***
The game had been over for hours.
Most of the guys had gone home to their beds, their wives, their lovers… in some cases to an empty house, where the night air would be lit only by the beautiful, hollow ghosts of fantasy. I know. For me, that was often the case.
Not that I lacked for sex. Lovers are a dime a dozen when you play pro hockey in Edmonton. Men, women, both, whatever you wanted. Sometimes I got their names before we started. More often not. Sometimes I saw them again. More often not. They all had two things in common. One, they were all beautiful. Oh, such beautiful men, such lovely women. I was overwhelmed by all the attention at first, but I quickly learned to take advantage. Truth be told, I was still a little giddy with the thrill of being able to pick and choose a new lover whenever I wanted to.
Two, although they were fucked by Mike Comrie, none of them were ever taken home, to my house. Sex is for elsewhere. Sex would bring clutter to my house.
Few of my teammates have ever seen the inside of my home. Even my family is rarely invited within.
My house is my own.
It’s where I go to recharge, to unwind after each game and post-game fuck, and to prepare for the next. My body spent in more ways than one, my home was a quiet, dark place of blissful solitude, and if I could at all help it, no one ever entered it but me.
Quiet and dark was the locker room of the Skyreach Centre, yet still I lingered. There was probably still a group of beautiful men and women waiting near the parking lot, but they would just have to go back to their own homes disappointed tonight. Or else seek their entertainment elsewhere. Because that’s what I planned on doing.
The game had been over for hours. But somehow, I hadn’t watched the Chicago guys leave but somehow, I knew he was still here.
So, I left my own locker room and headed toward where the visitors stayed.
His problems I knew about, of course. They’re all over the news. But really, it wasn’t his present situation that was drawing me nearer to where he was. It was his past.
I was instantly hooked when the older guys started reminiscing. Because at first, I thought they were talking about me.
“Spitfire,” they said.
“Brilliant player,” they said.
Feisty. Scary talent. Short temper. Short, period.
I listened to them go back and forth after practice, and I wondered why they were talking about me when I was sitting right there. I wondered for a full five minutes, half-paying attention as I slowly got undressed. When I listened a little closer, I realized that they were casting their comments in the past tense. A past tense that was a decade old. Finally, I realized that they weren’t talking about me; they were talking about him.
The last thing they said about him caught me. I had been tying my shoes when they said it, and I was so startled that one of them remained half-tied until after the guys were gone.
“Is he with anyone now? Does he have someone who can help him out?”
“Nope. He’s still the way he’s always been. One night stands after the game, yes. Relationships, no. Fucking in the washroom of the bar, yes. Taking someone home, no. He lives alone.”
“I never understood that.”
“He prefers it that way. He’s really private about his house, too. He doesn’t let anyone in, if he can help it.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
“What a freak.”
The second guy looked hard at the first.
“There but for the grace of God go we,” he said. “How are we supposed to know what makes him the way he is?”
They left the room then, speculating about whom or what he was hiding that made him so shy about letting people into his house. I stared down at my half-tied shoe. I could have solved their riddle for them, if they had asked. That for people like him… and me… having a place where there was no one but you, where all the noise of the world that whirled about you until you felt it would rip you away into nothingness quieted, was crucial. I didn’t volunteer this information, of course. It would have revealed more about myself then I wanted them to know.
When you live in a world surrounded by people who have faces but no names, you need a haven where they can’t reach you. Where you can be alone to think, to rest, to just be. Other guys on the team don’t share this philosophy. Their houses are constant parties. Full of people tramping in and out, visiting, eating, talking, sleeping. The ones with families, of course, are never ever alone. I don’t get how these people are still sane.
Maybe they find other ways to escape. Drinking is one way to do that. I know that as well as anyone. I do it to escape the crowds when we go out as a team after the games. When I drink the world’s edges dull a bit and that suits me right down to the ground. In fact, I’ve been having a few at home lately, too. No big deal. Just something to help me relax when it’s a little harder to unwind than usual.
As I cautiously opened the visitor’s door, and looked around the empty room, I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought the same way, once upon a time.
I walked softly across the room. I was undaunted by the silence; the lights were still on in the room, and my intuition remained strong. I pushed open the door to the bathroom, or washroom, depending on who you ask… and there he was.
He stood in sneakers and jeans, a polo shirt hanging from a clenched fist. His hair was carelessly spiked, looking as if he’d stepped from the shower, ran his hands through it, and left it at that. The hand that didn’t hold the shirt rested lightly on the porcelain of the sink. His back was to me as he stood there, but I could see his face. Dark eyes fixed on themselves, pondering their far-away depths in the surface of a mirror. He stood absolutely still, a perfectly chiseled statue of cold marble, as beautiful and remote as a distant star. Only the flicker of his eyes in the fluorescent lights linked him to the world of the living.
I let my eyes roam over the muscles of his back and shoulders. I wondered what it would be like to trace their ridges and curves with my tongue, to taste the flavor that was uniquely his. I ached to touch him. Without thinking I took a step forward, allowing the door to sweep shut behind me.
Instantly the dark eyes ceased their self-brooding and locked on mine. I froze as he stared at me from inside the mirror, as I was watched by eyes that were only a reflection of reality. There was a desperate emptiness in them, and I caught my breath. Was he here at all? Was this real?
Then he turned, and it was a man who faced me, with eyes that weren’t dark but a brilliant green. It was the color my own eyes sometimes achieved, if the light hit them the right way. His gaze was wary, but it had the weight of thought behind it. We stood in silence for a moment and I began to breathe again. At last he nodded slowly.
“Comrie.” His voice, deep and cautious, resonated through me and I shivered. I wanted him say my name while I was pressed up against him, bare skin to bare skin, so I could not just hear but feel his voice. I wanted to press my lips against his throat and feel there the vibrations as he cried out in ecstasy.
“Fleury.” I returned his look calmly.
He looked me over from head to toe and a flush began to spread though my body. Was it just my imagination, or did his gaze really linger on where my cock was just starting to strain against my jeans? Against my will I squirmed. His eyes met mine again, his expression calm.
“You lost?” He spoke lightly.
I fidgeted. This wasn’t going like it normally did. I was used to walking up to someone I wanted and having them fawn over me. All I basically had to do was direct the time and the place. The time generally being “now” and the place being secondary in importance. I realized suddenly that maybe I had gotten in over my head. Actually, as he stepped closer to me, I knew that I was in WAY over my head.
I was determined not to let him see that though. As far as he knew I was in control here.
“I’m right where I want to be,” I said just as lightly. I could do this, I could play his game.
His mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “If where you want to be is the men’s room, maybe you need to get out more.”
Inwardly my face fell, and though I fought to keep it from doing so outwardly, I’m not sure I succeeded. This wasn’t going the way I wanted it to at all, and inside my lust I felt a twinge of annoyance. Why couldn’t he just be properly excited to see me and let me have my way with him dammit? I frowned, and what might have been a smile on his face became fully formed. I scowled, and it became wider.
That was enough. He wasn’t supposed to be laughing at me. Time to try a new tactic.
I closed the gap between us and looked him archly in the eye. I reached up a hand and trailed a finger down the side of his jaw, the tough but soft skin of his neck, across his collarbone. He raised his eyebrows but didn’t step away, or stop me from touching him. Encouraged, I raised my other hand and stroked both of his shoulders. I dropped my gaze as I slowly rubbed circles across his chest. I brushed my thumbs over his nipples and a gasp escaped him. It was my turn to smile now, and I let my hands drift lower.
Suddenly he gripped my wrists, holding my hands in place just above his navel. I whimpered as he tightened his grip, and looking up I saw that his eyes were dark.
“I don’t need your pity.” His voice had lost its playful tone, and a tremor ran through me.
I took a slow breath and didn’t struggle against his grip. Instead I let my fingers stroke the skin of his stomach lightly.
“I’m not giving you my pity,” I said softly. I leaned into his grip, letting my erection brush his thigh. “I want to give you something else…”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. But as I continued to nudge my cock against him, and stroke his skin with my hands, his face changed. Something began to burn in his eyes that made the tingle in my belly spread to the rest of my body. There was more than lust in his expression, though. There was something else. Admiration maybe? No, that wasn’t it, it was more like-
All my thoughts ceased as he pulled my hands apart, pulling my arms behind him and me into his embrace. His lips crushed mine, and when I opened my mouth to gasp his hot tongue slipped inside me. I moaned deep in my chest, which was on fire with his body heat. My shirt suddenly became the second most hated thing on earth, the first being my pants. I wanted desperately to take it off, but he still held my wrists.
He pulled his mouth free and nipped at my earlobe. I gasped and took the opportunity to speak.
“My shirt…”
Without a word he let go of my wrists and slid his hands under my t-shirt, lifting it off in one quick motion. I clung eagerly to him, sighing as his bare skin was at last pressed against mine. Only it wasn’t his voice that was reverberating though our bodies… it was mine.
“Theoren…” I moaned.
He was leaning in to kiss me again when he stopped, inches away from my lips.
“What did you call me?” He looked at me curiously.
“Theoren,” I repeated, my heart pounding. My hands played along his back. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s my name,” he said, still not moving in or away, simply holding still. “But almost no one calls me that. Everyone calls me Theo.”
“I’ll call you what I want to call you,” I said boldly. His eyes widened but before he could respond I leaned in and kissed him. He hesitated a moment but opened his mouth to receive my tongue. He was hard, I could feel him pressing against me, and my cock twitched and strained. I reached down below his waist, rubbing his ass through his jeans, before moving my hands in between us. My fingers moved under the flap of the button of his jeans.
But before I could unbutton them we were moving. I cried out against his mouth as my back was assaulted by the icy cold tile of the bathroom wall. His hands moved quickly, snapping my fly open and pulling the zipper down. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and I felt an aching relief as my cock was finally freed. It was a short-lived relief though; I throbbed with a heat I could barely tolerate. I wiggled to help him push my pants down and I fumbled again at his fly.
This time I managed to get it open, and with hands that shook with excitement I pulled down his pants and underwear. I hadn’t been this nervously aroused since I’d lost my virginity, and I abandoned all attempts at looking cool as I grabbed his cock. He growled, and I finally got my wish as his chest vibrated against mine. I jerked him up and down only a few times before he grabbed my wrists again.
He panted harshly and held both of my wrists in one hand. He raised them above my head, pinning them there to the wall as he took hold of my cock with his other hand. This was different from anything else I’d ever experienced. My first time and the many times since then were with people roughly my own age… Theoren was older than I was, and his experience was evident in the efficient way he held me pinned and jerked me off at the same time. I mean, I stood a full three inches taller than him, but he overpowered me nonetheless… it was like he had me in a trance. It had been a long time since anyone had taken control of me… I half-heartedly attempted to free my wrists, but he only growled again and held them tighter against the wall.
Not that I minded.
I began to moan with every expelled breath as he pumped me slowly and steadily. He rubbed his fingers across the head of my cock, swirling the precum he found there. My world was spinning, my senses overloading from the incredible sensations. I leaned my head back against the wall and shut my eyes, trying to center myself and regain some measure of control. Yeah right. Every nerve was tingling. Every breath I took sent ripples of pleasure through me. My hips thrust upward, seeking release with an impatience that I couldn’t stop.
I whimpered suddenly as his warmth was taken away. I opened my eyes to find that he was using the hand I wanted back on me to collect his own precum now. He bit his lip as he coated his cock with it, making the length shiny and slick…
I realized what he was planning and I shivered. When was the last time I’d done this? Not with any of the pretty people who met me after games… it was a long time ago…
As his finger slid inside me I tensed. Yep. It had been awhile.
Theoren, his eyes glassy, studied me carefully. He didn’t say anything, but kept his hand still, letting me adjust. He shifted his cock to rub against mine gently, as he slowly worked his finger inside me. Soon I became used to the pressure and the tingling in my veins rushed louder than ever. Sensing this, he added another finger. I quickly found that I wasn’t uncomfortable with that at all and that I wanted more than his fingers inside me. He brushed my prostate and I whimpered.
“Please, Theoren…”
He moaned suddenly, and it was a struggle not to come right then and there. He removed his hand and let go of my wrists. He took hold of my hips and, with a strength that his height belied, pulled me off my feet and tight against him. My legs hugged his waist and my arms wrapped round him, trying to get as much of him against me as possible. He leaned us against the wall, letting it support most of my weight. He pushed into me with one smooth motion and I cried out. Muttering something unintelligible through his panting breaths, he buried his face in my neck and began to thrust.
I groaned, moving one of my arms from around his back, and reached down to my cock. I started to jerk at the same pace that he was thrusting. The pace was not steady, and he gave voice to soft moans as he pressed me sharply, erratically against the wall.
At last I couldn’t take it anymore, and with a few deep breaths and a harsh cry I came, spurting in between our sliding bodies. Again the positions were reversed from how I had planned: it was he who had his lips to my throat, feeling my voice in my ecstasy. I clenched my muscles around him and he whimpered as he clutched me. He shuddered and gave a strangled moan, as a hot liquid spread within me. I moved slightly, and licked at his neck and shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat and the uniqueness of his skin… just like I had wanted to when I first saw him. He shivered, and whispered what might have been my name.
He gently set me down, and pulled himself out of me. We both reached for the paper towels at the same time, and gave each other a half-grin. I cleaned myself up a bit, while he did himself, neither of us speaking a word. At last I did up my pants and looked at him. He was watching me, and that look was in his eyes again; the same look he’d had right before he kissed me. Now that the lust in them was abated, and my cock wasn’t distracting me, I could see clearly what was there. It wasn’t admiration, not really.
It was recognition.
“Why did you want this, Mike?” He asked me point blank. His face was a mystery.
I hesitated. I came up with half a dozen smooth lines, each prepackaged with a bright smile, a wink, and a lie… but looking at him, I knew that I couldn’t bring myself to say any of them. Not after what had just happened. Especially since he had just called me Mike for the first time in that throaty velvet that was his voice.
“Hearing about you… it reminded me of… well...”
“Of you,” he finished. I nodded.
Something wistful came into his expression then.
He bent and retrieved our shirts from where they lay forgotten on the floor, and threw me mine.
“I hope I don’t remind you too much of yourself,” he said, and there was a harsh tone in his voice that made me blink. He gave me a hard look, and I suddenly had the odd feeling that he could see right through me. He could see all the things I was, all the things I wasn’t, all the things I told myself I was, and all the things I hoped I really wasn’t, not deep down.
And then, he turned and headed toward the door.
“Wait!” I called, clutching my shirt against me. He halted, and then slowly turned back around.
I paused, licking my lip. What else was there for me to say to him?
The thought that came to my mind then was one I hadn’t had before, ever. And I mean not ever.
I wanted to ask him to come home with me.
My eyes widened.
His remained in the empty state that they had been in when I’d first walked in the room. The part of him that I’d awakened was gone again. I hesitated.
“Well?” He had one hand on the door.
I couldn’t ask.
Because he wouldn’t accept.
He couldn’t accept.
“Why did YOU want this, Theoren?” I finally asked.
Some life came back into his eyes for a moment.
“You reminded me of me,” he said softly. “You reminded me of the way my reflection used to look.”
He opened the door, and turned back to me one last time. The emptiness was back.
“Don’t call me that.”
And then he was gone.
Later that night I woke up sweating and shaking, tearing my consciousness free from a nightmare in which I aimlessly wandered the empty place from which his eyes had stared out at me. I shivered, and knew that I wasn’t going to get any more sleep. As I lay, awaiting the dawn, I thought that maybe tomorrow I should hunt out all the bottles of liquor I owned and dump them. I knew I probably wouldn’t. After all, we weren’t that much alike, not really.
But I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d be, and who I’d be, when my eyes turned dark.
***
