“You’ve been traded to the Sea Dogs. Congrats on the upgrade, bro,” Tommy replied, shit-eating grin on his face.
The way Vicki’s lip curled in disgust was truly impressive. The dude could do arrogant asshole like no other. “Not for a million fucking dollars,” he snarled.
“I mean, isn’t your AAV like six million? What a way to get overpaid, man. Good for you,” Tommy mocked even though six million a year for Vicki was a goddamn bargain—Tommy was a firm believer in never letting the truth get in the way of a perfectly good insult.
Vicki looked around the improvised makeup room like a trapped animal, expression conflicted as one of the stylists herded him to his chair.
Tommy and Vicki’s eyes met in the mirror, the animosity so thick Tommy could choke on it.
Seriously? Fuck this guy. No way in hell Tommy was gonna let some sour loser ruin a Calvin Klein photoshoot.
Tommy’s makeup artist, Melody, fluffed up his dark hair with her fingers. “Darling, when was the last time you brushed this?”
Tommy gasped in mock offense. “What’s that supposed to mean? This is my freshly fucked look, and it’s iconic.”
Melody laughed loudly. “Oh, honey, in that case…I approve.” She gave him an exaggerated wink before turning his chair so she could get to his face. “Now, let’s see what I can do with these cheekbones. Next time I go to my trans doc, I’m gonna tell her this is exactly what I want.” She was obviously joking; her cheekbones were sharper than a blade.
Tommy scoffed. “Even without those cheekbones, you’re stunning. Don’t even front.”
Melody grinned, and to his surprise, her light brown skin reddened with a blush. “Oh, stop.”
“Nope. Now, let’s see what you can do with this ugly mug.”
Melody rolled her eyes but smiled, getting to work.
By the time she, the hair stylist, and wardrobe were finished, Tommy had successfully ignored Vicki for forty minutes and had an invitation to a burlesque show at The Slipper Room for next week courtesy of Melody.
A woman wearing practical sneakers and a killer dress sauntered into the room. “Okay, boys. Let’s go.”
Tommy didn’t even glance at Vicki, asking the woman—Kelly, apparently, a mature, South Korean woman with hair down to her ass—about her shoes, which were crisp as fuck.
“Please tell me those are the Air Jordan Miros,” Tommy said.
Kelly raised her perfect eyebrows at him, grinning. “Damn right. What are you doing with those ratty Adidas if you know about shoes?”
Tommy put a hand over his chest. “Bite your tongue. These are sponsored Adidas, thank you very much.”
Kelly winced, eyes sparkling. “Oh, shit. I forgot all you hockey boys are sponsored by Adidas. My bad.”
“I’ll forgive you if you give me those Jordans.”
Kelly cackled. “Not a chance. Here we are—this is your photographer, Ananya. She’ll take it from here.”
Kelly left them in a room set up with a white backdrop lit up with bright lights. Tommy looked at Vicki for the first time in a while. He looked unfairly good—slightly crooked nose, blue eyes, and tousled blond hair. He was dressed similarly to Tommy, Calvin Klein boxers peeking past low-hung, open jeans.
“Okay,” Ananya said, nodding to the far wall. “Let’s go over there and we can talk about how we want this to go.”
Tommy followed her with a smile, Vicki a step behind with a glare still fixed on his face. He listened attentively as Ananya gave them the low down, which seemed to consist of sexy, but make it classy.
“Right. Tommy, why don’t you drape an arm over Noah’s shoulder?”
Tommy turned to look at Vicki, eyebrows raised. The guy did not look like he was open to any sort of contact. Instead of complaining, though, Vicki rolled his eyes and made an impatient, well go on, then gesture.
Irritation prickled up Tommy’s back. He was just trying to be respectful, but fuck if Vicki would take it as anything other than a challenge.
If this loser wanted to play chicken, Tommy was going all in.
He leaned against Vicki, forearm on his shoulder and fingers trailing against his chest. He tilted his head until he was resting it on Vicki’s temple, smoldering at the camera.
He felt Vicki go stiff as a board. Ananya clicked her camera a few times before lowering it. “Noah, you comfortable?”
“Yes,” Vicki grunted.
“Try to relax your body a little. Loosen those shoulders. There, better. How about sliding a thumb into the front of your jeans. A little to your right, above the pocket. There you go.”
The shutter clicked a few more times. Tommy moved, resting his chin on Vicki’s shoulder. Vicki tensed again, but just for a second. To Tommy’s surprise, he slung his arm around Tommy’s middle, digging his hand into Tommy’s pocket.
Tommy gaped for a moment before consciously unlocking his body.
Oh—it was on.
Tommy collapsed farther into Vicki, eyes half-mast and lips almost brushing the lean curve of Vicki’s neck. The camera went crazy trying to capture the moment.
“Perfect, boys. Vicki, tilt your head a little? Perfect. Okay, you can shift positions. Tommy—”
Tommy stepped behind Vicki before Ananya could finish, thumbs in Vicki’s belt loops so his jeans drooped even lower. “This good?”
“Perfect. Vicki, you good?”
“Mmm,” Vicki replied affirmatively—a soft sort of melodic lilt—and leaned back so Tommy’s chest was plastered against his back.
Tommy breathed deeply, taking in Vicki’s spicy scent. He could feel his heart pounding, his whole body heating up. He’d honestly expected Vicki to bow out of the escalating contact between them, making some lame excuse about Tommy being contagious and not wanting to get his cooties.
Instead, Vicki let his head drop back a little, exposing his throat to the camera. Tommy wrapped his arm around him, splaying his hand over Vicki’s stomach, feeling his abs contract at the touch.
“Havin’ fun, eh?” Tommy murmured into Vicki’s ear.
Vicki snorted. “Just doing my job rehabilitating your image. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Did you beg your agent to make it seem like I don’t think you’re fucking scum?”
Tommy had to breathe through the rage that clawed through him like an animal. “You’re so fucking arrogant you’ll keep holding a grudge over something Zed has already forgiven.”
“Your manipulation of Zed to get what you want—”
Tommy pushed Vicki away, shoving at his shoulder so they were face-to-face. “Are you fucking serious? That’s how little you think of Zed? After everything he’s gone through to get to the NHL, and you think, what? That he can’t think for himself?”
“That’s not—”
“Boys,” Ananya interrupted.
Tommy froze, turning toward her. Fuck. He’d promised himself he’d be professional during this shoot, and here he was openly fighting with some bozo who was too trapped in his own perspective to consider any other.
“Sorry,” Tommy apologized. “Sorry, Ananya. It won’t happen again. Uh, should we go back to position?”
Ananya looked at them for a moment, obviously disapproving, before shaking her head. “Let’s shake it up a little.”
They ended up on the floor, leaning against the wall. Tommy insinuated himself between Vicki’s splayed legs. Vicki grabbed him by the hip a little harshly, breath on the side of Tommy’s neck.
“You just love putting yourself where you’re not wanted, huh?” Vicki growled, a furious rumble that seemed to go through Tommy’s entire body.
“Maybe you’re just used to pushing everybody away, you pathological asshole.”
Vicki dug his fingers into Tommy, making him squirm, elbowing behind him subtly. Vicki grunted, digging his thumbs into the small of Tommy’s back, making him gasp and arch.
Tommy turned to the side, glowering at Vicki over his shoulder. “Goddamn fucker.”
“Irresponsible child.”
“Arrogant—you know what? Shut the fuck up. We’re working.”
They managed to get that part of the shoot done without any significant injuries. Unsurprisingly, they were made to put on some of the new athletic wear the brand was coming out with, equipped with skates, and let loose on the ice.
Despite the cold, it was freeing to be unburdened by his pads. Tommy skated a happy loop around the rink. One of the cameras followed him around, seemingly spontaneously, and Tommy winked at the lens, tapping one of the strewn pucks with his stick and doing some fancy moves, spinning so he was moving backward and shooting toward Vicki.
Vicki stopped the puck with his bare hand, hissing and dropping it a moment later with a glower.
Tommy grinned. “I think he’s scared to go one-on-one with me,” he said conspiratorially to the camera woman.
Vicki snorted loudly. “You wish.”
Vicki accelerated like a shot, a bull on the ice. Tommy felt a thrill go through him as they started up a spontaneous game of keep away. Tommy managed to elude Vicki for a while until he got pressed against the boards.
Tommy panted, managing to keep the puck between his skates. “You getting hard back there, Viklund?”
“You fucking wish.”
Tommy glanced behind him. “Wouldn’t you just love that, huh? Me thinking about how good your dick would feel inside me.”
Vicki’s movements stuttered, looking genuinely surprised at Tommy’s crassness. It gave Tommy the perfect opportunity to wiggle away, skating backward with the puck.
A call came from the other end of the ice, Ananya waving them over. “Okay, boys! Let’s set up a face-off.”
Tommy hit the puck into the net and went over. “Where do you want me, chief?”
Ananya chuckled, guiding them to the middle circle and posing them opposite each other. Honestly, it was a relief to be in that position—to cool down from the dizzying effect of Vicki’s presence and into something far more familiar.
They got into position, faces closer to each other than normal. Vicki was a sight in his tight black clothes, shoulders bare, looking at Tommy through his eyelashes.
Vicki got a little closer and murmured something in Swedish, like a secret.
Tommy frowned. “What the hell does that mean,”
Vicki gave him a saccharine smile. “I love you.”
For the most ridiculous moment, Tommy froze in shock. Obviously, Vicki didn’t love him—obviously—but Tommy was fucking nineteen years old and had barely been in a long-term relationship, let alone heard someone say I love you in a romantic way.
It was just jarring to hear that out of the blue, especially from someone who despised him so much.
God, Vicki was an asshole. Tommy couldn’t fucking stand him.
By the time they were done, sweating from skating around for some sort of Instagram clips, Tommy was simmering with anger and resentment. Most of all he was disappointed in himself for not keeping his cool like he’d promised himself.
If he couldn’t keep it under wraps during a photoshoot, how could he trust himself on the ice?
They both filed into the locker room to shower and change. Tommy yanked off the tank top Calvin Klein had allowed him to keep, followed by the athletic shorts, kicking them aside.
“Oh, nice,” Vicki said from behind him. “Why am I surprised that’s how you treat a gift?”
Tommy took a deep breath. The smell of old pads and stale sweat did absolutely nothing to calm him down. “How about you mind your own goddamn business for once in your life?” he gritted out.
“I would if you kept your business to yourself.”
Tommy couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He rounded on Vicki, taking in his neat stack of clothes folded on the bench and tight boxers that left little to the imagination.
Of course this fucking moron had a big dick—of course he did.
“Is this seriously how you live your life? Putting other people down because you have such a goddamn inflated sense of self that you can’t even imagine people making mistakes? What, did mommy and daddy convince you you were too perfect to—”
Tommy stumbled back, startled by the harsh shove to his chest.
Vicki snarled, pushing him again until Tommy hit one of the gaps between stalls, his shoulder blades hitting the commemorative plaque there. “Don’t you fucking talk about my parents. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Vicki was about five inches taller, but that didn’t mean Tommy was gonna wilt in the face of Vicki’s pathetic attempts at intimidation. “Fucking rich, coming from you. You can talk shit all you want, eh? But when it comes to taking it, you turn into a goddamn pussy.”
Vicki stared him down, so close Tommy could smell the mint on his breath. It was heat, and shaking earth, and something strange going through him—a desperation for movement, for release.
It wasn’t a kiss, what happened next, but another sort of fight—a fight for dominance. Tommy made a surprised moan as Vicki bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, mixing with spit and teeth between them.
Tommy scratched Vicki’s bare shoulders as Vicki yanked at his hair violently enough to break them apart, neck exposed and begging to be bruised.
“Fuck, fuck,” Tommy cursed, feeling his skin purpling under Vicki’s vicious mouth.
Tommy got his forearm between them and shoved Vicki away, bloodlust and plain old fucking horny lust clouding his vision as he swung his fist, glancing off Vicki’s jaw.
“Motherfucker,” Vicki swore, coming right back at him, slamming him against the wall and pressing a thigh into Tommy’s painfully hard cock. “This is what you want, isn’t it? You want it just. Like. This.”
Tommy didn’t respond—couldn’t—going crazy with what was happening. All he could do was slot their mouths together again, sucking on Vicki’s tongue ruthlessly, rubbing against Vicki’s leg like a fucking animal.
Vicki took his mouth again viciously, and Tommy could feel how hard he was in return. The heat inside him was consuming, burning his throat, fueled by the wet slide of their tongues together.
Vicki pulled away. “How about you get on your knees and show me what your mouth is actually good for.”
Tommy just…buckled. There was no thought, or resentment, or resistance, just want so scorching it left only the bare nerves of a body behind.
Vicki said something in Swedish above him, but Tommy didn’t react, feeling drunk on the rush in his head. Vicki’s fat cock was straining the front of his boxers, tenting them obscenely. There was a spot of precome by the head of Vicki’s dick, and Tommy fell forward, mouthing at it with a desperate noise.
Vicki was making sounds above him, but Tommy could only concentrate on getting more.
The boxer material was both smooth and rough, absolutely covered in spit, and Tommy whined pathetically when he was pulled away from it. What came next was better, though—Vicki’s big cock springing free, bobbing in front of him, too heavy to point up.
Tommy didn’t waste a fucking second. He wanted Vicki to fall apart, to think of this every time he got blown by someone else. Wanted to ruin him.
He took Vicki’s cock into his mouth slowly. People thought that fast sex was better, but Tommy had fooled around enough to know otherwise.
There was a time for quick, and the start of a blow job wasn’t it.
Tommy took his time lapping at Vicki’s dick, getting it nice and wet, sucking his balls to hear him moan. It was only when Vicki was dripping that Tommy wrapped his lips around him properly, avoiding breathing as the blunt head hit the back of his throat and slipped in.
Vicki said something loudly, hips twitching. Tommy was surrounded by him, a little cave of wet heat against the locker wall. He pulled away, sucking hard, rubbing the head on his palate, taking it when Vicki jerked forward and made him choke.
“Fuck. Fuck, look at you taking it.”
Warmth spread through Tommy because, yeah, he didn’t care about Vicki’s opinion, but it did something to Tommy, hearing that awe in his voice.
Tommy squeezed Vicki’s ass, urging him on, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Vicki started moving, filling Tommy’s throat again and again, fucking him raw.
Everything was a dizzy, breathless blur, unable to catch any air, stuffed full over, and over, and over again. Vicki was holding his hair like a vise, keeping him in place, and Tommy was gonna lose it, was gonna come without even being touched, drooling over himself and moaning every time he could.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come. You gonna take it?” Vicki panted.
Tommy couldn’t nod or speak, just urged Vicki on with his hands until he was completely stuffed, Vicki coming down his throat so deep he couldn’t even taste it.
Tommy’s chest was tight without breath, head woozy, and yet he whined pitifully when Vicki started pulling away. He gripped Vicki’s thighs, keeping him still, softening his mouth so he was barely sucking.
Vicki’s hips twitched, but he stayed put, his mostly hard cock heavy on Tommy’s tongue. For a few moments, it was almost…peaceful. Tommy’s head was empty, the desire in his body a distant thing.
When Vicki finally slipped out of his mouth, Tommy was gone. Malleable, spilling like liquid onto the floor as Vicki fixed his boxers and knelt in front of him. “You wanna come?” Vicki asked, his voice the only sound in the goddamn universe.
Tommy hummed. There was a strange unease crawling up the back of his mind, but it was so inconsequential. So small.
Tommy groaned loudly as Vicki pulled down his briefs and circled a dry hand around him.
The following hand job was nothing short of torture. Achingly slow, giving Tommy just enough to make him beg but no more.
“Please,” Tommy whined, slumping into Vicki. “Please, please.”
Vicki tightened his hand for a moment, jerking him hard and fast for a second, making Tommy cry out in pain and supplication, but the pace dropped to almost nothing a moment later.
Tommy breathed wetly into Vicki’s neck, trembling, taking it. It was all he could do. Take it, and take it, and take it until Vicki decided he’d had enough, that he’d been good enough to—
“Come on,” Vicki finally said. “Let go. Come on.”
Tommy’s body let go. The orgasm that hit him was like nothing else, a crashing wave in slow motion, the rumble of it taking over drop by drop. It ransacked the land and left everything smooth, and calm, and silent.
For a while, that was all there was. Tommy could smell Vicki, could hear his ragged breaths, but nothing else.
Then, reality piercing through, Vicki suddenly pulled away. Tommy swayed forward without anything to lean on. Vicki twitched like he was going to reach out but made no real move to help him. Instead, he got up, leaving Tommy dazed and almost completely naked on the floor.
Tommy blinked up, body and mind misaligned. The dread that had been kept at bay by that dark, peaceful space clawed through him.
What the fuck was he doing? What the fuck had he been thinking, letting himself be so vulnerable with someone who didn’t give a shit about him, who would see it as a sign of weakness?
Tommy stumbled upright, shamefully hitching his briefs up. His knees wobbled, getting him as far as the bench. He could feel his whole face burning as he sat there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, waiting for Vicki to start mocking him.
Instead, there was the softest touch to the nape of his neck. Tommy looked up to see Vicki’s stern expression devoid of any cruelty or mocking.
Something loosened inside Tommy. All he could do was watch Vicki turn and walk away into the showers without another word.
Tommy shook his head, trying to get the fog out. Trust that asshole to take him apart and not bother to put him back together again. Granted, Tommy had never had sex that hot, but he hadn’t had an aftermath so empty and depressing either.
With shaking hands, he got dressed quickly, grabbing his bag and getting out of there before Vicki could return from the shower.
Vicki might not have taken that extra step to humiliate him—had maybe tried to comfort him in the shittiest, most ineffective way ever—but Tommy wasn’t ready to see his face any time soon.
He would stuff what had just happened in a box and not look at it ever again.
