The rest of the day passed just as gently.
Tommy didn’t know how long he’d dozed on Vicki’s lap, half listening to Vicki reading. Morning slipped soundlessly into afternoon, Vicki making them a stir-fry for lunch.
“Is there more of that yogurt?” Tommy asked when they were finished. Vicki didn’t even reply, just got up and came back with it, nuts, berries, and honey already added.
It was pure instinct to lean over and kiss Vicki lightly on the mouth in thanks as he sat down. They both froze in the aftermath, their faces so close Tommy could see the blue of Vicki’s eyes even in the low light.
“Eat,” Vicki instructed.
Tommy did so gratefully, ignoring the way his heart had started racing at the casual touch of lips.
That wasn’t what was happening here. Whatever it meant that Vicki was in Tommy’s home, it didn’t mean sweet pecks on the lips.
Thankfully, the awkwardness dissipated by the time Tommy finished the dessert and returned to the living room after brushing his teeth.
“I’m bored,” Tommy complained for the fiftieth time since the concussion had cursed him and his household.
“No screens.”
“Yes, Dad, I know. Just. Let’s gossip.”
Vicki snorted loudly. “Gossip?”
“Yeah, come on. This is, like, the fortress of silence. Anything we say stays between us.”
Vicki raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Come on, V. Dish. Or, no, oh my God. Let’s play truth or dare.”
“Absolutely not. You get that you should be resting, right?”
“I slept like a million hours yesterday. I really do feel better I just—please, I’m sooo bored.”
“Fine. Truth or dare?”
Tommy didn’t even have to think about it. “Dare.”
“Okay, I dare you to go to your room and sleep.”
Tommy let out a long, annoyed breath. “That’s not how the game works, come on.”
“Says who? You said dare. I gave you a dare.”
“You can’t give me a dare that finishes the game. That’s not allowed.”
“Says who?’
“Says the rules.”
“That’s not a rule.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes it—I can’t believe you’re arguing with someone with a concussion,” Tommy complained.
“I can’t believe you’re arguing with me about taking a nap when you have a concussion,” Vicki shot back.
Tommy glared at him. His head was kind of starting to throb, but he refused to admit defeat. “Fine. Truth, then.”
“You can’t change from dare to truth.”
“Okay, that is such bullshit. Everybody knows—”
“Jesus, fine. I’ll ask you a question.”
Tommy regretted the decision instantly. Vicki hadn’t exactly shown himself to be trustworthy with Tommy’s vulnerabilities. The question that came, though, stopped that thought in its tracks.
“I saw a presser…You were talking about me. You said you looked up to me. Why would you say that?”
Tommy frowned lightly. “Because it’s the truth? You’re, like, really good at hockey. And, sure, you’ve been a royal dick, but…” He shrugged.
Vicki looked uncomprehending. “But you know what I said when I was asked—”
“Yep,” Tommy cut him off, not keen to relive Vicki’s damning presser. “But, like. If that’s what you feel, that’s what you feel. That, saying that shit, that’s on you. I’m not about that. Especially not in front of the media.”
Vicki looked down. “I can’t remember exactly what happened at the charity gala, so I don’t know if I’ve said this yet, but…I’m sorry.”
Tommy let out a slow breath. “Yeah, you said you hadn’t meant it, which…I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but that kinda doesn’t seem like you? Saying something you don’t mean.”
Vicki shook his head. “I can’t explain it.”
“Can’t, or don’t want to?”
Vicki swallowed audibly. For a moment, Tommy really thought he’d get a reply, but Vicki just looked away, shutting the conversation down.
This was the most frustrating thing about Vicki—everything had to be pulled out of him. Nothing was freely given when it came to Tommy.
The second most frustrating thing about him was how beautiful it was when he finally surrendered, when Tommy got to see past the wounds and into the well of kindness Vicki dipped into constantly with his team, with strangers, with kids.
“Okay,” Tommy said simply. He’d seen Vicki broken apart, drunk as hell, and scared of his own life. Tommy didn’t need the reason behind his words, the reason behind Vicki’s many defense mechanisms. For now, it was enough that Vicki was letting those guards down. “Truth or dare?”
Vicki looked at him for a long time before replying. “Truth.”
A shiver went through Tommy. At what he currently had in his hands. “What’s your favorite movie?”
Vicki blinked, clearly surprised. “Really?”
Tommy shrugged. “If you wanna talk about anything else, I’m all ears, but I’m not gonna drag it outta you. So. Favorite film?”
“Million Dollar Baby.”
“Yeesh, that’s dark. Fucking…” Suddenly, Tommy cracked up. Of course Vicki’s favorite film was about a boxer who became paralyzed chasing her dream.
Of course it was.
Vicki frowned—practically a pout, really. “Why’re you laughing? It’s a good film!”
“No, dude, I know, I just…” Tommy cracked up again. “It’s so depressing and so you?”
“Fine, asshole, what’s your favorite movie?”
“The Fast and Furious series. Those movies are dope.”
Vicki rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fly right out of his head. “You are such a cliché.”
“Says the million-dollar baby. Like, Jesus.” Tommy shook his head, grinning. “Okay, favorite food?”
“Easy. Zed mom’s Yemenite soup.”
“I can’t believe Zed hasn’t shared any of that with me,” Tommy faux whined.
“I fucking brought you some, you big baby. Or at least I used her recipe.”
Tommy tilted his head, confused, before the meaning of Vicki’s words hit him. “Oh my god…the soup you brought me. You made that?”
Tommy watched in fascination as red tinged Vicki’s cheeks, obvious even in the low light. “Yeah, so?”
“You said it was from a restaurant.”
“Didn’t want you to get a big head about it.”
“Oh…my god. You’re, like, an actual softie.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No—it’s my turn to choose a question, so shut up.”
Tommy grinned. “Okay, big boy. Lay it on me.”
Vicki grumbled something under his breath before asking, “What’s your favorite shark?”
Tommy could feel the foolish, delighted expression on his face. “Damn, that’s a hard one. Lemon sharks are pretty cool, though.”
“You’re a lemon shark.”
Tommy laughed, wincing slightly as it made his head pulse with pain. Any hope he had of Vicki not noticing went out the window as the party-pooper tensed, a stern look in his eyes.
“Okay, enough. Time to rest, eh?”
“Eh,” Tommy mimicked the Canadian sound, tongue poking out as Vicki huffed in exasperation.
Tommy didn’t even object—as much as he was enjoying their little game, he didn’t want to make his recovery longer than it had to be.
He grabbed his trusty pillow and set it on Vicki’s lap again. Despite how much Tommy usually hated inactivity, it wasn’t much of a hardship to lie down with Vicki running his fingers through his hair. He’d always loved casual displays of affection, and he couldn’t help that it filled Tommy’s chest with warmth when they came from Vicki.
It was only then, letting his body relax, that he realized how sore and weary he was. He let himself sink past the pain in his head, muscles, and bones down to the comfort from Vicki’s presence, from the way he sat, quiet and calm just for him.
“Thanks for coming,” Tommy murmured from the depths of almost sleep. “And for being so nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
Tommy smiled against Vicki’s shirt before an odd, sudden feeling of loss washed over him, the moment becoming thin, transparent, its fragility and transience hitting him all at once.
Tommy pressed against Vicki’s stomach, swallowed by the darkness there. “I don’t want you to hate me if we face each other in the playoffs again,” he confessed, a truth bubbling up from the hazy moors of his concussed head.
There was a long silence, Tommy getting more and more lost in the mist of sleep. The last thing he heard before he got swallowed up by the white was Vicki’s voice, too distant to be comprehensible.
Tommy was about to crawl out of his skin.
It’d been two and a half weeks since he’d gone into the boards—days upon days of darkness and resting and boredom.
And Vicki.
Vicki, who had been in New York most of the time, leaving only for a short Eastern Conference trip. When he was in the city, though, he visited Tommy almost every day—cooking constantly, telling Tommy when to stop looking at screens, reminding him to drink or rest or God knew what else. He even let Tommy drape over him on the couch and didn’t protest when Tommy demanded to be petted.
It had been a startling realization that Vicki was a complete and utter mother hen. It was a good thing, frankly, that Tommy liked attention so much and was so willing to not point out what a fucking one-eighty Vicki had done in just a few weeks.
The thing was, they didn’t talk about it. Tommy tried not to even think about it, worried he’d overanalyze everything and look like a fool when he drew the wrong conclusions, but it was hard to do when Vicki was being so fucking…sweet.
It was amazing what Vicki was willing to do when he didn’t feel observed. Put a spotlight on him and he’d clam up, defenses vicious and ready to attack. Let him do what he wanted without making him feel vulnerable, and he’d come over to your apartment and make you plan-approved food for every meal of the goddamn day.
The only thing Vicki refused to do was fuck him.
Tommy had tried everything—walking around shirtless, nuzzling into Vicki’s stomach when they lay on the couch together, making soft, moaning noises when Vicki ran his hands through his hair. Nothing worked. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t turning Vicki on—Tommy could read the signs a mile away now. Vicki had a way of looking at him that was magnetic, a dark promise hanging in the air between them.
Which made it all the more infuriating when he wouldn’t do a goddamn thing about it.
Tonight was the night, though. Tommy had endured the sweet torture of having Vicki around constantly, had bitten his tongue and hadn’t asked what the fuck it all meant that Vicki was so worried about him, so willing to take care of him. He’d sat beside Vicki on the couch and felt his warmth, had closed his eyes as Vicki’s hands, usually used on Tommy’s body to cause pleasure or pain, filled him with comfort.
He’d even thought ahead five steps so Vicki and Jacki never ran into each other—Tommy didn’t know how Jacki would react to finding out Tommy was fucking the guy bad-mouthing him to the media, and he didn’t want to find out.
That day, though, Tommy had finally been allowed on the ice—in a no-contact jersey, but that was just a precaution. He’d been cleared for the next game, barring any surprises.
Tommy didn’t know if he could stand one more day without Vicki inside him.
“So,” Tommy ventured, sitting next to Vicki on the couch. “Got cleared to play.”
He watched as Vicki’s face broke into a smile. “Yeah? Fucking finally.”
“Yep. So. Full work out, practice.”
“Don’t go too crazy. You know how head injuries can be.”
Tommy ignored him. “Doc cleared me for all activities.”
“Yeah? Going to go skydiving?”
“Nope. Was thinking I could give you a blow job, though.”
Vicki blinked at him for a moment before his expression turned calculating and amused. “Finally asking for it, huh?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What, you thought I didn’t notice you’d conveniently do yoga just as I arrived?”
Tommy quirked his lips. “Worked, though, didn’t it? Saw you fucking looking at me. I bet you thought about me later, eh? When you were in bed at night.”
Vicki’s cheeks went a little pink. “It’s like you haven’t been fucked in a year,” he complained, but his eyes were black as night, swallowing Tommy up.
Tommy’s heart started to race. “It’s been ages since you last fucked me,” he wheedled, getting closer to Vicki on the couch.
“Yeah? And no one’s taken care of you since then?”
Tommy brushed Vicki’s lips with his. “No one takes care of me like you do.”
Tommy had no fucking idea where that had come from, but it was the truth.
Vicki gripped his hair tightly, making Tommy gasp, but his hold softened a moment later as if realizing they couldn’t be their usual reckless selves. “Just me, huh?” Vicki murmured.
Tommy felt his pulse in his throat. “Yeah. Just you.”
There was a moment when Tommy didn’t know what was going to happen next—if that admission had been too much, if Vicki had been fucking other guys all along and this was just—
But then Vicki kissed him, and every thought dissolved like spun sugar in water.
It wasn’t like any of the kisses that had come before. This one was slow from the start, a trickle of something sweet and familiar. Vicki pulled him gently so Tommy was straddling him, bodies pressed together, barely moving, just small ripples over a roaring undertow.
Vicki’s calloused hand cradled the side of Tommy’s face. “That’s it,” he encouraged as Tommy started hitching his hips slightly. “That’s it, that’s good.”
Tommy shuddered at the praise, at the warm, deep tone of it. “Yeah?” Tommy couldn’t help but ask.
“Yeah.”
Vicki kissed him and kissed him until his lips were sore, dick straining in his sweats. He was being eaten alive by the feeling inside him, the desperate want—to please, to get Vicki to just praise him again.
“Come on,” Vicki said eventually. “Let’s go to your room. I’m not fucking you here.”
Tommy went, not pointing out that Vicki had been more than happy to fuck him on any available surface in the past. Now, though, there was an odd charge to everything they were doing, something more meaningful than the static electricity of anger and chemistry.
Vicki lay Tommy out on the bed, undressing him slowly, meticulously, every inch of exposed skin stroked, or kissed, or bitten. Tommy’s thighs were shaking by the time his socks were peeled off, Vicki coming up again to cover him with his clothed body.
“You look so fucking good like this,” Vicki whispered like he was making sure the words were just for Tommy.
“Can you…I need—”
Vicki shushed him softly. “If I tell you not to move, you’ll stay still for me, won’t you?”
Tommy nodded jerkily. “I’ll be…I’ll be…” He trailed off, not quite capable of saying it.
“You’ll be good,” Vicki finished for him.
It should have been humiliating that Vicki had seen right through him—had probably known for a while what Tommy really craved, how weak he was for a few sweet words. Instead, though, there was only relief.
Vicki would take care of him. Tommy could finally let go.
Maybe it was strange how Vicki kept perfect control without being rough. He told Tommy to stay still, and he did. He stroked Tommy slowly, achingly, watching Tommy drip all over himself, and never lost focus, never sped up.
“You want me to fuck you?” Vicki asked, eyes cutting through him.
“Yeah. Please, Vicki. Please.”
“Noah,” Vicki said so quietly Tommy barely heard him.
It took a few seconds for Tommy to realize what he was saying, brain recalibrating. “Noah,” he repeated, savoring the taste of the word in his mouth.
Noah shuddered over him, thumb rubbing over the head of Tommy’s cock.
“Fuck, please. Please, Noah, I just, I need—”
“Yeah, I know, baby, here.”
Noah stretched for the lube, Tommy staying still, being good for him, sopping up the praise as Noah kissed his thigh and told him how pretty he was, how Tommy’s hole looked around his fingers, how he opened up just for him.
Tommy was falling apart by the time Noah scissored two fingers inside him so slowly it was barely prep—just enough to be safe. Just enough for Tommy to feel every inch as Noah sank inside, his thick cock stretching him wide.
“Oh,” Tommy hiccupped as Noah bottomed out, two bodies dripping into each other, fusing at each vital point. “Please.”
Noah cradled Tommy’s head as he started to move—slowly at first, a maddening pace that had Tommy clenching down for more. Even Noah’s patience seemed to run out, though, as he pulled away, hooking Tommy’s knees over his elbows and plowing into him without remorse, one thrust after another, and another, and another.
Tommy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his whole body jolted with pleasure. He couldn’t breathe with the heat and force of it, made even worse as Noah started talking.
“Jesus, you’re tight. Fuck, look at you. Fucking look at you, Tommy. So fucking good, baby. Best thing I’ve ever seen.”
Tommy half sobbed, half moaned, the pressure on his prostate making his insides liquefy.
He was going to come without a hand on him—it was too much. Noah’s cock, his voice, it was just too much.
“I’m gonna—Noah, please, can I, can I—”
“Yeah. Come on, Tommy, let me see you come. Let me see you.”
Tommy clenched his eyes shut and let the pleasure crash over him. In the distance, he could hear Noah’s voice, “That’s it, good boy, that’s it.” Tommy felt his body being used, being filled up, Noah surrounding him.
Tommy moaned as Noah doubled over, taking his mouth in a bruising kiss as he finally came, hips grinding against Tommy until he fell still.
Tommy wrapped his arms and legs around Noah. It would kill Tommy if Noah left now—if the mask of indifference fell between them again.
Instead, Noah didn’t hesitate to hold him back just as tightly. Tommy buried his face in Noah’s neck as relief filled him.
They stayed like that for a long time until their sweat cooled, and Noah’s soft cock slipped out, condom holding on perilously.
“I’m just gonna wash us up,” Noah said.
Tommy watched him, a stale fear creeping up the edges of his consciousness, but Noah didn’t disappear. He did just as promised, coming back with a wet towel and cleaning Tommy up before climbing into bed again.
“Can I…?” Noah asked uncertainly, gesturing at the bed.
Tommy pulled him down, tangling their limbs together. “I’m gonna kick your ass if you leave, for real.”
Noah laughed, an arm coming around Tommy. It was the middle of the day, but Tommy was ready to fall asleep. It wasn’t game day until tomorrow for both of them, but a nap wasn’t uncalled for, even on days with only practice in the morning.
Tommy closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion pull at him. Don’t go, he wanted to say, but the tide of sleep washed his thoughts away.
From one moment to the next, he fell into slumber like a stone dropped into a deep, dark pool.
