Page 4 of Total Assist (For Puck’s Sake #13)

SHIVELY

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, for a long time. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since leaving Dasan’s hotel room, and I can barely feel him. I know that’s not a reflection of his fucking. It’s his impressive prepping skills.

I’m a little disappointed that I can’t feel the remnants of that evening.

Everything about it was something out of a fantasy.

The man himself, the way he handled me, how he talked to me, the way he took care of me after.

The way he managed to turn my brain off and let me enjoy just being there. Every tiny detail of it was amazing.

It can only happen once. Never again. Which is why I wish the feeling of him had lasted longer. I wish I’d savored it a little more.

Today is going to be a really long day. The first day of pre-season practice.

The first day I’ll see Dasan since the hotel.

Not the first time I’ll have talked to him since the hotel though.

He called yesterday morning. I may have panicked when I answered, thinking that he was calling to tell me someone saw us.

“Of course someone saw us. They saw us talking all night. That’s not suspicious since you’re my coach. It’s common to see us converse. No one knows, Shiv. Take a breath.”

I do and try to let it out slowly.

“No one saw you leave the room. And if they did, they didn’t think twice about it.”

“No one knows,” I repeat. “Okay. But why are you calling?”

“To see how you’re doing this morning.”

I’ve spent so many years of my life thinking about a lifestyle that I would never have because finding it seemed…

daunting. Exhausting. Impossible. I’ve been drawn to the comfort and security offered by a submissive role for as long as I can remember.

Since before I’d so much as heard of the term.

Not just in the bedroom but stretching out into the relationship too.

I love the dynamics. I love the idea of “turning off” the control I have in my professional life and being the one expected to follow rules and meet expectations set out for me.

To an extent, my life has a few of those markers I desire. There are clear expectations of me as coach, and that’s to bring my team to the Stanley Cup. Short of that, it’s to encourage, support, and coach my team to be the best that they can be, to have the best season that we can.

I try to pay attention to all my athletes. Because hockey is such a mental game, their mental health is very important, so recognizing shifts in their mental state has always been something I watch for.

Because of this, I’d noticed little hints of Dasan’s dominance here and there over the last few years.

It’s not something that he broadcasts loudly, but it’s in the way he interacts with his friends, specifically Felton.

Not to the same extent that Ren does with Felton, but I bet Dasan recognized that Felton needed the kind of structure that he naturally creates. The structure that Ren now gives him.

The kind Dasan created in the short time we were together that I’m still thinking about.

In our everyday interactions, I don’t necessarily notice it. The night of the benefit, I didn’t see it much until we ate dinner, when he adjusted what was on my plate and took that sexy fucking tone with me when he made me eat that mussel.

Ew. That was disgusting. A shudder runs through my body now as I remember it on my tongue. I’ve never tasted something so awful.

But the second he took that tone, my entire body just… relaxed. Trusted. It helped that Dasan isn’t a stranger. I already trust him as I do with all the players that I’ve gotten to know on my team. I’m sure, in time, I’ll come to trust our new players as well.

As soon as we got into the hotel room, though, it was all dom Dasan. In complete honesty, that was probably the biggest turn-on of the night. I didn’t tell him anything. Nothing that I wanted or needed when I stepped into the room. He naturally took me the way I craved.

And after? When we talked? He read me like an open book. The way he assured me, comforted me, explained, and apologized when he unintentionally hurt me.

I try not to let the world know that I’m sensitive to personal critique since that’s not considered “masculine” and “attractive.” Like it or not, so many roles in life are about appearance.

A pro-hockey coach should be nothing but manly.

I hide a lot of myself behind the shield my suits provide.

I’ve been told enough times that they make me look imposing and important, therefore it’s a look that works for me.

My alarm fills the room, breaking into my scrambled thoughts, and I sigh. Sitting up, I hit the reset button and stare out the window. In the twenty-plus years I’ve been working, I’ve never allowed myself to become truly attracted to someone I work with. That’s a dangerous line to walk.

That line has been crossed once with Dasan. He’s right, though. No one knows. It’s our secret and will remain as such.

As it turns out, that’s not the most dangerous part. Knowing that Dasan is the kind of lover I’ve craved for years... That’s the dangerous part. He’s right there. So fucking close. It feels as if my body feels his absence in the phantom touches that are no longer there. Just whispered memories.

It’d be different if he hadn’t said that we could scratch a mutual itch sometimes if we chose to. That means he’s put an offer out, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to stay away.

I have to. I need to for more reasons than just my job.

He did something my soul longs for. He gave me boundaries to stay within. Hockey is hockey, and we will carry on as coach and athlete. But outside of that, if I want a repeat, that’s not off the table.

“If we have a mutual itch we want to scratch from time to time, I’m down for that.”

The only thing left open is frequency. I don’t like guessing, but I’m sure two days later is far too soon. My itch shouldn’t be back already, right?

With another heavy sigh, I get out of bed and head to the bathroom.

I frown because yeah, there are very little remnants of Dasan’s touch with that masterly impressive dick.

I should still feel it. I won’t go so far as to say he’s enormous.

He’s not. He’s well proportioned, and it’s glorious.

Six, maybe pushing seven, inches with a nice girth. Thick but not over the top.

Then there’s that damn piercing. Fuck. Perhaps it’s not just his fucking that’s impressive. The metal rod going through his cock literally leaves a line of fiery pleasure with every damn thrust. I was ready to come almost as soon as he put his dick in me.

Which, I must say, is leaps and bounds beyond impressive. I’ve never had something more than a single finger to my second knuckle in my ass. Outside of a prostate exam, of course, but you simply don’t count that as anal play experience.

By all accounts, Dasan should have hurt. He’s a master prepper. That’s the only explanation. And he just knows how to use his cock for good.

More than that, the way I enjoyed it is shocking. I didn’t have a lot of expectations when stepping into Dasan’s room. I had messed around with a guy in college, but that was college. I’d wager a bet that a lot more people experiment in college than they’d ever admit to.

From that experience, I knew I was attracted to men sometimes.

Over the years, I’d come to the conclusion that it was a mood.

There’s something whispering at the edge of my thoughts right now.

Maybe that’s the reason I never found the D/s relationship I was looking for, because that role, for me, needed to be with a man and, well, I’ve never been brave enough to come out as bisexual.

It feels far too exhausting to be in the spotlight for something as stupid as my sexuality.

I swear, straight people think about what gay people are doing with their dicks far more than the gays do.

It’s like they’re angry that the gay men are living the life these supposed straight men wish they could but refuse to for whatever stupid reason.

You know that feeling—jealous hate. When you’re so jealous of someone else’s situation that you turn into a fucking asshole because it's not yours.

How pathetic it must be to live that life. I could go into the longer list of how pathetic people are for spending so much time hurting others just because they think they can, but that’s not how I want to spend the morning.

Throughout the remainder of my shower, I allow myself to think about Dasan.

Not the butt hurt—huh, pun intended— assholes who wish they could be doing butt stuff but are so concerned with how others view them that they miss out on the best experience ever.

Need proof? The most pleasurable button in a man is in his ass. Explain that, bigots.

“Ugh,” I grunt, scowling. Why did my brain move to something far less exciting than Dasan? Maybe that’s a good thing though. Today, I’m Coach Shively. That’s it. Dasan is only a player on my team.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Just my player. Perhaps my brain segued into something stupid as a means to force me to stop thinking about him. Whether that’s true or not, I use it as the sign I need to move onto something else— not the mental tangent I was on, though.

For our first day, I scheduled practice for ten. Not so early that the guys can’t get a good night’s sleep but not so late that they’ve already exhausted themselves and can’t give their full energy to practice. The rest of the week begins at nine.

I don’t hang around at home once I’m dressed. I’m not in a full suit since it’s only practice, but I am wearing slacks and a nice button-down. There’s a hoodie in my office in case I get cold on the ice, but usually, this suffices well enough as long as my attention is fully riveted on my team.

Dasan will be there, so I’m sure it will be.

My assistant coach, Reno Fernley, is already in his office when I arrive at the arena. He’s a young man, and I know he has aspirations to be a head coach one day. He’s good at his job, so I have confidence that he’ll reach his goal in time.

“Morning,” I greet.

He looks up from his computer and smiles. “Hey. You ready for this week?”

No. I don’t think I am. “I could use a few more weeks of vacation, but I’m also excited for the season.”

“I have a good feeling about this year,” he says. “We’re going to do great things.”

“Good. Let’s keep that positivity.”

Reno grins. “A few of the guys are already here.” My stomach flips at his words.

My damn heart begins racing. Fuck’s sake.

“Felton and Ren are on the ice. Nason is in the gym. I warned him not to work himself too much. He’s not being excused from practice.

Mina is in with him. I think they’re working on something specific. ”

My shoulders feel like they sag. Dasan isn’t here yet. Not a bad thing, I remind myself. “Does Nason have an injury?”

Nason Jordan is one of my wingmen, and he’s usually a starting player. Mina Yerington is one of my two physical trainers, a veteran PT in the league unlike Sebastian Young who’s brand new from college. I’m not surprised that Nason asked Mina for guidance in something.

Reno shakes his head. “Nah. I think he’s looking to strengthen a specific muscle group, but the techniques he’s been using aren’t giving him the results he’s looking for. Then again, we both know Nason is impatient. He might not have been working at it long enough.”

“Very true. We ready for this morning?’

He inclines his head. “Yep. There’s already a bucket of pucks on the bench. I’ll grab the cones and shit in a few minutes. Just want to finish this email.”

“Sounds good. I think we’re going to begin with a little skirmish to warm up. Let the boys have fun for a bit while we see how their skills fared from a few months off.”

“More houses need to come with ice rinks in the basements,” Reno says, nodding.

Chuckling, I turn from the room. To be fair, we’re in Canada.

If he says that too loudly, it’s going to become a trend.

After all, hockey is life up here. As I walk down the hall to my office, I hear a familiar voice that makes my blood heat up.

I refuse to stop, so I walk until I reach my office door then turn.

As soon as my eyes meet Dasan’s, I remember being on my knees two mornings ago, sucking his dick for quite some time.

Not suck but… suck like… a pacifier. The rhythmic constant of doing so helped to soothe my panic and unease in a way nothing else ever has before.

It made my mind all floaty and happy and my body hum.

A flush covers me. I feel it in my scalp all the way down to my toes as it moves through me. What the fuck is wrong with me? I took comfort in sucking a man’s dick like a baby-soothing device!

I’m not sure if he’s remembering the same thing I am, but he smirks then, I swear to fuck, that man winks. “Hey, Coach,” he greets on his way past me to the locker room.

Goddamn. Has his voice always been so sexy? His long hair shines in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. “Good morning,” I answer. Please tell me my voice is even.

His smile slides up as he passes, his eyes holding mine until he’s beyond me. I remind myself that Dasan has always been flirty. This isn’t a reflection of or hint at what happened between us recently. This is simply Dasan.

Taking a breath, I head into my office. Until I get myself under control, there will be no visits to the locker room where Dasan is changing.

Seeing his fine ass naked? Catching a glimpse of his cock with its barbell while knowing what he can do with it, what it feels like?

Yeah… far too much temptation, and I’m simply not that strong.

I drop into my chair and close my eyes for a minute. This is going to be a long fucking day.