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“Probably not as long as I’ve wanted it,” Henri said. He watched as he ground against Dylan, whose cock was as hard as his but trapped inside the fabric. When had he started wanting Dylan? It’d only been weeks since he’d realized it, put a name to the longing suffocating him from the inside out. Months, more likely. Probably since the moment Dylan had handed him that puck, his first goal as a Turkey.

And that was Dylan, the person. Everett, the hockey legend, had entranced him since he’d been drafted, right in the midst of Henri going through puberty and understanding that sometimes the way he stared at men wasn’t simply admiration and envy. On a purely physical level, he’d craved Dylan for over a decade. The idea that Dylan could want any part of Henri—person or player or just a warm body—had never occurred to him.

Dylan smiled against Henri’s lips. He pulled Henri’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it, rolling his teeth over it and pressing gently before releasing him.

“We can compare notes later,” Dylan said, then dropped to his knees in front of Henri.

“Oh!” Henri gasped. He watched in awe as Dylan took Henri’s cock in one hand and stroked him languidly while he nuzzled his inner thigh. He drew his nose along Henri’s hip bones, stopped to suck another mark at the sensitive skin there before continuing to the other side. All while his hand kept a steady pace.

Dylan lavished attention on every inch of bare skin as his mouth slowly moved closer and closer to his dick. Henri was trembling by the time Dylan’s cheek brushed against his own hand. When Dylan finally licked the tip, the touch lasting only a second, Henri threw his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. The feeling alone was enough to unravel him; he certainly didn’t have enough brainpower to see it too.

So when Dylan’s mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, Henri could only imagine it. Henri imagined in vivid detail as Dylan worked his way deeper and deeper, taking so much of Henri’s cock in his mouth that his hand was all but useless. And his tongue. Fuck, his tongue was a revelation. Henri didn’t think he’d ever had a partner who could do that, who could so expertly lick and suck and bob and oh, was that the back of Dylan’s throat? Fuuuck…

It was so good, unbelievably good. Henri rested a hand on the back of Dylan’s head, not because he wanted or needed to direct him in any way, but just for a benign point of contact that could ground him in the reality that this was happening. When he dared to open his eyes again and looked down, Henri bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from moaning because holy shit was that a beautiful sight.

Dylan Everett was sucking him off like his life depended on it…and jerking himself off in time with his own movements.

“I…you should…” The thought strayed from his grasp as Dylan changed the pressure of his mouth, and Henri briefly lost coherence. He shook his head and focused. “I don’t think I can come while standing,” he said. He was close, very close, but the strain of bearing his own weight made it impossible for him to let go.

Dylan popped off his cock with an obscene, wet sound. A trail of spit and pre-come connected them until he licked his lips.

“Always love a challenge,” Dylan teased. He stroked Henri while he shifted Henri’s left leg, wrapping it over his shoulder and bearing most of Henri’s weight. He kissed the inside of Henri’s thigh, nibbling next to the bruise he’d already left, never breaking eye contact. “Good?”

Henri nodded. How was he ever supposed to get off with anyone else in any other position ever again in his whole fucking life when he’d be always be comparing it to this fucking moment?

“You can come like this, you think?”

He nodded again. He’d try.

And then Dylan worked Henri’s dick with a single-minded determination that Henri had never seen before. Henri traced the outline of his cock in Dylan’s mouth as he moved, fascinated by how it stretched his cheeks and his lips, the spit pooling at the corner of his mouth. His pupils blown wide, making the blue look almost black. He looked drunker now, staring up at Henri, than he had last night.

“Tu es à couper le souffle,” Henri said because it was true. You’re breathtaking.

Dylan moaned, closing his eyes as if he were shattered by the words he couldn’t even understand. The reverberations made Henri shudder.

“I’m close,” he warned, but Dylan didn’t move. If anything, his grip on Henri’s leg grew tighter. How many marks did Dylan intend to leave on him?

And how many days will I spend tracing them? he wondered. How many times will I touch myself while touching them and chase this moment until every last bit is gone, and it’s truly over?

Henri reached a hand around his neck, right over the first bruise, and squeezed. Pretended his hand was Dylan’s. Thrust into his warm, sweet mouth and came harder than he had in years.

“Dylan,” he hissed, loving the taste of his name and how much Dylan seemed to enjoy the sound of it. “Oh, Dylan, fuck…”

Dylan stayed on his cock until it started to soften. Over-sensitive, he hissed when Dylan pulled off and nearly choked when Dylan not only swallowed but licked his lips and then the tip of his dick as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. And then he sucked his hand clean of his own release, and Henri wondered briefly if he was dead and in heaven because there was no way any of this had just happened.

“You’re very good at that,” Henri said, just for something to say.

Dylan huffed, kissed Henri’s thigh one more time, and then lowered Henri’s leg back to the ground. “What, you think I’m only good at hockey?”

As if the only two things one could be good at were hockey and giving head.

“Your goal-scoring has been well-documented.” Henri was still panting. He sounded as bad as after he’d run that stupid 5k. “I hadn’t seen your dick-sucking until now.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” Dylan’s knees cracked as he got to his feet. He made a face. “That’s new.”

Heat flooded Henri’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. We should’ve⁠—”

Dylan shut him up with a kiss, salty and tangy from their mixed come. Henri gasped in surprise, which only gave Dylan the opening he needed for his tongue to push inside. It was an erotic, filthy kiss that made all their previous ones feel tame by comparison.