Page 38 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 26

Ryan

Two and a half weeks without an apartment, and Ryan was at the point where he didn’t want to go back. He liked his apartment and all, and he missed seeing Tanner, but it was really really nice to see Lars 24/7. The sex was convenient, but he was past pretending that was the only reason. He liked hanging out with him, enjoying home-cooked meals and late-night snuggles, working out together or dicking around at air hockey.

Less than thirty hours before they played the Ohio Otters again, Ryan thought their living arrangement wasn’t just convenient, but essential.

Ryan hadn’t been ready for it last time when they flew to Cincinnati. After seeing how Lars had changed the last time, he’d been wary. He’d watched Lars carefully for signs that he was sinking into bad habits. He thought it might be subtle, the shift from Lars his teammate/sort-of-boyfriend to Lars the younger brother with a chip on his shoulder. Turned out it wasn’t subtle at all.

Lars was on his phone, scrolling through social media as he chattered about a blueberry pancake recipe he wanted to try, when he abruptly stopped talking. Ryan looked over to see what was wrong and instantly recognized the look on his face. The vacant look in his eyes. The slight tightening of his jaw. The way he was gripping his phone like he wanted to snap it in half.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked as casually as he could, slipping into his media voice and nudging Lars with his foot.

Lars didn’t even look up. “The Otters landed at BWI this morning.”

Who was he following to know that? The NHL? The Otters?

Anders?

If one of the latter two, why would he follow them except to torment himself?

“Oh,” Ryan said. “Cool. Should be a good game. Show us if we’re really in shape for the playoffs.”

Lars didn’t respond. His thumb was moving like he was sifting through pictures. Great.

“We did pretty well against the Pythons the other day.”

Still nothing. Lars’s hand stopped moving and he was staring daggers at his screen.

Desperate, Ryan mentally braced himself and went to the only topic he thought might distract Lars. “How do you think the Fan Vote’s going?”

Instantly, Lars blinked and looked up at him. He huffed in annoyance, but it was a much milder version of whatever he’d been experiencing a moment ago. “I don’t like that they don’t show how many votes people have. It’s very rude.”

Ryan shrugged. He didn’t actually think he’d make the cut, and seeing how big of a margin he was losing by wasn’t an appealing prospect. He appreciated that the team had selected him. He’d assumed they’d pick Jake or one of the alternate captains, maybe Vorny, but most of them had already attended in prior years and weren’t having “career years” like he was. Of course, that was because they played at the same high level across several years; Ryan’s “career year” seemed like a pathetic blip in comparison.

He also appreciated that Lars was doing his darndest to campaign for him. It was really sweet, the way he managed to work it into every conversation with reporters. He’d also posted several pictures of the two of them on social media, and a few videos of Ryan at practice. When he’d found time to take them, Ryan still didn’t know, but sometimes he’d leave the locker room and see he’d been tagged in new posts from @lnilsson14. He hadn’t personally posted anything and ignored the comments, but Lars’s enthusiasm really was endearing.

“You know, I won’t be disappointed if I don’t make it,” he said. It was mostly true, too. “I’ll miss you but I’m happy to cheer you on.”

Lars scowled. “ I’ll be disappointed. Have you seen the list of players on the Fan Vote?” He had, because Lars had shown it to him no less than ten times. “If they make it over you, it’ll prove the fans have no taste and no appreciation for talent.”

And the true victory: Lars put his phone down.

“Maybe they’re just not as biased as you are.” He crossed his arms across his chest and smirked.

“I’m not biased.” Ryan quirked an eyebrow at him. “Okay, I’m a little biased, but you’re a good player and deserve it.”

He preened. He wasn’t nearly as good as Lars thought, but it was nice to bask in his definitely biased praise.

“You know what else you deserve?” Lars asked mischievously. “A blow job before practice.”

Ryan wasn’t going to argue with that one.

* * *

Keeping Lars focused was harder than he thought. As the game approached, Lars drifted further and further away. Sometimes the only way Ryan could bring him back was with drastic measures, normally involving his tongue or his hands. Not exactly ideal since he couldn’t do any of those things at the rink or in public.

It got really bad as they got dressed for the game itself. Their stalls weren’t near each other, and he could hear Tomas egging him on.

“They won last time. We can’t let that happen here,” Tomas was saying. Lars nodded along grimly, like a gladiator about to step into the arena with his life on the line. “God, if I had to play against my brother, I’d never hear the fucking end of it if he won.”

Jesus, what the fuck was Tomas doing?

As they got ready to go down the tunnel for warm-ups, Ryan grabbed Lars by the elbow and pulled him aside. They were behind an open door, barely any privacy at all, but the rest of the team was lining up and loud enough they shouldn’t hear anything.

“Hey,” Ryan whispered despite the noise.

“Hey.” Lars’s eyes softened but he didn’t smile. Not a good sign.

Ryan looked over his shoulder to make sure the locker room was clear, then he surged forward and kissed him. Not a gentle kiss, either, but a possessive one. When Lars gasped, Ryan took advantage and slipped his tongue in to dominate his mouth and take further control. When he pulled away, Lars was panting and his eyes were hooded.

“I need you to do me a favor tonight,” he purred and enjoyed the way Lars shivered.

“What favor?” he asked, breathless.

Ryan dared to kiss him again, a quick peck on the cheek this time that Lars leaned forward to chase.

“If you do it,” Ryan said, “I’ll do anything you want me to do when we get back tonight. Anything.”

Lars closed his eyes and whimpered. When he opened them, they were clear and determined. “What’s the favor?”

“I need you to not fight with your brother at all this game.”

Lars froze, then scowled petulantly. “Ryan?—”

“Anything you want,” he said. “I’ll eat you out, I’ll ride you, I’ll deepthroat you, I’ll even try to cook you dinner if that’s what you want. All you have to do is play hockey and not fight Anders.”

“But what if he?—?”

“Nope. Not even then.”

He pouted, a look that shouldn’t be so adorable on a grown-ass man and yet it was. “I?—”

Ryan leaned in and cut him off by nipping at his bottom lip and cupping his crotch. There was little either of them could feel in the gesture through all the gear, but the pressure would hopefully be enough to rile him up.

“That’s not fair,” Lars protested once his lip was free.

“Do we have a deal?”

The noise from their teammates was growing distant—they must be heading onto the ice now—and they only had a few more seconds before they were missed.

“ Fine,” Lars grumbled. “It’s a deal, you tease.”

Ryan rewarded him with a peck on the cheek before rushing to follow the rest of the team.

It wasn’t easy for Ryan to split his attention. He went through his usual routine all while keeping an eye on Lars, just to make sure he didn’t drift too close to center ice. He didn’t, and he didn’t so much as glance towards Anders during warm-ups, which was a relief. He knew Lars would keep his word, but Ryan worried it would be hard for him. It looked like he was going for an “out of sight, out of mind” approach. It wouldn’t work during the game when they’d likely square off against each other, but it was a start.

“You’re quieter than usual, Nilsy,” Jordy said on the bench before the first period. “You sick or something?”

Lars shook his head. “Just focused.”

A few of the forwards shared a skeptical look.

“It’s just that the last time we played the Otters you were a little more…” Jordy struggled for a word. “Intense.”

A few people nodded but stopped whenever Lars looked their way.

Lars stole a glance at Ryan then licked his lips. “Well, last time, we lost. I’m trying something different this time.”

“If it works, it works, I guess.” Jordy didn’t sound convinced.

It was zero surprise to see that the Otters matched Anders against Lars as often as possible. Ryan watched from the bench anxiously, but he was optimistic when Lars avoided an open ice check and didn't retaliate when Anders knocked him out of the crease.

He was clearly frustrated in the locker room between periods, practically vibrating with unspent energy that he’d been saving up specifically to throw himself at Anders. Instead he spent it aggressively re-taping his stick and disappearing into the bathroom for the rest of the intermission.

“You okay?” Ryan asked as they waited to get on the ice for the second period.

Lars scowled at him, angrier than Ryan would’ve hoped. “Did you see when he pushed me? How was that not a crosscheck?”

Ryan had been watching. Anders was a large, physical defensemen and had cleanly bodied Lars out of the crease, keeping him from screening the goalie, i.e. his literal job. It hadn’t looked particularly aggressive (not like if Lars had attempted the same to Anders…), but Ryan understood his role here wasn’t to be the voice of logic. He was the supportive (boy)friend.

“You’re the best on the team, he’s gotta cover you,” Ryan soothed. “And he probably does it knowing he can draw a penalty or two from you. By not giving him that, you’re winning.”

A pensive look overtook the anger as he considered this. “I win by not taking penalties,” he said slowly, trying out the idea. He huffed in annoyance. “It’s more satisfying to take the penalties.”

Ryan tried a different tact. “Well, right now Anders looks like the bad guy, right?” He waited for Lars to nod. “Good, now your mormor can’t be upset with you, and you’re setting a good example for your niece and nephew.”

That seemed to land better. “I suppose…”

The second period was much the same, except Anders seemed to have realized Lars wouldn’t retaliate so he got rougher and rougher. Lars’s frustration was a palpable thing on the bench, everyone giving him a wide berth because he looked like he was one wrong word away from smashing his stick into pieces. Ryan was about to tell Lars not to worry about it, that he could play however he wanted even if that meant punching his brother in the face, but Anders got carried away with a hip check along the boards that the refs finally deemed penalty-worthy.

Even after the penalty was drawn, Lars looked like he was about two seconds away from going after him.

“Lasse!” Ryan called sternly from the bench. That earned him a few looks, but he ignored them. What he really needed was for Lars to?—

Lars stopped, stared daggers at his brother for a moment, then skated to the face-off circle to start the Power Play. Ryan smiled, pleased that his gamble had worked, and made the mistake of making eye contact with Anders. Anders Nilsson, all six foot four inches of him, was staring at Ryan with what could only be called a piercing look that made him want to melt into the floor. He couldn’t help it: he looked away first.

Lars scored ten seconds into the resulting Power Play, which seemed to soothe a lot of his aggravation.

“I told you,” Ryan said once the period was over. “ You play clean. You draw the penalties. You win.”

“Did you see Ander’s face when he got called? He was pissed, ” Lars said with delight.

Ryan patted his shoulder. He still didn’t get the brotherly dynamic there. Sure, he’d enjoyed the same childish mirth whenever one of his older sisters got caught doing something they shouldn’t have…but he also had helped them hide a fair share of sneaking out, cigarettes, and secret boyfriends. He honestly wasn’t sure what one of them would have to do to warrant this type of long-term animosity.

The third period was less eventful on the Nilsson front, mostly because Coach Thompkins did his best to exploit the home team advantage. Any time he could adjust the lines so that Lars wasn’t out against Anders, he did. That meant Lars got easier matchups and was able to avoid the temptation to whale on Anders.

It also meant that more often than not, Ryan was sent out as the sacrificial lamb.

He wouldn’t say he minded, except after the second time he got knocked down to the ice, he wasn’t exactly pleased to be taking the brunt of Anders’s physicality.

“I can see why Lars doesn’t like you,” he muttered the third time as he got to his feet. Anders, about to skate away, stopped to stare at him with icy blue eyes. They were the same color as Lars’s; up close, he could see there was more to the family resemblance than their eyes and blond hair. Same nose, same cleft in their jaw, same ability to pin Ryan in place with a single look.

“Mind your business,” Anders said stiffly, then sprinted away to catch up with the play.

Yep, definitely a charmer, that one.

There was one moment, his last shift of the game, where he and Anders were racing for the puck in the corner. He had a step or two on Anders and braced, fully expecting Anders to take him out with a crushing hit because that’s what he’d been doing to everyone all game. It was what the guy was known for: being big and landing hits. But when the moment came, there was no hit. He didn’t make it easy for Ryan, but Ryan didn’t end up flattened like a pancake.

He didn’t necessarily understand it, but he definitely appreciated walking away from that one without any bruises.

The Crabs managed to eke out a 2-1 victory, thankfully. Ryan wasn’t prepared to lose that game after begging Lars to be on his best behavior.

“Great game, everyone,” Jake said in the locker room after Thompkins had given his usual spiel about a solid win. He turned to Lars. “I’m impressed you reeled it in and didn’t go after your brother like last time. I appreciate the clean game. It really helped us stay solid out there.”

Lars shrugged and continued to take off his gear.

“You two are like magnets on the ice,” Tomas said. “Except instead of magnets, you’re freight trains trying to knock each other off the track. I don’t know how you two are going to handle playing on a team together at the All Star game.”

There was a record scratch in Ryan’s head. He’d been so distracted about his own All Star candidacy and the whole living with Lars situation that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. If it was hard enough to get Lars to play nice for a single game, a whole weekend ?—

But Lars made a dismissive gesture. “We won’t.”

“But you’re both going,” Tomas said slowly, with the same uncertainty Ryan felt. “We’re the same division. You’d have to be on the same team. He said?—”

“Anders won’t go.” Lars threw the last of his gear in his bag and stood up. “He never does.” Then he walked away to the showers, leaving the rest of them floundering.

“Not gonna lie,” Vorny mumbled, “I think I liked it better when he was trying to pummel his brother. Much more entertaining.”

Ryan shot him a dirty look and mentally prepared for an awkward ride home.

* * *

The ride was quiet for the first ten minutes or so as they left the arena and started to navigate into city traffic. By then, they were basically at Lars’s condo, and it seemed the wrong time to brave talking about the previous game, so instead he made some inane comments about their upcoming trip to New York.

It wasn’t until they were settled in the kitchen over steaming plates of pasta that Lars was the one to broach the topic.

“Why didn’t you want me to fight Anders?” he asked as he twirled noodles around his fork. He didn’t seem frustrated or angry anymore, mostly curious.

“I understand it’s not really my business,” Ryan said, his short altercation with Anders on his mind, “whatever your relationship is with your brother, but as your teammate and your—” He faltered here and gave up. “I just didn’t like it, the last time. The Lars I know completely disappeared behind this stranger. It was intense and kind of uncomfortable to be around, and it was maybe okay, then, because we barely knew each other. I didn’t want to see that now.”

The admission sat heavy between them, and Ryan worried he’d confessed more than he’d meant to. But Lars merely considered as he took a bite and chewed.

“I don’t know that I like who I am when I play Anders,” Lars said slowly. “It is intense. A lot to feel, a lot to prove. He makes me very angry, and when I visit the family, I can mostly ignore it. When we play, though, then it’s something I can win . It’s like I can prove something if I win, if I score on him.” He took another bite, his eyes never leaving his food even as he’d spoken.

“You still looked really good tonight. I mean, you always look good, but your playing looked good. You don’t have to go 110% against him to prove something. The league knows you’re good. Anders knows it, too.”

Lars smirked. “Damn right he knows. Did you see how he was on me all night?”

“I did. He was.” Until he was on me. “I did make that promise…You held up your end of the deal, so…”

Lars’s smirk broadened into a leer. “So I can have my way with you?”

“Yep. Decided how you want me?”

“Yes,” he said seriously. “It was very mean of you to tease me like that. I had to jerk off between periods so I could focus on not fighting Anders.”

“Would you have listened to me if I hadn’t made that offer?” Ryan asked pointedly.

Lars’s expression was answer an enough: absolutely the fuck not.

“Eat your dinner,” Ryan said. “I’m guessing we’ll need our strength for what you’ve got planned.”

The anticipation was palpable, and they dragged it out with dessert and after-dinner drinks (a beer for Lars, a protein shake for Ryan). Ryan was hard before they even made it to the bedroom, and he suspected the same was true for Lars.

He stood in the doorway, hand on the waistband of his sweats while he waited for instructions.

Lars ignored him, placing the remains of his beer on the nightstand after taking another swig.

“Come here and take off my clothes,” he said, his voice tinged with heat.

Ryan did what he was told, stepping right into Lars’s space. Their chests brushed again and again as he worked Lars’s shirt off him and dropped it at their feet. Then he fell to his knees to work on Lars’s pants, first his joggers, straining against Lars’s erection, then his boxers. With Lars finally bare before him, he stroked the outside of his thighs and pressed kisses along his hip bone.

“What next?” Ryan asked between kisses.

“I'm going to get comfortable on the bed,” he said as he ran his thumb along Ryan’s jaw, “then you’ll open me up with your tongue before you fuck me senseless.”

Ryan gulped and stared longingly as Lars crawled onto the bed. Somehow his dick got harder. “Should I…?”

“Lose the shirt and pants.” Lars was rearranging pillows. “Keep the underwear for now.”

Ryan groaned but did as he was told. He’d known what he was signing up for. By the time he’d added his clothes to the pile, Lars was propped up on the pillows with his gorgeous ass on display.

“I've been thinking about this all evening,” Lars said when Ryan settled between his legs. “I knew the moment you suggested it, I needed it.”

Ryan leaned down and kissed his left cheek before centering himself properly. He caressed up and down Lars’s back. “Good choice,” he breathed against his skin, earning him a slight shudder from Lars. “I was kinda hoping you’d pick this.”

He didn’t give Lars a chance to reply. He pressed forward to press a kiss to Lars’s hole, enjoyed the way the muscle tightened at the contact then relaxed right as Ryan licked a circle around his pucker.

“Fuck.” Lars bucked. “Do that again,” he begged.

Instead of teasing him, Ryan rewarded him with another pass of his tongue, then another and another, sometimes dipping his tongue down to his balls. He got Lars’s hole nice and wet before he pressed his tongue inside. With slow thrusts of his tongue, he worked it gradually inside and then added a finger. He kept working him open, little by little, until Lars was a writhing mess beneath him. He rutted down against the pillows and spread his legs as wide as possible in invitation, and while Ryan would love to stay there all night, he had more orders to follow.

He placed one last kiss to Lars’s ass before reaching into the nightstand for a bottle of lube and a condom. Lars whined when Ryan had pulled away but sighed happily when he had to lay himself across his back to reach the drawer.

“So impatient,” Ryan teased. He settled on his knees behind Lars and put a generous amount of lube on his fingers to finish opening him up.

“I almost jerked off again in the shower,” Lars confessed. He hadn’t stopped moving since they started. “I cleaned up and stretched myself out. Had to stop or I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it as much with you.”

Ryan groaned at the mental image of Lars prepping himself in a lonely shower stall at the rink while Ryan was only a room away, blissfully unaware.

“Is that why it’s so easy”—he pushed in two fingers up to the first knuckle with no resistance and began to spread the lube with shallow thrusts—“to open you up?”

Lars shivered. Goosebumps trailed down his arms and legs, his fingers buried in the sheets as he clung for dear life. “Yes,” he gasped.

He made quick work of stretching Lars out. Normally he might drag it out until Lars was absolutely begging for Ryan to fuck him. Not tonight. Tonight was about properly rewarding Lars and giving him exactly what he wanted. Based on the breathy gasps and the way he was thrusting back to meet his fingers, Lars wasn’t interested in being teased.

“Ready?” Ryan asked, his voice deeper than he’d expected.

“Ja,” Lars said, and a lump formed in Ryan’s throat. Lars didn’t talk much during sex, but when he did, it was in Swedish more often than not, or heavily accented English. His accent was mostly smoothed out, not as thick as it’d been in Switzerland, but it was never thicker than when he was on his knees or his back (or had Ryan there).

“I can take these off?” Ryan asked. He didn’t bother pointing to his tented boxer briefs, since Lars’s eyes were barely open.

“Take them off,” he confirmed, almost incomprehensible. Ryan hadn’t known he’d have a language kink, yet here he was, his dick leaking more precome with each syllable. Maybe because this was more Lars, somehow, some distilled version of him closer to his core. A piece that most people rarely, if ever, got to see.

Ryan realized he was wasting time marveling at the man in front of him instead of fucking him. He quickly lost his boxer briefs and rolled the condom on, slicking himself up while Lars squirmed restlessly. He moved closer, lifted Lars’s hips up to get the perfect angle, and used his hand to line his cock with Lars’s wet hole. When he applied pressure, there was the slightest bit of resistance and knew it wouldn’t take much more to be inside him.

“Rea—?”

“Fuck me already.” Lars twisted to throw him a bitchy look over his shoulder, one rendered infinitely less bitchy by his lust-blown eyes and the slight tremble in his lips.

“Got you,” Ryan promised and then pushed in.

They’d done this before. They’d taken turns fucking each other, though they often didn’t have the time or privacy. Hotel rooms where they had to be quiet, nights when they were too physically exhausted to do more than use their hands or too worked up to get their clothes off. So while the sensations that rolled through him weren’t new, they were still potent enough that Ryan shuddered under their weight.

Slowly, gently, he pushed inside. Over and over, he pulled back nearly all the way out, gave a few shallow thrusts before he’d slide in another inch, then waited a few seconds before starting again. It was a predictable rhythm, designed for Lars’s comfort and completely ignoring how much it drove Ryan crazy. All he wanted to do was move with wanton abandon, to drive into Lars again and again until he fell apart.

Which he would…once he’d made sure Lars fell apart first.

He bottomed out and stayed there, buried in Lars’s tight heat. It felt divine. He could barely think straight when they were joined like this, regardless of who was buried in whom.

He pulled back experimentally then slammed in. They moaned together. His second thrust was longer, harder, and soon they found the perfect rhythm. Lars didn't have much leverage to meet him, but Ryan was happy to take charge. His grip was bruising and his movements steady as he drove them at a grueling pace to orgasm.

Lars must be close. He used the friction of the pillows and was so far gone there was a steady stream of incomprehensible Swedish pouring from his lips. Ryan wished their positions were better for him to stare into blue eyes, watch for that second when Lars was completely undone.

He didn’t want to think about why he enjoyed watching that moment or the thrill it gave him to make it happen.

“Come for me, baby,” he coaxed. His thighs burned and pleasure coiled in his gut, ready to spring. He curled over Lars and kissed over the planes of his back. “Please.”

Lars whimpered and nodded, beyond words.Ryan could feel it when he did come, his ass tightening even more around his dick and beautiful noises filling the room. He tensed and then went completely lax against the bed, giving Ryan free rein to finish however he’d like.

He pulled out and tossed aside the condom so he could jerk himself off. His eyes roamed Lars’s naked body, from his sculpted legs and firm ass—his hole lube-slick—up to his torso flexing with heavy breaths, and finally to the messy blond hair that really needed a trim.

“Beautiful,” he whispered—hopefully too softly to be heard—and came in long spurts across Lars’s back. He watched as each streak left a mark, a claim that he’d remember the next time he jerked off.

Ryan really wanted to collapse onto Lars and sleep, but they’d made a mess and no amount of fatigue was worth sleeping in dry come. Lars barely moved, so Ryan took over cleaning up and replacing the dirty covers. Finally, he was rewarded with a warm spot under the thick down blanket, curled around Lars.

“ Jag ?r k?r i dig. ” Lars didn’t often use Swedish after he’d come, and rarely sounded so soft when he did.

“What’s that?” Ryan asked around a yawn. He could sleep for a week.

“Nothing,” Lars mumbled. He sounded just as tired, fucked out and loopy. “It’s not important. Go to sleep, k?raste .”

“ ‘kay.” Then he did, dreaming of rolling hills covered in wheat the color of Lars’s hair, cool lakes the color of his eyes, and a home made among them.