Chapter Seven
Olivia Starling [off-screen]: “Chris, a lot of the Sea Lions participated in tonight’s Pride Night here in Ottawa. Is that a message you support?”
Breezy: “Yeah, for sure. LGBTQIA-plus rights are human rights, you know?”
Starling: “Wow. Do you think it’s appropriate for athletes to make such political statements?”
Breezy: “I don’t think it should be political to treat everyone well. Also, if people cared about athletes making political statements about LGBTQIA-plus rights, all those guys who refused to play in Pride jerseys a couple years back for religious reasons or whatever should have gotten fined.”
Top comments:
calabreezy: Brains 2/10, strength 10/10, heart 100/10
clions2010: getting really sick of all this woke shit. He’s a hockey player. Ask him about hockey.
sealions4lyfe: I am one alphabet mafia plug away from becoming a Prairie Dogs fan s2g
hockeyisforeveryone: [clapping emoji]
(From postgame media, Sea Lions @ Ottawa, 11/13/2025)
Kilian squirmed in his seat on the Sea Lions’ charter plane.
He was sitting by himself. Breezy had said some nice stuff to the press in Ottawa which made Kilian ache to reach out, to admit he had reacted poorly and should have long since begged for forgiveness about Halloween.
Even Luca had attempted a pep talk in the bus after the game, which had pained Luca so intensely Kilian ought to make amends on principle.
But Kilian didn’t know how to get over his painful embarrassment after revealing his sexuality only to discover a room full of men he looked up to had been there and done that, and none of them had seen fit to reach out to him.
To be there for him when he went through the same thing.
Everyone always reminded him how young he was as an explanation of why he fucked up so much.
No one seemed to think he might need some help or guidance—if they thought of him at all.
He was a footnote, a minor character in their stories.
The self-centered turn of his own thoughts disgusted even him.
Thankfully, Kilian had more pleasant things to occupy his mind, and the luxury of a charter plane meant he had Wi-Fi to pursue them.
howza68: i scored a goal 4 u
ddenisov88: For me? Not for your team?
Kilian snorted and sank deeper in his chair. His team would do fine without him. It was his fault they were a goalie short and his fault they lost in Montreal.
howza68: for you
ddenisov88: Because you’re greedy and you want me to make you come.
howza68: yup
ddenisov88: fyi, “yup” is not a sexy word.
howza68: but you said yes sir was out.
He grinned as the beeping of an incoming call interrupted the music on his wireless headphones.
“I’m on the team plane,” he told Damir.
Damir. The name fit him well. Kilian was proud of himself for asking if he could use it. It seemed like the functional adult thing to do with your…fuckbuddy? Friend with benefits? Occasional long-distance hookup?
Anyway, if he had sex with the guy semiregularly, he should be able to use his first name.
“You’ll have to be quiet, then,” Damir said. “Can you do that for me?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Good. But you’re always good, aren’t you? You act like a brat for attention, but all you want is to be my good girl.”
Kilian bit his lip and pulled the charter-provided blanket over his lap.
They’d driven straight to the airport after the game, which meant he hadn’t changed out of his suit.
Erections in formal wear were the worst. His game-day suits made him look like a twelve-year-old dressing up as an accountant.
Getting hard in them leveled him up to creepy accountant skeeving on his coworkers in the bathroom.
Heedless of Kilian’s discomfort, Damir continued in a low, hoarse voice. “I think I should tie you up next time so you can’t try to do anything. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Being nothing but a hole for me to use?”
A surge of precome dripped from the head of Kilian’s cock.
It wasn’t his fault; he was twenty. He was horny all the time, and Damir had nearly gotten him off over the phone yesterday before denying him. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours in a hazy state of constant arousal.
When they’d hung up, he’d thought he was calm enough.
So what if he hadn’t come? He’d live. He’d ordered room service and turned on the TV, intent on wallowing in his own failures.
He ignored the shit-squillion messages from his dad asking why he’d been benched and whether he could call Coach Lindenberg to talk to her about it.
When his grandpa tried calling as well, Kilian had to turn his phone off entirely.
But as the evening wore on, the memory of everything Damir had said over the phone kept occurring and reoccurring to him, and he’d gone to bed half hard. He’d woken up in the morning humping his pillow, and ever since, he’d been panting after this moment.
He hadn’t counted on being in public when it happened.
“Bet you’d be a perfect hole,” Damir said. “I could fuck you, fill up your pussy till you’re wet and sloppy with my come, and then leave you unsatisfied and begging for more.”
“No!” Kilian whispered before remembering he needed to be quiet and shutting his mouth tight.
Damir tutted. “Not so perfect after all.”
Biting his lip against the urge to tell Damir he would try harder and do better, Kilian sank lower in his seat.
The movement caused his cock to brush against the silk of his boxers, an indulgence he allowed himself on game days.
The smooth fabric made the dullness of wearing suits more bearable.
When he’d chosen the underwear that morning, he hadn’t known it would also be a magnificent tease, the material a whisper of sensation against hot, throbbing flesh.
“That’s better. You can beg for me some other time, hm? I like to hear you when you get all whiny and desperate.”
It was a good thing Kilian wasn’t allowed to talk because he’d claim he didn’t get whiny and desperate, and they’d both know he was lying. And then Damir would have to punish him for lying, and he could lay Kilian over his knee and—
Another pulse went through Kilian’s cock, leaving wet, sticky trails soaking into his boxers. When he squirmed, the damp fabric provided less friction, and, perversely, not getting what he wanted made him pulse even more.
“Are you being good for me?”
Kilian imagined Damir standing over him, asking. He imagined being on his knees with Damir’s thick cock between his lips, imagined being on his belly getting railed just right, imagined being held just right.
He didn’t say anything.
“Perfect girl.”
The words were hardly more than a whisper, but it was enough.
Kilian bit the inside of his cheek as he came in shaky, hot pulses, seeping through his underwear and into his pants. Pleasure and shame warred within him, the humiliation almost as sweet as the orgasm itself. He was breathing fast. A flush ran down his neck and chest.
The blood rushing through his ears slowed a little, leaving only the roar of the jet engines.
Kilian unclenched his jaw. His mouth had gone dry. He shivered as sweat cooled on his skin.
“I,” he said. He couldn’t say he’d finished out loud, not on the team plane.
“Oh, I know.” They weren’t on video call, but Kilian had a good idea what Damir looked like when he sounded that smug.
“You sounded beautiful trying not to scream. I bet you were. I’m going to think about you later, when I’m in bed.
How you shot off in your pants to nothing more than my voice.
How you have to wait out the whole flight in your own mess. I’d lick you clean if I could.”
“Jesus,” Kilian hissed. His spent cock twitched painfully. Then he frowned. “Wait, is it offensive to say ‘Jesus?’ Do you say ‘Mohammed’ when something is really hot?”
Damir laughed. “What the fuck? No, of course I don’t!”
Kilian breathed a sigh of relief. With his voice lowered to a whisper so no one would overhear him, he said, “I thought so. It would sound weird. Wait, was that offensive? Sorry—”
“Kilian, you have had sex with me. You know what I say and how I sound.”
“Yeah, but you could have been hiding stuff, or not saying what you’d usually say.”
A long pause followed. Kilian wondered if he’d fucked this up somehow, said something to alienate Damir.
“Do you hide things?” Damir asked.
“With other people,” Kilian admitted, “who don’t know about…”
“Ah. Right. Well, the answer is no. I’m not censoring myself, and I’ve never had the urge to invoke the prophet during sex.”
“Cool.”
Damir chuckled again. Kilian wondered if he was shaking his head at Kilian’s ridiculousness.
“Sorry for ruining the mood,” he said.
“No, no, it’s good. I’m hiding in a supply closet. I have to go drive Ketchup home, but I’d rather not do it with an erection.”
“Oh. Well, then you’re welcome.” The time had come for the call to end, but Kilian couldn’t let him go on this note. “Hey, if you…you know, later, send pics.”
“If you’re lucky. Good game tonight, Kilian.”
“Thanks.”
Damir hung up, leaving Kilian to shuffle awkwardly to the bathroom to clean up the mess he’d made.
Worth it.
He settled back into his seat, covering his lap with the blanket.
Around him, the hum of familiar voices seeped in now his headphones were off.
Jax meandered up and down the aisle between seats, growing louder and then quieter as he checked in with various teammates.
Behind Kilian, Dmitriyev and Abrahamov spoke in Russian, the low hum taking on a musical quality, lulling Kilian into closing his eyes.
He could barely make out Tom amidst the other sounds, talking quietly.
He wondered who Tom was talking to. Maybe Mooney? Or Luca? Or Breezy?
Kilian wanted to talk to Breezy. He wanted to tell him about Damir, about the messages from Kilian’s dad piling up in his inbox, about all the things he felt alone with. But he knew that before he could, he had to make amends.