Chapter 19 #2
They race to the bedroom and shut the door behind them—no need for feline interruptions. Nick moves towards the bed, but a tug on his jersey halts him in his tracks. “Oh, no you don’t,” Matt purrs. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed red just from looking at Nick like this.
Nick doesn’t feel small anymore. Not one bit.
He stands still as Matt’s hands roam over him, across his solid armor-covered shoulders, down his chest—taking particular care to stroke reverent fingers over his C—lusty smile turning fond for just a moment.
With Matt looking gorgeous in that suit, it feels like Nick’s just won a game and Matt’s come down to reward him.
It’s excruciating, waiting like this.
“Y’know, it’s a good thing I used to play hockey myself,” Matt starts, low and conversational, hands creeping up beneath Nick’s jersey as he crowds in close to him.
“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Nick asks, breath hitching as Matt’s tongue trails up his neck, teeth just barely threatening a bite. His nose presses into the hinge of Nick’s jaw and he pauses.
“Because your pads smell fucking disgusting. Jesus, I can’t believe it’s not a turn-off for me.” Matt snuffles a laugh against his skin, shaking his head as Nick freezes.
“I, uh, gotta say, I didn’t notice.” They don’t smell nearly as bad as they do on a game day, but now that he’s paying attention, he will admit there is a strong scent of sweaty leather that’s not exactly attractive. “Sorry, I can—” He goes to move away, but Matt grips him tight by the wrists.
“Like I said, surprisingly not a turn-off,” he insists, sucking Nick’s lower lip between his teeth with a wink. The next kiss is far too short for Nick’s liking, and Nick can’t help the whine he lets out when they part.
“This look is doing a lot for me, don’t get me wrong,” Matt assures him with a rakish smirk, trailing his fingers across the dragon on Nick’s chest, “but if we keep up with this I’m going to get hard every time I watch you play, and that’s gonna raise some awkward questions.”
“You mean you don’t already?”
Matt laughs at Nick’s playful pout and tugs the jersey over his head—or, at least, tries to. “You clipped your tie-down?” This laugh is louder, and Nick’s cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“Honestly I didn’t think about it.” Putting his gear on is a reflex these days.
He completely forgot that the whole point of it this time was to get it taken off him.
Matt snorts, kissing him on the cheek as he wraps his arms around him, searching for the strap inside the back of his jersey that keeps it clipped to his shorts.
“You fucking dork.”
At last the jersey is on the floor, and Matt’s gaze trails over Nick’s upper body in his hockey armor and nothing else. Nick is usually an undershirt guy, but not today.
Matt takes care in removing all of the body armor, unclipping it piece by piece with the surety of a fellow hockey player.
Yet, somehow, it’s one of the most sensual things Nick has ever experienced in his life—every graze of Matt’s fingers against his bare skin is an electric shock straight through his nervous system, and he’s practically squirming by the time he’s bare-chested.
He bites his lip, trying not to fidget under Matt’s intense stare.
The musician is still fully clothed and that doesn’t seem fair, but Nick isn’t going to say anything.
This is Matt’s show—Nick’s just rolling with it.
Then Matt slides his padded shorts down and a surprised sort of groan punches out of him. Nick cocks his head.
“You wear garters…” Matt practically whimpers, reaching down with reverent fingers to trace the strip of elastic lying taut over Nick’s bare thigh.
“Oh.” Nick smirks. “Yeah. Not what you expected?”
“Figured you were a sock-tape guy.” Matt doesn’t look away from the garter belt that holds his long hockey socks in place, face flushed and eyes dark. “This is … a nice surprise.”
Nick is frozen solid when Matt drops to his knees in front of him, tugging playfully at the sock garters, letting them snap back against Nick’s skin.
The sharp pain makes his cock jolt, the wet patch growing in the front of his underwear.
He gasps as Matt mouths at it, humming softly.
“Oh, look at you…” Matt sighs in admiration, sitting back on his heels to trace the lines of Nick’s abs with a finger.
It’s hard for Nick to think straight, pulse racing like a jackhammer, utterly mesmerized by how wide Matt’s pupils are blown, barely a thin ring of brown around fathomless black.
“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Matt murmurs, carefully beginning to unclip the garters from the socks.
“You were so thoughtful, getting all dressed up for me. I don’t want it to go to waste.
” He keeps unclipping, but doesn’t move to roll Nick’s socks down.
“So I’m gonna take these off,” he tugs gently at the waistband of Nick’s boxers, pulling them down without disturbing the socks or the now unclipped garter belt.
Skin tingling as his most sensitive parts are exposed to the air, Nick obediently steps out of the underwear—then gasps as Matt reaches for the garter clips once more.
He’s clipping them back on to the socks.
“We’re gonna keep these little beauties right where they belong,” Matt continues. Then he pauses, frowning.
“What?”
“You should maybe take the shin guards off first.” He knocks playfully on Nick’s shin, getting the muffled sound of hitting plastic. “You really did just go into pre-game mode, didn’t you, babe?” He sounds amused, and Nick ducks his head sheepishly.
“I wanted to give you the full effect. Guess that’s sexier in theory than in practice.”
“It’s okay.” Matt’s fingers are tender as he rolls the socks down enough to remove the last of Nick’s armor, then clips them securely.
“We’ll make it work.” The socks are a little baggy without the pads filling them out, but Nick finds it hard to care when Matt’s got that smoldering look on his face and his fingertips are playing with the garter straps.
“Put this back on,” Matt instructs, holding out the deep-crimson jersey, “and get on the bed.” Matt leans in for a kiss, short but hot, playfully biting Nick’s lower lip as he pulls away.
Scrambling into the jersey, Nick reaches out to touch Matt’s shirt, following the pattern of the lace. “You gonna take this off?”
“Not yet.” Matt shrugs out of his blazer. His peaked nipples are visible through the sheer shirt, his biceps flexing in the tight confines of the sleeves. He slowly rolls those sleeves up to his elbows, eyes never leaving Nick.
Nick swallows hard, fingers clenched around the hem of his jersey.
Then he crawls onto the bed, on his hands and knees, shooting a sultry look over his shoulder.
His jersey rides up just far enough to give Matt a perfect view of his ass, framed by his garters.
Nick has never felt so slutty in his life.
A thrill shoots through him, watching the way Matt’s cock strains at his underwear, his slacks undone and starting to slide down his hips.
“How are you even real?” Matt groans. He clambers onto the mattress behind Nick, the hem of his shirt tickling the sensitive skin of Nick’s inner thighs.
Nick holds steady, resisting the urge to rock back against him.
He feels Matt trace the large number nine on his back, then each of the letters of his name.
Long fingers trail down to the edge of his jersey, pushing it up a little higher.
When he snaps the garter elastic once more, Nick’s cock jerks, and he cries out.
An apologetic kiss is pressed to the base of his spine.
“Look at you,” Matt murmurs. Nick can barely hear him over the blood pounding in his ears. “My beautiful NHL star, all dressed up for me.” He runs a hand gently over the swell of Nick’s backside. “Best ass in the league, no doubt about it.”
A huff of laughter escapes Nick, turning into more of a whine as Matt’s fingertips slip between his cheeks.
“I want you to think of this every time you wear this jersey from now on. Because God knows I will be,” Matt growls.
And then something else is touching Nick’s ass.
Wet, firm muscle, spearing right into his center as firm hands pull his thighs wider.
Nick swears loudly, the intrusion of Matt’s tongue chasing all other thoughts from his head.
It’s all he can do to brace himself on his arms, pressing back against Matt’s face, desperate for more.
Nick wishes he could see what Matt sees, knows he must be a hell of a sight in his jersey and garters, pliant and submissive for the musician.
More than that, he wishes he could see Matt, who as far as he’s aware is still mostly dressed—hadn’t even bothered taking his makeup off before rimming Nick into oblivion.
Maybe he can get a mirror for the bedroom. That’s something to think about, once he’s capable of more thoughts than just “Yes, God, more.”
“Fucking touch me, Matt, come on,” he begs. A dark chuckle is all the warning he gets before another snap of elastic, the shockwave going straight to his cock.
“Patience, baby,” Matt murmurs. “I had to play nice at the party tonight, even though I was counting down the minutes until I could be back here with you. Gave me a lot of time to think about what I wanted to do with you. And then you had to go and flip that on its head by answering the door dressed like that.” Far from annoyed, delight curls around his words, and he strokes gently up Nick’s back beneath the jersey.
“You don’t get to come until I say so tonight, okay?
” Another kiss to his spine, then a sharp bite to his ass cheek. Nick whines louder.
“If you leave a mark, I swear to God…” he grumbles, entirely lacking venom. Bite marks on his ass are not something he wants to have to hide in the locker room. Matt snorts, pressing an apologetic kiss to the spot.