Page 16 of Speak in Fever

R ath is toweling off his hair in just a pair of sweats when his phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. Percy's name on the screen makes him pause—they don't really do phone calls. Texts about practice times, maybe, but actual conversations? That's new territory.

"What's up, Cap?" he answers, trying to keep his voice casual even as his stomach does something complicated.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Nah, just got out of the shower." Rath pads into his bedroom and flops onto his back onto his bed, phone pressed to his ear. He can practically hear the gears turning in Percy's head. "Let me guess—you want to run drills tomorrow before practice."

There's a pause. "How did you—"

"Because you've got that tone. The 'we need to work harder' captain tone." Rath can't help but smile a little, even though Percy can't see it. He knows Percy's moods by now, can read them in the way he holds his stick or the set of his shoulders during team meetings. "What time?"

"Seven-thirty?"

Rath feels something twist in his chest. There it is—that careful tone Percy uses when he's trying not to hurt feelings.

Like Rath is some delicate flower who can't handle honest feedback.

"Cap." He sits down hard on his bed, suddenly tired.

"If you think I need the extra work, then I need the extra work.

I'm not gonna argue with you about getting better. "

"That's not... Rath, that's not why I'm asking."

The defensiveness rises up before Rath can stop it. "Yeah? Then why?"

"Because when we're out there together, it works. The timing, the chemistry—it's good. Really good. But I think it could be even better."

The words hang in the air, and Rath finds himself holding his breath. He wants to believe it, but wanting something doesn't make it true. He's spent most of his life being told he's too small, too mouthy, too much of a risk. Old habits die hard.

"I just..." The words come out before he can stop them, vulnerability bleeding through despite his best efforts. "I know I'm not where you probably want me to be yet. As a linemate, I mean. I know I've still got shit to prove to you."

"What are you talking about?"

Rath laughs, but it comes out hollow. "Come on, man. I see how you look at me sometimes. Like you're trying to figure out if I'm gonna fuck up your perfect plays."

"That's not—" Percy starts, then stops. The pause makes Rath's stomach drop because maybe he's right, maybe Percy really does see him as a liability. "Rath, listen to me."

"I'm listening." Rath closes his eyes, bracing himself for whatever careful letdown is coming.

"When I watch you play, I'm not looking for mistakes. I'm watching because I can't look away. You're fast, yeah, but it's more than that. You see things before they happen. You make plays I don't even think of until you're already making them."

Rath's eyes snap open. That isn't what he'd expected to hear. At all.

"And the way you battle for pucks..." Percy continues, his voice gaining strength. "I've seen guys twice your size give up fights that you'd die before losing. Your compete level is off the charts, and that's not something you can teach. You either have it or you don't."

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again. What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

"You're just…" Percy trails off for a second and he sounds frustrated, like he hates to admit it but he's going to anyway. "Fuck, Rath, you're just so good ."

The words are like velvet in his ear, smooth and silky and warm, and Rath feels like there are fingers raking down his spine with every syllable. It's nothing, it's just–

It's just Percy. His voice, and those words, and Rath can't help the breathless gasp that echoes across the line between them, escaping from his own mouth before he can stop it.

It's the smallest of sounds but it sounds so incriminatingly loud in the silence of Percy's praise and Rath knows he's fucked.

There's a pregnant pause after, and Rath can almost hear the shock across the line, and he's flushing to the tips of his ears he's so fucking embarrassed.

He should hang up, right? Just hang up and pretend it's a bad connection.

Hang up and pretend this never happened and he'll still be able to look his captain in the eye during practice tomorrow.

He can't. He can't leave it. They've been doing so good together lately and things have been so much better than last year. He can't just go back to that. He has to say something to make things okay between them.

But then Percy says, his voice low in Rath's ear and settling like fire in his veins, "Is that what you want to hear? That I think you're amazing?"

The words go straight to Rath's cock, which gives an interested twitch in his pants, and Rath flushes all the way down his neck and chest. He grabs himself through the layers of clothes, something heavy and foreign weighing down on his chest, and the moan he breathes into the receiver feels like it's punched out of him.

Across the phone he hears Percy's sharp intake of breath, and if this whole thing is some elaborate prank to embarrass him, to make him look bad in front of the team–but that's below Percy, isn't it?

Despite their differences, Percy has never been anything but fair to him and he's never used Rath's insecurities against him.

No, Percy would never exploit him like that.

Which means…

"Percy," Rath breathes into the phone, his sweaty hands braced on his thighs and the phone held between his cheek and his shoulder. "You don't even want me on the team."

There's a shift across the line, like Percy is moving, or settling. Is he in bed?

"Of course I want you on the team, Rath," Percy says earnestly, and then he continues, voice rough, "I just want you to listen ."

Rath is hard in his sweatpants and his fingers clench against his thighs.

"Can you listen, Rath?"

Oh God, he can't breathe. He can't speak. He arches his back, feeling his dick press against the confines of his pants, and it isn't enough.

He realizes after a moment that all he's doing is breathing into the phone, struck speechless, and he hears Percy say again, "Can you?"

"Y-yes," he manages.

“Are you touching yourself?” Percy asks.

Rath shakes his head, not that Percy can see. “No,” he says. “I want–” and he does know what he wants, but he isn’t sure how to say it.

Percy seems to know, too, because, unprompted, he supplies, “Want me to tell you that you can? Tell you the way I want it?”

“Please,” Rath begs.

“Take your pants off,” Percy orders.

Rath does.

“Are you wearing underwear?” Percy asks.

“No,” Rath replies.

The noise Percy makes in response, a deep, throaty, primal growl, is downright sinful. “So fucking good,” he says. “That’s a good boy.”

Rath is helpless to stop the needy mewling sounds that punch from his lungs. Percy’s words hit him like a physical blow, every one of his nerve endings lighting up, synapses firing like fireworks as sparks go off behind his eyes. His limbs feel impossibly heavy and disembodied all at once.

“Yeah?” Percy checks.

“Yes,” Rath hisses. He rubs the barred skin of his neck, presses his fingers hard against his thundering pulse. “You can – as much you want. I like – it’s good.”

“Of course you like it,” Percy says. His voice is tight and strained. Rath can just hear the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. “You’re my good boy. So needy for me. I bet your dick is leaking. Tell me how wet you are.”

“I’m– fuck,” Rath groans. He glances down at his cock, thick and flushed and dripping precum, smearing against the neatly trimmed hair on his abdomen every time it twitches, desperate for attention. “I’m so wet, Percy.”

“For me,” Percy says.

Rath nods. “Just for you. Everything, it’s all for you.”

“God, Rath.” The slick noises on the other end of the line speed up. “Wish I was there to taste you. Mark you up. Make sure you know who you belong to.”

Rath pants, his chest flushes. He presses his fingers against the sides of his throat.

“Wrap your hand around yourself.”

His fingers twitch around his neck before he understands, moves his hand down to grip his cock.

“Want you to feel good like you’re making me feel good,” Percy whispers.

Rath’s back bows nearly in half at the first drag of his closed fist. He makes the neediest noise, and Percy matches his intensity on the other end of the call with something low and guttural and absolutely wrecked.

“I’m not gonna last,” Rath warns.

“Don’t want you to,” Percy replies. “Want you to let go for me. Cum for me. You can do it.”

Rath quickens his pace. He mewls and gnaws at his lips as the pressure builds low in his belly, winding him tight like a spring.

He shimmies his legs open wider, imagines Percy slotted between them, watching Rath jerk his cock while he kisses his thighs, slides a slick, thick finger into Rath hole to work him open.

“No, no, don’t do that,” Percy says. “Don’t muffle yourself. I wanna hear you cum for me.”

Rath’s hips rock against the bed. The mattress groans.

The sound of his hand working his cock, of slick skin against skin, the ragged sound of his harsh breathing and the tiny kitten noises that slip past his lips sound like thunder in the quiet apartment.

Rath flushes up his chest, into his hairline.

He already sounds so wanton, so needy. It makes his cock twitch as much as it makes shame claw at the back of his throat.

“You’re so amazing, Rath.”

Rath doesn’t need any further encouragement.

Like a match struck against sandpaper, the gravel of Percy’s voice pulls Rath’s orgasm from him in a rush.

The tug of arousal at his belly button feels like a camel pulling through the eye of a needle.

He screams – he’s sure of it – feels the raw burn in his throat when he floats back down to earth.

His consciousness hovers somewhere above his body, while the endorphins flow through his veins, make him feel loose, and hot, and happy.

“Fuck, Rath,” Percy says, frayed, frantic. “That’s it, baby. That’s so good. You sound so good for me. Gonna cum.”

Rath’s so spent, but he still feels a shock of heat run through him as Percy speaks. “Please, Percy,” he whispers, strung out and hoarse. “Give it to me. Cum for me.”

That’s all it takes. Percy moans over the line, and Rath revels in the sound of it, how raw it is, how carnal.

It’s so close to his ear, Rath imagines what if would be like for real, to have Percy pressed that close, his breath puffing against Rath’s sensitive, overheated skin, ticking the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck,” Percy groans, slow and languid as he comes back to himself. Rath hears the note of trepidation in his voice, and a lead weight settles in his belly, makes his throat feel thick, congested.

Oh god, what have they done?

The silence stretches out between them and Rath presses the heel of his free hand against his eyes.

"Seven-thirty tomorrow?" he asks, because he needs to say something and that seems safe.

"Yeah,” Percy says, and he sounds wrecked. “Yeah I'll see you then.”