Page 36

Pope

S even months later...

Thierry’s alarm went off way too early. Last night’s celebration with the team at Flame went longer than expected and with way more fucking booze than expected.

I groaned, the pounding headache, left my vision blurry, but my dick was onboard for a morning wake up call.

Thierry’s hand snaked out from the covers where he’d been hiding to turn off the incessant noise, throwing us back into the blissful quiet we’d enjoyed.

Today was the final prep before their pre-season opening game for the new Mountaineer season.

All that worry about losing his job and stress over the concern someone on the team would think he lied about the condition of his knee never came to fruition.

If anything, the Thunderbirds along with Thierry and the Mountaineers went in on a lawsuit against the orthopedic team who, it appeared, after an investigation, had a long practice of negligence.

It wasn’t just Thierry they fucked over.

There were players as far back as the nineties who’d undergone botched procedures only to be readmitted by other orthopedic surgeons, sometimes months and years later, repeating the same procedures or, in Thierry’s case, replacing joints.

Dr. Jay lent his expertise to the cause, bringing his practice and Vanderbilt Hospital to the forefront of orthopedic medicine in sports.

To say I was proud of Thierry and his commitment to the cause and to be the face of the fight was an understatement. For so long, he’d been the star. Now he was an advocate for the sport he loved and for a cause close to his heart.

Sports injuries and the treatment of players.

However, his first love now was being behind the bench, coaching his defenders to a championship. Something they’d almost accomplished last year. If he hadn’t been sidelined as he was, I believe the team would’ve won, hands down.

“Why are you thinking so loud?” he muttered, his voice roughened by sleep.

“Can’t help it,” I replied, tugging him back into my chest.

He sighed, snuggling down into my embrace.

As for us, I didn’t have the words to explain our life.

There were still things I was getting used to.

Like being in public together and people recognizing Thierry.

Not that they wouldn’t, but it was the fact they acknowledged me, too.

His super fans, the ones he gained through his pop star friend.

.. They called us Popthery. It was kind of catchy, but totally weird.

We even went to one of her concerts, where we sat with her fiancé.

Now that... That was wild. I’d never experienced anything so.

.. Explosive. Every second of the concert gave me chills.

“Good morning,” I whispered, pressing my lips to his neck. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” he murmured, pressing back against me.

I ran my hand down his stomach to the band on his boxer-briefs, teasing my fingertips along the hem while also bumping occasionally against his cock. “That seems painful.”

“Cheesy,” he muttered with a small chuckle.

“You like it though,” I replied, slipping my hand into his underwear. I fisted him, jerking his dick. “I want to do it this morning.”

Since that first morning in bed, after his hospital stay, we’d taken our relationship slowly, building up to this moment.

Thierry never pushed me, even when I wished he would have.

He was a firm believer of consent and taking our time together.

I appreciated his thoughtfulness however, I wanted him.

Had wanted him the whole time. This morning, however, the need burning in my gut was different than before.

“You’re sure?” he said, glancing back at me with those soulful gray eyes of his.

“Yes.”

He eased away from me momentarily to grab the lube and a condom.

When he returned, he kissed me. The passion and frenzy snapped across my senses then settled into a longing.

My chest constricted. Everything inside of me tensed with expectancy.

This moment solidified years of longing.

Of regrets. Of missing someone so much, it meant going through the motions and never fully embracing life or what was meant for each of us.

There was tons of guilt on my part in the beginning.

Thierry called it miscommunication. I called it being stuck in my head and in my feelings.

Also regret. I missed so much time with him.

So much could have been fixed if I’d talked to my best friend.

“Ready?” I asked, squirting some of the lube onto my fingers. Prepping was key.

Thierry nodded. “Hurry up.”

“Impatient.” I spread his cheek while he stroked his dick.

The second my fingers rubbed his hole, he moaned, and my cock jerked, spilling precum.

I gritted my teeth, reminding myself slow and steady.

We’d done this a few times together. Used toys.

But this felt bigger. More important than fooling around.

“Always when I’m with you.”

I kissed his shoulder, adding more lube while fucking him with two fingers.

The delicious sounds he made went straight to my balls.

I wanted to hurry up and get inside him while at the same time, keep him just like this.

Commit to memory each of his expressions.

The sounds he made and his sighs. The whiney pleas and reedy sobs.

The way his cock turned a deep shade of red as drops of precum dribbled down his length.

Most of all, I wanted the image of him, in the throes of pleasure seared into my mind as a reminder I made him feel those emotions. I brought him to the brink of orgasm.

When I was sure I wouldn’t hurt him, I donned the condom and lubed the barrier before pressing my tip to his hole. I wrapped my arm around him, holding him in place while pushing forward. His cry knotted my belly with bliss. “Easy...” I don’t know who I said the word for, me or him.

“Don’t stop,” he said, tugging my face toward his for a kiss. I slipped deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the heat of his ass.

My eyes rolled up. My gut tightened. A soft moan fell from my lips. Nothing had ever felt so perfect. I stilled, allowing Thierry to adjust. The way he clenched around me, sent fire racing through my veins. I needed to move. My dick throbbed as he cinched down harder.

Fuck, I wasn’t going to last. That was the embarrassing part of all this. I didn’t want to be some two-pump chump for Thierry. I wanted this to last for as long as he needed me.

Yet, even as I thought of hockey statistics and the tattoos I’d planned on doing this evening at the shop, I couldn’t stop the current of gratification sparking along my spine or the way my balls drawled up in expectancy.

I flexed my hips, giving a tentative roll.

That sucked the life from my body. I was going to die here.

I knew it. “This is embarrassing.” I pressed my forehead to his neck.

“If you don’t move and let me cum,” he admonished. “We’re going to have words. Very bad words”

“I can’t move or else I’m going to cum,” I said, as the tingle of awareness arced in my gut.

“Then do it, Pope,” he murmured. “We have all the time in the world for this.”

Fuck. Why did he have to be so damn patient with me?

I retreated and rocked forward reveling in the drag of my cock along the walls of his ass.

I couldn’t stop the pump of my hips or the sounds I made.

Feral was a good way to describe how I felt, clinging to him, fucking him in demanding strokes until we were moaning together.

“You feel so good,” I said, breathing hard. “I never knew it could be this way.”

“Yes,” he sobbed. “Pope...”

“Right there with you, Thier. I’m never getting enough of you. Never.” I pushed his hand out of his way and stroked him, matching my pace. He thrashed, bucking against me, adding to the pleasure.

Hissing his name, I tensed, unable to stop the rising tide.

The stuttered curse that left my mouth as I slammed into him twice more before climaxing, would embarrass me later.

For now, the roughened growl at the back of my throat accompanied the jerk of my hips as Thierry shouted, covering my fist and his belly in his release.

He shuddered, pushing back onto me, drawing out one of the best orgasms I’d ever experienced outside of his mouth.

As I laid there, trying to gather my tattered wits and breathe, I gave lazy little thrusts, not wanting to lose this feeling of being inside him. “Wow...” He made a happy little noise, in the back of his throat and I chuckled, which caused him to clench on me, and I groaned. “I love you, Thierry.”

“You sure it’s not my ass you love?” The teasing in his voice had me shaking my head.

“I’ve always loved you,” I said. “I just didn’t recognize what this was in the middle of my chest.”

“Finally,” Thierry murmured. “I love you too, Pope. Always have.”

I kissed him, uncaring if my softening dick slipped out of him or if I had cum on my hand. I had to show him how much he meant to me.

I knew I found my home.

Thierry’s second alarm went off and we both groaned. “Shower then breakfast.” He kissed me again before slowly slipping out of bed.

I laid there, staring at the best ass I’d ever seen or fucked and couldn’t muster up the want to move, but knew I had to.

I was dropping Thierry off at the arena then heading to the shop for another custom piece, this time for Rick.

Lily-Mae gave birth to a nine-pound baby boy named Douglas, for Rick’s father, who unexpectedly passed away the night of Douglas’ birth.

This was a special memorial tattoo for Rick, and their family.

Something the world would see whenever Rick was on the field.

“You ready to go, Coach?” I joked, stepping into the bathroom.