Page 12 of Total Assist (For Puck’s Sake #13)

SHIVELY

The puck comes screaming down the side of the rink, following the wall like it’s on a magnet. Felton comes out of the crease to stop its projection behind the net. The puck is moving so quickly that he doesn’t stop it dead in its tracks. It bounces off his stick and ricochets away.

Right toward L.A. number seventy-seven.

“Oh fuck,” someone says, but I can’t look away as seventy-seven takes their shot at the open goal.

I almost close my eyes. Almost.

But fucking Felton dives for the goal, and that fucker catches the puck. He catches it! The big man ends up flat on his stomach, stretched out across the ice with the puck safely in his big glove as the whistle blows.

My heart nearly stops.

“Oh, fuck yeah, Cocksucker!” Zenia Talmage hollers. “Nice save!”

“We’re going to see that replay for ages,” Nason Jordan comments, beaming.

I glance up at the screens, and sure enough, they’re replaying it already.

Once through at full speed then a second time much slower.

Felton literally flies through the air. In slow motion, it doesn’t look like he’ll get there in time.

The puck looks like it’s moving much faster than he is.

Somehow, he lands just in time for the puck to hit his glove.

Goddamn, that was impressive.

One of L.A.’s players, Kain number forty-two, stops at Felton’s side and whacks his arm playfully. Felton beams.

There’s something to be said about the Gays Can Play group.

Friendships span teams more clearly now.

Even in the middle of the game, it’s not uncommon to see one of Felton’s GCP friends stop by to say something to him or him seeking one of them out after a particularly good play or maybe even a shit call.

Felton is a thoughtful man to begin with. It’s nice to see that he has so many friends on other teams. Hockey isn’t forever, so it’s good to know that there are friendships that might endure after their careers.

My team swaps out players as the two meet at center ice again. Dasan is one who comes to the bench. His eyes briefly meet mine, and my breath catches. His chest is heaving with his heavy breathing.

Most of the time, it’s not difficult to keep my relationship with him entirely separate from hockey. We have roles to play here, and it takes all of our concentration and dedication. But there are times when he meets my eyes that have my breath freezing.

His lips quirk slightly as he takes a seat on the bench in front of me. He leans back for a minute, pressing his back to my legs.

My cock twitches, which is stupidly uncomfortable.

Dasan put a new rule in place two days ago.

Whenever he wants me to, I wear a male chastity cage.

The first one was too easy to make out through my clothing, so I didn’t wear one yesterday.

He stopped by this afternoon, a few hours before we needed to be at the arena, with a new one.

This first one was called a “bear trap,” and it had a loop at the end where a leash could be connected.

I could see how much he wanted me to wear it, and the look on his face when he put it on me made the next several minutes very informative as to how uncomfortable this damn thing would be when I’m tempted to get hard.

However, when I put my slacks on, you could see the bars and especially the loop at the end. His disappointment nearly had me telling him I’d figure it out, but he made me take it off.

This second one is plastic and smooth. My dick feels interestingly snug and not entirely uncomfortable. My balls, on the other hand, are definitely uncomfortable being squished at the base while they hang outside the device. That’s what makes me wince whenever my cock twitches.

I’m ridiculously fascinated by this thing though.

Seeing my cock squished into it is weirdly exhilarating.

Knowing I can’t get out of it because he has a literal padlock on it—small, of course—keeps my heart racing whenever I think about it.

Better yet, the only key to this device is in Dasan’s possession.

I feel like my dick is owned by this man, but I’m not even sorry.

The puck drops, bringing me back to the game. I take a breath and shove thoughts of Dasan and the plastic device around my dick from my head. There are only six minutes left, and the score is 5-4 with our team in the lead.

That’s plenty of time for L.A. to catch up, but with the lead, my team has a fire under their asses to keep it.

Willits is on fire protecting Felton in goal tonight. I think he’s actually prevented more goals than our goalie—not that Felton isn’t doing his job. He’s doing phenomenal. But Willits is the barrier he should be, preventing the puck from getting close enough to where Felton needs to defend.

Our big beast has let four in. Interestingly, three of those four goals have been when Willits is on the bench.

Ren’s focus has taken him further from Felton than normal.

I’m not sure whether that’s because he’s given Willits the responsibility of keeping Felton protected so he can aid our offense, or what.

Sometimes, my team does things that I’m unaware of. Sometimes, they do things that they’re unaware of, which I think is probably what’s happening tonight. I daresay that if Ren and Willits worked together as the shield in front of our net, there’d be even fewer goals.

Nason Jordan returns from the ice, and Dasan replaces him. He comes up behind L.A.’s number four and somehow manages to steal the puck away. The move happens so quickly that I’m not sure most of my team sees what happens next.

Dasan passes it to our rookie, Beethoven Morris. He makes the attempt at goal, but L.A.’s goalie blocks. Dasan is already in position to catch the puck’s rebound, except he doesn’t catch it. He treats it like a baseball pitch and smacks it back at the net for the goal.

Since we’re at L.A., we don’t get the big buzzer celebration, but if there’s ever a move that deserves celebrating, it’s the one my man just pulled off. I’m grinning as my team celebrates the goal. Dasan was on the ice for a total of seventeen seconds before the goal landed home.

I glance up at the score and clock. Two minutes and we’re leading 6-4. Yep, we can bring this home. It’s still not impossible for L.A. to manage two more goals, but I think that’s the encouragement we needed to keep my boys pushing hard.

The two teams play hard, but in the end, we manage to take home the win.

I celebrate with my team for a minute before they head for the chute.

This is our seventh game of the season, and this win tips the scales so we’re ahead in wins to losses.

This is the momentum we need. It’s been a good season so far.

I talk to Toby Eads for a few minutes as he conducts interviews for Sports Spot. I enjoy interviews with Toby since he knows his shit. He can pull stats from his head like nobody’s business, and it’s one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen.

“That was some save by Badcock,” Toby says.

I laugh. “Leave it to Felton to bring flight into hockey.”

Toby grins. “I don’t envy that fall, though. It looks like it hurt. Felton’s no stranger to impressive saves though. Was it two years ago when he practically dove over the net to prevent the goal?”

“He’s ridiculously versatile.”

“And flexible,” Toby notes.

I snort. “Yes, and flexible. I’m always impressed by his range.”

“I’d love to see how he practices for flight,” Toby says, smiling.

“Oh no. Practice is strictly confidential.”

Toby laughs. “Thank you for your time, Coach. I look forward to your game against Arizona tomorrow.”

I incline my head and wait for the camera to turn away, then I meet Toby’s eyes. “I’ll give you Felton’s secrets if you give me the secrets of the hockey universe you have stored in your head.”

He laughs again. “Trust me, I wish I knew how it worked so I could sell my method. It’s all stats and math.” Toby shrugs. “And a passion for hockey.”

“You’re always leaving the hockey world in awe, Toby.” I grip his hand in a handshake. “See you next L.A. game.”

Toby nods. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Any predictions?” I call as I walk away.

Toby gives me a smirk. “I can’t share all my predictions, Coach, or the mysterious allure will be gone.”

I shake my head and follow the ruckus my team is making in the locker room. “Good game, Avalanche,” I yell over them.

My comment receives a chorus of whoops.

“Let’s keep the momentum going tomorrow.”

“You were talking to Toby Eads,” Marion Arivitis says. “What he say ‘bout tomorrow?”

“He said he won’t tell me or his air of mystery will fade away.”

Marion huffs.

“Bus in forty,” I call as I leave the boys to get ready. My eyes meet Dasan’s for a brief second while I’m turning away, as if I can’t help myself.

There’s not a lot to do after the game when we’re away, so I check in with Reno and Seb and watch a few of the interviews from the back. Then I head to the bus and count the heads as they load on.

The shuttle to the hotel is fifteen minutes. I make sure my team heads inside first before I follow. I also allow them to fill the elevators first before I head up.

Eventually, I manage to get into my room and quickly strip off my suit. I’m just pulling the pillow from the bed and dropping to my knees when the door makes its telltale beep.

My heart thunders as I stare, waiting for Dasan to step inside. I swallow the lump in my throat.

He’s fucking gorgeous—still in his suit, though his tie is undone and the top few buttons are open. His hair is down from his shower, some strands fluttering around him as they dry.

The way the corner of his mouth rises is sexy.

Everything about the way he looks at me is sexy.

Once he’s locked the door and turns to look at me, the pressure from the day melts away.

The burden of being the man with all the answers, the coach my team looks to for guidance, falls from my shoulders.

My eyes remain glued to Dasan as he slowly undresses in front of me. My mouth salivates when he lets his pants fall, revealing his dick in all its hard, pierced glory. God help me, I want to ride that thing right now.

Dasan doesn’t bother picking his clothes up off the floor. Instead, he steps over them and comes toward me. “Get up, consort.”

We’re trying a new name tonight. I don’t… hate that one. I get to my feet and stand before him. Dasan touches the slit in the front of the cage around my dick. The part that’s open for when I need to piss.

“This is so damn hot,” Dasan says as his finger traces the slit down and under my cock. I can’t feel his touch until he grips my balls in his fist. My breath catches. My cock is so ready to be out of this thing. “Was it uncomfortable?”

I immediately shake my head, but the movement stops when he meets my eyes. “You understand we’re going to put a punishment in place for lying, right?”

My shoulders tense. “It wasn’t uncomfortable,” I insist. “The part around my sac is a little tight, but it’s not… uncomfortably tight. It’s tight enough that I know it’s there when I move.”

“And that’s not uncomfortable,” he repeats.

“Not in a way that I can’t wear it. I like the reminder that it’s there because I know you have the key.”

Dasan nods thoughtfully. His hand wraps around my trapped cock and pulls me forward.

I grunt, my breath catching. His touch makes my cock desperately want to get hard, but there’s no room for that right now.

The twinge I’m beginning to feel is now getting uncomfortable, and it makes my breathing ragged.

He hums and magically produces the key. I watch as he unlocks the little padlock and sets it aside. His touch is incredibly gentle as he removes the cage from me entirely.

I’m surprised when he drops to his knees where I’d been and brings my dick into his mouth. The rush of blood south when he gives me a little suck makes my head spin and the room sway. I groan loudly. It’s a good thing that his hands are on my hips to keep me steady, or I might fall on my face.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about your dick all night,” he says quietly. “I’m so proud of you for wearing it without complaint. You make me very happy, consort.”

If my cock wasn’t already hard, it would be now. There’s something about the way he gives me affirmation that isn’t just a turn-on. It also makes me… decompress. He’s happy with me. I did something right.

If I’ve learned one thing about myself since establishing a relationship with Dasan, it’s that we’re not given enough affirmation in our lives. We’re sure as fuck told when we do something wrong, but we’re rarely commended when we do something right.

I’m not talking about stupid participation trophy acknowledgments. I’m talking more along the lines that if someone is doing their job well, it should be commented on. Not just showing up but doing their damn job beyond the bare minimum capacity.

I don’t need to be told I do my job well. I do. I know that. Recognition by my superiors comes infrequently, but I’m relatively certain that they recognize it too.

But Dasan commenting on something simple like this because I did it for him… There’s something about that which undoes me entirely. There’s no describing the feeling of making him happy. Of knowing that he’s pleased with me and what I did for him.

He might not like it when my answer is “whatever he wants,” but I mean that because what I want is this feeling. And I get this feeling most when he’s happy with something I’ve done. Something as simple and relatively non bothersome as wearing a chastity cage.

Dasan sucks my dick gently. It’s not the way I suckle, and it’s not truly with the efforts of a blowie. It’s… praise. I close my eyes and let my entire being become his puppet.