Dra åt helvete.
Noah wasn’t a stranger to insults. He lived and died by them as anyone on a functional hockey team did. Words rolled off his tongue as easily as they rolled off his back, but he had tasted a particular sort of bitter venom when he’d spat those words at Tommy.
And to make matters worse, the I love you in English had slipped out easily too. Full of anything but, of course. Full of hatred and frustration, a sort of soul-deep need to teach that little shit a lesson. He just hadn’t expected what happened next. He’d moved almost like something else was in control of his body, but he couldn’t deny the way power rippled through him when he met Tommy’s mouth in a cruel, biting battle of wills.
And he couldn’t deny the way it made him feel to see the man kneeling at his feet, to see Tommy’s mouth stuffed full of his cock. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes were glazed, and it was by sheer force of will that Noah hadn’t come immediately.
He should have gone, too, when it was over. He should have left Tommy sitting there in a puddle of his own need—his rock-hard, dripping cock lying between his legs, no relief in sight. Instead, he’d taken that cock into his hand, and he’d stroked him and urged him to completion with words that felt too damn soft on his tongue.
In the shower, he’d stared at the few spurts of come on his knuckles, fighting the urge to taste it. Instead, he’d shoved his hand under the spray, then soaped up once, then twice, then a third time before he rinsed everything down the drain. He felt a wave of panic as he walked back out into the locker room, but Tommy was long gone, and Noah was left with his pile of clothes and the lingering memory of what they’d done. He’d never be able to sit at his stall again without knowing what had happened in there.
Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to close his eyes without seeing Tommy’s fucked-out, lost expression as he came with a muted cry.
And he wasn’t sure what the hell that was going to mean for the upcoming season, especially the next time he and Tommy had to face off on the ice.
‘You’re driving me up the wall.’ The signs didn’t translate to exactly that in English, but Noah had just learned a handful of ASL idioms from his private tutor, and Zed was enjoying using all of them. The signs were effective too. Noah was lost in thought again when he was supposed to be helping Zed with his PT.
Though he hadn’t exactly been invited over for that. Zed had sent a text earlier to cancel on their day out because the pain that day had been as awful as when he was first injured.
Zed: @ my parents. Can’t go. Bad leg day.
Noah, being a man of very little chill, had taken it upon himself to drive over. And he told himself it really was for Zed and not at all for Zed’s mom, who always sat him at the table, fed him, stroked his hair, and did all those soft, mom things for him that he hadn’t grown up with.
Not that his mother was terrible, of course, but she was just a fraction warmer than his father. Noah wasn’t sure if Zed was just lucky or if all Americans were coddled so tightly growing up, but he was going to take it where he could get it.
Lying on the mat next to Zed, his belly almost too full of matzo ball soup, he rolled onto his side to look at his friend who was still a little pink in the cheeks from the way his leg was hurting.
‘Maybe you should stop for the day,’ he signed.
Zed flopped onto his back with a loud groan, running all ten fingers through his hair. “No.”
Noah wanted to argue with him, but Zed never wore his implants at his parents’, so he had to smack him on the thigh until he finally looked over. ‘You’re not doing yourself any favors by pushing it.’
Zed rolled his eyes, though Noah wasn’t sure if it was because he had to spell half those words or if he was just tired of everyone mothering him about his leg. Probably both, but Noah wasn’t going to give up. He wanted Zed back on the ice. He needed Zed back on the ice. He was close to being released, but he wasn’t there yet, and Noah was desperate for a good start to the season.
‘Go eat more soup,’ Zed ordered him.
Noah scoffed and rolled to a sit, crossing his legs. ‘If I eat anymore, I’m going to die. Literally.’ And he meant that.
Zed grinned and eased himself up, grimacing as he adjusted his leg into a slight bend. It was moving better, though. He was recovering. It was a mantra Noah had been repeating to himself because as much as he wanted to trust that there were guys they could call up from the farm team, he didn’t want to risk having to connect with some arrogant rookie asshole on the heels of their loss.
Thanks to Tommy fucking Tremblay.
“You’re doing it again,” Zed said, the sound of his voice cutting into Noah’s thoughts, and he looked up at Zed’s glare. “That’s your Tommy face.”
“I’m not,” he started, then stopped. But as he started to raise his hands, Zed held up a finger, then leaned over, dragging his bag toward his side. He pulled out his little black case, and after a second, he shivered all over as his implants connected.
“Okay, go ahead and lie to me.”
Noah sputtered. “I’m not lying.”
“You have the worst liar face in the world,” Zed told him, folding his arms. “Like, your entire body is a tell. So, what now? What did Tremblay do to piss you off today?”
“Isn’t this enough?” he asked, gesturing toward Zed’s knee. Because of course it was that. It absolutely was not the locker room incident, which had been just that—an incident—not to be repeated.
“Is this, like, a thing we’re going to have to do for the rest of our hockey lives?” Zed asked, leaning back on his elbows. “Every time I feel a little pinch in my thigh, you’re going to pull out a voodoo doll of Tommy and start stabbing it with pins?”
Noah pursed his lips and shuffled back a few inches. “I’m worried, all right? I’m worried you won’t be back in time and things are going to be a mess.”
“Yaya just about gave me the all clear after talking with my physio,” Zed told him, leaning over to pat his knee. “Daddy says I’m almost all better. I just need a few more kisses directly on my asshole from my pretty boyfriends.”
Noah’s entire body heated up because as much as he wasn’t attracted to any of his teammates, they were still hot as fuck, and the idea wasn’t unappealing. “Stop.”
“I will when you stop acting like a twat,” Zed said, grinning at himself for picking up some of Davesh’s slang. “I’m going to be fine. I’ll be there right beside you, babe. First game.”
Noah didn’t think Zed could promise that, but he held on to those words with hope because they were distracting him from the memory of the way Tommy’s mouth had curved into a perfect O before his cock had slipped inside. He shook his head again, then glanced up to find Zed on his phone.
“Oh shit. Did you get invited to CeCe’s party?”
Zed was better friends with the pop singer than he was, but she’d become a sort of off-season beacon for most of the NHL players in the New England area after she announced on her Twitter that she was a huge hockey fan. Her summer parties had become legendary over the last few years, though Noah avoided almost all of them.
Henny had dragged him to a couple though. The rumor was, he and CeCe had been a thing, but he refused to confirm or deny the rumors, even to the guys, and frankly, Noah didn’t care. He wasn’t really a party sort of person, and he refused to believe it had anything to do with the vicious voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like his father, saying he was there for hockey, not to get his rocks off.
“I probably did,” he answered, pushing to his feet and stretching his back. They hadn’t done much work, but he was pretty sure the tension in his lower spine had nothing to do with helping Zed through his exercises anyway. “I don’t think I’m going.”
Zed whined quietly as he flopped back down. “I want to go. I’m so fucking bored.”
“So go,” Noah told him.
Zed lifted up onto his elbows and glared at him. “Did you just tell me to go?”
Noah looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Are your boyfriends forbidding it?”
“Under pain of no orgasm. The last time I was there, I got a little too drunk and jumped into the pool with my…” He tapped the side of his head where his magnet was. “They’re saying it’s irresponsible to keep buying replacements just because I can afford them.” He affected Davesh’s prim version of his accent, and Noah couldn’t help a small laugh.
“He’s probably right.”
“Traitor,” Zed muttered. “I’m going to make them Skype me for sex.”
“And that’s my cue to leave.” He leaned down, giving Zed’s uninjured leg a soft pat. “Do you want a ride home?”
Zed shook his head back and forth along the mat for long enough he got distracted by it. After a second, his eyes popped open, and he offered Noah a sheepish grin. “Nah. I’m gonna stay and let my mom baby me for a little bit longer.”
Noah snorted a laugh, but he didn’t blame him. He would have done the same if he was ever invited to. He offered Zed another wave, who in turn flipped him off with a kiss face, and he turned and headed out. He was stopped by Bubbe, who was shuffling to her yarn chair, and pulled into a long hug.
He luxuriated in the comfort but only for a second. He couldn’t let himself get used to this. When he pulled back, she gave his cheek a pat. ‘You need a new hat,’ she signed. She was easier to understand because her age made her fingers slower. Her hand curled into his shirt, and she dragged him over to her massive yarn basket. ‘Pick a color.’
His eyes roamed over the collection, then he settled for a skein that was full of different shades of brown. ‘This.’
She nodded. ‘That will look beautiful with your eyes. You be safe, okay?’
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then hurried out before he could be tempted to stay longer. Because he didn’t have the willpower to say no.
