by Van Barrett
Lane stood on his tip-toes and pressed his lips into mine. Slowly, lightly, sensually, we kissed. Just like the first time. His lips grew heavier, thicker, juicier – and so did his hunger for me.
He grabbed a fistful of denim and throbbing cock. He gripped me hard, just on the edge of pain, and tugged deliberately. Up and down. Heavy and hard.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my eyes rolling back in my head.
I grabbed his dick through his pants, too. And we kissed and jerked each other. Our kisses growing wetter, our cocks growing harder.
Lane took a glance towards the bed. He turned back to me and leaned in, his breath warm and pleasant on my ear. “How long do we have?”
“Long enough,” I whispered back.
“Never,” he grinned. He made a bee-line for the bed, leading me by the cock like a dog on a leash. “It's never long enough.”
Lane stopped me bedside and, with force, stripped me out of my jeans. My boxers were hilariously tented and Lane couldn't help but laugh at the sight. But when he pulled the silk boxers down, he softly cooed. My cock sprang out, bobbing up and down until it settled – pointing straight up.
“I almost forgot.” He jerked me slowly, pausing to swallow. “How nice it is.” Every tug he gave me, my whole body leaned forward, as if he pulled all of me forward.
“But wait.” I panted, breaking myself free from his spell. “I've been waiting all damn day for this.”
I yanked at his jeans and tore them off his legs. And then his boxers, too. He crawled up the bed, his head hitting the pillow, and I prowled after him. I fell atop him and we kissed. Our hard cocks glanced off one another. My balls felt so swollen and sensitive already. I wondered if his felt the same way?
“My balls are so heavy, dude,” I growled, my lips sucking on his soft neck.
“Fuck,” Lane gasped. “Mine too.”
“I'm gonna cum a lot for you.”
“Ugh,” Lane panted.
We tore each other's shirts off, flung the shirts aside and came back together, totally naked at last. My hairy, sweaty chest rubbed against his. Lane's torso was smoother, paler, less hairy.
Lane wrapped his legs around my back and squeezed. Rocking forward and back, I pumped my hard cock against his. Slowly, methodically, our dicks rubbed together as we swapped and sucked tongues. A tingling sensation, a desire, an urgency, rushed up the base of my spine and through my shaft. Shit, was I already this close?
I leaned back. I mated our cocks at their undersides – our softest, most sensitive part squishing into each other. I felt his throbbing. Surely he felt mine, too.
And then, with both dicks in hand, I stroked us. Slowly. Together, as a unit, as one.
“Oh, that's so fucking hot, River,” Lane moaned, his eyes huge as he watched the scene.
He was right. It was hot. Seeing that much rock-hard, throbbing, masculine flesh? All wrapped up in my giant fist? It was a lot to take in. Too much to take in. My brain overloaded; I couldn't handle it. And that rising sense of urgency rocketed up my shaft.
My glans swelled as I realized it too late: I was cumming.
“Oh noooo!” I bellowed, wishing like hell I could hold back and keep playing for just a little while longer.
But I couldn't. Clamp down on my cock all I wanted, it was too late. A small creamy bead innocently appeared at the top of my slit. Like a dewy crown, it announced the arrival of my coming orgasm.
“Fuck!” I grunted. And a long, arcing rope of semen blasted out. It showered down on Lane's chest. I stroked myself faster, harder now, priming myself for every next and great burst. With every splatter, my jizz coated us, making a mess of us both.
Semen flowed from my glans and trickled between my knuckles. The frothy lube had made our members slick, and every tug was nice and slippery. I wrapped my hand tighter around us and kept jerking.
“Ohhh!” Lane suddenly announced. And then, with his fists gripping the bed sheets, he surrendered to orgasm, too.
“Fuck yeah!” I cheered.
Lane unleashed his seed in a hurry – his squirts came relentlessly, quickly and rapidly, one powerful streak shooting into the air after another. Until he had nothing left to give, and his head hit the pillow with a satisfied and contented groan.
The pair of dicks in my hand, though still swollen, went soft and limber. I let them go. They flopped over in a tired heap.
With a smile, I held up my cum-covered hand and showed Lane the mess we'd made. He laughed. But when he took my hand into his, pulled it to his mouth and sucked my fingers clean …
Well. The tired heap of cocks started to stir again.
“Uh oh,” I grumbled. “I – I gotta shower and get dressed for the Awards ceremony.” I swallowed heavily. “You, you better stop …”
Lane sucked every last finger of mine clean, theatrically relishing in our juices. He left no doubt in my mind what he really wanted to suck.
He let my index finger came out of his mouth with a pop.
“See, River? I told you. It's never long enough.”
52
Hobey Baker
– Lane –
I know River said he had to get ready for the award ceremony, but …
“Mmf,” I whimpered with River's cock buried deep in my throat. His meaty shaft hardened with every wet, sloppy thrust down his impressive length.
I knew he was close. It was so easy to tell with River. Some guys, the guys who don't make much noise or movement, can surprise you – and they've always been a little boring to me. Sure, it can be hot and exciting when you suddenly realize there's a warm load filling your mouth …
But really, the fun of giving head is all the little things. The lead-up to the big moment. The sexy gasps, the weakened moans. The muscle twitches, the body spasms. When you work him into such a good rhythm, he can't help himself; his hips rock uncontrollably, and he gently thrusts his cock deeper into your throat, forcing you to take more of him.
River did all that. And so I knew he was about to blow. But just before he did?
“Wait! Lane! You gotta stop!” he panted.
“Wha? But why?”
“I gotta get ready, man!” He held the bedside alarm clock in his hand. “Or else I'm gonna be late!”
“But … you're so close …”
“I know!” He jumped out of bed and made for the shower. I knew he couldn't trust himself around me; he worried he'd get so worked up, he'd be fine with showing up late. Just like the first time I sucked his dick and he almost missed his flight.
Damn, I smirked. I watched him strut his way into the bathroom; his round and firm butt bouncing so perkily as he ran away.
I followed him into the bathroom. Naked, I leaned against the cold granite counter-top. And through the shower's glass door, I watched him rub a soap bar and work up a lather all over his body. Mmm. I indulged in all sorts of naughty thoughts as soap suds spilled down River's thick muscles and hard-cut lines.
Yow.
I spied River's suit, hanging in a plastic bag from a door hook. Hell, as much as I was enjoying the shower scene, I almost wanted to see him dressed all dapper even more.
“So am I coming along for this ceremony or what?” I asked, my eyes still on that suit.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Y'know, it would've been nice to know it was a suit and tie kind of event. When your teammates kidnapped me, they didn't exactly tell me what I was dressing for. I hope I'm not out of place.”
“Don't worry. It'll be super casual. Plus we'll only be there for a bit, then a team dinner afterward, then we're back here.” He held up a finger in warning. “Resting for tomorrow's game. Understand?”
I chuffed. “Of course! I dunno what you even mean by that.”
But as I said that, I also wrapped my hands around my still-hard cock and jerked myself slowly, my eyes poring over River's chiseled torso with more than a hint of desire.
“God damn, Lane,” he mumbled, gawking. “That's – that's, what I mea
n. Oh no.”
“Better not watch. You have to hurry and get dressed. Remember?”
“Fuck,” he grunted desperately. “Wish you could just come in here right now and--”
“Nuh-uh,” I sang teasingly and left the bathroom. “We gotta get ready to go.”
***
The ceremony took place at an auditorium packed with reporters and hockey people from colleges, and pro teams, and I'm sure all sorts of big wigs from the sports world that I'd never recognize. Even though the award hadn't been handed out yet, River was already the belle of the ball. Can you call a 6'3 tower of power a 'belle?' Whatever. I just did. He looked gorgeous in his suit and tie, so I'll just say the term stands.
River moved about the auditorium slowly, having to stop every few inches to meet and greet a new face and shake another hand. He graciously accepted a barrage of non-stop compliments on his tremendous season. Everyone wished him the best of luck, both tomorrow and in the years to come, and I saw River pocket so many business cards I couldn't believe they weren't spilling out of his navy trousers.
I watched all this more or less from afar, standing around with the only other people I felt comfortable with – River's goofy teammates. They were nice to me and made me feel like I was part of the group, which I definitely appreciated. 'Cause this coulda been all kinds of awkward if not.
It was great to watch River in this world. I knew he more than deserved to soak up everyone's compliments. His achievements spoke for themselves. And yet, I still had this eerie feeling that I'd probably never understand how much of a treat River was for the hockey world. I was still very new to hockey and only learning the sport. I didn't have the context to comprehend River's ability.
And so, watching him get swept around this room, seeing him shake hands with this person, then meet this person, and now I want you to meet this person … I was filled with an odd feeling once more.
This whole trip was sweet and all. And the gesture was amazing. But River was clearly a special guy. Almost like was from a different world. Like he belonged to a different world. And he was going to move there full-time in matter of months. It was a world where he'd be appreciated for things I might not ever understand.
I felt like I was watching him get swept away from me once more.
This time, at least, it wasn't as distressing as all of 'DildoGate' and the other non-sense had been. This time, it was more a fact of life: hey, Lane, enjoy what you have with River in the present. Enjoy this moment. Because, as great as it was that River came out to his teammates, there was no way he could come out to all these people.
River had bought us a few more months of being together at best. And that was really awesome. But I should remember not to get too caught up like I had in the past.
***
While River made the rounds, I found myself talking to some media people who let me pick their brains on the topic of sports media. I kept the details of my situation brief – pretending to just be a reporter from a college paper, and not daring to say anything more. I earned a few business cards myself. Not sure what I'd ever do with those, but it was fun nonetheless.
After an hour or so, the organizers were ready to get the ceremony going. River was ushered to the stage with the other two candidates for the Hobey Baker Award. I sat with the rest of the Fighting Hawks.
“Pst,” I tapped Elliott on the shoulder. “How much of a shot do these other guys have?”
Elliott laughed. “Honestly? No chance, and they know it. It's a formality, 'cause there's always three candidates. Hell, if they don't give that trophy to River, fist fights might break out.”
I leaned back. “Jeez. Really?”
“Well, I might punch somebody.” Elliott shrugged. “Rest easy, Lane. Your boy's got this in the bag.”
I laughed and thanked him.
***
After the presenter highlighted each candidate's season and their achievements, it was at last time.
“I would like to present the winner of this year's Hobey Baker Award--”
My heart pounded and I held my breath – I knew this was supposed to be in the bag for River, but I still hated the suspense!
“-- from the University of North Dakota, River Brame!”
“YEAH!” I yelled, jumping to my feet. The audience seemed relieved. They clapped and cheered as if all was right with the world.
River stood, shook hands with the presenter, accepted his trophy and the two posed for a picture. Then he took the podium to give his speech.
“Ha. Wow. Thanks so much. I'd like to thank everyone who made this possible. All my teammates. Love you guys. My Mom, such a huge inspiration in my life. Love you Mom. Coach J, who has been an incredible role model and mentor for me these past four years. University of North Dakota, you've been great. All the fans who support us, everyone else I forgot to mention – thank you so much.”
River could've stopped there. Most athletes, rarely being gifted with a silver tongue, would have. But he lingered at the podium, the audience not knowing if they should start clapping while the pause grew longer. But then River leaned back into the mic, his eyes shifty as if he was about to share a secret.
“My season got kinda crazy at the end there, eh?” River grinned. Cue a burst of bottled-up laughter from the audience. It was clear that DildoGate was still fresh on everyone's mind. “I just – I just wanna take this time to say something that's not so easy for me to say.”
Uh oh, I thought. My clasped hands pressed into my sternum. What's he about to do?
“Obviously by now, everyone's heard the news about my personal life.” He paused again, searching for the words. “You know, the truth is, I could've easily kept all that a secret. And honestly, I wanted to. And all those details coming out, and seeing all the ugliness that spilled out as a result of it … well, I realized something. I could go on trying to hide all that, or I could just bring it out into the open so I could be myself. Be comfortable being me – a gay athlete – whatever the consequences might be.”
You might expect the audience to gasp! with shock here, for men to be outraged, for women to faint suddenly and topple from their chairs … but none of that happened. The crowd was attentive, quiet, respectful.
River continued. “And I know I'm not choosing an easy path by telling you this, either. In fact, I know it's gonna get a lot harder for me. But I do know that this is the right path for me. Because I can't sit by and lie to myself any longer. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“So the last person I want to thank is my boyfriend, Lane Matthews, for helping me to realize all this about myself, and have the courage to say all this today.” River's eyes grew huge with an apparent slip-up. “Er! Ha! I called him my boyfriend, didn't I. We're not really at that point yet. Well, I hope he'll let me call him my boyfriend, anyway.”
River nervously tugged at his tie knot and earned more admiring laughter from the audience. Hell, the crowd loved him! Meanwhile, the Fighting Hawks – seated all around me – descended on me in an instant. They tussled my hair, gave me noogies, punched my shoulder and slapped my thighs. I couldn't help but grin like a doofus while they knocked me around.
River leaned over the mic one more time and said softly, “Sorry about that Lane. No pressure or anything. Thanks again, everyone.”
River left the stage to a standing ovation, raucous applause and whistles.
“Wow,” I whispered under my breath. I must've been the last person in that auditorium to rise to my feet and clap. Elliott had to grab my arm and hoist me.
I just couldn't believe it.
He'd done it – he'd come out. Just like that. That easily. No, that's not true, because I know it wasn't easy at all. And that he would be the focus of endless talk and discussion for the next, I-don't-even-know how long! But he'd done it, damn it!, in one short and funny and fine speech. While he accepted an award for the stand-out college player of the year. It was as if he'd flicked some annoying bug from his shoulder. Ready to move on
and tackle some actual problems.
And, of course, the boyfriend comment.
I didn't even know what to think. You'd wish you knew what to think in these moments, but that's not reality. You can't think!
You just watch this handsome hunk, this guy destined for success, try to make his way through a crowded auditorium. His words still ringing through your head – my boyfriend – while everyone mugs him for more handshakes, more congratulations, more hurried 'selfies.'
And hell. Maybe it's premature. But whatever doubts I had about this guy are gone. Out the fucking window. He might very well end up breaking my heart, but damn it, this time I won't blame myself for falling for him.
When I allowed myself to admit that to myself, my heart swelled. With what? With whatever it is that fills your heart when you truly let someone in. That churning, warm fondness in the center of your chest. That connection, that deep bond you share with someone.
Love, obviously.
53
Hard To Get
– River –
My heart was pounding on that podium. I hoped people couldn't hear the solid thumps through the mic. Because I was seriously worried they would.
The bronze likeness of Hobey Baker, held in my right hand, felt dozens of pounds heavier than the stated forty.
Just don't drop the trophy, I told myself. For the love of God don't drop the trophy.
Time slowed down in that moment – just like when I'm on the ice, right before a game-breaking moment. I saw that sea of eyeballs staring back at me, wet and twinkling and white, and I heard every squishy eyelid blinking all around the auditorium. Blink blink blink. Random, non-stop, chaotic.
Surreal.
I had to force myself to ignore that. To not focus on what my eyes and ears were showing me. To open my heart up instead, and let the words come out on their own. I hadn't planned a speech or anything. I hadn't practiced what I'd say, 'cause I honestly didn't know. I just hoped I'd find a way to say what I needed to. And I guess I did.
