Chapter 31 #2
"Don't stop. Drag it through the mess you're making. I want to see your Stanley Cup ring dripping with your own pre-cum."
His face twisted, but he did it, his ring hand sliding up and down his cock, the metal dragging through the pre-cum pooling at the head.
"Why do you wear it?"
His hand kept moving, the ring slick now, and when he answered, his voice was barely a whisper. "Because it's the only thing that feels real. Because everything else feels like it's happening to someone else. Because when I look at it I remember that I can do hard things, even when I'm—"
He broke off with a moan, his cock throbbing in his grip.
"Come on it."
"What?"
"You heard me. Come on your ring. I want to watch you ruin it."
His hand moved faster, his breath ragged and desperate.
He was fighting it, trying to hold back, and then his whole body arched off the bed and he was coming, cum spurting over his fist and his ring and his stomach.
His championship was coated in it, dripping white between the diamonds, and he was shaking.
I was on the bed before I knew I'd moved. I shoved his thighs apart and dragged two fingers through the mess on his stomach and pushed them inside him.
He gasped, his body clenching around me. "Joel—"
"Shut up." But there was no venom in it anymore. I fucked him with my fingers, stretching him open, feeling the heat of him grip and flutter around me. When I found his prostate, he cried out and grabbed for me, his hand landing on my shoulder, the ring wet and cold against my skin.
I turned my head and pressed my mouth to his wrist, tasting the salt of his sweat where it mixed with his cum on the metal. I licked a stripe up his ring finger, taking the taste of him into my mouth, and his whole body shuddered.
"I missed you." I added a third finger, twisting, spreading them apart to feel him stretch. He moaned and bore down on my hand. "I missed you so fucking much, Red."
"Me too. Please—"
"Please what?"
"Fuck me. Please, Joel, I need—"
I pulled my fingers out, and he whined at the loss.
My jeans were unbearable now, the denim rough against my cock, and I shoved them down just far enough to free myself.
I was leaking, the head of my cock flushed and slick, and when I lined up against his hole and pushed in, the sound that came out of me was barely human.
He was so fucking tight. Hot and slick from his own cum on my fingers, his body opening for me inch by inch, and I had to stop halfway just to breathe. My arms were shaking where I braced them on either side of his head.
"Move," he said. "Joel, please, I need you to move."
I bottomed out in one thrust, and we both groaned. He was clenching around me, his body trying to pull me deeper, and I had to hold still for a second just to keep from coming right there.
His grip tightened on my shoulder, the ring pressing harder into my skin, still slick with his cum.
I pulled back slowly, feeling every inch of him drag against me, then slammed back in. His whole body jolted, his head tipping back, a moan punching out of him.
I fucked him hard. My hips drove into his, the headboard hitting the wall, and his nails raked down my back and his legs wrapped around my waist. Every thrust punched another sound out of him.
"I'm sorry." The words came out broken, punctuated by my thrusts. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"Don't." His voice was wrecked. "Don't apologize while you're inside me. Just—" He pulled me down and kissed me.
I slowed down, grinding into him instead of thrusting, and he whined against my mouth.
"Joel, don't stop—"
"Not stopping. Just want to feel you."
I pulled almost all the way out, until just the head of my cock was inside him, then pushed back in slowly.
He was trembling, his hands clutching at my back, and I could feel every flutter and clench of his body around me.
I did it again and again, fucking him slow and deep until he was making a continuous broken sound.
"Harder. Fuck me harder, I can take it."
I shifted the angle, and he gasped, his back arching. His cock was fully hard again now, trapped between our stomachs, leaking onto his skin.
"There," he breathed. "Right there, don't stop—"
I didn't stop. I fucked into him at that angle, hitting his prostate with every thrust, and he was falling apart beneath me. His legs were shaking where they wrapped around my waist, his hands scrabbling at my back, and every thrust drew a sound out of him that went straight to my cock.
I reached between us and wrapped my hand around him, stroking in time with my thrusts, and he sobbed.
"Joel. I can't, it's too much—"
"Yes, you can. You're going to come for me again. I want to feel you come on my cock."
I stroked him rough and fast, my hips never faltering. His ring dug into my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. I wanted the bruise. I wanted to look at it tomorrow and know this had been real.
"Come on," I breathed against his mouth. "Let go."
His second orgasm was sudden and violent. He cried out and clenched around me so tight it almost hurt, his cock pulsing in my hand, cum spilling over my fingers and onto his stomach.
"Come on, Sparkles." His voice was barely there, wrecked and raw. "I want to feel it. Want you to fill me up."
I buried myself deep and came, my hips stuttering, spilling inside him in hot pulses while his body clenched and fluttered around me. My arms barely held me up, everything narrowed down to the feel of him around me and under me and the sound of his breathing in my ear.
I collapsed on top of him. His arms came around my back, holding me there. We were both trembling. His heart pounded against my chest, or maybe that was mine.
I was still inside him. Neither of us moved to change that.
His hand stroked up and down my spine, slow and soothing, and I pressed my face into his neck and breathed him in. He smelled like sweat and sex and rain, and something underneath all of it that was just him, the smell I'd been trying to forget for seven months.
"That doesn't fix anything," Red said finally. "I'm still not ready. I still can't be what you need."
"I know."
"So what are we doing?"
I lifted my head to look at him. His face was flushed, his lip swollen where I'd bitten him, his chest streaked with cum. He looked wrecked. He looked like mine.
"I don't know," I said. "But I'm tired of being without you."
He reached up and touched my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. The ring was warm now, heated by our bodies, and when he kissed me it was soft and tentative, nothing like the desperate collision from before.
I kissed him back and tried not to think about what happened next.
I pulled out of him slowly, and he made a soft sound of loss.
I should have gotten up, found something to clean us both off, but instead I just shifted to the side and pulled him against me.
His head settled on my chest, his leg thrown over mine, and I could feel my cum leaking out of him onto my thigh.
We lay there tangled together while the rain slowed outside, neither of us willing to let go.
I woke up alone.
For a second I thought he'd left, slipped out in the middle of the night the way I'd done to him in New Mexico. But then water ran in the bathroom and I let myself breathe.
The bathroom door opened. Red stood there in his boxers, hair wet and pushed back from his face. The playoff beard was gone.
"You shaved."
"Couldn't stand it anymore." He touched his jaw. "Hope that's okay. That I used your—"
"It's fine."
We stared at each other. He looked younger without the beard, closer to the version of him I'd first met on that rink in New Mexico.
"I should go," he said.
"Yeah."
Neither of us moved.
"I don't know what this was," he said. "Last night. I don't know what it means."
"It doesn't have to mean anything."
"Right." He nodded, but his jaw was tight. "Right, okay."
He started gathering his clothes from the floor. His shirt was still damp. His jeans were worse. He pulled them on anyway, grimacing at the cold fabric.
I sat up. "Where are you staying?"
"I'm not. I flew in last night and I have a flight back at noon."
He'd flown across the country for one night, and now he was leaving.
"You can date other people," he said, still not looking at me. "If you want. I know I can't be what you need right now. So if you meet someone who can actually be with you in public, you should—"
"I don't want to."
He finally looked at me.
"I don't want to date other people," I said. "I don't want someone who can be with me in public. I want you."
"Joel—"
"That doesn't mean I'm waiting around forever. It doesn't mean everything's fine now. It just means I'm not interested in anyone else."
He crossed back to the bed and kissed me, his hand cupping my jaw.
"I'm going to figure it out," he said against my mouth. "I don't know how yet, but I'm going to."
"Okay."
He pulled back. His thumb traced my cheekbone one more time, the ring catching the morning light. Then he grabbed his shoes and walked out of my bedroom.
The front door opened and closed.
I lay back down and stared at the ceiling, the scent of him still on my sheets.