Chapter 4- Distractions

Atlan gripped the half-empty bottle of whiskey in his left hand, thumb swiping through contacts on his phone until he found Steve, his agent.

The man hadn’t called once, not even after the Flyers cut him loose. Surely by now, he knew, management always informed agents about terminations.

The phone clicked, and Steve’s nasal voice crackled through the speaker.

“Atlan, how are you doing, bro? I was going to call, I've just been swamped.”

Atlan staggered toward the couch, whiskey bottle clutched like a lifeline. “I’m in bad shape, Steve. I assume you got the termination email?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “I’m in Barcelona right now, didn’t know all this was going down. What happened, man? I thought we agreed you’d rein in the temper. NHL’s season starts in three months. How am I supposed to find you a new team in time for the finals?”

Atlan tipped the bottle back for a burning swallow. “About that. After the game, a scout from the Blackhawks approached me.” He paused, his voice rough. “Said Carter Enterprises is interested. Guess they haven’t heard about my streak of destruction.”

“Carter Enterprises? As in George Carter?” Steve’s voice sharpened with surprise.

“Yeah, man. I was as shocked as you are. Why the hell would they want me after I got kicked for poor performance?” His words slurred slightly.

“Atlan, you were the most valuable player on that roster. You even won them a Cup. You’re still worth something. They must know that. You’re just… going through something.” Steve’s tone softened. “Have you been to the counselor yet? You don’t sound too good.”

“Nah, man. Can’t stand talking to shrinks. Rubs me the wrong way.” His thoughts flickered to last night’s press appearance, how he hadn’t even checked socials since. By now, the story must be everywhere.

“Listen, Steve,” Atlan muttered, dragging his free hand over his face. “Carter Enterprises pulled some stunt on me last night. Cornered me. I had to agree to sign with them. Probably already all over the news. Just figured you should hear it from me.”

“What?” Steve snapped. “Atlan, you know damn well you’re not supposed to sign anything without me or your lawyer present!”

“Chill, man. I didn’t sign shit. Just agreed verbally, to save face. Media’s probably eating it alive anyway.”

“Good. Because you’re in no condition to be making deals right now. You’d regret it.”

Atlan slouched deeper into the couch, swinging his legs up. “Relax. We’ve got a meeting with George Carter. Next Monday, midnight. His penthouse in Chicago. Be there.”

“Midnight? Why the hell…”

“I don’t know, man. Guess that’s when billionaires are free. Don’t forget to loop in the lawyer.”

“He’s covering the flights, right?” Steve pressed.

“Yeah. Scout said expenses are handled.”

“Fine. I’ll be back on Saturday. But Atlan you don’t sound good. You shouldn’t be alone right now. Call someone. Let a friend crash with you.”

Atlan let out a bitter laugh and took another swig. “Friends? That’s funny, Steve. I don’t have friends. And honestly, I’d rather be alone 

“What about Danny, something happen between you two?”

Atlan’s heart clenched at the name. His voice went flat. “Let’s just say he’s got other priorities. We’ll talk Saturday.” He hung up before Steve could push further.

Silence pressed in, echoing off the walls. It wasn’t peaceful, it was suffocating. He’d said he wanted to be alone, but his body screamed for human contact, for something, anything, to numb the ache gnawing at him.

His mind flashed back to last night at the club, the sweat, the strobe lights, the dancer who had slid him a slip of paper. Atlan staggered into his room, rifling through pockets until he found it.

Scribbled in messy handwriting: Call me. Let me show you what a good time feels like. – Pero

The memory of him, tight, toned body, a cock swinging heavy between his thighs ignited something reckless in Atlan. Exactly the distraction he craved.

He dialed.

“Hello,” a deep, suspicious voice answered.

“Am I speaking to Pero?” Atlan asked, trying to steady the rasp in his tone.

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“The guy in the hoodie. VIP section. You gave me your number yesterday.”

Recognition shifted his voice. “Ohhh. Took you long enough to call…”

“I want you to come over,” Atlan cut in, impatient.

“Right now?”

“Yeah. I’ll pay double your rate. Address incoming. Fifteen minutes. Bring condoms.” He ended the call before Pero could reply.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, a knock rattled his door. Atlan opened it to find Pero leaning casually against the frame, lips curled into a knowing smirk.

The stripper’s eyes swept the place. He let out a low whistle. “Nice digs.”

“Bedroom’s this way.” Atlan’s tone left no room for small talk.

Pero followed, but his eyes narrowed in recognition. “Wait aren’t you that hotshot hockey player who just signed with the Blackhawks?”

Atlan dropped onto the armchair, bottle still in hand. His stare hardened. “I’m not paying double for personal questions. Strip.”

A sly grin tugged at Pero’s lips. “Straight to business, huh?” He peeled off his shirt slowly, muscles flexing under the dim light. Then came the belt, the trousers, each movement deliberate, teasing. Soon he stood in tight black briefs, a prominent bulge straining the fabric.

Atlan’s breath hitched. His voice came out rough. “The briefs too.”

Pero stepped closer, towering over him, and slid the fabric down. His cock sprang free, thick, veiny, already swelling with anticipation.

The sight yanked Atlan off the chair and onto his knees. He took Pero into his mouth hungrily, gagging himself deeper with every thrust of his throat. Pero groaned, one hand tangling in Atlan’s hair, guiding him.

Atlan worked him relentlessly, sucking, swallowing, pausing at the tip before plunging deeper again.

“Fuck…” Pero hissed, pulling him up suddenly. His fingers tore Atlan’s shirt off, then shoved his joggers down. Atlan’s cock sprang out, hard and aching.

“No briefs?” Pero smirked as he sank to his knees. “Guess you really wanted me.”

His mouth wrapped around Atlan, wet and hot. Atlan threw his head back, gasping, gripping Pero’s hair and thrusting into his mouth. “Yeah… suck that dick like you want it.”

Pero gagged, spit dripping down his chin, but he didn’t stop. Atlan’s legs trembled until he yanked Pero up, panting. “Condoms. Now.”

Pero fished them from his pants and tossed a pack over.

Atlan ripped one open with his teeth, rolling it on. He grabbed the lube, slicked himself generously, and his voice dropped to a command. “On the bed. Knees up. Ass out.”

Pero obeyed instantly, climbing onto the mattress, arching his back, presenting himself.

Atlan spread him open with rough fingers, then drove into him in one brutal thrust. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room as he pounded into him, reckless, desperate, chasing oblivion.

Groans and curses filled the air until the pressure inside him snapped. Atlan came hard, body jerking, collapsing forward onto Pero’s back as waves of release crashed through him.

For a moment, the room was filled only with ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.

But as Atlan lay there, chest heaving, he realized the silence hadn’t gone anywhere. It still pressed in cold, empty and unrelenting.