Page 90 of Poetry On Ice
He turns his head and gives me the same look he gave me earlier when he scored his goal. A smug, sexy smirk that hits me right between the eyes. “It’s okay,” he says.
I sit back on my heels, pulling him with me so he’s sitting on my lap, completely impaled. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I know prepping is work, and you deserve to get fucked better than that when you’ve done what you do to get ready for me.” I wind my arms around him and nuzzle his neck. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Mm…” He swivels around as much as he can and bats his lashes at me. “And how are you going to do that?”
I stroke his hair and try to tuck it behind one of his ears. It’s not quite long enough, so it flops back into his face. “I’m going to kiss every inch of your skin,” I murmur, “and then I’m going to blow you. Then I’m going to kiss you and blow you some more. I’m not going to stop until I’m hard again. And when I am, I’m going to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked.”
I tap him on his thigh and give him a little nudge so he knows to lift himself as I start pulling out of him. “Clench,” I tell him. “Clench hard. Don’t spill a drop.”
He does as I say, giggling and wincing slightly as he makes his way to the bed. He lies on his back and looks up at me as I kick off my pants and stretchout beside him. I part his legs and look between them. Despite his efforts, there’s a thin streak of semen leaking from him.
I scoop it up with two fingers and push it back inside him, repeating the process until I’m positive I haven’t wasted a drop.
“You know,” he teases, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me pregnant.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, Princess.”
“B-but that’s not how it works for us,” he splutters and starts laughing helplessly. “We’re both cis-men.”
“Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean we give up, baby. It means we try harder. That’s all.”
His eyes slide shut as I lean down to kiss the smile off his face.
36
Robbie McGuire
Ant’s mouth is onme 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 backthe 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.