Chapter 14

14

Max

When I wake up, my sleep addled brain takes minutes to make the connection between Luke and the warm body beneath me. Groaning, I carefully unstick my cheek from his chest and raise my head enough to see his face. He's still asleep, mouth parted slightly and eyelashes fluttering as his eyes move beneath lowered lids. Putting my head back down carefully, I listen to the steady beating of his heart. Coming here last night was the best decision I've ever made.

The shirt I borrowed from Luke is rucked up in the back and his hand is caught up near my shoulder blades, as though he fell asleep mid-back rub. Which, I suppose, he probably did, since the last thing I remember is him brushing gently up and down my spine. It was ridiculously soothing, and if I could choose how to fall asleep every night, that would easily make the top five.

I have to shift again, trying to reintroduce blood flow into my left foot. Luke makes a quiet grunting noise, hand twitching; he turns his head, chin colliding with the top of mine, and he groans. Trying to stay still, I'm just beginning to think I've gotten away with it and he's still asleep, when I feel the unmistakable press of a kiss against the top of my head.

"G'morning," he mumbles, and groans as he arches his back as well as he can with me crushing his ribcage. The movement pushes his dick up against mine and he groans again, both of us silently acknowledging the fact that we're sporting very obvious erections.

"Morning." I try not to move too much, unsure whether he'd be interested in letting me take care of that for him. He rubs his hand vigorously up and down my back, the motion a direct opposition to the way he did it last night. It makes me laugh, and I lift my head up to look at him again.

"I love your hair," he says, trying to run his fingers through it but hitting a snag almost immediately. His lips twitch into a quarter of a smile. "How does it get so messy? You didn't even move last night."

"I think it's more just a perpetual state of being," I explain. "Messy is the baseline. I should probably just wear it shorter; maybe I'll get a haircut."

"Like hell you will," Luke says indignantly, using his fingers to gently work through a knot near the crown of my head.

"Close shave. Maybe fully bald, if I'm feeling adventurous."

"Maxwell Robert Kuemper," he warns, and I crack up laughing.

"One out of three," I tell him.

"It's good to know we can still learn things about each other even at these late stages in our relationship," he says, finally succeeding in undoing the tangle and moving his hand across my head in search of another.

"Idiot," I tell him lovingly. Sliding up and planting a hand on the bed over his shoulder, I kiss him, brushing my lips gently against his before sweeping my tongue inside his mouth. He arches his back again, pushing himself up and against me. Breaking the kiss, I lean back far enough to see his face. He grins crookedly up at me, dark hair fanned out across the pillow and brown eyes nearly black in the dim light of the basement.

"Want to fool around?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

That is exactly what I want to do. He rocks his hips again, erection brushing against mine, and I flatten my pelvis against him to hold him still. Knowing how diligent he is about consent, I want to get this out before he distracts me.

"Would it be okay," I start, staring at the way his long eyelashes throw narrow shadows down across his cheekbones when he blinks, "if I…do you want to…"

No amount of dim lighting could hide the amusement in Luke's eyes. "Yes, you can put your dick in me if that's what you're trying to ask."

Groaning I drop my forehead down onto his shoulder. "I was trying to find a classy way to word that."

"Sir, would you like to be penetrated in some early morning coitus?" He says, adopting a ridiculous accent. I laugh, digging a finger into his side until he's laughing too. I lift my head back up and we grin at each other.

"There's just no way around it. You cool if I fuck you?"

"Super cool with that."

Neither of us can control our amusement after that, and it's several minutes later before we catch our breath. Luke hiccups, eyes closed as he tries to regulate his breathing and not devolve into laughter again. Letting him have a second, I climb off the bed to strip. Shirt off and tossed to the floor, I can feel his eyes on me now, watching as I pull off his sweatpants and taking my boxers off with them. He's still lying back when I climb back onto the bed, reaching out a hand for me. I tuck my fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and he answers my question before I have a chance to verbalize it.

"Yes."

I go slower removing his underwear than I did with my own, watching my hands and enjoying the catch of his hair against my palms. After slipping them off and tossing them over the side of the bed, I move back up to his head. I want to kiss him; I want to kiss away the nerves that are already dancing along my spine and nesting in my stomach. It's disappointing, that this one thing that I want to do so badly is so hard—there is no reason for me to be afraid of Luke, and yet my body continues to react like I'm someone being hunted for sport.

I sigh when I kiss him, equal parts lust and exasperation with myself. He puts a hand flat against my chest, and I don't kid myself and hope that he can't feel the thundering of my heart. He hasn't moved anything other than his arms, his hips flat on the bed now that we're both naked, and I know he's waiting for me to make the first move.

"I'm nervous," I tell him, with the air of someone ripping off a particularly large Band-Aid. Might as well get it all out in the open. "You're the first person I've been with—or even wanted to be with—since everything happened last year. It honestly felt like that part of me was dead; I wasn't interested in anybody until you. And I want to do this, and I want to be with you in every possible way, but I'm nervous. "

"Okay," he says simply. "I think we can handle nerves, but you have to tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable, Max. It would break my fucking heart if I was the one you chose to be with and all I did was scare you."

"I'll tell you," I promise softly, slipping a shaking hand between us and over the planes of his stomach. Deciding that I just want to touch him for a bit, I situate the majority of my bodyweight to the side and keep my eyes on my hand.

Dancing my fingers over his ribs, I marvel at the way his skin looks even browner next to my own pale complexion. As I move downward, fingers tracing over that smooth pocket of skin above his hip, his own hand rises off the bed and I feel the ghost of a touch along the top of my shoulder.

"I love these," Luke says, distracting me from learning what the inside of his thigh feels like. I look down at his hand, knuckles tracking back and forth from the base of my neck over my shoulder.

"What?"

"Freckles."

"Oh." Somehow, even though we're naked and I'm millimeters away from touching his dick, this is what makes me blush. "I've got more."

He smiles. "I noticed."

Since I'm there, I trace gentle fingertips over the seam of his groin and across his taint before traveling up the underside of his dick. I might be biased, since I am very much in the pro-penis category, but Luke's is easily the prettiest I've ever seen. Still using my fingertips to learn the shape and feel of him, I smile at the bead of moisture glistening at his tip.

"You have a very beautiful dick, I hope somebody has told you that," I let him know seriously, and watch him bite his lip .

"Of all the adjectives…," he murmurs.

"Also, you're hung like a horse," I follow-up, and he laughs.

"I do love compliments."

Grinning, I move up the bed until I can kiss him. I still feel nervous but it's lessened, as though joking together has taken the pressure off. You see? It doesn't have to be so serious, Max, just have fun. Taking a deep breath, stolen straight from Luke's lungs where our mouths are pressed together, I reach out a hand for his nightstand.

"Do you have, uhm, stuff?" I ask, losing my head completely and forgetting what sort of stuff we need.

"Mm," he hums from where he's sucking on my collarbone. No wonder I can't fucking think. Leaning over to peek inside the drawer, I pull out lube and a string of condoms. I tear one off and put the rest back—probably best to not get carried away on my first time in a while. Baby steps .

My insides are wound tight with nerves as I almost fumble the bottle of lube when I try to open it one handed. Luke is still languidly kissing every part of my body he can reach, which currently means my wrist. When I finally succeed in opening the lube and coating a finger, he's already stretched his legs wide and is waiting for me. I'm grateful for his nonchalance and competency—at this point, I feel so apprehensive that I might as well be a virgin.

He sighs when I press my finger against him; a breathy, satisfied sound that coils in my pelvis like smoke. I've never actually taken my time and enjoyed this part before: the prep and the foreplay. All my previous sexual encounters were focused on getting to the actual fucking, but watching every small reaction from Luke's body as I slide my finger all the way inside him, I realize that I've been missing out. I see the way his abdomen hitches when I brush his prostate, and the way his toes have curled under. He's biting his lip and with every glide of my finger in and out, his breathing stutters. All barely perceptible reactions, unless somebody was watching for them.

I take my time. Partly because I'm anxious as shit, and for all my talk of sticking my dick into him earlier, I'm still a little worked up about it. But also because it's obvious Luke likes to be touched, and obvious that he's enjoying this—I want him to feel good. Actually, the only thing I want, in this moment, is for Luke to feel good.

When I get to three fingers, I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. Luke, who's stayed mostly silent throughout this endeavor and let me go at my own pace, is absolutely wrecked. His hands are twisted in the bedsheet, back arching every time I push against his prostate, and dick steadily leaking precum onto his abdomen. His eyes are closed tight, and the gasping has turned to whimpers. Pushing my hand against him and then spreading my fingers as I pull out, I slowly stretch him, pausing before I exit him completely. I rub my free hand up and down his calf.

"Do you think you're ready?" I ask, working very hard to keep a tremor from my voice. He cracks an eye open, sweat shining along his scalp.

"Maxy, I can't feel a single one of my limbs right now. I'm ready, believe me, I am so fucking ready."

"Sorry," I laugh, pulling my hand very carefully from between his legs. "I was enjoying watching you."

"My boyfriend is a torturer," he moans dramatically, but smiles at me as he props himself up on his elbows. "Get up here and kiss me, we're going to have to give my prostate a tiny break or else this is going to be over the second you get inside me."

"Well, I wouldn't mind seeing th—." He cuts me off, pulling my mouth against his in a way that has me laughing, our lips and teeth mashed together. Palming the back of his head, damp with sweat, I spread his mouth wide with mine and devour him. I love the way he tastes.

He groans, practically sucking my tongue down his throat, and reaches down between us to wrap his hand loosely around our cocks. I groan, deep in my chest, at the way he feels against me. He's not going to be the only one finishing early, once we get the main event under way. He keeps his grip lax, barely moving his hand as I press him back into the mattress and fuck his mouth with my tongue.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, "you are the gold medalist of kissing, you know that?"

I grin, kissing his neck and feeling extremely pleased with myself. He smooths a hand down the back of my head and spine, exactly the way he'd done it last night.

"You ready?" He asks, face turned into my hair and voice low.

"Yeah." I lift my head, trying to avoid looking at him by going in search of the condom. I'm not a very good liar—he'll see the trepidation in my eyes if he stares at them for too long.

"Here," he says, pulling the condom from out of nowhere. "Let me."

I nod, watching his hands as he touches me, smoothing his palms up my stomach and ribs once the condom is on and covered in a layer of lube. He lays back down, hands now cupped around my face. He doesn't say anything, just brushes tender strokes across my cheeks with his thumbs and waits for me to make a decision. Instead of trying to talk, I simply reach down and indicate with a hand on his leg that I want him to pull his knees back. Silently, he lifts his feet and waits for me to position myself before he tucks them more firmly around my back.

"It's all right," he says, so quietly the words are barely given life before they are gone. My throat feels tight, and it's a little hard to swallow. "It's just us."

I hope he's not watching my hand as I reach down between us to line myself up and press the head of my dick past that first, tight, ring of muscle. My fingers are trembling so bad, the tremor is extremely visible.

"Don't stop," he breathes, and I'm grateful for the instruction. Crack on, Max, you're doing fine.

He's so relaxed, I bottom out inside him easily, eyes on where our bodies are joined. His hands are still on my face; gently, he pulls my chin up until I can see his eyes. It's still a little hard to breathe, but I don't feel like puking and the room has stayed stationary.

"I'm fine," I tell him, needing him and also myself, to believe it. "I'm fine."

"Go slow," he says, brushing a light stroke over my cheeks again, "I want to feel you."

That's a relief—god knows I don't have it in me to fuck him in earnest. Leaning down, I give the smallest roll of my hips as I kiss him, punctuating each movement of my pelvis with that of my lips. I'm barely moving, but his legs tighten where they are clamped around me and he groans. Gaining in confidence now that I've made it this far without losing my shit, I put a little more behind my next thrust and am rewarded with another of Luke's moans. He hasn't stopped making noise this entire time, and I realize it's helping me to remain in the moment and not get lost in the past.

I'm already too close to the edge. My abstinence from the last year coupled with my unbridled desire for the man below me has release building at a rapid pace, completely at odds with the almost lazy roll of my hips. Luke carefully raises his pelvis, allowing me to sink further inside him, and the groan that rips out of me is startling in the near silence of the room.

"Max," he groans, continuing to roll his hips in concert with mine.

"Keep talking," I request, not even knowing it's something I need until the words come out of my mouth. "Please."

He firms his grip on my face, kissing his way over my jaw until our faces are alongside one another and his lips are by my ear.

"Max," he breathes, "baby, you feel so good, the way you fill me. I need you deeper—yes, fuck, yes."

His voice devolves into a whimper as I begin hitting his prostate just right, but he picks up where he left off, whispering in my ear. Some of it is filthy, some sweet, and some is nothing but my name, breathed against me like a prayer. It's precisely what I needed—a near constant reminder that I'm with Luke, and that's exactly where I want to be.

Regardless of the glacial pace I've set, I can't stave off my release any longer. I try to gasp out a warning to Luke, but the words don't quite come out the way I'd intended; he understands, anyway, and reaches one of his hands between us to jack himself. We come at the same time, gasping. I work him through it, trying to maintain the steady rolling of my hips even though I'm wrung out and want nothing more than to collapse on top of him .

He stills me with a hand on my hip, bringing us both to a halt. My arms are shaking from holding myself above him. Before I simply fall there, he pulls me down, one arm wrapped around my mid back and the other on the back of my head. He brushes my sweaty hair off of my forehead, kissing my face and scalp, and I settle against his chest while trying to suck air painfully through mine.

"Max," he says, between each kiss. He hasn't stopped moving: his hand brushes through my hair and a kiss follows, over and over again. "Maxy."

I've slipped out of him and am at least partially aware that I should probably get up to dispose of the condom. But the way he's holding me to his chest leaves little doubt about where he wants me to remain. I'm not sure my legs could hold me anyway, if I tried to get up. I need a minute—or ten—to come down from the high and wrangle my emotions back under control.

Luke's chest is warm against my face, slightly sheened with sweat and smelling so strongly of that signature Luke scent, it makes me want to cry. He's still petting my head and murmuring; with a pang, I realize he's worried. I lift my head and am met with wide, brown eyes. He grabs my chin to keep me where he can see me.

"Hello, you," he says, as if I needed any more reason to be emotional right now. I clear my throat and he catches my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, stroking gently. "You all right?"

"Yeah," I nod, jostling his hand and clearing my throat again. My voice sounds like it's been sandpapered. "Was that okay?"

He smiles, brushing across my lips again before he releases my chin, letting me put my head back down against his chest. "If ‘okay' is the terribly inadequate word we are going to use, then yes, it was okay."

I smile against him, inhaling his sunshine and enjoying the feel of a tremendous weight being lifted from my shoulders. Intimacy has been a constant mental battle for me this past year: first, the lack of interest I had in anything sexual, and then the presence of Luke making me feel too much too quickly. I feel as though I've conquered a personal battle and won.

"I didn't puke," I murmur, trying to tamp down my emotions by injecting a little humor.

"I might have, if you'd committed to that foreplay any longer," he says dryly. I beam, settling myself more comfortably against him. His cum is slowly drying between us and I really do need to get rid of this condom. Fuck it, though—who cares about hygiene when you could lay on top of Luke instead.

"Sorry ‘bout that," I chuckle, not really feeling sorry at all. "I just wanted you to feel good, and be prepped enough."

"Well, you accomplished both, so good on you," his fingers card through my hair again, and I smile, helplessly. I'm obsessed with how obsessed he is with my fucking hair.

"Thanks for…talking to me, too." Words that I've kept repressed seem to bubble up my throat, ready to be spoken now that I've found a safe space. "I feel like I needed the reminder that it was you, and nothing bad was going to happen. Taking off my clothes around people is sort of hard for me. It doesn't even make sense, but sometimes I get nervous in the locker room when I'm changing. Like, being naked in front of others is now a problem where it wasn't be fore. And I can't control my reaction, and it's fucking frustrating—I know nothing is going to happen in the locker room full of my teammates or here with you, but it still stresses me out."

I stop, taking a deep inhale and trying to reorder my chaotic thoughts and get to the point of what I'm really trying to say. Luke is silent, head tilted against mine and fingers still combing through my hair.

"And I know this isn't the first time you and I have done stuff before, but I was still nervous, and I know you noticed that. So, thanks, for talking to me, and for making me feel comfortable, and for letting me finger you to death."

"Not a bad way to go, all things considered," he says lightly, but lifts his head to kiss my forehead. "You don't have to thank me, Max. I would do literally anything to make you feel comfortable. And—just putting this out there—but you know we don't have to be naked to fool around, right? If you don't want to take your clothes off, then you shouldn't?—."

"Please do not suggest any scenario where you are fully clothed," I interrupt, and he snorts forcefully enough to ruffle my hair. "I wasn't saying that I didn't want to, I was… I guess, to sum things up, all I was trying to convey was that things like that freak me out, but you make me feel safe. And…I know I was pissed at you before, but after thinking about it this week, I'm—I'm sort of glad that you know about what happened."

He inhales, chest rising and lifting me up where I'm lying on top of him. "Me, too," he responds, voice low.

Quiet falls between us, then, and I give myself another solid five minutes of snuggle time before I lift myself off of him. Immediately, his arms come around me—not holding me down, but letting me know that he wants to .

"Do you have to leave?" He asks, worried.

"No. Not until later this afternoon—I'll have to go home and get ready for the game. But I probably should go get rid of this condom."

"Christ, I forgot about that," he mutters, dropping his arms down to the bed and propping himself up on his elbows to watch me cross the room to his bathroom. I hear the bed creak from where I'm standing in the bathroom, cleaning up. A moment later, Luke appears in the doorway, naked and looking like a walking work of art. He holds out my boxers, which he must have snatched up off of the floor on his way over.

"Thanks," I smile, gratefully. Pulling them on, I turn and watch him as he cleans himself off. When he notices me observing, he winks and turns so that I have a better view. Rolling my eyes, but unable to stop smiling, I head back into the bedroom to inspect the bed. Deciding that it's clean enough, I slip back under the sheets and prop myself up against the headboard.

I can see a sliver of Luke through the open door of the bathroom, all muscles beneath smooth brown skin. I'm giddy, sitting here and mentally congratulating myself on not being quite as broken as I was yesterday. If it wouldn't be wildly inappropriate to do so, I might call up Coach Mackenzie and tell him. Smiling, I lock eyes with Luke as he walks back across the bedroom toward me, snatching up his own boxers and slipping them on.

"What are you grinning about?" He asks, flopping down and jostling me. Grabbing my hand, he leans forward and drapes it across his shoulders like a scarf. I laugh, using that hand to push his chin toward me so that I can kiss him.

"You," I say simply. He beams .

"Oh, Maxy," he shakes his head, leaning into me and pulling my arm tight around himself, "what the hell am I going to do with you?"

We line up to take the ice for the third period, everyone fidgeting with pent-up energy. It's always like this—exhaustion taking a firm backseat to the adrenaline rush and excitement of the game. I glance over my shoulder and see Vasel shuffling his feet, head down. Coach calls for us to take the ice and his head snaps up, a smile on his face. We step out of the chute and onto the now pristine ice, taking a few laps around our zone before lining up for face off.

We're ahead, winning by a 3-1 lead, but with twenty minutes of regulation play left we can't get too comfortable. As expected, Michigan comes off of intermission hot—they know as well as we do those two points are nothing, and a game can change in a blink of an eye. They also know that this late in the season, every win matters, just like every loss.

It's two minutes down in the period and one of their guys snows our goalie, initiating a fight between our third line and their second. McIntyre, our starting net minder, skates off aimlessly as he waits for the refs to break up the fight and award roughing penalties to both sides. I glance over my shoulder at Coach Mackenzie, who looks like he's chewing rocks.

I'm sent over the boards to take over the offensive line, Vas by my side, and the usual sense of calm washes over me. My life outside of hockey might be out of control and chaotic but here, on the ice, I know what I'm about .

Michigan is playing tic-tac-toe in our zone, sending the puck back and forth as they try to find a shot they're willing to take a chance on. That is, until one of our defensemen intercepts a sloppy slot pass and immediately taps it to me. Less than a minute later, Vas and I have a two-man advantage on the opposing goalie and I already know what he's going to do.

He's young, not yet seasoned enough to realize that if he doesn't cover the outside edge of his crease and challenge the shooter, he's not cutting off a single angle. I score easily, putting the puck through the high slot off of a one-timer from Vas. He's the first to get to me, pulling me into a hug and banging our helmets together. The rest of the line joins us and we skate off to the bench, tapping the gloves of our ecstatic team.

"Don't get comfortable," Coach Mackenzie barks at us, once we're seated back on the bench. Our backup goalie smiles at me and I return it, easily.

We win handily, and the celebration on the ice is a little more exuberant than usual, everyone high off of a 5-1 win against the current division leader. McIntyre, in particular, is beaming and enjoying himself more than usual as the team lines up to congratulate him. It's been hard for him, this season, to make his mark on the team after following behind Carter Morgan when he was called up to the AHL.

"You killed it," I tell him, forgoing my usual head tap and pulling him into a hug. He reciprocates enthusiastically, patting my back. "Way to go."

"Fuck," is all he says in return, grinning and shaking his head.

It was a home game tonight, so everyone gets back to the locker room and immediately plans are being shouted to the masses. Party offers are thrown around as everyone decides they're a little too wound up to go home and celebrate alone. Shaking my head and leaving them to it, I start pulling my gear off at my stall. My phone buzzes and I reach for it so quickly I crack my knuckles against the underside of the shelf.

Hockey is so fucking sexy.

I laugh, thumbs poised to reply just as more messages come through.

At 14:37 during the second period, you were on the bench and you took your helmet off and the cameraman must be a saint because he did this slow motion zoom into your face and OH MY FUCKING GOD.

The hair. The sweat. Your NECK.

I jacked off to a hockey game like it was a porno.

Oh my god lol. My neck?

Yes alfkdhgkdhasj your fucking NECK. Your hair was dripping sweat down your neck and I swear to god it was the sexiest thing I've seen all day.

I need to jack off again.

Hold off on that, my neck and I will be over at your place in less than an hour.

Don't shower.

I'm not sitting in my car with myself without showering.

Maxyyyyy.

Okay, fine, shower, but make it quick. I'm losing it over here. If I'm not sucking on your neck in an hour, I'll die.

Putting my phone down and grinning like a psychopath, I strip down with a good deal less care than I usually do. Most of the time, I wait until the majority of my teammates have already showered before I go in, that way most of them are gone when I come out and I don't have to worry about being naked in the room. Tonight, however, I'm feeling good. I feel—I realize—like my old self. Like the Max who has a signed NHL contract; the Max who is confident and comfortable in his own skin.

"You are happy!" Vas notices when I step back into the locker room with a towel wrapped firmly around my waist. He's sitting next to my stall, fully dressed in his street clothes and obviously waiting for me.

"Yeah," I laugh. "That was a good game."

"It was," he agrees, and politely doesn't maintain eye contact as I start pulling on my street clothes. He stares pointedly at the opposite wall as he talks to me. "I was wanting to know what you have for plans."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight," he confirms. "Carter is in town."

I pause, half-dressed in my boxers and shirt. "Is he really? Visiting Zeke?"

"Indeed! He is here all weekend. He would like us to go say hi if we are free tonight." He inches closer to me and holds his phone toward me, showing me a text message thread with Carter.

"Me, too?"

"Yes," Vas says firmly. "They were at the game tonight."

"Oh. Cool. I didn't know he was going to be here." I tug my pants on, looking down at my hands so that I don't have to look at Vas when I ask my next question. "I could probably come for a bit…do you think I could bring someone?"

"Bring Luke," Vas says decisively, standing up and patting me on the shoulder. "You remember where Carter's house is, yes? We can meet there."

"All right," I agree, and finish tying the laces of my shoes. "We'll see you there."

I trail behind Vas as he leaves the locker room, bring up Luke's contact and call him. He picks up on the first ring.

"Why are you not naked in my bed right now?"

"Hey, so slight change of plans," I start, and laugh when he groans dramatically. "Do you mind if I pick you up and we go say hi to my friend, Carter? We don't have to stay long, but we played together last year and he was called up to the AHL so I haven't seen him since he left. An hour, two tops, and then we could go back home to your?—."

"Maxy," Luke interrupts gently, "of course we can go see your friend. Are you sure you want me to come? I can wait for you here, if you'd prefer."

"Oh, no, I mean, I thought it would be nice to introduce you. You haven't met Vas—Vasel—yet either. And Zeke will be there." I pause, thinking. "Actually, if you come with me, you'll be able to meet every one of my friends who isn't Marcos."

"How much time do I have? I wasn't kidding about the jacking off during your game. I need to take a cold shower before we go."

I snort, unlocking my car and climbing in. "Take your shower, I'll be there in a few minutes. I can wait in the car and you can just come out when you're done."

"Maxy, Jesus, you aren't going to wait in the car. Let yourself in and just come down to my room." I can hear the soft background noises of clothes hitting the bathroom floor and the water turning on. " Wait in the car …honestly."

He disconnects the call, muttering under his breath. I smile the entire way to his house, feeling like maybe it's time for life to start looking up. Things were hard for the last year and a half, but maybe now I can start enjoying myself again; maybe if I spend enough time around Luke, I'll be able to borrow some of his joy and easy confidence.

Not quite bold enough to just walk in, I knock on the front door and wait, hoping that one of his roommates is within hearing range. I don't wait long before Bryce opens the door, smiling when I raise a hand in an awkward little wave.

"Hey, man, come on in," he says, swinging the door wide. "You want a beer?"

He holds up his own bottle as a visual but I wave him off. "No, thanks. I'm just here to pick up Luke."

Bryce leans against the wall, bottle hanging from loose fingers, clearly in no hurry to go back to what he was doing. I've not had much interaction with Luke's roommates, but I know that Bryce is the one he spends time with the most. I make a conscious effort to drop my shoulders away from my ears and relax my stance. Stop being so defensive, he's Luke's friend which means he's your friend.

"You guys going to a party? Good game, by the way, we were watching." He tips his head back toward the living room.

"No, just going to meet up with some friends for a bit before coming back here."

"Cool, have fun." He rises from his lazy sprawl against the wall and smirks at me, indicating the stairwell with his beer. "That one only watched the first period with us, before he bailed to his room. Enjoying watching you a little too much, I think."

I laugh at the knowing look on his face, blushing slightly. Bryce grips my shoulder for a second, before turning and heading back toward the living room and calling out a goodbye. When I get to the door to Luke's room, I knock again, unable to just let myself in without announcing my presence first. Pushing the door open, I listen for the sound of the shower, smiling when I hear Luke whistling from the bathroom. I sit down on his bed to wait.

Luke steps out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips and steam escaping from the bathroom around him, and eyes lighting up when they meet mine across the room. He crosses over to me, grabs my face between his hands, and kisses me as though his life depends on it. I put my hands on his hips, his skin warm with heat from the shower and dappled with moisture. I've already forgotten all the reasons I wanted to go to Carter's house.

"Hello, you," Luke murmurs against my mouth, flicking his tongue against my top lip.

"Hi."

"Good game," he says, before kissing me breathless again.

I pull him toward me, fingers splayed on his hips. Eventually, there's nowhere else for him to go so he puts a knee up on the bed beside me, half in my lap and half standing. I give him another tug backward and we fall onto the mattress, Luke barely managing to catch himself with a hand on my shoulder. The movement broke our mouths apart so I lift my face toward his, meaning to pick right back up where we left off.

"Wait a second," he says breathlessly, "aren't we supposed to be meeting your friend? Carter?"

"Who's Carter?" I ask, running my hands down his sides and tucking my fingers into the towel. He huffs an exasperated laugh.

"Hey, stop it," he leans down and nips gently at my jaw, "going out was your idea, I'll remind you. I was the one who wanted to stay here and give you a spit bath."

He climbs off of me and pulls me back into a seated position, trying to look serious but unable to disguise the amusement in his eyes. I scrunch up my nose.

"Spit bath?"

He holds up his hands and closes his eyes. "Seriously, Maxy, all I could think about tonight was licking you clean. I swear, the sight of that sweaty neck did things to me, and I don't think I'll ever be the same."

"You are a strange, strange, man," I observe, and laugh as he flips me off on his way over to his closet. "But hey, just because I'm showered doesn't mean we can't pretend I'm not."

"Later," he says seriously, pointing at me as he drops the towel and starts pulling on his clothes. I watch him, marveling at how comfortable he is standing there naked in front of me. Not an ounce of self-consciousness—incredible.

I'm grateful when he gets some clothes on, if only because thinking chaste thoughts wasn't helping to get rid of the hard on I'd developed the moment he'd kissed me. He uses his hands to fluff his hair in a way that looks purposely styled on him and would look unkempt on me; holding his arms wide, he spins in a slow circle, showing me the plain white shirt and dark jeans he's wearing.

"Good?"

"Good," I tell him, embarrassed as my voice cracks on the word. He grins and holds a hand out to me.

"All right, let's do this."

When we get to Carter's house, I've barely parked before the door is flung wide with enough force that we can hear it hit the wall from the driveway. Luke raises his eyebrows at me and I bite back a smile; I probably should have warned him about Carter. This, I reason, will be much more fun, though.

"Max," Carter says, from where he's standing framed in the doorway, watching us walk up. He gives me the closest approximation to a smile I've ever seen from him, and I return it two-fold. It takes seeing him in person, tattooed arms folded across his chest, blond hair pulled back in a bun, and a scowl on his face for me to realize just how much I've missed him.

"Hey, Carter." I reach a hand blindly behind me and feel Luke's fingers slide immediately between mine. Carter steps aside to let us pass, and I get my first whiff of the interior of the house; my stomach growls loudly. Carter's lips twitch.

"Come on back to the kitchen. I ordered Mexican, hope that's okay. Who are you?" This last part is aimed at Luke, who he's surveying with barely concealed mistrust. His eyes track down to our linked hands and back up to Luke's face, appraisingly.

"This is Luke Kelly, my boyfriend," I tell him, and Luke holds his hand out to shake Carter's. I don't miss the way he's straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, hand tightening on mine as though he suspects Carter might try to physically separate us. They're staring at each other like two junkyard dogs, about to fight over a piece of meat.

"Max!" I look over as Zeke walks out of the kitchen, beaming at me. He eyes the tableau in front of him, eyes lighting up with understanding and delight. "Carter, be nice," he says, and I chuckle.

"Hey, Zeke. I was just introducing Luke, my boyfriend."

"Thanks for inviting me," Luke says, and I half expect Carter to tell him that he didn't. We move toward the kitchen, Carter slinging an arm around Zeke's thin shoulders and pulling him into his side.

"I hope you guys are hungry, Carter over-ordered as usual," Zeke tells us.

"Max'll eat," Luke answers, smirking at me and clearly thinking about the ungodly noises my stomach was making on the drive over. "Did you guys go to the game?"

"Yeah," Carter grunts, but doesn't elaborate further. I can't help but smile; Christ, I've missed this cranky fucker.

"It was a great game," Zeke slides in, easily picking up the conversation from where Carter dropped it on the floor. "I don't make it to as many home games as I did last year when Carter was playing, but I still watch the livestream so that I can see you and Vasel play."

"Where is Vas, anyway?" I ask, letting go of Luke's hand and sitting down at the island. Across from me, Carter is leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

"I am here," Vas says. I turn in my seat, watching as he walks into the kitchen and lays a friendly hand on my shoulder. He's got his dress pants and shirt flung over a shoulder. "I was changing. This is not comfortable."

He pats the clothes he changed out of and reaches out a hand to Luke, who introduces himself. Vas' eyes travel between us, and he looks pleased.

"I am happy to meet you," he says to Luke. "So is Carter, although he will not say so."

"Fuck off, Vas," Carter puts in.

Zeke laughs under his breath, passing around plates. Piling on as much food as I can fit, I bend over my plate and apply myself to eating. Vas and Zeke, whose manners exceed their hunger, eat slowly, while the rest of us eat as though we haven't seen food in days. I catch Luke watching me and give him a quizzical look. He smiles softly.

"Nothing. Just glad you're eating, that's all," he says quietly, trying not to be overheard in the crowded kitchen.

Carter gestures between the two of us with his fork. With him standing and us sitting, he looms over Luke. "So, when did this start?"

"Uhm," I glance at Luke, "a few months ago."

"Mm." Carter scowls, and Luke sits up straighter, narrowing his eyes.

"Do we know each other?" He asks, clearly trying to figure out where the animosity is coming from.

"No. But I know of you," Carter replies, in a tone of voice that suggests which he thinks is worse. Beside him, Zeke sighs. Vas looks confused.

"If you have something to say, say it," Luke says through clenched teeth. Carter looks like he'd love nothing more than to oblige. I open my mouth to try and salvage the conversation before it gets out of hand, but Carter continues before I have the chance.

"Be careful," Carter warns in a low voice, "with how you treat my friend."

Luke stands up, sending his barstool toppling over backward. Zeke's eyes widen and he reaches out to put a quelling hand on Carter's arm.

"Carter," I start, "I don't think?—."

"What is going on?" Vasel asks, eyes jumping between all of us and looking lost.

"Luke here likes to fuck and run," Carter answers casually, putting a spoonful of rice into his mouth and chewing slowly. His eyes slide to me before falling back onto Luke and hardening. I'm grateful for the island between them.

"You don't fucking know me," Luke says, and Carter's eyebrows rise.

"Hey!" Everyone looks at me, surprised. I flush slightly, not usually one to raise my voice. "Will the pair of you put your dicks away for a second? Luke and I are together, Carter, and I appreciate you having my back but I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can," Vasel agrees.

"But he won't have to. That's what I'm for," Carter puts in, popping a bite of burrito in his mouth and watching Luke, who's face is pinched with anger.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not fucking around with him, all right? We're together, and that's how we're going to stay. He doesn't need you to protect him, he's got me ," Luke says, voice rising.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is going on here," I say to little effect, putting a hand on Luke's arm to stop him from leaping across the island and throttling Carter.

"Does anyone want more enchiladas?"

Silently, everyone turns to look at Zeke, who holds up a container of enchiladas. Carter's lips twitch as he fights a smile; I laugh, suddenly overcome by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Luke unclenches his jaw, grinning at me sheepishly.

"I would like an enchilada, I think. Thank you," Vas says politely, and for some reason this makes me laugh harder. Luke, who couldn't maintain a grudge even if he wanted to, joins in and even Carter looks like he's struggling not to laugh.

"Fucking hell," I mutter, shaking my head at him. He winks at me.

"Perhaps everybody needs an enchilada," Vas continues in an even tone, and proceeds to serve everyone. In an obvious effort to try and get Luke and Carter to stop eyeing each other up for a fight, Zeke pipes up.

"Carter, tell Max and Vas what you were saying about your team, earlier." He looks up at Carter as he speaks, standing close enough that their arms are brushing. Carter reaches a hand over his shoulder to wrap around his chest and pull him backward and into him, totally unconcerned about displaying affection in a room full of people.

I listen as Carter talks about his AHL team, speaking more words in these five minutes than I've ever heard him say in the time I've been friends with him. Zeke chimes in every now and then, back still pressed against Carter's chest as he picks his way through his dinner; he looks ridiculously proud. Vas, too, looks pleased as he listens. It was, I remember, under Vas' prodding that Carter even entertained the idea of trying to play professional hockey.

"That's a local team, then?" Luke asks him, and then shrugs when everyone looks at him. "Sorry, I'm familiar with the NHL teams but not so much the minor league ones."

"Very close," Zeke answers. "Only a six-hour drive. They are the farmer team for South Carolina's NHL team. "

"Farm," Carter corrects quietly, smirking and resting his chin on Zeke's head.

I glance over at Luke; a six-hour drive doesn't seem close to me, but I know I've got what might be considered an unhealthy codependency on my boyfriend. I've gotten so used to having everything I care about within the confines of the SCU campus, that the thought of Luke not being in that radius gives me a physical pain in my chest. Under the edge of the counter, I put my hand on his leg.

"And he comes home every chance he gets," Zeke continues.

"You like it, then?" I ask, and Carter's dark blue eyes find mine. I'd been intimidated by his fierce expressions before I'd gotten to know him—unsure about breaching the stony exterior he carefully maintained. Now, though, after spending time with him in and outside of hockey, I can read him a little better. He'll never be as free with his emotions as Luke, but I don't need him to be to pick up on how he feels. And right now, I can already guess what the answer is going to be before he gives it.

"Yeah, I do." He glances down at the top of Zeke's messy, dark-blonde head before he continues. "I'm glad I was able to stay on the east coast. I didn't want to go far."

"Coach Mackenzie will be offering you a job for the summer, I am thinking," Vas says, arms crossed on the counter in front of him as he leans forward in his seat. "He wants Micky to be Carter Morgan the fourth."

I bust out laughing, surprised to hear the joke come from Vasel, of all people. He looks pleased; even more so when Carter scowls at us, menacingly. Luke bends his head and shovels food in his mouth, fighting a smile .

"McIntyre isn't bad. Seems like he might lack in confidence, is all," Carter says, which is fair.

"Correct," Vas agrees, "which is why he needs Carter Morgan. You are confident enough for us all."

"Truth," I put in, and Luke laughs. "Coach told me that him and Anthony Lawson got a place, so he'll be moving off campus."

Vas and Carter look at me, shocked into silence. It's Carter who breaks first.

"Coach is leaving?"

"Well, no. I mean, yes, he's leaving campus , but he's not leaving the program. He just won't live here anymore."

"I've never heard of faculty living full time on campus," Luke muses. "Isn't it usually like the student dorms? Professors can live there for the school year, but that's it?"

"He might have special circumstances," Zeke says, running his fingers idly down Carter's arm. The movement looks so practiced, I wonder if he even knows he's doing it.

"Mm. Will be strange, yes? Who will we call when we need help with freshmen?" Vas asks, and Carter snorts. Luke raises his eyebrows, questioningly.

"Last year a bunch of the freshmen got plastered and managed to break into one of the basketball courts. We were trying to round them all up and get everyone back to the dorms before we all got into serious trouble," I explain. "We ended up having to call Coach to come help us."

"What were they planning on doing in the basketball court?" Luke asks, grinning.

"Who knows," Carter shrugs, "but they had spray paint, toilet paper, and at least two of them were naked when we got there."

Luke tips his head back and laughs; I watch him, smiling helplessly as my heart performs a gymnastics routine in my chest. His skin looks darker than usual against the white of his t-shirt, and there is a faint coating of dark stubble along his usually shaved jaw. He's got his hand on top of mine, where it's still resting on his leg, and every now and then he squeezes my fingers like he wants me to know he's thinking about me. Tearing my eyes away from him, I catch Zeke watching me; he smiles knowingly, and leans his weight back into Carter.

"Coach Mackenzie was not happy," Vas adds, and Carter smirks.

"He was pissed," he says delightedly. "He woke the rest of the team up early and made everyone run wind sprints."

Luke whistles, long and low. "Even the drunk freshmen?"

"Oh yeah. I've never seen so many different shades of puke in my life," Carter muses, still sounding disproportionately excited about this story. Zeke scrunches up his nose and gently pokes Carter in the stomach with his elbow.

"We're eating , Carter," he admonishes.

"My first year on the baseball team, some of us had the bright idea to miss curfew on an away game—" Luke launches into a story, voice rising and falling with excitement. Whatever animosity might have existed at the start of the evening is long gone; we're just a group of guys, catching up and telling stories over too much food. It hits me, then, just how much I'm going to miss this when I graduate. I hope, if anything, I've got a pair of teammates on my NHL team that I can count on the way I can with Carter and Vas. I don't need a big group of friends, but it would sure be nice to have at least this many.

We stay far longer than I'd originally planned, the darkness outside the bright kitchen pressing in on the windows as we tell stories around cold Mexican takeout. Luke's hand finds the back of my neck, thumb rubbing gently along the short hairs there as he listens to Zeke talk about his plan for a Master's degree. Beside me, Vas looks like he's going to fall over if he doesn't lay down soon. I lock eyes with Carter.

"Time for you two to leave," he says, pointing at Luke and I. "Vas, you're staying in the guest bedroom, right?"

"Am I?" He asks, blinking sleepily.

"Yes," Carter says firmly. "Zeke and I are going to go?—."

"Do not say what I think you're going to say," Zeke interrupts him, blushing. "Buffoon."

Carter smirks and swoops down to kiss him noisily on the cheek. Luke stands up, hand leaving my neck and brushing down my back as I join him.

"When's the next time you'll be in town?" I ask Carter, suddenly feeling sad. He's been gone since the end of last season, yet right now I miss him more than I have all year. "Maybe we could get together again?"

"I'll text you," he says, walking us to the door. I brace myself, but he opens it gently and waits for Luke and I to step through. "I've got a busy schedule coming up, but I'll try to be better about staying in touch. Sorry about that."

He looks slightly abashed, like I'm going to give him shit for not reaching out more often. "I will, too. It's been a…interesting year," I add, clearing my throat and looking over at Luke who smiles sadly at me.

Carter leans against the doorframe, one heel propped up against his calf, arms crossed as he watches us and scowls. I sigh, already anticipating what he's going to say before he says it.

"Don't fuck with Max," he warns Luke. I roll my eyes. Why does everybody think I need a fucking bodyguard ?

"Wouldn't dream of it," Luke replies silkily, and brings our linked hands to his mouth and kisses the back of mine. He pulls me toward the car and opens my door before walking around to the driver's side.

Angling my body so that I can see him better, I wait until he's reversed out of the driveway and we're on our way back to his place before I speak.

"So, that was fun," I say, and Luke nods.

"It was. I like your friends." I raise an eyebrow at him; he glances over, smirking. "Yes, even the mean one."

"I seriously don't know what that was all about," I admit, scratching idly at my cheek. "I mean, he's always sort of like that, but not usually so protective of anyone other than Zeke."

"Mm," he hums. "Maybe Coach Mackenzie isn't the only one who noticed that something was bothering you."

Surprised, I turn away and look out the windshield. It hadn't occurred to me that Carter might have picked up on anything of the sort; I'd been new last year, and most of our interactions occurred at practice and games. I wouldn't have pegged him as being perceptive enough to notice any changes in somebody he'd only just met. Unsure of how this makes me feel, I look over at Luke again, worried.

"Really? You think he…you think he might know about what happened?"

"No," he says firmly, "I don't think that at all. But you spend a lot of time with your teammates; maybe he noticed that you weren't sleeping, or that you lost weight. Didn't you tell me you dropped fifteen pounds and Coach Mackenzie talked to you about it?"

"Yeah," I agree, biting my lip.

"Well, just because he doesn't know the details doesn't mean he's not smart enough to put two-and-two together that something was bothering you. So, yeah, I guess I can understand the overprotective thing. You're his friend, and he doesn't know me." Luke shrugs. "I'd probably want to kick my ass, too, if I was in his shoes."

Huffing a soft laugh, I relax back against the seat. "Him and Zeke are making the long-distance thing work pretty well. I'm happy for them."

"Okay, talk about the weirdest fucking couple," Luke laughs. "How the hell did those two even meet? Did you hear Zeke talking about differential calculus or what the fuck ever? I swear to god, Maxy, I was trying so hard to follow but it was impossible. He was dumbing it down, too, I know he was."

"Yeah, he's insanely smart. He'll be changing the world one day, while the rest of us play with our balls." Luke snorts, and I reach over to smack him. "I meant, like, we'd just be playing sports. Shut up, stop laughing, you know what I meant."

"Seriously, though, how did they meet? I'm dying to know."

"Zeke answered an ad Carter posted about wanting a roommate."

"Mm," Luke hums, wiggling his eyebrows at me suggestively, "so this was like a one-bed scenario, huh? Roommates to lovers, I like it. I bet you any amount of money that Carter was the one who fell first."

"Oh, for sure," I agree, and he looks over to smile at me. "They're good together, though. Sort of like Coach Mackenzie and Anthony Lawson. They don't seem like they'd be the right match, but they fit together perfectly."

"Just like us," Luke nods resolutely, and my chest warms at the certainty in his tone. He pulls into his driveway to park, pulling the key from the ignition and lighting up the interior. Looking over at me, he touches my chin lightly with his fingertips. "Now, let's go inside and make sweet, sweet love."

Laughing, I get out of the car and wait for him to join me on my side. He reaches for me and I shove him away, playfully. "You can't ever say anything normal, can you?"

In answer, he tosses his arm over my shoulder and pulls me in for a kiss.