Chapter 9 #2
But something about being kissed the way Jax had kissed him, as though he was precious, as though he was worth taking time over, had awoken a tender craving for softness within him.
If he had managed to say something, if Jax had stayed, could they have tried it in this position, lying on the bed?
Tom underneath Jax, Jax with his big, strong hands barely skimming over Tom’s body?
His cock gave a painful throb, and Tom gave in to temptation, pushing his clothes down far enough to pull it out. He stroked along the underside with the pads of two fingers, and that barest of touches drove him insane.
It wasn’t as if he’d never been desperate for someone else to touch him.
It had been such a long time, and toys ordered off could only do so much for him.
His one experience had been fumbling and over so fast. Before tonight, Tom had never realized what a difference it would make for someone else to evoke these feelings in him.
He’d never known how different it could be to long for someone specific to touch him, or how startling it was when they did.
He hadn’t known to want any of Jax’s touches.
His body’s reaction had been so natural, so unhindered by expectation.
He wrapped his fist around his cock and stroked, properly, the way he did at home in the shower when he wanted to get it over with so he could go to sleep and stop feeling restless.
After all the buildup, he reached the edge in seconds.
And then he stopped. Trailed his fingers across the head again and gasped, loud in the quiet room. Pressed his other hand to his lips, remembered how Jax had tasted, how he’d felt, crowding in close to Tom.
Tom pictured him in bed, above him. He imagined Jax grinning at him, teasing and happy, the dimple in his cheek popping.
He imagined Jax pushing him down into the sheets and kissing him again just like before, and then he came all over the bottom of his T-shirt in long, shuddering pulses that left him wrung out and hollow, satisfied but aching for more.
He rolled onto his side, clutched the second pillow tightly to his chest and went to sleep.
The next day, they played Toronto, Tom’s least favorite game every year. He was thankful he played in a different conference, so he only had one day of dread leading up to it.
This year, he’d been distracted, preoccupied by other things. Coming out to Jax. Fixing the power play and fucking up the team. Kissing Jax.
He managed to forget all the way onto the team plane, still thinking about that last thing and wondering if he needed to talk to Jax about it and, if so, what he ought to say. Thank you? Please do it again?
And then his mom texted.
Mom: Hi honey, we’ll be waiting for you by the dressing rooms. Got a table at the Italian place we always go to. Good luck tonight!
Nothing unusual or particularly noteworthy, but it made his stomach sink. Not least because hardly anything at most Italian restaurants was compatible with his diet.
With a sigh, Tom dropped his phone into his lap and surveyed the plane.
Hayes and Vanderbilt sat together in stony silence.
Breezy had nabbed one of the four-way seats usually occupied by the vets, and he, Luca, Mooney, and Jax were laughing loudly at something on one of their phones.
The coaches occupied the other four-way seats, all of them on their tablets, firmly ignoring one another.
Howie sat alone at the rear of the plane.
Tom wanted to stay in his seat, maybe put in his headphones so everyone would think he was listening to music, and then spend the flight staring out the window and thinking about last night.
It wouldn’t destroy his resolution to be different, to be more present as a captain and as a human being.
Previously, he’d never conceived of having anything like last night to think about.
But peeking over at Jax, he could see the tension in his body and the strained way he smiled.
Jax would be disappointed if he didn’t at least try.
So, Tom heaved himself up and joined Howie.
“I’m sorry,” Howie said before Tom finished sitting down.
Tom studied him. Kilian Howard wasn’t overly laden with dignity.
For some awful reason, he’d chosen to shave the sides of his head, leaving his curly hair an unkempt mess on the top.
He had helmet acne. He struggled to keep on the weight he needed for hockey.
By March, he’d be mainlining protein shakes to stay upright on his skates.
He compensated for it by being a pest on the ice, goading other players into taking penalties.
Unwillingly, Tom felt a sort of kinship rise up in him.
At nineteen, he hadn’t been too different from Howie.
He wasn’t an agitator; he’d never had the personality for it, preferring to be as unseen as possible in the fishbowl of the NHL.
But he, too, had been a mess of insecurities and bad skincare choices.
“What are you sorry for?”
“For saying…you know.”
“Why did you?”
Howie swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I, uh…I dunno. Luca’s supposed to be the new guy, but he’s all…suave and confident. Everyone treats him as if he’s part of the team for good already. I guess it made me…jealous.”
At least he knew.
Taking a page out of Jax’s book of blunt honesty, Tom asked, “Do you hate gay people?”
“No!” Howie considered. “I mean, I don’t know any, but I’ve been doing some research ever since, and I swear I get why it was so shitty and why some people think it’s a slur. And I know there’s more to it. I made a list of stuff to look into later.”
“When you say words like that as insults, you make it sound as if you do hate gay people.” Tom winced.
Here he was, pretending what Howie had said hadn’t hurt him on a deeply personal level he’d never shared with the team, acting as though he knew so much better.
In a way, he did; he’d never resorted to slurs or hateful language.
But in so many other ways, he wasn’t much different than a scared teenager.
“I know,” Howie said miserably. “And I’m sorry. I really am.”
Again, Tom lied. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to.”
Howie nodded and looked away.
Tom could leave it there, but the truths he hadn’t shared itched under his skin, forcing him to keep going. He might not be able to tell Howie the truth, but he could give him something honest.
“Look, Howie. Hockey players…we do a lot of chirping about a lot of things, and that isn’t okay.”
“You never do.”
Tom smiled. “I try. I’m a lot older than you, and I’m the captain. I have responsibilities. But I’m sure you’ve heard slurs thrown around in locker rooms your whole life.”
“Yeah.”
“And your style, the way you play, getting under people’s skin…it’s easy to do it with that kind of word.”
“Yeah.” Howie still wouldn’t look at him.
“If I wanted to get under your skin, you know what I’d say?”
Finally, Howie peered up from under the curls falling across his forehead, confusion written across every inch of his face.
“I’d tell you to invest in some skincare products for those pimples.” Tom flicked at Howie’s cheek.
Howie ducked away, utterly outraged. “Cap!”
“Sensitive subject for you, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Mm-hmm. And how much more would it throw you off your game if I said that to you on the ice than if I threw slurs at you?”
An expression of pure glee stole across Howie’s face. “I think I should start looking up every embarrassing thing the Toronto Huskies have ever said online.”
“Attaboy.”
Finally, Howie smiled properly at Tom. “Thanks, Cap. And I really am sorry.”
“I know you are. Next time, think about who you’re trying to insult and why. When you use homophobic language, the person you’re hurting most is the innocent bystander who actually is gay and too scared to say anything.”
Howie went quiet and pensive. For a moment, Tom thought he’d overplayed his hand, revealed too much. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck and cooled immediately in the recycled plane air.
Howie said, “I don’t want to be a bad person.”
Tom breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Leave the agitating on the ice. And remember, hockey players are stupid enough all on their own. You don’t need to use slurs.”
“Right. Um, I think I have to go talk to Luca.”
Tom let him out of the seat, wondering if he should have also discussed that the problem wasn’t the word “queer” as much as the way Howie had said it.
Jax called himself queer sometimes, after all.
But no, a political correctness lesson wasn’t in the cards, not today and not from Tom.
Howie ought to get his LGBTQIA+ education from someone who knew what they were talking about, not a man so afraid of his own sexuality he could barely even think the words.
“Don’t I get a nice captainly pep talk?” Hayes asked snidely from across the aisle.
Tom contemplated it. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
“Written me off already, huh?”
Tom rubbed at his temples. “No, but you’re not a rookie I can teach something to. I thought we were friends. I thought you and Phil were friends.”
“Don’t bring Phil into this.”
“You did that yourself by saying racist shit.”
Hayes’s chin jutted out stubbornly.
Tom was so tired, though he’d slept well. Jax kissing him until his brain shut up seemed like a dream he’d had months ago rather than yesterday’s reality.
“If you’re mad at me, be mad at me, not Luca. And if you’re going to be a bigot, do it where I can’t hear it.”
He slumped into his own seat and stared out the window. Instead of pleasant kissing thoughts, worries flitted across his mind about what to do with Hayes and the text from his mom.
Halfway through the flight, Jax sat next to him. “Whatever you said to Howie worked like a charm.”
Howie had taken Jax’s place in the four-way, the young guys all back together where they belonged.
“I’m glad.”
Jax had brown eyes. Previously, Tom hadn’t many thoughts either way on eye color, but Jax had a way of looking at him, his eyes so warm and understanding it made Tom feel safe.
“Are you okay?” Jax asked him.
Tom wanted very much to tell Jax he’d never been as okay as he was after kissing him. But they were on a team plane, and the team was in shambles, and he had to see his parents tonight.
“I’ll be fine,” he said instead and let his arm rest against Jax’s between their seats.