36. 36

36

Robbie McGuire

Ant’s mouth is on me and his fingers are still inside me. His tongue and teeth are on me as well. They’re everywhere. Soft, ghosting kisses all over my face. A light, teasing tongue on my nipples. On my neck. On my jaw and my mouth. There are deep kisses too. Hungry kisses. Ones that sink into my bones and empty my brain.

He works his way down my chest, down my abs, pausing to torment me when he’s a hairbreadth from my cock. The heat of his breath seeps through flimsy pink lace and makes my hips arch in frustration. My hole quivers around his fingers. They’ve been inside me for so long now that I’m sensitive. Oversensitive. I’m feeling so much I can’t stay still anymore. My body flails, arms and legs flopping around, beating a senseless rhythm into the mattress as my balls ache for release.

Ant peels back the lace, exposing my cock. It’s dark red. Inflamed and leaking profusely. He smiles at it and takes it into the heat of his mouth .

Whatever it is that’s been holding me together starts to fray. The edges of me buckle and bend and begin to melt.

I begin to melt.

I stop being myself and become molten instead.

Ant does what he said he would. He kisses me and blows me and kisses me and blows me, and when I’m certain I’ll never recover, he tells me to clench again, pulls his fingers out of me, and gently replaces them with his cock.

We move together in the night. Him then me. Him and me. My body answers every question his asks. His does the same. Neither of us speaks, but we pass a primitive chant back and forth to each other.

By the time we finally come, my heart, mind, and body have been cracked open. I let go with spectacular force, and pleasure pours from me in thick, heady waves. A steady stream of bliss that makes my toes curl. It goes on and on. A lifetime of pleasure rolled into itself and poured directly into my soul.

Before I’ve had time to recover, Ant rolls me onto my side and snuggles up as close as he can. I can’t talk yet, so I groan to tell him I’m happy. He answers back the same way.

It’s been weeks since the story about Ant and I broke, and it’s still almost impossible to make it through a day without being harassed about it. It’s affecting Ant, though he tries to hide it, and it’s affecting the team as well. In some ways, it’s brought us together because a lot of the guys are rallying around us, forming a tight circle of bodies when we’re in public. It’s hard, though, because everything hinges on this big, unspoken thing. Something I think is beautiful but something that casts long, spidery shadows of secrecy when the light hits it wrong. No one has come out and asked us directly about it, but the question hangs in the air in the locker room. Thick and heavy, rising like steam from the showers.

I never really understood the term the elephant in the room until I became the elephant. Let’s just say it’s not all that great being an elephant.

A gaggle of reporters are waiting for us after practice. Luddy, Bodie, and a handful of others form ranks around us and keep us moving as we head to the locker room. As we walk past, they hurl the usual questions at us, and while Ant and I are able to ignore them, something they say triggers Luddy, usually a consummate professional, and he loses his cool.

He spins around and snarls at the reporter in a way that’s very, very unlike him. “Get a life, dickhead,” he snaps.

Ant catches my eye as soon as it happens. Neither of us smiles. We don’t speak either. We don’t need to. We’re on the same page. We can deal with this shit for ourselves, but there’s a limit to how much we can put the team through without being straight with them.

Well, not straight, exactly.

Ant’s face changes before my eyes. There’s something new there. Something I haven’t seen before: resignation. No, not resignation. Something else. Something better.

Acceptance.

He raises a broad shoulder at me, asking the question I’ve hoped he’ll ask for a while.

I nod and whisper, “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

As soon as everyone is in the locker room, Ant clears his throat. When that doesn’t garner immediate attention, he yells, “Yo!” at the top of his voice, and that does it.

The entire room falls silent and all eyes are fixed on the two of us. I’m standing at Ant’s side, suddenly acutely aware that approximately forty eyes are blinking at us. I would be lying if I said I’m not nervous. I am. Of course I am. These guys are my team. My brothers. I don’t give two shits about the rest of the world, but I do care what the people in this room think of us.

As it turns out, I don’t need to be nervous, and Ant doesn’t need to launch himself into the speech I know he’s spent night after night lying awake, mentally preparing. The second we have everyone’s attention, whoops and wolf whistles screech through the air, backs are slapped, and money exchanges hands as we look on in puzzled amazement.

I take a second to work it out. We both do.

“The fuck?” mutters Ant when it hits him.

Bets.

These fuckers have been running bets on us. They’ve been onto us for God knows how long.

“Thank you. Thank you,” trills Pejic as he collects fat stacks of cash from the players around him. He cocks his head cheerfully at Ant and me and says, “I’ve been shipping the two of you since the day you stopped punching each other.”

“It was the thirteen to three game for me,” says Katz, nodding sagely. “No fucking way you have chemistry like that on the ice and not off it. ”

“I’m a little slow,” admits Luddy, “so it wasn’t until the concussion for me. Seriously, Ant. Are you okay, baby? During a game? With cameras all over? D’you know how many times I’ve had to tell reporters that baby is Robbie’s team nickname?”

“Baby would be a great team nickname for Robbie,” pipes Bodie.

The entire locker room erupts into fits of laughter, and some wise-ass takes it upon themselves to play our goal song, but instead of playing the ‘it’s raining goals’ version, they go with the original lyrics.

When the raucous laughter finally dies down, Ant says, “We won’t be making a public statement about this because, well, I fucking hate that shit. But we’d appreciate it if you’re asked about us, you stick to the comment coined and delivered with aplomb by the man we all call Captain, and that is: ‘Get a life, dickhead.’”

When the chortles die down, people turn their attention to getting changed and showered. Coach taps my shoulder and says, “Decker. McGuire. Can I have a word?”

Watching Coach march down the hallway ten paces ahead as we walk from the locker room to his office gives me a stark sense of déjà vu. Ant feels it too, he must, because he looks over at me, scowls exaggeratedly, and mouths, “Not a word, Princess,” before cracking the biggest smile I’ve seen on him yet.

When I roll my eyes, he reaches behind me and gives me one of those little two-finger jabs right on my asshole.

I launch ungracefully into the air and bite back a squawk as I land. I slap him away a couple of times, and when that fails to deter him, I accept defeat and join in, getting a few perfectly aimed pokes of my own in before we get to the office.

“So,” says Coach, closing the door and taking a seat. For the first time, he motions for us to take a seat too. “I guess this is happening, huh?”

“Yes, Coach,” we say in near unison.

“Okay. Good. Well, first of all, I want to let you know I have your back. I’m a lifelong ally of the LGBTQ+ community, and this matters to me. It’s important, and I want you to feel safe, so I’ll make goddamn sure the whole management team has your back as well. I’m not expecting any problems from the team, but if you run into any, my door is open. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll ensure you have it.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I say, turning my head to search Ant’s face when his voice doesn’t join mine. He’s looking straight ahead, his cheeks pink and lips pressed tightly together. He swallows hard and nods once. It’s one of those nods accompanied by a soft, breathy expulsion of breath. The type of breath that rushes out when you let go of something you’ve been holding in since you were a kid.

“That said,” continues Coach, “as coach of this team, it’d be remiss of me not to plan for the potential implications of this relationship as we move forward. I think it’s important we have an open dialogue about it. Things are obviously good between the two of you now, but you’re our star players. The reality is there will be serious repercussions for the Vipers if things don’t work out between you two. What do we do if things go sour between you?”

“It won’t,” says Ant.

Coach smiles in a way that makes me think he might be a romantic at heart. “Well, see, the thing is, Ant, this is new. You’re happy and things are perfect now, but we need to have a plan in place for if that changes.”

“It won’t,” says Ant again.

“You can’t know that, son.”

“I can, and I do." He sighs shrugs helplessly. "You think this just happened, Coach? You think I didn’t fight it? ’Cause I did. I did my best. I tried. I did everything I could think of to get rid of this guy.” He looks at me with soft eyes that rollick with humor. He pauses and butts his shoulder gently against mine before showing Coach the palms of his upturned hands. “It can’t be done.”

“Ant’s right,” I confirm with zero regret. “He’s stuck with me.”

Coach shakes his head and rests it in his hand for a moment, then he unleashes an absolute belter of a laugh.