Page 72 of Game Misconduct
“Please, please, I need—”
“Yeah?”
“God, please, fuck me, fuck me,harder, I can’t—”
“Oh, god,” Mike breathed, and slammed down into him at exactly the right angle, the one he’d been chasing. Pleasure sparked along his spine and he felt the breath catch in his throat, his eyes closed, as Mike fucked him the way he had demanded it. It felt so fucking good that it was actually painful. He’d been on the edge for so long that every drag of Mike’s dick, every press of his hands against Danny’s wrists, every time his teeth dug into Danny’s shoulder, felt like a scourge, like barbed wire against his skin.
He needed. He needed release.
Mike stilled, and Danny’s arms strained under his hands. “Wha—what? Mike—”
“You were—gonna—you can’t—”
“When—”
“Not yet—”
He wasn’t sure how he withstood it, but he did. At least for a time. Every time he felt it coming, Mike would either slow or stop, even though it looked like it was a struggle for him too. It was... Danny couldn’t ever remember feeling like this during sex, this ripped open, this raw. He was pretty sure that the noises he was making were inhuman, were horribly embarrassing, but Mike was relentless, determined to make them both suffer, and Danny couldn’t even spare the energy for humiliation because he was trying so hard not to come.
Finally he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and he was begging, incoherent, a mess of words and sounds that barely made any sense. It was like something had broken inside of him. And then, to his horror hewasactually crying, the hot tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and he couldn’t even wipe them away, couldn’t even hide, because of Mike’s relentless hands. Mike’s face, twisted with the pain of holding himself back and that awful tenderness that destroyed Danny just as much as the denial of release.
“Okay, babe,” Mike gasped, “whenever, whenever you fuckin’want,” and ground down into him, and that was the end.
Danny woke up later to find that Mike had cleaned him off and was back in bed next to him, his hands folded over his chest and staring up at the ceiling. The clock said three a.m.
“Hey,” Mike said, his voice rough. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Danny said, even though he wasn’t at all.
Mike propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at him. “You sure? You were pretty—out of it for a bit, there.”
Danny licked his lip, tender and raw where he’d bitten through it. “Uhh. I don’t, uhh...usually...let anyone do things like this. To me.”
“I know you don’t. Thank you.” Mike’s voice was soft.
“Huh?”
“For—for letting me do that. For trusting me. It was—fuck, Danny, thebest. You know you’re amazing, right?”
“Fuck off,” he mumbled, embarrassed, and Mike flopped back down into the covers and shoved himself under Danny’s arm.
“I’m fucked up, dude. I gotta sleep. But I just—you’re okay?”
“Fine,” Danny said. Strangely, he felt...not fine, exactly. Different. Like Mike had shown him things that he hadn’t known were possible. Not like. He had. But Danny didn’t know what to do with that. “I—let’s go to sleep, babe.”
“Mm,” Mike agreed, already halfway there.
Danny stayed awake for a long time after that, thinking.
Chapter Six
February
The rest of the All-Star weekend hadn’t been anywhere near as eventful as that first night, but even after Danny had recovered, he still felt off. He’d hidden it well enough. They’d hung out with their teammates separately, and come back to the hotel and fucked desperately, Danny like he had to regain something he’d lost, and Mike like Mike always did.
It had been hard to leave Mike that Sunday, but Danny had done it. He’d flown home to Pittsburgh and he’d made the promise to himself that he was going to be better, that he was going to do better, but even with the distractions of games and exercise and Buddy and FaceTiming with Mike, Danny had to admit to himself that he was not being better. That the lack of control had extended to other aspects of his life.
He hadn’t missed practice again but he felt like shit almost all of the time.