Chapter 38 Todd
THIRTY-EIGHT
TODD
Logan’s bed dips beneath me as I fall back onto it, and he follows me down. He peppers kisses along my throat, to my collarbone, down my chest. I’m pretty sure he has an obsession with kissing—which is probably a good thing, since I’m becoming addicted to the way his lips feel against my skin.
He moves slowly, like he’s relearning me, like every brush of his mouth is a question he already knows the answer to. His stubble drags lightly against my skin, sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold.
When our mouths meet again, it’s hungrier. I fist my hand in his damp hair and pull him closer until there’s no space left to fill. He hums against my lips, the sound low and pleased, and I feel it vibrate all the way through my chest.
The kiss steals the rest of the air from the room. When we finally break apart, he stays close, his forehead resting against mine. His heartbeat is fast, matching mine.
“I could do that all day,” he murmurs.
“Dangerous offer,” I whisper. “You might be stuck with me.”
“Good.”
Silence falls between us for a minute, and then he glides his fingers down my chest, over my abs, until he runs them down my happy trail.
My dick pulses against my stomach, already begging for attention and attempting to seek it out.
But he teases around the area, his smile turning mischievous as he starts to press kisses in the same trail his hand just made.
His warm breath ghosts over my now leaking dick, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. Fuck, is he going to tease an orgasm out of me? It might just work.
“Missed this,” I manage, though it comes out rougher than I mean.
He smiles against my hipbone, where he’s currently attempting to drive me insane with his lips and tongue. “You think I didn’t?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he’s dragging his tongue up the vein on the underside of my dick and drawing a moan from me instead.
Then he uses it to explore the ridges of my crown before dipping into my slit as if he’s seeking out the pre-cum that’s been leaking out of me like a fucking leaky faucet.
I curl my fingers into the sheet beneath me and force my hips to stay on the bed. Until he sucks my swollen head between his lips, then I jerk up toward him, earning me his free hand planted flat on my abdomen as he holds me down and continues to push me toward the edge.
“Be a good boy,” he says as he releases me, his brown eyes lifting to mine. “And I might just let you fuck my ass.”
He swirls his tongue over my head until I moan.
“You want that don’t you, Captain? To be deep inside of me? Making sure I leak when I skate later?”
“Fuck yes,” I manage.
He gives me another rewarding suck, grazing my head with his teeth as he releases me this time. It sends a thrill straight through me. Then he’s moving, reaching for his bedside table and pulling out a bottle of lube.
I hiss when he drizzles some down my dick and then strokes it on, then he straddles me, my head resting between his ass cheeks like it belongs there.
“Wait, you’re not prepped.” I reach for the bottle, and he tosses it to the side.
“Going slow is part of teasing you,” he says, then he lifts slightly, lining me up.
I can feel the tight ring of muscle as he presses down. I watch his face for any sign of discomfort, but his eyes drop shut and his head falls back as he takes more of me, a soft moan falling from his parted lips. He’s beautiful like this.
It’s slow as fuck, but shit, he’s right.
It’s a tease when I just want to thrust up into him.
His tight ass squeezes me, and I clench my own ass cheeks to keep myself from going too fast. It’s at least five minutes before I bottom out, and he settles his full weight onto me, shifting slightly forward and then back in micro movements that go straight to my balls.
“I love this. I wasn’t sure I would, but after that first time, fuck yeah, I was missing out.” The words come out strained, and then he lifts up slightly, his thighs bunching as he starts to ride my dick.
Each movement drags another sound out of me—half groan, half plea.
He sets the rhythm, slow and deliberate, testing how far we can go before it tips over into something neither of us can hold back from.
The air between us thickens. Every breath is a shared one. Every small sound he makes lands somewhere deep inside me. His hands find mine and press them flat against his chest, right over his heart. The beat under my palms is wild and erratic, matching mine.
When we finally break, it isn’t loud. It’s quiet and shaking and so full of love I can barely breathe. The world narrows to heat, skin, heartbeat, and the feel of him collapsing against me.
He stays there, breathing against my neck. I trace lazy circles on his back, too wrung out to move and too content to care.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. The silence says everything: we’re here, we found our way back, and for now, that’s enough.
The room feels a little different afterward. And I could definitely drift off to sleep if I didn’t have other responsibilities.
Logan’s still laying on top of me, his breath warm against my shoulder. I can feel his smile when he murmurs, “You okay?”
I huff out a laugh. “Define okay.”
He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me. “I mean… can you move?”
“Not anytime soon,” I admit.
“Good,” he says, grin widening. “Because I wasn’t planning on letting you.”
I tilt my head toward the window. The light leaking around the curtains is bright enough to tell me the day’s half gone already. “You realize we’ve definitely missed morning classes, right?”
He stretches and shifts a little off of me, still looking smug. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It is a bad thing,” I counter weakly, though I can’t stop the smile creeping across my face. “Coach’ll kill us if we miss practice next.”
“Practice isn’t for hours, and can we really be considered late when it’s just the two of us?” he says, tracing idle lines across my stomach. “And I can think of about ten better uses of our time until then.”
“Oh yeah?”
He leans down, lips brushing my jaw. “Starting with not getting out of bed.”
I laugh, low and quiet. “You’re incorrigible.”
He grins against my skin. “Big word for someone who’s about to skip another class.”
I roll my eyes, but my hand finds the back of his neck anyway, pulling him in for another kiss. “Fine. But if Coach asks, I’m blaming you.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and mumbles against my mouth, “That’s fair. You can blame me for everything.”
By the next afternoon, everything feels lighter.
Practice was good—stupidly good—the kind where every time Logan’s stick touched the puck, mine wasn’t far behind. Coach didn’t say anything, but there was a twitch of a smile when he looked our way, the kind he gets when the team is finally clicking again.
Most of the guys clear out fast, voices echoing down the tunnel. I’m still sitting on the bench, peeling tape from my stick in lazy strips, when footsteps head straight toward me.
Logan. Hair damp from his shower, backpack slung over his shoulder, and a smile soft enough to knock the wind out of me.
He stops right in front of me and nudges my foot with his. “I’m heading to class,” he says, like it’s required information, like I need to know where he’ll be for the next two hours.
I grin up at him. “You’re actually going?”
He rolls his eyes and drops down beside me on the bench. “Yes, I’m actually going. Some of us can’t skip everything this week.”
I smirk. “You sure you don’t want to blow it off? I could… persuade you.”
His breath catches just enough that I notice. Then he leans in and kisses me—slow and lingering. And I don’t care that some of the guys are still in the locker room or that anyone could see us. Because I’ve made up my mind, this is what I want, and the rest will fall into place.
“You’re dangerous,” he breathes as he pulls back. “You make me forget everything else.”
“I try.”
“You succeed,” he says dryly. “Too well.”
I slide my hand up his thigh, teasing. “We could go back to your place right now…”
He shoves my shoulder lightly, laughing. “Todd, I’m trying to keep my scholarship.”
“You can study after.”
“That’s what we said yesterday,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth, “and we both know how that turned out.”
I grin. “Still worth it.”
He stands, tugging me up with him before I can protest, his hands staying hooked in my hoodie strings like he’s not ready to let go. “I’ll see you in two hours,” he says. “Try not to get into trouble.”
“No promises.”
He kisses me again—quick this time, like he’s afraid if he lingers we’ll never leave this locker room—and finally steps back.
“If you’re not at my apartment when I get back,” he warns, pointing at me as he backs toward the exit, “I’ll find you and drag your ass there myself.”
I lift my brows. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“It’s whatever makes you listen,” he shoots back with a grin, turning toward the hallway.
I watch him go. Every step. Until he’s out of sight. And that two-hour wait suddenly feels like the longest part of my day.
Peter comes out of the showers with a towel around his waist, hair dripping, steam still rolling off his shoulders. He slows when he sees me still sitting there instead of already gone.
“You look…” He gestures vaguely at my face. “…deep in existential thought.”
I snort. “Is that the polite way of saying I look fucked up?”
“No,” he smirks, dropping onto the bench beside me. “This is the polite way of saying you look like someone who just got kissed stupid in the locker room and hasn’t recovered.”
I shove his shoulder weakly. “Shut up.”
“Not happening.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Can I ask you something? And you can tell me to screw off if it’s too much.”
I sigh. “You’re gonna ask anyway.”
He nods once. “Yeah. So…” He hesitates, which is rare for Peter. “…when did you know? That you were gay.”
My breath stutters—just a little—but he’s not mocking me, he just sounds curious.
I stare at the floor for a long second. “A long time ago.”
He doesn’t move or react.
I press my tongue to my cheek, fighting with the words. “It wasn’t like one big moment. More like a bunch of little ones I kept ignoring.”
He shifts slightly toward me. “Like what?”
I exhale slowly. “Logan and I played together in high school. And every time he chirped me, or got in my face, or shoved me into the boards during drills—I felt something. Something I definitely wasn’t supposed to feel.”
Peter blinks. “Damn. So you liked him back then?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t let myself like him. I shoved it down. Buried it. I dated girls; I pretended it didn’t mean anything. But… yeah.” A small, broken laugh escapes me. “Then he tried to kiss me after Nationals and the way my body reacted kind of… destroyed any illusions I’d built.”
Peter whistles low. “So you’ve been hiding this for years.”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens. “From everyone. Including myself.”
He doesn’t say That sucks, or I’m sorry, or man, that must’ve been hard. He just kicks my foot and says, “No wonder you’re messed up.”
I laugh—really laugh—and it cracks something loose inside me.
“But seriously,” he says, voice softening, “I think it’s pretty damn brave. Letting yourself be honest now. Not a lot of people would do that.”
My chest pinches at that.
“And for what it’s worth?” Peter says, tying the towel tighter at his waist as he stands. “Anyone who has a problem with you being who you are can eat my entire ass.”
I choke on a laugh. “Jesus, Peter.”
“What?” he shrugs. “I mean it. Full meal. Plate and silverware included.”
I shake my head, smiling. Peter grins back like that’s exactly what he was aiming for.
He slips his clean clothes out of his cubby and starts tugging on his joggers and t-shirt. “Alright, lover boy. Let’s go. I’m not leaving you here to daydream yourself into dehydration.”
I snort. “I wasn’t daydreaming.”
He gives me a flat look. “Todd. You’ve been sitting on that bench staring at the same spot on the wall for—” he checks the clock “—my whole shower, which was twelve whole minutes. I counted.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I was just…thinking.”
“Uh-huh. Thinking.” He smirks. “Is that what we’re calling it when you’ve got Logan Eyes?”
I frown. “Logan Eyes?”
“Yeah,” he says casually, pulling his shirt over his head. “That glazed-over, soft-as-a-damn-marshmallow expression you get when he leaves a room.”
I groan. “Please shut up.”
“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “I’m thriving. Now grab your stuff. Before you start sighing at the air where he used to be.”
I shove him lightly as I stand. “You’re an asshole.”
“An asshole who’s buying you lunch,” he says, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”