Beneath The Ice : Claimed By My Stepbrother

Theodore POV

You probably think it can’t get any worse than hooking up with a random guy after a win and then seeing him the next morning as the newest member of your hockey team.

Try going home that same day and finding out your mom got a ‘fiance’ over the weekend.

Try watching that same guy—same messy dark hair, same crooked smirk, same tattoo you traced with your tongue a few hours ago—walk into your kitchen with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder while your mother beams and says, “Surprise! This is your new stepbrother.”

Yeah.

That’s my life right now.

But let’s rewind to twelve hours earlier—before my world decided to implode.

“We wonnn!” I shouted, the word ripping out of my throat as the buzzer echoed through the arena. The crowd erupted, the sound crashing over us like a tidal wave. Someone slammed into me from behind and I was yanked into a sweaty, suffocating hug.

The scoreboard glowed above us.

3–2.

Jesus fucking Christ, we were seconds from losing that game.

I stared at the numbers, heart still pounding like I was mid-shift. Coach had made it very clear—another loss under my captaincy and he’d “reconsider leadership.” Which was a polite way of saying I’d lose the C stitched onto my chest.

I was terrified. Smiling through it. Pretending I wasn’t carrying the weight of the whole damn team on my back.

Being captain isn’t just wearing a letter. It’s being responsible for every mistake, every loss, every screw-up in the locker room. It’s staying late. Waking up early. Acting unbreakable even when you’re cracking down in the middle.

“We fucking did it!” Joe yelled, throwing an arm around my shoulders as we headed toward the locker room. He ruffled my hair like I wasn’t 5’8 and built like a tank. “I almost can’t believe it.”

“Club tonight! Bills on me!” Liam shouted from ahead of us. The golden boy. Daddy’s money. The team roared in approval.

The locker room turned chaotic—pads hitting the floor, showers running, laughter bouncing off tile.

“You’re coming, right?” Joe asked, glancing at me as I peeled off my jersey.

“Fuck yeah,” I said, tossing it into my stall. 

“Been a while since I got laid.” They whooped at that.

“The cheerleaders are gonna be there. Did you see the one with the—”

Their voices blurred into noise.

Here’s the thing no one knows. No one except Joe.

I’m not interested in the cheerleaders.

I’m not “experimenting.”

I’m not confused.

I’m gay.

Like really gay.

And in a sport where masculinity is currency and locker room talk is practically a religion, that truth feels like a loaded gun pressed to my career.

it’s already hard enough being a captain but coming out as a gay captain? I'd rather die. I know how hard it is for people like me to live normally, so I just keep the shit to myself. 

***

We barely made it through the door of my dorm room before his mouth was on mine.

The guy from the club—Noah—had followed me back without a word once I’d jerked my chin toward the exit. No names exchanged beyond that quick “You live close?” and my nod. The walk had been silent, charged, my blood still humming from the win and the shots and the way his eyes had burned into me across the dance floor. 

I probably shouldn’t be doing this, he could be a reporter for all I know and my career would be up in flames. But now….

Now his hands were everywhere. Strong, sure fingers shoving my jacket off my shoulders, yanking at the hem of my shirt. I kicked the door shut behind us, the lock clicking loud in the quiet room. My double dorm was a small bed against one wall, a desk piled with hockey tape and notebooks, a faint smell of sweat and wintergreen from my gear bag in the corner but it was private. That was all that mattered. At least for now, I don’t have a roommate yet. 

I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him harder against me. He was taller than I’d realized up close, maybe an inch under my 5’8, lean and wiry where I was built thick from years on the ice. His messy dark hair fell into storm-gray eyes as he smirked against my lips.

“Someone is in a hurry,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Shut up and fuck me,” I answered.

That crooked smirk widened. He spun us, walking me backward until my thighs hit the edge of the bed. I let him. For once I didn’t have to be in charge. Didn’t have to be the unbreakable captain everyone leaned on. Tonight I just wanted to feel something raw.

Clothes came off fast. My shirt hit the floor. 

His followed. I ran my hands over his chest—smooth, warm skin over tight muscle—and traced the full-sleeve tattoo on his left arm. Blackwork waves and thorns curling from wrist to shoulder. 

Beautiful. I wanted my tongue on every line.

Noah pushed me down onto the mattress. I landed on my back, breath catching as he crawled over me, knees bracketing my hips. His mouth found my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks I’d have to hide tomorrow. I groaned, hips rolling up instinctively, already hard and aching in my jeans.

“Been thinking about this since I saw you dancing,” he said against my throat.

 His hand slid down, palming me through the denim. 

 “What was the occasion?”

Heat flooded my face but I didn’t answer. Instead I reached between us and squeezed him through his pants. He was thick, hard, pressing insistently against my palm. My mouth watered.

We stripped the rest of the way in a messy rush. Jeans, boxers—everything gone. Skin on skin felt electric. Noah’s body was all lean power, cock curving up against his stomach, flushed dark at the tip. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked once, twice, watching his eyes flutter.

“Lube?” he asked, voice tight. I jerked my head toward the nightstand. He found the bottle and the strip of condoms fast.

I spread my legs without being told, knees falling open. Noah settled between them, slicking his fingers. The first one pressed in slow, careful, but I was impatient. I rocked down onto it, taking it deeper.

“Greedy,” he chuckled, dark and warm. A second finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching. When he curled them and dragged across my prostate I arched hard, a broken moan ripping out of me.

“Fuck—right there—”

He worked me open thoroughly, adding a third finger, twisting, pumping until I was panting, leaking onto my stomach, fucking myself back on his hand. My cock throbbed untouched. Every brush of his knuckles made sparks shoot up my spine.

“Ready?” he asked, voice rough.

I nodded, grabbing his wrist to still him. “Condom. Now.”

He rolled one on, slicked himself, then lined up. The blunt pressure against my hole made me shiver. Noah leaned down, kissing me deep as he pushed inside in one long, steady stroke.

The stretch burned so good. I gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. He was thick—fuck, so thick—and the feeling of being filled, claimed, made my head spin. When he bottomed out, hips flush against my ass, we both groaned.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he breathed. “Taking me so well already.”I clenched around him deliberately. “Move.”

He did.

Noah fucked like he had something to prove—deep, powerful strokes that punched the air out of my lungs. The bed creaked under us. I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him deeper. Every thrust dragged over my prostate, sending liquid heat flooding through me.

“Harder,” I demanded, voice wrecked. “Come on, give it to me.”

He growled and shifted angles, slamming in. The slap of skin on skin filled the small room along with my moans and his low curses. I reached down and stroked myself in time with his thrusts, precome slicking my fist.

Noah’s tattooed arm braced beside my head. I turned and licked the ink on his forearm, tasting salt and skin, tracing the lines with my tongue just like I’d wanted to. He shuddered and fucked me even harder.

“Fuck— Theodore—”

Hearing my name like that, all ragged and desperate, did something filthy to me. I clenched around him again, drawing a broken sound from his throat. Wait, did i even tell him my name?

I have always been careful not to give out my real name, I can’t actually remember giving him my name or not. Well, it doesn’t help with how thick his dick was. 

We flipped at some point. I ended up riding him, hands braced on his chest, hips rolling in deep circles. Gravity drove him impossibly deeper. Noah’s hands gripped my ass, spreading me open as I bounced on his cock. His eyes were glued to where we were joined, dark with lust. Fuck, he was fucking gorgeous. 

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Bouncing on dick like you were made for it. Such a fucking slut.”

I moaned shamelessly, grinding down, chasing that perfect angle. Sweat slicked our bodies. My thighs burned but I didn’t stop. Noah sat up suddenly, wrapping an arm around my back, and fucked up into me from below. The new angle made me cry out, head dropping onto his shoulder.

He bit my neck, sucked another mark, and wrapped his hand around my neglected cock. The dual sensation—his thick length pounding my prostate and his fist jerking me fast—pushed me right to the edge.

“I’m gonna— fuck, I’m—”

“Come on,” he growled. “Let me feel it.”

I came with a shout, spilling hot and messy over his fist and between our stomachs. My ass clenched rhythmically around him. Noah cursed, thrust up a few more times, then buried himself deep and came hard, hips stuttering, groaning my name into my skin.

We stayed locked together, panting. I slumped against his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside me with the aftershocks. His arms came around me, surprisingly gentle, stroking down my sweaty back.

After a minute he eased out, dealt with the condom, and pulled me down beside him. We lay tangled, catching our breath. His fingers traced idle patterns over my hip.

“Round two in a bit?” he asked, that crooked smirk back in place.

I laughed, low and hoarse. “Yeah. Give me ten minutes.”

We used the ten minutes to make out lazily, hands roaming. I explored every inch of his tattoo with my tongue—shoulder, bicep, forearm—while he groaned and hardened again against my thigh. When I was ready I rolled onto my stomach, ass up in invitation.

Noah took me from behind this time, slower but no less intense. Deep, grinding thrusts that made me fist the sheets and moan into the pillow. He covered my back with his body, biting my shoulder, whispering filthy praise in my ear.

“So fucking good… tightest hole I’ve ever had… take every inch”. 

I came again like that, untouched except for the drag of his cock inside me. He followed right after, pressing me into the mattress as he spilled.

The third round was laziest—me on my side, leg hooked over his hip while he fucked me slow and deep, face to face. We kissed the whole time, messy and breathless. His hand stroked me gently until I came with a shuddering sigh, then he buried himself and finished inside the condom with a low groan.

By the time we were done, the sky outside my window was turning gray with dawn. Noah lay curled against my back, one arm slung over my waist, breathing steady. His tattooed hand rested possessively on my stomach. I should’ve kicked him out. Instead I let myself drift, sore in the best way, the weight of the win and the season finally quiet in my head for a few stolen hours.

Best one-night stand I’d had in years.

I had no idea it was about to become my worst nightmare.