon takes off toward the box where Preston is standing with the coaches. I race after him, but Carpenter steps out of line and grabs Brendon, forcing him to a stop, and I’m able to wrap my arms around him, pulling him back.

I get us turned around, and he pulls out of my grip, spinning around like he doesn’t know I’m there. I’m frustrated, and I’m sure it’s clear on my face when he looks at me. I don’t know what’s going on or how Preston and Jeremy know, but I don’t. That hurts.

Under the anger in his eyes, there’s something else. His normally sparkling light is dimmed by pain or insecurity, but I don’t know how to fix it. I hate seeing that look on his face, knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.

Coach blows the whistle again.

“If you’re going to act like a bunch of toddlers fighting over the swing set, I’ll damn well treat you like it!” Coach screams at us. “Oiler, off my fucking ice!”

Brendon clenches his jaw, then turns away from me, ripping his chin strap off and making his way for the shoot. He throws his stick down the hallway and storms off.

We run the drill again, Preston still yelling, but I’m not as focused as I should be. All I can picture is the hurt in Brendon’s face.

I skate up to Coach so I don’t have to yell. “Can I go check on Oiler? He’s not himself.”

The tough man looks at me for a minute, then nods. “We’re almost done here anyway.”

Before he can change his mind, I hustle off the ice and down the hallway to the locker room with a plan forming in my head.

Brendon and I have kissed once, but yesterday we got damn close to more. I don’t think he’s hooked up with anyone since Jeremy, so maybe he needs to let off some steam?

“Fuck!” Brendon hisses in the shower as the probably freezing water hits him.

“What the hell is your problem?” I ask from the doorway of the showers, and he jumps. I’m still in all my gear. I don’t want to get it wet, but I will if I have to.

“Why the fuck do you care?” he bites out, and that just irritates me more.

I rip my jersey over my head and toss it aside.

“Are you trying to lose ice time?” I snap. “Our line gels so fucking well, and you’re fucking it up, for what? To prove you aren’t intimidated by Preston? Who the fuck cares?”

I pull my shoulder pads off and drop them to the floor, then untie my hockey pants with jerky, angry movements. Lust mixes with anger as Brendon watches me, his eyes on my body like a caress.

When I’m down to just my compression shorts, I stride toward him and flick the water to hot. I shove him against the tile and get in his face with my hand on his throat. I love that he’s not much shorter than me, so we’re always face to face.

“Stop acting like an idiot and letting him get to you.” My voice is deeper, holding more command, and Brendon’s dick thickens against my thigh. “If you really wanted to get to him, you would fuck with Jeremy, and you know it.”

I roll my hips, rubbing my thigh against him, and he groans. Not letting myself think about it, with my free hand, I reach for his dick and wrap my hand around it to stroke roughly.

“Come on, give it to me,” I demand. “Do you need attention? Is that why you’re acting out?”

Brendon drags his lower lip between his teeth and drops his head back on the wall. Fuck, it feels so good to touch him.

“Pull my shorts down. I want your cum on me,” I growl at him.

His eyes shoot open, and he reaches for the tight compression shorts. He pulls on the wet fabric until it rolls down under my ass.

“Stop.”

His hands freeze on my thighs, and he runs them up my skin to my hips to hold on to.

“Fuck my thighs,” I instruct as I let go of his throat. I don’t know where that came from, but I’m not questioning it. Not today.

“Switch spots and stick out your ass then.” Brendon’s voice is gravelly with lust, but I do what he says. My face is pushed against the wall and my ass is arched out for him. He lines his dick up with my legs and pushes in, his tip nudging at my balls. I don’t even try to hold in my moan as it echoes off the tile.

“Cross your ankles, flex around me,” he instructs as he grips my hips.

The water from the shower makes my skin slippery enough for him to thrust. It feels so fucking good for him to use me.

He slides his fingers between my cheeks and presses against my hole. I tense up on instinct, but it feels fucking amazing. “You want me in here?” Brendon asks with his lips against my skin.

“Yesss,” I moan and reach for the back of his head while I jack myself off. “I want you to stretch me out, fuck me until I can’t stand, then fill me with your cum.”

Brendon’s breathing hitches and he whimpers as he sprays the wall and my inner thighs with cum. His fingers dig into my skin and my own cum is added to the wall, mixing with his. I sag against the wall, and he leans heavily on me with his forehead against my shoulder.

“Shit, that was sexy.” I run a finger against his tip, smearing his cum on my skin. Brendon hisses at the contact, probably sensitive after his release, but he doesn’t pull away from me. I link our hands together, my palm against the back of his hand and my fingers in between his. I lift his arm to press against my heart. He’s my safe place, and I just hope he knows I am for him too.