10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“I should’ve seen that coming, right after that power play,” Finn said morosely as he sipped his Coke.

“You shouldn’t have even been in that position,” Brody reassured him.

“It was a bullshit call,” Nate Greene agreed. “I didn’t trip anyone. He tripped sure, but if the refs think I did it, they need fucking glasses.”

“Listen, shit happens,” Elliott said. “We gotta listen to Coach B. We fought hard. We nearly came back.”

“Yeah, that was a fucking sick shot you almost made. The way Mal flicked the puck back to you? How’d he even know you were there?”

“Mal knows more than you think he does,” Elliott said.

“I didn’t bring you guys here so you could agonize,” Ramsey said firmly. “Who’s gonna play me in foosball? Oh, yeah, it’s gonna be you, Reynolds.”

Finn shot him a dark look. “No. No way.”

“You’re the best, though. If I wanna be the best, I gotta cut my teeth on the best,” Ramsey said, shooting Finn his most charming smile. “Come on.”

Brody turned to Elliott after the pair of them had wandered towards an empty table. “He’s gonna crack up,” Brody said under his breath.

“No, he’s not.” Elliott more wanted to believe it was true than he actually believed it was true.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. It was the sister chat.

Tough loss, baby bro, Nina texted.

That shot tho! How did Mal know you were even there? That was from Connie.

PFM, Macey responded.

AKA, Elliott translated, pure fucking magic.

We’ve been working on some things.

Technically, that was not a lie. They had been working on their on-ice chemistry, sure, but they’d been doing it all year, and despite their success as the top line on the team, it wasn’t like it had gotten magically better.

No, Mal had trusted him in that moment and he’d taken the shot, and if not for bad luck, they’d be talking about it in hushed tones now.

“Your sisters?” Brody asked, glancing down at Elliott’s phone.

“Yeah,” Elliott said. “They’re something else.”

Brody had met them last year when they’d arrived en masse for one of the last games of the season.

“Entertaining at best, annoying at worst?” Brody wondered.

Elliott nodded.

“Sometimes I’d like to have a brother or a sister.” Brody sighed.

“You got a roommate, though,” Elliott teased, remembering what he’d initially hoped to wiggle out of the guy.

“Yeah, what about Dean?” Brody’s expression was carefully neutral. So neutral Elliott was convinced he was right.

“I’m just saying. He’s probably very entertaining. Maybe not so much annoying, though,” Elliott pointed out.

Brody rolled his eyes. “What is Ramsey telling you these days? Dean’s just a friend. A roommate and a friend.”

“Sure, he is,” Elliott said knowingly.

“He is ,” Brody said, laughing now.

But Elliott was still not convinced. “Well, I’m your first call when you decide to come clean about how you’re climbing his hotness like a tree.”

Brody shot him a knowing look. “And here I thought you were only into Malcolm.”

“I’m . . .” They’d agreed not to tell anyone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not into Mal. He’s an annoyance, at best .”

“Uh-huh. You’re a terrible fucking liar, Ell.” Brody’s eyes twinkled. “But , I get it.”

Elliott wanted to do a fist pump and yell, I knew it , but Brody hadn’t exactly admitted it yet. But he would. Someday.

“Speaking of Dean, I actually gotta go. I said I’d study with him tonight,” Brody said.

And just like that, Elliott was ditched, and he couldn’t even say he was mad, because he got it. He would love to saunter over to where Mal was talking to Ivan and convince him, without worrying who saw or what they thought, to come back to his place again for some more hands-on tutoring.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped and got a refill on his drink and headed over to one of the pinball machines. This one was Star Wars themed, but the new Star Wars, with Kylo Ren glowering out from its upper artwork and Rey next to him, lightsaber alight and a fierce expression on her face.

He was halfway through his second round, enjoying the challenge of finding the exact right spots to hit when he heard steps behind him.

It was stupid, but he hoped it was Mal.

It wasn’t.

It was Zach.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Zach observed.

“Sometimes,” Elliott agreed.

“Good instincts and good reflexes,” Zach added.

Elliott knew he was going to ask about the shot before he even did. It was funny, he’d been questioned more about that shot—that hadn’t actually gone into the net—than some goals he’d actually scored.

“It’s why I’m good on the ice, too,” Elliott said.

Zach nodded. “Still doesn’t explain that shot.”

“My sister Macey called it pure fucking magic,” Elliott said. He almost asked Zach why he wasn’t over by Mal, interrogating him about it. But Mal wouldn’t have answered, they all knew that. “Would’ve been quite the goal if it had gone in.”

“I just wanna know how Mal knew you were there. I was only watching and I barely knew you were there.”

Elliott shrugged and flicked one of the levers on the machine. “We’ve been playing together awhile now.”

“And I want to know how Mal’s suddenly out there skating like that.” He paused. Waiting, Elliott assumed, until he’d lost his ball. Which he did a second later. “Why he’s skating like you.”

“He’s not. He’s . . .he just wanted to win, that was all. Frustrated that we gave up those two goals so quick.”

“Right.” Zach didn’t seem convinced.

“Did Ramsey invite Coach, too?” Elliott asked.

Zach laughed. “Yeah, he sure did. Some pair on that guy. But Coach sent me instead. Wanted me to make sure nobody gets up to any trouble.”

“Would we?” Elliott shot their assistant coach his most innocent look, fluttering eyelashes and all.

“You absolutely fucking would. But I’m sure I’ll have nothing to report later.”

Elliott was so surprised, he straight-up missed his last ball, and it clanged down into the bowels of the pinball machine with a rhythmic clank .

“You report to him?”

“Oh, well, it’s not so formal.” Zach chuckled self-consciously. “But yeah, we do check in with each other. At first I—” He stopped abruptly. Like he realized he was saying too much. Sharing more than he should.

Maybe Elliott couldn’t get Brody to share, but he couldn’t deny he was curious what was going on with Zach and Coach. They seemed awfully close. “’Cause you were worried about him because of his wife?”

Zach didn’t agree—but he didn’t disagree, either. He just stuck his hands in his pockets and didn’t say anything.

But Elliott had never known when to stop pushing. At least that was probably what Malcolm might have told him. “I know she died, unexpectedly, and what, he buried himself out in the middle of nowhere, in some remote cabin?”

“He didn’t bury himself. He was mourning. We all do it in different ways. And now he’s back—and you’d better believe he’s back,” Zach said, fiercely. Like he felt the need to defend Coach Blackburn, even though Elliott had hardly been accusing him of anything.

“I know he is,” Elliott said steadily.

“Good.”

He wandered off then, and Elliott went back to Kylo Ren and Rey.

He was half a dozen games in, and was this close to setting the high score, when Mal did finally come over.

“One sec,” Elliott told him. Maybe if he wasn’t so goddamn close to really nailing this machine, he’d have enjoyed Malcolm finally heading his direction more.

“Oh sure, I’m here just waiting on you,” Malcolm retorted sarcastically.

A few moments later, Elliott hit the perfect combination of bells and the machine rang out with the sound of lightsabers clashing, followed by a triumphant noise signaling the end of the game.

“I’ll take it,” Elliott said, entering his info for the top score. “But I’d rather have won the game, earlier.”

“Hey, we win some, we lose some. You should come over and see how Finn and Ramsey are going at each other on foosball. I’ve never seen such a competitive game in my whole life.” Mal was trying to be friendly. Elliott could practically see the wheels in his head turning. The effort he was making. It was surprisingly sweet.

“He’s trying to get Finn out of his head,” Elliott said.

“Well, yeah ,” Mal said. “And I think it’s working?”

Sure enough, when they headed over to the loose group gathered around Finn and Ramsey and the foosball table, Finn was grinning and Ramsey looked stressed as Finn expertly flicked the ball towards Ramsey’s side.

“Goddamn,” Ramsey muttered as he twisted the knob a second too late and the ball sank into the goal.

“You’d think you’d be better at defense,” Finn joked.

“You’d think,” Ramsey said, wiping his damp forehead with the back of his hand.

Mal leaned in, his shoulder brushing Elliott’s, and Elliott was suddenly reminded of the last time they’d been this close. Back when they’d still been in the locker room.

When they’d been kissing. Angrily at first, and then the way they’d come together had been anything but angry.

“You think he’s playing Finn?” Mal murmured under his breath.

Elliott wasn’t sure. But he wanted to be playing. And not foosball.

He shrugged. “Maybe. It is Ramsey.”

Finn shrieked as Ramsey turned on the jets, moving the foosball players around with a surprising speed.

“You got this,” Ivan crowed. “On your right! No! On your left!”

Finn growled, but he barely managed to move his goalie into place just in time to deflect Ramsey’s last shot.

His expression was a mask of determination, and he pushed back immediately, and before Ramsey could get into position, he was sinking another goal.

“Goal!” Ivan cried, patting Finn on the back excitedly. “See!”

Ramsey shot Finn a rueful glance across the table. “Told you that you had it.”

Finn rolled his eyes, clearly downplaying how much winning had meant.

But Elliott could see it; he’d doubted his instincts, after those two goals today. And now, he didn’t have to anymore.

He’d just proven they were solid and strong.

Elliott looked over at Ramsey, and his face was full of exaggerated disappointment, but underneath? That was all opaque. Elliott couldn’t read it.

“We’re going to take off. Got to get Elliott prepped for this big test, in two weeks,” Mal said.

His excuse was a little overdone—if Elliott hadn’t been participating, he might’ve guessed what was really happening—but none of the guys seemed particularly interested in what they were going to do.

Even Ramsey was still carefully watching Finn.

“Good game,” Elliott said to Finn, patting him on the shoulder and then tugging him into a quick hug. “Both of them.”

A few minutes later they were out on the sidewalk, heading towards Elliott’s dorm in silence. There was only the pitter patter of the leftover raindrops, from the still-wet leaves, hitting the ground, but it had actually stopped raining while they were in the arcade.

“I’m pretty sure Ramsey threw that game,” Mal finally said, breaking the quiet, “but damned if I know how he did it. It seemed really legit, all the way up til—”

“Til it was obvious just how much Finn needed that reminder that he was fine?” Elliott nodded.

“Yeah,” Mal agreed.

“Ramsey’s a great guy. And he did Finn a solid there.” Elliott bumped Mal’s arm. Ignored the itch he felt to reach down and just take it, grasp it. He’d feel Mal’s callouses. He was almost as familiar with them as he was with his own, at this point. It had been too goddamn long since they’d touched, and it was maybe an hour and a half, at best .

You are so done for.

“Finn needs to learn how to do himself a solid,” Mal said.

Elliott didn’t disagree, but then nobody knew how tough it was being in Finn’s skates, except for Finn.

“He’s getting there,” Elliott reminded Mal. This time Mal bumped him back, and okay, maybe they were both in this same situation.

They turned the corner towards Lewis, Elliott’s dorm, and went up the stairs, finally hitting the foyer. They could either take the stairs or the elevator.

It was an easy decision. He was tired. They were probably both tired, and if he had to wait one more freaking minute to get Mal alone? Well, he didn’t know if he could.

The moment they were in the elevator, Elliott wasted not a second more of time.

He pushed right into Mal’s space, nudging him against the back wall, pressing his palms against his chest.

After the game, Mal had put on a thick plaid flannel shirt, and from the wedge of skin Elliott could see at the neck, he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

Elliott was also pretty damn sure he was going to undo every single one of those taunting, tantalizing buttons with his teeth.

“What are you doing?” Mal asked, having the nerve to look surprised.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Elliott retorted, amused.

Mal sighed. Sounding resigned more than annoyed. “Driving me crazy? How do you do that, by the way? I don’t want to be thinking about this, not all the time. It’s . . .it’s . . .”

“Awesome?”

Mal shot him another one of those hot looks, and Elliott’s heart beat a little faster. How could he have ever thought he could have a little taste of Malcolm McCoy and not want a lot more?

“Annoying.”

“I’m happy to annoy you some more,” Elliott said slyly and then finally leaned in and took his mouth, pouring all his frustration at having to wait into it.

The elevator came to a jerking halt and Mal broke the kiss with a gasp.

Luckily for them, it was deserted in the fourth floor hallway, and Elliott’s room was only a few steps away—because it was really obvious what they’d just been doing. Mal’s cock was hard in his jeans, and Elliott had a feeling his hair was already messed up from Mal’s hands.

He unlocked the door, fully expecting that they’d be on each other the moment it closed behind them. He was already fantasizing how they’d do it tonight. Maybe he could get his mouth on Mal’s cock again. Maybe Mal would even be interested in returning the favor. And then maybe . . .

Elliott reached for him, but no , because Malcolm, the idiot, actually took a step back .

“What are you doing?” Elliott figured it was his turn to ask.

“I thought we were studying. I asked if you wanted to study and you said yes .”

“Specifically you said a tutoring session ,” Elliott said, emphasizing the words.

“Right.” Mal was frowning now. “How is that an invitation to have sex?”

“You might be tutoring me in statistics,” Elliott said resolutely, “but I’m sure as hell tutoring you in sex.”

Mal’s jaw dropped. “That’s not what we—I never said—I certainly didn’t ask— ”

“Did you even have to?” Elliott challenged.

Mal was quiet for a long moment. Thinking. Elliott knew that he could push him—it would not be that hard—but he wanted Mal to want him. He wanted Mal to consider the pros and the cons, and damn any of the latter, side with the former.

“No,” Mal said, finally, and there was undeniable surrender on his face as he reached for Elliott this time.

Elliott didn’t mind doing the reaching. He enjoyed it. But it was so sweet to have Mal give in to what they both wanted.

To let himself take this, without arguments.

“I mean it,” Mal groaned between kisses as they stumbled towards the bed, again. “How do you do this? What kind of magical spell have you put on me?”

Whatever it was, it had ensnared them both.

Mal had to know that, with how hard Elliott was breathing and the way his cock twitched, hard and desperate, as Mal slid a hand down the front of his pants.

“All I can think about—when I should be thinking about plenty of other things—is getting you naked again,” Mal said.

“Well, get me naked again,” Elliott said, and this time, after toeing his shoes off, lay down on the bed, shooting Mal his best come-hither look.

Mal rolled his eyes, but he was leaning over him a second later, kissing him hard, tongue deep in his mouth, fingers in his hair, hips stuttering against Elliott’s own.

He pulled back a second later. “Promise me we’ll study after this,” Mal said, and it was annoying how one-track-minded he was. And not even the track Elliott wanted him focused on.

“After, after, yes ,” Elliott agreed impatiently. He’d told Mal to get him naked, but he was already reaching up, thumbing those buttons apart, one at a time, exposing the glorious expanse of Malcolm’s chest. The ripped ridges of his abs. The firm muscles of his shoulders.

He could write a goddamn essay about the beauty of Mal’s shoulders. How he put everything on them, because they could bear that weight.

“I thought I was supposed to be getting you naked,” Mal teased. And he could tease like this, it turned out. Warm and affectionate, the corner of his mouth quirking up. That icy wall, the one that Elliott had always hated, coming down when it was just the two of them.

“You were too slow,” Elliott admitted.

Mal’s fingers found the zipper of his sweatshirt and tugged it down, then pulled up on his T-shirt. “If you think I was too slow then, you’re definitely going to hate what I’m about to do,” Mal murmured.

But Elliott didn’t think that was true, at all.

He was going to love whatever Mal did.

Especially if he kept going in this poised methodical manner, his gaze a hot counterpoint to how deliberately he kept stripping Elliott down. Once his chest was bare, he moved onto his sweatpants, tugging them down carefully, and then his socks. Leaving him only clad in his tight briefs, cock straining against the fabric.

Mal rocked back on his heels and just looked.

Elliott refused to let himself squirm or feel shame as Mal’s eyes took in every single inch of him. He knew he looked good. Had plenty of guys say so. But none of them had ever mattered like Malcolm had.

“Yeah,” Mal said, voice gravelly. “I was right.”

“About?”

“That I was going to want to take my time and enjoy every single bit of you,” Mal said. “I don’t know what I’m doing—”

“You know I don’t give a shit about that,” Elliott reminded him. Didn’t think Mal was quite ready to hear that it was already better with Mal than it had been with other guys, most of whom had way more experience. Maybe it wasn’t only that Mal wasn’t ready to hear it. Maybe he wasn’t ready to say it, either.

Mal didn’t answer, just leaned in, hands impossibly warm against his skin, making him shiver as he explored. As he finally tugged his briefs off.

Then his head dipped, capturing Elliott’s mouth all too briefly before his lips moved, coasting down his neck, finding every single spot that made Elliott gasp. Nobody had ever taken their time like this on just the apparently sensitive column of his neck.

His cock, rock-hard, twitched against Mal’s bare stomach, and he barely resisted the urge to thrust up, to chase the pleasure and his orgasm.

Hadn’t he wanted this forever ? And now that it was finally happening, Mal looking right at him, like he couldn’t look anywhere else, he wasn’t going to rush it.

If he did, it would be over and Elliott wasn’t naive enough to think he’d get everything he wanted from Mal. It would end, and Elliott would wish that it hadn’t.

Mal’s lips moved lower, across his collarbone, then across his pecs, and down his stomach, nibbling with just the right amount of teeth along his abs.

His cock twitched, desperation rising inside him. Then Mal finally did it, tongue brushing up the length of it, humming in the back of his mouth, like this was a taste he’d been searching for.

Elliott’s fingers dug into the bedding, and he tried to hang on—because it was very clear Malcolm was going to take his sweet ass time. First there was just his tongue, slicking up his length, then sucking on the head, and then finally , more and more of his dick disappeared into that white-hot heat.

Just when the pressure became unbearable and Elliott thought he was going to explode or die, Mal backed off.

Elliott groaned as he took him deep again. Maybe it wasn’t the most expert blowjob in the world—it was maybe slower than he’d have normally liked—but Mal’s intense focus meant that the pleasure had never resonated as deeply as it did right now.

He could feel every bit of it. Enjoyed every single incredible moment of it.

Mal’s fingers drifted down, releasing from the base of his cock to cup his balls, and Elliott moaned loudly, encouraging more of that, please God .

Chuckling, Mal murmured, “Like that, do you?”

“Lower, lower ,” Elliott begged, squirming as Mal found exactly what he’d wanted, his touch brief and hesitant against his hole.

“You want this?” Mal didn’t sound disgusted. He sounded enthralled. Awestruck.

“For you to fuck me with your fingers? Your cock?” Elliott gasped as Mal slipped just a bit of his thumb inside. “Hell yes. There’s uh . . .lube in the drawer there . . .” He motioned towards the little set of drawers next to his bed.

“You’re sure?” But Mal was already rummaging in the drawer.

“Oh yeah,” Elliott said. He didn’t warn Mal to go slow, because Mal seemed to have one speed tonight, and it was not fast.

No doubt he’d drive him half crazy with it before he finally got to it.

Mal rocked back on his heels and with a gentle but insistent touch, spread Elliott’s legs.

Mal had thought about this a lot—even when he knew he shouldn’t be—but he’d hoped, if he’d gotten the chance to have Elliott again, that he could take his time. Really explore the intricacies of his body.

He’d still never imagined that he might be doing it tonight, or that he’d be two fingers deep into the incredible heat of Elliott’s ass. Watching as he squirmed against them, mouth slack, his beautiful eyes unfocused, groans falling from his lips.

It was incredible. He was incredible.

He leaned forward, wanting more of Elliott’s taste, needing it, and let his cock slip farther into his mouth. Mal was under no delusions that he was actually good at this, but Elliott certainly didn’t seem to be complaining.

As for him? Well, his dick was a wet, twitching mess inside his boxer briefs. It was entirely possible that the moment Elliott came, Mal was going to follow right along with him, whether he was touching himself or not.

“I’m not above begging,” Elliott groaned as Mal did his best to find that spot he’d done plenty of research on. “I’m really fucking not.”

“What do you want?”

Elliott reached for him, and with a surprising amount of strength, pulled him in. “You,” he said and kissed him, wild and hot. “There’s a condom in the drawer.”

“Are you—”

“If you ask me again if I’m fucking sure, I’m going to pin you down on this bed and ride you until you cry,” Elliott said.

Mal’s fingers shook as he grabbed the condom. Because this was happening? Or because that vision had made his brain nearly short-circuit? It was hard to say.

He’d just gotten it out of the package when Elliott’s hand closed over his. “I got this,” he said, and even though he’d been a shaking mess only a few moments earlier, now he pushed Mal back on the bed. Tugged down his boxer briefs, letting out a low whistle.

“Oh baby, you’re hot for me,” Elliott said, leaning over his cock, his breath searing against the sensitive skin.

“If you touch me, I’m gonna—” Mal ground out. He didn’t want to. He wanted this to go on forever. Because he’d already figured out that it couldn’t go on forever. Whenever Elliott called it off, he was going to still want more.

He’d come to terms with that fact. But it seemed like a fucking crime to not enjoy every ecstatic second while he still could.

“Just . . .let me do this,” Elliott said and gripped him, Mal groaning before he could swallow the sound back. He slipped on the condom with a few expert movements, and God , that shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, that he knew what he was doing.

But it was.

Then Elliott was straddling him and the hot heat of his mouth had nothing on the incendiary pressure of his ass swallowing him up as he sank down.

“Fuck,” Elliott said, throwing his head back, hands braced on Mal’s chest. His fingertips curled, nails biting into his skin, but the pain was good. Reminded him he was here, that he could hang on. That he could be everything Elliott needed.

For so long he’d told himself sex was overrated. Unnecessary. A waste of time.

But he got it now, because it wasn’t just the pleasure cascading through him. It was the closeness. The touching. The hushed intimacy of it, Elliott leaning in and kissing him, both of them breathing hard as they broke apart.

“I’m not gonna—” Mal gasped as Elliott moved faster. Thrusting downwards with force. Of course he was good at this. Wrapping a hand around his dick, he fucked Mal like he meant it.

Like he’d been thinking about this, too, for a long time.

Maybe even as long as Malcolm had.

Mal reached a tentative hand out and touched him too, hand moving alongside Elliott’s, and Elliott swore.

That was the only warning Mal got before Elliott was clamping down around his dick, pulsing in hot stripes up his chest.

Before, he’d been right. Because that was all it took for Mal to be gone . It was supposed to be an orgasm, but it felt like so much more than that. Like he’d been turned inside out, like he’d been reborn.

Elliott slumped down on his chest, clearly uninterested in the mess, and Mal pulled him in closer, wrapping his arms around his back, damp with sweat.

“That was . . .”

Incredible. Amazing. Life-changing?

Mal considered saying all those things. Maybe it would make him look like an idiot, if he did. Maybe sex was always like this, and he’d just been cluelessly missing out all this time.

But then Elliott finished his sentence. “Ugh, that was so goddamn good. I don’t think it’s ever felt like that before.”

Mal froze. “But—”

“I know,” Elliott said wryly. He pressed a wet kiss to Mal’s collarbone. “I know.”

“So it’s not always like this?”

Elliott chuckled. “No. Not in my experience, anyway.” He paused. “And don’t say anything about how extensive my experience probably is.”

“Would I do that?” Mal could probably concede that a few weeks ago, when he had been determined not to let anyone—especially Elliott Jones—burn down all his well-constructed walls, he might have said something like that. “Actually, don’t answer that. I probably would’ve.”

“You didn’t now, that’s what matters,” Elliott said, a surprisingly earnest look in his eyes.

Mal wasn’t sure that was true, but if Elliott was going to give it to him, he didn’t want to argue with it. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Elliott grinned. “I also say we’d better get cleaned up.”

It was much the same as it had been the night before. Elliott grabbed a washcloth and came back, helping Mal dispose of the condom.

“I’m on PrEP,” Elliott said, explaining, as he tied it off and tossed it in the trash. “And you’re a virgin— were a virgin—but we still have to worry about other STDs. But I’ll get tested in the next few days and then we don’t have to use those anymore.”

“Is that—is that . . .” Mal stuttered. He couldn’t imagine being wrapped up in all that heat without anything in between him and Elliott. He’d come the moment he slid inside him.

“Oh, it’s good,” Elliott said. “And we don’t have to do it again, if you don’t want to, but I thought—”

“I want to,” Mal said firmly. He would take anything Elliott gave him. “And we could always uh . . .do it the other way, too, if you wanted?”

Elliott had the nerve to look surprised. “Really?”

“Just because I don’t know what I’m doing doesn’t mean I don’t want things, too.” Mal’s hands fisted in the mussed sheets. “Maybe I want them even more.”

Elliott’s face softened. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean to make assumptions. You want me to fuck you? It’d be a privilege.”

“Okay.” Mal swallowed hard. “I noticed . . .uh . . .some other things in the drawer . . .”

“Aw, you snoop,” Elliott teased.

Mal nearly apologized, but then Elliott continued. “Yeah, we’ll try those first. It’s not . . .it’s not easy, the first time. But I’ll do what I can to make it easy on you.”

“We don’t . . .you don’t . . .” Mal stuttered.

“Yes, I do, yes, we do.” Elliott slung an arm around his shoulders, pressing his mouth to his shoulder. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

Mal squeezed his eyes shut over the sudden onslaught of emotion washing through him. His throat felt tight and thick, his tongue too big for his mouth.

How had he ever believed that Ell was a careless playboy who only cared about fun and the next one-night stand he could notch on his bed frame?

Maybe he’d believed it because it was easier to believe that was true than it was to look right at the guy and see behind the easy, uncomplicated exterior. Easier to avoid it and continue his delusion that Mal didn’t want him.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, that was a big thing,” Elliott murmured. This time he wrapped his arms around him more fully, and Mal practically fell into his embrace.

Surely this would be the moment when Elliott decided this was too much, too fast, that he’d never signed up for all this baggage. But he didn’t let go, and so neither did Mal.

“It’s a big thing,” Elliott repeated softly. “And it was good, yeah?”

Mal swallowed the lump in his throat. “Better than I imagined. ’Cause of you.”

He finally let go.

Elliott rose to his feet, grabbed his briefs, and pulled them on. Then his sweatpants. “Anyone worth it would’ve done the same. Taken their time with you. Made sure you were enjoying it the way you should.” Elliott’s voice was self-deprecating, but Mal didn’t believe it.

He had too many walls and layers to be fooled when he saw Elliott erecting his own.

“No,” Mal said firmly. “No, they wouldn’t have. It was you, because it had to be you.”

Elliott stopped getting dressed. Turned. “Did you talk to Ramsey?”

“No? Why?” Mal couldn’t understand what on earth Ramsey had to do with this.

“Uh, no reason. Just . . .” Elliott gestured again. “Just wondering. You know how he likes to interfere.”

Mal nodded. “Look at Finn tonight. I’m pretty sure he orchestrated that whole thing, but it was so good, so seamless , I couldn’t pick out how.”

“I know,” Elliott said. He shot Mal a look. “Did you still want to study?”

What Mal wanted was to peel Elliott back out of those clothes and tuck him back into bed, their bodies pressed together again. But he didn’t.

Instead, he nodded and reached for his clothes. Elliott was too good of a hockey player to not play just because he wasn’t very good at math. Mal was going to make sure he made it. No matter what.