“Tonight’s game between the Atlanta Venom and the St. Louis Spirit is going to be entertaining,” the announcer enthused. “Atlanta’s a young defensive team known for their heavy forecheck. The Spirit bring a lot of speed and a potent offense, and this should be a heck of a good matchup.”
The Fox Sports South music started playing, and Sebastian took the beer the bartender put in front of him with a faint nod of thanks. He was idly watching the fifteenth car commercial in a row when R.J. slid into the seat beside him at the bar, clapping him enthusiastically on the back. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
Like Sebastian, R.J.’s only concession to the early winter weather in Atlanta was a zip-up hoodie. R.J. was from Chicago, and also like Sebastian, enjoyed—and mocked—the South’s version of winter.
Sebastian’s response was a slight smile and a raise of his beer. “Can’t complain.”
R.J. grinned and ordered his own beer, and they chatted about the end of the semester and the flurry of activity that went along with it—grades, faculty meetings, the obligatory parties neither of them wanted to attend. The talk gradually died down as the game started, and Sebastian’s attention strayed to the large television mounted above the bar.
“How’s being a hockey boyfriend going?” R.J. asked, nudging him.
“It’s fine,” Sebastian answered, wincing as the Spirit scored two minutes into the game off a bad defensive turnover. His eyes narrowed as he heard a low grumble from the assembled patrons who were also watching the game. He’d heard that this place, the Blue Line, was the only dedicated hockey bar in Atlanta. He tended to watch Tristan’s away games at home while grading, but as their relationship progressed, it was quickly becoming apparent that he couldn’t do that anymore. His students weren’t getting his full attention, for one. For another, he tended to pace.
R.J. was giving him a look, so Sebastian rolled his eyes and said, “Fine, it’s . . . I’ve never been a sports person, especially team sports. So I’m not used to caring about the outcome of a game.”
“I—”
Before R.J. could finish, the crowd in the bar suddenly started cheering as the Venom captain, Daniel Bellamy, flew down the ice on a breakaway and scored. Sebastian wasn’t the cheering type, but he did half rise off his barstool in solidarity with the excited crowd.
“You being a hockey fan is my new favorite thing,” said R.J., who’d not only stood up and cheered when the Venom scored, he’d given a high five to the bartender.
“It’s stressful,” Sebastian admitted, as they watched the game. “There’s a lot of ways Tristan could get injured on the ice. None of them are pretty.”
“Want me to tell you the statistical likelihood of him sustaining anything more serious than a broken tooth or a bloody lip?”
“No, I absolutely do not want you to tell me that,” Sebastian said, firmly. He finished his beer and nodded when the bartender asked him if he wanted another one.
The game stayed tied at one-one for most of the first period, but with two seconds left on the clock, one of the Spirit forwards slipped the puck behind the goalie and gave the home team a two-one advantage. There were some good-natured groans from the crowd, but not too many.
That all changed in the second period, though. For whatever reason, the Venom weren’t able to counter the Spirit’s last-second goal and found themselves giving up another in the first five minutes. That turned into a three-goal deficit ninety seconds later, and Sebastian winced visibly as the Spirit’s goal horn sounded and the hometown crowd cheered on the television.
They were the only ones cheering. The atmosphere in the Blue Line was a lot different, with groans and a few muttered curses filling the air.
“So you’re learning that being a sports fan will only bring you heartache and pain.” R.J. sipped his second beer. “I think only chicken wings will solve this pain. Want to split some?”
Sebastian was too tense to eat anything, which made him feel ridiculous. It was a regular season game, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the Venom lose before. He’d been to games where they’d lost, both close games and ones like this, where the opponent’s lead seemed insurmountable.
“You need practice before the playoffs,” R.J. said wisely. He patted Sebastian on the arm. “It’s a good thing you have me, your hockey guru. All I ask is some sweet tickets for all the playoff games and when the Venom make the finals.”
“They’re not going to make the first fucking round if they don’t fix their fucking defense,” the bartender muttered, wiping at the counter in front of Sebastian like it would effectively erase the Spirit’s lead.
Sebastian frowned but didn’t say anything. He had to remind himself not everyone was dating a member of said defense. To most people, this was just a game, and they didn’t have the same level of investment he did.
At least, that was what he thought before the Spirit scored again.
“Goddamn it, Holt,” one of the patrons behind him yelled. “That was the third goddamn turnover that was your fucking fault.”
“Holt’s having a three-point game for the other team,” grumbled another.
Sebastian jolted as he felt an elbow in his side.
“Your death glare isn’t helping,” R.J. said with a pointed look. “This is how hockey fans are.”
“Irrational?” Sebastian asked, annoyed.
R.J. nodded. “Yeah,” he said, completely serious. “People live and die with their team, man. It’s just how it is.”
“Fucking Holt. Send his ass back to the minors,” said the guy sitting a few seats down from Sebastian.
“That wasn’t his fault,” Sebastian snapped, barely aware of what he was saying before the words were out of his mouth.
“Yeah?” the guy asked, turning toward him with an aggressive glare. “Whose was it? The officials? The puck? The other team? We’re paying that kid a lot of money for him to fuck up so much.”
“Maybe they’ll trade him somewhere for some goddamn offense,” the bartender groused.
“If the rest of the team did their jobs, it would help.” Sebastian couldn’t believe he was saying these things out loud. He still barely understood the rest of the team’s job, but all he knew was that there was a team. Tristan was not responsible for the outcome of an entire game and the idea that he would be was ridiculous.
When the Spirit scored yet another goal, R.J. clapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, I think we gotta go. I’ll pick up the check and you can repay me in tickets.” He cleared his throat. “When they get these defensive issues sorted out.”
“Oh, don’t you start,” Sebastian growled, standing up and shrugging into his hoodie. Despite R.J.’s offer, he got some cash out of his wallet and tried to figure out, in his head, the amount of his bill.
“Twelve bucks should cover it, with tip,” said R.J., helpfully. Sometimes having a math wizard for a friend was a good idea. “How about next time, you come over to my place with a six-pack and I’ll cook. I think that might be safer for everyone.”
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Sebastian protested. They headed out of the bar, but as they did so, the assembled patrons gave a half-hearted cheer. Sebastian’s phone buzzed in his pocket. The NHL app, alerting him to a scoring change. He paused.
“Stats don’t lie, friend.” R.J. grabbed the door and hustled him outside into the chilly weather. “This one’s a lost cause. Need a lift home?”
Sebastian shook his head. “I only had two beers. But thanks for meeting me.” He smiled wryly. “Next time, you’re right. I’ll take you up on that offer of hanging out at your place.”
“Poor Tris. Tell him—”
“R.J.,” Sebastian interrupted him. “I’m not telling him anything having to do with hockey.”
Undaunted, R.J. grinned and waved, heading off to his car. By the time Sebastian arrived home, his phone had gone off twice—once more for a Venom goal, and then another for the Spirit. The score was now seven-three in favor of the Spirit. The app informed him that there’d been a goalie change for the Venom, but it didn’t stop the Spirit from scoring yet another goal in the third.
The final score was eight-three. Sebastian made himself watch the end of the game, standing in front of the television with his arms crossed over his chest and scowling. His brand-new DVR box blinked merrily as he watched his boyfriend’s defeated team head down the tunnel when it was finally over. He’d opted-in to Direct TV just to catch Tristan’s games, which made him feel a little ridiculous. Sometimes if Tristan had an off night, he’d put other teams’ games on if he was over. If someone would have told him last year how much hockey he’d be watching, he would have laughed.
His father had always been a baseball fan, but Sebastian found baseball boring as fuck. Some of the guys were hot, but that was about the extent of his interest. Games had never made him nervous, even when the Yankees had been in the World Series when he was a teenager.
About an hour after the game, Sebastian’s phone delivered a message from Tristan that only said, Ugh.
He’d learned how to deal with Tristan in a bad mood. He wrote back, I’ll make you forget it next time I see you.
If Coach doesn’t send me to Macon after that game, came Tristan’s response. It was somehow morose even over text. Sebastian didn’t know what to say after that. He could usually tell when Tristan was in the mood for some sexting and when he wasn’t. It was definitely the latter in this situation.
Sexting. Something else Sebastian wouldn’t have seen himself doing a year ago.
It was a Friday night, and the only thing he had planned was to go to bed at a reasonable hour and get up and go for a run. It was a shame Tristan wasn’t in the mood for some phone sex, because Sebastian would have enjoyed the opportunity to cheer him up.
He settled back in his bed, idly stroking his cock through his pajama pants as he thought about Tristan and spanking his bad mood out of him like he’d done at Thanksgiving. That had been intense, and he’d worried it was too much, but it had seemed to do the trick in pulling Tristan out of his funk. He hated seeing Tristan’s eyes dim and shadowed.
Scowling, Sebastian made himself think about smacking Tristan’s firm ass, not about his sad eyes. But the recriminations of the other hockey fans were hard to get out of his head, and finally Sebastian gave up and checked his phone again. No message from Tristan, but he was probably headed home and would go straight to bed. Sebastian would contact him tomorrow when he’d had a chance to sleep and rest, and then see about making him forget that game.
He was settling in to read a bit when there was a knock at his door, which was accompanied by a text message that said, Hey if you’re up can I come in?
Tristan.
It was a little after midnight, which meant Tristan must have come straight over from the airport. He padded to the door and opened it to reveal Tristan, a Venom duffel slung over his shoulder. He was dressed in his suit, but sans tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned. He looked tired. “Hey.”
Sebastian moved aside so he could come in. “Hi.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I came over.” Tristan dropped his bag in the hallway and pushed the door closed with his foot. “Tonight sucked.”
“I watched the game,” Sebastian said, then wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have. It made Tristan’s face fall and his broad shoulders tighten and droop at the same time.
“I sucked.”
“Seemed like a game when no one was playing their best.” Was that the right thing to say? Tristan had been bummed after a loss before, but not quite like this. He’d never come over right after an away game trip, either.
“I— Um—” Tristan gave him a slight smile, but it was a poor shade of his usual grin “—could use a hug.”
“Of course.” Sebastian stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace, tightening his arms. “I’m sorry it didn’t go well.”
“Thanks.” Tristan’s sigh echoed through his entire body, pressed up against Sebastian’s. “I know it’s stupid to blame everything on myself, but . . . I’m kind of blaming it all on myself.” He drew back and gave Sebastian a searching look.
Sebastian knew that look. It meant Tristan needed something to get him out of his head, and Sebastian might not know what to say, exactly, but he had a good idea of what might work.
“I want you to do it when the moment feels right.”
“Come with me.” Sebastian took his hand and led him toward the bedroom. “Leave your bag there.”
“I should—”
“Don’t talk unless I ask you a question,” Sebastian interrupted, giving Tristan a glare he knew Tristan would respond to. Sure enough, his fair skin flushed and Tristan nodded, glancing down at the floor.
“Look at me,” Sebastian ordered softly, and Tristan raised his head and met Sebastian’s eyes. The need on his face was so intense it made Sebastian’s cock harden in seconds. “I’m going to take care of you. All right?”
Some of the tension seemed to ease in Tristan’s stance—not a lot, but some. He nodded again, and Sebastian tugged him in and kissed him gently on the mouth. “Good.” With that, he dropped Tristan’s hand and headed to the bedroom, expecting that Tristan would follow.
He did. Sebastian’s room was lit only by the bedside lamp, and he went over and flipped on the overhead light. Blinking, Tristan glanced at him curiously.
Sebastian wanted the bright light to not only keep Tristan awake and focused, but also to make him feel exposed, on display. Put the attention on him again, but this time, it would be for something good. Sebastian didn’t bother to share any of those reasons with Tristan. It was enough that he wanted it that way.
“Strip,” said Sebastian. “I don’t want a show. I want you naked, fast. But keep everything tidy.”
Tristan shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the chair by the window. He followed it up with his dress shirt and his undershirt, folding them and placing them on the edge of Sebastian’s dresser. Then he sat on the chair to take off his shoes and socks, which he pushed neatly out of the way. His fingers went to his belt to undo his pants. While he was undressing methodically and definitely wasn’t doing it to be sexy, Sebastian was still enjoying watching as Tristan bared that gorgeous body of his.
Tristan’s fingers paused at the waistband of his boxer briefs, and he raised his eyebrows in question.
“I said naked, didn’t I?” Sebastian kept his voice cool and even. His erection was probably obvious in his pajama pants, but he couldn’t help that. He didn’t want to, either. He wanted Tristan to know how much this turned him on. How much Tristan turned him on. “You remember to say stop if something gets too intense, all right? You can answer me.”
“Yeah. I remember. I will.” Tristan stepped out of his boxer briefs and turned to put them on the dresser, giving Sebastian a mouth-watering view of his ass. Remembering how it felt to spank that ass made Sebastian’s cock even harder.
“Come over here and kneel on the bed. Put your hands behind your back.” Sebastian didn’t have a plan, per se, but he had a good idea of what to do to bring Tristan out of his head.
Once Tristan was kneeling, Sebastian stared at him and made him wait. Made him feel exposed under the harsh lights, waiting for whatever Sebastian told him to do next.
He finally moved so he was standing in front of Tristan. Luckily, Sebastian’s bed was relatively low to the ground, or this might not work given how tall Tristan was. As it was, he still had to stretch a little to get a good grip in Tristan’s hair. “What’s the matter? Tell me.”
“I—” Tristan swallowed, hard. “I fucked up, and my team was humiliated on the ice.”
Sebastian held his head still and slapped him across the face. It wasn’t particularly hard, but that wasn’t the point of this. Tristan’s skin mottled immediately from the contact, though, which was both arousing and concerning. Sebastian drew his fingers over the reddened skin, and he heard Tristan’s quick indrawn breath at the contrast.
“Why was that your fault?” He pulled a little harder on Tristan’s hair. “Tell me.”
“I didn’t do what I was supposed to.” Tristan’s eyes were very wide. “I’m supposed to defend the puck, not give it up to the other team so they can score.”
Sebastian smacked him again. Tristan made a sound, and glancing down, Sebastian saw Tristan’s cock begin to harden. He smiled inwardly. Good. “You had a bad game. You didn’t play as well as you could have. Neither did the rest of your team.”
“But I—”
Sebastian smacked him again, a bit harder this time. Tristan’s breath escaped in a soft groan, and his cock was fully hard now. “I didn’t say you could talk, did I?”
Tristan shook his head. His chest was moving as his breath quickened.
“Mmm. You’ll practice and do better next time.” Admittedly, Sebastian was a bit out of his depth here when it came to hockey pep talks. “Won’t you.” He gave Tristan one last slap, his hand tingling from the contact.
“Yeah,” Tristan said, half-moan, half-whisper. “I will.”
Sebastian gentled his hold on Tristan’s hair, leaned in, and kissed him. He softly stroked Tristan’s abused cheek with the fingers of his other hand. “Then there’s nothing else to worry about right now. Is there.”
When Tristan didn’t answer right away, Sebastian smiled against his mouth and then pulled back, grabbing and pulling Tristan’s hair again. “Is there,” he repeated, and smacked him one more time. This should do it.
“No.” Tristan’s big body was trembling, his arms still behind his back and his cock flushed and hard. “There isn’t.” He blinked a few times.
“Stay there,” Sebastian said firmly, stroking Tristan’s face. He pulled off his pajama pants and tugged his shirt over his head so he was naked, then climbed on the bed and positioned himself behind Tristan. “You see yourself in the mirror, yeah?”
The mirror was directly across the bed, and Sebastian enjoyed the sight they made with Tristan, face red and cock hard and ready, kneeling there on his bed with Sebastian behind him.
When Tristan didn’t say anything, Sebastian bit him lightly on the shoulder. “I asked you a question.”
“I can, yeah.”
Sebastian ran his hands over Tristan’s back, his chest, and pressed his own hard cock against Tristan’s firm ass. “Don’t look away.” He took Tristan’s cock in his hand and started to stroke.
“I’m not— I don’t—” Tristan’s breath was coming faster and faster, his hips involuntarily pushing his cock into Sebastian’s hand.
“I know. You don’t like this. All the attention. All the focus. But it feels good, doesn’t it?” He found that spot on Tristan’s neck he knew drove him crazy and sucked on it lightly. “Tell me. Doesn’t my hand feel good on you?”
“Yeah,” Tristan panted. “It does.” His eyes slid closed after a few more strokes.
Sebastian stopped, let go of Tristan’s cock and pinched sharply at his inner thigh. “I told you to keep your eyes open and look at yourself. Look at us.”
Tristan groaned, and Sebastian could taste the slight tang of sweat on his skin as he went back to stroking him. “You can feel how hard you make me, can’t you?” He pushed himself against Tristan’s ass. His thumb glanced over the tip of Tristan’s cock. “I asked you a question. You still have to answer me.”
“I can feel you— Fuck, Sebastian.” Tristan panted, mouth open. The rest of his body was turning red too, as if Sebastian had smacked him everywhere.
“Mmm.” Sebastian stroked him harder and faster, slipping his other hand down and teasing Tristan’s hole with two fingers. “You’re going to watch yourself come for me.”
It didn’t take long. Sebastian slid a finger inside Tristan’s hole, fucking him in time with his hand stroking Tristan’s cock. He felt Tristan’s body tense, his balls draw up, and his muscles clench hard around Sebastian’s finger. When he knew Tristan was close, he added another finger and crooked them to find Tristan’s prostate as his hand tightened around Tristan’s cock.
Tristan’s body jerked and shuddered, and he came over Sebastian’s hand with a long, drawn-out moan. His eyes eventually closed from the force of his orgasm, but Sebastian knew that was involuntary. He kept up until Tristan’s cock went limp in his hand, and gently withdrew his fingers from Tristan’s ass. He kissed Tristan’s nape and stroked his sweat-dampened back, waiting for him to calm down.
Tristan’s hands were still behind his back. It made Sebastian smile, and it also made his cock so hard it hurt.
“One last thing,” Sebastian murmured against Tristan’s neck. “Suck me off. You can move now.”
Sebastian reclined on the bed, and Tristan had turned and was all over him practically before he was settled. Tristan moved in to try to kiss him, but Sebastian grabbed his hair again. “No. Not yet. Suck me off. You got me this hard, you take care of it.”
Tristan’s eyes were unfocused, and he was still breathing fast from his orgasm, but he grinned—a much more Tristan-like grin too—and moved to lie between Sebastian’s legs. Sebastian enjoyed the sight, running his fingers through Tristan’s hair as Tristan covered Sebastian’s cock with his mouth. It didn’t take long—a few slow sucks and Tristan swallowing him deep—before Sebastian’s hips thrust up and he came hard in Tristan’s mouth.
When he opened his eyes, feeling sleepy and sated, he saw Tristan braced above Sebastian’s hips on the bed, still waiting for instructions. Sebastian gave a low chuckle. “Now we’re done. Get up here and kiss me.”
Tristan crawled up the bed and collapsed next to Sebastian, reaching to draw him close and kiss him, languid and slow.
“Did you like that?” Sebastian asked.
Tristan nodded. “Yeah. It was . . . I didn’t expect you to do it when we weren’t fucking, though.”
“I told you it would be as and when I chose,” Sebastian reminded him, smiling and stroking Tristan’s cheek. “I thought maybe it would help.”
“It did.” Tristan yawned. “Sorry. I’m tired as fuck and my brain doesn’t want to come up with words right now.” He gave Sebastian a sheepish smile. “We can talk about it in the morning, if you want.”
“We can. After I fuck you,” Sebastian agreed.
Tristan kissed him again, a little more heatedly. “Thank you. For . . . knowing that I needed that. And the kneeling thing. It helped a lot.”
“I hope the orgasm did too,” Sebastian said dryly.
Tristan laughed against his mouth, a huff of air. “Yeah, of course. Those always help. Especially from you.”
Sebastian kissed him one last time, then got up to turn off the light. He thought about pulling his pajama pants back on, but why bother? He knew they’d both want to fuck in the morning. That was usually how they woke up when they spent the night together.
Sebastian went to wash his hands and get a glass of water. By the time he got back to the bedroom, Tristan was fast asleep on his stomach. On top of the covers. Sebastian tried waking him, but it was no use. He was dead to the world.
Sighing, Sebastian got up one last time and grabbed a blanket from the closet to drape over them both. Tristan was warm enough that he barely even needed it. Sebastian turned the light off, moved close to Tristan’s prone form, and closed his eyes. As tired as he was, sleep didn’t come as easily for him as it had for Tristan. He couldn’t help thinking about how serious this thing between them had gotten, and what that meant for the future.