The Play of His Life

by Amy Aislin

  Shoving the pain in his knee to the background, Riley took the three steps needed to close the distance between himself and Christian. Eyes snagging Christian’s, Riley walked him backward until his back hit the bedroom wall, and then he attacked Christian’s mouth like they hadn’t seen each other in years instead of less than twenty-four hours.

  When Christian gasped, Riley invaded his mouth with his tongue, sweeping across his teeth and sucking in Christian’s taste. Christian’s arm came around him, bringing them so close not even air fit between them. Riley pulled back, breathing hard. Something about the drugged look in Christian’s eyes tamed Riley’s urgency a bit. Leaning in for another kiss, he kept this one slow though no less passionate.

  He ached to make Christian his again. Christian was heading back to BC in a few days—something Riley knew but tried not to think about. Starting something sexual probably wasn’t a good idea. They’d both get hurt when Christian left. But if Christian was on board with this—and he definitely was based on the way he kissed back, based on the way he walked Riley backward so that he tumbled onto the bed—then Riley was jumping in with both feet and not looking back.

  No regrets.

  Riley hoisted himself up the bed so that he was fully on it, Christian crawling up his body to meet him. Christian’s eyes were warmed blue opal. His lips met Riley’s again and he settled all his weight on him, careful of Riley’s knee. It pushed Riley deeper into the mattress and he moaned at the exquisite feel of their bodies finally, finally coming together.

  This. This was his kiss to make it better.

  The kiss went from languid to heated in no time and clothes came off faster than Riley could say “Fuck me.”

  It was Christian, as it turned out, who pulled his mouth off Riley’s nipple to say, “Fuck me.” Riley moaned at the words, the heat of them making his balls tingle.

  Christian might want Riley to fuck him but he didn’t stop making his way down Riley’s body long enough for Riley to pause and think. Just worked his way down, down, licking over pecs and abs and hipbones until he swallowed Riley’s painfully erect dick without so much as a Hang on to something, I’m going in.

  “Fuck, T,” Riley sobbed, fisting a hand in Christian’s hair and holding on for dear life. Christian’s mouth was hot and wet and Riley dug his toes into the bedcovers and tried not to come too soon. Christian’s mouth might make him see stars, but being inside him? The thought made him moan so loud, Christian actually stopped what he was doing to ask if he was okay.

  Riley had to laugh. “No. No, I’m not okay.” God, Christian’s mouth, all wet and pouty from being wrapped around Riley’s cock, was going to kill him.

  “Your knee?” Christian looked like he was about to put a stop to everything to go search for a new ice pack.

  Fuck his knee. If it still hurt, Riley couldn’t feel it.

  “No. My dick. It needs to be inside you.”

  Christian rolled his eyes. “And you say my jokes are lame.”

  “That wasn’t a joke,” Riley protested. In fact, he was so dead serious that he rolled slightly to reach into the night table for the lube. “I don’t joke about dicks.”

  “Every guy jokes about dicks.”

  “Good point.” Riley conceded that one. “But I don’t joke about them in this kind of situation. When it comes to sex, dicks are a serious matter.”

  “Jesus, Riles. Stop talking and put yours in me already.”

  Aw, his guy was such a romantic.

  So romantic that he growled in impatience and snatched the tube out of Riley’s hands. Christian sat up on Riley’s thighs and Riley watched him pour a dollop right onto Riley’s dick and stroke. The sight, the feel, of Christian’s hand touching him was too much. It was electricity zapping his skin. The sight of Christian’s own erect dick, bobbing straight out in front of him, his ropy forearms, defined abs and arms…the way those eyes looked at Riley as if he couldn’t wait for Riley to come all over him… It took Riley’s breath away.

  But none of that even came close to how hot it was watching Christian dribble some lube onto his fingers and then use those fingers to reach back and stretch himself. He kept his eyes on Riley’s the whole time and Riley held his gaze as Christian’s eyes went from blue opal to stormy sky. His mouth dropped open, body going taut. Riley did what he’d wanted to do since Christmas Eve and reached out and took Christian’s dick in his hand, jacking him while Christian stretched his hole.

  “Enough,” Christian growled and, lifting himself up, positioned Riley’s dick at his entrance and sank down ever-so-slowly. Slow enough to get used to the stretch. Slow enough for Riley’s heart to double-time it against his ribs. Slow enough for a flush to overtake Christian’s chest. Riley saw it move upward over his neck and into his cheeks. The look on his face was pure bliss.

  Once he was fully seated inside Christian, Riley could feel their ballsacks brush against each other, could feel the dark hair on Christian’s inner thighs brush his own legs.

  Christian leaned forward, over Riley’s torso. Their eyes connected from millimeters away. Riley buried his hands in Christian’s hair, messing up his carefully styled ’do. Christian’s arms snaked around Riley and slid down to his ass, where he grabbed hold, pushing Riley even further into him. Fuck, that was so good, Riley swore the damn stars multiplied by the thousands.

  “Hi,” Christian whispered, lips brushing Riley’s.

  “Hi.” The emotion he saw in Christian’s eyes had Riley rethinking everything he thought he’d ever known about love and passion and desire. Rethinking his past. Rethinking his future. He knew Christian was his future. A life without Christian would be gray and hazy.

  The moment stretched. And though they were both turned on and ready to move, it seemed they were both also content to hold each other, to rediscover what they once had, to let the knowledge of what they could have again settle in and grow roots.

  Christian bore down on him and Riley swore his eyes crossed. Christian grinned knowingly and started rocking. Their mouths met and clung. Riley started to move. Slowly at first, and then faster.

  “Right there,” Christian whispered, ripping his mouth away. “That’s the spot.” He buried his face in Riley’s neck.

  Licks of fire winged up Riley’s spine and he pumped, pumped, pumped into Christian and it felt so agonizingly delicious, he was afraid he’d come too fast.

  “T…”

  “Close. So close.” Christian lifted himself up on his forearms, giving Riley space to reach between them and grab his cock. He shot like a hockey puck going a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour, spewing come all over Riley’s stomach.

  The way Christian’s thighs squeezed his own, the way he bit Riley’s shoulder when he came, the feel of Christian in his hand… Riley’s balls drew up and he threw his head back and came with a strangled shout.

  Collapsed together, legs tangled, breathing hard, Riley smiled at the ceiling. Sex had only ever been this awesome with Christian. Years later and it was still just as potent.

  “Jesus fuck,” Christian whispered raggedly into his neck. “I need food before we do that again.”

  Riley’s laugh pushed him deeper into Christian. He must’ve hit the sweet spot because Christian stiffened and hissed out a breath.

  “Sorry,” Riley said, knowing how sensitive Christian got after coming. He pulled out of Christian and watched Christian’s body ripple as he shifted to lie on the bed. Riley made a move to get up, but Christian stopped him with a hand on his arm and a quick kiss to his cheek.

  “I’ll go.” He disappeared into the en suite, Riley’s come dripping onto the back of his thigh. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but damn. That sight never got old. They’d never once used condoms although they probably should’ve at least had the discussion tonight given how long it’d been. But when you trusted someone as much as Riley trusted Christian, the point was moot anyway. Christian would’ve brought up the need for them had he had to, same as Riley would
’ve.

  Christian returned from the bathroom, where he presumably cleaned himself. He used a warm washcloth to clean Riley’s stomach and cock, then wrapped an ice pack he pulled from seemingly nowhere with Riley’s abandoned T-shirt, setting it on his knee.

  Riley went to protest, but okay, yeah. Now that he wasn’t consumed by Christian and lust and Christian, his knee fucking hurt.

  “Do you need an anti-inflammatory?”

  Fussy Christian was back, but Riley didn’t mind. Riley’d fucked the scowliness out of him, so now Christian’s concern was a warm blanket instead of a prickly thorn in his side.

  “Let’s see if the ice pack works first.”

  Christian stood by the bedside, arranging and rearranging the T-shirt-wrapped ice pack on Riley’s knee. Finally satisfied with his handiwork, his gaze moved upward, over Riley’s softened dick, his six-pack, his arms, up his chest. Riley preened when Christian swallowed roughly.

  “Like what you see?”

  Immediate scowl. “You don’t need me to tell you you’re gorgeous.”

  It went to Riley’s head anyway. How could it not?

  “Come here,” Riley said, spreading his legs, careful not to dislodge the ice pack.

  Christian raised an eyebrow at him, but he came. Settling between Riley’s legs, torso half on Riley and half on the bed, he propped his head in one hand and traced Riley’s smile with the other. The gesture made Riley’s stomach flutter with affection.

  “I should go make dinner,” Christian said, not moving.

  “In a minute.”

  Christian laid his head on Riley’s shoulder and flung an arm around his waist. His sigh brushed Riley’s neck and had Riley breaking out in goosebumps. It was nice, just lying like this, no expectations. The silences between them had never been awkward or weird, and the same held true now. It was soothing. Calming.

  Riley ran a hand along Christian’s arm, over the ropy forearm and muscled triceps, and back down again. His form reminded Riley of a question he’d wanted to ask him a few days ago but had forgotten about.

  “Do you still play hockey?”

  “Yeah.” Christian’s answer rumbled against his throat. “In a rec league in Vancouver.”

  “Is it the same league you joined when you first moved out there after high school?”

  “One and the same. We get some new players every year, and we lose others. But there’s a group of us that’s been there for a while.”

  “Sounds awesome.” The wistful quality of Riley’s voice caught him by surprise.

  “Do you miss it? Hockey?” Christian’s question was tentative, like he thought it might be a sore topic. But Riley had never shied away from talking about hockey or his injury or his forced retirement. It had been his life for so long, there was no point in pretending it hadn’t happened.

  “All the time.”

  Christian didn’t seem to know what to say to that.He stayed quiet, which Riley appreciated. Empty platitudes were useless and advice was simply unwanted. Christian knew him well enough to know that.

  Riley traced figures lightly on Christian’s arm. It must’ve tickled because Christian jerked and snorted. Chuckling, Riley—

  Wait a second.

  The shift of Christian’s arm across Riley’s stomach revealed a small tattoo on the inside of Christian’s wrist, right where his watch usually rested. Riley lifted Christian’s arm and brought it closer so he could see it better, ignoring how Christian tried to pull away.

  Riley’s throat closed. His eyes burned. “You actually did it.” He forced the whisper past the lump in his throat.

  “’Course I did.” Christian’s voice was equally as quiet.

  Everything, literally everything Christian had done since he’d walked back into Riley’s life last week had served to prove to Riley that, despite how he’d left things six years ago, Christian hadn’t forgotten him. And he was still taking care of him. Christian helped out at Warm Glow, he fussed over Riley’s knee, he gifted him with an amazing memory scrapbook, he made sure his Christmas wasn’t spent alone with his TV. Now this. This tiny tattoo shouldn’t have meant so much, not all these years later. But it all proved that Riley’s heart and soul still belonged to Christian and always would.

  97. Riley’s jersey number.

  Remarkably, it was tattooed on the inside of Christian’s wrist.

  It was also the year he and Christian met on the first day of second grade. Had Christian ever made that connection? They’d both been transplants from Quebec, neither knowing a lick of English. Their last names—Deschamps and Dufresne—meant that, alphabetically, they sat next to each other in school. Instant friendship. And the fact they lived in the same neighborhood? Even better.

  “One day,” Christian had said sometime in high school, when it became clear that Riley was developing into a wickedly talented goalie, “you’re going to be drafted into the NHL. And when you do, I’m going to get your jersey number tattooed somewhere.”

  Riley had snorted. “No, you’re not.”

  “Am, too.”

  “Yeah, right. Where?”

  “Dunno.” Christian had shrugged. “Somewhere important.”

  His wrist. The inside of his wrist. A place not easily hidden from others. A place where he’d likely see his own tattoo every day for the rest of his life. A reminder of the promise he’d made. A reminder of what they’d once meant to each other, what they’d lost. The friendship they’d left behind. Behind, but never forgotten and always treasured.

  The ice pack slid off his knee when he shifted to his side so he could face Christian. He didn’t bother blinking the wetness out of his eyes. Christian deserved to know how important, how loved, how cherished the tattoo made him feel. He pressed a closed-mouth kiss very gently to Christian’s lips.

  “Thank you,” he said, heart too full for more.

  Christian only smiled softly and used the arm around Riley’s waist to pull him closer. Riley tucked his head underneath Christian’s chin and let himself drift.

  It felt like only minutes later when his stomach growled. Chuckling, Christian pressed a kiss to his forehead and disentangled himself.

  “I’m going to make dinner before our stomachs start an even louder campaign.”

  “I’ll be right out,” Riley said, unashamedly watching as Christian pulled his jeans and T-shirt back on and left the room.

  Riley set the melted ice pack in the bathroom sink and dressed in a pair of sweats and a hoodie. Still a little emotionally raw from that 97 on Christian’s wrist, he took a second to splash cold water on his face. A gesture like Christian’s deserved reciprocation and Riley had just the thing. The reading lamp on the night table on the far side of the bed was where he hung the—

  Riley looked. Looked again. Scoured the top of the night table with his eyes. Searched under the bed and on the floor by the window. His heart beat too fast and he wasn’t breathing properly. Where the fuck was it?

  Okay. Everything was okay.

  Retrace your steps.

  The last time he’d worn it was…before Christmas. No. Christmas Eve. He’d been at work, then played some pond hockey with Christian. Then they’d come back here so he could shower. Hot make-out session in the laundry room, then the walk to Christian’s. Dinner with Christian and Sylvie, A Christmas Carol, gift exchange. Second hot make-out session at the front door. He’d walked back home to change and get Christian’s Christmas gift…

  And had taken it off on his way back to Christian’s for their traditional sneak-in-the-window-and-exchange-presents night. Knowing they might lose some clothing that night, not wanting Christian to see it, he’d taken it off and…

  He practically ran down the hall to the front entrance, stupid bum knee hindering his speed. His eyes watered again and his nose burned. Ignoring the shaking in his hands and the constriction in his chest, he searched first one coat pocket, then the other.

  And wanted to sob in defeat.

  It wasn’t there. The n
ecklace he’d had made to match the one he’d gifted Christian, it was just…gone. Had it fallen out at Christian’s? In his bedroom when Riley’d taken his coat off? But surely Christian would’ve mentioned it.

  No. No, it was somewhere on the street between his house and Christian’s. Broken. Lost. Just like the last six years of their friendship.

  Mitch Greyson’s house was not at all what Christian expected. A left-winger on Toronto’s first line, Mitch was such an elitist in interviews that Christian thought his home would reflect his personality. To his surprise, Christian actually found himself liking the guy. Mitch really wasn’t all that bad in person. The TV cameras must make him nervous, or maybe the journalists or reporters or something because he was a complete douche nozzle on air. But in person he resonated warmth and friendship and a certain strength he lacked on TV. Turned out Mitch’s home did reflect his personality, just not in the way Christian was expecting. Instead of an enormous, pretentious McMansion, he had a charming, semidetached, late nineteenth century Richardsonian Romanesque home in Toronto’s Annex neighborhood. It wasn’t huge, yet it was large enough to easily host half the hockey team and their partners on New Year’s Eve.

  The party spilled out into the backyard, where several outdoor heaters kept the crowd warm. He and Riley stayed inside. Christian kept seeking Riley out in the crowd, as if he’d disappear if Christian didn’t keep an eye on him. He was across the room right now, speaking quietly with his old goaltending coach. He caught Christian’s eye and winked when the coach wasn’t looking.

  It was cool that Riley’s former teammates still kept in touch with him even though Riley hadn’t played with them for two years. It showed the kind of person Riley was, the kind of friend he was. Made Christian proud to know him. On the drive here Riley had mentioned that though he hadn’t been out publicly while playing, he was out to his teammates, coaches, and the team’s general manager. What was clear in the way Riley’s friends interacted with him was that none of them gave a shit he was gay.