open the door. I’m not sure he realizes he did it and I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
Does he need space? He’s not very forthcoming about himself and I don’t want to push him, but I have so many questions.
Starting with what the actual fuck?
Does his dad cut him up or does he do that himself and his dad stitches it when he goes too deep? There are two cuts on his stomach with four or five stitches in each one. It was hard to see in the dark last night but he definitely has stitches. His skin is covered in scars. That’s not normal.
Leaning against the doorframe, I hiss when one of my new bruises is pushed on. During his nightmare, Preston grabbed my arms and I now have fingerprints on my biceps.
Preston is sitting with his back against his bed, his suit a rumpled mess from sleeping in it. The expression on his face gives nothing away, he’s put his wall back up to keep me out. I guess I don’t blame him but it hurts just the same.
“Do you want to talk about it?” It could be so many things. The game he got kicked out of, going with his dad, the scars he showed me last night.
“No.” His voice is rough from sleep and dejection at the same time.
“We missed workout this morning,” I start. Maybe he just wants to talk about something normal. “Paul let Coach know that you weren’t feeling well but you’ll have to go see one of the team doctors.”
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check the time. “I need to go down and get checked out anyway so you can come with me, if you want.”
Preston’s head snaps up, gaze trained one me. “What are they checking you for? Watching your stitches?” He pulls himself up off the floor and stalks the few feet between us, grips my chin and turns my head to get a better look at my forehead.
“I have a concussion. I can start workouts today but I have to be watched by a trainer.”
He pulls my face back to face him, concern and frustration in his expression. “Concussion? Are you okay?”
I shrug, butterflies flutter in my stomach from his concern. “I’m fine.”
His thumb brushes along my eyebrow closest to the cut.
“It’s my fault.” His words are so quiet I don’t think he meant for me to hear them.
“It’s not. Shit happens all the time. You know that.”
He shakes his head in disagreement but doesn’t voice it, just holds my face. His gaze flicks between the wound and my lips, like he wants to kiss me but is afraid I won’t let him.
Reaching for the back of his neck, I pull his mouth to mine. I don’t care that it’s morning and both of our breaths could peel paint. I want this connection to him. To show him I don’t think less of him because of his father, that it changes nothing, that I want more of him.
He kisses me gently, like he’s afraid I’ll break. Or maybe he’s afraid he will break. It’s a different side of him, one that throws me off way more than the aggression. This morning, we both need to know we’re okay. That I’ve got him and he’s got me.
Preston’s fingers dig into me, owning me, despite the gentle press of his lips. Like he’s fighting something inside of himself. Is he fighting to let himself need me? To accept the comfort I freely offer?
He sucks on my bottom lip, brushing my skin with his teeth, with the threat of pain.
My hands hang at my sides, clenching and opening. I don’t know what to do with them. Will he let me touch him or will he shove me away? Deciding to take a chance, I place my hands on his, and slowly work my way up to his shoulders, careful to read the way his body tenses and stop when he does. He doesn’t stop kissing me, slow and careful, exploring and lazy.
When my hands get to his shoulders, I start back down to his hands and he relaxes, pulling me flush against him. His hard-on is notched against mine but we don’t grind against each other.
Preston rests his forehead against mine, releasing my lips. His eyes are closed and he’s panting slightly.
“I don’t know how to touch without fucking.” His confession breaks my heart. Has no one just held him because he needed it? Offered a hug?
I wrap my arms around his neck and bring him into me. “It’s okay, I do.”
He wraps his arms around me, splaying his hands on my back as he holds me tightly against him.
I smile when he buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing. I want to be his safe space. Everyone deserves to have that. I had my parents and I have Paul and Brendon, but who does he have?
A knock on the door has him jumping back away from me. He drops his head, rubs his forehead and takes a calming breath. I don’t think he’s embarrassed to be caught with me, but it’s an effect of whatever happened this weekend.
“You’re okay, Preston. You’re safe here.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He glances quickly at me before turning to dig in his dresser, then shuts himself into the bathroom.
With a sigh, I open the door to find Paul and Brendon.
“Hey, guys.” I feel weird not moving out of the way to let them in but I’m not sure if Preston wants anyone else to see him right now. It’s bad enough Brendon saw him mid-meltdown last night and Paul saw him pass out on me this morning.
“Coach wants Preston to check in and I told him you were really tired this morning, so I convinced you to go back to sleep. I don’t think he believed me.” Paul leans against the wall next to the door.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
The bathroom door opens and I turn to watch Preston, mask back on his face, and the muscle in his jaw jumping as he sees who is at the door.
“Still hates me then?” Brendon says more to me than Preston, but he hears the question.
Preston pulls on his socks and shoes then steps up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist, snakes it under my shirt, and splays his hand low on my abdomen. My eyes damn near bug out of my head at the unexpected touch, especially in front of others.
Paul chuckles uncomfortably, flicking his gaze between Preston and Brendon. Preston’s fingers drag slowly along the edge of my pants along the sensitive skin between my hip bones. My dick jumps to attention, making itself very well-known between the four of us in these damn sweatpants.
Brendon narrows his eyes, locked in a death glare with Preston for a tense minute, before a big smile splits his face.
“No worries, big guy, we’re good. He’s all yours.” Brendon pats Preston’s bicep. “I’m not his type anyway. I’m too pretty.”
My face heats as I stare at him. That did not need to be said out loud. Jesus. I close my eyes and pinch my lips together while I try not to imagine what Paul is thinking right now.
Preston snorts behind me. “Remember to keep your hands to yourself or you’ll be the next one on concussion protocol.”
“Is it possible for you not to be a pretentious dick for like ten seconds?” Brendon tosses back.
“Okay, that’s enough dick measuring.” Paul stands upright and pushes Brendon down the hallway. “I also didn’t need to know how rough Jeremy likes it.” He looks at Brendon like he’s remembering something. “How have I never seen bruises on you? You never wear a shirt in our room.”
Brendon smirks, looking over his shoulder at me then at Preston, who is still pressed against me.
“I rarely bottom, my guy.”
Paul stops walking mid-step, spins to look at me then back at Brendon, then back at me. “Wait. Really?”
Fucking Christ. I don’t think it’s possible for my face to get any hotter. Why am I embarrassed? I’m a gay man. Sex feels fucking amazing. I don’t have the brain power for this today. My head already hurts.
“Yeah, as much as I am loving this conversation, I have shit to do.” I push Preston back into our room so I can change and head down to the rink.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed about.” Preston watches me pull my shirt and sweatpants off, his gaze setting off goosebumps like he’s actually touched me. “I don’t understand the kink-shaming people do.”
“I’m not really ashamed. I like what I like, it’s whatever, but I don’t want it discussed in the hallway where anyone can overhear it.” I shove my feet through my workout shorts and grab a sleeveless shirt.
“It won’t happen again. I was making a point.”
I turn on him then, frustrated that I’m embarrassed and turned on, that he’s bouncing between being real with me and hiding behind this fucking mask.
“Yeah, your point was ‘don’t touch what’s mine’ but you haven’t even talked to me about it.” I stab myself in the chest with my finger. Shaking my head, I hold my hands up in front of me to stop him from speaking. “You know what, I don’t want to have this conversation right now. I have to go find Coach.”
“Don’t.” Preston barks the word and crowds me against my dresser when I turn to find socks. “You are mine and I don’t share.” His hands grip my hips. “No one touches you but me.”
“You’re going to spend a lot of time in the penalty box with that type of mentality. Hockey isn’t known for being a hands-off sport.” I’m only sort of kidding.
He drags in an aggravated breath. “I know.”
He kisses the back of my neck and backs off so I can finish getting ready. I make myself and Preston a quick protein shake and we head down to the rink. He disappears into Coach’s office and I head over to medical.
Doctor Butler waves a hand at me. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“A little better. No meds this morning, so that’s something.”
He has me sit on an exam table and walks behind me to check the swelling on the back of my head. Laying on the hard floor was not my favorite but luckily Brendon came in and checked on me last night and grabbed a pillow for me.
I hiss and jerk away from him when he hits a sore spot.
“Sorry about that. Still pretty tender then?” I nod at his question. “Swelling is going down but we’ll keep an eye on it.” He pats my shoulder. “Okay, let’s do some easy exercises.”
We move to the physical therapy part of the room and start with some elastic bands.
Preston comes in and joins us part way through the workout.
“Mister Carmichael, how are you feeling? I heard you weren’t doing well this morning.” Doctor Butler asks him.
“Sore, but I’ll be fine.” He’s stiff and is moving like he’s in pain or trying to avoid pain. It’s not normal for him, I just hope no one else notices and asks him about it. I’m distracted by watching him and end up snapping myself with one of the bands.
“Albrooke, you alright?” The doctor comes over to check on me, eyeing the welt I now have on my thigh. Preston lifts an eyebrow at me, then licks his bottom lip when I pull my shorts up to look at the red welt.
“I’m fine.” I flush but continue on with my workout.
I go through the steps he wants me to take and am much more tired afterward than I expected. I’m used to working out every day but Sunday and practicing twice a day during the week, except game days, during the season. These light, easy movements should not tire me out.
Even though I’m exhausted, I shower, get changed, and grab my stuff for classes when we get back to the dorm.
Swinging my backpack over my shoulder, Preston steps out of the bathroom and crosses his arms over his chest, standing in my way.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the ballet.” I deadpan. “Where the hell does it look like I’m going?”
I try to brush past him but he doesn’t let me.
“You need to rest.”
“You’re one to talk!”
He cocks his head at me. “I’m not the one with a concussion. I’ll live. I’m used to this.” The muscle in his cheek jumps as he clenches his jaw.
“And what is it you’re used to?”
His face hardens, back straightening, shoulders squaring. I sigh at the response.
“Right.” I nod and try to get past him again. “I need to go to class so I don’t fall behind.”
“You’re exhausted, you need to rest. Do you actually think you’ll remember anything that is said in class today?” Preston demands.
Why do I like it when he gets worked up? When he uses his full height and the broad expanse of his chest to try to intimidate me? He absolutely can fuck me up. Hell, I’m currently sporting bruises from him that did not happen during sex.
That thought has my dick thickening in my jeans. Damn it. Neither of us is mentally stable enough for sex right now. He’s trying to hold himself together, falling back behind his walls to protect himself, and I’m pretty sure he’ll re-concuss me if he fucks me right now.
Doesn’t mean I don’t want to though.
“Keep looking at me with ‘fuck me’ eyes and I’ll do exactly that. I’m not above using you to make myself feel better and wearing you out until you can’t stand.” He crowds my space, the air between us charged with sexual tension.
“If I have to rest, so do you.” I watch his mouth as I bite on my lower lip.
“Stop. Looking. At. Me. Like. That.” He grinds out. “My control is shit right now.”
“Lay with me?”
He takes my backpack and sets it on the floor then nods toward his bed. Preston lays down with his back to the wall, so I kick my shoes off and lay down with my back to him. Besides last night, this is the only way we’ve slept. He wraps himself around me, buries his face in my hair or in my neck, and pulls me back against him.
My ass is against his hips, his dick perking up as I adjust myself to get comfortable. I know I shouldn’t, but I rub my ass against him on purpose, just to mess with him.
“Jeremy.” My name is a warning on his lips and it makes me smile.
“Yes?”
He grips my hip, holding me still. “Knock it off.”
I chuckle, but settle against him and drag in a deep breath of him. He relaxes, draping his arm over my waist. Comfortable and warm, I quickly lose my battle with sleep.
