For Peachy Pretty Lashes, Queen of the clubhouse and Unicorn extraordinaire. Here and here is my inspiration for this story. Images are NSW.
Deacon slid across the ice, his blades skimming the surface as his stick aimed for the puck. His grip tightened and he pushed his arm forward, watching briefly as the disk flew across the surface towards the goal. As soon as he saw it was aimed in the right direction he turned and skated down the rink, feeling the whoosh of air as his team mate sped past him.
‘Nicely done,’ called Brett, slapping him on the back as he skidded to a stop alongside him. ‘Now if only your aim is that good on Saturday, we might actually win this week.’
‘I know, you just can’t do without me.’ Deacon grinned through his mask.
‘You joke mate but it’s the truth. Don’t do anything to pull that hamstring again before the end of the season, hey.’ Deacon just shrugged, he wasn’t promising anything.
Thursday night practices used to be his favourite night of the week. England wasn’t exactly known for its ice hockey prowess but the Cambridge Kings weren’t bad for a small time team. Okay they were never going to be the LA Kings, and Deacon wasn’t destined to be the next Drew Doughty, but they had fun and played hard – both on and off the rink.
Seven weeks ago though Deacon had collided with another player, the memory of the searing pain that shot through his leg as he was twisted to the ice would forever be etched in his brain. Unable to weight bear he’d been stretchered off the rink; it was the most dramatic thing to have happened at a Cambridge King’s game since, well, forever. The embarrassment of being lugged about by a couple of paramedics was only out-weighed by the fact that he knew he was just a second away from giving in to the pain and crying. Jack, the team physiotherapist, had taken one look at him and told the paramedics he’d handle it. Given that he used to be one of them and they were confident he knew what he was doing, they were quite happy to leave Deacon in his care.
Jack hadn’t mentioned the pain, just handed him a wad of tissues, some ibuprofen and made him lay on his stomach while he applied an ice-pack. By the time the painkillers had started working Deacon was fully composed again and mightily pissed off at the hockey he was going to have to miss. Jack had promised him he’d make him forget all about it – the pain and the missed games, but it wasn’t until a week or so later that Deacon realised just how true that was.
He felt the familiar heat stirring in his body as he thought of Jack, thought of Jack’s hands, of Jack’s body, of.....his cock twitched and he forced himself to think of something else. It wasn’t working he realised when the coach called his name, obviously not for the first time.
‘Sorry coach, I, er..’
‘Is it your leg Deacon? I don’t want you on this ice until it’s properly better,’ his coach barked across the rink.
‘It’s fine...’ Deacon started to say when the thought of Jack and his hands and the empty massage room crept back into his head. ‘I mean it has been fine, it just twinged a bit is all.’ He shrugged, ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘No you won’t, off the ice now – I’ll send Jack through to you and you might get to play Saturday.’
‘You’re the boss,’ Deacon said, hiding his smirk behind a gloved hand, he loved it when a plan – or at least an errant dirty thought – came together. There was still over an hour of practice left and Deacon planned on making use of every minute of it. Remembering to wince a little as he passed the coach, he made his way through to the changing rooms where he stripped off his training gear, grabbed a towel and went into the little room at the back that Jack used.
The sounds of blades slipping over ice, the echoed yells of his team-mates and the thwack of hockey sticks were perfectly audible in Jack’s room, only a thin plasterboard wall separated him from the rink. The grungy smell of lingering sweat that was the default smell of the changing room fought for nostril space with the lemon anti-bacterial spray Jack cleaned his room with. Dropping his towel to the floor Deacon debated for half a second whether to close the door or not. Not he decided with a grin, decision made he lay on the therapy bed face first with the door wide open.
The small room had a desk in the corner and the only place the bed would fit was directly in front of the door. Deacon positioned himself carefully so the first thing Jack would see when he walked in the room was his arse framed by the elastic of his jock strap, round and peachy and just for him.
Then he waited. Jack had been in the stands watching practice, he knew Deacon was through here – he also knew there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with his leg anymore so he’d have guessed what Deacon was up to. The thing was Jack liked to be in charge, Deacon may have called the move on this one but now it was Jack’s game. He’d approve of the open door though, Deacon was sure of that.
His heart raced in his chest, anticipation building, as he over-analysed every little sound. The clock on the wall ticked each second loudly, the team on the ice and the shrill bite of the coach’s whistle. Somewhere a door banged open or maybe shut. His cock throbbed as the expectation grew, hard against the tight fabric of his strap Deacon willed himself not to grind into the thin mattress beneath him.
Cold air blew over his arse, the ice rink was never exactly warm, and he felt delightfully exposed, anyone could walk in, anyone. Another door slammed and footsteps sounded in the changing room. Every nerve in his body tingled as he hoped it was Jack and not one of the other players, fear of being caught, of revealing himself like this heightened his senses. While the sane part of his brain told himself to move, to shut the door, the side that sought the thrills revelled in the not knowing. Come was already seeping from him, soaking the thick fabric of the pouch
Light footsteps came closer, the gentle squeak of rubber soles on tiled floor. He wriggled a little, arched his back a bit more, proudly presenting his backside to whoever came through that door. Obviously if it wasn’t Jack he was royally screwed.
‘Now that’s a fine sight for sore eyes,’ the gruff tones that never failed to set him on fire uttered. ‘A fine sight. Need a little servicing do you Deac?’ Deacon nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. ‘Hmm, well that’s fine by me, you know I do like the thought that anyone could come by and see you showing yourself like this, I’m not sure I want you moving from this spot.’ He rounded the table and pulled a small crepe bandage from the first aid box on the wall. ‘I think I might just tie you in this position, what do you say to that Deac?’
Deacon just groaned in response and let Jack bind each wrist to the legs of the table. Strictly speaking he could move them if he needed to, but the feeling of being bound, the trust he placed in Jack to do this was a huge turn on for them both.
‘Oh Deacon, you really have the prettiest backside I’ve ever seen.’ Jack ran his hand lightly over the contours of Deacon’s arse, trailing a thumb gently down the crease.
‘Fuck,’ Deacon moaned.
‘Soon, boy, soon.’ The promise was more than enough to send another frisson through him, cause more pre-come to leak from his dick.
‘So this thigh is playing up again is it?’ asked Jack clasping his hands firmly round it and rubbing. The massage was in no way medical but administered with the sole purpose of arousal. Fingers pushed into the thick, muscled thighs rubbing, creeping closer to Deacon’s balls. He pulled and pushed the skin, skimming across his butt cheeks, a whisper of a touch on his knob, always moving and touching and Deacon bucked into the contact, wanting more.
Then Jack was on the bed behind him, the coarse denim of his jeans rubbing against the back of Deacon’s legs as Jack swept his hands firmly up his back. Deacon arched into him, half wishing he could turn round, half enjoying the immobility. Rough lips bit at the back of his neck, the sharp scratch of Jack’s stubble sending shivers down his spine.
Jack’s body covered him, as his teeth found the sensitive spot below Deac’s ear and soft breath blew across his skin. The soft cotton of his shirt was a sharp contrast to the nips he was getting, to the teeth biting and sucking at him. Hands that were strong but surprisingly soft left their grip on his shoulders and wound under him caressing his nipples, twirling and tweaking, pinching and pulling – a delicious pain that was nearly, but not quite, too much.
A loud groan escaped Deacon’s lips, only a small part of his brain still aware of the hockey practice just the other side of the wall. The noises of the team had faded into the background and the deep timbre of Jack’s voice, the sound of hands skimming over skin, the hum of his own low moans, were all Deacon could hear.
The pressure in his jock strap was nearly painful as every touch of Jack’s made his cock harder and harder.
‘Jack, please,’ he uttered bucking forward trying to relieve the pressure. Skilled hands slipped under the elastic and pulled the strap away, now Deacon was fully exposed, his cock throbbing and leaking but free.
‘Patience boy,’ said Jack moving away and lowering his mouth to Deacons skin once more. Hands rubbed up the front of his thighs, almost but not quite touching him where he needed to be touched. Teasingly close. Achingly close. His mouth nipped the firm skin of his butt, sucking enough to mark. Heated breath skimmed over his opening and, gently pulling his cheeks apart so he was fully open, a warm, slick tongue flicked into the crease. It licked and rubbed, every movement causing Deacon to call out, completely beyond caring who could hear.
The tongue worked its magic and, just when Deacon thought he could tolerate it no more, Jack pulled back and undid his jeans. The sound of the belt clinking undone and the rasp of the zipper pulling down was music to Deacon’s ears. He pushed back into Jack, longing to feel the silky hardness of the other man inside him. A packet ripped open and seconds later Jack nudged his entrance with his cock. Need built inside him as he slowly pushed back, sighing when Jack’s knob breached his entrance. A firm hand gripped his cock and, with the denim of Jack’s jeans scratching at the back of his legs, Deacon began to move. He felt Jack pick up the rhythm, harder and faster and oh fuck yes, just there, like that, fuck...
‘...fuck Jack harder, harder. I need you. Fuck me.’ He repeated this litany as Jack pounded into his arse. The bandages chafed softly at his wrists and Jack’s fingers wrapped tightly round his shaft pumping him, pumping him, pump...oh hell.
‘I’m gonna come,’ he hissed arching into the hammering in his arse, letting Jack rub once more over the magic spot inside before, his own, warm come spurted onto his chest. Jack groaned pulling Deacon nearer as his own release happened. They stayed like that, kneeling on the bed, wrapped together while the dizziness of orgasm passed. The piercing sound of the coach’s whistle finally brought them round and Jack slipped off the bench behind Deacon, got rid of the condom and zipped himself back up.
‘Now do I leave you or untie you,’ he teased as he reached forward for the bandages. Now his lust had been sated, the idea of being caught arse in the air sent a chill through Deacon but he just grinned and knelt up as the bandage bonds were released. He cupped Jack’s wiry chin in his hands and pulled him forward for a kiss, tasting his own musky scent in the other man’s mouth.
‘So I’ll see you down the pub in about 20 minutes?’ Deacon asked finally releasing the other man.
‘Sure thing boy, that was just a warm up for what I’ve got planned for you later.’
Deacon grinned and hopped off the bed. Wrapping his towel back round him he scooped up his strap and tucked it into Jack’s pocket. ‘Oh, well it looks like I don’t have any underwear now.’ He raised his eyebrows, winked, and headed for the shower. Turning the water to hot he grinned, he was going to enjoy torturing Jack with the knowledge he was commando for the rest of the evening.
This story is available as a free PDF download on the freebies page. Enjoy.