Page 32 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 22

Ryan

Ryan had done a lot of difficult things in his life. Getting through high school while doing travel hockey had been one, for sure. All the years of training, the mental pressure and physical fatigue. Moving away from his whole family at nineteen to live across the country. Being traded mid-season. Twice. Despite his constant surprise that he had made it to the NHL, he could at least pat himself on the back for the work he put in to get there.

Still, one of the hardest things he’d done in recent memory was watch Lars Nilsson walk away from him. Especially with an open invitation to follow.

Ryan didn’t follow. He wanted to—he really wanted to—but he couldn’t. He was still processing, and he didn’t want to jump into anything without being sure. If Lars were still on the Prowlers and had propositioned him, Ryan would probably be in Lars’s hotel room right now. The teammate thing put a wrench in things. So did Geneva.

He believed Lars when he said he felt bad about the fallout of Switzerland. He believed that shit beyond Lars’s control had made Ryan an afterthought in that moment, and Ryan didn’t resent that. It was more it highlighted the real problem: they both took their hookups lightly. Ryan knew he’d avoided anything other than one night stands for a reason because he wanted to avoid feelings, and he figured it was similar for Lars. But he was too far gone to do anything with Lars without at least some emotional investment.

And that was scarier than he wanted to admit. It hadn’t hurt at all to have Lars years ago and lose him.

The need to perform already had him spread too thin. He needed his career to continue on this trajectory, and a fling with a teammate wouldn’t help. His anxiety wouldn’t help, either, if he thought every shift was the difference between both a place on the team and in Lars’s bed.

By the time he heard the whir of his hotel room lock engaging, he was spent. He could feel a headache coming on. Ryan groaned, inwardly admitting defeat as he got ready for bed. His mind raced so much in the silence, especially knowing only one stupid wall stood between him and Lars, that he had to turn on the TV to drown out his thoughts. With some cliche Hallmark movie in the background, he fell asleep wishing his life were as simple as it was for the characters in the movie, falling in love while trying to save Christmas in a small town.

* * *

The Hallmark channel had been a bad idea, because he dreamed about more and more ridiculous situations where he and Lars were thrown together. He woke up with the distinct impression he’d been a baker and Lars had been a corporate lawyer, and turned off the TV with more annoyance than necessary. And though he felt groggy and physically drained, he’d woken up with a sense of clarity he hadn’t had the night before.

Somewhere in his carousel of small town romance dreams, he’d settled on a plan.

Ryan had known for months about their past and its implications, but still gotten over them; Lars had just found out. He seemed fine with everything, aside from some obvious embarrassment, but it’d been too fast for him to really process it. Ryan wanted to move forward (God, did he) but he needed them to be on the same page.

I want you too

He quickly added a lone “BUT” before Lars’s answering dots could light up the screen. Still, the screen brightened to show he was there, one room away and waiting to see what Ryan said.

I want you too

BUT

I don’t want this to just be some itch you scratch. if we do this, I don’t want it to be a one and done thing where we go back to normal the next day like it never happened

There was a moment after he hit send when he regretted it. It was the moment where he saw Lars had read it but his screen didn’t indicate any signs of an incoming response. Then the little dots appeared and he couldn’t help laughing once he read it.

so is there a minimum number of times I’m signing up for…?

more than once, the rest we can play by ear

unless you’ve gotten terrible at sex over the years

I promise I have only improved

Ryan was inclined to believe that. Not that the sex had been bad, but sloppy handjobs had been all they could manage when they were drunk, and Lars had been further gone than him.

guess I’ll find out

my only other condition: we wait until we’re back in Baltimore

He’d initially typed “home” but didn’t want to presume anything. Or jinx himself.

that’s a week!!! :(((

I know

That was the point. It was one thing to make promises when they had adjoining rooms and were both keyed-up from the other night. Waiting would either allow the tension to grow…or snuff it out. If whatever this was between them was doomed to fail, he’d rather front-load the disappointment. It wasn’t just Lars he was second guessing. He needed the time to be sure he wanted to get into a fling that was this…messy. Complicated. Both.

:((((

but can’t you see how sad that face is

it looks just like my actual face, very sad

I’ll make it up to you

Next week, he thought, but instead typed, “I’ll get you the sugariest protein shake I can find.”

:)(

that’s because I’m still sad but I want the protein shake

I don’t have to wait a week for that do I?

Again, Ryan laughed to himself. He was stupidly fond of Lars, and he really hoped in a week he’d get to prove it to him.

I’ll bring it to breakfast

meet you down there in thirty k?

He made a mental note to stock up on strawberries, creamer, and honey when he got back to his apartment. Three things he’d never purchased together, but now sudden necessities. He didn’t think Lars would like his instant coffee without something sweet to water it down, nor would he take too kindly to Ryan’s “chocolate” flavored whey protein that just tasted like chalk.

Yep. Whatever this was between them, it wasn’t something he could work out of his system with one quick fuck. Hopefully indulging wouldn’t backfire.

* * *

They were able to fall back into their normal routine easily, as if nothing had happened and nothing was going to. They still sat next to each other on the bus and during meals, but they forced themselves to gravitate to others during the player meeting and in the locker room. It made Ryan hope that the trend would continue, that they’d be able to maintain the right balance of distance and favoritism from the past few days so no one would suspect anything.

Not that there’s anything to suspect right now, though that was hardly the point.

Tonight they played the Bay Area Brawlers, leaving right after the game to go directly to the airport. They’d leave San Francisco and arrive in Anaheim hopefully before 2 am. Ryan hated west coast road trips.

During the warm-ups, while most of the team did their usual skate, stretches, and superstitions, Ryan did his: he skated over to center ice. Almost immediately, he heard a mix of “RJ!” and “Rusty!” and “Ryan!” as four guys skated over from the Brawlers. This was Ryan’s tradition in every city but Austin, where he’d check in with former teammates. It felt…necessary. He’d never been able to put it into words, but he liked that it made sure his past wasn’t erased. He might not be happy about how he left some of his former teams, but he’d been there. He’d helped, he’d played, he’d been on the bench celebrating with them. Trading him couldn’t take that away.

“Hey, guys,” Ryan said, fistbumping them. One of the players was from his time in Vancouver, two from Vermont (though not at the same time), and one he knew from the AHL. “How’s it been?”

They talked the shit, general woes about how the Brawlers were doing this season and excitement about their upcoming home stand that started with their game tonight.

“Nice weather for it, too,” Ryan said. Baltimore wasn’t as bad as Vermont in December, but he liked the warmer temperatures courtesy of certain road trips. He didn’t think he could ever give up winter permanently, but he enjoyed the little escapes.

“Nothing like Burlington, eh?” one joked while another pointed his chin towards the Crabs and said, “What’s it like playing with Nilsson?”

Ryan looked over his shoulder. Lars was passing back and forth with Jake, the sort of familiarity between them that showed they were clicking as linemates. This wasn’t the first time people had asked him about Lars. If someone brought him up, it was either with awe or annoyance. And he got it. Lars had tunnel vision in games. If you weren’t wearing the same jersey as him, you were invisible, not human but rather an obstacle. Ryan almost envied his ability to shut them out; when Ryan looked at opposing teams, all he saw was the past: people he’d played with, ones he’d shut down or who had shut him down, lost connections from people he’d shared his life with, day in and day out for months until suddenly, he didn’t.

He shrugged and turned back to them. “He’s all right.”

“Hear he’s kind of a tool,” his AHL buddy Cody said. “But I think at that pay grade they all are.”

Ryan bristled but shook it off. “He doesn’t always make a good first impression,” he conceded. He didn’t want to talk about Lars, so he said dismissively, “I’m never on the ice with him or anything, but he gets points, so.”

“Hear you’re getting points.” Matty from Vancouver was chewing gum like a weirdo and looking at him with a wide grin. He tapped Ryan’s leg with his stick. “Career year.”

Ryan’s chest swelled with pride. Someone noticed. “Yeah, seems like. Maybe get an extension from it.”

“Good luck, bro,” he said with genuine understanding. “You deserve it.”

They started to drift backwards towards the Brawlers. “No goals tonight, though,” Cody said with a wink. “I’m not letting you off easy just ‘cuz we won the Calder together.”

Ryan smiled fondly. The only good thing that had come out of his time in the AHL was winning the Calder Cup. Everything else about the experience had made him feel like a fraud for trying to play in the NHL. The reminder of that achievement loosened the last knots of tension that had been lingering the past few days. Things were looking good.

* * *

They lost their last two games of the road trip and flew back to BWI in bad spirits. No one liked to lose, but it was especially annoying when you traveled across the country to do it. No one was in a good mood when they landed, only grunting at each other as they went their separate ways.

“Optional skate tomorrow,” Thompkins said, looking about as disinterested in the idea as they did. “Gotta rework some things.”

“It’s been five days.” Lars fell into step beside Ryan as they headed to the airport garage. “But we could grab dinner. That’s allowed, right?” His smile, unsure as it was, still brightened his face, especially with his eyes lit up in hope. His hair was getting longer, a mess of dirty blond that was almost below his eyes. Just begging for someone to run their hands through it.

Maybe it was the exhausting flight or the waiting, but Ryan didn’t have it in him to argue.

“I mean, five days is a full work week, right? Basically rounds up to seven.”

Lars stopped short for a half step, then nearly tripped over his feet as he rushed to catch up. “Exactly!” Then with an adorable amount of nervousness, he asked, “Want to go out?”

He was tempted. The idea of the two of them grabbing dinner definitely appealed to his romantic side that wanted an actual date before they fell in bed together. But he was too tired to put up a fight. What was he even fighting at this point? Lars and him were on the same page about this, so why put it off?

“Wanna order out?” Ryan asked, then gulped. “My place or yours?”

Lars looked like he was about to jump up and down in excitement. “Mine. There’s a burger place at the corner. I could order before we left and pick it up and—” With visible effort, he stopped himself, took a deep breath, and said evenly, “My place, if that’s okay.”

Ryan couldn’t remember if he had done laundry or put away his dirty dishes before he left. “Works for me.”

They parted ways in the parking garage. He sat in his car a good ten minutes after Lars had texted him the address, giving his head time to clear and to check in with himself. Hands on the steering wheel, he could still list all the reasons this was a bad idea…and he still didn’t care.

“Alright,” he said as he shifted the car into gear. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Lars lived in one of those fancy apartment complexes that was in a hundred-year-old building, some old factory or warehouse that had been converted into high-end living space but carefully curated so it still held the “charm” of its former life without any of the inconveniences. It was nice, probably not more than a dozen condos in the whole place, and looking at the brick facing and iron structures was the perfect distraction as he took the steps up to 412. By the time he got to the door, Ryan’s hesitation was gone. He was ready.

He knocked.

Lars opened the door and smiled shyly at him, and Ryan’s heart nearly stopped. Maybe he wasn’t ready, because if only his smile could paralyze him, he was doomed.

“Hey,” Lars said warmly and opened the door wide. Ryan stepped in automatically, hands deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt just to have something to do with them. “Did you find it okay?”

Ryan cursed himself for taking so long. All the time to make sure Lars didn’t see how nervous he was, and he’d gone and made Lars worry instead. “Yeah, sorry?—”

Lars interrupted him with a hand to his shoulder. “It’s okay. It gave me time to get the food. Burgers and cheese fries for me…” He led the way to a kitchen island, the food already plated and waiting. “...and a burger and salad for you.” He looked pleased with himself for remembering Ryan didn’t do potatoes. “What would you like to drink? I have tap water and Seltzer.”

There was a beer sweating next to Lars’s plate. Ryan gulped as he eyed it. “A beer would be great, actually.”

Lars raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Just to take the edge off,” he mumbled. He was too excited and nervous. He’d be an absolute mess in bed if he couldn’t calm the hell down.

“They’re all IPAs.” He said it like an apology, but Ryan understood the warning. Way more alcohol than he normally drank.

“A water, too. Tap is fine.”

Satisfied, Lars disappeared into his ginormous fridge while Ryan sat on a bar stool. Watching Lars was helping. He was so at ease, comfortable in his own space, that it made Ryan calm by osmosis. He was able to match Lars’s mood, almost like when he’d followed Lars’s lead in that one game and ended up scoring a Michigan.

Holy crap. He’d scored a Michigan goal in an actual NHL game. Only maybe five other players had managed that.

When Lars set a bottle of beer in front of him, he chased the thrill of his recent success with a long swig. It was bitter (or “hoppy,” as he was often corrected whenever he drank a beer and said it tasted awful), but still he forced himself to take three full gulps before putting it down. He’d feel it soon, that dampening of his self-consciousness, then he’d be able to pick up where they’d left off in San Francisco.

Lars was in no rush, though. He leisurely ate and drank, chattering on, thankfully needing very little input from Ryan. It was like he understood what Ryan needed and was happy to fill the silence and drive along the evening. By the time they were done eating, Ryan had fallen into a false sense of security that shattered the second Lars set the plates in the sink.

“You tipsy yet?” Lars asked with faux innocence.

Ryan’s head was wonderfully cloudy. “A little.”

“Perfect.” But instead of flashing him a seductive look, Lars leaned back against the counter and grinned mischievously. “Challenge you to a game of air hockey?”

He blinked, then giggled (oh God, he really was tipsy if he was giggling). “Air hockey?” he asked. “For real?”

“Absolutely,” Lars said solemnly. “I would never joke about hockey. Ice or air.”

“Then let’s play.”

During dinner, Ryan had faced the kitchen, his back to the open living space that took up most of the apartment. As they stepped into it, Ryan was suddenly hit by its size. His whole apartment, a completely normal living space that was well above what his sisters had lived in during college, could fit into the living room. The ceilings were tall and the space was rendered even larger by the sparse furniture. A large TV and sectional did nothing to mask that there were lots of bare spaces where things should be, but there weren’t many things at all. An air hockey table, treadmill, and an overflowing bookshelf looked almost pathetic in the emptiness.

“You could have a whole home gym in here,” Ryan said dumbly.

“Why would I need a home gym? I can just go to the rink.” He offered a paddle to Ryan and let him pick a side. “Ready?”

“You’re not as good at this as you are at actual hockey, are you?” Ryan asked dubiously. Of course he would be. He owned an air hockey table.

Lars shrugged. “I’m only okay. You’ll be fine. My niece and nephew beat me all the time.”

“Do you let them beat you?”

With the flick of a switch, the table began to hum and shake slightly. The bright green puck started to glide along the surface. “Only when it looks like they’ll be upset if I win.”

Recalling the small children at the Otters game, Ryan suspected that was nearly every time. “If I get upset, will you let me win?”

“Not a chance.”

Lars easily scored the first goal. Ryan wasn’t used to being tipsy, and his hands weren’t quite on the same page as his head. Ryan was able to block the second almost-goal and then soon found a rhythm. It wasn’t hockey in any way he was used to, but once he let his mind drift, his reflexes were up for the challenge. There was clearly some technique involved, because Lars scored or nearly scored every time he could corral the puck, turning innocuous recoveries into dangerous plays that kept Ryan on his toes.

By the time his half-beer had faded, they were tied. Ryan had worked up enough of a sweat that he had to take off his sweatshirt and throw it over to the lonely sofa. He’d been having so much fun, he’d almost forgotten why he was here in the first place.

Until he scored to put him in the lead, and Lars lightly suggested, “We could always up the ante.”

Ryan licked his lips. “What did you have in mind?” His throat was thick, his voice raspy, and he was glad he didn’t have to mask it. They both knew where this was going, what they both wanted. It was freeing, not to have to hide behind words like “friend” and “teammate.”

Lars spun his paddle in his hand, looking up through his too-long hair as he batted his eyes and said, “Strip air hockey?”

He had no idea what he expected Lars to say, but it wasn’t that. It was so on-brand, he was more surprised at himself for not guessing than Lars for suggesting it. “I notice you waited until after I took off my sweatshirt to suggest it.”

“You still have your shoes on.” Lars lifted a foot in the air and dramatically pointed at it, awkwardly balancing against the table. He wiggled his bare toes for emphasis. “Look at me! You’re already four points ahead!”

“It’s your table!” Ryan protested. “You should have a handicap going in.”

“You’re beating me right now.”

“Fair,” he conceded, “but you could be hustling me. Playing down your talents to trick me into agreeing to this. You’ll have me naked in five minutes.”

“While I would very much like you naked in five minutes,” Lars said as he licked his lips, “do you think I’m capable of playing down my talents? I play to win.”

“You admitted to letting your niece and nephew win, FYI. You’re not making a compelling argument here.”

Lars frowned, the “shit he’s right” clearly evident in his thoughts.

“It’s okay,” Ryan said with a laugh. “I’ll play. I think I can handle it.”

They dropped the puck and immediately Ryan scored. It was almost as thrilling as scoring in an actual game, especially when he was rewarded with Lars taking off his t-shirt and dropping it to the ground. Then he was too busy staring across the expanse of Lars’s naked torso, the hairs leading down his abs and the well-toned but lean muscles, that Lars scored on him seconds later. Annoying, since he’d seen Lars without a shirt dozens of times before. It was only the context that made it different now.

“Don’t get too excited,” he grumped. “It’s just a shoe.”

“But your foot is very sexy.” Lars made a show of looking under the table to see it. “Can’t wait until I get that sock off, too.”

“You gotta score two more times before you get to see my toes.”

And then he did. In rapid succession. One, two, three.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” Ryan said as he pulled off his second sock. They were even now, except for the shirt.

Ryan pulled the disk out of his goal and considered if he even wanted to win this game.

Neither of them gave up a point for the next five minutes, the nonstop back and forth not enough for either of them to score. None of the tricky bounces or changing the pace or the weird spin Lars sometimes used did anything. The few times one of them nearly scored—the bright puck teetering on the edge of the goal—the other would slam their paddle down, just in time to hold it in place.

When Ryan finally scored, he punched the air in victory.

“Take ‘em off,” he said and pointed to Lars’s sweatpants.

Lars wagged no with his finger and then very gingerly took off his watch. Ryan’s jaw dropped.

“Are you for real right now? Your watch ?”

“You thought it’d be that easy to get me out of my pants?” Lars teased.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“You can count your watch, too,” he said generously. Knowingly.

Ryan held up his bare wrists. “I haven’t owned a watch since the seventh grade. You’re cheating.”

Lars shook his head. “It’s a valid article of clothing.”

“So if I were wearing earrings…?”

“You’re not and I’m not. You want to go through hypotheticals or you want to play?” Lars grabbed the puck and shot the disk across the table before Ryan could answer.

But not before Ryan could stop it going in. He shot it back and the game went on. Ryan scored thirty seconds later, earning him Lars’s sweats and a show.

“This isn’t fair.” Lars pouted but his eyes shone as he stepped out from behind the table. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and took them down inch by inch, never looking away from Ryan while he did. Again, it was nothing Ryan hadn’t seen before. Lars worked out in skin-tight compression shorts that did wonders for his thighs and ass, but the new context, the promise behind the slow reveal of skin, made Ryan half hard before Lars even finished getting the damn pants off.

Thank God he couldn’t see that Lars was in just his boxers when they were actually playing. The thought alone was enough to distract him, though, and although he fended off Lars, he didn’t have enough concentration to go on the offensive. It was only a matter of time until?—

“ M?l !” Lars yelled and jumped up and down in excitement. “One more, Russell.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Lars, so he simply took off his joggers and kicked them aside to join the rest of his clothes. He could feel Lars’s eyes on him, and instead of making him self-conscious, it only made him harder. A fact that his boxer briefs did nothing to hide.

“One more, Nilsson,” he agreed. He took out the puck and set it down, wondering if he hoped to win or lose. It was his indecision that did him in: as soon as he got it, Lars banked a shot that ricocheted down the table at a weird angle. Ryan was convinced even after it slid into the goal that he could’ve stopped it, but he couldn’t deny he was glad the game was over.

“ M?l ,” Ryan repeated, liking the taste of the word and really liking the hungry look that came over Lars’s face when he said it.

Lars gently put down his paddle and rounded the table, unconcerned that he was in nothing but his boxers. Ryan stood there, watching and waiting until suddenly Lars was right in front of him, an inch away.

“Can I claim my prize?” he asked, his voice huskier than Ryan could remember ever hearing it. He swallowed thickly and nodded. When Lars dropped to one knee and then the other in front of him, he felt his cock jerk in his underwear. Now eye level with his crotch, Lars chuckled deep in his throat at that, then looked up at Ryan. Their eyes met, and Ryan had to lean back to grip the table for support because holy shit. Lars was gorgeous, with his rosy cheeks and blue eyes nearly consumed by dark pupils. “May I?” he asked quietly, staying very still until Ryan managed to nod.

Lars turned his attention back to Ryan’s boxer briefs. He rested his hands on Ryan’s hip bones and hooked his thumbs under the hem. Instead of taking off his boxer briefs, he kept a firm grip and leaned in. Holding Ryan in place, he first placed a small kiss on Ryan’s dick through the fabric, then nosed along it from base to tip. Ryan gasped. He held the edges of the table now with a white-knuckled grip, transfixed as he watched Lars breathe him in and press against his dick.

His breath hitched when Lars’s tongue darted out and traced the same path. Lars licked again and again, soaking the fabric. Worse, he pulled his boxers tighter and tighter, the tension of it both too much and not nearly enough. Ryan began to roll his hips forward slightly to match Lars’s movements. When Lars stopped to mouth at the head of his cock, pulling the waistband even tighter, Ryan moaned.

He buried his fingers in Lars’s hair, the silky blond strands the perfect length to pull. He resisted the temptation and focused on gently holding Lars’s head in place, more suggestion and request than anything else. As soon as he gave the slightest pull, an accident as he fidgeted, Lars gasped. Experimentally, he tugged again and was met with the same enthusiastic moan.

“You like that?” The roughness of his own voice surprised him. “Like being bossed around?”

Lars looked up at him with hooded eyes. “No,” he said honestly. “But you can tell me to do whatever you want.”

Ryan’s cheeks flushed. He wasn’t sure what to do with the trust and desire that implied, or his own reaction to it. So he did the only thing he could reasonably do with that information: he decided to take over.

“Take off my boxers,” he ordered. “But don’t touch.”

Lars did as he was told, careful not to touch Ryan’s dick or bare skin. He looked up at Ryan, licking his lips and then worrying the bottom one between his teeth. Ryan slid his other hand into Lars’s hair, stroking his cheek with his thumb and savoring the moment. The final seconds before there was no turning back.

“Lick,” he finally said, handing the reins back to Lars. “Show me you’re better than I remember.”

Lars’s eyes flashed with indignation, but he was too competitive to ignore the challenge, even if the person he was up against was himself. He turned his attention back to Ryan’s dick, and licked again and again up the shaft, around the head, his fingers bruising in their grip on Ryan’s thighs as he held him close. Soon he moved to the tip, lapping at the pre-come before tonguing at the slit then sucking just the tip into his mouth.

“Holy—” Ryan whimpered, his body unsure whether he wanted to pull away from the sensation of too much or push in and beg for more. “Lasse,” he gasped, then whined pathetically when Lars pulled off him.

Lars mumbled something in Swedish, resting his forehead against Ryan’s hip.

Ryan ran a hand through his hair patiently. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Ryan could feel the warm air hitting him with each word, sending goosebumps down his leg. “I just really like it when you call me that.”

A thrill went through him, making him feel as tipsy as the beer had. “You shouldn’t give me that kind of power, y’know.”

“You already have it.” Lars pressed a kiss, another. “The only thing that changed is now you know it.”

Before Ryan could properly unpack that, Lars had taken his dick back into his mouth. No longer satisfied with just the head, he began to bob up and down, taking more in each time until he’d taken him all in. He stayed there, tongue working along his shaft but otherwise still. It drove Ryan crazy, and his cock jerked in Lars’s mouth. He could feel it then, the way the head hit the back of Lars’s throat and it was all he could do not to thrust greedily into his mouth again and again.

“Lars,” he warned. “I’m close. Touch yourself.”

That earned him an appreciative hum and the exquisite view of Lars pushing aside his boxers to take himself in hand. He matched the movements of his head with his hand, and Ryan barely let himself blink because he didn’t want to miss a second. He was so entranced, his impending orgasm took him by surprise.

“Lars—” He said more urgently. “Lasse, fuck, I?—”

Lars didn’t pull away. He brought his free hand up to cup Ryan’s balls, the extra sensation enough to send Ryan instantly over the edge. He couldn’t stop the few aborted thrusts into Lars’s pliant mouth as he came, endless spurts shooting right down his throat. Even after Ryan finished, Lars kept his mouth on him, not pulling off as he moaned through his own release.

When he came off with a wet pop, Lars sat back on his heels and licked his lips. “I made you curse,” he said smugly.

Boneless, it was all Ryan could do to collapse against the air hockey table instead of onto the floor. “Probably the least interesting part of what just happened,” he managed.

“I knew I could make you come,” Lars argued. Despite how sure he sounded, he looked shaky as he stood up. “Didn’t know it was possible to make you curse.”

Ryan gave him a half-hearted glare that melted when Lars wrapped his arms around him. He bore Ryan’s weight easily and dragged him in for a kiss. Ryan could taste the tanginess of his own release, but instead of pulling away he deepened the kiss because wow, that had just happened.

Again.

“It was definitely better than Geneva,” he muttered when they pulled apart.

“I’m glad to have cleared the low bar of drunk teenage me,” Lars said dryly.

Ryan kissed his neck and breathed him in. They fit together so well. “Sleep?” he suggested, then yawned. He was beat. Not even the giddiness of having Lars in his arms would be enough to keep him going much longer.

“You really do get tired after, don’t you?” Lars teased. He wound their hands together and started leading him to the bedroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. I promise I’ll be there when you wake up.”