SEX ON ICE

CASPIAN POV 

The locker room was empty,looking so serene and oddly fucking quiet.

That was the first thing I noticed immediately when I walked in was the smell of ice and sweat hanging in the air like something permanent, something I find comfort in. My gear was off. So was Dmitry's.

I don't remember how we got here like this.

I didn't care to ask.

Dmitry Orlov stood with his back against the row of lockers, arms crossed, jaw set in that infuriating way of his  like he was daring me to start something. Silvery white damp from the shower. Eyes the colour of lavender purple, watching me with that particular brand of contempt that had lived rent-free in my chest all season.

"You got a problem?" he said.

"I always have a problem," I replied, stepping closer. "Specifically you."

Annoyance coated in his expression. The contempt didn't disappear, it just changed shape, turned into something hotter, less safe.

"Then do something about it."

I crossed the space between us in two strides and he met me halfway and then there was no more talking.

It wasn't gentle. It was never going to be gentle between us. We've been at each other's throats for years, chirping at each other at practice, of shoulder checks that lingered half a second too long, of arguments in the corridor outside Coach's office that always ended with us breathing hard and standing too close. It all collapsed into this. His back hit the lockers with a metallic clang and neither of us flinched.

He wrapped his hands around my neck 

“What the fuck are you doing ?” I asked, abrupt anxiety making me stupid.

Dmitry didn’t buy my innocence for a moment. He pinched his lips together and then said, “I fuck you in here, just like you’ve been wanting me to do all night.”

I stammered in protest, but my cock was so hard it hurt all the way up to my heart, my balls were screaming tight, and for the first time in my life I felt neither straight nor bi: right then I was a gay man, and Dmitry's dick was all I wanted in the world.

The backs of my legs bumped against the locker and his  fingers pushed me down onto it. I lay back on the bench  and opened up my legs and arms. He opened his towel and tossed it on the bed, showing a long, thick, hard dick glistening at its single eye. He settled down on top of me with his cock against my cock, and my joint and asshole twitched as if I were going to cum.

“Uh-uh,” he said, squeezing the tip of my cock with a thumb and finger.

“Don’t you dare.”

I swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths, holding back until I calmed down some.

“Better,” he said, nodding. “I want you hard when I fuck you.”

He kissed me, and slid up my body till his cock was at my mouth. For the first time I understood cock-hunger, and reached for his with my tongue and lips and my whole head, but he wouldn’t let me touch it. He didn’t even tease. He just waited, holding himself above me on his hands and knees, watching me intently. Then, when I was just about to beg, he pushed his cock deep into my mouth and let me suck him while his balls in their soft skin hung beneath my chin down toward my neck.

He slid out of my face when I started to gag.

“Breathe,” he said.

I sucked in air, then his cock was down my throat again.

 Out. “Breathe.”

In. Out. “Breathe.” In.

“Turn over.”

“No, please. Fuck me from the front. I want to see you.”

One corner of his mouth ticked up a fraction of an inch. Dmitry was smiling. He knelt between my legs and I hiked myself up, holding the backs

of my thighs in my hands. He spit in his palm and lubed my ass, then brought his cock up against me.

“You a straight boy?” he asked. “You’re so tight you must be really scared. Hmm?”

I nodded.

“Too bad,” he said, and pushed his way in.

I felt as if my whole body were being torn apart. The pain was like a burn that seared me from my asshole to my gut. My face must have shown a series of emotions because Dmitry finally laughed out loud. He braced himself on the backs of my thighs, and then as he pumped me full of himself I felt my asshole open up, my stomach open up, my heart and face and head open up. I felt complete and full. I threw back my arms and head and howled.

I had imagined in the involuntary, unwilling way a person imagines things they're trying hard not to  that Dmitry would be passive. That he'd have to be pushed into it. I was wrong. He was relentless, matching me move for move, his hand curled at the back of my neck with a grip that said *I've thought about this too* without either of us having to say it out loud.

He fucked me like  we'd been doing this for years. Like our bodies had quietly been memorizing each other through every shove and every skirmish on the ice, filing it away for exactly this. My pulse was loud in my ears. Everything else  the season, the rivalry, the teammates, the fact that we'd called each other every name in the book  dissolved completely.

Dmitry exhaled against my jaw, low and rough. My hands tightened.

"I still hate you," I muttered.

"Shut up," he said, and pulled me back in.

Time did the thing it sometimes does; it stopped keeping track. The locker room stayed empty and quiet around us, indifferent. At some point we ended up on the bench along the wall, and Dmitry laughed actually laughed, that rare, unguarded sound I'd heard maybe twice all season, and both times it had done something deeply inconvenient to me  and I thought, *oh. That's the problem. That's always been the problem.*

I fell asleep with my head against his shoulder, the metal locker cool at my back, and felt, for the first time all season, something close to peace.

A buzzer screamed.

I lurched upright, heart slamming, blankets twisted around my legs, phone lighting up the dark ceiling of my apartment with its 6:00 AM alarm.

I lay there, chest heaving, staring at nothing.

The locker room. Dmitry's hands. The laugh.

"What the *f*ck."