Chapter Six #3
He wasn’t seeing Kilian. Their relationship was extremely casual and completely undefined.
Buying him sex toys would not be a casual thing to do, probably.
Not that Damir knew how to be casual fuckbuddies with someone under these circumstances.
Before now, his experience consisted of one-off encounters or spending summers in Moscow with Sasha from school or Kyrill from his U15 team or sometimes both.
They stayed over at one another’s houses on the weekends and fucked after late nights out when they could feasibly blame the choice to sleep in one bed on the hour.
The rules were clearer when your fuckbuddies lived in the same place but knew you would be gone in a month or two—regular sex with little to no conversation required and everyone’s expectations tempered.
“You know what they say about spoiled brats,” Kilian said, drawing Damir out of his musings about sex toys and boundaries.
“What do they say?”
“They need to be put in their place.”
“And what is your place?” Damir finished chopping the toppings and sprinkled them on top of the fish, then salted liberally and slid the dish into the oven on the rack above the potatoes. He set a timer and turned back to Kilian.
Kilian was watching him, a small smile playing around his lips. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
Damir hummed. “Not an answer.”
The sheets rustled as Kilian shifted. “You know where my place is.”
“But I want you to tell me.” Damir rinsed his hands and dried them off on a dishtowel before peering right down the camera. “Where do you want me to put you?”
Kilian’s cheeks were pink when he mumbled, “On my knees.”
“You’d look good there.”
“You could use me. I’d stay still for you, and you could take whatever you want, I’d be so good for you, I promise.” The words spilled out, hectic and too loud in the kitchen. Damir checked over his shoulder to make sure Ketchup hadn’t left his room.
“You’re always good for me,” Damir said when he was sure they were alone. “You’d let me fuck your mouth, hm? Would it be as good as your pussy?”
The sound Kilian made, a sharp, longing thing, sent a bolt of heat to Damir’s gut.
“I miss you inside me.”
Damir scoffed. “It’s been two days.”
“But you fucked me so good.”
Never let it be said Damir was immune to flattery. “I did, hm? And now you’re so desperate for more you’d let me fuck your throat too?”
Kilian groaned. “Can I touch myself?”
“I like that you’re asking for permission.”
“Can I? Please?”
“Take it slow.”
Kilian’s eyes fluttered shut as he followed instructions.
His dark eyelashes fanned out against his high cheekbones, and for the first time since he’d bought the thing, Damir was convinced it had been absolutely worth it to invest in a really expensive phone.
He could see every inch of Kilian’s expressive face, the pleasure he had put there.
“How do you feel?”
“Good,” Kilian said immediately, his voice low and sultry. Why was he always at his most seductive when he was too distracted by pleasure to try? “But I’m so empty.”
“I would fill you up if I was there,” Damir promised, hunching forward so he could see the screen up close. “Shove my cock between your perfect fat lips and plug up your sweet little pussy.”
Kilian’s eyes flew wide open. “Damir.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Me stuffing you full until you can’t think anymore? Taking what I want from you like a good little girl?”
When Kilian’s mouth dropped open on a silent moan, Damir could picture it precisely: his cock resting there as Kilian tried his best to suck Damir off.
He would get distracted by the thick rubber plug Damir would buy him, rocking back onto it and forgetting his job, and then Damir would have to grab him by the hair and fuck his mouth properly.
He adjusted his waistband so the thick, fully engorged head of his cock could rest against his lower stomach.
On screen, Kilian’s shoulder jerked with his movements.
“Slow down,” Damir told him.
“But…I want…”
“Does it matter what you want?”
“No.” Kilian injected so much venom into the single syllable Damir half expected the call to disconnect immediately.
“Good girl.”
“God, why is that so hot?”
Damir had no idea. He’d done kink before, was no stranger to the thrill he got from finding the perfect blend of humiliation and praise to make someone as needy as Kilian get off hard. The feminization was new for him though.
“I think you’d take anything I’d give you,” he said. “I could tell you to lick my boots, and you’d drop to your knees.”
Kilian’s nose wrinkled, but he said, “I would. I want to make you happy.”
Damir’s cock throbbed.
“Stop,” he said.
Kilian froze.
“Do you really think you deserve to get off today?”
A whimper tore itself from Kilian’s throat.
“After the way you played?”
It was a risk, bringing the game into things, and Damir nearly called a halt to it entirely when Kilian’s whole face shuttered. But then he shook his head ever so slightly.
“No. I deserve to be punished.”
He was so good. So good for Damir.
“Score a goal for me on the next one,” he demanded. “Then you can come.”
An outraged expression flitted across Kilian’s face. “We don’t play until tomorrow!”
“Guess you’ll have to get good at waiting.”
“Please?” His bottom lip jutted out. “Please, Damir?”
He was so pretty when he begged, second only to how pretty he’d looked boneless and replete in the sheets after Damir had made him come.
The desire to see that again tempted Damir, but he resisted.
If Kilian wanted to use kink to distract himself from his problems, Damir would show him how much better it felt to work through them.
“I’m being very generous,” Damir told him. “If I were there, I would spank your ass until it matched your hair.”
Kilian sputtered something incredulous, but Damir wasn’t listening.
He tracked the red stain spreading down Kilian’s cheeks and neck and across his chest. Had he always been into blotchy redheads?
Was this a latent kink he’d been unaware of?
Or, more dangerously, was it just Kilian?
Damir’s situation in the league was difficult enough as a minority player on a losing team without adding an emotional attachment to a rival.
Then again, Kilian played for another division. They saw each other three times a season, and Damir spent his summers in Russia. Nothing could come of it. He was as safe as he could be.
“Just so you know, I respect women.”
The sentence only a twenty-year-old dumbass could utter drew Damir out of his musings. He was definitely safe. “Excuse me?”
“It’s, like, a kink thing, I guess? All the ‘good girl’ stuff. I don’t actually think of women that way.”
“I didn’t think you did,” Damir said, bemused.
Kilian sighed. The sheets rustled again.
Now that he was no longer getting off, Kilian curled to his side and propped his cheek up on one hand, not in faux seduction but as if he needed to get comfy for a proper conversation.
The whole effect was unfortunately very cute.
“I wish I knew why I’m so into it. Why does it get me so horny when you tell me not to come? What wire did I get crossed there?”
Damir shrugged. “Not every kink has a deep psychological foundation. Sometimes things just get you off.”
“Is that how it is for you? You just happen to get off on bossing me around?” A teasing smile curved Kilian’s lips.
Damir wished he would make a less attractive expression. Talking about kink with a gorgeous man when he hadn’t gotten off yet did not help keep things casual.
“I hate to contradict myself, but I have a good idea why I enjoy dominance.” Damir turned to the fridge and pulled the green beans out of the crisper. He got out the kitchen scissors next and began snipping off the ends, preemptively busying his hands for Kilian’s next question.
“Oh?” One of Kilian’s eyebrows arched. “Tell me more.”
“Why so curious?”
“I haven’t done anything else kinky. Call it healthy interest about what I’ve gotten myself into.”
Right. Though Kilian clearly had expertise when it came to getting fucked, he probably hadn’t had the time or opportunity to get very far into kink dynamics. Damir kept momentarily forgetting his age. Kilian was lightyears more mature than the Firecrackers’ rookies.
“I don’t enjoy being out of control,” he said, “and there are a lot of aspects about life in the NHL I can’t influence.”
Kilian’s expression darkened. “Like dumbass fans saying racist shit about you online.”