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Rusty dropped onto his bed in the dinky hotel the team had booked, muscles aching and bruises throbbing from battling a team that’d out-hit and out-skated them.

Not that the Gryphons had played well. Morty’s stupid April Fool’s prank with a used condom in the locker room before the game had set the tone, and his even stupider penalty in the third had killed any hope of a rally.

At least, Digger’s side of their shared hotel room was empty. With a whole night in the hotel followed by a long bus ride when they could sleep off the hangovers, some of the team had gone out to drown their sorrows.

Rusty called Cross on voice. He wasn’t sure Cross would pick up. The Rafters were in Chicago, two time zones later.

But Cross answered almost immediately. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. Congrats.” Rusty had checked out the Rafters’ game while riding the bus back to the hotel. “Two more wins and you’re in.”

“Don’t jinx us but yeah, looks like this might be our year.”

With eight games left in the season, the Rafters only had to win two more and they’d claim a wildcard spot. The odds were real good but still, Rusty probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. “I didn’t see your name in the highlights, LaCroix,” he teased.

“Did okay. Not great. How about you? I went out with the team so I haven’t had a chance to look.”

Rusty grinned, then rubbed his sore jaw. “Gordie Howe hat trick, dude.” A goal, an assist, and a fight— at least he’d kept the game from being boring.

“Seriously? Who the hell did you fight?”

“Don’t you want to know about my goal and the assist?” Rusty teased. Although he’d managed that part of the threesome before.

“Yeah, but the fight first. That’s not like you. Did you win? Do I want to look for the video?”

“Would you find it hot?”

Cross chuckled. “I’m searching now. Okay, got it.”

“How the hell are you finding an ECHL fight an hour after it happened?” Rusty demanded.

“I found this guy who puts up Gryphons highlights online after every game. Big fan… Wow, that Wildcats bastard clocked you in the face. Switch to FaceTime. I want to see the bruise. Are you okay?”

“Want to admire my manly scars? Sure.” Once they’d made the switch, Rusty turned his punched jaw to the camera. “It’s not that bad. I can talk and eat and everything.”

“Is your head all right? Did they do a concussion protocol?”

“Yes, Dad. I’m fine. Just a bit sore, no concussion. And I lured that guy into a five-minute major for fighting.” While getting matched minors. Rusty felt a bit smug. They’d scored twice during that major penalty. Not that it’d saved them in the end.

“Yeah, okay.” Cross still glared at him out of the screen, his eyes intent. “What did he do? Or say?”

“Nothing.” Rusty wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Cross. Then he thought that maybe, if Cross was thinking about coming out, he should hear the bad with the good. “He told me to suck his dick, like a good little cocksucker. I asked him why, was he desperate? Was his sister out of town?”

“Whoa,” Cross said. Which Rusty understood. Usually sisters were off limits.

“Yeah, but if he’s going to call out the queer, all gloves are off, right? So I chirped hard on that topic and he chased me down and punched me.”

“Twice,” Cross noted.

“Yep. And I was a good boy with my hands in the air until then. So he got the major penalty, and after we scored, both times, I skated past the box and thanked him. Told him he inspired me. And I got second star of the game.”

“Good for you.”

“Except we still lost, five-three. If Lindy hadn’t been performing miracles in goal to keep the puck out, it would’ve been worse.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Mm.” They’d been mathematically eliminated for weeks now, but the losses still stung.

“And I was underwater with my plus-minus for the game.” Both goals he’d been involved in were powerplay goals and didn’t count, while he’d watched two of the Tornados’ even-strength goals go into the net from a nice, helpless spot on the ice.

“So was I, even though we won.”

“I really want to watch my game tape with you.” Rusty didn’t think the screwups were his, and Coach had actually tapped Rusty’s helmet twice in approval when he came off.

Still, he didn’t like wondering if he should’ve done something different.

It would really help to hear Cross say, “Here, this guy’s out of position. You’re doing what you’re supposed to.”

“Soon as we’re both back in Oregon, we’ll look at that together,” Cross agreed. He ran a hand over his head. He’d cut his hair really short last week, and it worked in a much-younger Captain Picard way, making his hairline look distinguished. The guy was smokin’ hot and didn’t seem to know it.

Rusty shoved thoughts of the game aside. He didn’t want to waste any alone time he got with Cross on the road. “God, you look good. I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Have you ever had video sex?” Bad idea? Good idea? Rusty was horny, and the distance between them meant anything they did would be safely solo. He watched Cross’s face intently.

“Uh, no?” Cross’s eyes went wide.

“Want to give it a try? Really nothing you wouldn’t do on your own.”

“Um?”

That wasn’t a yes or a no. Rusty tried to make out Cross’s expression on the small screen. Had he overstepped? “My roommate’s out drowning his sorrows at a bar. I have the safety latch on the door in case he comes back early. You’re by yourself, right?” NHL veterans didn’t have to share a room.

“Yeah. I mean, there’s guys in the rooms on either side.”

“Same here. So we’d have to keep quiet.”

After a long moment of silence, Cross asked, “What would we do?”

Rusty was already regretting pushing Cross.

They’d made out at his apartment hot and heavy, but only kissing and a little frotting, before leaving on their respective road trips.

Cross wanted to go slow, and dude clearly had some boundaries he hadn’t been ready to cross that night. “Sorry, maybe this is a bad idea.”

“No! I mean, I’d never considered it.”

“We could jerk off together. I’d get off on watching you do that.”

On the little screen, Cross’s forehead creased deeper and he bit his lower lip.

“Or I could jerk off, and you could tell me what to do.”

Cross seemed to relax, his expression brightening.

Rusty grinned, relieved. “You like that idea? I could give you a show, and you could boss me around.”

“What would you get out of that?”

“Are you kidding? I get to come like a fountain.”

“But you could do all that without me. You’d jerk off anyway, right?”

“Yeah, of course. But it’d be ten times hotter with you watching, your voice. If you’re into it.”

“We can try. How do we start?”

Rusty thought about giving Cross a strip show, but Digger might come back any time.

Guaranteed, nothing would stop Cross colder than Digger shoving at Rusty’s latched door.

“I get naked. You could get naked too, if you wanted.” He watched closely as Cross tilted his head.

Fuck, this was like playing Clue. Or Magic Eight-ball.

“Reply hazy, try again.” “Or you could just sit there fully dressed and watch me. That’s hot too. ”

“It is?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s do it that way.”

“Cool. You relax, put your phone somewhere I can see more than your face. Maybe stretch out on the bed.”

“Okay.” The image swooped around a bit, and then Rusty got an angled view of Cross lying propped up on his pillows, still in his crisp white shirt but with the top two buttons undone.

The picture cut off around Cross’s waist, which was a shame, but it might be intentional. Rusty decided not to get greedy.

Well, not too greedy. “Can you roll up your sleeves? Show me some forearms.”

“Forearms?”

“I’m a slut for great arms, and yours are excellent.”

Cross chuckled, which was a good sign, and took out his cufflinks, rolling his shirtsleeves to the elbows.

“Mm, yeah!” Rusty exaggerated. “Arms!”

That got him a real laugh. “You’re still dressed.”

“Not for long.” Rusty set the phone down on the bed, stood, and peeled off his T-shirt, sweats, and boxer-briefs.

The waistband had some frayed bits, so probably just as well he’d decided against showing Cross the striptease.

He kicked his clothes aside, lay back down, and fiddled with setting up the phone on a folded pillow.

“How’s that? Can you see the good bits?”

“Tilt it up some. I want to see your face.”

“As well as my dick or instead?” Was Cross not into this?

“Yes, absolutely. Both.”

“Got it.” He’d have said the same. He wanted to see Cross’s expressions most of all.

Rusty adjusted the phone a couple of times till Cross said, “There. Face and dick.”

“Okay. So.” He stroked his length a couple of times, thinking.

His cock had been soft when he stripped, but it was getting interested now.

He’d never done anything like this before, either.

He slid one knee out and up to put himself more on display and thumbed across his slit.

Not wet yet, but his dick hardened further.

“Do you think of me when you jerk off? I think of you. I imagine this is your hand, every fucking night.”

“I don’t, um, jerk off much.”

Rusty paused his lazy stroking. “But you do sometimes?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“What do you picture when you do it? Do you think about my hand? My mouth?” My ass? But that would clearly be one question too far.

“It’s mostly about touch, for me. Like, what feels good. I don’t think about it, I just do it.”

“That works.” Rusty slid his hand lower, dipping between his thighs. “How do you like it? Soft and slow? Hard and fast?” He was fully erect now as his thumb brushed the underside of his shaft, his fingers trailing over his sac.

“Fast, I guess.” Cross ran his tongue over his lips. His eyes seemed fixed on his screen. “You’re bigger than me.”