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Sixteen

Ryder

T he photos and videos are done, and the jersey is super nice. Pride Night is here, and no matter my mixed feelings, I’m committed to this thing. Knox was right. I have to say fuck you to the people who will judge and give my attention to the causes that matter.

“Hey, you’re up,” Knox says when I wander into the kitchen after my nap, looking to get my pre-game ritual started. He’s standing by the stove, shirtless, with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, looking like he stepped right out of some culinary porn set, plating something that smells really fucking good.

“Yes, Chef,” I say before I can stop myself. My voice is rough and gravelly from sleep, and apparently, I’m not fully awake yet to be flirting with him like that. I run my hands through my hair and yawn. It takes me a few minutes to truly wake up after a midday nap, but I’ll get there.

He chuckles but mercifully lets my slip go. “I made pasta for you. Chicken parmesan with rigatoni.” He moves over to the island and sets the plate of pasta and chicken down next to a place setting of silverware and a cloth napkin.

I look up quickly, suddenly more awake now. “Why would you do that?”

Knox looks away, biting his lip against a shy smile before he answers. “I saw you ordered it last time you had a home game. I know goalies are even weirder about your pre-game rituals than most hockey players. You probably have the same meal every time. Hope that’s okay.” He gives me a look I can only call hopeful. Fuck. For an incredibly secure man, he sure looks good when he’s fishing for approval.

He made my pre-game meal, the one he was right about me having before every game. We haven't crossed paths much lately with our travel schedules. I think this is the first home game he’s been around for. I have a methodical pre-game ritual that I follow. I wake up at the same time, have the same breakfast before morning skate, come home to nap, and then have the same pre-game meal before heading back to the arena. It also includes the same routine of a leisurely ride on an exercise bike, visualizations, and putting my gear on in the same order. Left side first, always.

For Knox to have picked up on something like what food I ordered based on my leftovers from the last game, and then to make it for me is huge. It’s a simple act that means so much. I can even let his weird goalie comment slide…because he’s also right about that. We’re an eccentric bunch of weirdos with more superstitions than other players and quirks that have some calling us psychos. I think I’m perfectly normal, I just have a prescriptive order for things I like. Nothing wrong with that.

“Oh, I got you a roll of rainbow tape for your stick. Thought it might be nice for Pride Night. You don’t have to use it or anything,” he says, gesturing at a roll of tape on the island before running a hand across the back of his neck.

Damn, he really thought of everything. My insides are warm and gooey, and I’m feeling too many things for coherent speech. I want to thank him, but the urge to touch him is stronger. I have the most pressing need to show him what he’s done to me.

Before I can think too hard about the impulse, I walk up behind Knox, grab the ends of the dish towel, drawing it across his shoulders and pulling so it bends him toward me, lining his back up against my chest and grinding my cock into his ass. My mouth is perfectly level with his ear as his head rests on my shoulder in this position. His body is coiled tightly, ready to spring, but his hands grip the granite island rather than pull at the towel to get away from me.

“That was really nice of you, Golden Boy. You keep feeding me like this, my dick is gonna get hard every time I see you.” I press my hips forward for emphasis, trapping him against the island and showing him my appreciation for the meal he made me.

“Ryder.” Knox gasps, the sound low and full of warning.

“What? You want me to thank you another way? Tell me what you want, Knox,” I rasp, begging him to say it, to tell me he wants me and I’m his type, finally. I pull harder on the ends of the towel, and his hands fly back to grip my hips as his back arches. There it fucking is. He doesn’t want me to stop any more than I do. His touch feels like molten pleasure, burning hot and sending shivers of lust straight to my cock so it jumps against him.

“We can’t,” he says, his voice almost a sob of longing that I feel in my chest. “You don’t…you’re not…”

“I’m not what?” I ask, rolling my hips harder into his fucking amazing ass that taunts me every time I see him. He has me worked up, and I can’t stop the words or what I’m doing. “You don't know what I am, do you? You’ve never asked. But you think you know me so well. You have my character all pinned down. I’m reckless.” I thrust against him, the friction and his ass cheeks somehow the best thing I’ve felt. “I say the first thing that comes to mind.” Thrust. “I’m all action, no thought.” Thrust. “Maybe that’s a good thing, though.” Thrust. “I make things happen.” Thrust. “I get what I want.” I give him one last vicious thrust and swear in his ear as I do something I haven’t since I hit puberty—I come in my pants. I bite down on his neck to stop myself from moaning through the rest of my orgasm that doesn’t seem to want to end.

“Fuck,” Knox grunts, pressing back into me harder.

My cock jerks against his ass as I spill into my shorts in hot bursts, quickly soaking through the thin material. Saliva pools in my mouth around the spot on his neck I don’t want to let go of. He tastes amazing. The woodsy and vanilla notes of his cologne, with the slight saltiness of his skin, are something I want to lick off the rest of his body with painstaking care. I’m experiencing too much pleasure to be embarrassed or have a thought beyond wanting to do that again without our clothes in the way. What would it be like to fuck Knox, for real? I’ve never touched a man sexually, other than what I’ve done to tease Knox, but I’ve fucked enough asses to know I love anal, and the idea of bending this big, muscular man over and taking him is becoming far too appealing. I release Knox’s neck and lick the imprints my teeth made in his skin, liking the mark a little too much.

Yeah, this is bad, is the first rational thought that stumbles back into my awareness. I release the dish towel, my hands falling away from Knox’s broad shoulders almost reverently. The shaky steps I take back from him feel leaden, my feet cemented in place as my body fights to stay right the fuck there against him. My chest heaves from the force of coming like a damn geyser. It’s like the idea of rubbing up against Knox squeezed my balls dry.

“I don’t…” I start, not sure how to explain what the fuck th at was.

Knox leans over the island, his back rising and falling with his breaths. “I know. You just did what you always do. You acted without thought, and now you don't know how to handle the aftermath,” he says, the words low, harsh, and strangled. “I wouldn't expect anything else.”

“Did I…” I have to pause to swallow down the terror rising in my throat. “…hurt you?” I ask, afraid of the answer. Did I pull the towel too tightly? Push him too hard against the island? Did I take too much from him? Oh fuck, does he hate me now?

Knox turns slowly until he’s facing me. His eyes are bright, and red stains his cheeks. He looks embarrassed and he’s pressing a fist into his incredibly hard dick, but he doesn't look injured. “I’m fine, Ryder. Let it go. I know you were just getting under my skin, and it didn’t mean anything to you.”

Did it mean something to me? Well, yeah, it fucking did, but how do I tell him that I don't even understand what it was? “That’s not…I mean…come on, Golden Boy,” I say, defaulting to easy humor to diffuse the tension. “I wanted to show my appreciation for you making my favorite pre-game meal. It means a lot that you would cook for me. Thanks, bro.”

Knox’s face locks down. His eyes narrow, brows coming together, and mouth setting in a harsh line flattening those beautiful lips that steal my attention far too easily. “You don't get to bro me when your cum is still warm against the back of my shorts because you got off, humping my ass like an errant dog. That’s not how you show appreciation. If you really appreciated what I did, you would have been on your knees making sure I got off.” He shakes his head. “Enjoy your meal, I’m going to change.”

He turns and storms out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with cum splashed down my shorts and cheeks that match the red dish towel I had around Knox’s neck just moments before, because now all I can think about is getting on my knees and sucking Knox off.