by Avon Gale
As fast as the sport moved on television, it was nothing compared to watching it live. Sebastian had to orient himself and focus for a moment when he realized there was no announcer to provide a play-by-play (he’d maybe been watching hockey games on the NHL Network), but he saw Tristan immediately. He was on the ice a lot, and watching him play in person was really different from watching him play on the television.
It was also incredibly hot. Sebastian had never thought of himself as a man who particularly went for the athletic type, but he couldn’t deny how attractive he found the intensity, focus, and sheer physicality of Tristan’s sport. And Tristan playing it.
“Um,” R.J. whispered, leaning in at one point and nudging Sebastian in the side. “You’re drooling, dude.”
“Can you blame me?” Sebastian whispered back.
“No, actually,” R.J. said, in a normal voice, and clapped when the Venom’s goalie made a fantastic save at the other end of the ice.
R.J. and Tabby hit it off like a house on fire, and between the two of them—literally, as that was where he was sitting—Sebastian found he could easily follow the game and ask questions when he needed. Tabby’s hockey knowledge was off the charts, and she also dropped some interesting tidbits about the other players and generally kept them entertained when there were stoppages.
Sebastian had to admit it was fun to see the Venom score a goal, as the whole arena went nuts and jumped up to cheer. It was also Daniel Bellamy who put up the first goal of the Venom’s new season, and it was cute to watch Bellamy’s kids clapping so enthusiastically for their dad.
“They used to cry when we lost games,” Tabby said, in an aside to Sebastian. She giggled. “Daniel always said he didn’t mind, because he had to do press interviews about what went wrong, so it’s like the kids were doing it for him. They did cry after the Venom lost in the playoffs. Hell, so did Daniel. So did I.”
Sebastian had grown up in a culture that said men shouldn’t cry about anything, but he certainly didn’t hold to such an outdated belief of masculinity. He just wasn’t sure he could care enough about a sporting event to cry over the outcome, though admittedly that was before he met Tristan. Maybe, if they were to stay together...
Not the time to think about that. Sebastian turned his attention back to the game, though at some point he had to admit he was mainly watching Tristan to the exclusion of everyone else. And Tristan, as a defenseman, spent a lot of minutes on the ice. During the first intermission, Sebastian and R.J. went to get a beer and wander around the stadium a bit.
R.J. went to buy a Venom hat, and tried to talk Sebastian into buying a Holt jersey, of which there were more than a few. “I guess you could get him to give you one.”
“I’m not sure I want one he’s worn while playing,” Sebastian said, as they waited in line. “Besides, it would be too big on me.”
“Aw.” R.J. grinned at him. “That’s cute, Seb.”
Sebastian ignored him, and they went back to their seats with fresh beers and a hot pretzel, R.J.’s new hat perched on his head. Sebastian wondered if he should have gotten a shirt like Tabby’s with Tristan’s name and number, thinking to himself how funny it was to see a bunch of straight men walking around with other men’s names on their backs. It made him grin to think about, and he settled into his chair and sipped his beer as the second period started.
The game moved fast, and Sebastian enjoyed the second period the most, since Tristan was active defending the Venom’s goal. A few times Tristan checked a player into the glass and got a resounding cheer from the fans, Sebastian among them. There was something sexy about watching Tristan do that—muscle his way in and take the puck, knock other players away from it and use his stick to mess up their plays. Tristan was aggressive in a way that Sebastian wasn’t used to, at least when it came to sex, and it made a lot of sense why Tristan liked Sebastian to take control in the bedroom.
By the time the game ended in a Venom win, Sebastian wanted nothing more than to throw Tristan down and fuck him—hell, he wouldn’t even have to take off the uniform. Or maybe he would; Sebastian wasn’t exactly sure how that worked, but he knew he’d be more than happy to find out. He stood and clapped with the others as the Venom players all skated to center ice and saluted their fans with their sticks. Sebastian and R.J. stuck around long enough to hear the “three stars” of the game, and then they made their way toward the exit.
“That was great,” R.J. enthused, as they moved along with the crowd. “Feel free to keep bringing me along, okay?”
“Maybe everyone will think we’re dating,” Sebastian pointed out, politely stepping back to let an elderly woman walk ahead of him.
“Dude, I don’t care about that and you know it.” He grinned. “I bet you could find more than a few guys who wouldn’t care, either, if it meant they could score those seats every game.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at his friend, checking his phone as they emerged into the night air. It was October, but that meant the days were still warm in Atlanta, a contrast to the chilly arena. Sebastian got a text message from Tristan as he was walking toward his car, which read, Hope you could follow along :)
Smiling, Sebastian texted back, I had some help but thanks. Good game.
“Dude,” R.J. said. “You seriously are smitten, Cruz. I didn’t even know you could smile like that.”
Sebastian was horrified to feel his face heat and hoped the parking lot lighting was too dark for R.J. to notice his flush. “Maybe that was my mom.”
“It totally wasn’t your mom. Hey, you know, it’s cool that you like him so much.” R.J. tugged on the brim of his cap. “And not because it means I get free hockey tickets. It’s good to see you have things to do other than scowl and run marathons.”
“If you want any more of those free tickets, stop talking,” said Sebastian, and he bid R.J. farewell as he found his car. After the cursory inspection to make sure there were no dints or dings on his precious GTO, Sebastian got in and patiently maneuvered his way out of the postgame traffic. As he waited to merge onto the highway, his phone notified him of an incoming message from Tristan: I’m done here in a few. You want some company?
Sebastian texted back, I want you on your back as soon as possible, to which Tristan responded with a winking-face emoticon.
On the way home, Sebastian cranked up the music and did his best not to dwell on the things he didn’t want to think about—namely, how he hated pretending Tristan was just his “friend” even though he wasn’t sure he had the right to think of Tristan as anything else—and instead replayed all those checks Tristan threw, how fiercely he’d played, and okay, fine, that stick tap before the game started. By the time he got home, he was half-hard and ready to do exactly as he’d said and put Tristan on his back—or against the door.
Tristan showed up about twenty minutes after Sebastian got home, and when Sebastian opened the door, his mouth went dry. Tristan wasn’t wearing his uniform—obviously—but he wasn’t wearing the sweatpants and T-shirt Sebastian had expected. Instead, he was in a suit tailored to his muscular frame, the tie undone and the shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
“Jesus,” Sebastian muttered, pulling him in and shutting the door by pushing Tristan back against it. “I was not prepared for you in a suit.”
“Surprise?” Tristan’s face was flushed, pupils dilated, and he seemed to have no problem with the way Sebastian was shoving him around and getting up in his space.
“It drives me crazy how you make everything look good.” Sebastian kissed him hotly, hands running over Tristan’s chest and the firm muscles of his abdomen beneath the dress shirt.
“You—ah—you liked the game, then?” Tristan panted against Sebastian’s mouth, trying to shrug out of his suit jacket and kiss Sebastian at the same time.
Sebastian didn’t answer, only reached down to get Tristan’s belt undone. He’d show Tristan just ho
w much he’d enjoyed the game. They could talk about it later.
* * *
Later became the next morning. Sebastian woke up way too early for how late they’d been up, gave up trying to fall back asleep—Tristan took up way too much of the bed, and had the same heat setting as a blast furnace—and decided to go for an early-morning run. He’d already showered and was making breakfast when Tristan ambled out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs.
That was distracting, but Sebastian had come to the realization while on his run that they were going to need to talk.
“Morning.” Tristan yawned, stretching. “Sorry I slept so late.”
“You were up late,” Sebastian reminded him, pouring some egg whites into a skillet.
“So were you,” Tristan pointed out, taking a seat at the island on one of the barstools. “And you’re up and making breakfast. And you went running, huh? Don’t lie.”
“I did. But I also didn’t play an exhausting game of hockey for sixty minutes.” Sebastian went to get a bottle of water from the fridge. “And I’m older than you.”
“Mmm. But you did fuck me like you were playing hockey.” Tristan smiled crookedly, taking the bottle of water Sebastian handed him and downing it. “Thanks. What’s for breakfast?”
“Egg-white omelet, some wheat toast, and juice. There’s coffee if you want some.” Sebastian gestured to the Keurig.
“Water’s fine,” said Tristan. “And that sounds good. I usually have a protein shake.”
Sebastian made a face. “There’s barely anything with nutrients in that,” he chastised gently, sliding the omelet on a plate. He slid it over to Tristan, who was done with it before Sebastian even had the bread in the toaster.
“Sorry, hey, you make a good disgustingly healthy omelet,” Tristan said, grinning at him. “I wouldn’t say no to another one.”
Sebastian made the toast and made another—more substantial—omelet for Tristan, with whole eggs instead of only the egg whites. Sebastian’s own light breakfast was probably nowhere near enough calories for someone who’d engaged in the level of physical activity that Tristan did.
They talked a bit about the game as Sebastian finished up cooking and they both ate breakfast, and Tristan went to clean up but Sebastian stopped him with a wave. “I have to talk to you about something, so let them be for a minute.”
Tristan’s easy, morning-after smile seemed to dim a little at that. “It’ll drive you crazy if they’re not done. I’ll make it quick, then we can talk.”
True. And Tristan knowing that about Sebastian was the reason they were going to have to talk. They finished the dishes in a relatively short time, and then Tristan sat back at the island with a cup of coffee and said, “Okay, what’s up?”
“I—Last night at the game,” Sebastian started, thinking about how to say what he wanted. He’d thought about it on his morning run, but it was harder with Tristan sitting here across from him, all wide blue eyes and open, honest expression. “Tabby Bellamy asked me who I was there to see, so I said you were a friend of mine.”
“Okay,” Tristan said, slowly.
“Is that what we are?” Sebastian asked, palms braced on the slick surface of the island.
Tristan’s hands were wrapped around the coffee mug, which seemed dwarfed by them. “Y-yeah? I mean, obviously you’re my friend.”
“Let me rephrase that.” Sebastian took a deep breath and waited for Tristan to meet his eyes. “Is that all we are? Because of course we’re friends, but Tristan, if that’s all you want from this, then I think I need to know that sooner rather than later.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I like you,” he said, simply. “And I don’t know what you want, but if you want this to be an exclusive relationship, I have to let you know, now, that I’m not sure how long I’m going to be comfortable saying that all we are is friends.”
Tristan stared down at his coffee, shoulders slightly hunched. He seemed to be thinking, so Sebastian remained quiet and let him. Eventually he raised his head and met Sebastian’s gaze. “In my mind, we’ve been dating. I don’t do casual, not really. I rarely hook up on the road, and I—I want to be with you. I like you too. A lot. And I know how you feel about that, but Sebastian, I’m...not ready to come out. It’s not that I don’t want to, exactly, it’s that...well, there’s no out gay player in the NHL, and I’m not sure I want to be the first one.”
Sebastian nodded. “I realize it’s not the same for you and that there’s more to consider. I’m not trying to pressure you, Tristan. But I’m not going to be comfortable being in the closet for anyone, especially if it’s a serious committed relationship.”
Tristan nodded. “I do get it. I just don’t know what to say. I want to see where this thing with us goes, Sebastian, but if you’re not...if it’s not something you can accept, I’ll understand.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I won’t like it, but I’ll understand.”
The smart thing to do would probably be to let Tristan finish his coffee, give him a kiss good-bye, and send him on his way with the T-shirt he’d left that was currently in Sebastian’s laundry basket. But he hated the idea of ending something before it’d barely gotten started, and besides, it wasn’t fair of him to pressure Tristan or ask for him to make such a monumental life decision based on the couple of months they’d been together. “I want to see where it goes too,” Sebastian said gruffly. “And I’m willing to accept that you are in a place where you can’t be out, but I also need you to know that if things get more serious, it means having this conversation again.”
Tristan pushed back from the island and stood up. “I hear you. I do. I know how much being out means to you and believe me, I admire you for it. I want to be, it’s just...”
“It’s not that easy,” Sebastian finished for him. “I know. I think we’re on the same page, and honestly, that’s why I brought this up.”
Tristan came around the island so they were standing face-to-face. “Thanks. For bringing it up. It’s good to know that you do that. Bring things up.” Tristan’s fair skin flushed. “Uh, sorry. I’m bad at talking about relationships. I think. I’ve never really had to do it before.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good at talking enough for the both of us.” Sebastian let his eyes run over Tristan’s body, finally focusing on how he was wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else.
“I gotta bring something to this relationship besides the free hockey tickets,” Tristan joked, and leaned down to kiss him.
Sebastian drew his fingers along the cock slowly beginning to tent out Tristan’s briefs. “Oh, trust me, you bring a lot.”
Tristan huffed a laugh against his mouth. “More than you can handle, Professor?”
Sebastian bit his lower lip. “You wish. Let’s go work off those omelets.” He gave Tristan’s ass a smack, and smiled at Tristan’s sudden indrawn breath.
There might be a time when they needed to make some hard decisions, but it wasn’t now.
Chapter Fourteen
“Hey, guys! Who’s ready to work out with me?”
Tristan grinned at the group of children clustered around him as a bunch of short arms shot up. He was in the gymnasium of a local Atlanta junior high, along with Ryu and Bellzie, as part of the Venom’s HeartSmart Program, which promoted fitness and healthy eating. Tristan’s contract obligated him to participate in a few of these charity activities every season, but unlike some of his teammates, who grumbled when it was their turn, he actually looked forward to participating. He enjoyed being out in the community, doing something tangible to make a difference, and the kids always seemed so excited. He couldn’t help but get caught up in their enthusiasm.
Tristan clapped his hands. “You kids on the left, spread out a bit. We’re going to do some basic exercises—jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, stuff like that. The others are going to run through the obstacle course with Ryu and Bellzie
. But don’t worry, okay? We’ll switch in half an hour so everyone gets a turn. After that, we’re all going to sit down and talk about the importance of nutrition and staying in shape. Sound good?”
After a chorus of “Yeahs,” Tristan nodded at Ryu, who had a strained expression on his face. Bellzie, on the other hand, smiled broadly, his hair a mess of brown curls and his blue eyes sparkling.
The smile might have surprised people who only knew Daniel Bellamy as the hard-nosed hockey player who always stepped up for his teammates and never backed down from a fight, but outside of the rink, Tristan knew him to be unfailingly kind. He always volunteered for outreach programs involving children, he owned a nonprofit, no-kill animal shelter, and he even rescued homeless cats and dogs in his spare time. Literally rescued—driving or flying around the country to help transport them to new homes. He’d also founded an organization, Pucks and Paws, with his equally lovely wife to help with the cause.
Sometimes Tristan could barely believe Bellzie was a real person who actually existed. If it hadn’t been for Tabby, Bellzie’s beautiful—and ridiculously sweet and genuine—wife, Tristan probably would’ve fallen in love with him years ago.
As it was, Tristan still nursed a bit of a crush and perhaps a lingering case of hero worship. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone.
“Come on. I bet you guys can fly through this thing.” Bellzie waved the kids over to the obstacle course the three of them had set up earlier with Venom-donated equipment. “Who thinks they can beat my time?” There were a few “Me’s,” and Bellzie laughed. “Oh, is that so?”
A couple of kids replied, and he grinned, interacting easily with the group as they walked. Ryu trailed awkwardly behind. He looked so stilted and uncomfortable as one of the preteens tried to engage him in conversation that Tristan wanted to laugh.
