26 comments/  30020 views/  96 favorites

Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 01

By: evolvingslowly



In a fit of insomnia, this story was born. It contains only sex between consenting adults and the main characters are both male. If this is not what you were looking for, I suggest a different story. There is no sex in this chapter but there will be wild, torrid sex in subsequent chapters. Comments are welcome and encouraged: How else will I know if this is working? I have no doubt that there are some errors in grammar as I wrote this in one sleep deprived shot, forgive me.

*

In years past, the first day of school would have elicited joy from me; meeting my new teacher, getting to see all of my friends again, even just a break from the monotony of summer break would have had me ready and out the door early. Times change as you grow up. Middle school is hell on everyone, surges of hormones causing zits and random boners at the most inconvenient times. And boy were they at the most awkward times, sweaty locker rooms filled with other guys became my nightmare. I tried to conceal my reaction, play them off or quickly adjust so that it wasn't noticeable.

For a while it seemed to work. I was quietly closeted with no one the wiser. I had girlfriends, luckily in middle school none of the girls really wanted to do more than hold hands and talk. As far as I was concerned, that was as far as I ever wanted to go. They were my beard on a face that wouldn't be able to support one for many years.

It didn't work. As far as I know, there was no catalyst. One day the popular group decided that I was a fag and that was all it took. Before the week was out, it was as if a banner had been posted "Jake Summers is gay". I don't know if it would have been worse if they were wrong. It really did piss me off that they were right, but I wasn't about to confirm their suspicions. I took the near daily abuse, the swatted textbooks, being shoved against lockers, even the punches that came. I maintained my innocence. Definitely not gay I claimed. Of course, they didn't take me at my word.

I became obsessed with being the least gay person, at least stereotypically. I, of course, knew that gay people look and act in various ways and that the stereotypes that the troglodytes expected were not every gay person. I didn't take the time to explain this to them. I wore exactly what the other boys wore, evolving at a frankly painful pace from the baggy cargo shorts to still baggy jeans of high school. I played sports; my admittedly lanky body wasn't going to get me on the hockey team but I ran cross country and swam. I went to states in both.

I shunned all effeminate pastimes. I'd like to say that my efforts derived some tangible result—nada. So on the morning of my senior year. I was filled with the dull anxiety that gnaws at your gut. Standing shirtless in front of the mirror, I scrutinized my appearance trying to discern any possible gay vibes I was giving off. Light brown hair cut into the same haircut every other kid had, my face wasn't overtly feminine despite my high cheekbones and full lips. I kept my face shaven, mostly because the few scraggly hairs were disgusting.

My whole body was mostly hairless. Swimming had required us to shave for states, which had only added to the ridicule but even when my hair grew back it was light, nearly transparent. My body itself was lithe; running and swimming didn't focus on bulking so my muscles were small but defined. I had started lifting over the summer, in an attempt to up my masculinity, so I looked a little bigger. I had been diminutive when the rumors had begun but puberty was kind to me; I now stood at 6-2.

Not that being 6-2 would help me when I'm up against six people. With this dreary thought, I swiped on a t-shirt. Luckily, the guys had become slightly more stylish over the years so the shirt wasn't as ill-fitting as they once were and thank the Lord they had moved on from shopping at Hollister. I couldn't stand the seagull embossed designs.

Spending the drive to school psyching myself up, I almost had myself convinced that this year was going to be different. I reasoned that everyone grows up, they would be focused on getting into college, or at least that there may be some new target to pick on. Not a very charitable thought, but I would take good fortune where I could get it.

Growing up in Buffalo, students tended to stay outside as much as possible during the months when it was not cold enough to freeze off your nuts. So the front lawn was filled with my fellow students milling around, a buzz in the air. They were all thrilled to be back at school to gossip about who looked better with the summer months past and who looked decidedly worse. All around me groups huddled together, not necessarily cliques but the social groups all bore out.

Dominating the main staircase were the upper echelons of the school, comprised of the richest kids and the athletes. Now sure, I was an athlete but I didn't play the right sport to be a candidate for entry into their squad. In Buffalo, you played football and hockey. Football was one thing, their team was big and but my opinion as long as you were over 200 pounds you could be on the team. All of their games seemed like a battle of brute force against brute force. The football players were popular, but the hockey players were gods.

Hockey was a religion in Buffalo, the cool arena was church and each goal communion. With an NHL team in the city, the school lived and died by first the Sabres and then by our own team: the Cougars. I grew up a die-hard Sabres fan but my school spirit was sorely lacking. It's hard to cheer for the guys who had just kicked the shit out of you.

They were there holding court, girls hanging off every word. I walked faster, trying to appear smaller hoping to escape their notice. At least this time I succeeded and ran over to the cross country team. It was a good mix of guys, some like me that really did enjoy running. Our school had a policy that you either had to play a sport or have gym class. For the stoners this was an easy choice. As long as they could run into the woods where we mainly practiced, they could wander off the course and toke. Our coach recognized this and frankly didn't care. As long as they didn't hurt anyone, the extra members just got him more funding to assist the people who were competing.

I wasn't necessarily close with them, but at least they hadn't also cast me out. My only true friend on team was Matt Carter, a super stoner. True to his nature, his eyes were glazed over but it didn't detract from the wide, happy smile plastered on his face, "Hey Jake!" He greeted me with a joy that can only come with sativa. The rest of the group grunted their greetings before returning to their conversation.

Matt sidled up to me, wafting the scent of weed past me. "You really should Febreeze yourself down before school starts," I cautioned him.

He chuckled, "What, are they going to expel me on the first day of school?" He had a point, and the school was unlikely to expel him at all so close to getting rid of him and keeping him meant they wouldn't have to compromise the school's 100% graduation rate.

The first bell rang and we parted ways, him ambling off calling out hellos to various people in the crowds. He was popular, but a floater. It's hard not to like the funny stoner kid. He was the only person who dared really befriend the social pariah. Not even having me as a friend could shake his esteemed place in the school.

I don't know if anyone can truly understand how much effort I put into flying under the radar. Walking into my first period English class, I selected a seat in the middle on the far side from the door. The smart, driven kids would sit in the first two rows, and the jocks and other popular kids would sit in the back; the middle was designated for the floaters of the school. By siting near the window, hopefully enough bodies would shield me from any unwanted scrutiny as the popular kids filed through the door. With any luck I wouldn't be noticed at all, I certainly wasn't going to be one to raise his hand.

The classroom was only half full when someone sat down next to me. I tensed slightly expecting some girl hoping to make herself a gay best friend but a low dulcet voice murmured, "Hey, is this English with Campbell?"

"Yeah," I replied, glancing to the side. I was lost. In an instant I forgot my training to never really look at a guy, only chancing quick glances. I stared, boy did I stare. He was stunning. Even sitting down I could tell he was taller than me, his white t-shirt stretched across defined pecs, his sleeves curved around large biceps. His face was a work of art. Bright azure eyes set in smooth lightly tanned skin. His lips were a dark red, like a cherry I could have died to nibble on. I only recognized how long I had been looking at him when a dark brown eyebrow matching his wavy hair raised.

Quickly I looked away, cursing myself but he stuck out a hand, "I'm Owen Holt". I glanced up at him, seeing his slight smile. I only hesitated a moment before taking his offered hand. "Jake," I introduced myself, "Jake Summers, are you new around here?" Mentally I slapped a hand over my face, not just because the obvious answer was yes, if he was from our school I would have noticed him before and he would know not to talk to me, but because I could have worded that a little less confrontationally.

I was heartened when a genuine smile touched his lips, and damn those pouty kissable lips, "Yeah, I just moved here from Minnesota."

I was saved from having to respond with an inane comment by our teacher starting class. I brought a hand to my face and felt my burning cheeks. Blushing like a school girl would not win me any favors. I studiously tried to ignore Owen throughout the lesson, but every time he shifted I just became more aware of his body. His incredible body. I willed myself not to get hard and to focus on the syllabus being handed out. I did both only semi-successfully.

When the period ended, I was simultaneously filled with relief and regret. Relief that I wouldn't be subjected to the temptation of Owen's presence and the regret that I wouldn't get to be near him. He packed his books and said jovially, "I'll see you later Jake." I flashed him a genuine smile, pleased that he had remembered my name but as he turned away, my heart sank knowing that soon enough he wouldn't be so casual speaking to me.

Maybe in other schools, a new student wouldn't be a big deal but we weren't a large school and he wasn't a normal student. He was devastatingly handsome, every girl said so and I assume I wasn't the only guy who thought it too. In the next three periods, all I could hear about was his hair, his height, and his muscles.

"He has to be at least 6-5."

"He's got to be a model or something like for underwear or something. And if not I would be happy to help him build a portfolio."

"I would climb him like a tree."

I tried to hide my smirks as I heard my fellow classmates describe what they would like to do with Owen. Their own suggestions weren't far off from my fantasies.

Walking into the cafeteria, I noticed a new buzz in the air, a palpable energetic excitement. Even approaching the cross country team I noticed an animated conversation occurring, "I heard he's being recruited by Boston College," one freckle faced boy said.

"Please, he has league scouts at practice," another broke in. With an internal sigh, I wondered which of my tormentors from the hockey team was gaining acclaim. Was it Kyle Johnson, the big defensemen who once dislocated my shoulder shoving me into a wall, or maybe Liam Subban a reedy forward who was responsible for ruining my textbooks after throwing my backpack in the pool? It could have been any of them, they were all talented if not assholes.

Despite having been sitting there longer than me, Matt was clearly lost so he asked, "What are we talking about?"

With an exasperated sigh one of the guys answered, "Jesus Matt, come up for air sometime. We're talking about the new kid, the hockey prodigy." The sinking feeling in my gut returned, whipping my head around to look over at the popular table. Sure enough surrounded by the guys that had made my life hell for the past five years was Owen. He looked happy, comfortable laughing with the team. He and Liam were talking, great.

I turned away, I couldn't handle seeing the only person who had been even kind of nice to me in years joking with my tormentors. I had known that he and I wouldn't talk as much after he knew the rumors about me, but seeing him becoming friends with my bullies was too much. How pathetic was it that I had craved that boring conversation. We hadn't even talked, I was too lonely too pathetic.

Wallowing, I pushed away from the table and crossed the cafeteria to throw away my half-eaten meal before pushing through the entry way. Little did I know my flight had been less inconspicuous than I would have wanted.

I was halfway down the hall when I heard the footsteps. Now sure, I was in a school with several hundred other kids but when you've been prey as often as I have you know when you're in danger. I took a deep breath, running wouldn't do anything. I was sure I was faster than they were but I refused to be a pussy. I was going to man up, man up but not fight. Lord knows I would be a dead man if I actually tried to fight back. What the jocks didn't have in cultural sensitivity they made up for in fighting skills.

The key to not getting seriously injured by bullies is to put yourself in the right environment, you don't want to be in a bathroom. Bathrooms have a bunch of hard and sharp edges to get a traumatic brain injury on when you are shoved into them also the whole possibility of fecal matter covering everything makes it not a place you want to have a confrontation. In my experience, the best place to be encountered is in a moderately populated area. Not too many people that they could all hive mentality believe that if no one was doing something to stop it, they didn't have to either. It's good to have some girls around though especially if they are hot, guys don't typically want to look like enormous tools in front of girls they want to hook up with.

Unfortunately for me, I didn't get very far and the sparsely populated hallway provided little cover. A meaty hand grabbed my shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle as it turned me around. Three members of the hockey team stood before me, the offending hand belonging to Paul Killhorn, the team's goalie. Unsurprisingly Kyle Johnson flanked him, a sadistic grin coating his smug face; the other was Gregory Lewis, a third line center. While Kyle liked violence for the sake of violence, Gregory was an angry kid that really liked lashing out. I was a frequent target of his anger over his various life problems: being frankly hideous, not getting very much playing time, having the IQ of a boot, etc.

"Have a good summer?" I quipped.

"Yeah, didn't have to see you, faggot," Kyle spoke, his deep ponderous voice resonating. He could do voice overs for the Westboro Baptist Church.

"I saw you looking at us during lunch. It's gross: you queers checking us out," Gregory added.

The idea was so ludicrous, there was no way I would be checking out his pock-marked face, that I reacted without thinking, "Why were you looking at me? See something you like?" Instantly, I wish I had the words back.

Paul, still holding my shoulder when slack for a moment. Then simultaneously all three tensed, the hand on my shoulder tightened. "Let's show this fag where he belongs." And suddenly I was airborne, hoisted up and held over their heads. Half amused and half panicked, I laughed that in a different context this would look like a celebration.

They marched me through the halls, I looked around for a teacher to save me but all were taking their lunch breaks. The students who saw turned away, unwilling to help. I knew where we were going, my place as they had shown me many times before was in the dumpsters. Originality couldn't be counted among their strong suits.

I'm sure this was meant to be humiliating, but I had been so conditioned to this treatment that this was relatively tame. No one was going to see this, it was the first day of school so the dumpster would be relatively empty; this was nothing. While the dumpster being empty saved me from landing in steaming garbage, the fall to the bottom was enough to jar my shoulder. I held my shoulder as I listened to the jerks laughing, it would surely bruise.

There's no point in immediately climbing out, I would have just been tossed back in. Listening for the sound of their retreating footsteps, I sighed when I heard a distant voice call out. Kyle responded gleefully, "Sup, Subban." Great. The forward was exactly what I needed added to this situation.

Much closer this time, "Hey guys, just showing Holt around." I froze in horror. He couldn't find me like this. My one semi-human interaction in years, with someone not high, can't end with him finding me in a dumpster. Let alone thrown in there by his new friends.

"Yeah, we were on our way to see the rink when we saw you guys." His voice was heaven in hell.

"Cool man, we'll come too." Listening hard, I could hear their conversation get further and further away. Finally when I couldn't hear them anymore, I stood up and brushed myself off. Other than the already darkening bruises from the impact and from Paul's grip, I was fine. I clambered awkwardly out of the dumpster and dropped to the ground. Rolling my arm, I felt the soreness deep in the muscle. I gritted my teeth knowing that I would eventually have to explain (lie about) the injury to my parents.

Rounding the corner, I stopped dead when I saw what would become the fodder of my wet dreams. He was leaning against the brick wall arms folded across his chest, pushing his biceps out and bringing attention to his defined pecs. His legs were crossed at the ankles, how had I missed out on his legs before? Steel cut muscular legs encased in dark blue denim; as marvelous as he looked, I wish he wasn't wearing them.

Jesus, I groaned internally, I had my first real crush. He was dreamier than any of my former celebrity crushes, and had a better physique than any guy I had jerked off to from some Men's Health Magazine shoot. Shit—how pathetic: some guy has a casual conversation with me and I am half in love with him. I dropped my head in shame, this was exactly what the assholes feared.

He pushed away from the wall and I caught the hard glint in his eye. My prepared excuses for why I had been behind the building died on my tongue. He was mad, Subban and the rest of the team had probably told him what I was and he now wanted his own pound of flesh.

I flinched hoping to evade a fist that was not thrown. "Did they hurt you?" He grated out, his face dangerously calm.

"No," I responded glancing down at my shoes. He was standing so close to me, inches between our chests. I wanted to close that gap with every fiber of my being. I wanted to feel him muscles, his warmth radiating across the small distance.

"Look at me," he said softly but firmly. "Have they hurt you in the past?" He paused, I tried to keep my face neutral but he took my silence as a yes. His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing and narrowing. The glare was more than I could take and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"How did you know what happened?"

"They weren't exactly subtle," he bit out his answer, "I saw you cross the cafeteria and then immediately they stood up. And then they stood there making casual conversation with me, fucking bastards."

None of this was news to me, I could have guessed how the predators operated. "So what, why do you care?"

"What did you think I was going to do? Nothing?" He asked genuinely bemused but still holding his undercurrent of anger.


Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 01



"No one else does." The bleak answer put a pained expression on his face. I didn't want that, the deep ridges marring his perfect face. Then mask of angry resolve bloomed.

"This won't happen again. I'll make sure of that," he gritted out.

My own eyes narrowed at his high handed declaration, "I don't need anyone to fight my battles."

He scoffed but the tight set of his jaw showed that he was less than amused, "You showed you aren't capable of fighting for yourself."

Who did this attractive asshole think he is? "It's your first day. You've met me once. You don't know me at all. You have no right to judge me on how I handle myself. Now go and leave me alone. I don't need saving." I drew myself up to my full height and walked away leaving behind an angry beautiful boy.

I went through the rest of the school day ruminating about my run in with Owen. I came to several distinct conclusions. Primarily, that I needed to quell the instinct to drop to knees and worship Owen Holt's cock every time I see him. Secondly, that it was idiotic to yell at the one person trying to stick up for me. Thirdly, that I really wanted to see Owen again to both apologize and see what his ass looks like because all my mental imaginings couldn't be doing him justice. The mantra, just because he was nice to you doesn't mean you should have a crush on him ran through my head throughout the last periods of the day.

Running always cleared my mind, the slapping of my soles against the ground was a balm to my frayed nerves. You lose yourself in the motion, it's routine and amazing (or it sucks but you still can't think because you're focused on the cramp in your side and how you might pass out from exhaustion). I get into a zone when I run, a tunnel vision that makes only the few feet in front of me real until the next step.

Our course in the woods is a perfect 3.1 miles long, but for practice doing laps around it is tiresome. So me and the other few serious runners ran the course and then started doing loops around the school. While running on concrete was hell on the shins, the rapidly elevating hill made for a good aerobic exercise.

I was running through campus completely in my zone when a hand jerked out and grabbed my arm. A shriek squealed out of me that I immediately regretted, thinking that it was Johnson or Killhorn or one of the other goons. I regretted it even more when I saw the hand connected to a massive forearm with a long vein running through it, and that it belonged to the man I had stared at, and yelled at. Owen held me firm and I tried to quell the excitement that came with his hands on me.

"You're on the running team?" He spluttered incredulous. He looked glorious, his hair slightly tousled like he had been running his hands through it. And I looked, sweaty, really sweaty.

"Yeah, funny how we keep running into each other," I quipped, gasping for air, trying to lighten the mood and keep my dick from hardening in my tiny running shorts.

He wasn't in the mood to laugh, "Why didn't you run away earlier?"

I snorted, "Yeah, because that would be manly."

"No, it'd be smart."

Rolling my eyes, I turned fully to him. My retort dying on my lips as he spotted and then caught my other arm gingerly between his fingers. My tank top did nothing to hide the already purpling handprint bruises and the large splotchy bruise on my shoulder.

He was a study in contrast, his face was apoplectic in rage. His lips were a thin line, his eyes slits, the angry set of his jaw kept me docile lest he turn his fury on me but as his fingertips traced the marks there was nothing but gentleness. His touch took the dull ache out but a new ache began, every movement went straight to my dick. I wished with every atom that he would turn the same careful attention to my cock.

"You said they didn't hurt you." His tone was accusatory.

"Bruises are nothing. You play hockey, would you tell a coach you were hurt if you got a bruise?"

His lips pressed out in a scowl, "No, but I signed up for hockey."

"I signed up for high school," I smiled wanly.

When he took his hands away to scrub a hand across his face, I acutely felt the loss of his hand on my arm. God I wanted the touch back. I wanted his hands everywhere, sliding down my chest, my back, pulling me closer to him, I wanted to feel his hands on dick. Maybe test his stick handling. A slight shudder went up my back as I imagined his hands lightly roughened with callouses stroking my cock.

"Why are you trying to make this not a big deal?" He asked, leaning forward getting in my face. He may have been using it as an intimidation technique, but I was all for him getting in my space.

"Why are you making this your problem?" I retorted holding my own.

Then like all the wind had been taken from his sails, he deflated, "I heard them. I heard what they called you." He swallowed, "I know they're beating you up cause you're gay."

"Because they think I'm gay," I reflexively blurted.

He looked bewildered for a moment, "So they're wrong? Why are you just letting yourself get beat up then?"

"I'm not letting myself get beat up. They're bigger than me and there's more of them. And what does it matter if they're wrong or right? They think I'm a fag so my agreeing would just make everything worse and if I deny it like I have that does nothing. What does it matter, Owen?" My frustration rose with the volume of my voice until I was almost shouting at him.

"Believe me, it matters." Owen's deep blue eyes were wide and guileless as he spoke.

So I said the words for the first time, "Yeah I'm gay."

A genuine, encouraging smile broke across his face, then replaced sheer lust that shocked me down to my balls. "Thank fuck," he breathed as his came up and framed my jaw before his lips touched mine. For moment, the pressure was measured, soft as if he expected me to back away, silly man. I leaned into the kiss, and he took it from there. His lips were hot brands against mine, his tongue swiped lightly across my bottom lip and I gasped. He took full advantage and his tongue drove in tasting, exciting.

One of my hands reached up and fisted itself in his silken hair and the other came behind his neck pulling our bodies flush. Our tongues wrested and slid together as our bodies met. His hands abandoned my jaw to slide down my back over my ass. I arched into his touch and his lips left mine, he left open mouthed kisses down my throat as I tilted my head back reveling in his hands kneading my ass through the silky texture of my running shorts.

My hand left his neck and trailed its way down his chest memorizing the hard planes. I wished the cotton of his t-shirt was gone as I found a nipple. With a low groan as my fingers circled the nub his mouth reclaimed my attention as his lips recaptured mine. I was lost in him, his smell covering me, all spice and man.

With a weak chuckle he lifted his lips from mine and took a small step back creating a gap, "Did I tell you I was a big fan of your uniform?" I was breathing hard from his kiss.

My cheeks flamed, my cock jutting out from my hips made even more obvious by the tight shiny fabric. I gazed down at his crotch, though less distinct through the dark denim I could see he was also excited, "Yeah, I can see you're a big, big fan."

With a low groan he gave me a brief but scorching kiss, "You really don't want to talk about my cock right now Jake. We're at school but that won't stop me from fucking you." Lust warred with humor in his eyes.

Peeking a sultry look through my eyelashes, "I don't want to talk about your cock. There are so many better things to do with it."

He let out a strangled laugh but took a step back. I mourned the separation, "You're trouble. While I can think of a million better ways to get you sweaty, you should finish your run. I'll see you tomorrow Jake."

As he walked away, I knew that I wouldn't be able to finish my run. So I stood there hard while I watched his ass flex in his jeans as he strode away, my imaginings were nothing compared to the real thing.



Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 02



I write in fits and starts, my longer paid projects receiving top priority during the day so this remains a sleepless night activity. I do have the whole series mapped out: currently with around 7 chapters in all. I appreciate the kindness that I received for the first chapter and hope you continue to enjoy. Again, everyone is above 18 and the characters are male. Thanks, Artie. 



The next day, I pulled into the parking lot as the bell announced classes were in session. I was never late to school, my two modes were early or not coming. If you were late, there wasn't a crowd to blend in with and I was all about blending in. I had woken up with plenty of time to spare but I had been waylaid in the shower, too busy trying to relieve the constant agonizing pressure in my dick to leave even close to on time. The spray of the shower and my cool spicy shower gel combined with my hand were serviceable but not what I craved. I only wanted to jerk off if I was on my knees in front of Owen with my lips wrapped around the base of his dick. I wanted my nose against his pubes breathing in the heady scent of man. I wanted my jaw to stretch around his girth and to please him. I wanted his hot cum on my tongue. I wanted him. 

I had wanted him yesterday. I had gone home and had to eat dinner with my parents. Of course, I had rubbed one out at school before seeing them as being achingly hard at the dinner table did nothing for me. I doubt they would have noticed if I had been sporting wood. My parents were tragically, woefully self-involved. They were kind and provided a nice stable life with everything we needed and a few luxuries but were not emotionally available to me or to each other. My mother was a beautiful woman with hair like sunshine but she never truly looked happy, even when smiling her face looked strained. She worked as a corporate lawyer for a big real estate firm, she was more than competent but her job carried over into her family life. If she was home for dinners, a manila folder was almost always her center of attention. My father was a math professor, he could point out errors in theory from fifty paces but when it came to noticing something was wrong with his son, he was hopeless. 

If one of them ever noticed a bruise or cut from a fight, they were easy to dissuade. I'm sure they thought their son was just the clumsiest man, for all the times I tripped over a root on the cross country course. How would they know that I was surefooted; they had never come to a race.

Despite our lack of communication, I knew that my parents would probably be okay with me being gay. But okay was probably the best I could hope for; I don't know if they had the capacity to be excited or happy for me about anything. They weren't the types to be waiting after school with a glass of milk and a cookie but I preferred that. 

Vigilant parents would have noticed five years of abuse, of their son drawing into himself but they also would have noticed the change after Owen had kissed me. Five years of self-flagellation and forcing myself to be miserable was torn asunder. I was exuberant, joyful, and even hopeful. I was flitting around the house, if someone who is 6-2 can flit. My first kiss had been magical, so much better than I could have expected or imagined. 

This morning when I had woken up, elation had been mixed with caution. The lustful haze had faded and I realized how dangerous my predicament was. I knew next to nothing about Owen Holt, beyond his orgasmic body and his purported skill at hockey; he was a stranger. But he knew more about me than anyone else, he knew I was gay. I wasn't worried about him telling anyone, what could he say that people didn't already think? Of course he could say I assaulted him and I could get beaten up but for all his insistence that he would deal with my bullies, it didn't seem his style. Then again, I couldn't help feeling just a little slutty at making out with someone I had only met hours before and being fully prepared to have him fuck me. Fully prepared for something that I had no experience in: that was what Owen did to me. 

The reckless side of my brain wanted him any way I could get him but the rational side reminded me that I needed to be careful. I was in physical danger all the time from the people that Owen would be most closely associated with. But more than that, my emotions could be in trouble as well, I couldn't risk developing any sort of feelings for him. Fucking was fine, feelings were not. 

I walked into English class a few minutes late, drawing attention to myself. Diffidently, I murmured an apology to Ms. Campbell as I made my way to my seat. It's strange that despite not having assigned seats everyone just automatically sits where they were the day before. I felt eyes on me but the scrutiny of others was nothing compared to the hot gaze that tracked me. His ice blue eyes wandered a slow perusal up my body, I was glad that I had an excuse for the blush that stained my cheeks. My eyes met Owen's, his lips pursed in a slight smirk one eye brow raised. 

He wore a sky blue t-shirt that molded to his physique, and true blue jeans. His hair was pushed away from his face, the slightest hint of stubble emerging from around his lips. He looked manly, confident—way too perfect. 

As I slid into my seat he leaned over his clean spicy scent wafting over me, "Thought maybe I scared you off." He was teasing me, I was elated that he clearly wasn't going to deny what happened yesterday. 

"Gonna take a lot more than that." I whispered out the corner of my shy smile. 

A low chuckle emanated from his chest, "You want a lot more, come and take it." He stretched kicking his legs in front him, the perfect image of being casual. But the position revealed his crotch to me, he was hard. I swallowed, feeling myself swell in the confines of my jeans. 

I couldn't tell you what we discussed in English, my only focus was on the bulge in his jeans. At one point Owen reached down and plumped himself, palming his erection. I nearly came. It was torture, sitting just a foot away from him but not being able to touch him. Not being able to kiss and lick and suck on his dick. Not being able to peel away the layers standing in my way. I vowed that when I got my chance, I would tease him back force him to endure the same agony. 

When the bell rang he stuck out his hand, I stopped, what did he expect me to do hold hands with him? He rolled his eyes and demanded, "Phone please." I reached into my back pocket to pull out the late model device. He typed for a few seconds before a beep emanated from his pocket. "I'll text you later Summers," he whispered with a smile just for me, his hand lingering as he handed back my phone. 

He stood with little evident care that his bulge stood out obscenely, he probably knew that most of the school would fall to their knees in worship if he gave them any miniscule amount of attention. I couldn't blame them; I was just as enraptured.

I was halfway through my German class, reviewing the difference between the accusative and dative case prepositions when I felt my phone vibrate. Mindful of my austere former Eastern Bloc teacher, I surreptitiously slid my phone out. 

Owen: Meet me at the student parking lot. We're going off campus for lunch. 

Rolling my eyes at his high-handed assumption that I had no plans, I agreed because his assumption was obviously correct even though the thought rankled. I had been waiting for five years for the opportunity to go off campus for lunch, a privilege only extended to the seniors. While my classmates I'm sure had been anticipating being able to eat food worth serving, I had been waiting for a chance to get away from the assholes. Now, I had a whole new reason to be excited.

When the lunch bell tolled, I began my stealth mission. Now I wasn't quite wearing a Gilly suit but I was damn near invisible I was so inconspicuous. I waited in the classroom until I was the last to leave, the crowds were thinning as I slipped through the halls. The student parking lot had been the site of many ass kickings over the years. I didn't want to be seen wandering around the parking lot searching for Owen's car, my usual frenetic sprint to my car wouldn't work and I also really didn't want to be seen getting into Owen's car. 

Soft squeals were emitted from tires as cars pealed away from the school, my peers driving recklessly in a fit of joy and desperation. Keeping my head down, I glanced around the lot trying to find Owen. I was debating pulling out my phone and calling him when I heard my name. Glancing around, I found him. In the corner of the lot propped against a black SUV, he looked completely at ease, so at odds from my own precise tactics to get out to the parking lot. He had thrown on a pair of sunglasses, I suppressed a sigh because he had definitely not needed to look cooler—or hotter depending on my perspective. 

I crossed the lot to his car, glancing furtively around making sure there were no prying eyes around. Owen's eyes remained on me, humor caused his lips to curl into a bright smile, "Have you finished your perimeter sweep?" 

Ugh, he was making fun of me for making sure we were alone? He really did have no idea the danger I was in, that he was in by proxy. I opened my mouth to retort but his lips stopped mine. For a moment, I panicked. We were in the middle of campus, anyone could walk by at any time and then I realized what a good reason to have my ass kicked. 

I melted into his kiss, his lips coaxing a soft sigh as our chests touched. His arms twined around my waist, I wanted to let him have anything he wanted but I also wanted to show him I could give as good as I could get. Running the tip of my tongue over hip bottom lip, his mouth opened to me. I took advantage, nibbling on his bottom lip before sliding my tongue along his. 

His hands grew firm on my hips and he extricated himself from my arms, his eyes dark with lust, "That was meant to be a kiss hello." He said with humor and exasperation. I was shocked at myself, idiot that I am, going to throw away my years of careful planning over making out in the parking lot. Then again, I wasn't too shocked, anyone who looked at Owen Holt would be willing to do the same. 

I brushed a soft kiss over his lips, "Hello Owen." His arms were already trying to slide around me but I slipped by them heading to the passenger's side door, "Where are we going for lunch?" I hid a grin when I heard his low groan from behind me. 

Sliding into the seat, I noted that this car had been built large people. My head had plenty of clearance and even the god-like form of Owen seemed to fit comfortably. "I thought maybe we could go to Whole Foods?" 

I hadn't been expecting to go to the relatively high end grocery store, more ready for a fatty burger or a burrito but I nodded my assent as he started the car. The radio played softly, some rap music that I never cared to listen to. Halfway through the trip, I gave up trying to not look at Owen. He looked relaxed behind the wheel, a small smile graced his lips as he drove. His wavy dark hair fell over his sunglasses, "Are you gonna keep staring at me?" 

Blushing slightly at being caught despite being none too subtle, I answered, "Yeah probably." 

"Next time you're going to have to drive, so I can return the favor," I laughed softly but my heart was clenching at the possibility of next time. Would we be going out to lunch more and more? Was this safe for me? Surely the rest of the school would not have chosen Whole Foods as their lunch destination, but risk was inherent every time we were together. Mostly danger to me, but I could also worry about him, I doubted Owen would be as adept at dodging trouble as I am. 

Wandering through the aisles of Whole Foods, I saw a salad bar and then a granola bar. I wasn't feeling that healthy, now or ever. I noticed against one wall, exactly what I had been looking for... pizza. Carefully selecting a slice of Margherita pizza, I glanced around the area for Owen. 

He wasn't exactly difficult to spot, his large built body was causing quite the scene among the spandex-clad women also around the salad bar. My Pepsi and pizza in hand I found a secluded table. "Healthy meal, Jake?" Owen asked leaning toward me as he sat. 

I scoffed at his food, a large salad but nothing that would make a salad worth eating. No bacon, no cheese, no croutons. In the bio-degradable container there was just spinach, cucumbers, carrots, beets and a grilled chicken breast. "I'm not the one training to be a professional athlete." 

"Please, you play sports too. You really eat that stuff before you run?" 

"It's called carbo-loading. We runners and swimmers do that." Of course we were only supposed to do it the night before a race or meet but he didn't need to know that. 

He stopped with a fork full of spinach halfway to his mouth, his eyes suddenly big, "You swim?" 

I chuckled at his slack-jawed expression, "Yes." 

He dropped his fork back into his salad bowl, "Fuck, all I can do is picture you in those little speedos." 

"No need to picture it; I'll model them for you." His eyes met mine, dark with heat, "and I didn't need to depress myself eating that kind of food to get my body." His eyes did a sweep down my body and I felt my cheeks heat under his scrutiny.

"I still eat pizza, sometimes. It's just homemade and high protein," he said cutting up the chicken. 

"What would it take for you to eat a bite of this pizza: right here, right now?" I asked, as his eyebrows raised.

He leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest appraisingly, "I'll take a bite if you come home with me after school." 

A flush of excitement stole over my cheeks at the prospect of going home with Owen, "You could come to my house, my parents aren't home but you would have to take two bites." 

He smiled slowly, leaning across the table lips inches from mine, "Deal." He lips brushed mine before taking a bite of the pizza I had forgotten was still in my hands. What I wouldn't give for him to be lavishing the same attention on me. He savored that pizza, knowing I can watching. I hadn't known how erotic it was to watch someone eat but the teeth of my zipper against my now very hard dick let me know. 

With a slightly strangled voice I choked out, "How was it?" 

He picked up his fork and speared a cucumber before answer, "I haven't had a greasy slice of pizza in a long time. It was good but I can't let myself eat that way." 

"Lemme guess, you drink a raw egg shake in the mornings?" 

He grinned but a slight blush bloomed across his cheeks, totally endearingly, "I have before." 

My mouth fell open, no one but Rocky Balboa actually did stuff like that. Of course, his body was incredible but who could actually put themselves through that shit, "That's disgusting." 

"I needed to build some muscle." He said, deftly cutting through his chicken breast. 

I laughed, "Yeah because you're so scrawny." He flashed a smile at me, shaking his head. 

"My whole life is hockey, Jake. It's what I'm best at. I missed the draft cut off by three days. I'm lucky in some ways, I get another whole year to get better, bigger, faster before I can enter. Right now I'll probably go fourth overall. I want to be first. I'll go without pizza or soda the rest of my life if I can play." 

Owen had never looked hotter, his face was bright with exhilaration. He talked with passion, I could tell that he really did love playing. I would bet good money that his talent had only been helped by his enthusiasm. Stupidly, I felt jealous of hockey for a moment, I wished that he would like me that much. Then I got a grip, tamping down on the feelings I had no right to have. We're just going to hook up I reminded myself. "I bet it would be okay to indulge once in a while." 

He chuckled low in his throat, "It was better than okay to eat the pizza today and because of it I fully intend to indulge this afternoon." 

My flagging erection was immediately back in full force. I was ready for him to indulge as long as I could too. I could lead a decadent lifestyle, glutting myself on his body, on him. I checked my phone quickly, hoping that there was enough time to get a taste before our lunch break was over. 

Whole Foods was well out of the way, the price of Owen getting to eat his all natural, cage free foods; the drive back wouldn't leave us time for much of anything. 

The ride back passed in companionable silence, other than the discordant sounds of rap that came from his speakers. As he parked, I quickly unbuckled getting ready to sneak away from the car and do a loop that would make it look as if we had never been together. My hand was reaching for the lock when Owen pulled me to him. Turning my face in shock, our lips met none too gently. 

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting that," I whispered against his lips. 

He kissed me again, long and deep, our tongues dueling, "Just trying to get my fill for now. I'll see you after practice." With a last lingering kiss, he let me go. As I walked away, I accepted it. I wanted more with Owen. I wanted his passion and his body. Shaking my head at my stupidity for wanting more than I deserved and more than I could actually handle, I went to class. 

I made it through the rest of the day with little incident. Classes were still in the get-to-know-you stage, with everyone on their best behavior. It would take a few weeks for everyone to actually show who they were. 

Running even failed to free me of my thoughts of Owen but they spurned me on faster. I tried to run off my erection every time I thought of him. I was surely on pace for a personal best trying to push the blood to my legs and out of my dick. My energy was boundless but I begrudgingly accepted that maybe Owen had been right about the pizza, my stomach felt like a lead weight. 

I ran in anticipation but I couldn't help but wish that time would speed up if I ran faster. Instead time crept by almost in the speed at Matt must see the world in. I lapped him and the rest of the stoners countless times as they sat and toked. 

Finally practice was ending, I had never taken a shower at school before but I didn't want to meet Owen sweaty, though I was really okay with us getting sweaty together. Smelling like decades of unwashed teens, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to frequent the room often when I heard voices. 

I would recognize their voices anywhere, Kyle Johnson's deep resonance echoed in the confined space. My pulse escalated far higher than it ever did when I was running. Meeting homophobic assholes in the shower was the worst possible outcome. Silently, I wrapped a towel around my waist and slipped from the showers. 

Paroxysms of fear ran through me as I tip toed my way from the showers to the stalls. I breathed a soft sigh of relief when I locked the door behind me. Standing in a stall in nothing but a towel with conditioner may seem like a pussy move but this pussy is still alive. 

I waited for the team to clear out, they took forever. I didn't hear Owen's voice among the horde as they discussed their preseason workout. Finally, when all had been quiet I unlocked the door and crept from my hideout. The locker room being empty didn't set me completely at ease; I quickly rinsed the drying conditioner out of my hair and roughly toweled off before throwing on my clothes and getting the heck out of dodge. 

Running to the parking lot, I found Owen waiting for me. "Sorry practice ran long," the lie slipped out easily. He didn't need to hear about the locker room non-incident. 

He smiled easily, "All good. I was just doing an easy skate. Getting myself acquainted with the rink." 

"Any good?" 

"It's not world class but it's functional," he paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped about an octave, even though I knew he was trying to overdo the seduction, his voice had a direct line to my dick, "I believe I was promised something." 




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 02



I turned away so he wouldn't see how much he affected me and threw over my shoulder, "Stay close behind me." 

Despite my distaste for reckless driving, I drove way too fast. My anticipation wrecking my rationality. I was grateful we hadn't driven together or I would be insisting we pull over to the shoulder. As it were, I got to try and calm myself down so I didn't shoot immediately and embarrass myself with a hair trigger. It didn't work.

Pulling into my driveway, I raced Owen to the door. I had a head start and was faster but I was still pressed into the front door as I tried to unlock it. The hardness of the wood was nothing when I could feel his hardness press against my ass. 

I got the door open and would have fallen through it if not for the thick muscular arm wrapped around my waist. His body heat surrounded me as l lead him through the house, his lips on my neck. Half of me wanted to stop and only get as far as the entry way but my soft bed beckoned. 

Turning in his arms when we reached my room, I saw his half-lidded eyes reflecting the same lust I felt and sucked his lip into my mouth. My hands roaming underneath the hem of his t-shirt, I could feel his abdomen. Maybe I would get on the raw egg diet if it would get me a body like his. Our lips only separated for a moment as I yanked his t-shirt off. My hands roamed his chest. He was all hard planes, his pecs were full and squared off, with a perfect dusky pink nipple in the center. 

As my fingers came up to roll and flick them, his hand dropped down to my ass. His hand hot brands, marking his territory. I arched into his touch, rubbing our dicks together. I broke away from his lips to discover his full jaw, square and masculine. I kissed and licked down his throat as my fingers pulled on his nipples. 

When my tongue found the nub, I heard a soft groan. I grinned internally, making it my mission to force as many moans out of him as possible. Softly, I nibbled his nipple before tonguing it to ease the sting. My fingers went to the front of his jeans, the ridge was hot beneath the material. I knelt down before him and unbuttoned his jeans. I was close to hyperventilating I was so excited.

Unzipping him, I pushed his jeans down his thick, muscular thighs. He was left clad in tight red boxer briefs. I closed my mouth around his shaft through the material, Owen was having none of that, pulling the underwear and jeans off in one smooth motion.

I had gone through a lot of lotion watching porn over the years. I know that most guys were priapic monsters of sexual need throughout their pubescent years but believe me my hands were far smoother than any girls. Even with my devotion to gay porn, nothing could compare to seeing Owen's cock for the first time. 

I had known he was big, the bulge that pushed out of his jeans had been big but this was mouthwatering. A turgid 9 inches pointing straight up toward his belly button, with a thick vein running along the side. He was cut, the reddened head already glossy with pre-cum. Dark brown hair led down from his defined abs, circling the base of his cock and the tight sac underneath. 

I had never touched a dick that wasn't my own, never had a blow job. But I was going to be damned if I wasn't going to give it my all. I reached out taking his cock head into my fist smoothing the natural lube all along the head. A small gasp came when I touched him for the first time, get ready Owen I thought, there's a whole lot more where that came from. 

Stroking his cock in smooth strokes with a twisting motion wasn't enough for me, I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to make him lose control. Tentatively I ran the tip of my tongue around the head, lapping at the pre-cum, the slightly bitter taste on his slightly salty musky skin was everything I wanted. When I closed my mouth around the head still stroking, his cock jumped in my mouth. I sucked gently, while figuring out a rhythm with my mouth, bobbing my head around his shaft. Stimulating the underside of his cock with my tongue, I worked my way further down his dick. 

The head of his cock hit the back of my throat but I was ready, swallowing around the sensation, I tried to push deeper. His big cock filling my mouth. Longer strokes with my mouth meant my hands moved to his balls, kneading them and molding them with my hands. "Oh fuck," Owen breathed. 

Triumph filled me, my unsure movements became steadier. I threw myself onto his dick, swallowing and humming my enjoyment as pre-cum leaked from his dick. I felt his cock swell even further, my mouth stretching around it. 

"Jake. Fuck Jake. I'm going to cum," he moaned out in warning but I sped up my mouth and increased the pressure from my sucking. He came in a hoarse shout, the first rope hitting the back of my throat. The salty, bitter liquid filled my mouth as I drank greedily feeling mighty proud of myself. I, Jake Summers, had just sucked off Owen Holt. 

I gently cleaned off his cock and then pushed myself back to standing. I was still clothed but the naked body of Owen Holt was more than impressive. He was so masculine, so virile. His chest, arms, legs were covered in brown hair. His cock hadn't deflated, even after shooting his load. 

"I thought I was going to indulge?" Owen said as he stepped toward me. He may have let me suck him off, but he was totally in control as he pulled me in. His tongue plundered my mouth as his hands quickly divested me of my shirt and jeans. I was left in my compression shorts, my dick hard enough to cut rocks. 

"Turn around," he gritted out his look setting me ablaze. One hand went to my ass, the other fondled my dick. Stroking it lightly, the teasing strokes were maddening. 

"Bend over and take your underwear off," fuck, his voice was everything. If he was going to torture me, I could do the same. With every ounce of grace and patience I possessed, I bent slowly and teasingly revealed my ass to him. 
"Your ass is fucking perfect," Owen said when I finally stood naked in front of him. He pushed me towards the bed. To keep from falling, I ended up on my hands and knees. I felt him pry my cheeks apart, I blushed slightly feeling exposed. The swipe of his tongue against my hole had me bucking forward. He held me steady and his tongue darted around my ass, igniting nerves I hadn't known were there. 

I melted into the mattress, letting the bedding absorb my cries of pleasure. His mouth moved to my balls, the warmth of his mouth felt heavenly but only distracted me slightly from the blunt feeling of his finger prodding at my ass. 

"Owen, I've never done this before." I felt him falter for a moment, but he resumed sucking gently on my balls. 

His finger slipped in past the ring of muscle, it burned slightly but my body jerked in pleasure. His other hand came up to my dick and began slowly stroking me in time to the thrusts of his finger. My ass began to open up as he twisted his finger. I began moaning anew, as he added a second finger. When his fingers found my prostate, my head jerked off the mattress, "there, right there Owen." His lips came off my balls as he chuckled. 

His strokes were no longer long, and slow but short jabs that concentrated over that bundle of nerves. His hand on my dick sped up too and I was done. I called out Owen's name in my orgasm, cum splashing on the sheet, my chest. I collapsed to the mattress, uncaring of the sticky mess. 

Owen flopped down beside me, stretching out on his side and pulling me to his chest. I lay there satiated. In post orgasmic bliss, I couldn't imagine anywhere I would rather be. I was dozing slightly when he spoke. 

"What are you doing Friday night?" He asked softly, his voice husky with spent pleasure. 

"Hopefully you," I joked before nuzzling into his chest. 

He groaned both from the weak joke and from my ministrations, his hand tracing my spine. I would never get tired of his hands on me, the path he drew burned and tingled. "I want to go out." I froze, disbelief filling me. He noticed my hesitation, his hand tilting my chin up so I looked in his eyes. "What's wrong?" 

Wrong? He thought something was wrong. I was fine with him using my body whenever he wanted, that way I could have access to what I wanted most—him. But he wanted to go out with me, seeking the clarification I needed. Before I could dare to hope I had to confirm, "You want to go out on a date?" Even to me, I sounded skeptical. 

His eyebrows lifted in bemused confusion, "Yes Jake." My breath caught in my chest but a joyous smile spread across my face. Leaping forward, I pressed kisses along his strong, masculine jaw and his neck. His skin had that clean masculine taste that I had come to crave. In my own world that exuded happiness, I only noted this slightly clenched jaw when he gently but firmly pulled me away. 

"Did you think that I just wanted to fuck you?" Owen's mouth was pursed in a scowl, his eyes that had so recently been dark with lust were now full of censure. 

I bit my lip unsure if he really wanted me to answer. When I didn't say anything his face fell, understanding the message. He looked lost, I ran my fingers along his forehead trying to smooth down the worry lines that deepened, "Why?" 

"I don't know, we just met yesterday and I've already blown you." He looked stricken. God, nothing I say ever comes out right. Maybe if I had been able to be more social growing up, I wouldn't be messing this up so bad. I scrambled to try and explain, "I don't regret it. Please don't think that. I wanted this so bad, I still do. I am just still so shocked that you would want me at all. I'd have been okay with anything you would have given me. I just couldn't let myself think you wanted me like I want you and get hurt. I'm so happy. Don't be angry with me, please." My words petered out toward the end, resembling begging but my pride was unaffected. I had hurt him and I had to fix this my own bullshit insecurities weren't going to ruin this. 

I lay back down, my cheek against chest. Clutching him tightly I waited, listening to his heartbeat and for him to react. Each moment was an eternity. I contented myself that lying here with him naked, I could wait forever for him. With a sigh, he gently pulled me up to him laying a brief, too chaste kiss on my lips before rolling off my bed.

I was treated to his entire naked body for a few moments, looking every bit the virile man who I wanted to take me before he slipped on his boxer briefs. Soundlessly, he tossed my pair to me along with my jeans. He dressed quickly and I followed suit hoping that his carefully schooled features would break into a smile or something other than the mask he was giving me. When we were both fully dressed, I tentatively started, "Owen—" He held up a hand, still in the middle of my room. I hated the distance between us but I fell silent and waited for him to speak. 

He ran his hands through his long wavy hair, "I thought we were on the same page. I want more than sex with you and I thought I was proving that. And I'm going to prove that to you before we actually fuck." 

"Owen, you don't have anything to prove, you're not doing anything wrong. This is just me being insecure." I made a move to stand. 

"I'm still going to prove it, even if I'm just proving it to you. I can't believe you were going to give your virginity up to someone who you didn't think wanted anything else. That's bullshit Jake. That makes both of us look like assholes." Shit, he looked pissed. I felt tears threaten as I withered under his glare. How had things been messed up so fast? 

I neared him like I would any predator, arms outstretched. He stood still, eyes hard. Wrapping my arms around him I murmured, "I'm sorry Owen. I just didn't couldn't believe it. I was happy and am happy. Be happy with me." Slowly I felt his arms come around me, hugging me back. He dropped a kiss on my forehead before stepping back. 

"I'm going to go. I want to drive you to school tomorrow, is that okay?" 

Anxiety sprang up at the possibility of someone seeing, but I answered positively. He nodded as he picked up his bag, "I'll text you later." I walked him out the door, he didn't kiss me but hugged me tightly on the doorstep. 

As I watched him walk to his car, my emotions roiled: elated that he wanted more than a quick fuck, pissed at myself for not being able to express myself with any grace and slightly pissed at him for getting mad because I was a little shocked. My anger at him was short lived.

I spent the evening doing what little homework I had before my parents came home. My mother was nose deep in a case when my father, dragging his attention away from the take and bake lasagna asked, "What happened to your neck?" 

My mother did a double take, actually diverting her gaze from the files. In the mirror behind the sink I caught my reflection, a large hickey emblazoned on my neck. I hadn't felt him make the reddish-purple mark and was horrified that it was there. If my clueless parents had noticed, I doubted my classmates would miss it. "Just a little accident on the course, a branch hit me." My parents swallowed the lie easily, already moving on with their lives while a blush stained my cheeks matching my neck.



Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 03



Our main characters are above 18. They are male so if this is not what you are looking for then please do not continue. This is the continuation of a story and I would suggest reading the previous chapters. Additionally there is some violence in this chapter, not a gratuitous amount but I feel as if I should let you know. Thank you and I live for your comments - Artie 

***** 

I recognize that Buffalo is not the hottest place in the world; even at the end of summer it only gets up to the mid-seventies on average. Nevertheless, it was way too hot to even consider wearing a turtleneck to hide the massive hickey that had blossomed on my neck. Humiliation at my parents reactions stayed with me but overnight the mark had deepened. I put iron on my mom's grocery list, maybe if I could be less anemic I wouldn't bruise as easily. 

The hope for a less colorful future wasn't going to help me at school so I tried on the few polo shirts I possessed but they came nowhere close to concealing the blemish. Irritation warred with the pleased knowledge that Owen had marked me. It might seem primal but I liked the idea of him claiming me however the rational side of my mind was pissed. 

I briefly considered getting into my mother's make up to try and conceal the mark. That idea went out the window when I imagined the ass kicking I would get if Liam or Kyle thought I was wearing make-up even just to make the mark less noticeable. Full leg casts are never a good look. 

So with a grin and bear it attitude I waited for Owen to come pick me up in a normal t-shirt with my neck fully exposed. As his car pulled down the street I debated whether I should show him I was annoyed. I decided on slightly peeved, remembering his anger from yesterday. No need to poke the sleeping bear with full blown annoyance. 

Slipping into the car, Owen's clean masculine scent washed over me. Damn him, he looked like sin incarnate. With a black t-shirt from a band I had never heard of and a pair of black jeans, he looked like the temptation he was. Completing the look, his stubble had grown in darkening the area around his full lips. 

He leaned towards me eyes bright and I allowed myself to be kissed. Well, not so much allowed as was a full party to the kiss. He tasted fresh, like a toothpaste he could easily be doing ads for. He broke the kiss with a chuckle before sitting back looking at me appraisingly. 

"Got you good," he said starting his car with a hint of self-satisfaction coloring his tone. I groaned, I had only been in his presence for moments and he already had noticed the hickey. I was doomed to the scrutiny that would come at school and he didn't seem in the least bothered. 

"You aren't seriously proud of yourself, are you?" 

He chuckled, pulling out of my driveway smoothly, "I'm not mad at myself." His bearing was edging on cocky and I had to remind myself that I was annoyed. His pleased looks were easily battling my ire. 

Trying to not look like a pouting child, I turned my back on Owen and watched the trees as we whizzed down the streets. Sure giving someone the cold shoulder wasn't the most mature thing I could do but if I had looked at him for too long I would have stopped being mad. 

Pulling into the relatively deserted parking lot, I finally sucked it up and turned to him. I was shocked that he looked slightly contrite—still amused—but slightly contrite. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have given you a hickey where people could see it." 

"My parents saw it," I told him dully still holding on to the last bit of annoyance though his apology had obliterated most of it. He dutifully tried to look sorry but his face got red as he forced back his smile eventually he gave up and started laughing. Owen's laughter, against my will, was contagious. 

His mirth made his blue eyes alight and his handsome face look even more attractive, I leaned in kiss him, running my hand along his jawline. I only got a brief brush of the lips before he pulled away. I looked at him questioningly, "I told you, I was going to prove that I want you for more than sex. That means we aren't having sex." 

Devastation filled me, how could he cut me off like that? In the past two days I had gone from not having even my first kiss to being fully ready for whatever Owen wanted. With dread in my stomach I argued, "Kissing is not the same as having sex." 

"True," he murmured looking me deep in the eye, "but if I kiss you, I'm going to have a really hard time not having sex with you." 

That didn't sound at all bad to me, I leaned toward him my intent clear. He laughed, ducking my lips brushing his across my cheek before opening his door. "Nice try." 

I'd like to say that I handled being relegated to light kisses well. I didn't. We went out to lunch on Wednesday and Thursday, both times to Whole Foods. To make him happy I even got some vegetarian curry once: not as good as pizza but it wasn't horrible. He held my hand as we walked around the store; I saw a few girls shoot me disparaging looks but I was over the moon: they could suck it. 

I learned more about him like his proudest moment: scoring in the shootout of the World Juniors Championship, about the worst day of his life: the day of his mom's funeral. I learned about his triumphs and his tribulations as well as the inconsequential facts like his affinity for scarves and the color blue. He was someone that I could really admire, who worked every day to achieve his goals and was proud but humbled by his accomplishments. He listened well, and asked relevant questions to my own answers. It was such a change having someone really listen to me. 

Enjoying his company more than I would like to admit to, I was pleased when he asked me to spend Saturday with him. "I'm going up to Toronto to shoot around at their pre-season camp. I'd love it if you'd come with me." I had trouble swallowing that damn veggie curry, with the shock that filled me. 

"The Leafs camp?" I asked tentatively, my eyebrows almost at my hairline. 

He didn't seem to notice my disbelief, "Yeah, I got invited being a prospect. I have a few good friends up there too." He looked up when I didn't say anything smirking at my slack-jawed expression. I don't know why I was so taken aback; I knew that he was good but to be invited to practice with a NHL team and that he was friends with them awed me. Hiding my blush at his skill, I told him that I would love to go. 

Even with the calm affection and the hope of a road trip first date on the horizon, I was still unhappy with Owen and I's situation. His resistance to physical contact made me literally ache. Several times I pressed my body to his after he drove me home inviting him in. Each time with a reluctant smile he brushed me off and adjusted his jeans. He was just as turned on but because he felt the need to prove himself I got nothing. 

By Thursday night, I was too horny to concentrate. I had gone 18 years without any sexual contact but now that I had a taste I was beyond ready for more. Two days had passed since he ate my ass and I blew him. Two days was way too long. I shook my head at my insurmountable horniness but being an 18 year old male, I wasn't going to be too hard on myself. 

Convincing Owen to fuck me would be difficult, not because he wasn't attracted to me. I knew that he wanted me but he was so stuck on his path to show me he wanted to date me not just fool around. I was thrilled he wanted to date me, even if he didn't understand the danger that stalked me—us. I wanted not more than that, but close, to get lost in his body and for him to get lost in mine. 

He just needed the right push, remembering his preoccupation with imagining me in swim suits, I had an idea. Digging through my pile of suits, I found the perfect one. The suit was way too small for me now, something I had worn freshman year before I had really developed. 

Slipping on the suit I smiled at how it now hugged my ass tightly, exposing more skin than it covered and stretched over my cock, making it look massive as the fabric distorted. The threadbare material hinted at the flesh beneath it. Getting a picture of my ass was more difficult than I thought it was going to be, but I ended up with a few quality picture of the mostly see through material covering only half of it. I also snapped a few photos of my hard dick encased in the shiny fabric. 

Grinning, I texted Owen: Can I ask you something? 

His reply was almost immediate: Of course. 

I paused for a few moments wondering if I was bold enough to do it. Bold enough maybe no, but I was horny enough. Yay or nay, I texted him waiting a few seconds to be sure he had his phone open when I sent him the most obscene photos I had. 

I set my phone down, grinning while still sitting in the suit feeling immensely pleased with myself at my ploy. I didn't have to wait long. I had been expecting him to text back but as per usual, Owen surprised me. 

I picked up the call and answered cheekily, "Yes?" 

"What do you think you're doing?" He sounded amused but also frustrated. I was glad he was feeling frustrated; I was too. 

"I was just asking you whether you thought I should keep the suit," I replied as nonchalantly as I could but feeling giddy. 

His husky chuckle went straight to my cock, "I don't think so Jake. I think you were flaunting your tight little ass trying to get me to bite. I think you were showing your hot body, taunting me by not showing me all of it. If I was there I would be ripping that suit apart and then showing you exactly how much I liked it and what is underneath it. Or at least that's what you'd want me to do." 

Shit. I wanted him here so badly. My hand slipped down to my cock as I replied, "Oh fuck me, man." 

"You'd like that wouldn't you Jake? I know you liked me licking your ass. You fucking screamed when I found your g-spot with my fingers. I wonder what you will do when it's my cock stretching you open and rubbing against it. I can't wait for you to yell out my name as I take you." 

"Fuck Owen," I groaned as I stroked my cock using the abundance of pre-come. 

"Are you playing with yourself Jake?" His voice was low and sensual, like caramel. 

"Yes," I moaned just as much a response as it was a signifier of my pleasure. 

His low groan of approval heightened the intensity of the feeling of my hand. I wanted it to be him so bad. "What are you thinking about Jake? Are you thinking about my hands replacing yours, stroking your dick? Or maybe my lips rubbing and kissing all around it, then taking the tip into my mouth? I'd tease you, you know, only the lightest licks and the slightest pressure but then I would suck you down my throat. Thinking about you coming apart under my lips makes me so hard Jake." 

My hand was a blur as I stroked myself imagining Owen's mouth on my cock. I was nearing my orgasm, my breath coming out in shaky spurts, "I'm so close Owen." 

I could hear the sinful smile in his voice, as he told me, "Let me hear it Jake." 

I couldn't deny him anything, cumming in a loud moan my sticky seed coating my hand. As my breathing returned to normal, though why with my incredible vascular system I was breathing so hard I don't know, I heard Owen murmur, "Really hot, Jake. I've got to go deal with my own problem. I'll be looking at the photos you sent me. Pick you up at seven thirty." He was off the phone before I could convince him to let me hear his orgasm too. I wanted phone sex with him, I even felt a little guilty that I was the only one to cum. I also felt immense satisfaction that Owen would be jerking off to pictures of me. 

The next morning he acted like nothing had happened, our interlude wasn't something that he seemed inclined to discuss. As he drove me to school, my hints got more oblique by the word. It wasn't until I came out and asked him a direct question that he was forced to acknowledge it, "You never told me what you thought about the suit." 

He rolled his eyes despite keeping them affixed to the road, "I think your teammates would have a hard time dealing with you wearing that. I know I did." My smile didn't wane as we pulled into the parking lot, I was awash with my power to get him hard. I, Jake Summers, could get Owen Holt hard with not even nude photos. I sat wondering if I would be bold enough to send him nudes, the pros and cons fought in my head and I decided to think on it before going further. 

"Ready to go?" Owen asked, breaking my reverie. 

"Yeah," I looked out the window dismayed to see cars quickly filling in the lot around us. 

I was formulating a plan to go around the fronts of the cars to come out on the other side of the lot when I heard Owen say, "We have English together we could just walk there." Horror clashed with longing. I wanted so badly to walk with Owen to class, in my day dreams hand in hand. But the social whiplash of that decision would hurt him and I would be hurt physically. 

He read my resistance easily and sighed, "Okay. I'll see you there." His mouth was set in a tight line as he opened his door not giving me a kiss goodbye. Well, shit. I scrambled from the car making my way to class. When Owen walked in he sat beside me but didn't say anything to me throughout the class. 

"I'll see you later," he said quietly as he stood with the bell. 

Throughout my German class, I debated whether I was doing the right thing or if I should have just thrown caution to the wind and walked with him to class. Surely someone would have noticed, Owen was still big news and I doubted he would become inconspicuous any time soon. In the middle of my severe teacher giving an entirely too rapid lecture my phone buzzed. 

Owen: Can't go to lunch. Meeting with Coach. Sorry. 

I sighed at his seemingly curt response, worrying that my refusal this morning had made him even madder at me. Desperate to try and bring back the playful side to him, I texted him: How sorry? 

Never the most patient person, I tapped my foot waiting for his response. After what seemed like an eternity he texted me one of those smirking emoticons. Not as good as him finding a way to make it up to me but silly enough to assure me that he wasn't completely annoyed with me. 

When the lunch bell tolled, I decided that I would attempt to take advantage of the unwanted alone time. I was sitting in the library attempting to recall German vocab when I felt a large presence over my shoulder. Turning with a smile, I expected Owen. An icy shiver ran the length of my spine when I saw Kyle and Gregory. Where had my innate trouble sensor gone? I had been so in tune like when animals go quiet before an impending storm. Had a little kindness made me so comfortable that I had forgotten everything that these monsters did to me? 

"Gregory, how on earth did you manage to end up in the library? Are you lost?" Fear always caused me to say stupid things, like my default setting was sass. I'd like to say it was bravery but it was all bravado. Gregory's face took on a repugnant shade of puce as he registered the insult; Kyle stepped in for his friend and twisted my arm tightly behind my back. I was not flexible and my hand was almost touching my shoulder. 

"Let's go faggot," Kyle said none too quietly while pulling on my arm using it as a lead. I gasped as agony split through my shoulder, if he had pulled any harder it would have dislocated. I had little choice but to go where he pushed me. I was glad they had left behind my books and phone, they weren't likely to get stolen and if they were on me wherever I was headed they stood to be destroyed. 

We got to the senior courtyard, empty because all of our peers were out having lunch. I wished I too had made the decision to go off campus. Letting go of my arm, I had a brief moment of relief as the pain lessened before I was shoved face first onto the ground. 

Shaking my head to clear the fog, I sucked in a deep breath steading myself. Gregory's ugly mug was even less attractive when he smiled. The cruel show of teeth threatened that pain was imminent and he would enjoy it. A smarter man would have curled into a ball protecting his intestines and shielding his head with his hands. I was a foolhardy man, bullies take fear and they breed on it, just a little bit like dementors. I held their gaze evenly. 

"Little fag is always looking at us," Gregory alleged grabbing the top of my hair jerking my head back. Knowing you're about to get punched in the face gives you a few moments to prepare, the key is to stay loose and go with the punch. You are far less likely to break something that's relaxed and moving the direction of the force. None of that is helpful when your attacker decides to kick you in the stomach. 

Air Jordans aren't exactly steel-toed boots but they still struck hard when connected to an athletically gifted body. The impact of the kick forced the air out of my lungs in a hacking cough. I was glad that I hadn't eaten lunch or that would have been spattered around. Gregory let go of my hair and I gave up the tough act as coughs and pain ripped through me. Curled up on the ground, I attempted to calm my breathing while feeling a strong camaraderie with Houdini. 

I was given no respite, three kicks in a row hitting my kidney. The urge to throw up was insurmountable and I dry heaved. I closed my eyes against the pain, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing my cry out. Mind over matter, sure I would be pissing blood but they couldn't take my pride. I heard Kyle's cruel laughter and Gregory's taunts but I was more concerned with breathing evenly absorbing the pain. 

When I had finally gotten the pain down to a manageable level, I opened my eyes. They were gone, I breathed a sigh of relief that I instantly regretted. Shallow breaths would be the key. Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I winced at the sharp pain around my kidneys and the more nagging pain in my shoulder and stomach. Definitely not as bad as it could have been. 

I stood shifting my weight until I found a comfortable way to stand. Tugging up my shirt, I saw that my lower back was already swelling. With wry amusement, I realized it was good that Owen and I weren't having sex: he would be none too pleased to see the beginnings of the bruise. 

Running with bruised kidneys was near impossible, every step felt like I was getting punched in the gut. As I wincingly jogged through the woods, I wondered if I should just stop and take my first hit of weed. Mr. Healthy would doubtless not approve if he scorned caffeine and fatty foods. 

Eventually I just begged off, sitting at the curb while waiting for Owen to finish his work out. I didn't even bother to change; I hadn't gotten far enough in my run to work up a sweat. I saw Owen walking out with Kyle and Paul, my heart sank as I watched them laugh at something he had said. These were his people. I ducked behind his car as they neared. They shot the shit for a few moments, mostly talking about hockey before they went to their respective cars. I waited until they were out onto the street before I emerged. 

Owen jumped as I appeared but he wisely chose not to comment on me hiding, "Hey, how was your day?" He asked kissing me lightly. I breathed in his freshly washed body, so calming. 

"Better now that I'm with you," I answered truthfully trying to incite a more passionate kiss. He moved me aside though I saw the longing in his eyes that mirrored mine. 

As he drove he told me about his meeting with the hockey coach, Owen still wasn't sold on playing for the high school team with several out of school leagues in the area carrying a lot of clout. There was the possibility that he could do both but he wasn't sure that he would be able to play his best hockey stretched thin. He asked me about my day and I told him about studying in the library. I wasn't going to give him reasons to not play for the school's team. Frankly we needed him but I just didn't want to be the reason that he didn't play: I really didn't need that reason for people to hate me. Their hate was the reason that as I pissed that night, the water ran pink. 




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 03



He picked me up on Saturday early in the morning, around six. I quickly found out that Owen wasn't a morning person, but who really is at six? He smiled tiredly, eyes bleary in welcome. "I forgot some stuff at home," he said sleep filling his voice. 

I far more awake, and thrilled to be in the car with him for the better part of two hours on the way to Toronto laughed, "What did you forget?" 

Owen ran his hands through his already messy hair, "My bag and my breakfast." 

He looked so sheepish, "Isn't that everything you needed to bring?" 

Owen winked at me, "Everything but you." Outwardly rolling my eyes, my insides did somersaults: gleeful that I had been a necessity. 

He pulled into a gravel driveway of a pretty, but average house. I had imagined Owen in a much nicer house, just because he looked like someone who would have one. I followed Owen into his house, taking in still not totally unpacked rooms. 

"Owen?" I heard a deep voice call. 

"Yeah Dad. I just forgot some stuff." Owen called out. I swore under my breath, I wasn't near ready to do any sort of meet the parent kind of thing. Hopefully Owen's dad didn't know about me and Owen, though he already knew that Owen was gay. 

Owen's dad rounded a corner, he was around my size and looked like he had once been in good shape but had fallen into disrepair. He and Owen shared the same blue eyes, but Owen's typically warm expression couldn't be found on his father's face. "Oh is this your" Owen's dad paused for a moment, "friend?" 

He clearly knew that Owen and I were, well whatever we were and he didn't seem to like it at all. His cold expression never lessened as Owen spoke, "Yeah Dad, this is Jake. Keep him company while I go get my stuff." God no, I didn't want to be left with his dad but I couldn't outright refuse for fear of further displeasure. 

Owen climbed up the stairs and out of sight before his dad spoke, "This is a serious camp he's going to and this is a time for Owen to be focused on hockey. Try not to be a distraction." He glared at me until I nodded. He turned away leaving me alone. I far preferred alone. 

I could see where he was coming from, I didn't want to be a distraction to Owen. I pasted a cheery smile on my face as Owen descended the stairs bag in tow with a protein shake in his hand. "Alright, let's go," he said with a little more energy than he had when I had first seen him. 

As the morning passed, I tried to put Owen's dad's warning to not be a distraction out of my head as Owen gradually woke up and began being animatedly excited. His love for the game was palpable and he was almost bouncing in his seat as we chatted. Even in our silences, I felt comfortable. 

I had grown up around hockey, I had frequently gone to Sabres games and when I was a kid had spent many an afternoon skating on local rinks and ponds. I had watched pros veritably dance over the ice. No one made hockey look as good as Owen. He was unmistakable, his skating was a sensuous glide. He was confident and despite being a tall built guy could wind himself around defenders easily. 

I had wondered if Owen would be able to live up to the hype, if he was actually as good as others said he was. He was better. His stick was an extension of his arm. He was sharp and controlled passing but smooth as he flew down the ice. He was playing with professional hockey players, some of the names I easily recognized. He was fitting in easily and for the most part was a cut above them. 

In skates and pads he cut an imposing figure, one I really wanted in me. I watched as he sailed around the rink, a king over his domain. Each drill was completed cleanly and effortlessly. His hand-eye coordination was unparalleled. Coaches looked on trying to hide smiles, as they watched his natural talent. The practice was open by invitation and a gaggle of girls sat rapt with attention, when Owen started shooting at the net trying to beat the goalie I could hear their conversation. "He can score with me any day," one girl exclaimed none too quietly. 

A glimmer of jealousy ran through me as they discussed Owen, their lack of propriety leading them to break down every inch of him. They caught all the highlights and their fantasies were not too far off my own. I watched him working on his breakaways as he made a spectacular goal juking out the goalie and putting it top shelf; he found me in the stands and grinned. 

Warmth spread through me as I returned his smile. I doubted the harpies behind me had caught the affectionate look but I had. I would have done anything for him to smile at me again. My jealousy was gone, he had taken me with him and he had looked to me in victory. The girls might have their fantasies, but mine didn't have to be a fantasy: I had him. 

I just had to convince him that I believed this was more than sex. Even if I had my doubts, my insecurities that this would turn out well for either of us: I could believe that he wanted more. He had done nothing but try and prove that. His insistence on abstinence had been admirable but a sexless relationship was not going to be fulfilling for either of us. 

I was done waiting. My cock grew as I plotted, imagining ways to seduce Owen. I doubted he would appreciate the plot to try and sneak into the locker room to blow him in the showers, I really appreciated that plan though on a base level. 

The practice was long and seemed grueling to someone unused to their schedules, though Owen had called it an easy skate around. With each passing moment, my plan solidified. I met him outside the arena, him hauling his heavy bag of gear over one shoulder. He had just come from a shower, his hair almost black with moisture. I glanced around the lot before pressing my body against his. The equipment bag dropped loudly to the cement as he responded to my embrace. Our tongues slid together as his hewn body backed me against his car. 

My hands slid around his hips and pulled him closer to the cradle of my crotch. He broke our kiss grinning, "Good to see you too." 

The first hour and a half of our drive was spent chatting, breaking down the plays and the Leaf's drills. Owen had enjoyed seeing his friends and like me thought he had done well. He spoke animatedly but I was animated from the knowledge of what I was about to do. When we were about ten minutes from my house knew it was time for action. 

As he was telling me about the puck handling drill, I slowly reached over and placed my hand on his upper thigh. He paused for a moment, looking over at me. I pretended that this was as far as it was going to go so he continued. When he relaxed slightly, I grazed my hand over his package. He jumped slightly as his cock hardened. 

"Jake?" 

"Seeing you play made me really horny Owen. Thank you for taking me but I can find a much better way to thank you." 

Owen choked on air as I palmed his length rubbing him through his jeans. He stopped me when I went for his zipper, "I'm not letting you jerk me off while trying to drive a car." 

"I was planning on road head," I triumphantly stated. 

He groaned, his massive dick making a tent beneath my hand, "That's not safe." He seemed to be telling himself that more than me. His eyes dilated with lust as a wet spot appeared from the tip of his dick. 

I sighed, though I had been expecting his refusal, "Okay, but I've been so hard since I saw you on the ice." I lifted my hips tugging my jeans and boxer briefs under my ass letting my hard cock spring free. One of Owen's eyes was now trained on me as he struggled to watch the road. I slowly ran my hand around the base of my dick, feeling all the more aroused with Owen watching me. My head fell back as I rubbed the sensitive head, "You sure you don't want me to suck you. You sure look like you do." I hadn't known I was such an exhibitionist, I had never felt as desired as when his eyes devoured me. 

"You could always come in you know. My parents won't be home." My hand was lazily traversing my cock, I didn't want to blow my load before he was in me. I was determined for my seduction to work, even though seducing a horny eighteen year old was hardly a trying feat. 

His voice was hoarse as he answered, "I'm coming in Jake." The double entendre was delicious and I spent the remaining ride keeping both him and myself on edge playing with myself. I had timed my seduction well, we were both ready to slake our lust. 

The garage was expectedly empty as Owen pulled into the driveway, so I had no compunctions about leaving my jeans unzipped, though I tucked my dick back in, as I ran to the door. I glanced behind me, Owen staring at me with carnal intent, my cock jerked just at his intense gaze. He stalked me through the door closing it behind us. 

He backed me up into the wall of the foyer, trapping my hands on either side of my head. I had never felt as possessed as when his mouth met mine. A furious kiss one that bespoke the desperation that even four days of celibacy had caused. I was fine with him taking me against the wall but his hands went to my hips lifting my legs around his waist. His cock slid in against my ass with every step. He carried me up the stairs and I reminded myself that maybe raw egg smoothies would be a good idea. 

Set on my own feet in my room, I yanked off his shirt, once again reminded at my favorite sight. His chest was defined, muscles I couldn't hope to name were standing out proudly. I stripped my own t-shirt off before going for his jeans. Unwrapping his body was arousing, seeing every perfect sinew covered by that light dusting of hair. I bent at the knee to ease off his boxer briefs his hard cock slapping against his stomach as it was revealed. I wanted to take it into my mouth but Owen grasped me under the armpits pulling my lips up to his. My jeans were already unzipped so almost no effort went into him shucking them down my legs. Needing to be naked in front of him I tore off my boxer briefs leaving us both naked. 

He kissed down my shoulder as I clutched at his back. He turned me around setting a kiss on the top of my spine and moments too late I remembered. "What the fuck happened here," he grated out finding the bruise over my kidney. 

Groaning at the interruption and the slight pain as he ran his fingers over the aberration, I pulled his face up to mine, "Don't let them ruin this please." His eyes narrowed and lips pursed but I stemmed his words with my lips. Kissing him insistently, I rubbed my aroused body against his letting him feel my throbbing dick. He was stiff for a moment but I didn't let up until he responded to my kiss. He bit my lower lip lightly before soothing the nip with his tongue. 

"Fine," he said raising his head for a moment, "but we're going to talk about this later." 

Rolling my eyes internally, I realized that was the best I could probably do. He was still going to fuck me so in my opinion we were cooking with bacon, we'd save the tough conversations for later—or never. I rewarded him for giving in by pressing kisses along his jaw and down his throat over his pronounced Adam's apple. 

My hands trailed down to where his hands were still gently prodding the injured skin and moved them slightly lower to cup my ass. He needed no more guidance, squeezing my ass stimulatingly. One of my hands went to the back of his head pulling him down to kiss me while the other went his nipple tugging at it from amidst the dark hair. 

I groaned into his mouth as his dexterous fingers spread apart my cheeks and brushed over my hole lightly. The touch was teasing but I was so tightly wound that I bucked my hips against his feeling our cocks brush together. 

Latching onto a nipple, I felt his probing finger circle the pucker honing in on the entrance. I sucked greedily, lapping at the nub when a slight whimper escaped me as his finger pushed into my hole. Unconsciously, I spread my legs more granting him greater access. With his finger only a knuckle deep he gently pulled out. His voice was deep with lust as he demanded, "Where's your stuff?" 

I had never moved faster as I leaned over to my bed side table to grab the bottle of lube and a condom. I used the lube to jerk off with but the one and only condom I owned had been pocketed from the nurse's office under the guise of wishful thinking. 

Handing Owen both, I suddenly got nervous. I had been waiting for this forever and Owen was everything I could have hoped for but his two fingers had felt enormous last time and his dick was obviously bigger than two fingers. Sensing my discomfort, Owen ran his thumb along my cheekbone, "I'll go slow, I promise." 

I nodded smiling but I was still tense. Moving me onto my back, Owen kissed me. His lips sucking at mine distracted me as he knelt between my spread legs. I heard the caps come off but was lost in Owen surrounding me. My hand wandered down his chest to his defined abdomen, reveling in the strength and dedication it would take to achieve those results. I continued my perusal, down the v-shaped indentations that led to his throbbing erection. 

A low rumble emanated from his chest as a curled my fingers around his dick. I ran the pad of my thumb around the tip spreading his pre cum around the head and easing it around the slit. So consumed in my task, I jumped when I felt the cool gel against my ass. 

Smoothing the lube over the hole, his finger returned pressing insistently. This time with the aid of the gel, his finger sunk in far easier. I gasped at the invasion, the burning stretching feeling wasn't unpleasant but an intoxicating sensation. My hand started stroking his cock as Owen pushed a second finger in, stretching and scissoring to open me up. 

Though I probably could have used three fingers, neither of us could wait. I was leaking pre-cum steadily and Owen had to remove my hand from his cock to calm himself and to put on the condom. Slicking his now latex-covered shaft in lube, he leaned down to kiss me thrusting his tongue into me mimicking what his cock soon would do. 

I couldn't contain the moan as his blunt cockhead rested at my ass, "Push out," Owen breathed. His cock was empirically big and had been large in my mouth but the feeling if his cock head pressing through the tight ring of muscle was like getting ripped apart. I couldn't contain the yelp that ensued. I waited while I adjusted to the feeling, slowly the burning sensation faded and I nodded to him. 

Slowly, Owen speared me with his massive cock, I bore down on him and gasped when at last the base of his dick rested against my cheeks. The feeling of fullness was heady being filled to the hilt was rapturous but it was nothing compared to when he started moving. The first few strokes were slow and long, every inch stretching and moving. 

With a subtle cant of his hips, Owen pressed forward and I nearly shot off the bed. With fingers, him playing with my prostate had been amazing but with his meaty cock was unimaginable. There was nothing I wouldn't do to relive that sensation for eternity. With a smirk, Owen picked up the pace of his hips, each time brushing over the center of my pleasure. 

My cock was oozing pre-cum onto my stomach as Owen began a series of hard fast jabs that had me moaning with each movement. "Owen, I'm cumming." 

I registered his bright smug smile as he further increased his speed, his hips hitting my ass with every stroke, ball-sack bouncing. I came with a load groan, my cum splashing across my chest. I had just cum without touching my dick; I'm not sure if that's common but I was hooked on the feeling. 

I was high on endorphins but I heard Owen cum with my name on his lips. As he came, he rolled me onto my side, careful to not hit the hurt side and to spare me his weight. Even exhausted from an orgasm he was considerate. He hadn't pulled out, his cock still mostly hard was embedded in my ass. As far as I was concerned, it could stay there forever, my soreness wasn't a big deal in comparison to the overwhelming satisfaction. 

Owen had other ideas, slowly pulling out of me; I tried to keep my wince small. Owen stood knotting the condom and chucking it into the garbage can clear across the room. Of course he is athletically gifted all around, surely God was giving with both hands. Owen lay back down and I settled into the crook of his neck enjoying the tightness of previously unused muscles. My virginity was something I wasn't sad to see go. I lay in Owen's embrace, uncaring of the drying sweat and the cum drying on my chest, giddy in my replete state. 

Owen ran his fingertips along my arm, finding all of my marks. He discovered the mole next to my elbow and the scar from falling while skateboarding. He found out erogenous zones and that I was ticklish as he moved down my chest. "Why didn't you tell me," he asked a twinge of sadness in his tone as his fingertips found the bruising over my kidneys again. 

I had to stop myself from blurting out that it wasn't his problem to deal with. I doubted he would have been pleased with such a response and I wasn't keen on giving up sex with Owen now that I knew how incredible it was. "What would you have done about it?" 

"Put an end to it," Owen declared with such dark finality that I wanted to laugh. 

"Don't you think it would look weird? You telling them off—" 

He scoffed interrupting me, "I wouldn't just tell them off, Jake." 

I sat up pulling away from him, "Yeah, because beating them up is a good way to make friends with your teammates and even if they weren't your teammates, I wouldn't want someone fighting my battles." 

"But you aren't fighting," Owen said tersely, glaring at me. 

I took a deep calming breath, praying for sanity, "You're right. I didn't fight them. I couldn't win in a fight against one of them and usually it's more than one. I'm sorry I didn't fight back when two guys are kicking me." My deep calming breath was ineffective at keeping the annoyance out of my voice. 

"Which two?" Owen asked attempting to sound casual as he fished for information, not even looking at me. Rolling my eyes at his translucent attempt at getting the names, I indulged for a moment at the thought of seeing Kyle and Gregory with black eyes. 

"Nice try," I smirked at the god in my bed whose cheeks tinted pink at my teasing. 

He winked at me only slightly abashed, "Worth a shot." 

As he donned his clothes I caught sight of his cock, I was still shocked that it had fit in me. I was more than willing to try again to convince myself of this. "I have to go," Owen murmured though his face was etched in longing to stay, "my Dad's going to want to hear how it went." 

I nodded, though I wish he could stay. Owen leaned down to kiss me, still naked on my bed, "You make me not want to leave." He shook his head, "I'll text you," and he was gone.



Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 04



Usual disclaimers: Our main characters are consenting male adults who do not resemble to my knowledge any persons living or deceased. Sorry this chapter took a little longer... I've been sick with pneumonia. Don't worry, this is not the final chapter. Do read the previous chapters before or you'll be mighty confused. Thank you for all your kind words, Artie. 

***** 

Waking up Monday morning, I was excited to get up. What a change. Last week I had rued the sunrise and now I could hardly wait for it. I had reason to be energized: I would get to see Owen. As I stretched and moved toward my shower, the slight soreness was welcome and exquisite. The slight ache in all the muscles below my waist just reminded me where Owen had been—and where I wanted him to be again. 

Getting dressed for school, I decided not to go for my usual middle of the pack look. I carefully selected a pair of indigo jeans that hugged my body. I had never worn these pants before to school, they looked way too good on me for that. The cut formed perfectly over my ass and cock making both look pert and bigger while encasing my lean, strong legs. I slipped on a tighter pale blue chambray button down. In the past I had only worn this to church, when my mother deigned that we had to go. This only happened when one of the various committees that she was on made it necessary to go. 

All in all, I looked far better than I had in years, stylish even. I knew that dressing apart from the norm would make people look at me. But I cared far more about how one person in particular looked at me. If Owen liked the outfit then it was worth it. Especially because if I was lucky enough to get naked with him today, he would need to be distracted: the bruise over my kidney had gotten a lot worse. 

I wasn't disappointed by his reaction to my new look. Owen's eyes were wide but dilated with lust as he pulled into my driveway. Eyes locked on his, I turned up my sensuality as I walked to his truck. We had texted casually the day before. But I wanted to reward him after our almost fight where he had walked out. 

I was barely into the car when Owen's lips were on mine. The door hung open as Owen leaned across the console, devouring me. Despite the high ceilings of his monstrous vehicle, climbing across the gear shift to straddle him was difficult, but so worth it. 

His hands were fiery brands as they grabbed my ass and pulled me flush against him. I would throw away all my ill-fitting clothing and dress this way all the time if it meant Owen and I were going to make out in his car, or really anywhere. His mouth slid hotly against mine, a sensuous dance. 

I slipped my mouth down to his neck and lavished my affection, he had just put on cologne so the musky, clean scent pervaded my senses. My cock was hardening fast so with I slowly pushed off him, he groaned at my absence but opened his eyes, "You look great today, Jake." 

I warmed under his compliment, I had already known he enjoyed it but compliments weren't something I was used to. The drive to school seemed short as I coached my erection down to manageable levels. A drawback of wearing well-fitting clothes seemed to be the bulge that it made, so in the most displeasing act to date, I flipped my dick up into my waistband. The time I spent manipulating my cock was not lost on Owen, "Are you playing with yourself?" 

"Please, you wish." 

He turned toward me, all cheekbones and square jaw and said, "Yeah I do." I had meant it lightly, jokingly. He turned it carnal, "Listening to you jerk off was one of the hottest things ever. One of these days, I'm going to want to watch you get yourself off." He said it casually, with just the slightest hint of a sexual undertone but I was back to fully hard. 

All semblance of a witty rejoinder was cast aside as I really absorbed his words. While I imagined that having sex with Owen would be better than anything else, I would love having his eyes on me while I jerked it. I was about to suggest we turn around and make the fantasy a reality when we pulled into the parking lot. 

I sighed but adjusted my weeping, angry cock again making sure that the bulge was minimized. I wasn't Owen who could proudly proclaim his boners. 

"You ready to go?" 

"Yeah, I'll see you in English," I said grabbing my bag and combing my hands through my hair. 

"Or we could walk together." I turned my gaze to him, he looked almost confused at my incredulous gaze. "I thought we were going to be more than sex." 

A sigh came from deep within me, "We are more than sex but we can't be seen together at school Owen." 

For a moment I knew what it would be like if Owen was about to drop his gloves on me, his unblinking gaze, that bordered on a glare, boring into me. "Yes, we can Jake." 

I just shook my head, loathe to get into it, "I'll see you in English." As I closed the door, I blocked out his angry protestations. He just didn't get it. Weaving through the cars, I emerged on the other side of the lot and began my casual but hopefully inconspicuous walk to the school. The lawn was filled again, already it was starting to cool off outside. All reports stating that the winter would be colder and snowier than years previous, so students were getting in their time in the sun. 

Once again the athletes, rich kids, and hangers on were sprawled over the steps of the school literally looking down upon everyone else. Head down to minimize the chance of being seen, I stealthily loped over to Matt who was chatting with several other burnouts. The combined smell of weed coming from the assembled trio was almost overwhelming. They melted away as I neared, they were not about to be associated with me. Matt, on the other hand, smiled warmly; I really can't say how much he meant to me just accepting me as a friend. He could easily have been on the steps but chose to be the one person to effortlessly be friends with everyone. 

"Hey Matt, think you're going to run today?" 

He chuckled at our ongoing joke, "Only gonna run from the cops man and probably not even then." Just then a curtain of black hair walked past, Matt's eyes glued on her. 

"When are you going to ask Ellen out?" He cut a weak annoyed look at me. Matt had been in love with Ellen for the past four years. Ellen was everything Matt wasn't, her dark features and statuesque height in contrast to his stocky build and pale blond hair. She also didn't do or like drugs. She and Matt had an easy friendship but it had never gone anywhere. 

"Probably right after I start running," he said already shaking off his preoccupation. We continued talking but I noticed that he was not really paying much attention to me. 

At first I thought Matt's gaze was off course due to, using Matt's terms, the totally dank hybrid he had smoked this morning but he wasn't actually unfocused just gazing beyond my shoulder. Expecting Ellen to be behind me, I subtly glanced. My double take was far less subtle. With all eyes glued to him, Owen strode toward me with a slight grin touching his lips. 

What the fuck did he think he was doing, I thought with disbelief and more than a touch of anger. Quickly I turned my back to him hoping he would get the message, no such luck. His presence was like the warmth of the sun. 

Ignoring the iciest glare I could muster, Owen greeted me, "Hey Jake." 

"Owen." He wasn't dissuaded by my lack of enthusiasm to see him, almost grinning at my discomfort. He turned to Matt and introduced himself. 

Matt for his part was his usual joyful, exuberant but also out of it, self. Right after enthusiastically executing a complex bro handshake just a beat too late, he pulled out a vape. A classic Matt maneuver: smoking on campus; I had once seen him pull a bong out of his locker. With the advent of sneakier ways than just rolling a j he was far more likely to both not get caught and to be high all the time. 

I chanced a glance over to Owen to see how he would handle Matt's lack of inhibition, even with a look of incredulousness: he looked hot. Owen raised an eyebrow as Matt inhaled deep into his chest, "Sorry man, you want some," Matt said offering the pen to Owen. 

Owen gripped his backpack tighter before declining, "No thanks." He turned a questioning eye on me but I silently shook my head that I wasn't interested in smoking before school. Casting an eye around, I noted that a majority of our peers were gawking at our unconventional grouping. Was Owen just completely fucking oblivious to the rubberneckers; make no mistake this was a wreck in progress. I could see the news rippling across the lawn. 

My stomach clenched as I knew how fast gossip spread, this would be everywhere by homeroom. Matt would be the only saving grace of this situation, I slowly angled my body even further from Owen, hopefully making it appear as if Matt and Owen were having a conversation and not me. 

Matt assisted the illusion by asking, "So how do you know Jake?" 

"We're in the same English class; speaking of which, do you want to walk over?" 

"You can go ahead, I'll meet you there." I answered tersely, willing him to just walk away and end this nightmare. 

His wry smile was goading, "Oh, don't worry. I'll wait for you." In the five years I had spent being bullied, I had never been tempted to punch anyone. His gorgeous face was twisted into a smug grin and if I wasn't a massive pacifist and didn't want to hurt him or his looks I would have punched him. Such a bastard, he looked he kept his face placid but he loved my discomfort. 

He wasn't going to stop; internally sighing and recriminating myself for what I had gotten myself into, I told Matt I would see him later and set off for English. Owen was not thrown by my quick pace nor that I didn't speak to him. 

He kept up his shit-eating grin all the way through English class. He kept trying to distract me with none too subtle shifts of his body, but I wasn't having it. I strode off away from him as the bell tolled, not saying a word. 

It wasn't until late in German that I got a text from him. At least then the cocky tone was gone with him writing: Are we still on for lunch? 

It might have been petty but I was pissed so I wrote back: I guess. 

I took my sweet time waiting for all the students to clear out of the hallways, in the wake of Owen's stunt I was sure that all of my usual tormentors would be on the prowl. Owen's truck was one of only a few left in the lot. 

"I wasn't sure you were coming," Owen said lowly as if talking someone off a ledge. 

I kept my gaze forward, I was angry at him and I wasn't going to be dissuaded by his face, "I'm here." 

Owen opened his mouth as if so say something but snapped it closed instead starting his car and driving to Whole Foods. I pettily wanted to ask him to stop at a fast food joint instead but I realized that he probably would and not get anything and still drive to his original destination: so stubborn. 

He was waiting for me to check out, his usual salad and chicken breast enclosed in a to-go container. My pizza was already ready to go so I just followed him out to his car. 

Once we were back in his car, I asked, "Any reason for the change of venue?" 

He set his box down carefully, "Yeah I figured that if we were going to have a fight it shouldn't be in public. I know how much you hate to be seen in public with me." Jesus, apparently I wasn't the only one who was going to be petty. 

Rolling my eyes at his melodramatic interpretation, "You know that's not what it is." 

His voice was low but full of anger as he answered, "So why don't you tell me what it is?" 

Owen's anger opened the floodgates, where I had been pissy before; I was now furious, not with Owen but for the situation that was making both of us angry. "What do you want to know? That I've gotten beaten up for the better part of five years? That no one has ever done or said anything? That there's no point to fighting back, I'd just get beaten up worse?" 

"But—" Owen tried to break in but my tirade couldn't be stemmed now that it was happening. 

"No, you wanted to know so here it fucking is." Owen's eyebrows rose in shock, he hadn't seen the cursing, pissed form before; I wasn't going to be waylaid by his censure. "I'm not a bitch that needs someone to look out for them Owen. I don't need you to fight my battles just because you're big and popular. I am handling my own business; it's only one more year that I have to deal with. And you aren't going to help, by being seen with me your reputation is going to be hurt. Not only that, but I am the one that's going to be hurt more because I'm going to be the fag who turned their friend." 

We sat in silence for several moments, Owen looked stricken. He reached out and opened his water bottle, taking a large sip; I watched angry tears forming at my eyelids. 

"I'm not going to say sorry," he said turning to me, "because I don't want to have to pretend to not know you at school. Just because everyone else can just see a problem and not do anything about it, doesn't mean I'm one of those people." He ruffled his hair, a sign that he was frustrated. "I feel bad that you believe me talking to you today will put you in more danger, that wasn't my intention. But you are worried that I'm going to get hurt: get real. I can handle myself against douchebags." 

"Those douchebags are going to be your teammates." 

"If I decide to play, yes. Don't you think they would be scared to mess with a teammate? Especially one that is so talented" 

I sighed, he said the cockiest thing with such little artifice, "That would still put me in the crossfire. I can handle the stuff I get now. Please don't make it worse." 

"That sounds like the worst version of friends with benefits that I've ever heard: not even friends. I want more than that." Owen had lost all his fire, now just sounding dejected. His crystalline blue eyes wide, looking scared. 

"Why can't we just be more outside of school?" 

"Because we both deserve more than that, can't we at least be friends in school?" 

"No, they won't see it that way. They'll think we're dating." How in the world was he not getting this? And worse yet, they would be right. 

He smiled, though it was strained, "We are and we're fucking." 

"I don't want them to know that," I muttered. For a long moment it was quiet in the car. We had both said our pieces but nothing had been resolved. 

Owen stared out the window before turning and grasping me by the back of the neck, pulling me toward him. His lips found mine unerringly, our heated discussion turned into an equally heated kiss. Our tongues wrestled, my hands pulling at his hair while his hands kept our faces locked together. His stubble scraped my lips and he bit my lips, my dick hardening under the rough assault. 

"You were so mad at me," Owen whispered against my lips. 

His reminder only brought that thought to the forefront of my mind for a moment before adolescent horny brain reclaimed top position. "Yeah," I breathed before sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. 

He tore his mouth away from mine, "Can I make it up to you?" His words took on a carnal meaning as he ran his fingers over my growing bulge, showcased in my tight jeans. 

I was about to split seams my cock was so hard, "We aren't having sex in the Whole Foods parking lot." 

He chuckled pulling back our arm rests, "No, but I'm going to suck you off." Owen unsnapped my jeans and though my rational brain was screaming at me that we had just fought, that we were going to be late for school, and that my mug shot would be terrible after getting booked for getting blown in a Whole Foods parking lot; my irrational head was leaping for joy at the prospect of Owen's hot mouth covering it. 

I had a moment of divine right, seeing the face of God as Owen's mouth enveloped the head of my cock. There had to be nothing as good as this, and while I was almost sad that the peak moment of joy in my life would come so early... I also was loving every second of it. 

His lips and tongue teased around the head eliciting moans from me as well as pre-cum that was already dribbling from the slit. Owen sank down my shaft and I resisted the urge to thrust deep in his throat. The wet heat was like nothing I had ever felt before and his smooth pace had me close to erupting quickly. I usually prided myself on not being a hair trigger but for a first time experience, I had been close on the suggestion of a blowjob. 

I was moments from blowing my load, when Owen pulled his lips off me. His hand kept up pace to keep me on the edge of orgasm, "Promise me, you won't be mad the next time I talk to you in school." 

I couldn't believe he was using sex against me again and irritation at his request filled me. As if he could sense my annoyance, his thumb came up to rub the sensitive spot beneath the head of my cock. My hips spasmed into his hand, I was on the verge when he continued, "We don't have to be out as dating but we will be friends at school." 

I was beyond arguing but I wasn't about to agree yet. I set my jaw in stubbornness against his demand. His eyebrow raised in response to my defiant glare. His athletic competitive nature sprung to the forefront as his hand left my cock. I mourned the lack of friction for a moment before he slid my cock into his mouth again. Pure molten heat encased my dick and I realized, this was the best feeling there was. He swallowed and hummed and slurped along my length, teasing a moan from me as his tongue swept around my sensitive head. I felt my balls tighten, my breaths coming in short pants as my orgasm neared. 

In an inexcusably weak moment, I whimpered as my cock popped out of his mouth, his voice was ragged as he demanded, "Agree to be friends at school Jake." His breath was hot against my cock. I was so close. 

His hand reached to my balls and cupped them, rolling them slightly. Hyper-sensitive, I could feel every indentation on his hand. Desperate to cum, I mindlessly pushed my hips forward. "Agree Jake!" He said before sucking hard on the head, the pressure was the end of my line. How could I resist him in that state? He could have asked anything from me and he would have gotten it. 

"Yes, fine. Let me cum Owen. Please," I gasped not above begging. I didn't have time to notice his triumphant grin, though I can imagine his all too pleased with himself look. I was far too busy being overwhelmed with the sensation of him swallowing me down, his nose against my skin. This was heaven. The silken wetness, and his talented tongue brought me over the edge. I came apart with his name on my lips. 

I might have passed out for a moment from the pleasure. Sure down the line, I would realize that a blow job wasn't anything out of the ordinary but at eighteen, never having had one before: I was blown away. He swallowed every drop of my cum, having to lick around his lips for a few errant drops, before tucking me back into my pants. 

I was still blissed out and breathing hard when Owen said, "Glad we could agree." 

"I only agreed under duress," I reminded him still feeling replete. 

Cocking his head, Owen turned toward me, "Are you going back on your promise?" Small wrinkles formed at the corners of his mouth, as a disappointed frown emerged. 

I didn't want to be the one to put a frown on his face. I sighed, fully knowing that Owen would be able to take care of himself. He was attractive, athletic, and as I had promised earlier: I couldn't use him. I would be the one to bear the brunt of his peers' displeasure; I could handle it. "No, but just friends at school, right?" 

"You got it," Owen leaned over kissing me on the lips before picking up his fork and opening his salad container. Following his lead, I opened the single slice box noting that our interlude had made the pizza lose its heat. 




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 04



As I ate the pizza, still delicious cold, I feared the consequences of my decision. My cheeks heated as I realized that I had just been sucked off in public but on the scale of bad decisions, agreeing to Jake still seemed worse. 

When we got back to school, Owen and I walked in together eyes following our every movement. I could see fingers flying across screens, every gossip queen letting the phone tree know that Owen Holt had been seen with the fag: Jake Summers. I tried to look casual but constant scrutiny was such an unwelcome change from someone who knew shadows were safer. 

Like a preternatural sense, I could tell when I was about to get my ass handed to me but as the days passed nothing happened. I walked in every day with Owen, we would talk albeit in a strained fashion as I got used to it. Owen never encroached on my space in public, we never touched and kept what I would call bro space between us. Like most straight dudes, we didn't look at each other all that much. Owen could have taken up acting, he certainly had the looks for it and his acting chops were very impressive. 

Despite being by all accounts just friends, I could eyes on my everywhere. They ranged from the inquisitive gazes of underclassmen, to the jealous eyes of stunning, and not so stunning, girls, and worst of all the angry eyes of the athletes. I could feel the incendiary gazes on my back, as if marking where to plunge a knife. 

But nothing came. 

Owen not known for his subtlety but rather his bombastic approach would greet me loudly in front of his adoptive teammates. It seemed a scowl had permanently taken up residence on Gregory's face, not something that made him more attractive. Owen didn't see the narrowing of eyes or the almost cartoonish cracking of knuckles. 

Somehow despite the imminent threat of having to eat through a tube, I really enjoyed the week. Owen and I talked between classes and due to his popularity, I actually talked to other people too. It was strange having Owen introduce me to people I had known since the first grade but in a strange way he was closer to them. 

Our lunches were spent hastily scarfing down food before making out in his truck, my decency had returned so there were no more public blowjobs but we fogged up the windows of his truck on more than one occasion. On Wednesday as we pulled out of the parking lot adjusting our respective clothes back to their original positions I told him that we would have to take separate cars on Friday. 

"Why? What's Friday?" Owen asked running his fingers through his hair which I had been pulling on minutes prior. 

"First meet of the year." 

"I'm doing an ice workout Friday; we could still go together." 

"I won't even run until around five. There's warm ups and then the middle school race and then the girls." 

He grinned over at me, "Perfect. I'll come and watch after practice and then we can go out. Unless you're parents are going to want to take you out after?" 

For the slightest moment I was sad that I would have to admit that my parents were definitely not going to come to the race, but then his words registered, "You wanna go on a date?" I wasn't mocking the idea, I had just missed his statement. 

Owen mistook my questioning tone, "Yes Jake. It's not at school so I thought we could go out. I thought we could be more. What more do I—" 

Driving while kissing is not a smart move, I wouldn't recommend it—unless it's with an amazing man who puts up with your bullshit and looks like a wet dream. "I want to go out with you Owen." I said kissing along Owen's throat when he pulled his face away from mine to continue driving. 

Cross country is not just about running as fast as you can for a 5K, there is strategy involved. Mine being start fast but not killing myself and wait for my overeager competitors to fall behind as the race continued. At the second mile marker, I knew it was time to start closing in. The wooded course was good at regulating heat conditions but made it difficult to see the other racers. I figured there were three guys ahead of me. 

Hopefully they hadn't been saving up like I had. The steep hill halfway through the third mile was always a trap, I overtook two on it keeping close to the right side where the soil was packed a little harder. My lungs were burning and my shins ached but I felt high. My endorphins were keeping me up as I spotted the front runner, he was no more than fifteen yards ahead of me as we came to the break in the trees signaling the final quarter mile. 

Races were not really a spectator sport but the girl's team and the parents always cheered for the first finishers. It was never really much of a motivator but rather a sad echo of what it would be like to play a team sport. 

I was kicking it in when I saw Owen, he was grinning by the finish line cheering me on loudly. Lungs on fire, with every muscle protesting I sprinted the last yards out stripping my competitor by several body lengths. I would have to insist that a sweaty Owen in just basketball shorts and a tank be waiting at the end of any race I ran. I would break the sound barrier to be near him. 

The race officials swarmed me as I crossed the finish line, taking note of the number marked on my arm and taking the chip tied onto my shoe. I looked around for Owen but my coaches got there first, discussing my splits and chastising me into a warm down run. 

At last when my heart rate was back down and my muscles had relaxed, seeing Owen kicked my heart rate back up and one specific muscle got very hard very fast. His tank stretched across his pecs, and his gym shorts hung low off his lean hips. 

"There's the winner," he greeted me joyfully as I got my bags. 

I quickly glanced around, no one else had finished their warm downs so we were alone, "Does that make you my prize?" 

With salacious intent Owen leaned toward me, taking my bag from me and brushing his lips across my cheek to my ear, "If you want." He nipped my ear and pulled back. 

He swept his eyes lower and I knew what he would see, me looking like I was smuggling a cucumber. Compression shorts did nothing to hide my erection, so I flipped it up and shrugged it off. 

Owen toting my bag led me to the locker rooms and started stripping off his tank and shorts. He stood in only a pair of boxer briefs but stopped when he noticed that I was just standing slack jawed watching his body being revealed to me. 

"Jake, stop looking at me like that. Someone could walk in at any moment and I don't want them to see me fucking you." 

My body was really down for the fucking part but my sense of fear wasn't going to allow a locker room fantasy. I dropped my gaze and tried to focus on removing my clothes to shower. 

I was grabbing my towel when I glanced up to see Owen's eyes trained on me. I smirked at him not following his own instructions and wrapped my towel around my waist sauntering into the showers. 

I hung my towel up and stepped under the spray. I knew Owen was behind me, I listened to his movements and knew that his attention was on me. With a handful of shower gel, I lathered up my arms and shoulders, trailing my fingers down my chest making sure that my nipples were very clean. As my hands soaped down my abs, I felt hands lathering up my back. I leaned back against Owen's shoulder so that he would be able to see everything. 

My hands, sudsy with gel, went to my cock slicking it up and down. Owen's cleaning of my back became more arrested as his hands slipped down to my ass. He paid special attention to my hole, his soapy fingers circling. 

"Show me how you cum Jake," Owen breathed into my ear. I don't know if it was the adrenaline from the race, the high of winning, the incredible man behind me, or the danger of getting caught but I was on the edge almost immediately. I moaned as I came onto the floor, evidence of my pleasure getting washed away by the spray. I heard his grunt and the heat of his cum on my ass as he toppled over the edge. 

I turned facing Owen, his hair was slicked down to his face. Our lips met in a fierce kiss. He had me pushed against the tile wall when we heard a locker slam shut. Like repelling magnets we sprung apart. Cheeks blazing I ignored the entering guys and quickly showered and wrapped my towel around myself. 

I kept my eyes down in the locker room, slipping into the outfit I had brought. A pair of brown cords that while might have been a little preppy made my ass look amazing and a white button down. I felt a tap on my shoulder: Owen. He looked amazing, a black button down and black slacks. His hair was already drying into waves across his forehead. 

"So, what are we up to?" I asked as neared his truck. 

"Well, I thought we could go out to dinner and then a movie. Pretty classic first date, but I thought we could use some classic." I was slightly confused when after throwing our respective equipment in the back, he followed me around to the passenger side. 

His eyes sparkled as he opened the door for me. "Just a little classic for you," he said shutting the door behind me. 

When he slipped in the other side, I kissed him thoroughly "Sorry, I guess I should kiss you before our first date," I whispered. 

He chuckled starting the car, "Alright, we can mix in a little of the non-traditional." 

As Owen drove, I watched him reminding myself of the first time we went to lunch together. Then he had looked carefree in sunglasses and a smile, now he looked romantic. Both versions of the perfect man and I was lucky enough to be going on a date with him. 

As we pulled up outside what looked like a moderately high end Italian place, I joked, "I'm surprised that we aren't at Whole Foods." 

He snorted, an inelegant amazing sound, "Twice in one day might be a little much. I figured we could both find something to eat here." 

Italian places always seemed the same, what made one four cheese ravioli different from another? This particular four cheese ravioli was an expensive one and I was skeptical it would live up to the price. It was everything I dreamed of and more. Owen seemed to be enjoying his chicken carbonara with equal zeal. 

Owen took the check glaring at me when I tried to pay. "Winners shouldn't have to pay. You are a champion just let me treat you." 

I chuckled at his commitment to my being hailed as a hero for winning the first race of the year, "So if you're my prize does that mean I get to have you?" 

I had meant it like as my date so I nearly needed resuscitation when he said, "If you want." I searched his face for any trace that he was joking. There was nothing, his eyes sparkled mischievously and he took my hand, tracing a slow path with his thumb around my palm. "Do you want to take your prize?" 

Good lord. I hadn't even considered that it would be an option. Owen was fulfilling dreams I didn't know to have. "Yes," I croaked out swallowing noisily before trying again, "How interested are you in seeing this movie?" 

"I'll catch it on DVD," Owen smiled. Moments after the waitress came back with Owen's card we were out the door. 

Owen still opened my door but urgency was in every moment; my cock was going to punch out of my cords desperate to be inside Owen. He drove fast, his left leg jiggling up and down, I wondered if it was nerves so I asked, "Are you sure about this?" 

Owen didn't speak, just grabbed my hand and brought it to his dick, rock hard under his slacks. I kept my hand there massaging him through the material while leaning over to kiss the space beneath his ear. 

Pulling into his driveway, Owen was already out of the car grabbing both our bags and muscling his way through his house. I followed him watching his ass flex, amazed. He led me up the stairs dropping the bags in the first room. I started to look around at Owen's room, I noted the boxes stacked in the corner and the pale blue walls but Owen slammed into me locking me against the door before I could see more. I was more than content to finish snooping later. 

Owen might have planned on bottoming but he ready to be in control. His erection ground into mine as we made out against the door. His hands were fisted in my hair controlling the kiss. It was an inferno of sensation, despite our earlier interlude we were both more than ready. When my hands went to his ass he groaned against my mouth. 

Buttons scattered as he ripped first my shirt and then his apart. I pushed him toward his bed, he landed, legs splayed as I removed my now useless shirt. With alacrity Owen followed suit slipping off his ruined shirt and he lifted his hips to remove his slacks. He was bare beneath them, commando seemed par for the course for my overconfident date. 

His cock lay rigid against his stomach, with every harsh breath his abs tightened and pecs flexed. The God in Repose his statue would be called. Dressed in only my cords, I dove into his ass. Laving underneath his balls had him moaning for more. I alternated between licking around his tight pink pucker and stiffening my tongue to delve into him. Every moan and groan coming from him spurned me on, he tasted clean and manly. My cock wanted to dive into him but the last tenuous grasp I had on my rationality told me to make this good for him so we could do this again. 

Owen brought my fingers up to his mouth sucking on them making me remember our bout of exhibitionism. He released them with a pop and I ran them around his pucker and slowly pushed them in. His harsh breath caused me to still for a moment as a sheen of sweat covered his body. I leaned down and took one of his egg-shaped balls into my mouth, tonguing it gently with my fingers two knuckles into his ass. When he started to relax, I began moving my fingers in and out opening him slowly. I felt him press something against my shoulder, lube and then a condom. 

I pulled my fingers out of him causing him to huff out a sigh at the loss. I kicked off my cords and boxer briefs, landing in a pile on the floor. I lubed up my fingers and pressed three against his hole. As I pushed in he bore down and allowed me in. Scissoring my fingers, I spread his hole and then felt around until I heard a loud, deep groan. There it was. Moving faster, I targeted my fingers on his spot feeling his ass muscles shake as pleasure ran through him. 

"Jake, I need you." Owen's voice cut through the motion and I put on the condom, lubed myself up, getting the gel to warm against my angry arousal. I lined myself up and then slowly pressed in. I was wrong when I said nothing could be better than a blow job. I found something better. His ass clenched around my cock as I fed it into him, the heat enveloping. I was going too slowly it seemed because Owen sat up and grabbed my ass pulling me all the way into him. 

I need no more direction than that, I pulled out and slammed back in dragging my cock over his spot over and over. Owen's eyes were glazed with lust as he pushed his ass back with every move fucking himself on my dick. I grabbed his cock as I felt myself near my end, lubing it and stroking it in time to my thrusts. 

The slap of my balls against his ass cheeks and the wet squish of my hand on his cock melded perfectly with both of our breathing. I could see him nearing the close as I sped my hand and my hips to race him to the edge. He came first calling out my name, ropes of cum splattering across his chest into the hair. His ass clenching as he came was my undoing, I shot my load and collapsed on top of him uncaring of the cum on his chest. 

I awoke in the mid-morning, confused for a moment where I was. The boxes yet to be unpacked stacked in the corner greeted me. Somehow the night before I had missed the hockey gear that was strewn around Owen's room. 

I glanced down at myself, amazed at how I had slept the whole night apparently through Owen taking off the condom and cleaning the cum off me. I wasn't too worried that my parents would notice I was gone but I was amused that I had spent the night without us talking about it. 

I could hear rustling downstairs so I pulled on my jeans and a t-shirt I had worn to school the day before walking down the stairs and into the kitchen. If God was just he would have incinerated me on the spot, Owen was not the one in the kitchen making coffee. His dad glanced over my bedraggled appearance, there was no way to hide why I was here. I could only hope he hadn't heard anything. The way he looked like he had sucked on a lemon made my hopes seem unlikely. 

"Hey Mr. Holt," I started tentatively, "Do you know where Owen is?" I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice but was unsuccessful. 

"He said he texted you. Owen has practice." I had left my phone on Owen's floor where it had fallen after Owen had ripped off my cords. 

I nodded turning, eager to be out of sight of Owen's dad. His voice stopped me as I was walking away, "Do you know how hard my son has worked?" This was clearly rhetorical because he gave me no chance to answer. "Hockey has been the only thing he has cared about since he was old enough to skate. You don't know about the 5 A.M. practices or how we moved our entire lives to make sure he could play with the best organizations. He is constantly watched by scouts, he was fifteen the first time he was interviewed. He has a shot at being the number one draft pick: the envy of every team in the league." 

"I know—" 

"You don't know. If teams find out that he's gay, he becomes a liability. If a team even decides to pick him up, that will all he will be known for. He'll alienate the fan base. He'll get traded a few times but eventually no team will pick him up. The best rookie but his career will be over before it's even begun. If by some miracle some team does stick with him, he won't have any sponsors or endorsements." I was sick to my stomach, Owen's dad looked defeated as he spoke, "I've told Owen that he should keep it quiet. It's what's best for him, he was doing fine until he met you." 

I feared I knew the answer but I asked anyway, "What do you want me to do about it?" 

"Don't let him throw away his dream. He likes you, but if you really liked him you would see that being with him would cost him everything." 

The creeping feeling of hopelessness filling me I replied, "Even if it's not me, you can't expect him to just not date anyone until he's done with hockey." 

"It would be better for him but when he becomes an irreplaceable part of a team, then maybe he could think about coming out. Please Jake." He looked so much like, save statelier in his age. I couldn't deny the pain in his unwavering gaze; he looked so forlorn at the possibility of Owen losing everything. 

I hadn't considered how his entire life could be ruined by me; I had been stuck in the petty high school world for so long that I hadn't stopped to consider that Owen's life was so much greater than that. He had a future to protect and he was thinking small. I sighed as I pushed back from the table, a weight settling in low in my stomach. 

I silently walked up the stairs and into Owen's room, I mourned that I wouldn't be there to see the space when the boxes were unpacked. Who knows if he would even have time to unpack them, he would only be here for a year. His time here in Buffalo was so transitory, he would soon be on to bigger and better things. 

Collecting my things, I breathed in deep getting every whiff of his musky vanilla scent before turning away and walking back down the stairs. I passed Owen's dad as I made my way toward the door, I couldn't even look at him. He spoke softly when the door was about to close, "Thank you Jake." 

I felt moisture against my cheek as I pulled on my running shoes. I don't allow myself to cry—ever. In my efforts to always seem the manly straight man, weeping never seemed to fit the role. But as I set off my soles slapping against the pavement, my usual outlet did nothing and tears started to fall.



Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 05



Howdy, this is the fifth chapter of a story between consenting male adults who do not resemble anyone that I know of either living or deceased. I, Artie, retain all rights to the story. Again, there is some violence in this chapter, not gratuitous but present. Please do not follow examples set by these characters. This chapter is a little different in tone. A simple reminder that each chapter is written in one night when I can't sleep so there is no editing to be seen. I love your comments and private feedback, Artie. 




Running five miles through blinding tears is not a fun activity. Racking sobs threw off my breathing rhythm and deep sadness made each step away from Owen painful. I felt the weight of my decision and the weight of my running bag and my back pack all making lying on the ground in sorrow seem more appealing. 

I could see from the street that my house was empty, no lights illuminated the windows. I got no further than the entryway collapsing on the floor of the hallway against my front door. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I gave in to the sadness that threatened to overtake me. 

I knew that I could have abated my misery, this was self-imposed. I had made this decision and now I would have to live with it. Five long years of being alone had not prepared me for this, two weeks of smiles, affection, and intimacy had made the loss all the more powerful. 

People could say that teenagers are melodramatic and I'm sure we are, but I hadn't just lost a piece of myself; I had to carve it out myself. Worse still Owen didn't even know that we were done; I would have to break that to him as it was breaking me. 

I heard my phone buzz twice, a text. No one else would text me, my parents would have left me a note or sent me an email. Neither of them were exactly tech-savvy. Matt would have been either asleep or blazed so he wouldn't text me. I was sad to note that no one else really had reason to be in touch with me—except him. 

I stared at the glowing display, it mocking me that I would have to be strong when weakness would be easier. I had two unread messages. The first from 6:34 read: Forgot I was skating this morning. Didn't want to wake you. I'll be back around 9:30. 

I wanted to smile at the difference between grouchy Owen and the one that had just texted me now fully awake and in a much better mood but smiles seemed far from feasible. The second message read: I was hoping you would still be in bed when I got back. I had all sorts of plans... Did my dad take you home? 

I slid my phone away from me, not responding. I don't know how long I sat in the foyer but when my back started cramping I finally got up. I spent the day in bed doing homework. The silence was only punctuated by two more texts spaced throughout the day. I didn't respond to either: What are you up to? Want to hang out? Or his later text: Just checking in... Want to chat later? 

I had just gotten back from a long run on Sunday when my music cut off in lieu of a phone call. Owen. I knew that I was being a jerk, just not responding to his texts wouldn't solve anything. I had not responded to a good morning text or a suggestion that we do homework together. It seemed that Owen was done being ignored and yet, that's what happened. 

I let the call go to voicemail but realized that he would be over to pick me up for school the next day so I shot him a text: I'm going to drive myself tomorrow. 

His response was almost immediate: Okay... Why? His message did not receive an answer. I knew that Owen would not be dissuaded by me not answering text messages. He was far too willful for that to be the case. 

In truth I felt awful, I knew I was being rude by not responding to him but I couldn't tell him we were done over the phone or worse in a text. And texting him all weekend just to break up with him in person seemed unnecessarily cruel. 

I felt even worse on Monday when I walked into English class a little late and chose a seat in the front between two girls who looked at me like I had a contagious disease. My usual seat beside Owen sat empty. 

I couldn't shake off the feeling that Owen was staring at the back of my head all class. I had difficulty paying attention all class as well. I practiced what I would say to him, something about us both being too busy for anything and I couldn't be just friends so we should just be nothing. My speech all rehearsed, I wimped out the second the bell rang. I was out the door like a light, using my considerable speed to my advantage I raced through the halls ahead of him. 

I avoided him for the rest of the day, ducking around corners when I thought I saw him. He was such a big presence on campus that hiding from him was relatively easy especially because I had a history of blending in. 

My diversion tactics worked up until Tuesday after cross country practice. Hauling my bags over my still sweaty form, planning on just showering at home, I stopped dead in my tracks when I got to the parking lot. Arms crossed over his chest, Owen leaned against my car. No evasions would work this time. I was going to have to talk to him. Deep steadying breaths weren't enough to stop the panic and sadness that came from seeing him, also the deep longing. 

"Are you going to talk to me?" 

"Owen, I have to go." I was being a pussy but talking to him hurt. Everything about him looked good. He was still the man I would dream up for myself. His musky smell reached me and I just wanted to collapse into his arms. Being in his presence just made me want to be weak but I had to be strong for him.

"Wanna tell me why you're ignoring me?" He pulled out one of his Owen-isms scrubbing his hand through his hair scattering the thick waves. "Did I do something wrong?" 

He looked so desolate that I forgot myself, "No, you didn't do anything wrong," I exclaimed emphatically. 

"Then what's happening? I came home expecting you to still be in my bed, which you had just fucked me on if you remember. You weren't there, I go ask my dad if he dropped you off. No, you literally ran away." He spoke harshly, seething in my betrayal. I reddened at his accurate summation of just ditching him. "And now you're just icing me, I don't understand." 

This was the time. Just ignoring him, hoping he would go away had been cowardly, "I can't do this Owen. We can't be in a relationship." His face looked disbelieving so I bolstered myself on the fact that it was for him, "I don't want to be in a relationship. We're both too busy and too different. I don't want you, so just leave me alone." 

He looked like I had sucker punched him, pain welled in his eyes and he looked smaller like pain was pushing him low. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and said quietly, "I don't know what I did but I'm sorry for it. I'll leave you alone." Owen turned away, shoulders hunched. 

I felt a literal pain in my chest as my heart broke watching him walk away. I had been deluding myself that if we just fizzled out not talking it would be easier. No way of losing Owen would be easy. 

The intermittent week was lifeless. I had experienced friendship, and affection and maybe though I was loathe to admit it maybe a little bit of love and now it was all gone. I spoke to nearly no one, had little interaction with my parents. I was sure that people could see the metaphorical rain cloud hovering over me and knew to stay away.

Everyone stayed away, much to my surprise I saw Liam and Kyle several times but all they did was mutter a slur or two and walk away. I noted Gregory's eyes tracking me a few times but he never came over to me. In that sense it was an easy week, a blissful oasis of not getting beaten up. 

But even without physical violence, I wasn't doing well. I wasn't sleeping well, blue circles started to emerge from beneath my puffy blood-shot eyes. I wasn't doing anything well really. Running had been a valve for me, but I had been running so hard that my shins were starting to feel like I had shin splints. I was pushing myself to the brink of exhaustion but then would lie awake at night with my brain still not exhausted enough to wonder what Owen was doing. Was he missing me as much as I was missing him? 

He moved away from our usual spot in English, he now sat in the back with the popular kids and the athletes. He looked better there, though I saw that he wasn't looking at peak condition. I felt his eyes on me several times and we seemed to trade baleful gazes but nothing was said. There was nothing to say. 

I was even having a hard time jerking off, knowing how amazing sex was made relief with my hand so meager. I mean, I still jerked it: male teen with raging hormones and all, but I was not pleased about it. 

It was Wednesday, a week and two days after ending things with Owen when my reprieve from harassment ended. I ascribe all the guilt to my sleeplessness, my usual level of alertness for danger was exceedingly low when I get tired. My exhaustion allowed for Kyle and Gregory to sneak up on me—well it was more of a strutting walk but for the sake of my feelings, I'll pretend they were sneaky about it. In any event, they were upon me before I could even think of evading. 

Seeing Gregory's stupid, ugly face only made me feel bone tired. When were they going to be over this shit? Five years of abuse hadn't been enough for them, it just blew my mind they weren't bored of this yet. I was. 

Kyle grabbed my back pack and my running duffle from my shoulders and threw them aside. I groaned when I imagined the bill if my laptop screen had cracked. My parents really did think I had two left feet and just dropped my computer all the time. Kyle's deep sensuous voice could have been put to so many better uses but instead he crowed, "Where's your bodyguard faggot?" 

Fear for Owen burst through me, of course they had drawn the connection between us. I could only hope that these assholes fell for the just friends act. They weren't Nobel laureates so I had a little hope. No way that Owen Holt, veritable hockey god, was a fag. 

Anxiously ruminating over the bodyguard comment I missed their no doubt witty banter. I did, however catch the punch to my eye. Agony spread from my eye, swelling closed almost immediately. The force of the blow knocked me on my ass, my head cracking to the side. Tears started to well up on my non-injured eye from the pain but I blinked them back. I doubted they would be moved by my tears and I certainly wasn't going to indulge them. 

I knew that I was going to be sporting one hell of a shiner for several days. Feeling blessed that Kyle wasn't wearing a ring when he punched me, I laid on the ground looking small hoping that they would take their victory and leave me to lick my wounds. No such luck. 

Gregory's greasy hand yanked my head up by the front of my hair; I could almost hear my follicles scream. His fist collided with my mouth like a freight train. I was again knocked to the ground. 

Gregory wasn't satisfied with that; I'm sure his adolescent days were spent burning ants with magnifying glasses. Through my good eye, I saw his ridiculous wind up. There's no way to tense your muscles to minimize damage when someone is kicking your ribs. I was glad I had been lifting, at least then something was covering my ribs. Over and over again Gregory kicked me, covering my entire torso. Throbbing pain encapsulated my body but I didn't give in. 

This was who I was to them, a victim. That's all they saw me as, some person to beat up. This was nothing. I smiled at how impotent this all was. What could they take from me that I had not already lost? Eventually I would graduate and move away but they would still be the same bullies they always were. 

I grinned. Blood from where my lip had been cut stained my teeth red; this was nothing. They were nothing. This was my Fight Club moment. I wasn't going to do the whole maniacal laughing and shaking blood thing but I was above their bullshit. Anything they threw was going to be nothing compared to the misery I was already feeling. Kyle's face dropped into astonishment as he saw my taunting smirk as the blows continued to fall. As I woozily smiled, pure fear passed over Kyle's face. 

Kyle shot a hand out and grabbed Gregory's shoulder pulling him away from me. Adrenaline coursed through me but the icy tendrils of pain warred with it and I feared I would pass out. My vision grew hazy around the edges and I hoped they wouldn't continue if I did black out. 

I came back fully to myself slowly and blissfully alone. My adrenaline rush had left my body cold, carefully pushing to a stand. I crept over to my duffle and found my water bottle. I swished the water around my mouth and spat onto the grass repeating until the water ran mostly clear. 

I felt different as I carefully walked down to the locker rooms, like somehow I had won that battle. I'm sure any boxing tournament wouldn't have lauded me as the winner but I outlasted them and more than that, Kyle looked scared. 

Matt's easy smile dropped when he saw me, "Fuck dude. You look really not okay."

I smiled half-heartedly through my swollen lip, "I'm fine Matt." I threw my stuff into an open locker, grimacing at the agony of my chest. I clearly wasn't going to be running but going home to an empty house wasn't appealing. I could use something to deaden the pain and honestly I was at the end of my rope, "Got your vape on you?" 

Matt's normally cherubic face held a mix of uncertainty and discomfort, "I think you need some real medicine bro. Have you seen your face?" 

Dutifully, I swung around to the wall of mirrors. I'd looked better that's for sure. My eye was already staining and on top of the fat lip, there was a bleeding cut running alongside my mouth. They had never targeted my face before, so the damage was more obvious but this wasn't worse than the dislocated shoulder. That had actually required medical attention. I peeled up my shirt and Matt audibly gasped. 

"Jake, I think you should go to the nurse's office or like the hospital." Objectively, I could see his point, my skin looked mottled. Gregory's shoes had broken the skin in a few places and blood dripped down my chest. Deep red blotches crisscrossed my torso but I could breathe without much difficulty. I was used to body shots, a few bruised ribs and some scrapes were not worthy of a trip to the hospital. A school nurse would just hand me an Advil and a slip for a trip to the counselor's office. 

With the most convincing smile I had, I assured Matt that I was fine, "C'mon Matt, you've wanted me to smoke with you for years. Are you really going to pass up your opportunity?" 

I knew I was being a little manipulative but I can never deal with people's concern. Matt hesitated but pulled out his little pen. I noted that he didn't have to warm it up before placing it to his lips, always prepared that's what Matt was: a regular Boy Scout. A few deep inhales and the worry had faded on his face to a hint of uncertainty, "Are you sure about this Jake?" 

I didn't have an above the influence tattoo but I had never come close to doing drugs before. I recognize that it's a pretty harmless thing but this was the most reckless thing I could imagine doing—I'm no Evel Knievel. I took the vape from him and mimicked the action I had seen him do for years. 

My lungs burned as I coughed and wheezed around the hot air and my abused flesh didn't like all the motion either. When I had stopped coughing Matt quietly piped up, "Smooth." I got slightly better as the afternoon wore on and had a pretty fine buzz by the time practice would have gotten out. 

My reckless mood and the buzz maybe weren't the best combination. Driving while high was terrifying but also exhilarating. I could see out of only the one eye, my mental faculties were definitely slower but I was driving like I was out of Mad Max. 

Getting called for dinner pulled me out of my chill time where I had been staring at the ceiling for lord knows how long. My father did an actual double take as I walked down the stairs. My mother fumbled her glass of chardonnay, droplets hitting the open folder. 

Mouth agape, my father took in my face. I didn't need a mirror to know that I looked like shit. Every movement hurt and I was glad they couldn't see my chest. I pulled as much of my lips into a smile as I could, "So how was everyone's day?" They failed to see the humor, my mother looking horrorstruck. 

My mother leaned over and ran her thumb across my cheek, right along the bone just under where the swelling began. "What happened Jake?" 

I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the reckless mood, and maybe it was because it was past time to tell them and I was sick of hiding, "I got into a fight." 

My mother eyes wide in consternation and maybe a little bit of fear, so at odds with her usual icy demeanor, asked "With who?" right as my father asked "Why?" 

I sucked in a breath, steadying myself, "Because I'm gay." 

There was a moment of blissful silence before my mom completely lost her mind. She was up and pacing, striding around the dining room. My father reached over and laid a hand on my shoulder, making eye contact he simply nodded.

Never breaking her elliptical movement my mother spoke, "How long has this been going on?" 

Figuring she didn't mean my preference for men but rather the bullying, "A while." A pointed glare from her had be elaborating, "About five years." 

She kept pacing; my father picked up his fork and started eating. I was lost about where to go from here, I was very hungry despite the bag of Fritos I ate with Matt several hours previous but all I could do was watch my mother pace. She seemed to walk faster as her anger peaked. She grabbed her glass and took a large swig of her wine before asking, "Do you want to make a police report? Assault and battery to begin with?" 

My mother was on a war path, "No Mom."

She clearly hadn't been expecting that response but my father took up the line of questioning, "Why not son?" 

I had gone several years without crying and then twice in a week; I was going soft, "Because I hope that they'll realize they've made a mistake without that. I don't want them to not have a life because I turn them in. If I thought they were attacking anyone else, I would have said something. They deserve a chance to learn and not while in an orange jump suit." 

"It's been five years Jake, they've had hundreds of chances." She was right of course. 

I shook my head slightly, "They looked really scared Mom, like they didn't know this was possible for them to do. I think they crossed a line for themselves."

She looked disbelieving and I understood her lack of trust but I did believe that Kyle at least had been really scared. "If it happens again, we're going to the police." 

I nodded my assent. My father broke the rather uncomfortable silence with an even more uncomfortable question, "So are you dating anyone?" It was like a dam had broken, while I shook off that question our conversation flowed easily. My mother didn't look down at her files once. 

I went to sleep, although artfully arranging myself on a bed of pillows to minimize the chances I would roll over, happy. Even though it was one of the worst days I had ever had, it had ended warmly. I thanked my luckiest stars that my parents hadn't reacted negatively. 

It was a restless night, though I slept some it was disjointed and always through a haze of pain. I heard my alarm go off and considered going to first period, that was not going to happen. Seeing Owen was not on my list of to-dos at least while I healed. I did however, need to go to my German class. I doubted that my severe, stern professor would take kindly to students missing class. 

As I stripped for my shower, I was confronted by the developing bruising. While the swelling around my lip had gone down, my eye was looking like it would stay swollen for a while. Inky blues and purples covered the puffy lid and down under the eye, greenish yellows surrounded the deeper bruising giving my skin an almost sickly appearance. 




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 05



My chest looked defined, also destroyed but I couldn't help but notice that my pecs looked pretty commendable. Covering my chest were pockets of inflamed, blotchy purple. I looked like I had been in a car accident. 

As I wove through campus, I kept my head down. The few reactions I caught were wide-eyed freshman who looked terrified. I wondered if they knew who I was. My German teacher asked me to stay after class. "Sie waren in einem Kampf?" She asked if I was in a fight, in a low voice. I answered affirmatively and then she answered in a vague German idiom, "Aus Schaden wird man klug," which I had to look up later: Adversity is the mother of wisdom. 

I couldn't be sure but it seemed like a bolstering idiom so I nodded and snuck out to my car for lunch. I am not one for sympathy. People can shove their pity; I'm just independent. Throughout the day, I caught people staring at me but not in their usual hatemongering way. Instead they all looked really sad for me. I couldn't tell which was worse. 

By the end of the day my nerves were fried, I obviously couldn't run so I just collected my things and made my way to the parking lot. Scoping out danger with one eye is not easy, natural selection would have taken me: the wounded zebra mauled by the lion. Danger lurked in every blind spot as I tried to make it out from my locker. When have I ever been lucky? But the danger was not of the usual kind. 

I glanced around me, too late seeing Owen talking to a guy on the baseball team. Immediately I tried to duck away, hoping that he didn't see me. "Jake?" Owen called, his voice both a balm for my nerves and the worst possible thing. I was spotted, it's not like I could pretend to not hear him. With a deep sigh, I stood and tilted my face toward him. 

His eyes widened in shock then collapsed into anger. Striding forward he grabbed the front of my shirt not unlike what Gregory had done the day before with my hair. His figure was full of restrained violence, his shoulders shook with tension and his jaw was so tight I could almost hear his teeth grinding. 

With surprising gentleness, Owen brought his fingers up to my cheekbone and turned my face slightly. It wasn't entirely necessary to examine my eye, it was swollen shut and growing purple: definitely not a trick of the light. 

I was almost pulled off balance, we were moving so suddenly. I was being tugged along by the front of my shirt like some recalcitrant toddler. Maybe to the casual observer it looked like Owen had been the cause of my injury and was moving me somewhere to continue his work. The movements made my whole torso feel like it had been dropped in lighter fluid and then set ablaze.

"Owen—" 

"No Jake," He growled at me, "You haven't talked to me in a week. Don't start now." Someone's testy, I thought to myself but silently followed him through the halls—well not so much followed but was dragged behind. I only put on the breaks when I saw where he was heading, I was not about to go into the hockey rink. The thing is Owen had three inches and probably fifty pounds on me so I was going where he wanted me to even though the neck of my t-shirt was gapingly stretched. 

Owen muscled his way into the locker room. It was hell, tall attractive men in various states of dress that all hated me; I kept my gaze firmly upon the ground. I was in their territory and Owen wouldn't be able to fight them all if they thought I was looking at them. The room fell silent upon our entrance. Owen hadn't let go of me, but from what had seemed a little violent now seemed like a lifeline. 

"Who did it?" Owen asked quietly. The silence hung in the locker room heavy. Owen pulled me straight in front of him and lifted my head with a few fingers beneath my chin. One eye swollen shut, I tried to keep the other trained on the floor but Owen wasn't going to let that happen. 

"Look at his face." Owen was so carefully restrained, his voice was whisper quiet but it carried throughout the locker room. I didn't have to look up to know that everyone was uncomfortable. I could see pairs of legs restlessly shifting. I feared for Owen's quiet mood, surely the eruption would come. I could only hope to not be in the way of the reckoning. "Who fucking did it?" The cracks were starting to show in Owen's calm demeanor. No one was confused, Owen wanted answers now. 

Furtively as I could, I glanced around the gathered guys, they were all darting glances at each other willing someone else to speak. It didn't look likely one of them was going to make a move so I tried. "Owen, it's alright—" 

"Shut up Jake," His hand left my shirt for the first time before addressing them, "Are you guys fucking serious? How many of you did it take to beat him up? Two, three? You think that it makes you cool to beat up someone who has never even tried to fight back. No, that makes you cowards but it's even more cowardly to now not claim it." The room was silent in the wake of Owen's fury which had escalated to yelling. 

"Here's the thing, he's never going to tell me which of you did it. Because yeah he's gay but he's a way better person than any of you assholes. So I'm coming through on my promise. Anyone touches him they're going to go through me. He's my friend not a punching bag. Now, who the fuck did it." I wasn't pleased that Owen had just outed me, maybe they had all thought it but I had never confirmed it.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Kyle stand up and walk to the center of the room. Owen pulled me behind him, correctly taking Kyle's stance as an admission of guilt.

"You did this alone?" Owen growled. 

Kyle's eyes flicked to my face and took on a pained grimace, "Yes I did." It was admirable to not rat out your teammate but I hated to see him take on Owen's wrath alone.

Luckily one of the sophomores piped up from the back, "Fuck that dude, Lewis came in here bragging about it." Gregory shot the kid a ferocious scowl he was no match for Owen and he knew it. He wasn't about to bitch out though; he came to stand beside Kyle. Kyle was nearly motionless but Gregory scanned the faces of his other teammates seeing if anyone else was going to fight. No one else was willing to fight Owen whose rage was almost palpable. 

"Are you going to double team me too? It might actually be necessary this time. I'm as big as you. Bring it. I'm dropping the gloves," Owen declared looking between the two. Locker rooms are not a good place to fight, close quarters and a bunch of metal and glass to get way more injured than anyone imagined they would get. 

I spoke up, feeling small despite being well above average in height. "Maybe this isn't the best place and time." Owen whipped around, death in his eyes. 

"Why are you defending them?" 

"Because you don't need to defend me." I glared as much as one can with one eye. "I don't like to see violence Owen, not against me and not in my name." 

"Then close your eyes." Owen pivoted away from me, angling toward Kyle who just held up his hands in a week impression of a boxing stance. He didn't make any move to defend himself as Owen's fist pounded into his eye socket. It just felt wrong, like he was a victim. 

Gregory actually took a few shots, their skirmish began with Gregory shoving Owen. He coupled that with a punch to Owen's stomach. When Owen went on the offensive it was obvious he had held something back with Kyle. He was an animal. Several haymakers fell in quick succession before Owen finished by punching Gregory squarely in the eye. He went down in a whimper clutching the area. 

I could see that tomorrow they would be matching me. I felt sick to my stomach as I saw them on the floor. But sicker with myself that I was almost happy to see them there. I abhorred violence and revenge felt sweet. But it was just that revenge and not justice, Kyle hadn't even put up a fight. 

With bile climbing my throat, I turned from the scene of stricken athletes and strode out of the locker room. I didn't turn in response to Owen calling my name, shaking in anger and disgust at myself for feeling somewhat satisfied in their comedown. For what seemed like the millionth time that afternoon, Owen grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. 

He looked poised to call me out but I beat him to the punch, "Do you feel proud of yourself? That wasn't self-defense; you just punched your teammates, how does that make it any different than what they did?" 

"C'mon Jake. It's different. I told them what would happen and they still went and hurt you that's my pride on the line. 

"Oh got it Owen. I'm glad your pride wasn't damaged. I hope you feel good about yourself tomorrow when you see Kyle and Gregory's faces." I started to walk away indignant and half blind, not quite the furious look I was going for. 

"You know what, I am going to feel good," Owen said as he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. "It may just be a hockey thing but I stick up for people. Even if I didn't love you I would still be pissed about you getting beaten up for no reason." 

For the first time in my life, I did something violent. I learned I have no future in the martial arts but Owen looked shocked as I shoved him, "You can't say that, you don't love me. You don't even fucking know me." 

His pupils dilated and it looked like he was taller as he crept closer to me, staring me down. We were almost chest to chest, I could feel his body heat and I wanted to feel his warmth everywhere. Our eyes were locked together, his mouth inches away when he said. "I can say that. I do know you. I know the man who is annoyingly independent, who cares about people who attack him. I know the man who is intelligent and funny, who lavishes affection on other people but bolts when it's time to reciprocate."

His lips brushed against mine. The whisper of his lips killed all my resolve, I would pray for strength and goodness another time. I was going to be selfish, "I love you Jake," he said breaking from our embrace momentarily before I reclaimed him. I swallowed all my misgivings for a moment, Owen was here and he was kissing me and he said he loved me. I fell into him, my hands running up to his chest and cupping his face. I ran my fingertips through his stubble, though his five o'clock shadow was nearing 10 o'clock in length. I loved it though, how manly he was. 

The previous 48 hours had weakened my resolve but I remembered as I clung to Owen why this had all happened and why though his lips felt wonderful also hurt like a bitch. "We can't do this Owen. Nothing has changed." 

His blue eyes flashed with indignation as he reared back. Rubbing his face in frustration before crossing his arms in front of his massive chest he spat, "Why do you keep doing this? You obviously like me, I like you. Don't lie to me like last time. What's the problem?" 

"There aren't any out pro hockey players," I said quietly. 

"I know. And?" He sounded almost sarcastic. 

I sighed at the annoyed attitude he was displaying, "You saw how it went for Michael Sam; he was a media circus. Teams didn't want him, fans didn't want him. He was not accepted." 

He sighed, "No offense to him, but he went in the seventh round. He wasn't really accepted onto the team because he wasn't good enough."

"You don't think him being out affected his rank?" 

"Sure, maybe it did but also I don't think that teams would let go a first round talent. If I don't go to the first few teams because they are afraid of the backlash: good I don't want to play for an organization without a backbone. 

"I don't want to see you have to compromise." 

His voice came out in a rough whisper, "So you're making decisions about my life without me? What if I just decided to come out without a boyfriend? Wouldn't all this not be worth it? I thought that we could make decisions together, I'm tired of being treated like a commodity. All the time, I don't get to make my own mind up and I'm sick of it. My dad says I have to be on both the junior league team and the team here apparently it will show my work ethic. I go to informal work outs all the time. My entire life is about hockey but I deserve to be happy off the ice too." 

"Do you really want the press you get leading into the draft to just be about how you fuck dudes? Don't you want them to just base their decisions on your skills?" 

"I think they will base their decision to pick me up off what I can bring to the table. People in the league already know I'm gay; I've never hidden who I am from my friends." He stood up taller as if lording it over me that he was out to his friends.

I sighed, we were now just having an argument in the parking lot, "That's different from everyone knowing." 

"So what? I just never come out and date girls that I'm not attracted to until I retire from the game? Hopefully I'll play a long time Jake. I don't want to have to pretend. I don't want to have to pretend that you don't mean something to me and I don't want to lose you because of things that might happen. Now you want to date me, right?" 

How could I argue against him? "Yes."

His glowing smile returned at my admission, "And I want to date you. I want to be out right now with you but you want me to wait. I'll give you until I'm drafted and then I'm doing it. And I want to do it all with you, please at least give me a shot to make that happen." 

With a silent prayer and a mental apology to Owen's dad, I said, "Okay, but you're going to have to stop punching people. I really won't allow that to happen." 

He leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to my bruised cheek bone, "I really won't allow this to happen again and as long as it doesn't there won't be any problems." 

"It can't happen again, my mom saw and she wanted to press charges—"

"You should—"

I lifted my fingertips up to cover his mouth, "If it happens again I will. I promised my mom that I would. I told them Owen; I came out to my parents." 

Owen lifted me into a swinging hug, twirling me around his big body cheering in delight. Light exploded behind my eyelids as agony threatened to make me pass out. My whimpering gasp had him setting my down with alacrity. I was trying to tame the waves of dizziness that threatened to overtake me as Owen peeled my t-shirt away from my skin. 

In a broken voice Owen remarked, "They could have broken your ribs." 

"I promise I'm okay." I whispered before plucking his hand, which was holding my shirt up, off and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

He leaned down and kissed me but didn't fully bring me into his embrace, both a relief and a disappointment. "You have a really fucked up version of okay." He ran his hands down my arms, twisting them around, "Do you have any other injuries I didn't see?" 

I shook my head no and got a raised eyebrow in return, okay maybe I deserved it a little bit but it really was the truth this time, "You want to go somewhere and check?" I said with a little bit of a flirtatious air. 

"I don't think me seeing your body right now will have quite the affect you think it will. I'd be more likely to hunt them down again rather than fuck you." The threat of violence had me stomach hurting, I didn't want to think about him hurting other people. On the ice if a fight happened that was okay but otherwise I wasn't going to have it. He saw my change in expression and reassured me, "I won't go after anyone, promise." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, "You should go home and get some rest but I'm driving you tomorrow." 

We hung out the rest of the week, picking up our usual routine easily. I was right in my assumption that Kyle and Gregory would be sporting black eyes along with me. I could open my eye on Friday and the bruising was yellowing out. In all respects he was perfect, we were perfect. Conversation flowed easily on trips to the ever present Whole Foods. I swore that he would have to get an endorsement deal from them eventually. 

Sunday, my parents were out as per usual, and Owen and I were studying in my bedroom. We had kept things pretty hands off for since we had begun speaking again, only a few quick pecks here and there. While I longed to bridge the gap, I wanted him to initiate this time and make it unlike the Toronto trip. 

While trying to make sense of wage garnishment as a part of my economics class, I heard Owen throw down his Spanish textbook with a groan. "How's your chest healing?" 

Turning toward him, I pulled up my shirt exposing the yellowing skin and the still pink but knitted together scrapes. I had a few deep muscle aches but I felt leagues better. "I'm feeling alright." 

His eyebrows rose slightly, "Are you sure?" He started poking and prodding around all the worst areas. He tapped lightly on a splotch right below my collarbone, "How does that feel?" 

"Fine," I answered dutifully. 

His fingers found another still purple blotch on my ribs, "And here?" 

"It's fine Owen." Even though his exploring fingers caused a twinge. 

"And here?" His fingers found my nipple and pinched. I arched my back into the sudden bite. "That one looked like it hurt," he smirked, "I bet I can soothe it." He knelt to the nub and sucked it into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. 

I shucked my shirt immediately, while my cock threaten to Kool-Aid Man burst through my gym shorts. He released my nipple with a wet pop and claimed my lips. He bit down on my lower lip, Owen was feeling feisty and I was so into it. 

He pushed me down onto my back which we recognized as a mistake the second his massive muscular body laid down on mine. I couldn't stop the pained groan from slipping through our kiss. Owen remedied this immediately by flipping us over so that I laid on top of him. "Better?" he murmured. I nodded as I pulled up his ratty penny obscuring him from my gaze. 

I had missed the view. He gripped my hips as I rediscovered Owen's body with my lips and mouth and tongue. I loved how his hairy chest and happy trail tickled my nose. I lavished my affection on the sturdy column of his neck and worshiped his cut body.

His hands crept around to my ass, fondling and spreading the cheeks. He momentarily displaced me to rip my shorts and underwear off me. Lifting his ass he helped me return the favor. "Turn around," He commanded hoarsely, his eyes roving over my naked form. 

Cautiously I did, my ass now inches from his face as I greeted the fodder of fantasies. Starting as the base, I licked around his cock reveling in his hardness. I traced the prominent vein with my tongue and circled the head before enveloping his dick with my lips. I lapped up the pre-cum waiting for me, tonguing the slit and the area just below where the head meets the shaft. I started bobbing my head, loving the salty taste of him and the smell of man. 

I was just establishing a rhythm when I felt Owen suck one of my balls into his mouth. I faltered but kept my attention on his cock as his mouth pressed kissed backward over my perineum to my hole. His fingers rubbed that area between my balls and ass and my cock jerked as his tongue dove in. It had been two long weeks without him and I was more than ready. 

I sat up turning my body to straddle him, "I really want you in me." 

"That can be arranged," Owen smiled. 

I bit my lip, "Can it be without a condom? You know I'm clean." 

Owen looked awestruck for a split second before his gaze turned feral, "I've never been with anyone without a condom. I'm clean." 

I was done with waiting, with Owen's hands guiding me on my hips, I sunk down on his cock until the head was inside. I threw my head back glorying in the moment. Everything felt more sensitive, and without lube my ass burned. I waited feeling every pulse of his cock until I relaxed, before dropping totally onto his dick. I moaned at the fullness, at how I could feel every ridge of his cock in me stretching me open. 




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 05



"Fuck. That feels so good, babe," Owen said gazing up at me lustily. 

Undulating slowly, I experimented with riding him. Owen didn't complain at my colt-like wobbling but rather encouraged me with groans and smiles. He later told me that it was all he could do to not nut immediately on the amazing heat and friction from bare-backing. 

I found my pace, using my cardio background to ride him hard. My cock leaked fluid onto his perfect stomach as it tightened readying for orgasm. His jaw gritted and he stopped my motions briefly, sitting up to kiss me thoroughly before flopping back down. 

This time he was all in control, his hands moved me up and down on his thick erection. I was the cowboy trying to stay on. It took all of three of his thrusts to brush dead center onto my prostate. He chuckled as I cursed and performed a series of short jabs concentrated on that intense bundle of nerves. 

He alternated between the short thrusts and long strokes which ended with my ass meeting his pelvis. Fucking myself on his body with my legs and his control over my movements had me surging toward my impending explosion. 

"Fuck. Owen cum inside me. Please." 

A determined glint found its way into his eye and his hips met my ass with renewed fury. I cried out as I toppled over the edge, he followed painting my insides with his cum. I felt his cock pulse four times and it felt as hard as ever. The feeling was like none other and I was addicted to it. 

He pulled out of me, arranging me on my side next to him. I saw through sleepy eyes that my cum was splattered around. It covered Owen's chest, matting the hair down and had found its way onto the carpet. 

"We didn't make it onto the bed," I giggled. 

Owen chuckled, sleep roughening the sound, "Next time."



Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 06



This the second to last chapter, we've jumped ahead in time and while the other stories were written chronologically this one is written in flashbacks. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it. If you would be interested... I am considering writing the first chapter again from Owen's perspective (only the first chapter). Let me know if you are into this idea. Artie

*

January in Buffalo is the worst. I don't hate the snow; I've been known to make a pretty awe-inspiring snowman. I like how pretty the untrodden, blanketing snow looks, the wonderment of kids as they discover they get to stay home and drink hot cocoa for a day. I like snowboarding, skiing and of course ice hockey. What I don't like is the cold. Walking outside it's so cold your dick tries to climb back into your body. The snow melts into my boots and I imagine my toes going purple and then falling off.

Owen loves the winter. He claims that Minnesota was colder than Buffalo so he's fine; I don't believe him. As far as I am concerned it has never been this cold and it never should be this cold again. Owen liked to joke that of course Jake Summers would hate the winter; I couldn't even roll my eyes it was so cold. He kept me warm though so I couldn't hate it as much as I had in the past.

Owen and I had been dating for around four months. It had been the best four months of my life. I was in better shape than ever, in combination with a successful cross country season and in the midst of a run at a state title in swimming, Owen and I got in a lot of exercise on our own.

While I wasn't going to be nominated for prom king, I was no longer a pariah. Sure I heard snide remarks sometimes as I walked down the hallway but I was accepted like I never had been before. Teenagers are assholes who follow the attractive, popular people once they saw me and Owen being friends they figured that I couldn't be the literal anti-Christ. Of course there were people who figured that Owen and I were a couple or at least having sex.

One particularly brave junior who was wearing a watch that cost more than some peoples' cars and clearly trying to show off to his friends called out to Owen as we walked past, "Don't you ever get tired of him sucking your dick?"

The kid clearly didn't think Owen was going to say something back; he really didn't know Owen. I watched as his eyes grew wider as Owen stalked toward him. I sighed and leaned against the wall waiting on him. Owen's eyes flicked up and down the kid's body and then smirked at him, "Are you offering to suck it instead?" I didn't know I would find a seventeen year-old douche bag almost pissing themselves hilarious but I sure know it now.

Behind me, I heard a deep base voice call out, "Sup Holtsy?" For years that voice had engendered nothing by night terrors, no longer. Kyle Johnson had made a remarkable turnaround. Boys are stupid, I've often found. Owen punching Kyle and then Kyle's subsequent apology had been the foundation of a friendship that I still find baffling.

The juniors head swiveled back and forth from Owen to Kyle who was approaching, he visibly blanched realizing that no amount of money could get him out of a fight with two huge hockey players. Kyle's reputation as being a violent kid was well established; I was only proud to have been a part of his turn away from bullying. He now kept to scuffles with rival schools and on the ice. Owen grinned at his massive friend, "Just getting casual offers of oral sex, man." Owen said this extremely loudly and several twittering girls walked by and snickered. The juniors face was flush with embarrassment as Kyle appraised him.

"Really? Unless you're going to blow both of us: scram; we have better shit to do." The moment Kyle dismissed him the terrified junior ran off with his tail between his legs and his friends cackling at his misfortune.

Them walking over to me was so similar to the first time Kyle and I had a conversation. It hadn't been long after Owen and I had gotten back together. The last tinges of Kyle's black eye were lingering as he strode up to me and Owen. Owen immediately went still, his body tense, looking like he was ready to throw himself in front of me.

The massive defenseman studied his feet for a moment, "Hey Holt...Jake." While it might have not been the warmest greeting, I couldn't remember a time when he hadn't referred to me by a slur so I was over the moon.

Owen didn't seem inclined to answer him, too busy flexing his pecs and traps to make him appear even bigger. In any other situation, I would have laughed at him; this didn't seem like the time. Owen remained silent, not quite glaring but his stoic face was intimidating as I answered him, "Kyle."

"Can I talk to you?" He asked me, but his eyes flicked to Owen like it was his decision.

Indignant, Owen didn't get to dictate who I talked to I responded, "Sure." I turned to Owen, "Can you give us a second?" I phrased it like a question but it wasn't one.

Nevertheless, Owen declined my request, "Last time he was around you, you looked like you had gone through a blender. I'm gonna stay right here, thanks."

I sighed internally, this was true, "Just give us a minute to talk, stay where you can see us: everyone wins."

Owen's lips pursed into a slight frown at me but sighed and turned to Kyle, "If I see you so much as touch him Johnson, I swear to God—", Owen didn't finish his threat, just glowered at Kyle and stalked maybe fifty feet away and leaned against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and began his vigil.

There was an awkward moment where neither Kyle nor I spoke, he was staring back at Owen. "Holt told us that you were off limits, you know."

"I gathered." I still wasn't entirely sure how I felt that he had staked a claim or at least some sort of responsibility over me despite me telling him not to. I understood his protector thing but also it made me feel like a bitch. I doubted that Owen would really appreciate me being pissed off about that in lieu of us recently getting back together.

"He made good on his promise to hurt anyone that hurt you. He's got a new threat now; he told us that he would quit the team if we hurt you." Kyle still wasn't looking at me.

"So you're currying favor with him by deigning to talk to me?" Fucking figures that all he's doing is making sure that Owen would still play for them. Not that he had anything to worry about, Owen's dad was making him play in both the junior league and for the school.

Kyle turned to me his face scrunched as if he couldn't find the right words, "No. I'm talking to you because I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Great. I'll just forget everything you've done to me because your apology makes up for it." My sarcastic side came out as I remembered the pain of having to relocate my shoulder sophomore year.

He actually blushed but then fisted his hands. All my bravado shrank and I could see Owen start to edge forward. Kyle heaved a sigh and opened his hands, "Look, I can't make you forgive me. I know that. So I want to say thank you, Owen told us that you considered going to the police and you didn't."

He took a deep stuttering breath, "When you were on the ground and Lewis was kicking you I thought you were going to die. You looked like you were about to pass out and I thought maybe... I pulled him away from you and tried to go find help. I found a security guard but when we came back you were gone. I was so scared man. So I promise, I'm going to do whatever it takes to make it up to you. If anyone does anything to mess with you: they're going through me first. Holt can have the leftovers."

It had been a start; I didn't really know what to say. Over the months Owen had warmed up to Kyle and so had I. It hadn't been an easy road, for a long time all I could do when I saw him was flinch but he had stayed true to his word and had redeemed himself in my eyes.

But months had made us friends so I smiled easily as they approached me, still chuckling over the junior's face. Kyle reached out and we bumped knuckles, "Sup Summers?"

"Oh you know, just watching you two scare the living shit out of underclassmen," I lifted an eyebrow at them enjoying the fear they inspired.

Kyle smiled, "Oh please, Kevin Stuart is a little cocky bitch who thinks that having money makes him hot shit. I love taking him down a few notches."

I rolled my eyes but agreed with him, Kevin was a dick. "Want to come over and shoot hoops? I'm sure if both you and Owen played together could at least be competition for me."

Owen scoffed, though I was pretty useless as a player, Owen was pretty good, "We can't, going over to dinner with Jake's parents." Kyle knew that we were a couple, everyone on the basketball team assumed but only Kyle knew for sure. He looked uncomfortable when we did anything too affectionate but usually sprung back fast. Not all of Owen's teammates were as accepting, Gregory and Liam glowered at me but with Kyle and Owen as a combined front there was nothing they could do.

My parents would never be featured in a family lifestyle magazine but since I had come out they had started paying more attention to me. My dad had even made it out to one of my swim meets, he had seem baffled that I was actually good.

It was the first time I had ever seen Owen look uncomfortable. The room was nearly silent as my mother brought out dinner. My father apparently had been studying old movies because he was only missing the shotgun to complete the image of over-protective father. In a way, it was sweet but it was also incredibly false and over-the-top.

"So Owen," my father began, "Where do you plan on attending college?" Christ, we were starting off on a bad note. My father believed that everyone should attend college if they could go.

Owen cleared his throat, a pained look dashing over his face, "I actually am not going. I'm going to hopefully be playing in the NHL next year."

"You couldn't go to college for a few years and then get drafted out?" My father asked archly.

"I could, Sir, but I could get hurt while playing in college and then my professional career would be ruined." My father harrumphed slightly.

My dad was a big hockey fan though, so I knew I could get him, "He's a first round pick Dad; he plays with the Sabres sometimes. He knows them all pretty well. Owen, tell him that Ennis story." Owen launched into the story about the center and their weekend in Atlantic City. And just like that Owen had won him over, they discussed the league and the Sabres. Owen relaying insider information about some of my dad's favorite players as my dad listened in delight.

My mother didn't say much to Owen; she left the table abruptly without a word. Owen and my dad barely noted her absence too busy discussing the strengths of the Oilers' defense.

Quietly excusing myself, I went in search of my mother. She was standing in the kitchen drinking wine in long smooth pulls, "What's wrong mom?"

She drained her glass, "Is he the reason you got beaten up?"

Aghast, "No mom, it had been happening for years. You know that."

She nodded, pouring herself another glass, "I know that it got worse."

"Owen took care of it Mom. He's a solution to my problems mom, but he's more than that, I love him." The weight of my mom's disapproval had loosened my filter. I hadn't even told him that but it was true. I loved Owen Holt. He had said it to me when we had gotten back together but I hadn't. I'd lay the guilt on the contusions to my body but I still hadn't said anything. Maybe it was fear, saying that I loved him would heighten our relationship and then if it didn't work out I would be even more heartbroken. It was stupid though, not saying the words didn't mean it wasn't true.

With that in mind, my mother and I returned to table. I was mostly quiet letting my mother volley questions at Owen: about everything and anything. I was still aghast that I hadn't told Owen how I felt. Since hearing myself say the words, I felt consumed by the need to tell him. He had told me he loved me, but was that still true? Was he angry with me for not telling him?

As dinner ended, I was thrown into tumult. Owen cast a sidelong gaze at me, quirking an eyebrow at my silence. My parents didn't think I was being quiet, this was normal for us but Owen knew me. I, of course, wanted Owen to stay over for the night but while my parents were okay with me being gay and seemed to accept my choice in boyfriends pretty easily, I doubted they would be alright with us having wild, torrid sex two doors down from them.

So I walked Owen out to his truck, brimming with the need to tell him. He kissed me briefly, knowing that eyes were everywhere but I held his face to mine. "I love you Owen. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you earlier but I do. I love you so much." I pressed my lips to his, hopefully showing him the intensity of my feelings for him. Owen let out a delighted chuckle before hauling me to him. His hands were all over my ass whereas one of was cupping him through his nice pants when a loud clearing of throat came from behind us.

We sprang apart, a deep flush cover my face as Owen quickly adjusted his bulge. My dad looked embarrassed and uncomfortable and I felt the exact same way, "Time to say goodnight, Jake." He turned around to give us a little privacy but didn't fully walk away. He needn't have been worried, I was so uncomfortable that my cock might have inverted.

Owen leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, "I love you too. I'll text you when I get home." He got into his truck and raised his hand in acknowledgement of my dad and drove away. All in all, not the most comfortable time with my parents but nowhere near the shit storm that was having dinner at Owen's house with his dad.

In the center of the table totally untouched was a dish of grilled chicken, long stem rice, and sautéed bell peppers. To say it was tense would be a massive, critical understatement. Owen was glaring at his dad, still pissed for his meddling; his dad was pissed at me for not doing what he wanted and at Owen for not understanding why he did it. I sat not really pissed at anyone. I understood why his dad was being cautious about his son coming out.

I also wasn't about to be the one to break the silence as Owen and his father glared each other down from across the table. I wondered if I should put the food in the oven to keep it warm because it seemed like whoever would grab food first lost. The Holt men were not about to lose, even to each other.

They continued their silent show down and I marveled at how similar they were, both Owen was still in his prime but it was easy to see where his looks had come from. With a touch of gray around his temples and a few wrinkles wizening his face, Owen's dad just looked like an elder statesman but, though the idea made me immediately uncomfortable after thinking it, a hot one. Eventually the wait took its toll on me and I had to speak up otherwise they might have waited until one of them keeled over. "The food looks good," I murmured which was true, if a little lukewarm at this point.

Owen's dad cut a glare at me, which only reminded me of when his son got surly with me, "Thank you, I'm glad someone is grateful." I winced at his barb and Owen loudly scoffed. I doubted that Owen would ever grow the ability to back down from a challenge, he certainly didn't then.

"I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be grateful that you fucking sabotaged my relationship behind my back? You intimidated my boyfriend into breaking up with me, that's so cowardly." Owen was leaned forward palms pressed against the table, his biceps flexing with each word almost threatening patricide.

"I didn't intimidate him, Owen. I told him the facts and bet that he would be smarter than you and do the right thing which he did. If you were half as smart as him you would see that I am doing things for you." They were perfect mirrors of testosterone fueled angry men, Owen's dad bit off the end of words and scowled at his son.

"You told him your version. The facts might have been true but not your interpretation and because of it I almost lost him. He's important to me dad. I love him. Is hockey so goddamn important that you want me to lose love? Are you really so fucking heartless?"

"Me, heartless? Are you kidding me? I just want you to be able to live your dream. All I have is heart kid. I don't want to see you regret all the things that could have been. Being a parent is about helping them make decisions, and steering them away from bad ideas. That's all I've ever tried to do."

"My dream is more than hockey dad. I want to have a cheering section when I play. What's the point of being successful without someone to share it with? I'm not hiding Dad. I'm not going to be closeted. I promised Jake that I would until I get drafted and I will but no longer. It's not fair to Jake, to me, or to other people that want to come out." I blinked back tears, I had already heard his speech but hearing him so emphatic about his beliefs and to be a role model was so moving.

His dad sighed, running his hand through his hair and I smiled at their similar affectations, "You know I want you to have it all, kid." His voice faltered, "I wish this would be easy for you; it won't be. If this is what you want, I'm behind you all the way." He broke off and look to me for a moment before looking at Owen, "I'm sorry for going behind your back; I have nothing against Jake."

"Means a lot Dad," Owen murmured, spearing himself a piece of chicken. I didn't think that was the end of it, but they to my knowledge never discussed it again. They just began eating and the tension lessened: though it didn't fully dissipate. They did have many conversations on Owen coming out and the timing of that but they didn't talk about the break up once. I couldn't tell if I thought that was amazing: the power of forgiveness, or ridiculous.

Hockey became the only focus of everyone's lives. None of Owen's teammates were going for the draft this year, most electing to not go to college immediately and play in Junior's for the next year. I followed hockey more closely than ever before. Watching the Sabres whenever I could catch a game was nothing compared to the monopoly of time I now spent on it now. I knew the names of people in the OHL, in Sweden, I followed collegiate hockey; if someone had even picked up a stick I knew their names.

While I was so entrenched in Owen's world, we almost never saw each other. With Owen on two teams that practiced back to back and travelled extensively, we no longer could ride together to school. I was managing college applications and the swim team; our schedules just never seemed to meet. We did the best we could, seeing each other during English and if we could for lunch, some Sunday afternoons: it wasn't as much as I would like but we made do with the time that we had.

When the midseason ranking for the draft class came out: Owen was ranked second behind a Canadian. By all accounts Owen was pleased with this: he had overtaken two players in the rankings and he was younger than the first ranked guy.

As the season wore on and teams started to see that the playoffs would be a longshot, the hockey world began to pay more and more attention to the draft. Owen was featured in articles and reports. His first big interview took place in February: ESPN, the big one.

The special was on the top players going into the draft, the cameramen had filmed b-shots of Owen skating with his Juniors' team and then they asked him to shoot pucks directly at the camera. All in all it didn't seem like they were doing anything remotely new. I was pretty sure I had caught the same special dozens of times on TSN.

I was sure Owen had seen them too and didn't need any help to answer their softball questions: this wasn't gotcha journalism. Nevertheless, in the midst of him playing for two teams and my swimming schedule we were desperate to find ways to see each other. We had English still, which was not really a place for us to connect and when he could manage it lunch. I was even driving myself to school because Owen and I's schedules couldn't mesh after school. Even weekends were difficult because Owen was always having away games. So when Owen asked me to soothe his nerves before the interview stating: "I'd feel more relaxed if you were there", I jumped at the opportunity.




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 06



Owen had introduced me to deaf ears, the crew just flocking to the star in their midst. I was pushed out of the way so they could perfect the look that he had just come off the ice. He was still in his pads, though he had taken off his skates and they even spritzed water on his forehead to give the allusion that this was really after an intense practice. I sat in back as they made him up and began the interview.

The reporter, if we could really call her that, looked to be in her mid-twenties. She also looked like the kind of girl who had never bought a drink for herself. She was stunning, long red hair that flowed in styled waves. She resembled Jessica Rabbit in nearly every way except she wore seemingly less clothes. I imagined that anyone watching the interview would be getting a serious eyeful of her cleavage. I hated her, she was draping herself over Owen with every question. I wondered if she had forgotten that other people would see this interview as she groped his arm and commented that he did seem in peak physical health.

Owen was all smiles when answering questions about his training regimen and about finishing up school. He was charming, telling a sweet anecdote about the first time he skated: how he had fallen and cut his lip but the second his dad bandaged his wound he was skating again and hadn't stopped yet. The reporter, Megan Pally, cooed over how humble he seemed she internally cooed over his body. Irrationally, I told her off in my mind. Owen didn't like girls, had always been secure in who he is.

"So which team are you hoping will draft you next year?" She asked thrusting her tits even more in his face, if she wasn't careful she would knock him out with those silicone-inflated hazards.

Owen chuckled, "I feel blessed to even be considered for the draft. My only hope is that I can stay healthy and go to a team where I can develop as a player." I almost snorted, wondering how long his dad had coached him on that response. Not that I doubted that Owen believed what he was saying on some level but when we were alone we prayed that we would end up near each other.

As my list of acceptances grew, so did the concern that I would choose wrong and he would end up hundreds of miles away. He told me not to apply to schools just because they were in more likely candidates for where he would be next year; I still did. The season wasn't over yet but the bottom of the league was unlikely to shift too much. I had applied to at least one school in each of those teams' cities but I would have to make my decision months before he was drafted.

The interview ended mercifully, I doubted any of the other guys in the entrance draft would be making much of an appearance in the special: some hideous Russian who could barely speak English... pass. Once the red light clicked off the camera Megan got increasingly over the top in her flirtation, touching Owen's chest. I could hear in her stage whisper, "If there is anything else I can do for you, you be sure to let me know. I'm sure I'll be covering you for a long time." Jesus Christ, I almost gagged at her obnoxiousness. I felt slightly vindicated as I watched for the first time a small frown congregate on Owen's lips.

He was polite but moved her hands far away from his personage, his smile was looking more and more forced by the moment. He carefully extricated himself and unclipped his mic handing it off to the sound guy in a deft motion. Ever the gentleman, Owen thanked the crew and then made his way toward me. In a barely perceptible voice Owen asked, "Ready to get out of here?"

I smirked, despite his calm demeanor he had been annoyed by Megan, "Are you sure you don't want to stay and talk to your new best friend?"

His glare was pretty weak because a smile teased his lips, "You enjoyed that did you?"

"It's something I'll have to get used to," I said casually not wanting him to know that I was jealous that a perfect stranger had just spent fifteen minutes groping him in front of me.

Owen chuckled and I followed him out of the room. Once we were well out of earshot he spoke, "I was waiting for her to give me the least exciting lap dance ever."

"Had much experience with lap dances?" I asked quirking an eyebrow.

Owen stopped and blushed, "...I'd love to get one from you." Jealousy flooded through me, I had expected for him to thoroughly deny any knowledge of lap dances. My mind was immediately consumed with visions of faceless attractive men grinding their bodies on Owen. I had known I wasn't Owen's first but his world of experience was more than I could have even feared. Seeing Megan's paltry attempt at seducing Owen was nothing compared to what I imagined.

My jealousy peaked and I shook my head to try and rid myself of the images but soon jealousy began to war with determination. When determination won out, I became downright predatory. I grabbed Owen's hand and pulled him into the locker room of the rink, practice was long since out so it was deserted.

Owen blinked down at me, confused at my sudden actions but I silenced him with a deep kiss. I had missed him and needed to prove to myself that I could keep his interest. If he wanted a lap dance, he was going to get the most enthusiastic one I could offer.

I pushed him down onto the bench, his eyes liquid fire as he reveled in my sudden dominance. I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt, I don't know why this was different. He had seen my body countless times, knew it better than I did. Maybe it was the tease or that I was in control or that we hadn't been together as much recently but his attention was focused entirely on the skin exposed. Knowing that Owen still had on his jock and his hockey pants just made seducing him through the extra layers more enjoyable.

His harsh breaths as he watched me turn and grind my body against his was the music I timed my swaying to. It seemed almost subconscious that his hands came to try and grab my hips to settle them over his erection which was pressing lewdly against his jock.

Though I had missed his hands being on me, I pulled them off and held them down to the bench on either side of me. When I released him, I had to dance out of the way of him attempting to grab me. He looked like a dream come true, and I remembered all the fantasies of steamy locker room hookups, this was so much better. In his pads, Owen went from a muscular man to a monolith of carefully restrained power. I didn't know how much longer he was going to entertain my stripper game so it was time to kick it up a notch.

Slowly I teased my hands under my shirt and pinched my nipples, letting out a moan. I peeked through my lashes at Owen, his hand was straying to the ties of hockey pants. I smirked as I ran my hands down my stomach, releasing each of the buttons before turning around and letting the garment fall from my shoulders. I bent at the waist as I pulled off my cords, showing off my ass. I heard him roughly exhale and fabric rustling as I stood back up teasingly.

I turned coquettishly around and straddled Owen who now was just in his cup. Owen was losing ground on his ability to let me play with him, his jaw was tense with the need to be inside me but he smiled at how much I was enjoying myself. I ground my erection over his concealed cock. His hands came up and covered my ass, palming it and squeezing it. My hands stopped their lugubrious circling against Owens chest where his pads covered him down to his stomach where I was free to feel him, "I don't think you're allowed to touch the strippers."

His chuckle was low next to my ear, "Good thing you're not a stripper." He pulled me as flush with his body as possible. If I were to rank feelings Owen's body would be number one but a close second would be him in pads, something about the enhanced hardness only highlighted what I knew would be coming. His lips hovered over mine for a moment before dodging my kiss and finding my neck. He stripped off my underwear, I heard the fabric protest against his insistence.

I had missed him, he was rough as his teeth scraped along my throat and sucked on it. All of a sudden I was airborne, all I could do was wrap my legs around his waist as he lifted me. I had gained some muscle in the months I had been with Owen, with eating healthier around him and the extra exercise but he lifted me easily.

Firmly he pressed me against the lockers and the metal vibrated. His hands cupped under my ass shifting me up so that my erection was tight against his stomach. Deftly he slid down his jock and finally I could feel all of him, hard and throbbing against my ass.

The danger of possibly getting caught and of me being completely naked while he was almost completely clothed heightened my need. It felt like forever since we had been together. I needed this, needed him. "In me Owen," I breathed still holding a carat of dominance.

"I don't have lube," Owen growled regret in his voice. We had done dry before but the resulting soreness made anything for several days nearly impossible.

Though I tried to not sound it, a tinge of fear eked into my voice, "I can take it Owen. I love you. Get in me."

His tongue plundered my mouth, and he hitched me up as I grinded against his stomach. We were on the move. Owen might be a superhero, he moved us through the locker room into the showers, finding a conditioner dispenser all without breaking our kiss. His fingers covered in the slickness probed quickly, swirling into my depths. My hands fisted in his hair as I clung to him, lavishing my love on his neck.

As Owen pressed me against the shower wall, he pressed into me. I couldn't contain the low moan at his possession. I whimpered as his cock stretched me open but I wanted him harder, faster, and deeper. He could sense what I needed, as he thrust deeply. I could do nothing but hold on. I leaned my head against the tile and let him have me. Savagely, he pumped and claimed me as his own.

Him still being clothed it looked like I was some fan that had slipped into the locker rooms for a liaison with a player. I hoped that maybe one day in the future we could make that particular fantasy a reality.

His teeth scraped my Adam's apple before whispering in my ear, "You are the only one I want, forever." He knew me, he knew I was jealous of things that happened before we met; he knew I was jealous of the people who would worship him to come. This was what I needed: him and only him. I gave myself over to him, letting him pull me farther and farther.

When he erupted, my name was on his lips, the sweetest words ever spoken. I came without touching my cock, letting him roll over me. I came all over his jersey, marking him as mine as he did the same.

Only after both of our breathing slowed, did Owen finally let me down. "I meant it you know, you're the only one I want."

I kissed him on the cheek, pulling off his soiled practice jersey, "I love you too."



Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 07



We've come to the end of Jake and Owen's story; however, because I am self-indulgent there will be the first chapter as re-told by Owen so that people can get a better handle on why Owen does what he does and his general perspective. I have fudged some hockey facts to make the narrative smoother—for any hockey fans: I do apologize. Thank you for sticking through an insomniatic writing spree. More writing to come, Artie.

*

I used to maintain that winters in Buffalo were the worst. But after two years of winters in Boston, I was ready to change my tune. Sure, it snowed more in Buffalo but the always present wind combined with the narrow, hilly streets made commuting a nightmare in Boston. Sure the subway system should have been the panacea of transportation except that when it snowed you can't get anywhere in the God-forsaken city. The T, our much maligned subway system, got icy and didn't work because apparently, despite it snowing every fucking year, no one could predict the ice so it wasn't going to get fixed until Spring when all the ice thaws anyway.

From October until March I was bundled from tip of toe to my head an immense balaclava, that's why winters in Boston were the worst. I would be getting pictures and videos of Owen when he was wearing shorts or maybe, at most, a light jacket in the depths of those winter months. I liked when he had to come to the East Coast for a travel game and be shocked again by how cold it was.

It doesn't get cold in Arizona. Sometimes when I'm sure gangrene is about to set in due to the frigid water than got in through my boots I would joke with Owen that I was considering transferring to ASU. Over FaceTime a small sad smile would emerge as he would remind me of how much I was enjoying Emerson and far more importantly the next time we would be able to see each other. He knew me, it wasn't really the cold that depressed me about Boston; it was how far away Owen was.

We had known that we wouldn't be in the same city before he had even been drafted. Owen had encouraged me to go to a school that I actually wanted to go to and not a school that might be in the city that he might play for. At the end of the day, Owen reasoned, if he wasn't in that city I was just at a school I hated for nothing. I did make the decision to be in a city with a team, that way Owen would at least have trips already planned to see me.

I loved Emerson; the LGBTQ club was basically the entire school and Boston was always alive with people—mostly drunken college-aged people. I loved that everyone was so creative, people had majors in Comedic Arts there. There weren't math majors or engineers but intelligence wasn't just in STEM. I didn't go such an avant-garde choice of major—no preforming arts—just journalism.

College was so different from high school; I was included, even popular in my classes and dorm. Owen said I looked happier than ever, but cautiously asked about my friends... Were any of the hot? I always laughed it off asking if he wanted their numbers. He had no reason to worry. No one came close to catching my eye, not a single one of the meticulously groomed, charismatic, talented performers had anything on Owen. All my attention was on him: on TV, on the various fan pages where Owen had become the object of fantasies, and on broad headlines proclaiming him as hockey's newest star.

I couldn't fault him for being slightly jealous; I sure was. How could I not be jealous, even jealous of his friends and teammates for getting to be around him when I was so far away? Every day there would be new photos of him with fans, faces pressed together with wide smiles and arms thrown around shoulders. Puck bunnies in skimpy outfits kissing him on the cheek, while he grinned wryly. Of course I wasn't worried, not really. It was just hard to see him having affection lavished on him and not getting to lavish my own. And in my defense I wasn't awarded the Calder Trophy as well as Phoenix's sexiest athlete—both coming with a large amount of fans. Owen had been hounded by fans since his draft day.

The day of the draft, Owen was constantly in interviews all coordinated by Owen's new agent and publicist: Calen Edwards. Calen had coached Owen on everything: every scripted word and correct motion. Calen had really done a massive overhaul on Owen. Though I had thought he looked great before: now Owen wore impeccably made clothing and designer watches. Through Calen's direction, Owen gave the same charming answers and wore a suit that I was sure was more expensive than the rest of his clothing combined. He didn't even have to buy it—a gift from Armani.

Of course, there was tension in the Holt camp about who would be allowed to come with him to the draft and by that I mean: would I be allowed to come? Owen had shot down his dad and Calen's concerns; he was set on me coming with him.

I would have to fly directly to Boston afterward to move into my freshman dorm: worlds apart; there was no chance Owen would be a Bruin. So in a far less expensive suit, I got to sit with Owen's dad as we watched Owen get drafted into the NHL. Owen's father and I were nervous wrecks, both wringing our hands and speaking tersely to each other as the lights began to dim and the speeches began.

Owen sat next to us cool, unshakable; I saw cameras turn to him every few moments as the first announcement was called. Calen was smiling and schmoozing with the other agents. He was also making grand overtures toward the other men getting drafted, paying much closer attention to those who were still without representation. I didn't care if Calen had more clients as long as he took care of Owen well.

My breath caught as the lights refocused on the stage. I saw everyone tense a little it was time for the draft to begin. We were surrounded by a sea of other players and families. I saw mothers clutch hands and the muscles of many a draftee tense. With a great flourish and with the On the Clock timer barely begun, the call came in from the Coyotes table, who had won the draft lottery and by rights: first pick.

Time stood still as it was announced, "The Arizona Coyotes are proud to announce their first pick: Owen Holt."

I think I died: just briefly but I really do think so. Our section, smaller than most of the others but still full of so much love, all stood as Owen beamed at the cameras. He shook hands with Calen before giving him a firm manly clap on the back. He turned and hugged his father. I heard his father choke back a sob as he whispered how proud he was. Then Owen turned to me and wrapped his arms around me. I clutched at his back as I tried to put all of the hope and pride I felt into a perfunctory hug. He was mic'ed so he couldn't say anything. He didn't have to; I could see his effervescent joy.

The crowd roared as he ascended the stairs to the stage. Every camera attuned to his face, bloggers' fingers flying across keys to deliver the news. Owen had overtaken all competitors. It was an upset to be sure. Owen had been neck and neck with the man who would go second but most polls put him slightly behind only because of lack of experience. The other player had been playing in the OHL for a year. Owen proved all the doubters wrong.

I had never seen Owen smile so widely, as he shrugged off his ridiculously expensive suit jacket and donned the crimson and cream Coyotes jersey. Though I'm sure he would deny it, Owen's dad cried: manly tears but definitely tears. I didn't cry. No. My cheeks burned from my uncontrollable grin. I'm sure I lost my voice with all of my cheering. I didn't consider until I saw him get a call from Doan, the captain of the Coyotes, just how far away he would be. In that moment, I didn't care. This was it: he did it. He signed his rookie contract, the maximum money offered and he was officially a part of it all.

He signed autographs for screaming tow-headed kids and for equally excited full-grown adults. He was roped into pictures and in his immediate post-draft interview he was asked, "Owen, how are you feeling right now after being picked first?"

Owen, wearing a Coyotes hat which pushed his wavy hair out, answered with gruff emotion in his voice, "I'm so grateful to the Coyotes organization for picking me. This is the most surreal moment of my life, the best moment of my life and I'm so thankful to be sharing this day with the people I love the most. I can't even say how much this day means to me."

I wasn't alone in having my heart melt. I heard one of the player's little sister whisper, none too quietly, to her mother that Owen was "a total hottie." I couldn't agree more.

Owen was whisked away to do more interviews as I was plied with appetizers and, from Calen, a little bit of champagne. He sailed through interviews right and left, getting the opportunity to speak with the GM of the Coyotes as well as the head coach. All the while, players were finding out their fates, each time they would come down the tunnel and be met by the guys already drafted. For now, there were no hard feelings, all celebratory handshakes and smiles. In a few months, they would begin to take the ice against each other and the time for camaraderie would be gone.

Owen was in the highest demand, constantly being corralled into interviews. He had done the rotation on media day and just before the draft, but now he was being hounded into speaking with anyone and everyone. When at last it seemed like he would be free to relax, out of the melee Megan Pally appeared. Though he kept up his bright face, I could sense his mood drop. I doubt anything could have put a serious blight on the day, but Megan was always a challenge.

Megan was over the moon. Her tight blue dress barely contained her areolas as she, purely in a congratulatory fashion I'm sure, hugged Owen tightly. I glanced around the other assembled draft members, they had glazed looks on their faces; seems like Ms. Pally had already made the rounds.

Owen smiled and answered all of her questions with an easy grace that while somewhat genuine had been honed by Calen over the past several months. At the conclusion of their interview I heard her comment, "I knew you were going to be big here; I just didn't know how big." I almost gagged.

Owen was better at hiding his emotions, "I feel so lucky."

"It's the fans who feel lucky, you should be reading what they are writing on Twitter—"

"I hope to make them proud—"

Megan cut him off, "Especially the women—the women of Arizona are dying to get you out there. I bet they will be ready to welcome you when you arrive."

Owen chuckled, steel starting to form in his eyes, "I'm grateful to the fans but I'm really going to be focusing on hockey for a while. I have to prove that the choice to take me first was a good one." With that Owen turned and walked toward me; we couldn't touch here—not in any romantic way at least. But I could feel his body heat as he leaned against the wall next to me.

For a moment we just watched the melee of enthusiastic supporters, reporters and athletes converging. "I'm so happy for you Owen," I murmured, not looking at him my voice deepening with unexpressed emotion.

"Would it be selfish for me to ask you to not fly out tomorrow?" Owen asked lowly.

I turned to him, to see his eyes slightly watery. This idiot, I thought, here he was being sad when he had just signed one of the biggest rookie contracts in NHL history after being drafted first. Only I was the bigger idiot, "Only as selfish as I am being by wanting to stay with you."

Owen nodded jerkily as if trying to decide not to try to get me to move to Arizona with him—it wouldn't have been very hard. Trying to distract him, "Don't you think it's strange the Sabres didn't pick Barrant? I mean it's good for the Oilers but just unexpected you know. I would say Barrant has better hands than Campbell, maybe not as fast but those handling skills—"

"Jake." He sighed cutting off my rambling, "Today has been the best day of my life, but I'm ready to go now. Tomorrow might be the worst day of my life but I want tonight to be everything."

My mouth floundered open, "You can't leave; Calen will kill you. I'm sure there are about a million more people you're supposed to talk to and then parties and that kinda stuff."

"I'll deal with that stuff tomorrow when you aren't here. Can we please go?" Owen looked so sincere, I nodded my assent. He tried to whisk me through the stadium but it was slow going. He shook hands and signed autographs and eventually he found Calen's assistant, a small mousy brunette who looked at best frazzled amongst all the excitement. Owen pushed his jersey and hat into her unwillingly receptive hands and called over his shoulder to her, "Tell Calen I'll call him tomorrow."

As I tried to keep pace with Owen's rapid steps I heard her melodic voice filter through, "Wait. You can't—", her voice was drowned out by the cacophony in the stadium.

Oh no little secretary, he could.

Calen had arranged for a limo to be on stand by for most the night. I'm sure that Calen hadn't anticipated Owen ducking out and not using the limo to be ferried to the various after events. Owen got the driver to meet us at the side door to minimize the chance of us being followed. Our sense of decorum ended there. Owen didn't care if we were caught; what could they really do now?

I'd like to say we were civilized and didn't make out in the back of the limo as soon as the door closed—but I can't. We didn't even roll up the partition, the driver had to do it. I could only hope that Calen had paid him well for his discretion—though I'm sure Calen hadn't thought this was going to be a possibility.

The driver dropped us at the back of the hotel which was good because Owen had lost his shirt to the abyss of the limo floor and my pants were lewdly unzipped. Of course, we could have been found out right then but we were young and desperately in love: so it just didn't matter.

We were a blur of movement, my hands roaming over his chest and down his stomach: flexing as I found his nipples with my fingers. His head fell back against the elevator as I ravished his neck—though I was careful to not mark his neck or jaw. Calen would have hired professional make-up artists if need be but he would have been pissed that his star was marked with visible hickeys. The rest of his body didn't remain so unadorned.

He was mine and I intended to make that known at least to me and him. As my hands caressed his cock through his slacks my lips found the skin just above his nipple. I sucked until color bloomed over his heart, leaving my indelible mark on him.

As the elevator doors opened onto our floor Owen claimed my lips in fierce, fiery kiss. We battled for the top as our need to prove our love overcame us. We were almost violent. Owen pushed me up against the door still in the hallway. Never breaking our heated kiss Owen ripped my shirt off, buttons ricocheting.

I wedged my hand into his fitted pants, fingers curling around his cock while my other hand reached into his back pocket to find the hotel key so that we didn't fuck in the middle of the hallway. If I hadn't unlocked the door right then, we probably would have consequences be damned.

Jabbing the key at the lock several times, eventually I got the door open and I backed into the room leading Owen by my hold on his cock, still obscured by his pants. I was through with them being in the way, unbuttoning them and shoving them down along with his boxer-briefs. I hadn't thought it was possible to think Owen was sexier but knowing that he was now the poster child for the NHL had me dispense with preliminaries and suck him down my throat in one long sweeping motion. I heard a hoarse, "fuck" from above me and turned my eyes up at him.

He tried to gaze at me tenderly as I laved the base of his cock with my tongue and hummed around his length but the fierce hungry expression dominated.

"How is it that you can look innocent with your lips around my dick?" I might have been giving him doe eyes but I was anything but innocent. Proving this, I sucked hard on the tip and brought my fingers up to his balls stroking the pouch and that sensitive line. Owen bucked into my mouth slightly groaning his pleasure. I had just found the perfect rhythm with pressure and wet heat when Owen pulled me off his cock eyes flashing.

"I'm not cumming in your mouth tonight." His fingers gripped my biceps as he pulled me to my feet and laid claim on my mouth. I pressed my body against his, my shirt still hanging from my shoulders. His cock jutted into my stomach and like a moth to a flame my hand came up to encircle it.

Owen abruptly pushed me away. "Get naked Jake." Fuck me, I thought and then immediately complied, tossing the mangled shirt away and shucking my shoes. Owen stroked himself as he watched me undress. I was shaking with anticipation as he looked on with lidded eyes as my underwear hit the floor.

Feeling the weight of his arousal and wanting to egg him on, I turned and crawled slowly onto the bed, pushing my ass up and out. I rested my head on my hands and wriggled my ass at Owen, tempted to look behind me. Owen didn't resist the bait very long; I felt a slippery digit press against me. His breath was hot against my neck as he settled over me, his hard hairy body finding a way to sit against me perfectly as he lined his cock up with my ass.

"I waited all fucking night for this," he whispered tenderly, which was so at odds with the forceful breaching of my hole. He shoved in all the way possessing me fully. I moaned as his thick throbbing cock stretched me, my back arching and throwing my head back in ecstasy.

Owen pulled himself up to his knees and grabbed my hips pistoning in and out of my ass. I bore down on him, letting my muscles caress him. He slammed my ass back so that it met his pelvis over and over. Owen and I didn't really do rough. I fucking loved it, my cock was pulsating in time with him. I needed him. I needed this. With every pump Owen found my spot and my cock throbbed with need. My breath came is short spurts as pleasure washed over me.

I was about to come when suddenly Owen pulled out. Whipping my head around, I saw Owen was barely restrained, his cock red and angry with the need to come.

His muscles flexed and he looked like he was walking a tightrope of sensation.

"I need you in me," Owen gritted out. Owen hadn't bottomed since the first time, the night before I walked out on him. We had talked about it months ago, he was anxious about it happening again. He connected me topping with me leaving him: something that he would do anything to avoid, he told me. I had tried once but he looked panicked then: so sure that it meant I was leaving him. The irony was not lost on me: that's what would happen again. I was leaving tomorrow. How could he ask this of me?

I was stricken, my need to come suddenly curtailed by emotion. I searched his eyes, he looked wary but also aroused, his cock still stood hard. "Please," he whispered, a sob in his plea.

I tugged his face to mine, kissing his perfect mouth. The fire was gone but replaced with the tenderness of me showing him that we were solid. I don't know if he thought that I needed to fuck him but I was going to show him how much I appreciated his gift.

I ran my hand down his back before encouraging him to lay down. I knelt between his outstretched legs kissing him deeply as I ran my hands down his chest, finding the hardness of his muscles out to his pebbly hard nipples. I thumbed them as I made love to his mouth.

I felt something nudge my shoulder, Owen was trying to hand me lube, "Little impatient?"

Owen laughed and kissed me hard but when he broke away his face was contorted into a weak smile; "We don't have that much time."

For a brief moment pain lanced through my body at the thought but then determination coursed; I didn't want him to think about that inevitability anymore.




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 07



Taking the lube, I spread it over my fingers and wrapped my hands around both Owen's and my cock. Stroking them together, I quickly was back to fully hard. Keeping his cock in my hand, I slid down so that my lips were level with that perfect space between balls and ass—my favorite term for it would be the notya.

My tongue found every inch of his skin there, flicking teasing licks on his balls but neglecting his ass which he kept trying to angle up at me. As if I had forgotten it was there. I glanced up and Owen was flushed and was breathing in open-mouthed exaltation. His breathing faltered as my tongue swept around his pucker before kissing it deeply. Alternating between probing and teasing flicking, Owen opened up to me.

My hand, still slick, ghosted over his opening. First just a little pressure, then more, then the tip of my finger was inside. Owen pulled on my shoulder until I came up to meet him. My finger began to sink into him slowly opening him up as we kissed.

Two fingers stretched and wiggled around preparing him for me. I was sure Owen could take me but it had been a while for him and I was loath to hurt him. Owen broke our kiss to whisper against my lips, "Get in me Jake. I need you."

I pulled away and though I lined my cock up with his entrance, I whispered, "We're going at my pace; let me love you." I swooped down to reclaim his lips as I pushed inside. I captured his groan at my entrance with a deep kiss.

I went in slowly, dragging my cock up through his sensitive nerve endings. When I was fully seated inside him, I waited. Kissing him until he was breathless and I could feel him pressing his hard cock up into my stomach trying to get some friction. He clenched his muscles, milking my cock and the pressure was too much for me. If he wanted me to move I would but he wasn't going to get a fast fuck. No, I was going to make love to him.

I withdrew just as slowly until just the fat crown remained inside him and then worked my way back in smoothly. Over and over making our bodies come together. I sat up, gazing at Owen his blue eyes hazy with lust, and the angle change made direct contact with his spot. "Fuuuuu—", he didn't get the opportunity to finish the epithet. I picked up the pace, still loving but a constant smooth pace leaving him in paroxysms of pleasure. I watched as the flush stole over his skin and his cock purpled with the need to come. With three sharp stabs over his prostate and my hand slipping over his cock, he erupted his pleasure. Ropes of the viscous white cream splattered onto his chest before I could angle his cock up towards my mouth. I caught the end, drinking in his vitality.

His coming sent me over the edge as his ass clenched and moved, but it was seeing him cum that really did it for me. I sent my hot seed deep into him.

I didn't extricate myself, I just settled onto Owen. I felt his arms come around me as wetness alighted on my cheeks. He held me as the tears leaked out of my eyes. He didn't rush me but eventually I pushed down my sadness.

We took a shower together, washing each other tenderly, the evidence of our love making swirling down the drain.

I fell asleep in his arms, for the last time in a long, long while.

My plan to wake up quietly and not disturb Owen while leaving him a note was dashed when I woke to a soft kiss on my forehead. Owen was already fully dressed and had a cup of coffee in his hand as I blearily blinked sleep away. "What are you doing up?" I asked gruffly.

"I was worried I would be groggy and not wake up to see you leave. So I didn't sleep."

"Owen—" Christ. Calen would kill me if Owen was out of it for the day.

"Boyfriends take each other to the airport. No way I'm going to miss it," he said sadly but with a small smile.

I leaned up to kiss him softly; his lips were wet and soft. I met his gaze; his eyes were red rimmed and watery. "Thank you," I whispered. My heart broke. How could I leave him, someone so thoughtful and lovely?

The morning silence as I quickly grabbed my things was filled with sorrow and hope. Such sorrow at the thought of separation but hope for the things to come and to eventually be back together. Owen seemed pensive as he hailed a cab my suitcase strangled in his hand and my back pack slung across his back. I only held his hand and the weight of my leaden heart. One would think I was going off to war but the distance from Arizona to Boston seemed like the red sea and there was no Moses in sight.

The airport was not incredibly busy, a few harried businessmen flew through TSA pre-check and Owen and I just stood in the entry way. My flight got closer and closer, my hand was still in his. Eventually, I would have barely enough time to get through security and get to my gate before take-off; I turned to Owen. His jaw was so tense, the muscle jumping every few moments. He was glaring above my head, his eyes red and raw. I thought I saw a tear track on his cheek; I brushed away the remnant moisture with my free hand resisting the urge to cry myself.

"You have to go," Owen said, not a question but more like he was really coming to terms with that unfortunate fact.

I took his other hand. Anyone could have walked by and took a picture, this was more important than worrying about a secret Owen didn't even want to keep anymore. "I'll see you when you come up to Boston, and I'm flying down for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'll come to New York when you're playing up there. It'll be like we're together, we'll text all the time—"

He cut me off with a kiss, his lips soft and insistent. I pressed into him our fingers laced together like the teenagers we really were. He smiled against my lips, "We'll make it work Jake; I know that. But we have to get you on that plane." He kissed me again lightly, before removing his hands and lips from me. "I love you Jake."

"Love you too," I floundered for anything to make this less painful, "Have fun today. I'll be watching your interviews and reading all the articles." I didn't know what else to say. This was it, we were really separating.

A last long lingering kiss had our tears mingling, Owen pulled away and weakly chuckled, "Your parents will kill me if you miss your flight." His eyes were red and watery; I knew Calen would personally administer Visine if necessary.

I took my backpack and suitcase from him and stuffed my hands in my pockets, "It's just a few months, right?"

Owen tried to grin but it still looked like a grimace, "You won't even know the difference." He waited until I was ushered through security and out of sight, mouthing I love you whenever I had a nanosecond to look back at him.

` We made it work: the whole long distance thing. We texted constantly—well as much as we could. I had classes, and new friends and parties and he had practices, and games, and obligations. My roommate, the one straight man I met at Emerson: Derrick, was pretty cool about leaving the room so Owen and I could Skype. And we did Skype and FaceTime a lot. In the beginning we did really sext or anything but one afternoon I remembered my ploy of sending him pictures of me in a Speedo.

I had toyed with the idea of sending him a nude photo but it took one, less-than-sober night for me to actually do it. It was a classy photo, as tasteful as a nude photo could be. A picture of my cock hard in my hand as I jerked it, over my abs. I had sent it and in my boozy haze mostly forgotten about it until I received a very hoarse phone call which began with the words, "I opened that in the fucking locker room."

"So you don't want any more?" I asked, still a little tipsy and pleased to be hearing the sound of my boyfriend's voice—even if it sounded incredulous.

There was a pause, "I didn't say that."

We agreed that I would give him some sort of warning so he didn't suddenly have my ass on his screen when anyone could be walking by.

It worked but going from seeing someone every day to only through a screen was very difficult. Somehow we made it through those first few months of me getting settled into college and him starting to practice and play with the Coyotes.

It was the middle of October when we saw each other again. The Coyotes and the Bruins were playing each other in Boston. Owen elected to fly up a night early, much to the chagrin of his teammates and coaches. He was due into Logan and I was waiting for him at baggage claim. I wanted to bring a sign with his name declaring how much I had missed him—he was a little too conspicuous for that.

He had of course sat in first class, a courtesy of the Coyotes to their newest, brightest star even if he was making bizarre requests like flying to a city early. Of course, Owen had told several members of the Coyote's organization exactly why he was flying out early so they kept their nose so far out of his business.

I'd like to say we were sedate and calm when we saw each other. And for a moment we were. I'm sure he was breaking about a million rules for what he was supposed to be wearing as a member of the Coyotes but he was here incognito. Owen didn't have a suitcase under the plane, his hockey stuff would come with the team. So he stepped off the escalator wearing a Twins hat low over his eyes and a backpack slung over his shoulder. To me, this was about as momentous as when Jesus rolled the stone away. He has returned! I spotted him before he found me. I ran up and for a moment all we did was grin at each other.

I wanted so badly to throw my arms around him and show him exactly how much I missed him. Owen jerked his head in a come this way motion. He quickly found a single-stall family restroom and locked us in. His lips descended on mine. After two months, reunited and it felt so fucking good. I whipped off his hat, and his long wavy hair fell sideways across his warm blue eyes. I grabbed it in my fists and held him to me. I felt him lowering my zipper and turning me around. He rustled with his bag for a moment, "Are you serious you brought lube with you?" I asked laughing but needing him to use it right then.

"Well it was under three ounces," he pushed into me and I was complete. Fuck I had missed him. Oh yeah we fucked in that restroom. Could anyone really blame us?

As I straightened my jeans I heard him say, "I really missed you, not just the sex you know."

"I love you too."

Owen didn't play his best against the Bruins, he was a little tired out. He actively broke curfew much to his road roommate's chagrin. My roommate was a darling and fucked off for those two nights.

The morning he left to continue his trip up to Vancouver, we laid entangled on my bed.

"This wasn't long enough," he murmured his sapphire eyes flashing.

"I completely agree," and I did, I wanted him to stay with me forever. I felt crushed that he had to leave me so soon, especially when I had just gotten him back.

He sighed, "I wish you could come to the airport with me." I did too but Calen would hate that. There would be the reporters who follow the Coyotes there; me being there would cause a lot of questions to be asked. He sighed again, "Soon."

Owen had wanted the second he entered the draft to come out, or really well before that. Calen was not impressed with either of those options. Calen argued that Owen shouldn't be paying him if he wasn't going to follow Calen's advice. His advice was to wait several seasons, become one of the top players and make sure that no one would doubt his validity.

Owen agreed under duress, acknowledging his need to earn his stripes as a hockey player and how that would ease public opinion. He just didn't get as far into his career as Calen would have liked before doing it.

Being selected as a rookie to go to the All-Star game is a big deal, like a BIG FUCKING DEAL. Of course Owen was selected: he had been kicking ass. His was the new popular jersey to have and Owen often good-naturedly complained he was going to get carpal tunnel from signing everything from pucks to iPhones to foreheads. He was being ridiculous; he sounded over the moon with all the attention.

Owen asked me one day in January, as my phone was wedged between my ear and my shoulder, half listening to him and half focused on the textbook laid out in front of me. I craved talking to Owen but we had been talking about his meeting with the PT to strengthen his shoulders for what seemed like forever and I had started to tune him out with a quiz the following day. I felt bad but there are only so many exercises I could stand to hear described.

My attention was brought back to the conversation when Owen cleared his throat loudly. "Shit, sorry. What were you saying?" I squeaked as I was startled out of studying.

He sighed. "I asked if there isn't any way you can come to the All Star game." We had already talked about this, the game was right in the middle of mid-terms and I had projects due all that week and the following one.

"I wish I could go." I whispered feeling contrite about disappointing him. I really did wish I could go. I wished I could be with him and experience the excitement. I wish I could just be with him.

He was quiet for a moment, "I do too."

"I'll be there for other ones. You better believe when you're captain I'll be there."

"I'm going to hold you to that." It sounded like he was smiling but I knew he wasn't happy that I couldn't go.

I was right about how swamped with mid-terms creeping up on me from all sides I was the week of the festivities. So with a textbook on my lap, I settled myself into the couch to watch the game with Derrick. Though straight Derrick had very little interest in sports so was generally not enthused with the prospect of watching the All Star Game. He was nice enough to see that I didn't want to be alone so he settled in to be supportive.

To say Owen owned the ice would be an understatement. A frequent criticism of the game is that there is very little defense: Owen really didn't help that. He scored twice and his smile was shown on a screen three stories tall. Derrick even got sucked into the excitement, cheering for Owen.

I had just run to grab some water before the third period was set to begin when Derrick called out, "Owen's on screen."

Derrick knew the basics of Owen and I's relationship especially that it was a secret, but he definitely didn't know that Owen being interviewed by Megan Pally would set my teeth on edge. There she was, getting to be with Owen while I was thousands of miles away.

She looked great as ever, her long auburn hair gleamed and she looked like she really did care about hockey, instead of just sleeping with the players. She stood way too close to Owen for me to be comfortable. "So the biggest question on everyone's mind I think is what you're doing after the game. I bet there are a lot of people willing to buy you a drink."

Owen smiled his long wavy hair slicked back with sweat, "I'm not old enough to drink but if someone wants to buy me a water I'd really appreciate it."

There was something just so grating about Megan's laugh, "I totally forgot how young you are; you are just so mature." Owen just smiled blandly. "Surely tonight is a time to let loose a little bit, interact with your fans."

"This whole weekend has been incredible: I've met so many kind people. It's amazing to see so many people out here enjoying the game."

"Anyone that caught your eye?"

Owen's eyes narrowed, "I'm sorry?" It was like he was offering her a life line she didn't know she needed.

"C'mon Owen, everyone is dying to know. I'm just asking because it was the highest requested question off of Twitter: are you single?" Her wide eyes seemed to be guileless but around her features there was the frantic hungriness for information, for validation. The raw neediness was almost frightening.

I felt like throwing up, Owen looked calm but put on a slightly contrite face, "Oh, I'm actually in a pretty serious relationship." Megan's mouth actually dropped open, her shock blatant. I'm sure mine was a perfect mirror.

Even Derrick realized the gravity of his statement, "Oh shit."

Megan struggled to frame her next question, "You're so young to be in a serious relationship. How long have you been together?" I wondered if everyone else could see her pouting as my heart felt like it was being enclosed in a vice.

"A year and a half," Owen answered with a smile, "The long distance has been tough but we're committed to make it work."

If we were in a cartoon Megan's face would have been sickly green with envy, instead she just looked like she sucked on a lemon, "Anything you want to say to her tonight? I'm sure that would make her day."

"Oh shit," Derrick murmured, leaning forward.

Owen nodded and looked straight into the camera, straight into my soul, "Hey Jake. I miss you so much and can't wait to see you. I love you."

"Oh shit." I think that one might have come out of me, Derrick, and Megan all at the same time. Maybe Owen's dad, my parents, and Calen as well. There was a brief moment of silence as Owen grinned at the camera.

Megan looked like she was going through a stroke. This was still live; nothing but dead air was being shown. Then the scene exploded, I could hear Calen's voice saying that the interview was over as well as someone who I later found out was a Coyotes publicist. It took the commotion for Megan to break out of her conniption, "Owen for clarification, you just said you love—"

"My boyfriend," Owen's eyes sparkled in their sincerity, his still flushed from the game face bright with a triumphant smile.

"OH SHIT." That was all Derrick, "He fucking did it." Yes, he did. I was still in a state of complete disbelief; my only reaction was to stare at the tumultuous scene unfolding.

Megan seemed to have recovered her mental acuity and was firing questions at Owen, "How long have you been gay?" "Did the rest of your team know?" "Did the League know?" Calen and the other publicist was shooing her away but you could hear Owen in the background say, "But I don't have anything to hide."

Calen reappeared to officially shut down the interview, "Mr. Holt will be available for interviews at the conclusion of the game."

I'm sure Owen didn't mean to upstage the rest of the game but attention was completely diverted from the action on the ice. Anchors were a mixture of astounded, aghast, and amused as they looped his 'confession' commenting on every subtle nuance.

Twitter blew up into two opposing camps one with the hashtag: HomoHolt which wasn't necessarily all bad just more sarcastic about it, although that camp was churning out some steady vitriol. The other camp was very pro-Owen: HoltsOut, a series of gifs of him scoring and celebrating and smiling. The most common was the loop of Owen looking into the camera and saying I love you. I unashamedly saved it to my phone.

Soon the story spread from just the hockey world, major news anchors picked it up calling his coming out both adorable and courageous, or alternatively poorly timed and disrespectful.

Owen wasn't the first to get interviewed after the game; I'm sure he was getting coached/yelled at by Calen. Several of the players gave non-answers about Owen, stating that it was none of their business. Then one of the newer players from the Wild actually said something, "Look, here's the bottom line: I've known Owen Holt for years and yeah I knew he's gay. He's a great guy and an amazing hockey player. I'm really happy for him and I hope that everything works out for him."

I was a little choked up as I watch Owen shake his hand, the other player slapping on the shoulder as cameras flashed and the tapes ran. Owen took his seat and the questions began flying. He had changed into a new crisp suit, not the one he had been wearing before the game. Was it possible Calen had scrapped the first suit for being too flamboyant or something else equally nit-picky? "Why did you decide to come out today?"




Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 07



"It wasn't a huge decision, I just hadn't been asked about it before. It wasn't something that I was hiding." Owen smiled and I wondered how much had been scripted.

"What can you tell us about Jake?" My throat felt like it was closing as panic crowded my mind.

Owen brushed a lock of hair falling into his face back, "He's a pretty private person; I don't think that he'd appreciate me talking about him."

A slim black-haired reporter piped up, "What has been the Coyotes' reaction?"

"I haven't heard much of a reaction yet but I'm sure they will be issuing a statement or holding a press conference and then we'll all get to see," Owen said arching an eyebrow.

A heavy-set graying man followed up with, "Did they know you're gay?"

In a turn that would cause Calen to tweeze grays out for weeks, Owen smiled, "Many people from all around the League knew; I've never been one to pretend to be someone I'm not."

The scrum of reporters launched into questions but they were all speculative or trying to get Owen to incriminate other players. Owen never murmured no comment but explained his positions about not giving out information that wasn't his to give.

Eventually the station had to switch over to other coverage but it was still streaming online and even ESPN and TSN had cut-ins of Owen's press conference as they continued to replay the tape. Owen eventually ended the conference with, "It's getting late on the East Coast and I have someone to call. Thank you."

On my laptop I watched Owen step away from the table as cameras flashed and reporters yelled questions. He disappeared from sight and Derrick and I watched as coverage switched to a different room where the junior sports reporters were asking another one of the players questions. Derrick and I sat in silence for four long minutes before my phone started buzzing.

Our trance was broken and Derrick was up and gone with a, "I'll give you a minute."

I stared at my phone for three rings before picking it up and putting it to my ear with a soft, "Hello."

"I did a thing," I heard him say rather sheepishly.

"Oh I heard—"

He volleyed into an explanation, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. It wasn't planned. I'm sorry I said your name—"

I cut him off, apparently the calm façade had been just that—a façade. He was freaking out just a little bit with the enormity of his situation and with what I assume he thought would be my ire, "Owen, I watched the whole thing. I'm so proud of you."

"Really?" His voice sounded so small over the phone.

"Yeah, I think Calen and your dad are going to kill you though."

He snorted, sounding a little bit more like the confident man I knew. "I had to stop them from following me to make this call. They gave me four minutes before they would cut me off to have our meeting."

I laughed but my heart hurt for him, "You're about to get a talking to, huh?"

"I'm sure I'm about to have my ass handed to me. Calen already started yelling at me. The only saving grace is that a bunch of brands and celebrities have been reaching out in support."

I wasn't shocked that there would be people currying favor in either direction, "That's great."

Owen sounded uncomfortable, I imagined him running his hands through his hair in preoccupation. "So, you might get some flak. It's not going to be long until someone makes the connection or asks someone from school."

"I'll handle it Owen. Worry about you; it's going to be a crazy few weeks for you."

"I'm sure—", I heard in the background furious knocking, "I apparently have used up my time. But I think they cut my time short; no way it's been four minutes."

"Go. I'm sure you'll need all of their goodwill to get through this meeting. I love you."

"Love you too Jake, so much." Then there was a dial tone playing in my ear.

It only took four days for the reporters to show up outside my building. Calen had already gotten calls from NBC, FOX, ESPN and every other acronym or initialism for an exclusive interview where they could really sit down and do a feature on him. One particularly enterprising news show had asked for both of us: wanting my reaction to all of this.

Calen was still weighing his options for which station would have the most social currency for Owen to grant first rights to. This was in the wake of the Coyotes reaction which had been at its core: We are an organization that is committed to its players. Owen plays good hockey and we aren't about to kick him out when he's our new fresh talent. They also made mention of their long standing commitment to non-discriminatory hiring. It was the best they could do as an organization and Owen seemed to take it in stride.

"I mean they could have sent me down to the AHL."

With the Coyotes' lukewarm endorsement, the only person left for them to ferret out was me. I was on my way to my 8 A.M. Broadcast Journalism class when I was assailed by six reporters.

My peers jumped from 'definitely not awake enough for this shit' to incredibly interested as the camera bulbs flashed taking in my expression: shock and resignation. When the questions started flying I only answered one, "Yeah, I'm dating Owen Holt." Then I finished it up with the one phrase Calen had been beating into my head from the beginning, "All other inquires can be sent to the Edwards Group." They didn't stop asking questions but I made my way into one of the school affiliated buildings which was accessible by key card only so I was able to escape.

Reporters asking about me was new and terrifying. I didn't know how Owen managed it. He always was meant for the limelight; I really wasn't. But I would endure the speculation until it died down, even though it took a very long time for Owen to be out of the headlines.

After the initial buzz died down, it was time for anyone who was looking to make a name for themselves to have an opinion. In a game with the Flyers, a mic picked up one of their players crashing Owen into the boards while telling him, "I'll shove your stick up your faggot ass." He was fined and suspended for several games but not before the Coyotes' bench cleared to take care of the issue.

Owen, while getting patched up, had told his teammates not to worry about it but they had flat out told him that it wasn't going to happen. I smirked at Owen's indignation that someone would fight his battles for him remembering how he didn't understand when I felt that way.

The fans were undecided for several games until Owen got a hat trick and then they didn't give a shit who he was fucking. HatTrickHolt was born that night. That hashtag would become his moniker; Owen really specialized in feats of magnitude like getting hat tricks. The only fans that really rebelled against Owen being gay were the teenage (or older) females that were all convinced that Owen would be the one to sweep them off their feet.

Too bad for them. He was mine.

Five Years Later

I didn't walk at my college graduation; the second finals were over I was on a plane. Owen had signed a four year contract extension along with a huge raise after his rookie contract had run out. He had stayed in Arizona and the minute I was free to join him I did. In his third season with the Coyotes he was named Captain after Doan retired.

There was some gnashing of teeth that someone who could barely legally drink alcohol was the captain. There was also some gnashing over him being gay but most people had gotten over their bullshit when Owen got the Coyotes through some rough patches and into the playoffs. There were still some articles that tried to smear him as a pervert or a drain on the team but that was a drop in the ocean of praise, awards, and love that Owen received.

We got married 6 years to the day that we met. All of Owen's teammates were there as well as many so-called rivals that all slapped Owen on the back. Owen's dad who I now reluctantly called Chase stood as Owen's best man while his lineman and Kyle rounded out his groomsmen. I had friends from Emerson including Derrick who was my best man. Also among my groomsmen was Matt who had cleaned his act up—sort of. He would be very proud to say that he loved his job. He had quit college when weed was legalized for recreation in Colorado and opened one of the first shops. As far as I could tell, he was rolling in money, drugs, and patchouli-scented women. He was happy.

I had also invited Ellen to the wedding, just to see if she and Matt could work something out. They didn't in the end, disappointing. I wasn't surprised she accepted; since graduation many people had reached out and explained that they were sorry they never said something or that they wished we had been closer. Fuck them: I didn't need their bullshit friendship even if in some cases it works out to my advantage.

Owen had insisted I invite as many people from high school as I could stand so they could see that I was doing better than them. It might have been vindictive but I was up for a little vindication of my sorrow. I didn't invite Gregory or Liam of course, that would have been masochistic but all the people who had reached out, the cross country team they were all there. Owen was all about having a big wedding, several people had pitched having it being a TV special but that was way too much for me.

The only goal of having so many people there was that it validated me in the past and Owen in the future. Sports legends, icons, reporters, owners, they all came to support Owen and in doing so supported the closeted kids who looked up to Owen.

My parents were of course beaming and proud, even if Owen found their newfound appreciation of me tiresome, I liked it. I was happy they were there to share the day with me. My mother had screamed when I had told her we were getting married.

Owen with his flair for dramatics had wanted to propose to me on the ice in the middle of an All-Star Game interview and make that his legacy of shocking revelations. I'm glad he didn't do that. I still would have said yes of course but he would have received a punch on the shoulder.

He proposed far more intimately. We had been enjoying dating. It was something we hadn't really been able to do in high school. But now that he was out we could actually go places together, although he often was sequestered into photos with fans. Amusingly Owen's sexuality was such an important story that I frequently got roped into the photos as well.

He had taken me hiking in off-season. A good cross training exercise he had told me, not something that could possibly get him hurt; of course it was all just a big rouse. I had been enjoying our pre-dawn hike through a state park, we had gone so early so as to escape the heat, foot traffic, and to see the sunrise. Of course, I didn't know we had to have all kinds of special permission to be out there as early as we were.

We stood at the top of Piestewa Peak as the sun rose and Owen turned to me, the golden rays of the morning peeking out over the desert and kissed me gently. Breaking our kiss, he sunk to a knee in front of me. It was an out of body experience for me; I watched my mouth flounder open as I grappled with myself. I watched as a rogue tear slipped down my cheek before he had even said the words:

"I wanted to show you the horizon Jake; I love you more than anything down below. Anything you see and want, I'll spend my life making it happen. I don't want to spend another sunrise without you, will you please do me the honor of marrying me?"

My heart thudded loudly in my ears, Owen's face shone is the early morning light. He looked exactly as devastatingly handsome as he had when we had first met, if anything he looked better. He was stronger and more settled into his features. I was so absorbed in my love for him that I had to shake myself when I was his glorious smile falter.

"Oh god, yes. Yes. Yes, forever." He sprung up from his knee and grabbed me around my waist lifting me and twirling me around as we kissed. Joy was overwhelming, I loved this man. More than anything. More than not seeing him for days and days when he went on travel trips, more than my envy of him getting to take naps in the middle of the day for his job, more than annoying fan girls (or even worse boys). I loved him with the purity of a first love but the strength of knowing that he was my forever.

We announced immediately. We called our parents from the mountain even if it was pretty early even on the East Coast. Owen didn't want to wait for Calen's approval, he snapped a picture of us silhouetted by the sunrise and pushed it out on Twitter.

I wasn't too worried about wedding planning, I was busy working for the Phoenix Sun Times so Calen brought in an actual wedding planner. My mother had more contact with her than I did. Owen and I made simple choices together, I think we shocked her with the scale of our wedding but it wasn't really just about us.

With Owen's father—Chase, as he had insisted I call him—as his best man, I hadn't thought to be worried about his bachelor's party. Of course Chase's plan for a nice weekend playing golf in Montreal had been waylaid by several of Owen's teammates. They had ordered six female strippers and one male: just for Owen. I appreciated their foresight that Owen likely wouldn't have been interested in the women in fake police regalia. I wish I could muster up some jealousy that Owen had an attractive naked man grinding on him but I was just so damn pleased that his teammates supported him enough to actually get him a man.

His teammates, or at least most of them, were almost too supportive. Mikhalov, their big Russian enforcer, had come to me one day shortly after we had gotten engaged. He was massive, at least 6-7 and built like a shithouse. He was the one that usually kept Owen out of anything too bad. Not that Owen hadn't been able to stand up for himself but Owen got paid to score not fight. Mikhalov got paid to fight. His bruising body approached me one day with death in his eyes. I metaphorically wet myself as the "death glare" was turned on me.

His low tone was calm but determined as he explained that if I hurt Holt, I would have to answer to him. At our wedding, after I had become Jake Holt, his toast was that if anyone messed with either Holt they would have to answer to him.

Our wedding was everything I could have hoped for, grandiose but still intimate. Intimate in that I was with Owen, he was always my rock in a sea of crazy.

Owen and I had a life now, he was committed to the Coyotes and they were committed to him. They were all looking toward the cup as Owen and I looked forward to our future. We bought a house together out the outskirts of Phoenix, well he paid for most of it of course. It's big enough for the entire team to come over and hang out, which they do often. I'm not opposed to very attractive athletes lounging around our pool. But I'm far more excited that our house is big enough for kids.

Owen had declared to me one night as we lay replete, "I want kids."

I smiled, his chest hair tickling my nose, "We can certainly keep trying to make it happen." He kissed the top of my head.

"I'm serious though," he chuckled. "Your sperm, my sperm, or adoption: I want kids."

I sat up and gazed at my god in repose, naked and earnest in his convictions. He used one arm as a pillow and his chest, newly adorned with my name over his heart, gleamed in the low light. "Like right now?"

Owen's face split into a wide smile and the small scar parallel to his lip, which he gotten his third season from a particularly vicious slash, was bright white against his tanned face, "I guess we could wait a few years."

"Good, because I don't want to share you yet. You travel all the time but when you're here you're with me, got it?"

He kissed me thoroughly, leaving me breathless from his intensity, "I got it. So kids down the line—yes?"

We decided eventually on adoption; I wanted our kids to have the natural advantages Owen had and Owen had wanted his kids to look like me. We thought about having several children with both of us fathering at least one of them but surrogacy seemed like a long and protracted road of worrying possibilities. So, month after our wedding we began the paperwork for adoption knowing that the process is a long one.

Owen has been practicing by doing charitable work around Phoenix with various children's organizations. I think it's his way of making sure that he'll be ready when the time finally comes. But I don't have any doubts that Owen will make an amazing father; he's already an amazing husband.