Take a Shot

by Samantha Wayland

  “No orgasms for me. Game tonight,” he said, hauling himself to his feet and swatting Chris on the thigh. “Up you get. You need to get in bed and elevate that leg.”

  Chris blinked up at him. “You don’t orgasm on game days?” he asked incredulously.

  “I don’t come before a game. Got to keep my stamina up and it tends to wind me a little,” he admitted, a bit sheepish at the end.

  Still, he had no idea why that made Chris laugh so hard. It was just common sense. He let Chris have his fun, though, since it was the first time in a while he’d seen that big, happy smile on Chris’s face and he liked it.

  He always had, actually. Had spent hours trying to put it there in the past, and relished the warm, happy feeling it created in his own chest once he’d succeeded.

  In hindsight, it was a little embarrassing to realize all the ways he’d been kind of a fucking idiot.

  Chris sat propped up in his bed and listened to the mysterious sounds coming from the kitchen. He felt like he was having some kind of out-of-body experience. His limbs felt loose, his muscles lax, his head still spinning a little from a really outstanding orgasm, followed immediately by the dreaded “relationship talk” that had gone about a thousand times better than he would have hoped for in his wildest dreams.

  Maybe that was what this was. Maybe this was what his wildest dreams actually felt like.

  A loud crash, followed by some really colorful cursing, came from the kitchen.

  “You doing okay in there, buddy?” Chris called in the most patronizing tone he could manage.

  “Fuck off!”

  Chris grinned. Yeah, his life was pretty fucking fantastic right now. Surreal, but fantastic.

  Tim had tucked him into bed, naked, and made him promise to rest his leg while Tim made lunch. Chris eyed his dresser, just a few feet away and filled with perfectly serviceable pajamas. Of course, in order to put any of them on, he’d have to cut one leg off and figure out how to get them on by himself. He was pretty flexible, but that would definitely be a challenge. Underwear would be, too, for that matter.

  He looked down at the sheets pooled in his lap, Tim’s quilt among the comforter and sheets, and tried not to feel weird. He just wasn’t a naked guy, normally. Then again, he also wasn’t normally the kind of guy who made weird keening noises when he climaxed.

  Tim was a terrible influence.

  Movement by the door caught his eye and he looked up to find Tim staring at him.

  “What?” Chris asked, feeling self-conscious.

  “You look really good.”

  Chris’s heart stumbled in his chest. “Weren’t you straight, like, a minute ago?”

  Chris had always sucked at taking a compliment.

  Tim just chuckled and handed him his turkey sandwich and another smoothie. His favorite kind, of course. Tim, who was still only wearing his boxer briefs, climbed into bed with his own plate. They sat side-by-side and ate.

  “Are you coming to the game tonight?” Tim asked when he’d set aside their plates.

  “I’d like to, but I’m not sure how I’d get around. Also, I have no pants.”

  “You can borrow a pair of my sweats. They should be big enough to fit over the cast.” It was true—Tim’s thighs were gigantic. And then there was that ass… “If I can get you to the team box without you having to crutch too much, will you come?”

  Chris eyed Tim suspiciously. “Is this going to humiliate me?”

  “No!” Tim said with wide-eyed innocence.

  Chris didn’t believe him for a minute, but it was also clear Tim wanted him to go and Chris was weak in the face of that. “Okay.”

  Tim leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Great.”

  Chris was still blinking with surprise when Tim left the room to do the dishes. Apparently, Tim was taking to this “all in” thing even better than Chris.

  Chapter Five

  An hour before the game, Chris stood in the lobby just inside the players and staff entrance to the Moncton Arena and glared at Tim.

  “What? I said I’d get you to your seat without a lot of crutching. This works, right?”

  Callum Morrison, former NHL goalie and current owner of the Moncton Ice Cats, chuckled and patted the golf cart they used to lug around flats of water and other heavy cargo under the arena. “Come on, Chris. I promise to be gentle.”

  With a heavy sigh, Chris hopped to the passenger seat and suffered through Tim helping him sit, stowing his crutches in the back, and heaving his casted leg up to rest on the front of the cart.

  “Thanks,” he muttered. They both just waved him off.

  “I’ll see you in a minute upstairs.”

  Chris turned to look at Tim. “What? Why?” But Tim was already gone. Callum started the cart and steered them carefully down the long corridor that ran under the arena. “Do you have any idea what he has planned?”

  “Nope,” Callum said easily. “I’m just the chauffeur.”

  Callum stopped right next to the elevator and helped Chris get back on his crutches, then rode with him to the mezzanine.

  Chris frowned. “Can the cart stay in the hallway down there?”

  “Not for long, but I want to see whatever Tim has planned,” Callum said cheerfully.

  Chris groaned. “God help me. Would it be too much to hope he’ll let me walk to the box without making a fuss?”

  Callum just chuckled, the sound turning to full out laughter when the doors opened and revealed the entire team, all of them grinning, and each holding a Sharpie aloft.

  “Tim said if we helped you to your seat, we could sign your cast,” Alexei announced with a dangerous smirk.

  Chris groaned, then yelped as his crutches were yanked from his hands and he was forced to put his arms around two sets of shoulders, while two more guys pulled his legs out from under him.

  “Careful guys! We don’t want to break him any more than he already is!” called Rupert, the team’s manager and Callum’s husband, from the back of the scrum of players.

  Somehow, miraculously, they got Chris to his seat in one piece. Then the idiots attacked his cast, pens flying.

  “Do not draw dicks on my cast, you assholes!” Chris cried, knowing it was futile.

  Tim put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I told them this cast was coming off in just a few days. You may not be fit for polite company in the meantime.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Chris moaned. “What the hell is my doctor going to think?”

  “That you’re a hockey player?” suggested Rupert with a grin.

  Chris rolled his eyes and barely resisted telling his manager to take a flying leap.

  He didn’t bother to control himself an hour later when he, Rupert, and Callum were alone in the box, and the happy couple was entertaining themselves by reading aloud the ridiculous filth scrawled across Chris’s cast.

  “I’m pretty impressed with Dave’s artistic abilities,” Rupert mused. “I didn’t know it was possible to draw such a realistic penis on fiberglass. Especially with a Sharpie.”

  Chris couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to puck drop quite so much, and that was saying something.

  The game was a good one, even if it sucked to have to watch it from up in the team’s box. Everyone skated well—including their opponents—and play flew up and down the ice. The first period was winding down when the puck was shoveled back to the point where Tim was waiting. His one-timer blew through a seemingly impenetrable wall of players and right to the back of the net.

  Chris roared with the rest of the crowd, wishing he could jump to his feet like everyone else. Tim turned, before his linemates could even hug him, and pointed right at Chris.

  Chris was one hundred percent certain the goofy look on his face was as embarrassing as the painfully happy squeezing feeling around his heart. Though, Jesus Christ, how had it not occurred to Chris that Tim wouldn’t be able to keep this under wraps for more than ten seconds? For fuck’s sake, Ti
m didn’t even know what the word discreet meant.

  Rupert’s and Callum’s cheers turned to hoots of laughter as Chris’s face burned hotter and hotter. He snuck a look at them, nervous. Not that they’d care about the gay thing, obviously. But maybe they wouldn’t be as keen on the whole fraternization issue.

  Neither of them appeared to be anything but delighted. Of course, they probably didn’t know anything. And even if they did, it occurred to Chris that they were close friends with Alexei and Mike, so maybe this wasn’t anything new anyway.

  The game resumed, capturing everyone’s attention again, thank Christ. Chris tugged his phone from his pocket and set up a reminder to call his mom. She already knew about his feelings for Tim, but he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t tell her what was going on before Tim did something so obvious, she’d be able to tell what was going on just by watching one of their games on TV.

  The Ice Cats won, but by the time the final horn went off, Chris was fading fast. Maybe it had been a little too ambitious to come out for a game. Rupert and Callum seemed to recognize that, too, and carefully helped him to the elevator. As soon as they arrived downstairs, Callum ran for the cart while Rupert waited with him. Callum came roaring around the corner with not just the cart, but Tim riding shotgun.

  Tim barely waited until they came to a stop before jumping out of his seat. “You look like hell,” he said, helping Chris to the cart.

  “Yeah, well, have you smelled yourself? You didn’t even rinse off, did you?”

  “Nah. I figured you needed to get home.”

  Chris didn’t argue. He was in bad shape. Such bad shape, he passed out pretty much the moment he got in the car. The walk from the parking lot to their apartment was hell, but he did it on his own. Tim tried to convince him to let Tim carry him, but Chris threatened to tell everyone they knew that he’d once caught Tim watching My Little Pony on TV…and that he had drunkenly confessed that Pinkie Pie was his favorite.

  Chris barely remembered getting into bed. He might have actually fallen asleep while he was still standing in the middle of the room, letting Tim strip him down. That was probably how he ended up stark naked, anyway.

  He was well asleep when something woke him, disoriented for just a moment. Then he felt the press of warm skin along his back, a strong arm still damp from the shower curling around his waist.

  “Shh…go back to sleep,” whispered Tim, his lips pressed to Chris’s neck.

  Chris wriggled back, planting himself firmly in Tim’s lap, and did just that.

  Tim woke the next morning with Chris draped across his chest, the covers pulled up so high only the wild thatch of Chris’s light blond hair was visible. Tim’s fingers itched to touch the silky strands, but he didn’t want to wake Chris just yet.

  Not that it would be easy. Chris was out cold. He’d woken up in the middle of the night, fidgety and sore from sleeping in the same position too long, and frustrated by exhaustion and his pain meds wearing off. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep again until Tim had forcibly rearranged them so that he could act as a full-body pillow for Chris.

  His motives had been pure, but now he was awake, hungry, and hard. His dick was pressed up against the thigh Chris had draped over his hips.

  He wriggled a little, just to test the waters, and found that he could slide out from under Chris relatively easily. Chris didn’t stir at all, which made Tim feel guilty and kept him where he was. He’d been so excited to bring Chris to the rink and have the guys see him, to have him watch the game, he had maybe jumped the gun on getting Chris out of the house for some fun.

  Today, though, they had nowhere they had to be. The team was leaving for a road trip tomorrow, and Coach had given them a day of rest before a grueling four games in six days. Sadly, Tim was bound to disappoint his coach, because while he fully intended to spend the day in bed, it wasn’t to spend a lot of time doing anything that could be termed as “rest”.

  For now, though, he let himself snooze for a little while longer, enjoying vague images of what he had planned that day and tinkering with those ideas as he went. At some point, his hand began to trail up and down Chris’s back, his fingers drawn to the divot of Chris’s spine and the soft skin that gave just a little before firm muscle pushed back.

  Chris woke by nuzzling his face into Tim’s chest. Tim smiled down at the top of Chris’s head, charmed despite himself, his hand still moving gently. It froze, though, when something wet and warm licked over his nipple.

  He grunted, his nipple contracting sharply, a slow, warm pulse of blood coursing toward his cock. His smile, though, didn’t waver. He probably looked like a complete idiot grinning at the ceiling, but he was too delighted. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one with ideas about the best way to spend the day.

  Tugging on the comforter, he drew it down just far enough to see Chris’s face, his eyelashes fluttering against the light. “Mmph,” Chris muttered, turning to shield his eyes from the light and to suck Tim’s nipple between his lips.

  Tim’s breath left him with a hiss. He wasn’t usually much of a nipple guy. Or he hadn’t been, but then again, most women had sort of ignored them. It still wasn’t particularly overwhelming, but it was a surprise to see Chris’s pink lips against his skin. He thought that alone was heightening everything else, so that each gentle tug transferred itself down deeper into his body.

  “Come here,” Tim said, his voice rough from sleep and yelling on the ice last night.

  Chris lifted his head and smiled sleepily at Tim before leaning up to press their lips together.

  Morning breath wasn’t great, but it didn’t matter at all when compared to being able to kiss Chris. Why hadn’t they done this a year ago? Three years ago? He forced back the idea that he had so much time to make up for, the regret of time lost, and focused instead on now. He was doing such a thorough job of it, of kissing Chris, he didn’t notice the movement under the covers until deft fingers trailed down his belly and through the thick hair surrounding the base of his cock.

  Chris ended the kiss, leaning back when Tim chased his lips for more.

  “You don’t have a game today,” Chris observed. Tim was sure he’d never seen Chris smile like that before this morning. If he had, he might have figured shit out a whole lot faster—and reciprocated a lot sooner, too.

  “I don’t,” he agreed, intrigued to see what Chris would do next.

  Chris’s eyes narrowed, studying him. Then his long, warm fingers curled around Tim’s cock and tugged. It felt like a challenge. One Tim met by arching one eyebrow and smirking, because this was still them and he wasn’t going to make it easy. What would be the fun in that?

  Chris’s narrow gaze never wavered as his fingers danced lightly up the length of Tim’s shaft, smoothing over the head and back down again. Exploring.

  Tim gritted his teeth, keeping his face impassive and choking back a groan when Chris’s grip tightened. Tim broke, though, when even a hint of worry snuck onto Chris’s face. He cupped his hands around Chris’s jaw and captured his lips again.

  “So good,” he murmured against Chris’s lip. “Please.”

  Chris nodded, their noses bumping, their lips and tongue still tangled. Tim’s breath went shaky, his hand slipping down Chris’s back to his ass, anchoring him close.

  It didn’t take long. In fact, Tim considered being a little embarrassed about how quickly he got to the point of gasping, fingers knotted in Chris’s hair and digging into his firm ass. Tim tipped his head back and shouted through his orgasm.

  He floated for a moment, warm and happy and utterly content. He thought he could go back to sleep and Chris would forgive him. Would even understand. It was a nice feeling.

  Tim wouldn’t do that, of course. That kind of selfishness wasn’t in his programming. He was perfectly aware of Chris’s erection pressed to his hip and how hard Chris was trying not to squirm, based on how his glutes clenched and released under Tim’s palm.

  The moment Tim’s head
stopped swimming, he rolled Chris onto his back and climbed over him. “Tell me what you like,” he said, then without waiting for a response, sucked Chris’s cock as far into his mouth as he could without gagging himself.

  “Oh, fucking Christ,” Chris groaned, his knuckles going white around fistfuls of the flannel sheets.

  Tim bobbed his head experimentally, trying to find a good rhythm and level of suction. It was actually really fucking hard to figure out what was best, since Chris was groaning and muttering through everything with roughly equal amounts of enthusiasm. Which was to say, a lot. Tim almost drew off just to ask if Chris could manage more detailed feedback, but one glance at Chris’s face told Tim there would be no articulation from that quarter.

  Chris’s face was flushed pink, his eyes screwed closed as he gasped and squirmed. Tim put one hand on Chris’s belly, and loved how it dipped and juddered with every shaky breath. Since Chris apparently wasn’t going to be bothered much by whatever Tim did, he tried a few things. Taking Chris’s cock deeper into his mouth triggered his gag reflex, but it also forced a punched-out breath from Chris, which Tim liked a lot. He tried it again, until his chin and Chris’s cock were wet and messy with saliva and Chris was swearing viciously. Tim tried everything, but kept coming back to trying to take Chris deeper. He did it while holding his breath, then while breathing in, breathing out, until he realized all he really needed was practice. It wasn’t too long before his gag reflex started to give up on him.

  That was so cool.

  He pulled off Chris with an obscene noise and a swirl of his tongue. “Dude,” he said breathlessly, “I’m totally going to be able to deep-throat you soon.”

  Chris’s head popped up and he looked at Tim like he was insane, his eyes wild.

  Tim dove back into his work, and Chris’s head fell back to the mattress with a thump. From there, it didn’t take long. Chris warned him with a hand in his hair, trying to yank him off, and Tim’s dick perked up with interest with every pull.

  Huh. Another thing to explore later.