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“I’m, like, eight inches taller than you.

Not a surprise.” Rusty returned to fisting up and down his cock.

The friction was a bit dry, but getting up to dig out lube from his bag might wreck the moment.

He kept his touch light. “You said fast? Like this?” He sped up his strokes, watching Cross staring, his lips parted.

A twist of Rusty’s hand over the head got him some precum to slick his way. “Mm. Yeah.” He moaned softly, only a slight exaggeration for Cross’s benefit. “Feels good.”

“Yeah. That’s… I do it like that.” Cross cleared his throat. “Sometimes I play with my balls.”

“Tell me to do that.”

“Uh. Play with your balls?”

“Oh, yeah.” Rusty put his other hand into play, spreading his thighs wider as he cupped his balls and pulled down gently, rolling them. “Uh. Yeah. Balls and dick. Love that.”

“You look good. Hot.”

“I’m getting wet now too.” He gathered more precum and slicked it down his shaft.

“Wow.” Cross’s soft exclamation might’ve been funny, if Rusty hadn’t been winding himself up hard.

Rusty could get himself off in five minutes, easy.

Probably three with Cross’s intent dark gaze on him, even from the stupid little phone screen.

But he didn’t want this to end so quickly.

He slowed his pumping hand, let go of his ball sac.

“Hey, do you touch your nipples when you jerk off? Are they sensitive?”

“I don’t know.”

Rusty was starting to get the feeling Cross was a bit repressed about sex. Well, Rusty might be young and not really experienced, but he could probably fix that. “Mine are. Real sensitive. You want me to show you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Tell me what to do. Tell me to pinch them and roll them around.”

Cross took a deep enough breath for Rusty to hear it. “Pinch your nipples. Show me.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Rusty took up a lazy stroke on his dick as he slid his other hand toward his chest. He took his time, trailing his fingers over the ridges of his six-pack.

Well, four-pack but he was working on it.

He was the fittest he’d ever been in his life.

He hoped Cross appreciated that. His nipples were already tight peaks from the foreplay, so he ran the palm of his hand over one and shuddered.

Then he pinched and tugged, watching Cross on the screen.

He let a gasp escape his lips, then a hum of pleasure.

“That’s good.” Cross’s voice came almost too soft to hear. “You like that, right? Jerking off for me to watch?”

“Love it.” Despite his intentions, Rusty had somehow picked up the pace with his left hand, his dick hard and aching under his touch, threads of precum smoothing the way. “Ahh. Yeah. God, that’s good.”

“Are you going to come?”

“Do you want me to?” Rusty kept his gaze fixed on Cross.

“Yes. Do it.” Cross leaned toward his phone until just his face filled the screen. “Show me.”

“Fuck. Fuck that’s hot.” Rusty pinched his nipple sharply and stroked himself, tighter, faster, friction almost too hard to stand but somehow perfect.

Cross was watching, as if he could reach through the screen and replace Rusty’s hand with his own.

Yeah. As if he was the one touching, jerking, tight fingers on Rusty’s eager, swollen dick, mouth close enough to kiss—

“Come for me,” Cross whispered.

His words arrowed into Rusty like a jolt of electricity.

Rusty tugged his nipple, closed his hand, and shouted as heat boiled through his groin and out, his climax hitting in splashes of cum across his chest and down over his fingers.

He groaned and shook with the force of his body trying to turn itself inside out in blinding pleasure.

“Wow,” Cross said again.

That little sound hit Rusty somewhere between joy and laughter. He giggled and gasped and shuddered, and opened his hand, sticky and sated, sliding into the bliss of having come his brains out at Cross’s command. His eyes drifted half-closed.

Cross cleared his throat. “Do you always, um, come that much?”

Rusty blinked and looked down at his thickly spattered chest. “Yeah. I guess. It was better with you though. Hotter. Jesus, that felt good.”

“Really? Because you just jerked off. I didn’t do anything.”

“You were here with me. Your voice, the things you said. Yeah, it was awesome.” Rusty raised his hand to his mouth and licked one sticky finger, sliding his tongue around it as sensually as he could.

He wasn’t likely to get his dick up again for at least half an hour, but as far as he could tell, Cross hadn’t gotten off yet.

Sure, Rusty had been pretty far gone those last couple of minutes, but he’d remember Cross’s O-face if he’d seen it and the guy was fully dressed.

Anyhow, he’d put on the best show he could, but still nothing that could make a guy come hands-free. “What do you want to do now?”

“There’s more?”

“I meant for you.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. That was… something else.”

“All right.” Rusty wasn’t going to push Cross into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. “I promise, it’ll be even better when we’re in the same room, but for now I can put a checkmark next to video sex, yes, please.” He smiled and leaned back on the pillows.

“You look happy.”

“I am. I missed you. This wasn’t the same, but a hell of a lot better than a silent, lonely hotel room.”

“I wish I could kiss you,” Cross murmured.

Rusty kissed two fingertips and held them toward his phone.

He couldn’t believe he was doing something so corny, but Cross brought out the sappy side in him.

“Me too. Five days, right? You’ll be back to play Fargo and kick off the last homestand Wednesday.

We have the evening off after playing Sacramento Tuesday night.

Should I come up to your place after your game? ”

“Would you like to come to the game?” Cross asked.

“Well sure, yeah, but those tickets are expensive. Might even be sold out.” Fargo wasn’t a guaranteed win for the Rafters, but a good bet. If they hadn’t clinched the playoffs by then, that might be the night.

“I get two tickets for every home game. You could use one. It won’t cost me anything. They’re just sitting there.”

Rusty had made a vow not to let Cross buy him expensive shit, but great seats to watch his… whatever Cross was, play in an NHL game live? At no cost to Cross? “Sure, yeah, that would be cool.”

“I’ll give your name to admissions. Show them your ID and they’ll get you to your seat.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I can do that.”

“You could come on down to the locker room afterward. Meet the guys. Well, besides Scott and Axel and Zykov and Goldie. The other guys.”

Rusty liked that idea, but… “Are you sure you want me to do that? If you aren’t out? I don’t want to cause a problem before you’re ready.”

“As a friend,” Cross said. “You’re Scott’s friend too. No one’s going to notice anything.”

They might if I look at you like I want to eat you after a week apart. Well, Rusty would just have to control his expression. He’d had plenty of practice at that, the first eighteen years of his life. “Sure, then. Sounds great.”

“Great.” Cross smiled at him.

Rusty smiled back. The schmoopy silence stretched out—

Beep! Whack! The hotel room door slammed open as far as the safety latch allowed. Digger bellowed through the gap, “What the fuck, Dodo! Let me in. Unless you have a guy in there.”

Rusty sighed and told Cross, “Roommate’s back. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Do that.”

“Good night.”

Digger rattled the door again.

Cross murmured, “Good night.” Rusty’s phone went to the lock screen.

Rusty slid off the bed. “Hold your fucking horses, Digs. Let me grab a towel, and I’ll let you in.”

“Grab a towel? Do you have a guy in there?”

“I wish.” Rusty ducked into the bathroom to drag a washcloth down his chest, then wrapped a towel around his hips. He padded to the door, closed it enough to flip the latch back, then opened for Digger. “How was the bar?”

“Boring. No surprise. Not a puck bunny to be found. Wilkie has crappy taste in bars.” Digger pushed past Rusty, stopped, and sniffed. “Smells like sex in here.”

“Just me and my left hand,” Rusty told him.

“Well, take a fucking shower.”

“About to do that.” He picked his sweatpants off the floor and dug fresh underwear out of his bag.

Digger stopped Rusty as he headed for the bathroom. “Hey, I didn’t say it, but you played a great game. That goal was sweet.” He faked an announcer-voice. “There’s Dolan crossing the blue line, he dekes around the defenseman and shoots… right through the five-hole!”

“Are you drunk?” Rusty asked.

“Only a bit.” Digger patted Rusty’s forearm. “You should be on the first pair with Petrov. Maybe we’d win some games.”

Rusty peered at him. “You’re more than a little bit drunk.

” But as he ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, he realized his bad mood had vanished.

Yeah, the team was losing, but he was playing well.

People were noticing. And he’d had sort-of sex with his…

boyfriend? Fuck it, he was going to start calling Cross his boyfriend.

He’d got off and Cross seemed happy. And in five days, he’d make Cross even happier.

The pounding water of the shower couldn’t wash the smile off Rusty’s face.