Ma is a lot of things:

A strong woman who raised five boys.

A loving wife.

Protective.

Over the top.

Meddling.

Happy.

The woman sitting in front of me isn’t any of those things. “I’m so, so, sorry, Oliver.” Her voice isn’t her own, either. “You hear about what happens to those who aren’t brought up in a supportive environment, so we wanted to … I don’t know, we always wanted you to know how much you were loved and how much we support you.”

“I know, Ma, but sometimes it feels like you can’t see past the label. That I can’t be anything but gay and hockey holds me back, when the truth is it’s my only escape because it doesn’t matter who or what I am on that ice, and I’m not ready for that to change.”

“I know that now. If it weren’t for Clark, I might not have, and now I can’t believe you let this go on for so long—let us treat you like that.”

“Why do you think I moved to New York?” I joke.

Tears spring from my mother’s eyes.

“Aww, Ma. I was traded. You can’t ask for that shit to happen.”

“I thought I was acing this whole parenting thing.”

I hate that I’m feeling guilty right now when her words are all I’ve wanted to hear for so long.

“This is why I didn’t tell you or, at least, dropped it whenever things got too heated. You’re not doing a shitty job. I think you were so worried about being unsupportive or doing something homophobic that you went too far the other way and didn’t realize that by pressuring me to come out, I became just as isolated. I don’t know when I’ll come out publicly, and I’m okay with that. You need to be okay with me doing it on my own time.”

“It just hurts a parent to see their child struggle, and I know your breakup with Ash was hard on both of you.”

“I had to make a choice, and my focus right now is, and always has been, on hockey.”

“What about Clark?”

“Why do you keep calling him Clark?”

She smiles. “We agreed as a family that he will always be Clark. Even if you get married and—” Her face drops. “Sorry. It’s saying that stuff that you don’t like, right?”

“With Ash, yeah, you kinda pushed it on us like it’d be a Band-Aid for our problems. If I do get married—which I’m not even entirely sure that’s what I’ll ever want—I’d want to be out and do it right. I don’t want a secret marriage. Hell, after Ash, I don’t even know if I want a secret relationship.”

“So, you and Clark aren’t even remotely together …” Even if it’s a statement, it’s posed as a question.

“Uh …”

“Use your words, Oliver. Keeping your mouth shut is what made you resent me for so long.”

I blow out a loud breath. “I don’t resent you. I never have. And I shouldn’t complain, because any gay kid would be lucky to have this family. But faaaark, I need space sometimes.”

She seems to understand even if hurt shines in her eyes. “Guess New York was a good thing after all.”

I’m beginning to see it really was. “I hated it at first, and I’m pissed Boston’s still in the running for the Cup while I’m sitting on my ass, but being away from everyone for the first time in my life, I think I’ve grown up a bit.”

“Says the boy who just got high with his sex toy in a treehouse,” she says.

I screw up my face. “First, eww, please don’t ever say sex toy ever again, and second, Lennon—”

“Nuh-uh. You started with the lie, so he is forever Clark in this house.”

“You guys have seriously weird punishments, but fine. Clark and I haven’t even had sex, so you’re wrong. We’re friends.” Despite the epic blowjobs.

Ma sighs. “Promise me something.”

I tense and automatically assume she’s going to start talking about putting Lennon’s feelings and needs before my career like she would’ve said to me any other time, but what she does say surprises me.

“When I’m being overbearing, just tell me.”

“We try to,” I argue.

“Try harder. Come up with a code word, so I know when I’m pissing you off, because as your mother, I still have the right to butt into your life. That will never change. But I don’t want to upset you. Any of you boys. You’ve been my whole life.”

“What about Dad?”

She waves me off. “Eh. He’s all right. Like, if there was a zombie apocalypse or something, I wouldn’t shoot him in the leg, but you boys would be my first priority.”

My mother, the badass zombie hunter … apparently.

“I think we just found our code word. Zombies.”

“Deal. Now, seeing as we’re on this talking and opening-up business, you need to tell me what happened between you and Ash, because I get the feeling you didn’t tell me that whole story either.”

“Zombies! Zombies!”

“Nice try, but you’re only allowed to use it if it’s dire, and I think it’s about time you told the truth about you and Ash.”

With a grunt, I tell Ma about all the other issues we had—the imbalance of give and take in our relationship and the way I sacrificed a lot of little things because Ash had to sacrifice one big thing.

We keep talking even when my brothers come outside and join in. When I ask where Lennon is, they tell me they carried Clark upstairs to bed after he fell asleep on the couch.

I laugh, because Lennon probably loved that.

Dad eventually comes home from dropping Grandma off, and even though it’s been an eventful and drama-filled day, it’s the first time in years we’ve felt like the family I grew up with.

There’s still the ribbing and the teasing, but there’s also an underlying awareness that wasn’t there before, and I can’t say that it’s a bad thing.

And I owe it all to Clark. Err … Lennon.

So, when Lennon passed out, he passed the fuck out. Which is probably why I’m woken up in the middle of the night by a very handsy, wide-awake, and horny reporter. Because he’s been asleep for twelve hours, and now he’s experiencing some sort of marijuana-induced jet lag.

His fingers trail down my back. When I came to bed, his shirt was on, but now I feel his skin against my chest.

“That’s one way to wake me up,” I mumble, my mind half-asleep but my dick fully awake.

My hand finds his face in the dark and cups his cheek.

He turns his head and kisses my palm and then my wrist. “I contemplated letting you sleep, but then I thought where’s the fun in that? I should make the most of this.”

I hear the unspoken words. This: our little window of time where the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Our something real is something temporary, and I think we both know that. As much as I’d jump at the chance to try more with Lennon, it’ll always come down to asking him to step back into the closet for me, and I won’t do that to another person, no matter how good his lips on my neck feel.

Or the way his hand slips into the waistband of my boxers and massages my ass cheek.

All thought is lost when he grinds against me, our hard cocks meeting through the fabric of our boxers.

“You didn’t get all the way naked before you pounced on me?” My voice is breathless already. That doesn’t bode well for how long I’m gonna last.

“I figured that would’ve been too creepy. Same goes for waking you up with my mouth wrapped around your dick. Thought it might’ve been overkill.”

I bring his face close to mine as I whisper over his lips. “I give you permission to wake me with either of those things whenever you feel like it.”

He doesn’t have a chance to respond before I’m claiming his mouth and thrusting my tongue inside.

“Mmm, you taste good,” Lennon says.

“It’s called brushing your teeth before bed. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

He gasps and covers his mouth. “Shit. I’ll be right back.” Lennon tries to get up, but I don’t let him.

“I’m kidding. I don’t care.” To prove my point, I take his mouth again, tasting him, nipping at his lip, and practically devouring him.

Lennon’s hands warm my skin as they travel from my back to my chest and down my stomach, venturing everywhere but where I really want it.

It’s not enough. Nowhere near enough.

My body ruts against his, and the room fills with sounds of heavy breathing and the creaking of the old bed.

Breaking our lips apart but refusing to move away, I whisper against his skin. “I want to fuck you.”

“I thought …” His head pulls back, looking confused.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Lennon opens his mouth, but I cut him off.

“And before you make a joke about not realizing hockey players could do that, let me finish.”

He smirks, because I’m guessing that’s exactly what he was going to say.

“I’ve been thinking I haven’t been able to make an informed decision before. I’ve only ever bottomed by default, and yes, I love it, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious.”

Lennon’s smile gets wider, which I didn’t think was possible, but then it drops. “Wait … like right now? What about supplies, and—”

“I’ve got it covered.” I roll over and reach under the bed and pull out my duffel bag. “You know how I said I’d planned to jump you? Boy Scouts are always prepared.”

An arm wraps around me from behind, and lips land between my shoulder blades.

“We don’t need them yet. I want to play first.”

I groan and throw condoms and lube on the bed somewhere while I roll us so I’m on top of him. “I like playing games.”

Lennon looks like he’s in pain, but the word “Yes” falls from his lips like he wants more, and it confuses me. Then I remember his ankle.

“Fuck.” I sit up, my legs trapping his narrow waist. “Your foot.”

“It’s fine. It’s so fine. No way will I let it get in the way of doing this. I’ve wanted this since the night I met you.”

“Need to make up for lost time,” I say.

“Exactly.” Lennon rises up and wraps his arms around me, so I can’t move from on top of him. Wet kisses land on my chest, and then his lips move to my pierced nipple. He tongues the barbell, sending a shock of electricity down to my overeager cock.

“Hurry up,” I whine.

He smiles around my nipple before biting down.

“Holy mother of fucking Gretzky.”

Lennon chuckles. “I think I’m going fast enough. I want to taste all of you.” His lips lay more kisses along my skin between him muttering, “Every. Single. Inch.”

My mouth wants to protest while my body screams “Hell yeah.” It makes an interesting gargled sound come out of me, and that makes Lennon turn smug.

“Someone’s impatient.”

“Someone likes teasing me,” I grumble.

“Someone needs a little self-restraint.”

“I’m a hockey player. It’s my job to be full speed ahead all the time.”

“Then it’ll do you some good to slow down for once.” Lennon’s mouth continues to taste me. His hands explore my tattoos and make me shiver.

“I don’t wanna slow down.” I try to grind against him, but his hands fly to my waist and lock me in place. The only way to get out of his grip might hurt him, and I’d rather be tortured than hurt Lennon.

He stood up to my family, and we’re not exactly an unintimidating bunch of people.

I admire him for what he’s gone through with those dickheads back in college and high school and he’s here giving me a chance anyway, even though there’s the serious risk I could turn around and be just like them.

Then don’t be, my conscience says.

It can’t be that easy, though, can it?

As I stare down at Lennon with his mouth moving over me while his hands hold me firmly in place, the sudden easiness of it all becomes clear.

With my new revelation comes the idea that going slow right now might be worth it. Because I want this feeling of being able to take on the world to last.

Plus, two can play at this game.

Lennon must sense my defeat, because as I lean down to kiss him as slowly as my mouth allows, his hold on my hips softens.

Our tongues tangle, our breaths mix, and the atmosphere has gone from needy and frantic to lasting and tender.

I shuffle lower on his lap slowly and gently push him so he’s lying on his back again. Just like his mouth had been exploring, I do the same to him. His virgin skin makes me want to get Max to cover him in tattoos, but there’s also a part of me that loves the contrast between our two bodies. I love that he’s long and lean, and even though he’s smaller than me, he’s still taller than average and the perfect size to fit against me.

Lennon lets out a little whine as my tongue moves closer to his belly button. I can feel how hard he is against my chest as I continue my path down.

“Shit. Whose idea was it to go slow?” he complains.

I smile against his skin. “Someone who’s a genius.” My hand skims up his thigh and lightly brushes over his cock through his boxers.

“I hate myself right now.” He writhes beneath me, and I love how fast I’ve turned the tables on him.

“Have to take my time,” I say. “Make sure I’m doing it right.”

“The only thing you’re doing wrong is not touching me enough. I need … I need more.”

“More what?”

“More everything.”

He reaches for my underwear and pulls them off my hips, using his feet to push them down all the way. My cock springs free and hits my stomach, leaving a warm trail of precum. His underwear goes next, and I pull them down his wiry legs.

The old bed creaks in protest with all the moving around.

I wince. “I’ve never realized how loud this house is until this weekend.”

“You probably never realized because you grew up with four brothers who were no doubt louder than the house.”

“True.”

“I know how to be quiet,” Lennon whispers.

I smirk. “Challenge accepted.”

“Uh, I don’t recall setting one.”

“I’m gonna make you scream,” I promise.

When my mouth resumes its exploration, moving over Lennon’s lean muscles but refusing to go where he really wants it, his body starts trembling, and his breathing comes in hard and fast as if he’s trying not to make a sound.

I chuckle against his skin. “Is someone trying not to make a noise?”

“I hate you. And me. Can we forget the slow thing already? Shit, if I knew you were going to use it against me, I wouldn’t have suggested it.” He says that, but the lust in his eyes, his shaky breath, and his body’s silent scream for more makes me think he’s loving this.

“I think it’s perfect punishment for trying to drive me crazy.” But who am I kidding? This, being with him and trying to control myself, is driving me just as crazy.

I lean back on my heels and try to hold in my moan of appreciation as Lennon’s laid out bare for me on the bed. His cock rests against his abdomen, and the drop of precum on his stomach is too irresistible to pass up. I clean it off with my tongue and hum as if being fed a gourmet meal.

Lennon whines. The sound makes my cock ache, and I’m sure if it could talk, it’d be begging incoherently. Much like Lennon.

I can’t hear his whispered words but I catch please and hurry the fuck up. His fists are scrunched into the bedsheets, his hips trying to buck upward, but I pin them down.

The bed creaks again, and the only reason I’m able to push it out of my mind is that it’s the middle of the night and everyone downstairs will be asleep.

“Ollie,” Lennon whispers, his voice tortured.

I guess he’s learned his lesson about trying to tease the fuck outta me.

Sitting up again, I lift his injured leg and kiss just above his swollen ankle. “Have to keep this elevated, right?”

He smiles and rests his leg over my shoulder while he bends his other knee, giving me the perfect line of sight of his hole as his hips tilt slightly upward. Lennon’s gaze fixes to mine as I lift my hand to my mouth and suck on one of my fingers. He nods, and I don’t even think it’s a conscious move.

His pupils dilate, and a feral look of need crosses his face as I tease him, massaging his rim. I may’ve never done this to another person before, but I do know what turns my crank and gets me going.

My other hand finds his cock, slowly pulling on it at a pace that would piss me off. It’s enough to feel good but not give any satisfaction.

And yup, there’s Lennon’s scowl I used to hate. Now it’s an incentive to keep going. Only problem is my cock is crying for attention and my hands are full.

“Touch me,” I beg.

An evil glint passes across Lennon’s face, and I know I’ve given him back the upper hand.

He reaches for me and wraps his fingers around my cock, copying my slow and torturous strokes.

“Like this?” he asks innocently. His hand is dry, and while my cock is leaking, it’s not enough to give the friction I crave.

“I’m starting to understand the hate thing you’re talking about,” I grumble.

My eyes spot the lube on the bed. Before Lennon has the chance to become impatient, I’ve basically covered us in half the bottle.

“Slippery,” Lennon teases, but all traces of mocking disappear when I switch hands, and two of my lubed fingers breach his tight ring of muscle. “Oh, fuck! Sweet Neil Patrick Harris in a harness.”

I can’t help laughing. “What?”

His eyes widen. “Oh, nothing.”

“No seriously—”

He starts jacking me, distraction working to make whatever question I had fall from my brain, and jerks at a pace I’m convinced is the same speed he wants me to finger him.

I’d give him whatever he wants, but this game he wanted to play is a lot more fun than I thought it would be.

The need to come is almost too overwhelming, but I could watch Lennon go stir-crazy for hours. It’s a small price to pay.

He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths as if he’s trying to calm himself down, but his hand on my cock doesn’t slow. If I don’t give into him soon, I’m gonna blow. And when his eyes crack open, and his lips twitch around the edges, I know that’s his new game plan.

We start playing a game of chicken, each of us getting close to the edge before the other pulls back.

I grit my teeth, and sweat from trying to stave off my orgasm drips down my forehead. When he senses I’m too close, his hand on me stills, and I let out a silent curse.

I massage his prostate until he’s panting and begging for it and then remove my fingers and kiss him roughly until he calms down. Then I do it again.

We push each other to the brink so many times I lose count, and Lennon looks like he could lose consciousness.

I love watching his eyes roll back in his head every time my fingers brush his prostate, and I make sure to see it again and again.

“Okay, you win,” he says. “I’m never playing this game with an athlete again.” Under his breath, he adds, “Stupid competitive motherfuckers.”

“Finally!” My muscles are coiled tight, needing release. Not just wishing for it but needing it more than my lungs need air.

In seconds, I’m covered with a condom and more lube and easing inside him. We groan in unison, and my balls draw up tight already. I’ve never felt this kind of tightness or warmth surrounding my cock, and I can’t believe I never pushed to try this before.

Holy hell, I’m in heaven. Ass heaven.

Stars dance across my vision, from pleasure or dehydration I’m not so sure at this point.

“Seriously, this is gonna be over so fucking soon.”

“I’m okay with that,” Lennon rasps. He throws his head back as his hand goes to his cock, pulling on it harder and faster than I was.

I test out a small thrust and shudder at the ripple of pleasure shooting down my spine. Murmured curse words fall from my mouth.

“Kiss me,” Lennon demands, and it’s one I have no hesitation giving into.

I slide inside him farther when I lower my mouth to his, bottoming out as our tongues tangle.

Lennon’s hand still works his cock, and now I can feel it against my stomach.

“I want you to come on me,” I say against his lips.

I get a pained moan in response and take that as a sign I need to start moving again. My hips rock, gaining more movement with each thrust.

The bed creaks under our weight, but I’m too busy tuning into the little sounds coming from Lennon beneath me.

He needs to come soon, because no way am I going to last like this. His ass chokes my dick harder than a vise, but I want Lennon to cross the finish line first.

I just have to hold out a little more.

With Lennon’s injured leg still resting over my shoulder, his other leg wraps around my hip, and his tight little hole grips me even tighter.

“Fuck,” I cry out. “I can’t … with the coming and the holding out and the …” And now I’m rambling.

Even thoughts of hockey don’t help.

Lennon stiffens and comes on an inaudible gasp. I would’ve missed it entirely had ropes of hot, sticky cum not splashed against my stomach and chest. The hand jerking himself slows, and his breathing starts to even out, but it’s his completely blissed-out face that pushes me over the edge.

I try to hold myself up, but my orgasm rips away the last of my energy, and I collapse on Lennon a little harder than I’d like.

He grunts, and I manage a “Sorry,” but all he does is laugh.

“Yet you’re still on top of me.”

“Can’t. Move.”

“I take it you liked your first time dicking someone out?”

“Understatement. When can we do it again?”

Lennon laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world. Either that or I’m cum drunk.

Yeah, probably that.

I slowly roll off him and onto my back. “So.” I breathe heavily. “Neil Patrick Harris in a harness?”

“Sweet Neil Patrick Harris in a harness.”

“Care to explain?”

He faces me, his blue eyes shining in the dark. “Sometimes fuck doesn’t cover it.”