4- Spiral

ASHER POV

I’m on the ice alone, which isn't unusual since it’s eleven PM. The rink at this hour is mine.

Just me, the cold air biting into me and the quiet company of the arena that’s a polar opposite of the inside of my skull. This is the only place that makes sense to me since I can’t sleep. My brain won't stop looping the image of a certain thick-muscled, chiseled-jawed guy on his knees, taking my full length into his mouth. 

I skate my puck into the post but it miss,the fifth time tonight. Not because I can't play but because each time my stick scratch through the ice, my brain supplies the sound of Remington gagging on my cock. His nails scratching on my thighs and the wet patch on his pants only I saw

I’ve watched the clip over six times. Each time gets me as hard as the last, which is a big fucking problem.

I plant my skate deep against the ice, cold air burning my lungs as I weave through the cones, my stick snapping sharply against the puck.

I cut hard left, drop my shoulders, and fire. The puck slams into the net seamlessly, but the satisfaction doesn't settle. My lungs feel clogged because I’m not wearing a fucking helmet.

"Nice shot, Captain!"

Of course he’d fucking find me here 

"Is that all you got?"

I take another shot, ignoring Elliot, but the asshole snaps a helmet onto my head, stopping me dead in track before stealing my puck.

He's in full fucking gear which means he has been watching me for quite a while yet I didn't notice. 

I fix the strap and race after him, my blades scraping the ice and pulse drumming in my ears.

I strip the puck from him and drive towards the net then I fire. The puck slams the post with a deafening clack.

"Getting sloppy, Ash," he says, right beside me again.

"That one had your name on it." He race towards the puck and I shoulder-check him,making him fall onto the ice.

I skate away, ignoring him, and slam the puck home. This time, I don’t miss.

I look back at Elliot, he's getting to his feet.

I take another shot and hit home, then another.

Each ring of victory a less satisfying beat. I skate forward until my legs cry for a break.

"ASHER!"

I ignore him, racing until my breath hangs tight, until the images of me being the hardest I've ever been because of a guy finally fade. I keep going until I slam into the boards shoulder-first.

Pain sears through my ribs, jaw, and teeth. I stay there for a second before pushing off to skate again.

"Asher." He grabs my hand.

"WHAT!?"

"You're spiraling!"

I fling his hand away and head for the barrier.

"I’m practicing, in case you’ve gone blind."

He scoffs, standing in front of me with a bottle of water stretched out. "Yes. Without a helmet, gloves, or us."

I grab it and gulp, letting the cold fluid ease my throat. "I'm fine!"

I move to walk away, but he grips my shoulder, holding me still.

"You put four players in the hospital last season during your rage practices."

"They were weak," I mutter. Like Remington. Well, the one before the accident.

"They were injured," Elliot retorts.

"By you."

I rip off my helmet and walk toward the exit. "Why are you here?"

"Making sure you don't hide because you're embarrassed about getting hard for a guy."

I grab his throat before I could think it through, my ice-chilled fingers doing nothing to dampen the heat of his skin.

"I'm not embarrassed," I hiss.

"And it’s not my first time having a guy suck me."

He snaps my hand off his throat without missing a breath

"But you like it this time."

"I do not" My chest hammer loud and I tighten my grip on him, watching his fair skin turn red

"And you hate you lost control" 

"I’m controlled." I snarl back at him with a glare that would've made others back off. Even Caden and Vlad but Elliot won't 

"You destroyed seventeen phones." I glare at him. "And?"  I warn.

"You cared about the clip " A huge lump drops down my stomach and I exhale

"Very uncharacteristic of you"

He concludes, his tone cold and detached, like I’m just an experiment he’s assessing out of boredom.

I skate over to the barrier and take a seat, Elliot right behind me.

"And who's going to hold me responsible?" I respond as I take a seat 

"Your therapist." I hurl the water bottle at him, and he catches it mid-air.

"He's tagged." 

"Still doesn't explain you taking him to that extent." he counter

"He was hard." Elliot’s brow furrows at my word

"Under duress" His retorts just makes me angry. How can I tell him Remington liked it? That he was hard and had cum dripping through his pants 

"Ash?" I ignore his call as memories of Remington taking me,opening his mouth wide, his moan, flash through my head. How do I explain that he wanted it, too?

"He enjoyed it," I state, taking another gulp of water.

"He was being held down." Fuck him and his analytics.

"By us." He pauses. "I held his hair."

He says with same dry tone that will grate most humans. 

A welcoming silence stretch between us as we look over the ice. Elliot rarely go against what I do, what we do, but ever since my mom made it his duty to keep me on track, and my brother tasked him with monitoring me so I don't...as he quoted it.."spiral".

Elliot has made it his job to point out moments like this. He doesn't do guilt, but he points out facts and consequences, which is worse.

"Don't expect me to admit I went too far."

"Never." He stares at me, and I squint as a smile creeps onto his face.

"When did a guy start turning you on?"

I shove him off the bench, and he laughs. "Get out, Elliot."

"Don't be dismissive, Asher," he jokes, standing back up. I stand too, heading for the lockers. He follows. "You couldn't stop cumming." my heart beats and cock strains. 

"That's the intriguing part" I stare at him

"Asher in total daze with loss of control" I swallow the lump settling in my throat

"Fuck you, Elliot."

"Sure." He drapes an arm over my shoulder, and we head in. His words wrapping around me. If that's fucking true my mom will cut off my neck but I'm Asher Michigan . 

I don't lose control over a guy and someone that was tagged by me won't make me lose that. 

I look at Elliot as we walk in but he's focused on his phone, fingers tapping my shoulder in assurance he's here. That's one thing with Elliot. He knows exactly when he has made his point and stops without delay. Robbing you the chance to armor against it

I take his hand off my shoulder and put them in my pocket. He chuckles, walking in step with me as we reach for the locker room. 

Elliot open the door and we both stop as we catch sight of a figure, four feet away from us. He's standing by Remington's locker 

"Who on earth is that?" Elliot snarls as we stare at a tall figure dressed in all black cloak with a Ghostface mask and gloves right by the locker room.

My body hums as my brain connect to him... My arsonist