Chapter 32 Théo #2
They had gotten some ice time today but wouldn’t be playing until tomorrow. He’d gone out for drinks with the team—my brother included—which meant I’d had to entertain myself with another episode of Game of Thrones and an increasingly insistent erection.
So when a relaxed and slightly buzzed Derek finally appeared on my screen, I was more than ready.
His face was flushed from the drinks, his hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hands through it.
He was in his hotel room, propped against a stack of pillows that looked nowhere near as comfortable as the ones I was currently hoarding.
He was wearing a dark button down, the first few buttons undone to expose his thick throat and a few inches of muscled chest. The dark hair there made my fingers itch to touch.
He’d liked it when I wore his clothes so I’d borrowed another one of his Frost hoodies to sleep in. This one was black with teal accents and positively swallowed me, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, the collar slipping off one shoulder. I knew he would love it.
“Hey, you,” he said, his voice warm and a little loose from the drinks.
“Hey.” I shifted, letting the hoodie slip a little further. “Are you drunk, Saint Sully?”
His eyes tracked the movement of the fabric. “A little tipsy. Has my boy been behaving?”
“Never, daddy.” A pause. “Oh, you meant Aspen? He’s always a good boy.”
“Mm.” His mouth twitched. “Unlike someone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I’ve been very well behaved.” I tugged the hoodie down another inch.
“Stayed in your bed like you told me. Wore your hoodie, it smells like your laundry detergent but I prefer the ones that smell like you. Didn’t touch myself even though I’ve been hard for an hour thinking about you. ”
He groaned softly. “Théo...”
“What? You asked if I was behaving.” I widened my eyes, innocent. “I’m reporting in. Like a good boy.”
“You’re being a brat.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” The admission came out rough, unguarded. The alcohol had loosened his tongue. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About the other night. The way you felt. The sounds you made.”
Heat pooled low in my belly. “Yeah? Which sounds?”
“All of them.” He shifted on the bed and I caught the way his hand moved toward his lap before he caught himself. “The way you moaned when I pushed inside you. The little gasps when I found the right angle. The way you said my name when you came.”
“Derek...” I breathed and his eyes darkened at the sound.
“That one. That’s my favourite.”
“You’re such a sap.”
“And you’re so fucking beautiful.” He tugged his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. “Lying there in my clothes. In my bed. Looking at me like that. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
I swallowed. The sincerity in his voice made it hard to deflect. “Tell me.”
“You make me crazy.” His voice dropped lower. “I’ve been half-hard all night thinking about getting back to my room so I could see you. Morrison was talking about defensive strategy and all I could think about was the way you look when you’re underneath me.”
“That’s very unprofessional, Sullivan.”
“I know.” He didn’t look sorry. “I keep thinking about your mouth. Your hands. The way your back arches when you’re close.” His gaze swept over what he could see of me through the screen. “The way your skin flushes all the way down your chest.”
My breath caught. “Derek—”
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He said it simply, like a fact. “And I’m stuck in this shitty hotel in Colorado instead of touching you.”
I slid my hand beneath the hoodie, trailing my fingers over my stomach. His eyes tracked the movement through the fabric.
“What are you doing?” His voice was strained.
“Getting comfortable.” I let my hand drift lower, brushing against the waistband of my briefs. “Do you want to see?”
“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “These walls are paper thin.”
“Then you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?” I tilted the phone, giving him a better angle as I palmed myself through the fabric. “Unless you don’t want to watch.”
“You know I want to watch.” He was definitely touching himself now, his arm moving in a rhythm he wasn’t bothering to hide. “Show me, snowdrop.”
The nickname sent a shiver through me. I pushed my briefs down, freeing my cock, already hard and leaking.
“Like this, daddy?”
He made a choked sound. “Just like that. God, look at you.”
“Your turn.” I wrapped my hand around myself, stroking slowly. “I want to see you too.”
He hesitated for only a second before shifting the phone, angling it so I could see him pull himself free from his dress pants. He was thick and flushed, already wet at the tip.
“Fuck, I miss you,” he breathed, stroking himself. “Miss the way you taste. Miss the little sounds you make when I’m inside you. Miss the way you clench around me when you’re close.”
“Tell me more.” I matched his rhythm, my breath coming faster. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me when you get back.”
“I’m going to take my time with you.” His voice was wrecked, barely above a whisper. “Going to open you up so slowly you’ll be shaking before I even get inside you. Two fingers. Then three. Until you’re so desperate you’re fucking yourself back on my hand.”
“Derek—” I was leaking now, slicking my grip.
“And then when you can’t take it anymore, when you’re begging me—because you will, snowdrop, you’ll beg so beautifully—I’ll finally give you what you need.”
“Fuck, please—”
“That’s it.” His rhythm sped up. “That’s what I want to hear. You sound so pretty when you say please.”
“Please, daddy.” I was past caring how desperate I sounded. “I need—I want—”
“I know what you need.” His eyes were locked on me through the screen. “I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days. Going to make you come so hard you forget your own name. And then I’m going to hold you all night and wake up with you in my arms.”
The last part—the tenderness woven through the filth—undid me completely.
“I’m close,” I gasped, my hips bucking into my fist.
“Me too. Look at me. Want to see those gorgeous eyes when you come.”
I met his gaze, let him see everything. The pleasure coiling tight in my spine. The wanting. The terrifying depth of what I felt for him.
“Come for me, snowdrop.” His voice cracked. “Show me how beautiful you are.”
I came with a cry, spilling over my fist and onto the hoodie—his hoodie—my whole body shuddering with the force of it. On the screen, Derek followed seconds later, groaning my name as he made a mess of his dress shirt.
We lay there for a moment, breathing hard, staring at each other through our screens.
“I’m going to need that hoodie back,” he said finally. “It’s my favourite.”
I laughed, surprised and genuine. “You have like 20 of them.”
“Yeah and that one is my favourite. Don’t wash it.”
“You’re depraved.”
“You started it.”
“I did.” I stretched lazily, letting him watch. “So how was drinks with the team?”
“Good. Petrov tried to teach us a Russian drinking game. Avery nearly threw up in a potted plant.” He grinned, loose and happy. “The usual.”
“Sounds civilized.”
“Very.” He shifted onto his side, the phone propped against a pillow so I could see his face properly. His hair was mussed, his cheeks still flushed. “How was Aspen today? Any crimes committed?”
“He stole a sock from your laundry basket and paraded it around the apartment like a trophy. I managed to negotiate its release in exchange for a dental chew.”
“A fair trade.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “And you? What did you do with your day?”
I thought about Alice. About my parents’ divorce and the things I’d said out loud for the first time. About the exhaustion that had settled into my bones afterward—the particular heaviness that came from cracking yourself open in front of a stranger.
The old me would have deflected. Changed the subject. Offered something sharp and hollow to keep him at arm’s length.
“I had my first session with my new therapist,” I said instead. “It was… a lot.”
Derek’s expression shifted. Not pity—just attention. That steady focus he gave to everything that mattered.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
“Tired. Wrung out.” I shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing. “But okay, I think. It’s good. She’s good.”
“I’m glad.” He gave me a small smile. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I also watched another episode of Game of Thrones,” I added, because the sincerity was starting to make me itchy. “And missed you.”
The last part slipped out before I could stop it. I waited for the familiar urge to take it back, to deflect with something sharp—but it didn’t come.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.” He was smiling now, that crooked grin that did things to my chest. “I missed you too, for what it’s worth. Not just your body, either—your company. The hotel bed is too big without you hogging all the blankets.”
“I don’t hog the blankets.”
“You absolutely hog the blankets. You’re a blanket gremlin.”
“I’m a figure skater. I’m perpetually cold.”
“Convenient excuse.”
“It’s science.”
He laughed and the sound settled warm in my ribcage. We were quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. It should have been awkward—post-orgasm small talk over a video call—but it wasn’t. It felt easy. Natural.
Dangerous, probably. But I was too tired to care.
“I should let you sleep,” I said finally. “Big game tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t look like he wanted to hang up. Neither did I. “Hey, Théo?”
“Mm?”
“I’m glad we got to talk. The other part was nice too.”
Something soft unfurled in my chest. “Me too.”
“Five more days,” he promised. “Then I’m not letting you out of that bed for a week.”
“I’m holding you to that, daddy.”
He groaned. “Goodnight, Théo.”
“Goodnight, Derek.”
I ended the call and lay there in the dark, his hoodie ruined and his pillow beneath my head, feeling something terrifyingly close to happiness.