Break Away

by Van Barrett

  Because, soon, it was over. I wasn't sure what I'd even said – except I accidentally called Lane my boyfriend. (Fuck! Hope I didn't just scare him off.)

  But when I was done, every last person in that auditorium stood up and clapped. And I breathed a sigh of relief. Whew. I didn't just self-immolate my career after winning the Hobey Baker. That was good to know.

  I made my way through the auditorium. Slowly but surely. Making my way towards Lane and the boys. The comments I got from everyone passing by were amazing. So much love and support. I knew this was only the beginning, and things would get harder. But for now, at least, I knew I had a base of support.

  I don't know how long it took until I carved my way through that crowd. But finally I did it – I was with my boys at last. And we hopped in our shuttle and headed out for our team dinner.

  Even dinner was a whirlwind. Seated across the communal table from me was Lane. Everyone else was a member of the team. I don't think I said too much during dinner. Neither did Lane. We listened and laughed. I was happy to let Ells and Ocho be the center of attention. After that ceremony, I needed to just blend in and feel normal. Let other people have the spotlight.

  Soon, only crumbs remained on our plates, and the waiter came by with a bill. UND grabbed the tab. And then we took a shuttle back to our hotel. It was still early, but then, we had a big game tomorrow.

  Kinda the biggest game of my career, actually.

  ***

  Back at the hotel, Lane and I hurried back to our room. We got in, and I closed the door. I heard Lane say,

  “I loved your speech.”

  And the second I turned around, he pounced on me. His eager mouth claimed mine and his hands went to work, hastily tearing off my suit. He yanked my tie and led me eagerly to the bed. The rest of my clothes came off and he shoved me onto the mattress. I watched while he undressed himself in a hurry.

  “I didn't bring condoms,” I lamented. I doubted he'd brought any, either, considering he'd been rushed out of his place.

  He shrugged. “There's other things we can do.”

  And then he was on top of me. We kissed and sucked at each other's lips, trying our best to keep the noise down when our… but not giving much of a damn if we didn't. My hands grabbed his waist. I guided him back and forth so our cocks rubbed together.

  Without a word, Lane spun around. His cock and balls hovered over my face. I couldn't see it, but I felt the tightness of his lips wrap around my throbbing member. I was plunged into the wet heat of his mouth.

  I guided his manhood into my mouth with my tongue. I sucked him tight. He thrust gently, rocking back and forth, deeper into my mouth, until I gagged slightly. I liked it – gagging on him. The brief panic that freezes you instantly, overwhelms you, ripples through your nerves. But then he pulled back, and the threat was over, and I just wanted him back there again.

  The two of us let out muffled moans and groans, our cocks buried in each other's throats. An endless circuit of pleasure.

  With a garbled moan for a warning, Lane's cock spasmed between my cheeks. Frantically, his hips bucked, and his cock went deeper. His warmth spurted out and filled my mouth. It rushed down the back of my throat. There was nowhere else for it to go – I swallowed it easily.

  It was all too much. The taste, the feel of his pulsing dick. His bittersweet seed on my tongue. His orgasmic moans.

  I lost myself just as quickly – and Lane didn't let up. He slurped me faster, taking me deep, his hands massaging my balls to coax out every last drop of my juice.

  “Oh, fuck!” I roared, losing myself.

  ***

  Not long after, Lane's head rested on my still-heaving and sweat-glistening chest. His hand ran up and down my hairy chest and he fingered my abs like I know he loves to do.

  “Holy shit,” I panted when my wits returned.

  “Yeah,” he snickered. “Holy shit is right.”

  “That was amazing.”

  “You're amazing,” he said.

  “Ha. Me? What did I do?”

  “Oh, I dunno, you only told a room packed full of journalists and hockey people that you're gay?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. I don't even really know what I said, honestly. It all kinda came out at once.”

  “River, it was awesome. And I take back everything I've ever said about you not knowing how to speak your mind.”

  “Oh, stop it.”

  “No, seriously.” He gave me his eyes. “You're a natural. The crowd loved you. They're gonna love you when you make it to the NHL, too.”

  “Hey, thanks bud.” I squeezed him.

  “And?” he looked up at me again. “… You can call me boyfriend whenever you want.”

  I grinned sneakily. “Only if you call me the same.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.” Lane faked a sigh. “But … fine. I'll gladly call you my boyfriend.”

  I couldn't stop the grin from spreading. “Sweet.”

  “So, boyfriend, am I now privy to where you will be signing this summer?”

  “Oh no. Sorry. Still top secret.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Ha. How many times do I have to tell you? I don't know, man. I'm gonna play the field.”

  “Play the field.” He jabbed me. “You know, I really thought you knew where you wanted to go all along. I thought you were just playing hard to get.”

  “Maybe playing hard to get in some regard, yes.” My hand slid lower and I spanked his butt. “But, no, truly, I still don't know. I just wanna see what my options are. And after what I said today? That might change things, too. Who knows. Maybe there's a team out there that won't make an offer to me now. Maybe more than one team won't. Or, maybe there's a team that will tell me they'd love to have a gay player on their squad. You know? Who knows. We'll see.”

  “Next year I'll be a senior at UND …” Lane said, sounding and looking a little downtrodden. “The closest NHL teams are still hours away from Grand Forks.” He added quietly, and a little ashamed, “I know, 'cause I looked 'em up once.”

  “Just one year, Lane. I'm a patient guy.” I paused. “And I don't like to cheat, remember.”

  “Good. Me neither.”

  We pulled each other closer, our chests rising and falling together.

  I spied the time on the digital clock. “Damn. I really gotta get to sleep for real. Big game tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing River.” Lane rolled off me and we stared at the ceiling.

  And then I noticed his hand creeping across the bed sheets.

  “Dude … Lane.”

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  But his hand continued to walk across the sheets. His fingers climbed up my hip, and I watched helplessly as he wrapped them around my manhood. Helplessly, I hardened and expanded into his hand.

  Oh boy. Here we go again.

  54

  Championship

  – Lane –

  I woke up in the hotel bed barely after 6 AM. River was still sleeping next to me.

  Today's the big game.

  I wanted to stay out of River's way as much as possible. I knew athletes like him had their oddly superstitious routines. And even though last night was fun and I had a fantastic time torturing him, I knew he was serious when he told me that we couldn't do anything like that today. He had to get serious and focus on visualizing. He liked to spend the whole day 'seeing' the game in his mind, as I'd learned.

  Quietly, I slid out of bed without waking him, and tip-toed out of the room. I claimed my complimentary continental breakfast in the hotel lobby. There, I ate a waffle and enjoyed a couple cups of coffee and caught up on the latest news. River's story was already big news, and only added to the hype of the big game.

  I noticed that the way people wrote about me was softening already, too. I wasn't this devious gay man on a mission to destroy River anymore. Now I was his boyfriend. Huh. Okay. The shift happened so fast it could break your neck, but that's cool.

  I also gave Devon a
phone call and updated her on everything. She was beyond psyched, having already heard the news and seen the clips from River's award ceremony. Needless to say, both our heads were still spinning.

  Around 9 AM, I made a plate for River and went back to the room. I found him there, still naked in bed, but not sleeping. He was quietly attentive, his body relaxed, his expression serene.

  “Hey. Hope I'm not bothering you,” I said as I sat on the edge of the bed. “Brought you some breakfast if you want it.”

  “Mm. Thanks.” He sat up and took the plate. “You're not bothering me. I'm just starting my routine.” He motioned with his hands, like he was mentally trying to organize his thoughts.

  “That's cool. I can leave you alone.”

  “You don't have to. But you might get bored. I get pretty quiet. Hard to talk to.”

  “Hey, River. Whatever you have to do to be the best, man. I'm here for you.”

  He smiled and patted my back. “Thanks bud. I really appreciate that.”

  “No prob.”

  But I left him alone anyway. I could tell he was getting in the zone and I didn't wanna do anything to get in the way. I knew how much this game meant to him.

  ***

  Game time!

  The crowd was wild during the pre-game introductions. When the Fighting Hawks took the ice, the crowd let out a huge roar – and again when River's name was announced in the starting lineups. Apparently, hockey fans were already cheering him on.

  After the anthem, UND and Quinnipiac squared off at the faceoff … and I was so nervous I thought I might throw up.

  I'd brought a pair of headphones and listened to the game's radio announcers so I would have a better idea of what was going on during the game. It helped to hear the play-by-play man break things down and announce player's names. (Of course, I knew who River was. The other skaters, not so much.)

  “River Brame was awarded the Hobey Baker last night and gave a heck of an acceptance speech …”

  The radio guy explained how River had come out.

  “You'd hope such a confession wouldn't make him a target on the ice, but I suppose we'll see today.”

  Euch. I didn't like that thought. But River didn't seem to be in any sort of danger. He was just too fast, too big. And the way he played today? Well, I wasn't nervous for long. He looked like – and this might sound crazy – but he looked like he was finally free. Like a caterpillar that finally sheds his cocoon and takes flight.

  River did everything he normally did, but at a higher level. Somehow, he was faster. Smoother. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was going to do what he had to do to win this game for his team, for his school. And his teammates? They weren't going to let anything happen to him, either.

  After every whistle, if any of the Quinnipiac skaters even came near River, one of the Fighting Hawks immediately came up and got in the opponent's face. Not that River needed any protection. It was just a team spirit thing. They were all one unit and they weren't going to let anyone fuck with River.

  “Here's River Brame, with the puck, looking for a man in the slot … but oh! A quick move and River slips by the defender! He moves in all alone! Shoots! Scooooores!”

  That first goal. Oh man. Huge. The rink thundered and shook beneath my feet as the crowd jumped to their feet and screamed for River's goal.

  And the Fighting Hawks players?, they absolutely mobbed River. His teammates rushed at him and jumped into him and they all hugged, forming a tightly knit group. They didn't let go, their heads together, their arms tight around each other. They didn't wanna let go. I might've teared up seeing that. The emotion was so raw … those boys were so close. Some of them playing their last games together as Fighting Hawks. This was really it for the team – the last time they'd be together. And they wanted to win the game so bad. For themselves, for each other, for River.

  “And a huge, huge goal by the captain River Brame, who looks like he's really stepped his game up yet another level, and when it matters the most. He's done that for this team all year, folks, even when you think he can't get any better,” the radio guy remarked.

  Quinnipiac came back with guns blazing, desperate to stay in the game. But The Fighting Hawks weathered the storm. It wasn't long before the Fighting Hawks scored again – this time, Lettuce tapped-in a back-door pass from River.

  And the celebrations were uncorked again.

  ***

  River wouldn't score any more goals, but neither would anyone else. The game would end 2-0, with the Fighting Hawks safely guarding their lead. When the last seconds ticked off the clock, all the North Dakota boys rushed the ice. They tossed their equipment high into the air, sticks and gloves and helmets littering the ice, and they dog-piled on top of River. One big mass of hockey players. Even from the stands we could hear those boys laughing and shouting and wooping like Coyotes.

  Eventually, the two teams would form a line and shake hands, and the victorious party would take their celebration to the dressing room. I stayed in my seat, checking the news on my phone. Before long, one of the UND team reps found me and ushered me to the dressing room.

  I stepped into a room filled with clouds of cigar smoke. All around me, the boys shouted and hollered and hugged each other, carelessly spilling the bottles of beer and glasses of champagne they held. Huge, toothy, boyish smiles. The smell was conflicting. The sweet notes of cigars and champagne against the salty musk of twenty sweaty men, still wearing their drenched equipment.

  I guess the boys would say that was the smell of victory.

  And suddenly, over all the hollering and cheering, Smooth by Santana started to play.

  “Oh God,” I laughed. River had told me about their victory song, but I wasn't sure I believed it until now.

  All the boys erupted into a great roar, so happy to hear their song when it mattered most. And Ochoa apparently pulled out another champagne bottle he'd been saving, uncorked it, and sprayed the whole room while turning in circles, like a damned human sprinkler.

  I found River. His hair was wet with champagne, and his teammates poured their beers over his head and broad shoulders, just like they'd done to each other. Not that River seemed to mind – he held a beer for that express purpose: not for drinking, but for pouring on his teammates' head.

  Hockey players. What can you say?

  I admired him so much in that moment. Not just because he was a champion and he'd come so far to get to this summit. But because he was different from his teammates. But he would not let that difference become a wedge that drove between him and his teammates. And they respected that. They knew he was different too, but they didn't care. He was damned good at his job and they loved him in their own way.

  I shook my head with a dopey smile. I congratulated River, told him to have fun tonight, and celebrate with his boys. I'd meet him back at the hotel. He nodded, thanked me, and we said bye.

  ***

  Late that night, while I was reading in the hotel bed, I heard River's keycard slip into the door lock and he came in.

  I sat up in a hurry. “Hey there champ!”

  Humbly, he smiled. “Hey.”

  “How's it feel?”

  “Aaaaaaah.” He stalled. “Fuckin' amazing.”

  “Of course.” I laughed. “Of course it's fuckin' amazing. Is everyone back safely?”

  “Oh no.” He shook his head. “I think they'll be out drinking and partying for a while.”

  “Ah. Right. Aren't you glad you don't drink?”

  “Yup. I'm already beat. Wouldn't wanna be them tomorrow.” River struggled to work his shirt over his head and off. I stood up and helped the tired guy.

  “Thanks,” River said. “Hey, what's it called when you absorb something through your cell membranes, or whatever?”

  “Um … osmosis?” I asked, wondering where he was taking this.

  “Yes! Osmosis!” His eyes lit up and he shook his index finger at me. “D'you think a man can get drunk by osmosis?”

 
River flopped back-first, lying horizontally across the bed. He was beat. I laughed.

  “Maybe. Why? Are you feeling tipsy, big guy?” I kissed the top his head. Heck, his scalp still smelled like champagne.

  “I must've had a 30 case poured on me today. I feel kinda wobbly. And weak in the knees.”

  “Maybe you're just drunk on the high of being a national champ? And the best college player in the nation to boot? That could make you feel pretty weak in the knees.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  I slid off the bed, onto the floor, and wedged myself between his big, sore, muscular thighs.

  “I know what else can you make feel pretty weak in the knees.”

  “Ha, oh man …” River laughed.

  I felt his bulge grow beneath the weight of my hand. Eager, I licked my lips.

  “For some reason, River, even though I'm not wild about jocks?” I paused. “I love the idea of sucking off a national champ.”

  River's laugh tapered off into a pleasured coo as I unfastened his pants and whipped out his hard dick.

  My boyfriend. A national champion. Huh!

  55

  Big Man on Campus

  – River –

  My head hit the pillow, and as tired as I was, I couldn't stop smiling.

  Lane snuggled up to next to me and let out a satisfied sigh – he'd made me cum in record time and I know he always got a big kick out of that. He laid his hand over my heart.

  “I'm so proud of you, River”

  “Thanks bud. Couldn't have done it without my teammates, thoug--”

  “I'm not saying that because of the game. Well sure, the game too! But I mean … everything. Coming out like you did. Telling your teammates, then the whole world, when the spotlight was on you. It's really admirable, man.”

  “Thanks.” I nodded. “Couldn't have done it without you.”