15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

“Well, that was a start anyway,” Elliott murmured as he lay on Mal’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Just a start, huh?” Mal asked drowsily, underneath him.

“A good start.”

They’d barely made it to Elliott’s room before falling into each other. It was always so white-hot between them—at least the first time around—and tonight had been no exception. Mal had gone to his knees, giving Elliott a blowjob he’d remember for a long, long time.

But even though it had been just as intense as it always was, it had felt like more this time. Maybe because with every kiss, every touch, every lick, he’d felt Mal’s love. Given him his own in return.

“Well, if it was just good . . .” Mal paused.

“Hold your horses, turbo. We’ll get there. Let’s just enjoy the afterglow for a minute.”

Elliott felt Mal chuckle underneath him.

“Can you blame me for wanting as much of you as I can get?” Mal murmured. “And uh . . .speaking of that.”

“No, don’t,” Elliott said. He’d deliberately been not thinking of how much it was going to suck once this school year ended. Mal would graduate. Elliott would get drafted. And then maybe, they’d be lucky to see each other occasionally. Maybe they’d at least end up on the same coast.

It would be hard, no question, but it wouldn’t be forever and Elliott, flush with love, was pretty sure that was what he wanted.

Forever .

They’d figure out a way to make it work.

All he knew was that now he’d gotten Malcolm, he wasn’t letting him go.

Maybe they’d always been heading this direction, from the first moment Elliott had seen Mal.

“Listen, I need to say this, because you need to know,” Mal said, and Elliott resigned himself to the conversation—because of course, Mal couldn’t leave well enough alone. He’d want to have a plan, probably color-coded and sprawled across some spreadsheet. Or several spreadsheets.

“What is it?”

“You know there’s been scouts at our games.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of hard to pretend they’re not there,” Elliott said wryly. He had been sort of pretending that they weren’t there, almost exclusively, for him. That made approaching every game easier, lessening the pressure so it wasn’t an unbearable force pressing down on his shoulders.

“Toronto’s been at every single game. Ell—” Mal broke off. “I shouldn’t even tell you this, but I don’t know how to not tell you this. But Zach told me they’d been talking about drafting you. Putting us back together on the ice.”

Joy ricocheted through him. “Really? Seriously?” He scrambled up, off Mal’s chest, so he could look him straight in the eyes. Make sure he was serious, but this was also Malcolm, and there was no way he’d say this if he wasn’t serious.

Mal nodded, and even though he did look serious, he was earnest too. Hopeful.

“Of course, there’s hardly any guarantees, but they like us together on the ice. And we are playing together better than we ever have.”

It was only a sliver of hope, but it was enough to fill him with light. Elliott smacked Mal in the arm, unable to contain his smile any longer. “It’s ’cause you finally started leading more with your instinct. You could be just as good as me—”

Mal frowned. “What do you mean, just as good as you? I’m better than you, you young cocky—”

Elliott leaned in and kissed him, swallowing the rest of what might have actually been an entertaining insult.

Mal groaned into his mouth and a second later, Elliott had swung a leg over Mal’s body, and it was no big surprise as their kiss heated up that he was getting hard again.

“God,” Mal gasped as Elliott broke the kiss, mouth working downwards, meandering around his pecs and down his abs. “Every time you’re an egotistical little shit, I wanna fuck you into the mattress.”

“And shockingly, that makes you believe I’m gonna stop?” Elliott smirked. His mouth toyed with Mal’s cock, which was growing harder by the moment.

Clearly, he wasn’t interested in Elliott stopping any time soon.

“Never,” Mal said, and when he flipped them over, caging Elliott with his body, Elliott’s cock twitched at just the thought that they could be like this all the freaking time.

“Yes. Please,” Elliott begged, his gaze following Mal as he reached into the drawer for the lube.

“Yeah? You want this?” Mal, murmured, fingers barely pressing in where Elliott wanted them, desperately.

“ Yes ,” Elliott pled and groaned loudly, not even bothering to hold back his approval as Mal finally slid a finger inside him.

“How do you always feel so goddamned good?” Mal muttered, thrusting deep, carefully stretching him out.

But Elliott could feel that he was in more of a hurry than normal, because before he could even plead for a second finger, Mal was giving it to him.

It was just barely enough prep for Mal’s cock, but Elliott didn’t care. He wanted to feel that stretch, to feel every inch.

“Now,” Elliott demanded. “Take me now .”

“God, I love you,” Mal said, slicking up his cock and beginning to push it in. “Even when you’re bossy like this. Maybe especially when you’re bossy like this.”

Elliott gasped. Mal leaned over and kissed him hard as he slid home.

Mal did exactly what he’d promised—he fucked him into the mattress with long, hard, slow strokes that felt shockingly, surprisingly tender.

Maybe it was the way Mal kept kissing him, one hand cradled under Elliott’s head, like he was precious.

Like he couldn’t get enough.

And Elliott couldn’t either. He needed this man the way he’d never needed anyone else before. The thought that he’d let him down? Had been nearly unbearable.

“Stay with me,” Mal murmured into his mouth, and Elliott could only nod helplessly as Mal reached down and gave him one stroke and then another before he tumbled into the longest, easiest orgasm he’d ever had.

After they cleaned up, Elliott returned to that same position, cheek resting against Mal’s bicep.

“You really meant that, didn’t you?”

He could feel, versus actually see , Mal smile.

“Yeah, I sure did,” Mal said. “We’re good for each other. I used to think we weren’t. That you brought out the worst in me, on purpose, which actually felt even more aggravating. But—”

“But we’re good together. On the ice. Off it, too,” Elliott said. “Guess I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“I should have told you about the scouts. Even if Zach told me to keep it under wraps.” Mal sounded like he blamed himself, which was ridiculous, because if Elliott didn’t blame him, how dare he shoulder even a fraction of that blame?

Well, he was Malcolm. That’s how he dared.

“Why did Zach even tell you?”

Mal chuckled. His hand, making long sweeping strokes up and down Elliott’s back, paused for a split second, then resumed. “He wanted me to stop arguing with you so hard. Look at what we were doing on the ice. See what was possible. That I might not have to acclimate to another forward. Give me an opportunity. Give us both an opportunity.”

“And he had no idea why you might have another vested interest in keeping me around?” Elliott asked archly.

“Nope.”

“Huh. Well. Kudos to you for keeping that particular fact under your hat.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Malcolm claimed but Elliott only laughed.

“No, apparently all of us are on a hair trigger of making sudden confessions all the goddamn time,” he joked, poking Mal in the ribs.

Mal squawked. “I just . . .it was . . .you know why I was worried!”

Elliott did, sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give Mal shit for it. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, we should be worried about more than that. If you’re off the team, you’re not getting drafted.”

“You’re the one with the plan,” Elliott said, trying to banish the sudden flare of anxiety.

“I emailed the vice chair of the department. I took calculus last year for fun—”

Elliott squawked again and smacked Mal on the arm. “You did what ?”

“I enjoy math, okay? It was fun.” At least Mal had the sense to sound defensive about this.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to end up with a nerd for the rest of my life aren’t I?” Elliott shook his head. “When I think of what could have been . . .”

Mal’s arm tightened around him, and Elliott was ninety-nine point-nine percent sure he was grinning.

“You cry into your coffee every morning?” Mal teased. “Anyway, as I was saying, I emailed Dr. Bricker, he’s the vice chair of the department. We struck up a sort of a friendship last year. If anyone can help us, it’s probably him.”

“Calculus, for fun ,” Elliott muttered.

“You should be glad I did, otherwise you wouldn’t have an in,” Mal pointed out.

“Believe me, I am , just . . .I can’t wait to tell the sisters about this. They always think I go for the pretty face. Not that yours isn’t very, very pretty. Guess I hit the lottery, ’cause it turns out you’re not just a pretty face.”

“When I do stupid shit like today, before practice, remember this moment,” Mal said dryly.

“Not sure I’ll be able to help myself,” Elliott said.

For a minute, Mal was quiet.

Elliott liked that too, about him. They didn’t always have to talk. He didn’t have to always be on . Mal was perfectly happy just lying like this, together, listening to each other’s quiet breath. Mal’s touch warm and reassuring on his back, his shoulders.

“Do you want me to come with you, to meet the vice chair?” Elliott wondered drowsily.

“How did you know I was just thinking that?”

“Sex,” Elliott said with certainty.

Mal chuckled. “Even great sex doesn’t give you the power to read my mind.”

“How would you know? You were a virgin before me,” Elliott joked.

Mal made a disgruntled noise that he’d used to pretend pissed him off, but now he realized he’d always found endearing and adorable.

“On one hand,” Mal said, changing the subject, “it makes sense for you to be there. On the other . . .”

“You’re worried he’s going to figure out why you’re begging for my life?”

Mal made that noise again. “Something like that.”

“I don’t want him to think I don’t have skin in this,” Elliott said. “I want to be there. We’ll just . . .not look at each other, or something.”

“Or something,” Mal said wryly.

“It’ll be fine,” Elliott said, hoping that it would be.

Surely, they could pretend not to be in love for twenty minutes? They did it all the time.

“So, Malcolm, this is your . . .teammate . . . you told me about?” Dr. Bricker shot a fairly incredulous look over the rims of his glasses.

Ugh. Less than two minutes, and he’s already suspicious.

And what had they even done? Walked in together and Mal and then Elliott had shaken the guy’s hand. They’d sat down. That was all .

Weren’t math professors supposed to have their heads stuck in theoretical problems? Not the real world?

“Yes, sir,” Mal said. “Elliott’s who I emailed you about. He’s taking Dr. Prosser’s statistics class.”

“Dr. Prosser?” Dr. Bricker sounded mildly intrigued, leaning back in his rickety chair, putting his hands behind his head.

“That’s right,” Elliott said, picking up the thread of the conversation. He’d come in here today determined to advocate for himself. Mal had been right; this was his future . He couldn’t just take this sitting down. If he wanted it— and he goddamn wanted it— he was going to need to fight for it.

“There are some . . .inconsistencies in the grading that I don’t think are necessarily fair—”

“Or right,” Mal added.

Elliott smacked his foot against Mal’s. He didn’t need to jump in like this. All righteous, like he was a knight on his steed, riding in to save Elliott’s life—or his long-gone chastity.

“I took this meeting as a favor to Malcolm,” Dr. Bricker said bluntly, “but I’ll be honest. If I had a dollar for every student who thought they were graded unfairly, I’d be a much richer man.”

“Understood. But it’s not just about being graded unfairly. I don’t think those are the answers I wrote,” Elliott said. He’d known it was entirely possible that his complaints would get dismissed like he was every other disgruntled student. But he knew his situation was different.

Dr. Bricker looked surprised. “You’re saying that Dr. Prosser changed your answers?”

“I can’t think of any other explanation,” Elliott said. “And this has happened multiple times. I know exactly how crazy it sounds. Why would Dr. Prosser do that? I thought maybe she wasn’t a fan of student athletes, but she loved Malcolm two years ago. He passed her class with flying colors.”

“Well, Malcolm is Malcolm,” Dr. Bricker said with an indulgent glance in the man’s direction. “But these are serious accusations, Elliott.”

“I know, sir, but with the test results as they stand, I’m off the hockey team.”

“Understandably concerning.”

Elliott could feel Mal next to him, practically vibrating with the urge to break in. To say he wasn’t crazy—that what he was saying had actually happened, even though they had no concrete proof of it.

Mal gave up the fight. “What Elliott is too bashful to say is that if he keeps playing the way he is now, he’ll easily be drafted in the first round in the spring. He’s the leading scorer on our team, and second in the entire conference.”

Dr. Bricker sighed and pulled his glasses off, cleaning them on his shirt sleeve. “I understand that, Malcolm, and it’s incredibly unfortunate.”

“I’ve been tutoring him for weeks. He knows the material. I made sure of it. The work is all correct. It’s just the answer that’s wrong.”

Mal pushed the test across the desk.

Dr. Bricker’s gaze pinned Elliott to his chair. “This is true?”

“According to Mal, yeah. The work’s right. The answer’s wrong. I could tell you I wrote the right answer down, but I’ve got no proof that I did.”

Picking up the test, Dr. Bricker perused it.

“This wasn’t the first time, either. This happened on an earlier quiz, that we know of, but I’ve wondered if it’s been going on all semester, which is why I ended up in this situation in the first place,” Elliott added, hoping that some of this, any of this , might convince Dr. Bricker that this was worth looking into.

Because he still might not. He still might dismiss them with a wave of a hand and an assumption that Elliott was just like so many other athletes, who didn’t bother going to class, who didn’t actually try to get decent grades, and hoped that their status would help them skate by.

“Hm,” Dr. Bricker said. “Well, I can see what you mean about the work being right. I’m going to keep this if that’s okay with you, Elliott?”

Elliott nodded.

“And,” he continued, “I’m going to do a bit of digging on my own, if that’s also okay with you?”

“Of course,” Elliott said. “Anything you can do is greatly appreciated.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Dr. Bricker said. Elliott nodded and shook his hand and a minute later, he and Mal were outside again.

“I’ve got a class,” Mal said.

“And I’m meeting Ramsey and Ivan for lunch.” Elliott already had a feeling he knew why Ramsey had texted him, wanting to meet up.

“Well . . .” Mal trailed off, looking awkward.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we can hug now. Dr. Bricker isn’t staring at us, wondering if I’m your teammate or something more,” Elliott said, putting his arms around him and pulling him in tightly. He even pressed a surreptitious kiss to his shoulder, in a spot where hopefully Mal would feel it.

When Mal let him go, he cleared his throat. “Speaking of that,” he said. “My dad is coming into town at the end of the week.”

“For Thanksgiving?”

“Something like that,” Mal said. “Did you want to . . .uh . . .well, I thought you should meet him. Or he should meet you. Um. Either one.”

Elliott didn’t know if he really wanted to meet Mal’s father. From what he’d heard of the man, he didn’t sound particularly pleasant. But even though he’d never had a real relationship before—at least one that entailed meeting the parents—he knew that sometimes you did things because the man you loved wanted you to.

“Of course,” Elliott said. “Count me in.”

“He’ll be in for a day or two. Maybe he’ll catch a game and then we’ll go to dinner. All three of us.” Mal’s smile looked more like a baring of teeth, a begrudging acceptance of reality, than any kind of anticipation.

“Sounds like a great time,” Elliott said, trying to genuinely mean it.

Mal sighed. Pushed his hair back. “No, it doesn’t, but I know you’ll do a good job pretending.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Elliott promised. “And after? You can reward me, thoroughly , for it.”

Mal’s smile was a ghost of his normal, but Elliott would take it. “You got it,” he said.

Elliott supposed he should just let him go, now, but instead, he pulled him into another hug. Made it longer this time, and Mal didn’t protest and didn’t try to pull away.

“I love you,” Elliott murmured into his shoulder, hoping he heard and also hoping he didn’t. Was this the kind of thing they said all the time now or was it only to be pulled out for special occasions? Still, if there was a special occasion, Elliott was pretty damn sure anytime Mal’s dad came up counted.

“Love you too,” Mal said. Gave him one last squeeze, then he was letting go, turning and walking away.

Elliott knew if he didn’t want to be late, he needed to get his ass across the quad to the dining hall, but he decided he’d earned watching Mal walk away, broad shoulders and slim hips and an ass that he’d never get tired of ogling.

When he finally made his way over to Beard, Ivan and Ramsey were already at a table, Ivan plowing through a sandwich and Ramsey shoveling rice and chicken into his mouth.

Elliott waved at them and went to get soup—and a big sandwich, too. He was starving. Starving and suddenly anxious.

It was easy to be lackadaisical about Mal’s dad and his stats grade when Mal was right there, being delightful and delectable, but when he disappeared, out of sight, it all came roaring back.

On his way to the checkout, he added two big chocolate chip cookies the size of his head. He deserved this chocolate.

“What took you so long?” Ramsey wanted to know as he sat down with his tray.

“And chocolate chip cookies, two of them,” Ivan pointed out.

Elliott made a face. Wishing that he’d smuggled them to the table in his sweatshirt pockets.

“My chocolate consumption is none of your business,” Elliott said with a prim, annoyed tone. Annoyed that he was even annoyed.

“What is our business is what the fuck is going on with you,” Ramsey said bluntly.

“Nothing,” Elliott said, but he wasn’t sure how convincing it was. Not with the chocolate chip cookies staring at Ramsey from his tray.

“Don’t give us that shit,” Ivan said. “You and Mal are fucking, and you didn’t even tell us.”

“To be fair, I didn’t need to be told ,” Ramsey said.

Ivan smacked him on the thigh. “Not all of us have this supernatural shit for a brain.”

“And that must be a real bummer,” Ramsey said, grinning.

“Surprisingly no,” Ivan said. He rolled his eyes. Then turned to Elliott. “So, you weren’t going to tell us?”

“It’s . . .it’s delicate,” Elliott said.

Ramsey leaned in. “This isn’t a fucking Taylor Swift song, Jones. Spill.”

But Elliott just sipped at his chicken noodle soup. He didn’t have to say a goddamned thing. And if he did , then he might not be rewarded by Malcolm for his very good behavior.

That was a fucking easy choice to make.

No choice at all, really.

“Must be serious,” Ivan said. “If he’s not wanting to spout off about it. Considering I had to hear every single dirty detail of his past hookups.”

“ Hear ? I was practically in the same room as him and this kid, once,” Ramsey said, though he didn’t sound particularly upset by this fact.

“I’m right here,” Elliott complained.

“Oh, so you are alive.”

“Mal’s tutoring me,” Elliott said. Because that was the safest interpretation of what was happening.

“If it happens in bed, it doesn’t count,” Ramsey said with a dirty chuckle.

Technically, Elliott didn’t need the tutoring in bed. That was Mal—or had been Mal. He was doing pretty damn good on his own these days.

Elliott shrugged.

“You’re really not going to tell us?” Ivan feigned disappointment.

“What is there to tell?”

“There’s something to tell,” Ramsey said. “You two barely look at each other these days and when you do?” He fanned himself.

“Yeah, it’s hot, even for me,” Ivan said.

“You’re a perennial disappointment, Mr. Zero on the Kinsey Scale,” Ramsey said fondly, patting Ivan on the shoulder.

Ivan smiled, looking like he wasn’t disappointed in the least.

God, Elliott loved his friends. He’d miss both of them when they graduated. And Mal . . .well, missing him felt like an understatement when he considered what it might be like if he kept going to school and didn’t end up playing hockey.

Or if he ended up playing for a different organization.

“Yeah,” Elliott said, “if I tell you, it has to stay under wraps. There’s things—well, I can’t go into the details. But it has to stay between us, okay?”

“Is Mal going to punish you later for saying something?” Ivan wondered.

“If he does, can I watch?” Ramsey added, his light blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“No, and no,” Elliott said. He paused. Once he told them, he couldn’t take it back—but he was sure he wouldn’t want to. “Yeah, we’re . . .well, yes, we are fucking. But Ivan’s right. It’s more than that.”

“I knew it,” Ramsey crowed. “That whole bullshit yesterday about having better taste than that! That was a prime overcompensation for the truth. I wasn’t sure until Mal blustered in, all fervent denial that he wasn’t even interested.”

“When he clearly was,” Ivan said.

“It’s good?” Ramsey wanted to know. Because of course he wanted to know.

Elliott nodded. “Worth waiting for,” he said. “ He was worth waiting for.”

“Aw, Ivan, our baby bro is in love,” Ramsey cooed, wrapping an arm around Elliott’s shoulders and squeezing him way too hard.

“I’m not your baby bro,” Elliott muttered, though he was secretly pleased by both their reaction and the nickname. “I already have three older sisters. I don’t need brothers too.”

“Yeah, you do,” Ivan said, grinning. “Nobody gives you shit like a big brother.”

“Clearly, you’ve never met my sisters.”

“ Only because you keep putting me off,” Ramsey teased.

“And that is not happening,” Elliott announced. “Ever. Ever, ever, ever.”

“Hey, if you could fall in love, and with Malcolm to boot, then there’s hope even for Ramsey,” Ivan pointed out.