Page 20 of Full Body Hit, Part 1 (Alpha Omega Hockey #5)

CHASE

I t was so, so warm. There was a band clenched around his middle, holding him in place. His back was burning with heat, lungs tight.

Chase shifted, but the band tightened, pressing him down, a growl rumbling suddenly.

The sound went through him, from the follicles on his head to his curling toes. He tried to breathe, but his chest was compressed. It made him dizzy.

He slipped into that hazy doze that was blowing over him like lavender fog.

He squirmed, wanting to feel his body, and the noise continued, aggressive and yet filling Chase up perfectly. The heat in his core made itself painfully known. The rumble underneath him kept going, shaking him, and, fuck, he was so wet, his mouth opened in a gasp.

A hot breath brushed over his neck, useless glands tingling. He shifted, and something hard rubbed his ass, forcing itself between his cheeks even through his thin pyjama pants.

He moaned, and the pressure crushing him increased. He was being pulled back against that hot, solid thing, and Chase was lighting up with it.

He wanted more. He had to…fuck, he had to—

He opened his eyes. A gloom-covered room met him. Heavy curtains, bland walls, a chair with a small suitcase on it.

Wait…

Chase’s hand twitched. It was gripping the band around his waist. No, not a band—an arm.

Auston’s arm.

Fuck. Oh, God. Every bit of sensation was drawn into focus—Auston’s lips at the nape of his neck, his body crushing Chase, his hard cock rubbing in slow, rhythmic pulses.

But it wasn’t just Auston pressing into him—Chase was pushing back, trying to get close, to dip into that heat so it could swallow him up completely.

“Auston,” he whispered, throat unable to make anything louder.

The sound seemed to have the opposite of the desired effect—Auston’s hand splayed over his stomach, digging in.

God, if Auston was inside him, maybe that hand would be able to feel himself there, so big he split Chase open, just like his daddy.

God, fuck.

Aunix.

Chase twisted as much as he could until their faces were inches away. “Auston. Auston!”

The body behind him jerked. For a moment, Chase was trapped, Auston’s eyes opening, surprised gazes meeting.

Auston was so, so close, his lips parted, wet. Everything was on fire. Chase couldn’t breathe. He—

“ Shit .”

All of a sudden, Chase was free. Cold rushed in as Auston rolled away, Chase following suit scrambling away. They stood on opposite sides of the bed, panting and flushed. Auston’s cock stretched the material of his briefs obscenely, head peeking out of the waistband.

Chase slammed his eyes shut, covering his face. His own underwear was stuck to him with slick, but at least he was a little more hidden by his loose pants.

“Jesus, I…fuck, I’m so sorry,” Auston stuttered.

Chase shook his head violently. “It’s—it was both of us.”

“But—”

“We were sleeping,” Chase insisted.

“That was so fucking inappropriate,” Auston kept saying. “God, fuck.”

“Auston. It was both of us. Stop.”

Auston raked a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “It’s not the same. I’m the veteran here, okay? The power dynamic is fucked. Just…that was not fucking cool. I’m sorry.”

Chase was still struggling to get a breath in. “It’s seriously fine. Honest mistake. Let’s…do you wanna…?” He gestured to the bathroom.

Auston was bright red, eyes wild, black hair hanging over his forehead. “Yeah. Fuck. Okay.”

He turned around and left, not even taking a change of clothes with him.

Chase covered his eyes.

Holy shit. What the fuck was that?

He unstuck himself, scrambling to change, cleaning up with his underwear and then stuffing the soiled clothes away. It was eight in the morning—team breakfast was in two hours—but hell if he was going to wait it out in the hotel room.

He grabbed his phone, his keycard, and hoofed it out of there.

He hid in the hotel restaurant until teammates started appearing and sat with him, Sammy making space for himself beside Chase when he arrived.

“Morning,” Sammy greeted. “Who’d you end up sharing with?”

“Auston,” Chase mumbled, trying not to blush and failing.

Sammy made a face. “Oh.” He eyed Chase. “Did something happen?”

“ No ,” Chase blurted way too quickly and loudly. “No. Just. Awkward,” he said, managing to modulate his voice.

“Right…okay. You sure?”

“Yep. Hundred percent.”

Sammy hummed doubtfully but let it drop as Noah made it to the table.

Nothing had happened. It was an honest mistake.

He was just going to scrub it from his memory and never think about it again.

***

When Chase was little, he would dream about his first goal in the NHL.

He always went ridiculously big—how cool would it be if he scored shorthanded?

Or on his very first shift? Or maybe in a big divisional game, potting in the game-winning goal?

Or maybe in overtime, right at the last instant, a beautiful move between the legs.

Those imaginings disappeared soon after getting to the NHL. Even if he ever got that first goal—which seemed doubtful, it’d been weeks , it’d be something lame, like an accidental tap against an opposition’s skate, or a tip-in that was mostly someone else’s work.

Reality landed somewhere in between those two extremes.

Chase didn’t even realise what had happened for a few beats.

He was posted to the left of the goal, a few feet away from the blue paint underneath the goalie’s skates.

The Salem Cats had left him alone, probably because he had somehow landed on a line with Auston, and he was drawing the opposition in like piranhas to a piece of meat.

Noah was behind the net like he liked to be, big body capable of corralling the puck against the boards, blocking space out in tight quarters. Auston sent it over, and Noah scrambled for it, wrestling it out, and it was on Auston’s tape again.

The Cats coalesced towards him, the goalie hugging the pipe on his side, but Auston didn’t shoot. He passed it instead, a clean, beautiful sauce right to Chase’s tape.

Chase didn’t hesitate. The goalie lunged to the side, but Chase saw it coming, roofing it in a beautiful bar-down goal, the ping of the puck hitting metal sounding out a few seconds before the goal horn.

Chase stared, mouth open, probably looking dumb as fuck. Had that been a goal?

Noah knocked into him, followed by the defenders. It took Auston significantly more time to appear, tapping him one on the helmet.

Not even Auston’s obvious reluctance to celebrate could knock the smile off his face—he’d fucking done it. His first NHL goal.

He was shaking as he went to fist-bump the guys on the bench, laughing when Sammy reached out and knocked a fist into his shoulder.

He sat next to his fellow Omega after the celebrations were done, the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears.

He wasn’t even supposed to have been on that line. It had been an odd line change as they kept pressure on the offensive zone, players going off to change one by one—Chase hadn’t had to, staying by the goal, not moving enough to need to freshen up his legs.

His mouth flooded with a bitter sweetness as he realised—his first goal had been assisted by Auston. Kid-Chase would be having a panic attack in excitement.

Current-Chase didn’t know what to feel.

It was only when the game was over, and he was being told to pose with the puck he’d scored with, that he realised someone must have grabbed it—he had been too busy celebrating.

“Auston got it,” one of the equipment managers said when Chase asked them.

A fucking knot tied around Chase’s heart, slowing the flow of blood until his head felt a little airy. He glanced over at Auston, who was half-undressed, big, furry chest on display.

“Oh,” Chase mumbled. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that piece of information?

He rubbed the edge of the puck, holding its familiar weight, feeling the texture of rubber under his thumb. First NHL Goal was written on the tape wrapped around the edge.

The knot in his heart loosened, and the beat of blood in his head took over. Vertigo slammed into him, making the world spin.

Maybe he could do this. Maybe he really could survive as a member of the New Orleans Spirits.

The PR lady handed him a Polaroid version of his photo. She insisted on taking another picture with him holding the Polaroid and then let him go.

Some of the guys crowded him, elbowing and jostling him playfully. He managed to untangle himself, laughing, ending up almost at Auston’s feet.

He looked up, and Auston was already staring back, eyebrows quirked up.

The visceral memory of Auston behind him on the hotel bed hit him between the eyes. It’d been almost a week since the incident, and he was still haunted by it, the sensations ambushing him out of nowhere.

He’d debated telling Aunix, but what would be the point? It wasn’t like it meant anything. And Chase was trying really, really hard not to think about it.

Auston had apologised again when they were home, but Chase had insisted that it wasn’t the Alpha’s fault.

It was just a thing that had happened, like a natural phenomenon they had no control over.

A storm that had washed over the room, rumbling the walls and drowning them in steaming water and then disappearing as quick as it came.

They hadn’t been in control of it, so they weren’t at fault for it, and that was that.

“ Uhm ,” Chase muttered, “thanks for grabbing the puck.”

Auston shrugged, waving the thanks away. “Let’s see the picture, then.”

Stupidly, Chase took a second to process the meaning of those words, too busy trying to keep his eyes above Auston’s clavicle instead of slipping down to his bare, broad pecs. “Oh.”

He handed the Polaroid over, twitching as his fingers brushed Auston’s.

He could feel his face heat as Auston inspected the photograph—did he look dumb in it, all sweaty and dishevelled and gross?

Auston held out the picture. “Cute,” he said, and the word kicked Chase in the chest. He reddened further.