12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

It wasn’t like every game wasn’t important.

They were.

Coach B and Zach—plus all the many, many coaches Brody had had over the years—had always impressed on him that every single minute on the ice mattered.

But this one loomed even larger. The Evergreens’ main conference rival, the Sabretooths, were in town, and this was the second game they’d played against them in as many days.

In preparation for this weekend’s games, Coach and Zach had them working really hard all week, especially the defense, because the Olympia Sabretooths were considered to have one of the best offensive lines in all of NCAA hockey. Practices had been so long and grueling this week, he’d barely had time to see Dean.

Definitely they hadn’t had time to fool around. Disappointingly.

Brody shoved those thoughts away. Trying to focus on today’s challenge.

Yesterday, they’d narrowly lost, with the Sabretooths scoring a goal in the last five minutes of the third period. Finn had been despondent after, not letting anyone talk to him, and then disappearing.

But today, Brody knew, was a new day. A new game. A new opportunity to make his mark and be part of the team that stopped Olympia.

Right now? They were doing it. They were up 2 to 1, and Brody felt like he was playing his best hockey of the season. Frankly, the Sabretooths had required it. He’d had no choice but to give this challenge everything he had.

“Ten minutes left. Let’s not let them tie it up,” Coach said, during one of the last TV timeouts of the game. He met each player’s eyes, but Brody didn’t miss how his gaze settled on Brody and Ramsey. They’d be spending a lot of this last ten minutes on the ice, hoping to prevent Olympia from tying it up.

“No mistakes,” Ramsey echoed.

“Don’t let them bait you into anything,” Coach added.

They’d only let the Sabers have the power play once this game. And during that one power play, despite his and Ramsey’s best efforts, they’d set up and scored a fairly easy goal twenty seconds in.

Coach turned to say something to Finn, who had a particularly determined tilt to his jaw.

If Brody knew him at all, he’d bet that Finn was already beating himself up for missing that goal.

“Hey,” Ramsey said, nudging Brody. “They’re gonna get aggressive out there, with you. With all of us.”

“Oh, they’re gonna get aggressive?” Brody questioned. They’d already been pushing him hard, into the boards and getting into his face what felt like every moment of the game so far.

Olympia’s game plan tonight seemed to be to put their most physical line onto the ice, and then wait to send their ace scoring power play team.

It hadn’t worked so far, and Brody—and clearly Ramsey—expected them to push harder.

They’d want to take both of these games and go home to Olympia as the sole leader of the conference. But Brody was determined, in a fierce way that he hadn’t been since the season started, to not let that happen.

“I’m just saying, don’t lose your shit, no matter what they throw at you,” Ramsey reminded him.

“I won’t.”

The TV coordinator lowered his arm, indicating the timeout was at an end, and they set up at the Sabretooths’ side for the face-off.

Ivan took the puck and passed it to Elliott, but he was getting swarmed as he tried to work towards the center of the ice, and Brody skated over to assist, trying to draw some of the attention off.

It worked a little too well, drawing their defenders over, one big burly guy whose build resembled Dean’s. He slammed Brody right into the boards, but he barely blinked. This guy had been a pain in his fucking side— literally— for the last two games.

But Brody wasn’t going to let a twinge of pain stop him. He pushed back and then took off again, not letting the guy slow him down for more than a few seconds.

His gaze narrowed, taking in where Mal and Elliott were trying to get the puck centered, Ramsey playing interference, and Brody skated in, too, still back enough in the zone where he could respond if Olympia’s players decided to make a push to their side of the ice.

Elliott went in, skating hard, and took a shot, the puck barely glancing off the goalie’s pad, and Mal was there for the rebound, trying to punch it in higher.

But he missed, the goalie grabbing it out of mid-air and passing it to one of his players.

Brody only had a moment to react.

But before he could skate after the guy, along with Ramsey, the big burly guy checked him into the boards again, and this time, he ground him in, trapping him with one huge arm.

Brody tried to wiggle out, hoping that any second the ref would at least be calling roughing, but nobody did.

Brody’s temper spiked as the guy shoved his gloved hand hard into his stomach, but they were close enough Brody guessed the ref hadn’t even seen it.

It was semi-dirty, and also not surprising.

But it still pissed him off.

“Cut the shit,” Brody told him, but the guy only kept grinning and kept coming, no matter how Brody tried to wiggle out of it.

Where was the fucking ref?

Finally, annoyed that if he wasted one more second, he’d be leaving Ramsey and the rest of the line to deal with the Sabretooths’ potent offense, he elbowed the guy hard, hoping it would be enough to release him.

It wasn’t. So he did it again. And again, and until finally he was able to skate off, but not before he heard the ref finally blow his whistle.

Brody’s stomach dropped as the ref pointed his direction and finally called the roughing.

“Shit, that wasn’t me,” Brody yelled. “I was just—”

But before he could, Ramsey was skating over, taking him by the arm and pulling him away from the ref. “You needed to trust we could handle that shit,” he muttered to Brody.

“I did—”

But before he keep arguing, Ramsey was skating away, leaving him to enter the penalty box on his own.

Fuck.

Sure enough, he saw Olympia’s power play team, famous throughout the conference—frankly they were fucking famous throughout the country, at this point—come over the boards onto the ice.

Ramsey had already been on for the last minute, and he was coming to the end of his time, but he saw him motion to Coach B to keep him in.

It was foolish and risky, but Coach nodded.

What else could they do?

The rest of the Evergreens’ team couldn’t hold them.

He and Ramsey were barely able to fucking hold them.

Brody slammed his gloves onto the bench, anger rushing through him in a hot, dizzying wave. He hadn’t been the one to fuck up. He’d only been trying to pry himself loose. Maybe a little more forcefully than he’d needed to, sure, but what was it they always said?

It was always the second guy who got caught.

It took them a little over thirty seconds this power play.

They slipped right past Ramsey, who Brody could tell was exhausted, and flicked the puck in only a split second before Finn dived for the empty space, and the crowd erupted.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Brody cried out, as the penalty box door opened.

“Bench,” Zach called, even though he’d just been on the bench.

Brody made a face but he retreated over to the bench, lifting himself over the boards and collapsing next to Ramsey, who was breathing hard.

“I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ramsey said, not letting him even get the apology out. “I told you not to fuck with them.”

“I wasn’t,” Brody claimed. But he’d hit the guy harder than he’d really intended. And more times than he’d probably needed to. He’d felt the frustration bubbling up inside him, and he’d just reacted.

Instead of focusing, instead of being the needle, slid in exactly as deep as needed, he’d become the hammer.

“It’s not how you play hockey,” Ramsey pointed out.

It hurt, but it was also fair.

“Focus,” Coach B barked out. His stern expression promised that they’d be talking about this at the end of the game.

Brody wanted to say, I don’t know how I play hockey, anymore , but he didn’t, because this definitely wasn’t the right place to be having that conversation.

“I’m subbing Greene for Faulkner with Ramsey,” Coach said, when Brody went to get up.

Fucking shifted to the second defensive pair at the end of the game. Brody wanted to howl about how fucking unfair this all was, but he’d been the one to nab the penalty that had led to the tying goal.

Part of him got it. Part of him understood it.

While the other part of him screamed in protest.

Two minutes before the end of the game, Elliott grabbed the puck on a breakaway, and took an insane risk, deking the goalie, and slapped it in with a nice little shot up above his right shoulder.

Brody celebrated with the rest of his team, but by the time they trudged into the locker room, elated but exhausted, he didn’t feel much like patting himself—or anybody else—on the back.

He was sure someone was going to corner him and read him the riot act. Coach B, definitely. Ramsey, for sure.

But nobody did.

Until Brody wanted to lash out, pound his fists at anyone who kept smiling at him, like he’d fucking done anything to win the game.

Along with the rest of the team, he showered, dressed, and dutifully headed out to the victory dinner that Coach had told them was waiting at Jimmy’s if they pulled this win off.

But still, nobody said a word.

Everyone acted, Brody realized, like his fuckup hadn’t even happened. Like it wasn’t even worth commenting on.

He lingered in the doorway of Jimmy’s, watching as the team piled into a dozen booths.

There was his normal spot, right next to Ramsey, but he was afraid to take it.

He didn’t feel like he deserved it, or the victory fries that they’d share together.

“Come on,” Zach said, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s celebrate.”

Brody grimaced but dropped down next to Ramsey, who was staring at the menu like he hadn’t been eating here for three plus years.

“Listen, I went too hard. I know that,” Brody said. “I’m sorry.”

“I warned you,” Ramsey said, not looking at him.

Brody felt the snub like a fist to the face.

This was Ramsey . One of his best friends.

“Maybe you’re not taking this shit seriously,” Ramsey continued quietly, before Brody could try to argue—or apologize—again. “But the rest of us fucking are, Brody.”

“I’m taking it seriously,” Brody argued. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.

But even as he told himself that, this was still the biggest goddamn slam to his ego.

Ramsey telling him to take something seriously.

But this Ramsey was a new and improved Ramsey. Still the same Ramsey on the surface, sure, easygoing and fun and the life of every party, but underneath? There was a steel to him that Brody had never seen before.

He wanted this in a way Ramsey never had before.

In a way Brody recognized, because he used to feel this way about hockey.

“Not seriously enough,” Ramsey said.

Brody stood. “I’m good,” he spat and marched out, letting the door slam behind him.

Dean couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed that he and Brody had only managed to share a single pair of rushed hand jobs this week. Or that Brody had already texted him and said he’d be late getting home tonight, too, after the game, because if they won—and Brody had added that they were gonna win, no questions—they’d be going out after.

And a few minutes ago, he’d checked the scores and sure enough, the Evergreens hockey team had beaten the Olympia Sabretooths.

Dean was happy for Brody. He shouldn’t be disappointed.

Brody should be out celebrating with his teammates.

But he was. Disappointed. And restless. And horny.

Their plane had gotten in from their Saturday game, and he was by himself in the apartment, wishing more than he felt comfortable admitting to, just how much wanted to not be alone tonight.

Dean flopped back on the couch.

Considered putting ESPN or a movie on.

But he was alone. Totally alone.

You could watch anything you fucking wanted to. Anything at all.

Dean’s fingers twitched on the remote, but finally, instead of clicking on something innocent like Sportscenter, he hit the power button instead.

He shouldn’t.

It felt wrong to do this without Brody, even if he was thinking about Brody.

A few days ago, Wes had sent him a link to a porn site—specifically a gay porn site—hosting a free two-week trial period, and had added, in case you need any extra info. Or any additional inspiration.

He didn’t need any, as long as Brody was around. But after last Saturday, Brody hadn’t been, not really. Their schedules, which they could usually massage into meshing, had clashed instead.

Dean couldn’t even say he’d gotten used to regular orgasms, because four in approximately four weeks didn’t make a pattern, not even close. But his brain—and his dick—and gotten used to the concept that they might start happening more regularly.

Except that they hadn’t, and Dean was tired of just using his right hand and his imagination.

What would be the harm of at least looking at the stuff Wes sent?

Guys watched porn. It wasn’t that unusual, even if it was sort of unusual for Dean.

After all, he’d confessed one of his fantasies to Brody and he’d said, that sounds like an advanced maneuver. Shouldn’t he be learning enough that maybe he could pull that kind of move off?

That was what convinced him.

Dean pulled his laptop out. Checked that the door was locked. Not that it mattered. Brody had a key, even if he wouldn’t be home for hours, and even if he did come home, what Dean was doing was hardly shameful.

After all, he was learning for Brody, right? He and Brody, both, would benefit from this.

As he navigated to the site and clicked the free trial, his palms were already sweating and his dick was already half-hard in his sweatpants.

A whole string of videos popped up on his screen.

Most of them sounded semi-terrifying.

Guy gets railed by two guys.

Hot dude delivers a pizza—with extra sausage.

Deep throat orgy.

But finally there was one that sounded promising: two guys experiment for the first time.

Maybe it wasn’t the learning experience that Dean had told himself he was gonna watch, but there was enough of a kernel of truth in that title that he couldn’t stop himself from clicking on it.

After he did, and the video started playing, he realized it was more than just a little kernel of truth. It was a whole fucking popcorn bucket full.

Two guys, one smaller than the other, who even looked a little like Brody, were sitting on a couch in a way that was so similar to the way they’d been sitting that first night.

Then one of them leaned over, put a hand on the smaller guy’s thigh, and Dean let out a gust of hot air.

He’d never been this turned on by watching porn before. But then again, he’d never been as turned on as he was regularly with Brody.

On screen, the thigh touch had led to kissing, then one guy, the smaller one, naturally, sliding into the other guy’s lap.

Dean’s fingers clenched, spasming near his hard, aching cock. He didn’t want to touch himself, but he desperately did, too. But he was afraid if he did, he’d come before he could stop himself. Because that was him and Brody on screen. Those were his hands, cupping Brody’s perfect, shapely ass, running up and down his gorgeous back, his mouth claiming Brody’s until he was moaning and squirming.

That was his look of unbelievable bliss, the face of a man who’d just gotten everything he’d never even thought to want, but now didn’t know how to live without.

Dean leaned forward, hearing his harsh pants in the quiet of the room mingling with the sounds from the screen.

On the screen, the smaller guy scrambled down off the bigger man’s lap and then licked his lips in anticipation as he pulled the other guy’s cock out.

Dean had to close his fist around his own, because he didn’t want to come right now, thinking about how Brody had gone to his knees for him. How eager he’d been, even if he didn’t know what he was doing. How fucking incredible it had felt, because it wasn’t just some random mouth, but Brody’s .

He’d never thought that would make any difference. One blowjob had to feel about the same as any other. They always felt good.

But Brody, who stupidly claimed he needed to get “better,” had systematically destroyed all of Dean’s assumptions about pleasure.

Dean was squeezing his cock, eyes glued to the screen, trying not to come, which felt like an irony, because wasn’t that the point of porn, when he heard a noise.

A noise like a key in a lock.

Like a key in the lock of the front door.

He only had time to think, but Brody’s not supposed to be home yet, before Brody was undeniably there, striding into the living room.

He stopped right in his tracks, clearly not expecting to see his roommate with his cock hanging out, porn playing on his laptop.

Well, Dean hadn’t expected to see him . Or else he wouldn’t have bothered with the porn. It was hot, but there was nothing hotter than the real thing.

“Are you . . .you are ,” Brody said. Dean realized then that what he was seeing was pure frustration clearing off Brody’s face, replaced by a combination of wonder and arousal.

“I . . .yeah,” Dean admitted. Because how was he supposed to deny it, when the guys were currently moaning up a storm on the screen, and he was sitting here, with his cock out.

He hadn’t softened at all from the interruption, but he could probably thank the source of the interruption for that.

“Huh.” Brody cocked his head. Regarding Dean, eyes flicking from the laptop to his dick and then back. “Are you watching two guys hooking up on a couch?”

Dean flushed. This could not possibly get more embarrassing than it was, and yet he felt they were plumbing new depths.

The only way it would’ve been worse was if he and Brody weren’t actually hooking up.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted.

“Hot,” Brody said and then grinned. “You want some company?”

Dean fumbled for the stop button, but before he could, Brody put his hand out and stopped him. “That wasn’t me telling you to pause it,” he said and sat down right next to Dean, palming the bulge in his jeans with no shame whatsoever, only a bright, cocky grin shot in Dean’s direction that somehow made him even harder.

“You wanna watch it . . .uh . . .together?” Dean didn’t think he had air in his lungs any longer, but nope, that was when Brody nodded.

“Uh . . .alright,” Dean stuttered. He kept thinking, every single time he and Brody hooked up, that he’d never been harder in his life. But he was practically fucking aching with how hot this was.

Especially when, completely matter-of-factly, Brody shed his jeans, shoving them around his thighs, followed by his boxer briefs.

His cock bobbed out, almost totally hard now. Dean wondered if he should look somewhere else, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off it as Brody gave himself an experimental stroke and moaned.

“You’re supposed to look at the porn,” Brody teased him.

It probably wasn’t very friends-with-benefits-y to say, you’re hotter than any porn I’ve ever seen. Including this one. Which is practically me and you, together. Dean knew it. It was like holding up a flashing neon sign that said, I’m in this deeper than we both expected I’d be. What should we do about it?

Nothing, that was what they should do about it.

Still, it wasn’t a habit of his to hide the truth. It was his habit to lay it out, unvarnished and ugly, even if it pissed everyone off.

“I don’t want to,” Dean said simply.

Brody smiled. “Kind of defeats the purpose,” he said.

“No, it doesn’t.” Dean stroked himself again, more insistently this time, even as pleasure muddled his senses, just to prove that it definitely didn’t.

Every inch of Brody was gorgeous. Outside, for sure, no fucking question about that, and Dean was beginning to suspect inside was similar. Even like this, so turned on and tense with it he could barely breathe, he’d never felt as safe as he did with Brody. As completely fucking free.

“Oh,” Brody said suddenly as his gaze flicked to the screen, and Dean had to look now, because anything that could cause Brody to make that noise had to be worth seeing. And repeating.

The guys had gone back to other guy’s lap, but this time, the bigger guy was circling the smaller guy’s ass with his fingers, damp with lube, and then he slid a thumb in.

“You like that?” Dean could hear the gruffness in his own voice. Because he was thinking about it, now.

He wasn’t the only one.

“I don’t know,” Brody said. But his eyes were glued to the screen, his hand moving on his cock. He looked as into this as Dean imagined he’d looked earlier, when these two had started kissing on the couch.

“Come ’ere,” Dean said.

Brody looked over at him. “You don’t want—”

“I want you . Don’t care how it happens,” Dean said. But he did know Brody was too far away, even though he was right there, next to him on the couch. Dean couldn’t touch him. Not the way he wanted to. Couldn’t kiss him, and suddenly that was the crime of the century.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think they’d have a million endless opportunities to kiss, and he was going to steal every single fucking one.

Brody leaned over, first with his head and then his whole body, climbing right where he belonged, which was Dean’s lap. He tangled a hand in Brody’s hair as their mouths met.

“How,” Brody panted between long kisses, “did you know I needed this?”

It was a stupid question; Dean needed this all the time, so surely Brody had to feel even a tiny fraction of what he did.

By the time Brody slid off his lap, boneless, eyes so bright with pleasure and joy, the bigger guy was two fingers deep into the smaller guy’s ass and his moans had grown increasingly desperate.

“Do it,” Brody demanded, gazing up at Dean with those hero-worship eyes. Those soft, sugar-sweet eyes that Dean never wanted to deny.

“Do—”

But before Dean could get the question out, Brody was scrambling off the couch, shedding the rest of his clothes, and suddenly finding a new gear of speed as he tore through the apartment, returning only a second breathless moment later with a bottle of lube.

“Do it,” Brody demanded again. “Finger me.”

“But you don’t know if you like it.” Dean never wanted to do anything Brody wasn’t into. But he also couldn’t deny his cock was twitching, leaking now at the tip. He’d never been so turned on at just the thought of mirroring exactly what the pair was up to on screen.

“I’ll like it,” Brody said, panting. He put the lube in Dean’s palm, not giving him any more opportunities to argue. Then he settled back on Dean’s lap, gave his cock a stroke, and then Dean’s. Dean groaned, deep in his throat.

Dean knew the general thought behind this. Go nice and slow. Find the prostate. Lots of lube.

But he still hesitated.

Brody ran a hand through Dean’s hair. It was shorter, cropped close to his head, and Dean wondered if Brody kept this up, he’d want to grow it out. Give his man something to hang on to.

Focus, you fucking idiot .

“Do you . . .do you not think you’ll like it?” Brody asked, suddenly hesitant. “You said—”

“I’ll like it.” Dean repeated Brody’s own claim. “I’m gonna fucking love it. So much that I’m afraid I won’t make it good for you. And that’s all I want, for you to like it.”

“You’re gonna do it amazing. Promise,” Brody said, seriously, earnestly. Then leaned in and kissed him again, and there was nothing Brody could do to better convince him than to seduce him with that amazing mouth.

Dean broke the kiss a minute later. “Okay,” he said and, wetting his fingers, carefully slid them back, definitely not missing the opportunity to get a nice handful of Brody’s incredible ass with his dry hand as he spread his cheeks.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Dean said. He wasn’t the most vocal guy in the universe—he knew that, already—and he knew Brody was taking a risk here, trying this, and even if it didn’t come naturally to him, Dean was going to encourage him every step of the way.

“Yeah?” Brody’s voice had gone high and breathy as Dean’s thumb brushed his hole.

Gentle, he had to remind himself, because he wanted to bury his whole fucking hand in that hot tightness. Not just his hand. His cock . He throbbed with the desire, but he pushed that down. If he didn’t make this good for Brody this time, there’d never even be a possibility that he might want more.

“Tell me if this is too fast. Too hard. Too anything,” Dean ground out. He dug the fingertips of his other hand into the meat of Brody’s ass. Trying to control himself. Brody squeaked.

“What if it’s too good?”

“That, definitely ,” Dean said. He felt winded, like they’d been running sprints for hours.

That was all Brody. He stripped away all his defenses, his control, simply everything. And unlike anyone else, Dean wanted to thank him for it.

“Get on with it,” Brody demanded, writhing against his bigger body. “I’m so fucking horny I think I might explode.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re a bossy bottom?” Dean teased as he slid his thumb farther in.

“You said it.” Brody panted. Pressed a kiss against the corner of Dean’s mouth. “I’m a pretty boy.”

“ Fuck .” Dean felt so close to the edge, so close to losing it. He gripped Brody’s ass and tried not to just thrust up, into gorgeous oblivion.

“God, you’re so hot like this,” said Brody, the undeniably hot one of the pair of them.

“Like what?” Dean gave an experimental thrust and then another, feeling Brody’s body beginning to open to him, like a fucking miracle.

“Like you’re barely hanging on to your control.”

“I am barely hanging on to my control,” Dean admitted. “And you’re trying to push me right over, and that shouldn’t be hot, too, but it is.”

“Something else to add to the list.” Brody’s reminder was punctuated with a little desperate moan as Dean pulled back and then thrust again. And again.

“More,” he added, with a hard groan. “Goddamn it, give me more.”

“Tryin’ to be careful here,” Dean argued, but he pressed a second finger in next to where his thumb was buried.

“Fuck careful and fuck me ,” Brody begged.

But Dean had no intention of doing the first, and every intention of the second.

He thrust in and out, carefully working that second finger in, and then Brody was kissing him hard and fast, tongue in his mouth moving in the same rhythm, and he was shouting, cock rubbing against Dean’s abs.

A second later, he gasped into Dean’s mouth, and he was shaking apart in his arms, ass gripping his fingers like Brody’s ass was determined to squeeze the life out of them.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Brody cried out as he came back down.

He glanced at Dean’s cock, and he only had to put his hand on and give it one or two strokes before Dean’s own orgasm overtook him.

“That,” Dean said with a gasp, “was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”

Brody slumped down, head resting against his chest. “The porn?” he asked in a teasing voice.

“You know it wasn’t the porn,” Dean said as sternly as he could with his whole body as relaxed and happy as it was right now.

“Yeah,” Brody agreed.

“Guess you did like it.”

Brody chuckled. Dean felt more than heard the sound.

“Obviously, me too,” Dean said. He didn’t know why he kept talking. He never wanted to keep talking. But the truth was, he didn’t want this moment to end. Mess and all.

“Yeah, that was so fucking hot. You coming like that, when I barely touched you?”

Dean laughed, this time. “I was pretty fucking worked up.”

“Me too,” Brody said and then sighed. “Not just horny. Frustrated. Upset. That’s why I was home early. I skipped out on the ‘victory’ celebration.”

“But you guys won.”

Brody didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then another.

Dean waited him out, because he knew that Brody would eventually tell him.

“I got into it with Ramsey,” he finally said.

“ You got into it with Ramsey ?” Dean couldn’t believe it and wouldn’t have, if Brody didn’t have that look on his face that promised this was the truth.

“He’s . . .he’s becoming different. More serious. Especially on the ice. And me . . .” Brody trailed off. Then sat up. Pressed a last kiss to Dean’s mouth and scrambled off his lap, before Dean could grab his arm and convince him to stay, any way he could.

Dean waited a second and then said fuck it and followed Brody, into the bathroom.

He’d grabbed a washcloth and was cleaning up. When he was done, he handed it very matter-of-factly to Dean so he could do the same.

Dean figured this was the point where they were supposed to be separating the friends from the benefits . But fuck that. This was important.

Brody might be trying to hide it, to mask it, but he might be the most upset that Dean had seen him since they’d met.

“And you what?” Dean asked. He finished cleaning himself and tossed the washcloth into the laundry basket in the corner. Brody was leaning over the sink, eyes squeezed shut. Like now that the lust wasn’t fogging his brain anymore, he could think again, and he didn’t really want to.

“I lost my temper. I got pinned by an asshole on the other team and I fought back and I shouldn’t have. I knew I shouldn’t, but I did it anyway. Then of course I got penalized, and well, we’d been trying to keep them off the power play—”

“Olympia is really good on the power play,” Dean inserted gravely.

Brody looked up and met his gaze in the mirror. He looked confused—and also, weirdly pleased. Which was exactly the reaction Dean had been hoping for.

He shrugged. “I’ve read a few articles,” he said. An understatement. Between homework and practices, he’d been binging everything he could about hockey and Evergreens hockey specifically, wanting to understand exactly what Brody was going through. Hoping that maybe when he needed it, he could be a friend.

Though that was kind of delusional, wasn’t it? Because friends didn’t do anything they’d just done. Or want to do it again. Or want to hold their other friends close, after, and make sure they were okay.

“You’re reading about hockey?”

And watching some of your highlight packages on YouTube. I might be more embarrassed if you came in and saw me watching those than what you actually caught me watching.

“Uh, yeah, a little.” Don’t ask me why. Please don’t ask me to fucking explain.

“Huh.” But Brody didn’t.

Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“So, to make sure I understand,” Dean said, returning the subject to what had happened during Brody’s game, “you fought back, were the one who got the penalty, and then the Sabretooths went on the power play.”

Brody nodded. Their eyes met in the mirror again. “And they scored, almost immediately.” He sighed, then added wryly, “It sure didn’t help that I’m usually on the penalty kill, and I couldn’t exactly help out.”

“Probably not,” Dean said.

“Anyway, Ramsey chewed my ass out for it. Ramsey .”

“That’s why you fought.”

Brody’s jaw took on a stubborn tilt. “I didn’t need him to remind me not to get penalized in the first place. I didn’t do it for shits and giggles. And I sure as fuck didn’t need him to lecture me about it after.”

“You still won, though,” Dean reminded him.

“Yeah, thanks to Elliott. No thanks to me.”

Dean considered the problem. Maybe if he’d known all this happened and this was why Brody had come home early, he wouldn’t have been quite so eager to have sex. Maybe he’d have asked Brody if he wanted to talk about it first.

But then he realized the sex had actually helped Brody work some of that frustration off. It had been the best kind of distraction.

But like all distractions, eventually it was going to end.

“So, last time I checked, hockey’s a team sport.”

Brody looked startled, and turned, pinning Dean with a hot glare.

“Yeah. And?” he retorted.

Dean knew him well enough now to know what he was thinking. Oh, think you’re so smart now, huh?

But if Brody was pissed at him, he couldn’t be pissed at Ramsey—or at himself.

“And you didn’t fuck it all up, just the same as Elliott wasn’t the guy who saved it all. Y’all work as a team. Today it was Elliott who saved your asses. Next time, it’ll be Ramsey. And it’ll be you. It’s been you.”

Brody made a frustrated noise.

“I know, it sucks when I make so much goddamn sense,” Dean teased.

“I liked you better when we were fucking,” Brody said bluntly.

“No, you didn’t,” Dean said calmly.

And that made Brody smile. “Well, it’s sort of true. Nobody’s ever made me come like that before. Didn’t even know it could feel like that.”

Dean almost reminded Brody that he wasn’t exactly experienced in this area, but then he didn’t. If Brody wanted to think he was some kind of sex god, who was he to dissuade him? If it kept Brody coming back to his bed, Dean would be whatever he needed.

“You feelin’ better?” Dean asked instead.

Brody considered the question for a second, and that was how Dean knew he was going to get the truth and not some pretty brush-off.

“Not entirely. Won’t until I talk to Ramsey. Get to the bottom of this,” Brody said. Paused. “Actually, probably won’t feel completely better until I figure out all this future crap.”

“That’s what you and Ramsey are really fighting about,” Dean said.

Brody nodded. And then to Dean’s surprise, Brody pushed off from the counter and wrapped his arms around him, kissing him briefly on the bare shoulder. Dean felt his lips like a brand. Like Brody wasn’t just expressing appreciation for the sex and the conversation, but claiming him, owning him. And the really shocking thing was how much Dean wished that was really true.

That Brody was his, and he was Brody’s.

Not just for these few fleeting moments of pleasure and companionship, but more .

He wanted to be by Brody’s side as he figured his stuff out. Wanted to stand right next to him, supporting him, as he kept on this path—or as he tore the whole path up and forged a new one. Whichever one, it didn’t matter to Dean.

He didn’t care if Brody was a hockey player; only that he was Brody.

“Thanks,” Brody murmured into his shoulder.

Dean had a feeling he’d intended the embrace to be quick, fleeting, even casual. But he was also beginning to feel like nothing between them could be casual. Not now. So he held on, wrapping his arms around Brody’s body and holding him close. Comforting him the only other way he knew how to do.

“You got it,” Dean said, after a long moment and then reluctantly, finally let him go.

“Maybe . . .uh . . .” Brody didn’t usually stumble over his words, so Dean wondered if he was uneasy about this. Awkward, even. “Maybe we could meet up this week for uh . . .homework? In the library?”

Dean nudged him, chuckling. “We do that anyway.” It had seemed crazy at first, but he kept making sure of it—that they met up either at the gym or the library or at the apartment at least two or three times a week.

“Homework and sex, then?” Brody asked, an undeniably hopeful light in his eyes.

“Yeah. I think I could deal with that,” Dean said. Wes would probably tell him to stop trying to play it cool, because he wasn’t any good at it, but it was too much of ingrained habit to stop now.

“Uh, and next week my parents are coming. I wish they weren’t.”

“No?” Dean didn’t bring up that his mom hadn’t come to visit him once, since he’d moved to Portland. And his dad? Well, he’d never even met the asshole.

“They’re gonna want to talk about it ,” Brody said.

Dean nearly choked. “They’re gonna want to talk about your sex life?”

That was finally the thing that made Brody laugh, long and loud, tossing his head back as he did. He elbowed Dean. “No, no , God no. All this future bullshit.”

“Why would they?”

“Because I was stupid enough to text my dad and ask him about prereqs for medical school. I should’ve asked anyone else—or googled it or something—but it was a weak moment.”

But Dean knew there was more to it.

“And?” he asked.

Brody sighed. “And I’m worried if I go to my advisor, word will get around. I don’t want to talk to anybody about it on campus.”

“Didn’t your coach tell you to take this year to think about it? To explore your options?” Surely that would’ve helped Brody feel more settled about it. That he had time . That he had options .

Dean didn’t have any fucking options. It was make the NFL or go back to his shitty little hometown and grind out a living for the rest of his life.

“Listen,” Brody said as he walked past him towards the kitchen, Dean following behind him. He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and tossed one to Dean, who caught it. “You know exactly what it’s like. This culture. This attitude. You’re on it, you’re either making it, or it was all a waste. You’re a failure. Nobody understands you choosing a different path.”

“Yeah.”

Brody waved his arms, clearly passionate about this argument. “It’s like a fucking cult. Like they’ve all been brainwashed to believe that this— playing pro hockey or getting drafted to the NFL or whatever it is—is all there can be. There’s nothing else. You either make it or your life’s over.”

Dean froze, the water bottle halfway to his lips. He’d just had that thought. But for me, it’s true. I didn’t come from money or a secure home. Brody’s got options I never had.

But Dean wondered, for the very first time, if that was really true.

He’d made himself into a football player; couldn’t he make himself into something else? Anything else? The only thing it required was a base of skill and then a shit ton of hard work.

“I see it, in your face.” Brody’s voice overflowed with frustration. “You buy into it, too. It’s either this or nothing.”

“I don’t know . . .” Dean hated how he stuttered, but this was radical fucking thinking for a kid who had only had this as a goal for the last ten years.

Make it and get out.

Or fail and live a hard, pointless life.

“You know,” Brody said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know because you’ve been brainwashed, too.”

“Realizing it should help you, yeah?” Dean managed to say.

“Yeah, except I think I’m still partially brainwashed,” Brody said wryly. “And everyone around me still is. You think if I decided to say fuck it to pro hockey and go to medical school, everyone wouldn’t think I was nuts?”

Dean wanted to say no. But that wasn’t fair to Brody, who was asking the hard questions—even if they were hard—and deserved some hard answers.

“Everyone would think you’re nuts, especially if you could play pro hockey,” Dean admitted.

“Exactly,” Brody said heavily. “Even my parents, who you’d think would be fucking thrilled at the thought I’m considering going into medicine, are freaking out.”

“Yeah?” Dean couldn’t even imagine his mom raising her head from her routine of work and partying to give what he did a second thought. But Brody was making him think , and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. It wouldn’t necessarily be easier to have parents who were that invested, like Brody’s parents, either. A different kind of hard, maybe, but hard all the same.

“They’re here Thursday night and we’re going to dinner.” Brody paused. “You should come with us.”

“What?” Dean couldn’t help the flat exclamation that came out of his mouth.

“You should come with us.” Brody paused. Reached out for Dean, and to Dean’s shock, tugged him back into his arms. Brody tilted his head back, those sugar eyes sweet and undeniably persuasive. “I want you to come with us.”

“You want me to meet your parents?”

“Yeah.” Brody didn’t say why, but Dean could imagine more than a few reasons. Some casual-ish. Some that were quite a bit more serious.

“I . . .I’ll look at my schedule,” Dean said, but he already knew that he’d be moving heaven and earth to do it. Same way he’d fit in meeting Brody at the library and the gym. Same as he’d found the time to read up on hockey.

“Good,” Brody said and brushed a final kiss across his mouth. “I’m gonna go do some reading.”

And then he was gone, leaving Dean wondering what the fuck had just happened to their casual benefits arrangement.