“Hey, guys! Who’s ready to work out with me?”
Tristan grinned at the group of children clustered around him as a bunch of short arms shot up. He was in the gymnasium of a local Atlanta junior high, along with Ryu and Bellzie, as part of the Venom’s HeartSmart Program, which promoted fitness and healthy eating. Tristan’s contract obligated him to participate in a few of these charity activities every season, but unlike some of his teammates, who grumbled when it was their turn, he actually looked forward to participating. He enjoyed being out in the community, doing something tangible to make a difference, and the kids always seemed so excited. He couldn’t help but get caught up in their enthusiasm.
Tristan clapped his hands. “You kids on the left, spread out a bit. We’re going to do some basic exercises—jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, stuff like that. The others are going to run through the obstacle course with Ryu and Bellzie. But don’t worry, okay? We’ll switch in half an hour so everyone gets a turn. After that, we’re all going to sit down and talk about the importance of nutrition and staying in shape. Sound good?”
After a chorus of “Yeahs,” Tristan nodded at Ryu, who had a strained expression on his face. Bellzie, on the other hand, smiled broadly, his hair a mess of brown curls and his blue eyes sparkling.
The smile might have surprised people who only knew Daniel Bellamy as the hard-nosed hockey player who always stepped up for his teammates and never backed down from a fight, but outside of the rink, Tristan knew him to be unfailingly kind. He always volunteered for outreach programs involving children, he owned a nonprofit, no-kill animal shelter, and he even rescued homeless cats and dogs in his spare time. Literally rescued—driving or flying around the country to help transport them to new homes. He’d also founded an organization, Pucks and Paws, with his equally lovely wife to help with the cause.
Sometimes Tristan could barely believe Bellzie was a real person who actually existed. If it hadn’t been for Tabby, Bellzie’s beautiful—and ridiculously sweet and genuine—wife, Tristan probably would’ve fallen in love with him years ago.
As it was, Tristan still nursed a bit of a crush and perhaps a lingering case of hero worship. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone.
“Come on. I bet you guys can fly through this thing.” Bellzie waved the kids over to the obstacle course the three of them had set up earlier with Venom-donated equipment. “Who thinks they can beat my time?” There were a few “Mes,” and Bellzie laughed. “Oh, is that so?”
A couple of kids replied, and he grinned, interacting easily with the group as they walked. Ryu trailed awkwardly behind. He looked so stilted and uncomfortable as one of the preteens tried to engage him in conversation that Tristan wanted to laugh.
Instead, he turned back to his own group. A dozen sets of eyes stared at him expectantly.
“Okay, guys. Let’s start with twenty-five jumping jacks! Katrina, why don’t you count them out for us?”
The little blonde girl smiled and nodded eagerly.
After a few minutes, they moved onto push-ups. Tristan demonstrated some alternatives to make the push-ups easier and more child friendly, then spent the rest of the time offering encouragement and correcting their forms as needed.
By the time they left the school, he’d worked up a surprising amount of sweat. Compared to the stuffiness of the gym and the collective odor of a few dozen perspiring preteens, the fresh breeze and low-sixties weather felt like stepping into paradise—or maybe onto a freshly pressed sheet of ice.
Tristan sighed in appreciation as the wind cooled the drying moisture at the base of his spine. Despite the steadily declining temperatures as late November approached, for a native Wisconsinite like himself, it might as well have been summer. He couldn’t say he missed the brisk autumns or brutal winters of home.
“Thank fuck that’s over with,” Ryu said as they crossed the parking lot to their cars.
Bellzie laughed. “I thought you were going to break into hives when that one boy hugged you.”
Ryu shuddered. “There should be a ‘don’t touch the hockey players’ disclaimer before we’re forced to engage with them.”
“What are you going to do if they ignore that rule?” Tristan asked with a grin. “Cross-check them?”
“I wish,” Ryu muttered under his breath.
Bellzie clapped him on the back. “You’ll survive the cooties, Ryu. Take a shower when you get home.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
Bellzie stopped next to his hybrid Lexus SUV. Because of course he’d drive an eco-conscious vehicle. “Sorry to skip out on lunch,” he said as he withdrew his keys from his pocket. “Tabby and I are taking the kids to a birthday party. Rain check?”
Tristan nodded. “Sure, Bellzie. See you tomorrow.” He turned to Ryu as Bellzie started his car. “Thai?”
“Yep. Meet you there.”
It was a week before Thanksgiving when Tristan realized he wouldn’t be able to go home for the holiday. The Venom had a game the night before and then a matinee on Black Friday. He’d spend a few hundred on a flight and then have to leave immediately after dinner. If he was lucky, he might be in Wisconsin for a grand total of twenty-four hours. As much as he wanted to spend the time with his family—and he did, after not having seen them in months—it seemed more logical to save the trip for the Christmas break when he’d be able to stay for a few days. But that meant he’d have to make other plans. He didn’t want to spend the day alone is his apartment with a frozen dinner instead of homemade turkey and stuffing.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked Sebastian over dinner that night. They were at Sebastian’s favorite Puerto Rican restaurant in Marietta, which he’d introduced Tristan to on a date last month.
Sebastian looked up from his plate of rice and bacalao. Thanks to the menu, Tristan knew that meant codfish. Tristan had ordered the roasted pork shoulder and extra tostones—crunchy, salty fried plantains that he wished he could eat by the dozen.
“Nothing special,” Sebastian said. “Grading papers.”
“You won’t be going to visit your family?”
Sebastian shook his head and gestured vaguely with his hand. “I spoke to my mother earlier this month, and she told me they were going to spend a few weeks in Puerto Rico with her cousins. Honestly, I’m not sure I would have gone back anyway. My father never quite manages to hide his disappointment, and my mother continually invites her friends’ daughters over to shove them in my face.”
Tristan winced. His mom asked about his love life, but she at least never tried to set him up with random women. “But she knows you’re gay.”
Sebastian sighed. “Yes. Hope springs eternal. She also laments her lack of grandchildren. Loudly and often. Puerto Rican mothers do enjoy a good guilt-trip.”
Tristan chuckled. “Isn’t that all moms, though? Mine does it too.”
Sebastian’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “I suppose so. Are you going to your parents’?”
“No. That’s why I asked, actually. It’s not feasible because of the schedule.” Tristan scooped some rice onto a plantain and popped it in his mouth. “We should do something together,” he added once he swallowed. “Neither of us can cook, but I’m sure we can buy something to throw in the oven. One of those prepared packages that comes with stuffing and cranberry sauce and all that.”
“I like that idea,” Sebastian said with a slight smile. “As long as you don’t plan to make me watch football.”
Tristan scoffed. “Of course not. There are hockey games that day too.”
The packaged-dinner idea ended up being a stroke of genius on Tristan’s part. Everything came precooked with instructions for reheating, and it was pretty much impossible to screw up, even for a pair of guys who weren’t exactly proficient in the kitchen.
Tristan ate way too much turkey and devoured almost half of a surprisingly good pumpkin pie before slumping onto the couch in Sebastian’s living room. He groaned when he saw the score on the television screen. The Memphis Marauders were destroying the Miami Thunder, which pissed Tristan off because the Marauders had taken the Venom out of the playoffs last season. Plus, he actually liked the Thunder. Unlike the shithead Marauders, they weren’t a group of raging assholes who dove and threw dirty hits.
Tristan’s irritation added to the day’s melancholy tone—or at least it felt that way to him. He’d been slightly off all afternoon, missing his family, though he tried to ignore the feeling and focus on his boyfriend and sharing their first holiday together. Sebastian seemed relaxed and happy to have Tristan there. It should’ve been enough.
Annoyed at himself, Tristan left Sebastian to his paper grading and went to the kitchen to load the dishwasher. He’d just finished pouring in the detergent and starting the cycle when he noticed his phone buzzing on the counter.
Tristan snatched it up, and the name on the screen brought an automatic smile to his face. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. Happy Thanksgiving! How did your food come out? Did you and your friend enjoy it?”
“Happy Thanksgiving. It was fine. I didn’t burn anything, so there’s that.”
His mother laughed. “We missed you today. Your father and Brian are watching football. Well, Brian is. Your father is snoring in his La-Z-Boy.”
Tristan could perfectly envision the picture she’d described, and it set off a pang in his chest. “I miss you guys too. I would’ve come up if not for the game tomorrow.”
“It’s okay, honey. We’ll see you at Christmas. It’s not like you control the schedule, and it doesn’t make sense for you to spend all that money to be here for one day. We understand.”
“How’s everyone? What’s Hannah up to?”
“She’s right here, waving for me to give her the phone. You have a good night. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
His mother passed the phone to his sister, and Tristan spent a few minutes listening to her talk about her classes and the guy she’d been seeing since the Homecoming dance. He eventually got handed off to Brian and then his groggy-sounding father.
Tristan ended the call after another half an hour. The ache in his chest had intensified until it felt stifling, and he had to take a few breaths before he could rejoin Sebastian in the living room. He slumped onto the couch next to Sebastian, who glanced up from his laptop and gave Tristan a long, considering look.
“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asked.
Tristan shrugged one shoulder, grumbling something indistinct. He didn’t want to bitch to Sebastian about missing his family when Sebastian’s parents hadn’t even bothered calling him and probably would’ve made him feel like a disappointment if they had.
Sebastian set his laptop on the coffee table and turned to give Tristan his full attention. “Come here.”
Tristan wasn’t really in the mood for much of anything aside from lazing on the couch, but he couldn’t resist the command in Sebastian’s tone. He slid a few inches closer, and Sebastian cupped his nape, giving it a light squeeze.
“Here.” Sebastian looked pointedly at his own lap.
Tristan stared for a moment, his heartbeat stalling before kicking into overdrive. Sebastian tugged on his nape, and Tristan took in a shuddery breath and allowed himself to be maneuvered until he was draped across Sebastian’s wiry thighs.
Sebastian pulled down Tristan’s sweatpants until the waistband rested around his knees. The jock left his ass bare, and as the cool air hit his skin, Tristan shivered, his cock stiffening.
“So fucking perfect,” Sebastian said, almost idly. “I think it’s time I tan these cheeks, don’t you? Put my mark all over them.”
Tristan moaned quietly, his dick going from half-interested to fully hard in a matter of seconds. “Yes.”
“Tell me if you need me to stop.”
That was his only warning before Sebastian began to spank him—quick, light taps at first. A warm-up.
Tristan squirmed, torn between embarrassment and arousal. He’d never been in this position before, not even as a child. His parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment. His father had never put Tristan over his knee.
Partially it was humiliating. Tristan couldn’t imagine what his teammates would say if they could see him right now, in the middle of the living room with his sweatpants around his knees, being spanked by his boyfriend like a naughty little kid. The thought made Tristan flush and wriggle even more.
And yet . . . it also thrilled him, the idea of them finding out, of them seeing, knowing. As long as it was something that only happened in his head, it turned Tristan on to picture how they’d react.
Sebastian delivered a sharper slap, and Tristan jumped and yelped. Heat diffused through his ass cheek afterward, making his cock flex against Sebastian’s thigh. He groaned, swiveling his hips.
Sebastian hit him again, harder. He didn’t focus on one particular spot but spread the blows evenly across Tristan’s ass, on his upper thighs, and even the sensitive crease where they met.
Tristan knew he was making noise, maybe even babbling. The words themselves were meaningless. All that mattered was the sensation—the heat, the pain that somehow morphed to pleasure, the resounding crack of a palm against his skin.
For a while, Tristan lost himself.
When awareness returned, Tristan had tears streaming down his face, though he couldn’t remember when he’d started crying. Sebastian was gently stroking his back, murmuring softly, nonsense Tristan couldn’t comprehend. His ass fucking burned, and even Sebastian’s palm felt hot as it coasted along Tristan’s spine. In spite of the waterworks, his cock was still rock-hard and slippery from sweat and the pre-come he’d been leaking on Sebastian’s denim-covered thigh, but Tristan didn’t feel inclined to try to do anything about it right then.
He let Sebastian soothe him, and basked in the attention. Eventually Sebastian led him to the bedroom, where he made Tristan lie facedown on the bed, and rubbed some sort of cream on his ass that instantly eased some of the stinging.
“You should be fine by morning,” Sebastian said. “I don’t think there’ll be anything for your teammates to wonder about. I’ll go harder next time, if you want, when you have a few days off.”
Tristan could only respond with a hum. He drifted in a dreamy haze as Sebastian went back out to the living room to turn off the TV and prepare for bed. He didn’t stir until Sebastian joined him and caressed the side of his face.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” Sebastian asked, his eyes dark and fond.
Tristan turned his head and pressed a kiss to Sebastian’s palm. It took a moment to order his thoughts so he could put them into a coherent sentence. “I . . . I dunno. I was being a baby, I guess. This is the first time I wasn’t able to go home for Thanksgiving. Like, ever. It didn’t make sense to go when everything would be rushed, you know? I didn’t think it would affect me so much, but then I talked to them, and . . .”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry,” Tristan said. “I didn’t mean to spoil your night.”
“You didn’t spoil anything.” Sebastian stroked his cheek again. “Did you like what we did? I thought it might be a good distraction.”
Tristan fought the urge to bury his face in the pillow. Instead, he met Sebastian’s gaze directly. He didn’t really want to have a discussion about being spanked—couldn’t they just do it and not talk about it?—but it was probably necessary. “Yes. I loved it.”
“It wasn’t too much?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay. Good.” Sebastian kissed him lightly. “Sleep now.”
Surrounded by Sebastian’s scent, with his arm a strong, comforting presence around Tristan’s waist, it was easy to obey.