16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Malcolm wasn’t nervous. Not exactly.

There wasn’t anything to get nervous about. His father was his father—there was no point in hoping he’d be different, because if anything Anthony McCoy was as steady as they came—but what Mal didn’t know was how he’d react to Elliott.

Specifically, how his father would react to Elliott as his boyfriend.

He’d never had a boyfriend before, so he’d never had to do this.

And while his father had been understanding in that completely unemotional way of his when Mal had told him the truth about his sexuality, he still didn’t know what would happen when Anthony McCoy came face-to-face with the obvious evidence that Mal wasn’t ever going to fit into the mold he’d designed for his only son.

First, he hadn’t gone into the military.

Second, he wanted to play hockey.

Third, he was gay.

Mal finished dressing, pulling on a plaid shirt and buttoning it up.

“You’re quiet,” Elliott said, coming to a stop in front of him. He was already dressed—in a nice pair of jeans and a dark green button-up. He looked as nervous as Mal was trying not to feel.

“Yeah. Good game, though.” It had been. They’d won four to two, the third line scoring and then Ivan flicking a goal in. Elliott had added a pair of his own, both with assists from Mal.

Their numbers would look even better after this, and no doubt the scouts were already sending emails about how potentially valuable the pair of them could be, if they ended up on the same team.

He should be happier about this; he was happy about this. But he still felt vaguely worried and more nauseous than he really wanted to admit to.

“You still seem distracted,” Elliott said. He lowered his voice. “Are you worried about your dad? We don’t have to tell him.”

Mal shot him a look. “Of course I’m going to tell him. I don’t want to keep you a secret—any more than we have to. And it’s not like he comes around all that often. This is the time to do it.”

Elliott sighed. “Do you always do what you’re supposed to do, Mal?”

“What do you think?” Mal tried not to snap, but his question came out harsher than he’d intended. “I’m sorry. I—I know we don’t have to do it, but I want to. I’m just . . .”

Elliott didn’t need him to finish his sentence. “I get it. It’s a lot. You’ve never done this before. Me either.”

“Not once? You’ve never met a parent before?”

“Oh, loads of times,” Elliott said, “but it was never serious. Not like . . .he’s the guy I love, that I want to spend all my time with, that I’m going to make a future with.”

Something about what Elliott said—and how he said it—unwound some of those nerves inside Mal. “You’re right. You’re really right. We’re doing this.”

“Yeah,” Elliott agreed, smiling. “And maybe he’s an ass about it. Will that suck? Absolutely. But that doesn’t change anything. I’m with you, every step of the way. This isn’t just you telling him, Mal, it’s us telling him.”

Mal hadn’t thought of it that way, and he was surprised at how reassuring that felt. It wasn’t only him, when it felt like his whole life, it had only been him and his dad. Only him to please and to placate and to ensure he was proud.

But not anymore.

He’d never put all of that on Elliott, but to know he’d share it, gladly?

“That . . .that means a lot,” Mal said.

“Come on, we’re meeting him at Jimmy’s, right?” Elliott asked.

“Yeah.” Mal grabbed his bag and followed Elliott out the door.

He hadn’t been able to in the locker room, but now, once they were past the throngs of people leaving after the game, he could reach out for Elliott’s hand and squeeze it.

“Thanks for doing this,” Mal said softly.

He’d meant to let go, but Elliott hung onto it firmly. Tenaciously. “You’re welcome. I’ll admit too, I’m curious.”

“About my dad?”

Elliott nodded. “You’re a unique kind of guy, Mal. And I know he had something to do with that.”

“He did push me to be the best. To take whatever I wanted to accomplish seriously.”

“Yeah, and you did those things,” Elliott pointed out. “As long as you remember that’s why you’re here. You did them.”

“I will,” Mal promised.

And Mal knew that, of course. Did he forget sometimes? Yes, he did. But he was still startled to hear Elliott bring it up with so much vehemence. The nerves, which had finally just quieted, blazed back to life again. What if Elliott—

No. He wouldn’t push his father.

But then wasn’t pushing a McCoy kind of an Elliott Jones trademark at this point?

Mal pulled open the door to Jimmy’s and held it for Elliott.

He wasn’t particularly surprised Elliott only had to scan the occupied tables for a second for him to figure out which was Anthony McCoy.

“Your dad looks just like you. Just . . .”

“Sterner?” Mal supplied.

“Yeah,” Elliott said, and they headed towards the table occupied by the very upright gentleman, dressed in a perfectly pressed dark green shirt not unlike Elliott’s own.

His father stood up as they approached.

“Hi, Dad,” Mal said.

“Malcolm,” he said, in his usual formal tone as he greeted him. They hugged but it was brief. Cold. Mal hadn’t even necessarily expected it.

“And this is Elliott,” Mal said, and he was sure he wasn’t the only one astonished when Elliott reached over and, ignoring Anthony’s outstretched hand, hugged him warmly.

“Hi,” Elliott said, shooting his dad the smile that had never, ever failed to melt Malcolm, even a little.

“The game was good,” Anthony said, as they settled down in the booth. Elliott’s leg pressed against Mal’s, not because, Mal assumed, space was tight, but because he wanted to feel him.

The feeling was mutual.

“Thanks,” Mal said.

“Mal mentioned you two are on the same line and playing together well.”

Elliott grinned with that same bright, dimpled smile. The one no amount of meeting-the-parent awkwardness or Anthony McCoy’s sternness could dim, apparently.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Elliott said, sharing that smile next with Mal. “He’s an amazing guy to play with. Aspirational, for sure. I wouldn’t want to be on a line with anyone else. And,” Elliott leaned forward, “ hot, too.”

Mal wanted to die. Just sink through the bench seat and never return.

His father looked surprised. Then speculative.

“Is that why he’s here at dinner?” Anthony directed this question towards Mal.

Mal nodded. Bracing himself for the worst. Hoping for the best. “Yes. That was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Elliott and I are dating now.”

Anthony didn’t frown. He didn’t look particularly happy either. Neutral, at best, Mal decided. Then also decided this was okay. It could’ve been worse.

“But you’re still focused on your studies? You’re still on track to head to Toronto after graduation?”

“Yes, sir. Everything’s going well.” Better than well , he wanted to yell at him. But yelling was not something they did in the McCoy house. Sometimes his father would bark if he was being difficult or not listening, but yelling was foreign to them.

There’d never been any reason for it.

“Mal’s brilliant. On and off the ice,” Elliott said staunchly, perhaps, if Mal had to guess, a bit rattled by the matter-of-fact way his father had merely assimilated their relationship and then moved on.

“As he should be. He has untold potential.” There was a hint of a frown now, on his father’s face.

Their everlasting argument.

Why should Malcolm waste all his “potential” playing what he considered a “children’s game” no matter how much fame and fortune and joy it brought him?

“Not so much untold now,” Elliott said lightly. He picked up his menu.

Mal cleared his throat. “Ell’s major is literature. He’s got the most amazing analytical mind. Uses it on the ice, too, but I think his biggest advantage is that he knows when to turn it off.”

He knew he’d said the wrong thing the moment it came out of his mouth, but it was appallingly obvious when Anthony frowned.

“Turn off his mind?”

“Instinct, you know? It’s what makes me such a great player—and your son, too. He’s using his instinct more, letting that guide him, and he’s gone from great to extraordinary.” Elliott was still partially absorbed in the menu—or he wasn’t as attuned yet to Anthony’s minute facial changes—so he didn’t pick up on his disapproval.

“Hmmm.” Anthony didn’t have to say anything more than that, but Mal felt the full weight of his disagreement.

“We’re learning from each other,” Mal said.

“Apparently.” Anthony had a very dry sense of humor, and this was delivered in a tone so parched it stung.

Elliott glanced up, and Mal realized then that he wasn’t unaware. He was simply pretending that anything his dad said that he didn’t agree with just didn’t exist.

What a typical Elliott strategy.

Mal wasn’t annoyed, though. Instead, he was begrudgingly impressed.

“Let’s order,” Elliott suggested, flagging the waitress down.

Mal ordered his favorite Reuben and tots—allowing himself the fried choice because it was a special occasion. They’d not only won tonight, his father was meeting Ell, and it wasn’t a complete fucking disaster. Yet .

After ordering the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, his father shot him a narrowed look. “Tater tots, Malcolm?”

“I don’t eat them often. I follow the meal plan.” Nearly . Strawberry pineapple smoothies and Italian subs weren’t really on the dietician’s meal plan either but he didn’t indulge in those all the time. Just when Elliott turned those puppy dog eyes on him and begged, silently.

Mal looked over at where he could tell Elliott was barely restraining an eye roll. “Don’t worry, he works them off,” he said.

“It’s still important to pay special attention to your energy intake,” his father said righteously. “I don’t want you getting lazy and adopting too many bad habits.” His quick glance at Elliott made it crystal clear who was to possibly blame for those and that Anthony had yet to decide if Elliott counted as a bad habit.

“I do,” Mal said.

“I just don’t want you taking your eye off the prize. Not this late in your development,” his father said. “You’ve put a lot of hard work in to get to this point. You’ve prepared well. You know the hockey protocols now. You can play the game as well as any of them. You have the technical background and the business foundation. You should be all set. Have you talked more to any of the Toronto front office about also doing an internship while you’re playing on the developmental team after graduation?”

“I’ve made some overtures,” Mal said. He really didn’t want to talk about this in front of Elliott, who knew he wanted to go into front office work but not how soon he was planning to do it. How would he take it if he knew the truth?

He wouldn’t be happy. Especially not if by some miracle, they did end up on the same team.

“What’s this?” Elliott asked innocently. “Internship?”

“Just a discussion we had when I was drafted,” Mal said, willing him to not ask any more questions.

“Mal is going to be doing something more with his life,” Anthony said and the frigid certainty in him—the rigidness that Mal had never known whether he should emulate or avoid, entirely—made it clear that he didn’t want to answer any more questions about this.

And maybe, Mal thought, that was a good thing.

The right thing.

Elliott had thought Mal was a tough nut to crack, an impenetrable block of ice.

But his father ?

He was so much colder.

He tried not to stare at Anthony McCoy as he neatly cut his meatloaf in half, then in quarters and then eighths, then carefully spread the tomato topping evenly across each piece before spearing the first one in his mouth.

Elliott had wondered, of course, even with the offhand comments Mal had made, how Mal had turned into the man he had.

Now, there was no question how that had happened.

Anthony McCoy was unemotional and singularly focused, and Elliott could only imagine how he’d pressed and pushed and maneuvered Malcolm into doing what he wanted him to do.

Speaking of that . . .he was clearly still trying to get Mal to conform to his expectations.

“How’s your sandwich?” Elliott asked, because an uncomfortable silence had fallen over the table after Anthony had brought up all the additional obligations that Mal apparently had to conform to.

“Really good.” Even Mal, who’d been more relaxed in his company than he’d been for years, basically, had tensed up.

Elliott could feel it, in every line of Mal’s body pressed against his.

“What are you planning to do with your . . .literature degree?” Anthony paused for the briefest second, which made it abundantly clear—though it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he didn’t approve—that he wasn’t a fan of Elliott’s choices.

Elliott supposed he could play the nice boyfriend. It wasn’t a mantle that fit comfortably on him, but this was Mal’s father, after all. And he loved Mal. Wanted to make him happy.

Or he could also give this McCoy a taste of his own medicine.

“Oh, I won’t have a degree,” Elliott said gravely. “I’m sure after I’m drafted I’ll head right to the AHL or maybe if I’m really lucky, start in the NHL right away. I just take the lit classes ’cause I enjoy reading so much.”

Impossibly, Malcolm tensed up even more next to him, but Elliott decided this was the best time he’d had since sitting down in Jimmy’s, so he kept going.

“I’m sure after this, I’ll only need to read to review my multi-million dollar contracts,” Elliott said breezily.

A vein started pulsing in Anthony’s forehead, and he’d gone an unnatural shade of puce.

This was nearly as fun as working up the younger McCoy, except that when he did that, Mal usually tackled him to the bed and ripped all his clothes off.

“You’re not going to graduate?” Anthony asked, enunciating every single word like he was now convinced his son’s boyfriend was a complete idiot.

“Who needs a piece of paper?” Elliott retorted, keeping his tone cheerful—and okay, maybe a little bit dumb.

Next to him, Mal let out a sigh that even he could hear.

Had he figured him out?

Possibly, yes. But that didn’t make this any less enjoyable.

“You don’t think you’d like to better prepare yourself for the future? How do your parents feel about that?”

“Oh, they intend to ride my success all the way to the bank. Sir .” Elliott added that last bit on with an especially impudent smile.

The noise Mal made in his throat resembled a strangled gasp.

Maybe he could also work Mal up enough during this convo to ensure the regular outcome, too. Two birds, one stone, right?

Anthony stared at him, like he was somehow attempting to solve the mysteries of the universe. Or maybe just the mysteries of Elliott’s brain.

It was, in his humble opinion, way too easy to convince the McCoy men he was just a pretty face.

“I . . .” Anthony let out a deep breath. “You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

“Damnit, how’d you guess?” Elliott shot him another of the smiles that had never failed to loosen up his son.

Mal muttered something under his breath that might’ve been, because you’re a shitty liar .

But Anthony actually goddamned smiled. It was a small smile, more the upturning of a corner of his mouth, but there it was. And Elliott had done that.

“Because my son would never fall for a complete imbecile,” he said, and there was an unmistakable hint of fondness in his voice now and in his eyes, as they looked at Mal.

“That’s fair,” Elliott said.

“And you said you’d be on your best behavior,” Mal said, elbowing him.

Elliott just laughed. “I decided to shake things up a bit.”

“It was just the right amount of shaking up. I’m sorry, I do get too serious sometimes. It’s hard for me to relax. At work, it feels like every decision is life and death and I carry that with me, too often. I gave that tendency to Malcolm, too, unfortunately and I’m glad to see he’s got you, to, as you put it, shake things up for him.”

“I’m not,” Mal muttered under his breath. And Elliott knew he’d be in for it later—but only in the best, totally sexiest way.

“Yeah, you are,” Elliott said happily. “You totally are.” He kissed Mal noisily on the cheek and while Elliott couldn’t say the rest of the meal was comfortable, necessarily, it lacked the awkward chilliness of the first part.

And when the time came to go, Anthony picking up the check, Elliott was happy to see that their hug was a trifle longer than the first, and when Mal pulled away, he was nearly smiling.

It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something.

“Before you start in on the inevitable lecture, let’s get to your apartment first, so I can at least listen to it while staring at your naked body,” Elliott said, the moment they were out of Mal’s father’s hearing.

Mal sighed. He’d known something like this might happen—but to his astonishment it had actually helped .

Maybe Elliott knew him—and therefore his father—a little too well.

“Oh, come on, I mostly behaved,” Elliott teased.

“Mostly,” Mal said darkly, because that was less complicated than confessing the truth.

Thank you for getting both of us out of our own heads—and our own asses. Thank you for being a fucking beacon of sparkling light even when I’m not. I hope you never, ever stop being you.

“You enjoyed it. I saw your smile.” Elliott nudged him, and there was more of that undeniable sparkle, dusted over Mal, like he deserved it.

“I . . .I did. I . . .I kind of dread him showing up. And you made it better. Easier.”

“A lot better. A lot easier,” Elliott retorted fondly.

It was hard to deny. “Yeah,” Mal agreed.

Elliott looked even more delighted. “So no lecture? I was looking forward to it.”

“You were not. You were looking forward to getting me naked,” Mal faux-grumbled—because how could he be annoyed that Elliott continued to want him with the same burning intensity that Mal felt?

“Well, yeah .”

“Uh . . .me too,” Mal murmured, wrapping an arm around Elliott’s waist and pulling him close. It was late on a Friday and there were pockets of students around, but in the darkness, they were just two anonymous guys in love. He pressed a hard kiss to Elliott’s mouth and then softened it when Elliott grabbed him and wouldn’t let him go.

“You’re welcome,” Elliott said when Mal finally pulled away.

“Thank you.” It was hard saying it, but Elliott deserved him tackling the tough shit.

“Yeah, I know.” Elliott’s touch was soft, tender as he stroked his back. “It must have sucked, growing up with him.”

“Yes and no.” Mal sighed. “He wasn’t always this intense. He just . . .I know he has hopes for me to do things.”

“Like not play hockey anymore?” Elliott asked pointedly.

“Ell . . .”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Elliott added. “I just . . .I don’t get it. You’re good, Mal. And if you really want to give it up and join the front office, fine. I’ll support you every step of the way. But I want to know that it’s what you want.”

“I . . .” Mal cleared his throat. He didn’t know. He didn’t know . And the idea of saying that out loud went so radically against everything he’d been raised to be he didn’t know how to do it.

“It’s okay,” Elliott said. “You don’t have to decide—or even know— right now. You’ve got all kinds of time.”

Mal hadn’t considered that, and to his surprise, that was actually a very reassuring thought. He didn’t need to know now.

“I bet that’s not something you were told very often,” Elliott continued dryly.

“No,” Mal agreed. “But I like it. I really like it.”

He’d thought forever that he had to have all the answers. That if he didn’t—well, he’d need to find them, ASAP. It was a breath of fresh air to think he could take his time.

Kind of like Elliott.

They approached the apartment, Elliott reaching down and taking his hand, squeezing it.

“I got something you’re gonna really like even more,” Elliott said. “Tell me Jane isn’t going to be home.”

“I’m sure she’s at rehearsal still,” Mal said, as he unlocked the door.

Sure enough, the apartment was dark and quiet, and it was too easy to let Elliott keep leading him in his bedroom.

Mal was sure Elliott, with his desk piled with books and papers and overflowing hamper and pictures tacked up all over his walls, would no doubt find his extreme neatness somewhat austere.

But Elliott didn’t even look around the room. He was only looking at Mal.

Elliott nudged him back towards the bed.

Mal, now that he had some experience under his belt, didn’t always let Elliott take control in the bedroom.

But today, he went easily, the backs of his knees hitting the bed.

“God, just look at you,” Elliott said in a hushed voice. He leaned in and Mal turned his face up, hoping for a kiss, but Elliott only dropped his backpack to the floor, and to Mal’s surprise, went rummaging inside it.

“I thought we might need this tonight,” Elliott mumbled as he found what he was looking for, “and I was right.” He pulled out one of the toys Mal had seen in his bedside drawer, the one that Elliott told him vibrated.

Mal swallowed hard. “You had that in your bag while we were at dinner with my father ?”

Elliott just laughed. “Hell yes, that’s exactly why I had it. I knew you were gonna be all tense and cold after we saw him. And I’d want to melt you right back into my Mal.”

“I’m still your Mal,” he protested weakly, even though he knew exactly what Elliott was talking about. Every time he saw his dad, he could feel that tenseness creeping in along his neck, until the muscles felt nearly locked with how rigidly he was holding himself.

“You will be,” Elliott said, waggling his eyebrows.

Mal wanted to laugh, too, but it was hard when Elliott was gesturing with the toy. His cock was already growing hard, thinking about it, and he shifted on the bed. Already thinking of how good it would feel buzzing away inside him.

Elliott finally kissed him, lush and intense, tongue slipping inside Mal’s mouth, even as he felt Elliott begin to pull his clothes off.

First his plaid shirt, unbuttoning it temptingly slow. Then his jeans, Mal gasping as Elliott palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs.

He only broke the kiss to slip his T-shirt off, fingers trailing down his bare chest. Tickling and tantalizing in equal measure.

Slipping off Mal’s underwear, he took a step back, his gaze admiring.

“Now this is the view I like,” Elliott mused. Then his tone changed, dropped lower, grittier. “Get back on the bed.”

What else could Mal do but follow his orders?

He knew he’d enjoy every moment of letting Elliott take control of his body.

Crawling up towards the pillows, he let his legs fall open and Elliott made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat that got Mal even harder.

“God, how are you so fucking sexy? And all for me,” Elliott crooned. Leaning in and kissing Mal again. But not nearly deeply enough. Not nearly long enough.

A minute later, he was pulling away, and Mal could feel the cool touch of lube against his hole.

“Sorry it’s cold,” Elliott apologized. His other hand stroked Mal’s thigh, encouraging him without words to relax into it. To enjoy every moment.

Mal didn’t need the encouragement, but he did need the reminder.

“It’s okay, I’m . . .uh . . . hot,” Mal stuttered as Elliott’s thumb circled his opening.

Then it slipped in, and they both groaned.

“Yeah, you fucking are,” Elliott said, sounding nearly as wrecked as Mal felt.

He went slowly—too slowly if Mal had anything to say about it. He wasn’t a newbie at this anymore. But Elliott was so careful with him, always. Wanting every moment to be extraordinary.

“I can take more,” Mal panted. “Give it to me. And God , please touch me.” His cock felt like an over-sensitized mess, rubbing against his abs, smearing precome all over.

“I am touching you,” Elliott pointed out, thrusting two fingers deep. Holding them there and letting Mal squirm around them.

He kept tapping that spot that drove him insane, but never letting him have more than a second of it.

“You know what I mean.” Mal moaned as he thrust again. And again.

“Oh, we’re gonna get to that,” Elliott promised, the corner of his mouth turning up into a sly grin. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“I’m not worried—I’m fucking desperate,” Mal begged.

But Elliott didn’t move that other hand to his cock, though more than once, he leaned over him, warm breath washing over it.

“That’s so good,” Mal cried out, as Elliott finally gave him what he needed so bad, the calloused pads of his fingers dragging over where he needed him to be, so deep inside.

“Yeah? This is gonna be even better. Promise.” Elliott pulled his fingers out and a moment later, Mal felt the smooth silicone of the toy slipping inside him.

It was all the way in when Mal felt it rest directly against that spot.

“Fuck,” Mal cried out.

“Yeah, told you you’re really gonna like this.” Elliott paused and looked him right in the eye. “Don’t touch your cock, okay? Not yet.”

“I wanna,” Mal said, panting.

“I know, but trust me . You’re gonna get what you need.”

Then Elliott pressed a hidden button and Mal’s back nearly jackknifed as the vibrations surged through him.

It was glorious and terrible and so intense he needed to touch his cock more than he’d ever needed to in his whole goddamned life, if only to relieve that nearly unbearable pressure building inside him.

Instead, he dug his fingers hard into the comforter and tried to ride it out.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it. Good isn’t it?” Elliott crooned. To Mal’s surprise he was suddenly straddling him, up near his chest and leaning in, kissing him hard.

Mal groaned.

If he bucked up just a little, his cock would just brush Elliott’s back, the gorgeous spot right where the muscular slope of his back met the generous curve of his ass.

Mal had never wanted anything more. He knew it would only take a moment, and he’d be coming harder than he ever had in his whole goddamn life.

But Elliott had promised him he’d get what he needed. If all he needed was this incessant pleasure, building and building, and Elliott pressed to his chest, his tongue in Mal’s mouth—then he’d accept it.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this.” Elliott pulled back, and to Mal’s surprise, as he cracked his eyes open, somehow Elliott had taken his clothes off.

“Damn,” Mal muttered.

“You went somewhere else for a moment there,” Elliott teased. But love was shining in his eyes. Mal didn’t need him to say it for him to know, without question, that he loved him just like this.

Put together and torn apart.

“Want you,” Mal said, panting.

“Gonna give it to you,” Elliott said, nudging his body closer, until his hard cock was nearly brushing against Mal’s mouth. “But first—”

Mal didn’t need any instructions. He reared up, licking the head, licking everywhere he could reach. He couldn’t take Elliott very deep, but he could suck the sensitive head of Elliott’s dick and make him moan.

It was good too, to do this, and to take a little of his mind off the fact that he was going insane with the overwhelming need to come.

“Yeah, yeah, suck me, baby,” Elliott crooned, hand drifting down to cup Mal’s face, feeling the slide of his cock into his mouth. “Someday, I’m gonna fuck your face just like this, and you’re gonna love every second of it.”

Mal made an encouraging noise, best as he could, with his mouth full of cock.

Elliott held back, though. “Someday,” he murmured, patting Mal’s cheek.

But he did feed him a little more, flexing his hips and ass, and Mal closed his eyes for a moment, imagining how fucking incredible he’d look from the back right now. He felt like he was being driven to a place he didn’t understand—but he was along for the ride, anyway.

It wasn’t even about wanting to be on it, about liking or disliking it; it was about a deeper, more visceral need.

“That’s it, baby,” Elliott said with a moan. Thrusting his hips just a little, and everything inside Mal tensed.

And then, he was coming, waves of it washing over him over and over, a silent scream around Elliott’s cock.

“Fuck,” Elliott said, pulling out and scrambling down Mal’s body.

A stripe of come hit his chest, and Mal gasped.

He thought the orgasm was almost over, but then Elliott leaned over and instead of pulling out the toy, or God, turning off its insanity-inducing buzzing, he pushed it farther in, and Malcolm honest to God screamed, cock kicking up again, a last dribble of come leaking out of him.

He slumped back and Elliott finally turned the vibrator off, before he turned to him, hand stroking his cock.

“Shit that was hot,” Elliott said.

“Come here,” Mal begged. It had been beyond words, but the one thing he knew he still needed was to make Elliott feel good too.

“Don’t have to beg me ,” Elliott said softly and slid closer again, smearing the come pooling on Mal’s chest. But he didn’t give a shit. Fuck messiness. He just wanted Elliott’s dick.

And he got it, Elliott feeding it to him, until a minute later he tensed up and he was coming down Mal’s throat.

He swallowed, and if he hadn’t already been lying down, he’d have collapsed.

“One second,” Elliott said, breathless from his orgasm. “I got you, baby.”

Gently he pulled out the toy and tossing it down, collapsed onto Mal’s chest.

Apparently he didn’t give a shit about the mess, either. Of course, this was Elliott, so that was far less surprising.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Mal because he wasn’t sure he had a single fucking word in his brain and Elliott probably because he knew that.

After all, he’d known to give Mal that experience. Surely he’d had his version of it.

Even though he was spent, Mal’s blood rose a little at the idea of getting to do that to Elliott. Of watching him unravel that way.

“You okay?” Elliott asked, nuzzling in closer, sliding a leg over Mal’s thigh. “Warm enough? Comfortable?”

“I’m . . .” Mal didn’t know what he was. Only that he’d needed that. And somehow Elliott had known.

“Good, yeah?” Elliott propped an elbow onto Mal’s chest and the look in his green eyes was serene and satisfied. “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

Elliott somehow knew that Mal meant the question to mean, how did you know I needed exactly that? and not, how did you know how to do that?

’Cause frankly he didn’t give a shit who’d shared Elliott’s bed before this. He was here now, and if he was very, very lucky he wouldn’t ever get kicked out of it.

“Every time your dad comes up, your shoulders tense. Even mentioning him makes you tense.” Elliott sighed. “I knew seeing him would be worse. I just wanted to melt you down a little, after.”

“Thank you,” Mal said, pressing a kiss to Elliott’s palm. “Fuck. I didn’t even know that was what I needed. But I did. Promise me something?”

“Anything.” Elliott’s tone was deceptively casual, but Malcolm could see how earnest he was. That he meant it.

“Melt me every time I need it?”

It was hard to ask, but Mal knew it would’ve been harder to ask if Elliott wasn’t the man he was.

“Always,” Elliott said and relaxed back into his chest.

He didn’t need to say it was a promise, because Mal felt it in every molecule.