90. Jackson
Jackson
He’s staying, he’s choosing me, us, every possible emotion I felt today is coming out now.
I kiss down his body over his pecks, fuck I’m licking his sculpted six pack.
I lean into his body, licking up the salty drops pre-cum.
I can tell Ryan’s hands want so badly to pull my hair, but my cap’s staying on.
“Fuck I want you inside me, and fuck, I’m not going to last long if you carry on.
” Sucking on his tip, I carry on stretching him open.
“I’m ready. I’m so fucking ready for you, baby.
” Where did baby come from? I don’t fucking care, but I love it.
Stroking my cock with lube, I position myself between Ryan’s legs.
“Are you sure?” I questioned. “I swear if you’re not gonna be inside me in the next thirty seconds,” I slowly push in, fuck he’s tight.
It feels so fucking good, “Jackson, fuck baby, you feel so good! Fuck I’m gonna come so quick!
” Fuck I need to slow this down. Kissing up Ryan’s neck, taking his mouth, both moaning fucking delicious sounds.
Ryan’s legs wrapped around me, pushing me deeper, letting me know the pace he’s ok with.
The sound of our bodies crashing together, over and over, “I’m close, Ry,” “me too, baby.” I take him over and over, nothing but pure lust between us, “you’re fucking amazing.
” I can feel the cliff, fucking stars explode as if I feel Ryan’s release, his body shuddering.
I can’t breathe, heavy breaths fill the room.
“I love you. I love you so fucking much. Don’t let me go, Jackson,” and I don’t.
We fall asleep wrapped around each other.
The ice was my sanctuary, but tonight it felt like a spotlight.
Ryan was somewhere up in the viewing suite, safe from the roar of the crowd, but his presence was a heavy, silent weight on my shoulders.
I skated onto the ice for warm-ups, forcing the usual grin, hamming it up for the cameras that tracked the team’s ‘joker.’ I slammed the glass, waved at a few cheering kids, and generally performed the role Jackson Hayes, the defenseman, was expected to play.
But the second the puck dropped, the performance dissolved.
I didn’t play for the cameras tonight. I played for the man who gave himself fully to me last night.
Every shift was focused, precise, stripped of the usual flashy risk-taking.
I kept watching, not just the opposing forwards, but to ground myself in the purpose of the game.
I could hear the roar of the crowd, forty thousand people screaming, but I filtered it.
I skated past the bench. Logan slapped my glove.
“Hayes, you’re a brick wall tonight. What are you drinking?
” I just shrugged, a small smile touching my lips.
I didn’t need to be the Joker for him. I didn’t need the mask.
Donovan was pinned deep in our zone, the opposing team’s winger broke free and took a clean shot.
I dropped low, blocking the puck with my body.
The impact was a jarring, familiar pain, but I hardly registered it.
I cleared the rebound off the boards, launching the puck safely down the ice.
The crowd cheered, the noise a brief thunder.
I looked up toward the viewing suite, knowing Ryan wouldn’t flinch at the chaos.
He would see the focus, the stillness in the center of the storm.
I tapped my chest twice, a silent message: I’m here.
The real me. I wasn’t playing for millions, I was playing for the promise of a quiet life, and for the man who saw past the mask.
The man who loved me for simply being me.