Off the Ice

by Avon Gale

  “Sorry,” Tristan said, without sounding the least bit sorry. “I don’t like to lose.” He paused. “Then again, I got the second highest grade but I also get your dick in my mouth, so I think I won after all.”

  “I’m glad you feel better about this,” Sebastian said drily. “Back to my quiz?”

  Tristan laughed. “Right. Okay, so...what’s the guy in front of the net called?”

  “A control freak?”

  “Oh, like you wouldn’t be the goalie,” Tristan teased. “Come on, I had that figured out from the first day of class. You like being in charge.”

  “I do,” Sebastian murmured, desire curling low in his stomach as blood pulsed hot and went right to his dick. “That’s true.” He reached out and put a hand on the back of Tristan’s neck. “And you like it. I figured that out the first time I put you on your knees.”

  Tristan sucked in a sharp breath, focus going from the game to Sebastian, which Sebastian found gratifying. God knew Tristan had distracted him from work enough times over the last few months. “Yeah. I—I like that. A lot, actually.”

  “Mmm. So, maybe you should reward me when I get the answers right.”

  “Okay,” Tristan said, eyes wide and caught by Sebastian’s own. The eagerness...fuck, Tristan was really into this, and it was something Sebastian liked a lot. He didn’t generally have relationships where he was able to devote a lot of time or energy into exploring it. Something about Tristan brought it out in him more strongly than usual, though, and it appeared they were both into it...so why not?

  “How—how many offensive lines are there?” Tristan asked.

  Sebastian had to think about that one for a minute. “Three?”

  Tristan made a buzzer sound and slid his hand slightly lower and away from Sebastian’s dick. “Try again.”

  “Four,” Sebastian guessed, mainly because he knew it couldn’t be two.

  “Yeah,” Tristan agreed, voice heavy. He went to move his hand up, but Sebastian stopped him with a light squeeze on his wrist.

  “Put your hand on my cock, Tristan.”

  Tristan swallowed visibly and obeyed. Sebastian made an appreciative noise, then put his hands behind his head and turned his attention back to the game. “Next question.”

  “What, uh...what’s it called when one team has an extra player on the ice ’cause the other team has a player in the penalty box?”

  Sebastian definitely remembered that one. “Power play.” He waited for Tristan’s answering nod, then said, “Unbuckle my belt.”

  Tristan did so with hurried gestures, his fingers a little clumsy in his haste. It made Sebastian want to stop playing games and throw him on the ground and fuck him hard. “Next question.”

  “What position am I?”

  “Power bottom,” Sebastian said immediately, then gave a low chuckle at the expression on Tristan’s face. “Defenseman.” When Tristan’s fingers went to the button on his jeans, Sebastian shook his head. “That was too easy. I want a hard one.”

  “That makes two of us,” Tristan quipped, and Sebastian had the odd thought that he couldn’t remember the last person who made him laugh quite so easily. “Okay, what’s it called if you’re the team who is down a guy, ’cause the refs are maybe blind and think a good hockey play is a penalty?”

  Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “I think it’s...” He had to search his memory. “Penalty game?”

  “Mmm. Close, but not quite.” Tristan peered up at him hopefully. “How about I undo one button since it was mostly right?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Buzzkill,” said Tristan.

  That triggered his memory. “Penalty kill. You can unzip my jeans now.” He lost his breath for a moment as Tristan did so, doing it with enough pressure on Sebastian’s dick to make his eyes roll back in his head.

  “What’s—Ah, what’s the—What’s it called when you score three goals in one game?”

  “Lucky?” Sebastian asked, then laughed at Tristan’s look. He knew this one. “Hat trick.”

  “That’s right.” Tristan stared expectantly at him, breathing a little harder, his face flushed.

  “Take my cock out,” Sebastian said, his voice soft. He made an appreciative sound when Tristan did as instructed, taking his cock in hand. He focused on the game again. “Ask me another question.”

  “Ah...dude, even I’m forgetting about hockey right now,” Tristan said, his fingers warm and his grip tight on Sebastian’s hard cock. “Okay, what’s...uh, what’s offside?”

  Sebastian had no idea. He squinted at the television. “It’s...when the players start too soon?”

  “Nope. This one is advanced. Probably more in the blowjob category than a handjob,” Tristan informed him. He sounded a little smug too. That wouldn’t do.

  “Who said we were stopping at a handjob—or a blowjob, for that matter?” Sebastian demanded, fixing Tristan with a sharp stare. He already knew that Tristan liked the professor voice, and lucky for him, it came fairly naturally to Sebastian. “Hmm?”

  “No one,” Tristan said. “And I—This is hot as fuck, Sebastian, but if we have to watch hockey until you get enough questions right to fuck me, this is gonna take a while. I’m pretty sure the game after this is the one where we lose, and I don’t think I’m going to be in the mood for anything hot after that.”

  “Then you better get me ready to fuck you before this game’s over,” Sebastian said, as if he were unmoved by Tristan’s admission—when in fact, he appreciated the subtle cue that Tristan wouldn’t want to keep playing this particular game much longer. Honestly, Sebastian wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up, either.

  “Offside is when a player not carrying the puck crosses the blue line first,” Tristan said, a little breathless. “And now they can call back goals for that, which is kind of stupid since it can honestly happen ten seconds before the goal is scored and that’s an eternity in hockey.”

  “It feels like an eternity at the moment too,” Sebastian said pointedly, and gave a little push of his hips. “The next question, please.”

  Tristan watched the game for a moment. “What are the two guys on an offensive line besides the center called?”

  “Left wing and right wing,” Sebastian recalled. At Tristan’s nod, he said, “Start stroking me. Not too fast. You’re not trying to get me off.”

  “Mmm.” Tristan started moving his hand slowly, giving a little flick of his wrist when he got to the top of Sebastian’s dick that made him suck in a sharp breath. “What’s the... Fuck, Sebastian,” he muttered, shaking his head. His eyes were glued to Sebastian’s cock. “What’s a Gordie Howe Hat Trick?”

  What the hell? Sebastian had no idea, and had to admit that was annoying because he was starting to become more interested in fucking Tristan than learning about hockey. “Who’s Gordie Howe?”

  “Former player. Died recently.” Tristan’s thumb dragged across the tip of Sebastian’s dick.

  “So...he scores three goals? From the afterlife?”

  Tristan grinned at him. “Nice try. It’s a fight, an assist, and a goal.”

  “Why?”

  “It just is.” Tristan shrugged. “Okay, what’s an assist?”

  “That’s when someone helps you score a goal,” Sebastian said, and added, “Context clues, Mr. Holt. Take your shirt off.”

  That clearly surprised Tristan, and he looked a little disappointed to let go of Sebastian’s cock to remove his shirt. But honestly, if he didn’t, this was going to end with Sebastian shoving Tristan’s head in his lap and having Tristan blow him. Sebastian slowly fisted his own dick, enjoying the show.

  “What’s the difference between a major and a minor penalty...how many minutes in the box,” Tristan clarified, chest heaving with the rapid pace of his breathing.

  Sebastian did remember that one. “Two minu
tes and five minutes. Rub your cock through your jeans.”

  Tristan was kneeling on the couch now, and he did what Sebastian wanted with obvious enjoyment, palming his hard cock through his jeans. His head tipped back and his eyes went half-closed, and Sebastian had entirely tuned the game out in favor of watching Tristan touch himself and show off for him. “You want me to fuck you, Tristan?”

  “Fuck, yes,” Tristan hissed, giving Sebastian a heavy stare. “I’ll ask you about Corsi statistics if that gets me fucked hard.”

  “I’ll settle for you asking for it,” Sebastian said, ready to stop playing games—at least, this particular game. He had a few more in mind. “Convince me you’ve earned it.”

  Tristan bit his lower lip, then started undoing his jeans. He waited for a moment when he got to the zipper, clearly making sure it was all right, and that was so hot Sebastian had to squeeze the base of his dick to keep himself under control.

  Tristan shoved his jeans down to mid-thigh, along with his underwear. He was kneeling right next to Sebastian, and he started fisting his own cock, hard and fast. “I really want you to fuck me. I think about it a lot. You have no idea.”

  He had some idea. Sebastian was transfixed by how sexy Tristan looked, how completely uninhibited he was about his body and showing it off. Sebastian’s mouth was dry, but he didn’t want to look away or stop touching his cock long enough to reach for his half-finished beer on the table.

  “How do you want it?”

  “Hard,” Tristan said immediately, voice low and rough. “Just bend me over and fuck me.”

  Sebastian was about at the limit of his patience, so that was fine with him. “Then turn the television off and show me where the bedroom is.”

  Tristan had the remote in his hand before Sebastian had finished talking, and he turned the power off, tossed the controller negligently to the floor, and then climbed in Sebastian’s lap. “You have a problem fucking on the couch, Professor Cruz?”

  “Not at all.” Sebastian grabbed the back of Tristan’s neck and pulled him down to kiss him. He wrapped his free hand around their cocks, jacking them off. They both moaned. “I have supplies in my messenger bag.”

  “Yeah? Well.” Tristan threw his head back with a choked groan, then gave a slow grind of his hips. “I have some right behind that couch cushion. I had a feeling we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom.”

  “Mmm. Good thinking.” Sebastian kissed him once more, let himself enjoy another few rough strokes with their cocks pressed together, and then said gruffly, “Take your clothes off.”

  Tristan slid off his lap. Sebastian stood up on legs that weren’t quite steady and eyed the back of the couch. Tristan was taller than Sebastian, but if he leaned over the back, it should work.

  Tristan stripped with haste that would have been amusing if Sebastian weren’t so goddamned desperate for it, and Sebastian rummaged around in the couch until he found the condoms and the tube of lube. “Come here,” he said.

  When Tristan was in front of him, Sebastian couldn’t resist palming his nape and yanking him down for a hot, thorough kiss. Their height difference would never mean Tristan was in control, and Sebastian wanted him to know it. He pressed the condom into Tristan’s hand. “Put this on me.”

  “Fuck,” Tristan muttered, and got the condom open while Sebastian pushed his own jeans and underwear out of the way. Tristan smirked and took way too much time sliding the condom on, which made Sebastian mutter and give him a stern look that did nothing to make Tristan go any faster.

  Tristan was apparently waiting for further instructions, so Sebastian opened the lube and gestured to Tristan. “Lean over the back of the couch.”

  The smile Tristan gave him made Sebastian’s gut tighten with something other than lust, but the sight of Tristan bent over the couch, ass up in the air...it was impossible to concentrate on anything but how badly Sebastian wanted to fuck him. He lubed up his cock and shuddered a little at the feel of his hand on himself, and he was glad for the condom or else this might be over way too fast. And he’d promised Tristan a good, hard fuck...so that was what he was going to give him.

  Sebastian positioned himself behind Tristan and made a few adjustments, then slicked his fingers one last time before tossing the tube to the couch. He reached down and rubbed between Tristan’s cleft, lubing his hole and then lining himself up. He steadied Tristan with his hands on Tristan’s hips and eased himself inside, breath catching as Tristan’s body took his cock. He paused once he was all the way inside, leaning down and mouthing at the sleek muscles of Tristan’s back, giving Tristan time to adjust.

  “All right?” he asked, voice gravel-rough, kissing Tristan’s spine lightly.

  “No, ’cause you’re—you’re not fucking me,” Tristan panted out, which was answer enough for Sebastian.

  “Then hold on.” Sebastian straightened. He got a firmer grip on Tristan’s hips and pulled out slowly, then slammed back inside in one deep thrust. They both groaned, and Sebastian found a rhythm. Tristan moved with him, thrusting back on his cock and panting with harsh, rapid breaths.

  Sebastian eventually settled one hand low on Tristan’s sweat-slick back and kept the other on his hip, trying to keep up as the couch lurched forward on the hardwood floor. Sebastian briefly thought about stopping and switching locations, but Tristan looked over his shoulder and said, “Fuck, do it harder,” and that was the end of thinking about logistics.

  “You like it?” Sebastian asked, hips snapping forward. “This what you wanted?”

  “Mmm, fuck, yeah,” Tristan ground out, head thrown back. “Fuck, yes.”

  Sebastian wanted to make this last, wanted to make Tristan beg to come, but he couldn’t—it felt too good and he was already too close. “Get yourself off,” he ordered, and the second Tristan got a hand on his dick, his body tightened around Sebastian’s cock and Sebastian groaned loudly. “Yeah, that’s it, make me come.”

  It only took a few seconds before Tristan cried out and came, and Sebastian followed him soon after, half collapsing on Tristan’s back as he shuddered hard with his own release. He was gasping for breath and half-aware of the couch sliding again, and he could feel Tristan laugh beneath him.

  “Uh, shouldn’t have...gotten those...furniture feet things,” Tristan said, clearly still out of breath.

  He was doing better than Sebastian, though, who couldn’t quite speak yet. Sebastian snorted and eased out of him, leaning against the couch for a moment to catch his breath.

  Tristan straightened, then turned and flashed him a grin. “Not bad, Professor. I’d say definitely a ninety-four. At least.”

  Sebastian didn’t have enough breath to speak, but he somehow still managed a laugh. Brat.

  Chapter Twelve

  Over the next week, Tristan learned what it meant when someone like Sebastian Cruz said, Your ass is mine. He spent almost as much time nude—in bed, or bent over tables, or down on all fours—as he did dressed. Outside of his workouts with Morley and Ryu, every spare second of Tristan’s time was dedicated to Sebastian. They couldn’t stay away from each other, or keep their hands and mouths off each other. Tristan was so obsessed with how amazing Sebastian made him feel, it might have scared him if Sebastian didn’t seem equally enthralled.

  Until Tristan realized they were into the second week of August, training camp was only a month away, and he hadn’t even thought about making plans to visit his family after the summer term had ended as he’d promised.

  Trouble was, Tristan wasn’t ready for the honeymoon sexcapade period with Sebastian to be over. Not only that, fall semester began at the end of the month, which meant Sebastian would be back to teaching and Tristan would be starting his online courses. Once hockey season kicked off, Tristan could pretty much kiss his free time good-bye. Between traveling, classes, workouts, and practices, he couldn’t imagine being able to see Sebastian very often. He
wanted to take advantage of the freedom in their schedules while he could.

  A couple of days later, they were sprawled out on Sebastian’s couch watching a shoot-’em-up thriller while sharing a six-pack and passing cartons of Chinese food back and forth.

  Yet another awesome car went up in flames on screen, and Sebastian muttered something about “senseless waste” under his breath. Tristan still couldn’t quite believe Sebastian liked these kinds of movies. He’d accidentally discovered Sebastian’s Blu-ray collection the previous week. He’d expected it to be all highbrow and artsy, but the reality made him laugh. The drawers beneath Sebastian’s television were filled to the brim with action/adventure gems like Die Hard, James Bond, the Bourne films, Lethal Weapon, and The Fast and the Furious. Sebastian pretended to sneer at them and said he only watched them when he needed “mindless entertainment,” but Tristan saw right through his posturing. Really, Sebastian loved the explosions, gunfire, and over-the-top violence. Tristan had caught him grinning gleefully a couple of times, which was rare enough for Sebastian it filled Tristan’s chest with fond, warm feelings he didn’t want to investigate too closely.

  But watching another muscle car get demolished abruptly gave Tristan an idea. He grabbed the remote and lowered the volume on the speakers. Sebastian paused with his beer halfway to his mouth and turned to him expectantly.

  “How would you feel about taking a road trip with me?” Tristan asked.

  Sebastian stared at him blankly for a moment. He set his bottle on one of the coasters scattered across the coffee table, and his face took on a considering look. “I might be amenable. What are you thinking?”

  “Well, I promised my parents I’d come home for a visit this month. If I don’t do it before the semester starts, it won’t happen until winter break.”

  “Where is home exactly?”

  “Wisconsin. My parents own a farm outside Columbus. It’s about forty minutes northeast of Madison. It’s a small town. Maybe five thousand people.”