Page 24 of The Fall

His tongue flicks lower, teasing. I gasp at his soft lips, his rough stubble, the slick pressure of his tongue as he takes his time with my nipple, circling it with his tongue before drawing it between his teeth.

My breath stutters out in a broken moan. Blair’s teeth graze just enough to send sparks chasing over each and every nerve. He moves lower, tracing my abs with open-mouthed kisses.

When his tongue dips into my navel, my cock jerks, drooling a smear on my skin.

He breathes against the trail of hair below my navel and swipes his tongue through my precome. I feel him smile against me as I shiver. “Please,” I whisper.

He works his way down the inside of my thigh, teeth scraping at spots that make me flinch and gasp. My legs fall open wider. My cock is so hard it hurts, flushed dark and dripping onto my stomach, twitching with my heartbeat.

The first swipe of his tongue up the underside of my cock wrenches a sob out of me.

It’s slick heat and velvet drag, and he laps along my length. Every lick draws a new sound from me, and the world blurs to color and ache.

Blair’s mouth closes over the head, tongue flicking through the mess he finds there. My thighs tremble where they bracket his shoulders, muscles straining for more, for anything he’ll give. I want him to swallow me whole, to taste every shuddering plea tangled on my tongue.

He holds my hips in a bruising grip as he takes me into his mouth. I feel my cock head at the back of his throat, then feel the moment he relaxes and takes me deeper.

I taste copper on my tongue from biting down on every sound that wants to break loose. I glance down?—

Blair’s eyes flick up to meet mine, holding me pinned as he sinks further still, and I’m gone. The wet sounds he makes around my cock, the pressure of his thumbs digging into my hipbones, the sight of his lips stretched around me.

He pulls back to circle my head with his tongue, dipping into the slit to taste my precome. When he takes me deep again, he drapes my thigh over his shoulder, spreading me open. His hands slide beneath me to cup my ass, kneading the muscle and pulling me deeper into his mouth.

The deeper he takes me, the more my stomach coils like a spring wound past bearing. Every drag of his tongue, every squeeze of his fingers on my ass?—

God, he’s savoring this, relishing how I come undone beneath his mouth. The room smells dense with sweat and musk, the air thick enough to choke on, and all I can do is arch into him, giving him every desperate inch of me.

Blair drinks me down like he has all the time in the world, like this is the only thing that matters.

Then he shifts. The mattress dips as he reaches for the nightstand, and I hear the snap of a cap and the slick sound of lube. He strokes my cock once, twice, coating it, then his fingers slide lower, past my balls.

The first touch of his slicked finger against my hole makes me gasp. He circles me slowly as his mouth returns to my cock, and his thumb breaches me as his mouth sinks down my length.

Oh—

The pressure punches the breath from me.

It’s too much and not enough, the split-second burn giving way to a shocked pleasure that radiates through me.

My muscles clamp down, resisting the intrusion even as my body begs for more.

Blair works his thumb deeper, the slow drag a filthy counterpoint to the wet heat of his mouth taking me down to the root again.

I’m strung tight between his mouth and his hand, suspended in the torturous push-pull of pleasure. Every shallow thrust of his thumb sends sparks skittering under my skin. All I can do is let him take, let him ruin me.

Then his thumb withdraws and a finger replaces it, pushing inside me. The stretch burns—sharp, blinding—before dissolving into liquid gold spreading through my veins.

The world fractures around that single point of contact. My hips jerk off the mattress, writhing between the unrelenting pressure of his finger and the velvet suction of his mouth.

He crooks his finger and stars explode behind my eyelids. A broken whine escapes me, and I choke on whatever ragged plea was climbing up my throat.

He swallows, lips sealed tight as he pulls up only to plunge down again, hollowing his cheeks.

His rhythm never falters; every drag of his mouth matches the drive of his finger.

Stars still burn behind my clenched eyelids when he finally withdraws his mouth with a wet sound, leaving me gasping.

His breath ghosts over my skin as he drops a kiss to the inside of my trembling thigh.

I force my eyes open and see him watching me, his gaze dark, his lips glistening. A shudder wracks me.

His finger crooks again.

I stop breathing.

He swallows me to the root again as he works two fingers, then three, inside me, and the dual sensation has me babbling nonsense.

The stretch is more now, a fullness that borders on too much but still isn’t enough.

I reach for him blindly, tugging at his hair until he releases my cock with an obscene pop and surges up to kiss me.

He’s still finger-fucking me as his tongue invades my mouth.

I taste myself on his tongue as he rolls his hips, his cock dragging alongside mine in a slick glide that leaves us both shivering. I dig my nails into his shoulders, clinging to him as my hips rock between the friction of his cock and the invasion of his fingers.

“More,” I gasp. The wet sounds of his fingers working in and out of me, the ragged catch in his breathing, the filthy grind of our cocks sliding together— I need more.

He twists his fingers, and I cry out. The pleasure spikes so sharply it’s almost pain before melting into something deeper and darker.

He captures my mouth again, biting my lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.

His eyes are almost black in the dim light, pupils blown wide as he watches me unravel.

“Yes,” I pant, rocking onto his hand. “Yes, right there.” The pressure of his fingers has me babbling, begging.

My mouth falls open as he speeds up. All I can manage are broken, hitching breaths. “Feels—” The word breaks apart in my mouth as he presses harder, rubbing relentlessly against that bundle of nerves.

He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Say it.” His voice is sandpaper-rough.

I can’t form words, can only moan as his fingers work inside me, as his cock slides against mine, as the pressure builds to unbearable heights within me. I’m so close, teetering on the edge?—

His teeth graze the pulse point on my throat. “Say my name when you come.”

That’s all it takes. “Blair!” His name rips from me.

I shatter in one endless wave of release.

I cry out, and he covers my mouth with his own and takes my scream inside of him.

The kiss turns filthy, me clinging to him, him possessing me, my hands fisted in his hair, holding him to me, neither of us ever letting go as he follows me over.

His come spills across my skin, scorching-hot, and this time I swallow his moan as he shudders apart.

Finally, a millimeter of space opens between our lips as we exchange trembling breaths. “Blair,” I whisper. “Fuck, Blair.”

I’m boneless, weightless, and drifting. Blair is no better.

We collapse, tangled together. There’s a shaky exhale; Blair’s or mine, I can’t tell. If our teammates are still awake, our secret is out.

Oh well. I can’t care about anything after that.

Sweat cools on my skin, and our hearts begin to beat in sync in the hazy aftermath.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So much it terrifies me sometimes.” Fear shimmers in his eyes.

The world feels stripped down to this, our skin pressed to skin, our hearts still racing.

I brush my thumb along his jaw. “Me, too,” I whisper back. My voice is rough from everything he’s taken from me tonight.

He finds my lips with his again, softer this time. “I love you,” he breathes between kisses. “I love you, I love you.”

Ribbons of silver fall on Blair’s shoulder, moonbeams that I want to trace with my lips, envious of the skin they caress.

Outside, Pittsburgh is quiet, and across the city, the arena waits for our game. Inside, I lie on my side, propped on one elbow beside Blair, watching him sleep. I brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

I’m so close to being whole again. My body remembers what it needs to do, and my heart knows how much it wants to love.

But how is it possible to feel so utterly complete when my past is a fracture of half-remembered moments?

It’s terrifying how life can change in a heartbeat and erase everything you know and love about yourself.

Something flutters inside me, like wings beating against glass.

“Blair,” I whisper.

Even asleep, he turns to me, tucks his face against my neck, holding me fiercely enough to stamp stars in his eyes when he wakes up.

I think I’ve found the answer to all the questions I’ve asked. How do you know when you’ve gotten everything you ever wanted, even the things you didn’t know you needed? Does it feel exactly like this?

I close my eyes and breathe, and tiptoe into my memories of Vancouver: the burn of the spotlight and the freeze of my failure. My desolate isolation. The puck sliding past my stick, yet another miss. The sound of the crowd’s boos. A coach’s disappointed glare.

What happened between then and now, here and there? What am I missing?

The clock on the nightstand flickers: 2:37 a.m.

Two a.m., the time for questions that have no answers. There weren’t any on that beach or in those black waves, and there aren’t any here with me tonight, no matter how much I want there to be.

The only thing I know for sure is that I want to be this Torey forever.

I never want to slide back to those dark days and nights when I was alone and when no one relied on me or trusted me or wanted me for any damn thing.

I want this . I want to be Blair’s warm body in the night, the hand he reaches for, and the man he opens his eyes to.

Blair’s chest rises and falls.

What about tomorrow? What about next week? Next month? I need to be ready for anything—another hit, another concussion. Another year gone?

No, I can’t think like that.

I burrow closer to him. “I love you.”

You are the part of me I never knew was lost, my missing piece I never knew I needed.

I’m awake before the sun, still tangled in Blair’s arms. The sheets are warm and smell like him, and he’s exhaling into my hair, little puffs of breath as gentle as kisses. I don’t want to leave, but I have to.

I pull on my clothes from yesterday, my wrinkled T-shirt and joggers that absolutely look like they’ve spent the night crumpled at the foot of someone else’s bed.

If that weren’t enough evidence, I smell like sex and Blair and my hair looks like I’ve been thoroughly fucked, like hands have been grabbing it and manhandling me around. Which…

We’re trying to be discreet, but this is pushing it.

The hotel’s hallway is quiet when I step out of Blair’s room until Hawks scares the shit out of me, striding around the corner in sweat-soaked gym clothes. He looks from me to Blair’s door and back to me. “Early film study, Kicks?”

Fuck, fuck. “Always room for improvement.”

“That’s my man. Always grinding. That’s why you’ve got the golden hands.” He holds out his fist for a bump as he passes. I swallow and bump him back. He winks. “Catch you at breakfast, bro.”

Sweat drips down my neck, soaking my jersey. My heart pounds, but my mind’s clear. Two minutes left on the clock and we’re tied. One goal blows this open.

“Switch,” Blair says. We’re huddled-up behind the dot. “Mikko, pinch in.”

Pittsburgh’s arena is deafening. Their fans are roaring, ready to erupt if their team pulls out this win.

The puck drops. I dig my skates in. Mikko storms forward, his stick a blur as he battles for control.

A Pittsburgh player breaks free and hauls into our zone. I feel the game’s momentum shift, both benches holding their breath, Pittsburgh’s crowd roaring.

I catch up as he releases his shot, and Axel dives across the crease and gets his blocker up, then punches the shot over his net.

Hayes retrieves it. I holler his name, slap my stick on the ice, and he passes to me before two Pittsburgh players cream him into the glass.

Every inch of the ice rink unfurls beneath my blades. We need one goal to seal this game and keep our playoff hopes alive. No one is in the mood for OT tonight. We need to win this here and now.

“Kicks!” Hollow’s voice. Stick taps on my right.

I feint left, then sling the puck to Hollow. Blair breaks away, streaking. I follow, cluttering up the slot. Hollow’s coming in hot, holding on to the puck even as Pittsburgh’s top defenseman chokes his angles.

Drop-pass, Hayes waiting at the blue line. Hayes passes to Blair. The goalie shifts, leaving his right side exposed. Blair winds up?—

Pittsburgh’s goalie bites hard.

Instead of shooting, Blair arrows the puck to me.

I feel the puck strike my stick, feel my blades cut into the ice. All it takes is a tip of the wrist, not too hard, not too soft, and I lift it right into the cookie jar.

The horn sounds as the puck punches out the top of the twine, the sweetest sound in hockey. A buzzer-beater, the end of regulation, and a win for us.

Blair crashes into me, arms around me as he roars. Hollow and Hayes are coming in hot for the celly, and we only have a moment between us. “Fuck, I love you,” he says. Our eyes lock?—

Hollow and Hayes jump us both, flattening us to the boards. They’re whooping, hollering at the top of their lungs.

“Only one more left, baby!” Hayes crows. “One fucking more!”

Blair’s gloved hand wraps around the back of my neck. We knock our helmets together, forehead-to-forehead.

“Only with you,” Blair says. “Only with you.”