That was a lot of work. Finally managed to post the update. Happy holidays!
Ethan felt completely out of place here—the cold, noisy air, the massive arena, the fraternity boys and cheerleaders crowding around. Everything reminded Ethan that he didn't belong.
Ethan gripped the $150 semifinal ticket in his pocket, feeling like a complete fool.
What was he doing here? Cheering for Blake? That asshole had abandoned him to party with his hockey brothers, doing god knows what in that frat house. Ethan had never been to any fraternity house, but he was imagining that space reeking of sex based on his stereotypes. Blake had assigned him tasks like a commanding officer—making Ethan clean up after those asshole jocks, researching and verifying hacker code to find ways to delete those unspeakable videos from someone's phone—god knows how filthy those videos were. And what did Blake give him in return? A phone sex call? Like some weird cheap ad from the 1980s.
But damn, Ethan had to admit he loved these strange games. He'd gone anxiously to the jogging spot where he and Blake had run before, and was ecstatic to find Blake waiting for him—like an idiot pig, like those stupid women in anime who only scream over men.
"Come watch my game," Blake's voice echoed in his head. Damn, that voice was so genuine and enthusiastic, still igniting Ethan like passionate flames even now.
Ethan cursed under his breath, quickening his pace, just wanting to blend into the crowd and disappear into the stands.
Just then, a commotion came from the entrance. Despite the noisy environment, this voice particularly grated on Ethan's sensitive nerves.
"Hey, sweetheart, don't be like that!"
Ethan's gaze was involuntarily drawn over. Three guys were surrounding a girl, blocking her path, one of them reaching out to grab her arm.
The girl was desperately trying to get around them, shouting: "Please let me through, I don't want trouble."
Ethan's steps slowed. He recognized that beautiful red hair.
It was her. The girl who had been riding Blake naked from the waist down the first time he walked into their dorm room. The bitch who was moaning as Blake's "utterly average" little dick fucked her.
Ethan instinctively wanted to turn and walk away. This wasn't his business. This was Blake's problem.
But he took another look. In that one glance, the lead guy noticed him—they looked like typical frat boys, not the type like Adrian who exuded alpha social elite vibes all over, but the kind who partied all day trying to get girls drunk. Only one of them looked decent; the other two, despite wearing frat boy clothes and sporting broccoli-like curly hair, were hard to call externally attractive—let alone internally.
"What are you looking at, nerd?"
Nerd again—Ethan had only heard this word frequently in recent days, mainly in those wet, hot dreams. But this provocation was so typical that it froze Ethan, unsure how to react.
"What, you want a taste too?" Another guy mocked, deliberately thrusting his hips toward Ethan. "Or are you like her, a little slut?"
The girl tried to run, but the leader grabbed her wrist. "Don't you fucking move!"
"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!"
A loud, energetic voice suddenly burst over.
Ethan recognized that person—Mike, apparently Blake's best friend, the kind who were so used to each other's naked bodies. He was basically only wearing compression gear, his jacket looking hastily thrown on, as if he'd rushed out mid-changing in the locker room. To Ethan, he looked almost naked.
Mike occupied that space, his broad shoulders building a wall between the harassers and the victim. He glared at the frat members, eyes radiating violent intent.
"We were just chatting, dude," the ringleader said, trying to maintain his swagger but backing up half a step. "Chill out."
"She doesn't look like she wants to talk," Mike said calmly. "She asked you to move, so move."
"Who the fuck are you?" the second guy snarled, trying to save face. "You think wearing that jacket means you—"
"Wait," the third guy, the quietest one before, suddenly grabbed his friend's arm. His eyes widened, staring at the logo on Mike's jacket, then up at his face. He whispered urgently, loud enough for Ethan to hear. "Bro, don't. That's O'Brien. He's with Whitmore's crew. They're rolling with that top-tier gang now."
The mention of Adrian Whitmore and his fraternity was like cold water being thrown on them. The leader's face paled slightly, all his earlier bravado evaporating, replaced by nervous unease. He cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. "Whatever, not worth the time anyway."
"Yeah, let's go," the second guy muttered, never daring to make eye contact with Mike.
They shuffled away, trying to look casual but clearly retreating, tails between their legs. Mike watched them for a while to make sure they were really gone before turning around. His serious expression instantly relaxed into a bright, friendly smile that seemed incongruous with his large frame—almost innocent.
"You guys okay?" Mike asked, his tone warm and genuine. He glanced at Ruth with polite concern, then turned his gaze to Ethan. A flicker of recognition crossed his eyes—he'd seen Ethan before, knew he was the "roommate," the guy Blake had taken jogging last time, but he couldn't recall his name.
"Really sorry," Mike said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Some people just don't know when to back off. By the way, I'm Mike, I play with Blake." He gestured toward the VIP entrance. "Come on, I'll get you guys in. The player entrance is way faster, and you won't have to deal with those idiots anymore."
The arena air was even colder than Ethan expected, the biting chill mixed with the stale smell of popcorn, floor wax, and that metallic scent unique to ice itself. The noise was already oppressive—thousands of conversations echoing between concrete beams, creating a dull, ever-increasing roar.
"Alright, gotta run," Mike said breathlessly, flashing a bright smile at Ruth and Ethan before racing off toward the concrete corridor guarded by security personnel.
Ethan stood somewhat bewildered—the smell of wet shaved ice and the sweat of countless college students filled the air. He wasn't used to any sports venue environment; the height of the seats made him dizzy. Then Ruth gently tapped his arm.
"Don't go that way," Ruth said softly, nodding toward an area painted in striking crimson and black. "That's the visiting team section. Trust me, unless you want beer thrown on you, don't sit there."
Ethan obediently followed Ruth to seats on the other side of the stands. All of this made Ethan very nervous—going to watch a sports game live, sitting with a girl who looked like a homecoming queen, and most importantly, that girl was Blake's ex-girlfriend. Ethan felt an uneasy sense of having done something wrong.
*Hey, didn't she and Blake break up? And what's your relationship with Blake anyway?*
Ethan reassured himself internally, but that guilty feeling still made his heart pound. Ethan sat here nervously now, knowing nothing about hockey, surrounded by noisy spectators. Players seemed to be taking the ice. Confused, Ethan pulled out his phone and instinctively looked at the Discord channel. Hockey had been a big topic lately—those gamblers and gossip enthusiasts should know more about the game than him and be able to explain it in language he could understand.
***
**TechBro42:** Can someone send that Photoshop tutorial for balding the CS professor? Need it for a meme presentation next week.
**xXedgelord420Xx:** You need Photoshop? You need to retake Art History. Who cares about the bald prof? The tacos at the cafeteria are undercooked again.
**anoncoomer:** Forget the food. Two bio majors are fighting outside the lab because one used the other's contact lens solution to wash equipment! Hilarious!
**vapejesus:** That's a nightmare. Good thing my prescription isn't strong—I don't need glasses, otherwise I'd see those frat bros who lost bets streaking.
**cumguzzler69:** Oh, the testosterone is spiking because of the game.
**uwugirl:** Of course! We're going to the Frozen Four! Did you see the headline? "From Underdogs to Contenders: The Ice Kings Rise." The cover photo is Blake and Adrian in the locker room in compression gear... 🥵
**BettingDegen:** Hate those flashy titles... and the info is old! Eric is out! Adrian might be injured! We're doomed! My money!
**TechBro42:** Don't be pessimistic. I'm in the stands. They're coming out. Damn, it's packed. Has the arena ever been this full?
**xXedgelord420Xx:** Annoying. Usually you guys hate "toxic masculinity." Jocks are dumb, yadda yadda. Now everyone is a fan?
**cumguzzler69:** Yep. Before: "Ew, jocks are rapists, stay away."
Now: "OMG Adrian is so broken and sad, let me hug him~" Hypocrites. 🤢
**uwugirl:** @cumguzzler69 Shut up, incel. 🙄 Look at Adrian's brokenness during the stream. They're different, they love their sport!
**sizequeen420:** I haven't changed. Football players are mostly assholes. Hockey isn't that brutal. Our hockey boys seem smarter and more noble, right? They're not football potatoes.
**xXedgelord420Xx:** "Our," LMAO, it's all about looks. I knew 80% of people here don't even know what offside is. You're just here for Adrian's face.
**hornyonmain:** I'm just here for Blake's ass. Mike's isn't bad either. He just ran past in compression pants. Woof!
**vapejesus:** Seriously, tickets are insane. I just sold my last two semifinal tickets for $180 each. Instant sale. This isn't even the finals, bros.
**LineWatcher [VIP]:** Previous seasons, this team's attendance was under half capacity. It improved after Adrian joined, but a lot of people came just to see Adrian. Today's home section presale tickets are completely sold out. First sellout in 12 years for this school's hockey team. Although only home tickets sold out.
**TechBro42:** School administration is probably popping champagne. Recruiting these guys was business genius. Coach Brennan's getting a bonus for sure.
**GameBot:** 🎲 LIVE CAMPUS BETTING 🎲
⚠️ GAME ALERT ⚠️
Student Section: OVERFLOWING
HOCKEY ODDS 🏒 Regional Championship: -150
Premium subscribers get full details: [SUSPICIOUS LINK]
**BettingDegen:** ROSTERS ARE UP! Adrian, Mike, Blake on Line 1!
LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO!!!
MONEY PRINTER GO BRRRRR 💸💸💸
**TechBro42:** Wait, why is Marcus starting? Eric being out was expected, but why Marcus?
**BettingDegen:** AHHHHH! I'm panicking! My entire bankroll is on the home team winning. If Marcus screws this up, I'm jumping off a roof. @ecloguesdarklord @TechBro42 Hey, you're at the arena, right? If you see Marcus looking high during warmups, message immediately so I can hedge by betting on the opposition.
**ecloguesdarklord:** ...I'm not your scout. I don't even know who Marcus is!
**BettingDegen:** OMFG.
**anon_coomer:** Don't underestimate Marcus. Guy looks like a junkie but he's shrewd as hell. I'd never want him in my project group.
**SoccerMom2024:** Wait, who cares about Marcus?Did you see the starting goalie?
JENSEN!!! 😍😍😍
**uwugirl:** OMG, I'm loyal to Adrian and Blake, but Jensen... that quiet baby face kills me.
**hornyonmain:** For real. Jensen looks so innocent. But his body is so built. Want to groom him!
**CasualFan_123:** Um... interrupting the thirst. I just started watching hockey. Why are there so many freshmen starting, even the goalie?
**StatNerd:** @CasualFan_123 The previous goalie was Captain Thompson. He hasn't shown up all season LOL.
**xXedgelord420Xx:** Wait, isn't Adrian the captain?
**TechBro42:** @xXedgelord420Xx Everyone treats him like one since two years ago. But Thompson's dad has a law firm and donates to the school.
**cumguzzler69:** Goalie as captain, crazy. Corrupt athletic department.
**TechBro42:** So he hasn't shown up all season. Jensen's stats are way better than Thompson's. Just look at his physique.
**uwugirl:** And face! 😉
**TechBro42:** Honestly shocked Adrian didn't leave last year. Heard contracts were already offered.
**BettingDegen:** Low contracts are garbage. An egomaniac like Adrian wouldn't tolerate that.
**xXedgelord420Xx:** LMAO very alpha.
**SoccerMom2024:** OMG JENSEN 😭😭😭 Mama loves you!!! Don't be scared!!!
**CasualFan_123:** Seriously, how bad was this team before? They seem pretty strong now.
**StatNerd:** Actually, stats started improving after Adrian came. Scouts started watching him then.
**BettingDegen:** Improved my ass. That year was a shitshow. Adrian wanted new tactics but Thompson's crew ignored him.
**uwugirl:** Eric... 😭😭😭 He was the only one who stood with Adrian from the start, right?
**sizequeen420:** Love this revenge storyline, but Eric's not here tonight...
**TechBro42:** IT'S STARTING!
**sizequeen420:** Wait, what did Blake do? That was—
**xXedgelord420Xx:** Clean faceoff win.
**uwugirl:** @cumguzzler69 Wait, you're at the arena too? Then why were you criticizing us?
**BettingDegen:** GOAL!!!!!!
***
Ethan was still staring at his screen when the roar erupted. He looked up too late. He had missed Blake's goal because he was looking at his phone.
Annoyed with himself, he shoved the phone into his pocket. Ruth smiled at him, as if to say, *That's right, watch the game.*
"Keep your eyes on number 11," she said, leaning close to be heard over the noise. "He won't stop at one."
The celebration on the ice was brief. Blake and Mike bumped gloves, expressions focused, almost grim. Blake didn't show off. He skated back to center ice with predator-like efficiency.
The puck dropped again.
Ethan didn't know much about hockey tactics, but even he could see the pattern emerging. Blake was everywhere. He won the faceoff, snapping the puck back to the defense, then immediately cut through the neutral zone, drawing two defenders with him.
While the opposition scrambled to contain Blake, Mike O'Brien bullied his way down the left wing, creating a lane. But the real surprise was Adrian.
The "Chad" was playing... quietly. He stayed high in the offensive zone, floating near the blue line, avoiding the brutal crush along the boards. Whenever the puck came near him, he moved it quickly without forcing a collision.
*He's hurt*, Ethan realized, watching Adrian flinch slightly after a sharp turn. *And Blake knows it.*
Blake took a hit meant for Adrian. A massive defenseman stepped up to flatten the captain, but Blake cut across the lane at the last second, absorbing the impact with his shoulder. He bounced off the boards, kept his feet, and dug the puck out of the corner, feeding it back to Mike.
Ethan was mesmerized. Blake's legs churning, he circled the net, feinted a shot that froze the goalie, and then slid a no-look pass through the slot to Mike.
Mike didn't miss. He buried the one-timer.
**2-0.**
The arena exploded again. This time, Ethan saw it. He saw the way Blake's shoulders slumped for just a second before Mike tackled him in celebration. He saw Adrian skate over, not to jump into the pile, but to tap Blake's helmet with his stick—a quiet, acknowledging gesture.
*They're exhausted*, Ethan thought. *They can't keep this up.*
As the players skated to the bench, Blake said something to Brennan. The coach nodded, his eyes scanning the ice. He signaled to the end of the bench.
Brennan barked something, pointing at the ice. Line 2 vaulted over the boards: Tanner at left wing, Colton at center, and Tyler on the right wing according to the roster. The audience seemed to have some controversy about this line's personnel, but Ethan couldn't understand what they were saying—just heard someone mention Blake's line had been on the ice for nearly two minutes and it was time to change.
Ethan had seen Tanner before—he'd come to the dorm to drink with Blake. But the other two, Ethan had never seen. If Blake's skating was like an elegant swan on ice, Tanner was an energetic husky, chasing the puck into the corner, battling along the boards, then passing to Colton. Colton received it, loaded up for a shot—
Hit the post.
"Fuck!" someone yelled from the student section.
Tanner was already racing back, backchecking furiously, his legs pumping like pistons. But without a finisher, Line 2 couldn't capitalize.
Ethan glanced at his phone.
***
**xXedgelord420Xx:** colton is USELESS. why is he still getting ice time?
**StatNerd:** He's actually playing okay, but the gap compared to Line 1 is huge.
**BettingDegen:** Line 1 needs to get back out there.
***
Though Line 2 created plenty of scoring chances, the opposing team seemed especially aggressive after falling behind. Colton's next shot was stopped by the goalie. After 90 seconds of sustained pressure, they left the ice to rest. Colton was visibly frustrated, slamming his stick on the bench.
Jamal sprang onto the ice like a coiled spring. The first thing he did was flatten an opposing forward with a hit so violent the glass rattled. The crowd roared its approval. The puck squirted loose into the neutral zone.
Kyle skated after it, barking instructions. "Jamal! Position! Get back!"
But by the time Jamal realized what he should do, the opposing center had already carried the puck across the blue line.
The opposing center came down the right wing. Marcus had the angle. He should've stepped up, challenged the carrier, forced him wide.
Instead, Marcus reacted a half-second late—just enough to make it look like a mistake. He reached with his stick, but the forward was already past him.
Cross-ice pass. One-timer.
Cheers erupted from the visitor section. On the bench, Blake stood up, staring at Marcus. Adrian was leaning over, saying something to Brennan, pointing at the defensive pairing.
Brennan pulled Marcus after the next whistle. And Marcus, sitting on the bench with a water bottle, looked completely unbothered.
After, Brennan was barking orders. He pointed at Line 1. Despite the short rest, Blake, Mike, and Adrian vaulted back over the boards. They had to stop the bleeding immediately.
Blake won the faceoff—he hadn't lost one yet—but this shift was different. There was no explosive rush. No risky stretch passes.
Adrian took the puck in the neutral zone and simply... held it. He circled back, protected the puck with his body, and dumped it deep into the opponent's corner. It wasn't a glamorous play. It was a "kill thirty seconds" play. Mike chased it down, pinning the opposing defenseman against the boards. Blake joined him, turning it into a grinding battle for possession. They weren't trying to score; they were trying to suffocate the other team's momentum.
After forty-five seconds of pure gridlock, Adrian signaled for a change.
Tanner continued to feed Colton. This time he successfully got a shot off, but shortly after, their side also gave up a goal to the opposition's newly substituted center—the defensive pairing was exhausted. The "Wall Pair"—Nurlan and Dmitri—took the heavy defensive minutes. They weren't flashy. Nurlan just hit anything that moved, and Dmitri made simple, safe passes.
The game fell into a grind. After Jamal figured out his role, he could at least burn time against opponents. But Line 3 lacked cohesion. Jamal, with the best physical tools, lacked experience in high-intensity games. Though this was good practice for him, you couldn't sacrifice a game to develop players.
After several rotations, the defensive group was exhausted. Marcus was put back in.
The puck was in the neutral zone. Blake was on the ice too—Line 1 having just come back out for another shift. Blake saw Marcus. Ethan could see Blake's head snap toward the defenseman. He said something sharp, pointing to the left side. *Stay in your lane.*
Marcus nodded, that same blank, unbothered expression on his face.
The play developed. Opposition brought the puck up the right side. Marcus stepped up this time—really stepped up. He threw a clean check, separating the forward from the puck. Dmitri collected it and sent a perfect breakout pass to Blake.
For the next eight minutes, the game became a war of attrition. Line 1 would push. The opposition would push back. Line 2 would grind. The Wall Pair would hold.
And Marcus... Marcus was playing two games. When the team needed a stop, he made it—barely, but he made it. A poke check here. A blocked passing lane there. Just enough to look like he was trying. But when the team pressed for a fourth goal, he'd be half a second slow on the outlet pass. He'd make the "safe" play instead of the aggressive one. He was managing the score like a trader hedging a portfolio.
It was obvious. The gamblers on Discord also felt something was off. But things didn't always go according to someone's will—in a defensive effort that could be confirmed as genuine, the visitors still scored. **3-3.**
Nine minutes left in the third period. Tied game.
Line 2 tried to burn time. Colton honestly executed the grind—dragging time was more important than shooting. With four minutes left, the opposition nearly scored. A breakaway off a bad line change. Jensen came up huge, sliding across to make a desperation pad save.
Three minutes. Line 1 came out. Blake won the draw. Mike chased. Adrian held.
Blake carried the puck behind the net. Two defenders collapsed on him. He slid it to Adrian at the point. Adrian one-touched it to Mike in the corner. Mike fed it back to Blake in the slot.
Blake didn't shoot.
He froze the goalie with a head fake, then slid the puck back to Adrian, who'd rotated down low.
Adrian had an empty net.
He one-timed it.
**GOAL.**
The arena detonated. The noise was so loud Ethan felt it in his teeth. Students stormed to the glass, pounding it with their fists. The band blared. The entire building shook.
The horn sounded later. Game over.
Ethan was on his feet, screaming—he didn't even know what he was screaming. Around him, the entire student section was losing their minds.
On the ice, Blake collapsed to his knees. Mike grabbed him, hauling him to his feet. Adrian skated over, pulling both of them into a hug.
Ethan pulled out his phone, hands shaking.
***
**BettingDegen:** WE COVERED. HOLY FUCK WE COVERED.
**xXedgelord420Xx:** Blake is a fucking GOD.
**uwugirl:** I'm crying actual tears.
***
Ethan stared at the ice, at number 11 bent over near the bench, chest heaving.
Blake skated toward their section, waving. Ethan wasn't sure if Blake saw him or just waved at the home crowd.
"Hockey has its charm, doesn't it?" Ruth asked, smiling. She didn't seem to need an answer. "We should go wait by the player tunnel."
Ruth got up and walked out. Ethan followed half a beat later. He felt like he'd done something wrong, like stealing someone else's property. It filled him with unease, but right now, besides following Ruth, he didn't know what else to do.
The arena emptied slowly, the student body buzzing with the kind of adrenaline that only a near-disaster victory could produce. Ethan stood near the railing of the player tunnel, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Beside him, Ruth waited with a quiet, terrifying patience.
When the heavy doors swung open, the team started to trickle out. Some headed straight for the locker room, heads down, exhausted. Others high-fived the few lingering fans.
Then Ethan saw him.
Blake emerged, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his jersey un-tucked and hanging loose over one shoulder. He was limping slightly, favoring his left leg, but when his eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Ethan, a genuine, unguarded smile broke across his face.
It was the kind of smile that made Ethan's chest ache—exhausted, relieved, and exclusively for him.
Blake jogged over, ignoring the soreness in his legs. "Hey," he breathed, leaning against the railing, smelling of ice and sweat and victory. "You stayed."
"Yeah," Ethan said, his voice raspy.
Blake chuckled, a low sound in his throat. "Tell me about it. I thought I was gonna puke on the—"
His voice cut off. His smile faded.
"Ruth," Blake whispered.
Ruth stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Hi, Blake." Her voice was small but steady. "Great game. You were... you were incredible."
Blake straightened up, pulling away from the railing as if it burned him. He couldn't look her in the eye. He looked at her shoes, at the wall, at Ethan—anywhere but her face.
"Thanks," he said, his voice tight. "What are you... why are you here?"
"I came to see you," she said, stepping closer. "I missed you, Blake. I know... I know things ended. But I've been thinking, and... can we try again? Just talk?"
Blake closed his eyes. Ethan saw his throat work as he swallowed.
"Ruth," Blake said. "Please. Don't."
"Why?" she asked. "Is it school? Is it hockey? I can handle it, Blake. Whatever it is, we can figure it out. I just... I don't understand why. You never gave me a reason. You just left."
Blake looked at her then, and the misery in his eyes was raw. He did care about her. Ethan could see it—the way Blake's hand twitched toward her, wanting to comfort her, before he forced it back to his side.
"There's no reason," Blake lied, his voice hollow. "It's just me."
"That's not an answer!" Ruth cried, tears spilling over. "Tell me the truth! Did I do something wrong? Is there someone else?"
"No!" Blake said sharply. "No, Ruth. You were perfect. You are perfect."
"Then why?"
Blake looked at Ethan before turning back to Ruth. He took a breath, and Ethan saw him make the decision. He was going to hurt her to save her. He was going to detonate it all so she wouldn't keep waiting for a guy who was already broken.
"Because I can't do this," Blake said, his voice shaking. "I realized... I realized I don't want a serious relationship. I thought I did. I thought I could be that guy for you. But I'm not."
Ruth froze. "What?"
"I tried, Ruth," Blake said, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth. "I really tried. But I'm not ready for... for this. For commitment. I just... I want to be free. I want to focus on myself. I tried to force it because you're great, but... I just don't feel it enough to stay."
It was a brutal, clumsy lie. It stripped away all the complexity of his pain and reduced him to a callous, immature jock.
Ruth stared at him, her face crumbling. The hope in her eyes died, replaced by a deep, shattering hurt.
"I'm sorry," Blake whispered, his head hanging low. "I'm so sorry."
Suddenly, a heavy fist connected with Blake's abdomen.
"You absolute piece of shit," Mike growled, stepping between them. Mike's face was flushed with anger, his usual easygoing grin replaced by a scowl. He shoved Blake again. "She comes all this way, crying her eyes out for you, and you give her the 'I need space' speech? Here? In front of everyone?"
He turned to Ruth, his expression softening instantly. "Come on, Ruth. Don't listen to him. He's an idiot. He's probably concussed or just being a typical dumbass forward."
Ruth sniffled, wiping her eyes furiously. "He... he said he didn't want..."
"He doesn't know what he wants," Mike said firmly, taking her hand. "Let's leave here. I'll walk you back to your dormitory."
Blake watched them go, his shoulders slumped, looking smaller than Ethan had ever seen him. The victory on the ice felt a million miles away.
As Mike turned the corner with Ruth, his hand dropped behind his back.
He made a shape with his fingers: thumb and pinky extended, middle three curled.
*Phone.*
Blake blinked, wiping a hand across his face. He looked at Ethan, his eyes red and glistening.
Ethan watched him, seeing the cracks in the armor. Blake had won the game, saved the team, and protected his secret—but the cost was written all over his face.
"Come on," Blake said softly. "Let's get out of here."
Outside, the night air was biting cold. They walked in silence for a while, the crunch of gravel under their shoes the only sound. The campus was alive in the distance—Friday night parties starting up, music thumping from fraternity row—but here on the edge of the athletic complex, it was just streetlights and shadows.
Ethan awkwardly opened his phone. The Discord group had clearly exploded over what just happened.
***
**xXedgelord420Xx:** ok but did you see mike deck him?? lmaoooo
**uwugirl:** mike is literally the best boy. protecting her like that 🥺
**cumguzzler69:** blake deserved it tbh. mike has hands.
**BettingDegen:** wait so is the locker room vibe gonna be fucked now? or was that staged?
**StatNerd:** looked real. mike was PISSED.
**vapejesus:** honestly respect to mike for checking his boy. blake needed that reality check.
**xXedgelord420Xx:** at least he didnt cheat? 'not ready for commitment' is just fuckboy speak for 'i want to bang other people' but whatever.
***
It seemed that because of Mike's actions, their focus shifted away from condemning Blake. Ethan noticed Blake was also looking at his phone, and a faint smile appeared on his dejected face.
"What is it?" Ethan asked.
"Mike told me he's buying me lunch next time to make up for the punch. And he said in a few days, he wants me to hang out with him and Ruth, so everyone will praise Ruth for being magnanimous."
"You're not angry?"
"Why would I be?" Blake looked at Ethan, pausing. "I deserved it. Mike doesn't hate me. He did this to help me. Otherwise, I'd be booed by the crowd tomorrow."
"Does it hurt?" Ethan asked, looking at Blake's leg.
"Everything hurts," Blake admitted. He glanced at Ethan, a faint smirk touching his lips. "But we won."
He stopped and looked at Ethan. The playfulness from their usual banter was gone, replaced by a raw, quiet intimacy.
"Thanks for staying, Boss," Blake said. "And for... walking with me. I didn't want to be alone right now."
Ethan felt his face heat up, but he didn't look away. "You looked like you were about to collapse. Someone had to make sure you didn't die in a ditch."
Blake laughed, a real, soft sound this time. "Yeah. Something like that."
He started walking again, slower this time, letting his shoulder brush against Ethan's arm.
"So," Blake said, his voice low. "Since I'm officially 'not ready for a commitment' and single... does that mean my schedule is open for other activities?"
Ethan rolled his eyes, though his heart skipped a beat. "You can barely walk, jock. Don't push your luck."
"I recover fast," Blake murmured, a hint of his old cockiness returning. "Give me an hour and some ice, and I'll be brand new."
"Shut up," Ethan said, but he didn't pull away.
***
The dorm room door clicked shut behind them. The campus chaos vanished the moment Ethan turned the lock.
Blake stood in the room, his hair disheveled from the post-game shower. He looked like hell—shoulders tight, jaw clenched, his eyes red from exhaustion and the wreckage with Ruth.
Ethan threw his bag by the door. He didn't know what to say.
"Blake—" Ethan started.
Blake moved.
He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the front of Ethan's shirt, and kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't the teasing, measured kiss Blake usually gave him. It was desperate—chaotic and raw, Blake's mouth crashing into his like a traveler thirsting for water in the desert. His hands twisted in Ethan's shirt, pulling him close. Ethan tasted salt on Blake's lips. Maybe sweat. Maybe tears.
Ethan froze for half a second, his brain short-circuiting, then his hands came up to grip Blake's sides. He kissed back with equal force, letting Blake take what he needed, letting him use Ethan's mouth to vent the storm raging inside him.
Blake's teeth scraped Ethan's lower lip—not quite a bite, but close. His tongue pushed into Ethan's mouth with demand, and Ethan parted his lips, letting Blake lick into him with a desperate hunger.
When they finally broke apart, both were gasping. Blake's forehead rested on Ethan's shoulder, his breathing ragged and heavy.
Ethan stepped back slightly to look at him. Blake's eyes were like glass, his cheeks flushed. He looked like he'd just survived a war—maybe he had. Three brutal periods of hockey, then that scene with Ruth, then the walk back, held together by pure will.
"Come here," Ethan said, his voice softer now. He tugged at Blake's jacket. "You look really tense. Let me— let me help you relax, okay?"
Blake blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Ethan interrupted, unzipping the jacket, sliding it from Blake's shoulders. "I want to."
Blake let him. The jacket fell to the floor. Ethan's fingers found the hem of Blake's compression shirt—some athletic brand, fitted enough to show every line of muscle—and he slowly pulled it up. Blake raised his arms obediently, and Ethan peeled the shirt away.
Blake's torso was a work of goddamn art. Ethan had seen it before—admittedly, more times than he'd care to admit, Blake had zero sense of privacy—but in this dim light, with Blake exhausted and compliant under his touch, it felt completely different.
His skin still carried the heat of the game, his chest and shoulders flushed pink. Red marks where he'd been slammed against the boards. A dark bruise was already forming on his left ribs.
Ethan's fingers hovered over the bruise. "Does it hurt?"
"Everything hurts," Blake admitted, repeating words he'd said before. A faint smile touched his lips. "But I'm alive."
"Sit," Ethan said, gesturing to his bed.
Blake sat obediently, groaning slightly. He bent to unlace his shoes, but Ethan dropped to his knees in front of him.
"I said I'd take care of you," Ethan murmured, pushing Blake's hands away. He removed Blake's shoes, then his socks, then removed Blake's pants.
Blake's breath caught. "Ethan..."
Ethan looked up at him, his hands stilling at Blake's crotch. "What?"
Blake's throat worked as he swallowed. "Nothing. Just... don't stop."
Ethan pulled the athletic pants down. Blake lifted his hips to help. Underneath, Blake wore a white jockstrap. His cock was already half-hard, straining against the fabric.
Ethan's mouth went dry. He forced himself to focus, pulling the pants completely off and tossing them aside. Blake sat there in just his underwear, legs spread, watching Ethan with exhausted hunger.
"Lie down," Ethan's voice came out rough.
Blake lay back, his head sinking into the pillow. When his bruised side touched the mattress, he flinched slightly, then adjusted his position for comfort.
Ethan crawled onto the bed beside him, kneeling at Blake's hip. He placed his hand on Blake's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rapid hammer of his heartbeat.
"I'm gonna... I really don't know what I'm doing," Ethan admitted, his cheeks burning. "But you just played an entire game. You're probably in agony. So..."
Blake's lips curved into a genuine smile, tender and sincere. "You're gonna give me a massage?"
"Don't make it weird," Ethan muttered, but his hands were already moving, pressing into the knotted muscles of Blake's shoulders.
Blake hissed, his body tensing. "Fuck, that's— yeah, right there."
Ethan wasn't a masseuse. He had no idea what he was doing. He just worked his thumbs into the tight spots on Blake's shoulders, applying more pressure when Blake groaned in relief, easing up when he flinched. It was clumsy and untrained, but Blake melted under his touch, his eyes fluttering closed.
"God," Blake breathed out. "Feels good."
Ethan's hands moved lower, following the contours of Blake's chest. His fingers traced the lines of Blake's abs—jesus, the guy had an eight-pack—and Blake's abdominal muscles twitched under his touch. Ethan's hands slid to Blake's sides, carefully avoiding the bruise, kneading the muscle there.
But he couldn't help himself. The touch shifted from therapeutic to exploratory. His fingers traced the sharp cut of Blake's V-line, that knife-edge disappearing into his jockstrap. His palm dragged across Blake's chest, feeling his nipples harden, and Blake arched into the touch, releasing a low groan.
"Ethan," Blake said, his voice taut. "You're killing me here."
Ethan looked down. Blake's cock was completely hard now, straining against the white fabric, a damp spot visible where pre-cum had soaked through. Ethan's own cock throbbed in his jeans, but he ignored it.
"Yeah?" Ethan said softly. His hand continued to slide, pressing his palm against Blake's abs, his fingers brushing the straps of Blake's jockstrap. "Good."
Blake's hips thrust upward involuntarily. "Fuck."
Ethan hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled down. Blake lifted his hips again, and Ethan stripped the jockstrap away, freeing Blake's cock.
It sprang out, hard and flushed, the head glistening with pre-cum. Ethan swallowed hard. His hands were shaking. Ethan wanted to take it in his mouth—this was his first time doing this for Blake. That physiological aversion was still there, but Ethan's desire had already overwhelmed that disgust.
Ethan leaned close to Blake's cock, his mouth gently touching it.
"I've never—" Ethan started, his voice catching. "I don't know if I'll be good at this."
Blake pushed himself up on his elbows, those deep, heated eyes fixed on Ethan. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," Ethan said quickly. He repositioned himself between Blake's legs. "I just... don't expect too much."
Blake's hand came up, threading through Ethan's hair. "Anything you do will feel good," he said, his voice husky. "Just— fuck, just touch me, Boss."
Ethan took a shaky breath and wrapped his mouth around Blake's shaft.
Blake groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. "Fuck, yeah."
The skin under his tongue was hot and soft, the shaft thick and hard. Ethan stroked slowly, experimentally, watching Blake's abs tighten, watching his thighs tremble. Pre-cum continued to seep from the tip. Ethan swiped his thumb across it, and Blake cursed.
Ethan leaned down.
He hesitated for a second—this was insane, he was going to put Blake's cock in his mouth—then he licked.
Just his tongue brushing experimentally across the head, tasting salt and musk and something uniquely Blake.
Blake's entire body convulsed. "Fuck."
Encouraged, Ethan licked again, this time tracing the ridge of the head, his tongue flicking gently at the slit. Blake's hand gripped his hair, not pulling, just holding on like Ethan was the only thing keeping him sane.
Ethan opened his mouth and took Blake inside.
Not all of it—he couldn't, not yet—but enough to feel the weight of Blake's shaft on his tongue and the heat filling his mouth. He sucked gently, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. Blake made a sound that was almost a whimper.
"Jesus, Ethan," Blake panted. "Your mouth— fuck—"
Blake's hips thrust upward involuntarily. The head hit the back of Ethan's throat, and he gagged, pulling away.
"Sorry, sorry," Blake gasped, his hand soothing across Ethan's hair. "I didn't mean to—"
Ethan didn't answer. He just bent down again, this time with purpose. He established a rhythm, his head bobbing, swallowing Blake as deep as he could manage without gagging. His hand gripped the base, stroking what his mouth couldn't contain, and Blake came apart beneath him.
"Fuck, fuck, that's— oh god, Ethan—"
Blake's thighs trembled, his hips making shallow thrusts, trying not to choke Ethan but unable to stay still. His hand gripped Ethan's hair hard, and Ethan's tongue worked along the underside of Blake's shaft—clumsy, inexperienced, but the desperation in it made Blake's toes curl.
Suddenly, Ethan pulled Blake's head out, his lips wet. "Shut up," he muttered, but his eyes were blazing. He reached for something by the bed—something Blake hadn't noticed him hiding before.
Blake lay there, expectant and exhausted, staring at the ceiling, unsure what Ethan was about to do. Then he felt something cold and foreign settle over his softening cock.
"What the—" Blake's eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up to look down.
Ethan was carefully fitting some kind of transparent cylindrical device over Blake's cock. It had a pump mechanism, an adjustable ring at the base.
"Ethan, what the fuck is that?" Blake asked, his voice pitching higher.
"A training device," Ethan said calmly, not meeting Blake's eyes as he adjusted the fit. "For your dick."
Blake blinked. "A training— are you serious?"
"Dead serious." Ethan finally looked at him, something almost manic in his eyes that made Blake's cock twitch involuntarily. "You said you grew taller recently. Which means you're still developing. Which means there's time."
"Time for what?" Blake demanded, even though he already knew the answer.
"To make you bigger," Ethan said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He started to operate the pump, and Blake immediately felt suction—a strange, tight pulling sensation that made him gasp.
"Jesus— Ethan, this isn't— this lacks any scientific basis—" Blake tried to argue, but when Ethan pumped again, his breath caught. The device created a vacuum seal, pulling at his flesh, stretching it in a way that was uncomfortable but not entirely painful.
"You're still growing," Ethan insisted stubbornly. "You told me you got taller. Your body isn't done developing. So why not... encourage it?" His fingers possessively traced the edges of the device. "I'm going to cultivate you, Blake. Make you perfect."
The obsession in Ethan's voice sent a shiver down Blake's spine, even as his rational brain screamed that this was insane. But before he could formulate a response, Ethan's hand moved upward, stroking Blake's chest.
"Ethan—"
"Shh." Ethan's thumb found Blake's nipple, circling the small peak. They were already sensitive from the game, from the post-exercise endorphin surge, and they hardened immediately under Ethan's touch.
Blake's head fell back against the pillow, a groan escaping him. The dual sensation—the tight tugging pressure on his cock and Ethan's fingers on his chest—was overwhelming. His nipples had always been sensitive, but Ethan seemed determined to exploit this weakness.
Ethan pinched gently, rubbing the small peaks with the pads of his fingers, and Blake arched toward him, releasing a strangled sound.
"Fuck— Boss—"
"You like this," Ethan observed, his voice low and satisfied. He bent down, replacing his fingers with his mouth, sucking Blake's left nipple between his lips.
Blake's hands flew to Ethan's hair, unsure whether he wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The wet heat of Ethan's tongue, the slight scrape of his teeth, the gentle suction—all of it combined with the continuous tugging pull on his cock made Blake feel like a live wire.
Ethan lavished attention on Blake's chest, alternating between the two nipples, kissing and licking the hard expanse of muscle. His hands kneaded Blake's pectorals, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. Blake made sounds he didn't recognize—needy, desperate whimpers that should have embarrassed him but didn't.
Then Ethan's hand moved lower.
Across Blake's abs, past the device still gripping his now half-hard cock, continuing down until his fingers found the cleft of Blake's ass.
Blake's entire body went rigid.
Ethan's fingertips traced Blake's hole—just the lightest touch, teasing and exploratory. The touch was gentle, curious, Ethan mapping out new territory.
"Ethan," Blake warned, but his voice was weak.
Ethan's finger pressed gently inward, just barely. Not even a full knuckle, but enough for Blake to feel the invasion—the stretch, the foreign pressure.
"Boss, wait—"
Ethan pushed deeper, a knuckle breaching Blake's entrance. Blake's hand suddenly gripped Ethan's wrist hard.
"Stop," Blake said, though his body was betraying him—his cock still swelling in that damn device—but his voice was sharp. "Ethan, stop."
Ethan froze, his finger still inside Blake, his eyes wide and glazed with desire. "Blake—"
"No." Blake's grip on Ethan's wrist tightened. "Not tonight."
"Why?" Frustration immediately bled into Ethan's voice, raw and rough. He withdrew his finger but didn't move his hand away. "Blake, I'm ready. I want this. I've been— fuck, I've been thinking about this constantly. I did everything you asked. I'm here. I want you."
"I know," Blake said, looking at the desperate need in Ethan's eyes, his chest aching with guilt. "I know you want to. But tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow?" Anger flashed across Ethan's face. "You're really gonna pull the 'big game tomorrow' card? That's bullshit, Blake."
"The finals are tomorrow," Blake said firmly, trying to keep his voice steady. "I can't— Ethan, I can't be distracted. It's everything. If we lose because I can't perform on the ice—"
"You're unbelievable," Ethan spat, pulling back. His face was flushed, his cock clearly hard against his jeans, and he looked furious. "I've been patient. I've waited. I did everything you wanted. And now you're saying no?"
"I'm saying tomorrow," Blake insisted, reaching for him. "After the game. After we win. I'll give you everything, Boss. I promise. You can have me however you want. But not tonight."
Ethan's jaw clenched. "Tomorrow you'll be celebrating with your teammates all night. You'll get drunk, you'll party, you'll forget I exist."
The words cut deeper than Ethan probably realized, guilt twisting in Blake's gut. Because Ethan wasn't entirely wrong—after a big win, the team usually went wild. Blake would get pulled into it.
But not this time.
"Then the day after," Blake said gently, cupping Ethan's jaw. "Day after tomorrow. I promise. We have time, Ethan. We have plenty of time."
Ethan still looked reluctant, his lips pressed into a stubborn line. Blake could see the struggle in his eyes—desire, frustration, hurt.
So Blake moved.
In one smooth motion, he reached down to remove the device from his cock—the release of pressure made him hiss—and then tossed it aside. Next, he flipped them, using athletic strength to reverse their positions. Ethan yelped, his back hitting the mattress, Blake's weight pinning him down.
Blake pinned one of Ethan's wrists above his head with one hand, using the other to yank Ethan's pants down.
"Blake— what the—"
"I said tonight you don't get me," Blake said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, commanding tone that always made Ethan's pupils dilate. "I never said I couldn't have you."
He yanked Ethan's jeans and boxers down roughly, freeing his cock. It was hard and red, leaking desperately, and Blake gripped it without hesitation.
Ethan gasped, his hips thrusting upward. "Fuck—"
Blake spread Ethan's legs apart forcefully, settling between them. He stroked Ethan's cock slowly and deliberately, watching Ethan's face contort with pleasure and frustration.
"You want to fuck me so bad, don't you?" Blake murmured, bending close so his lips brushed Ethan's ear. "You want to push me down, open me up, make me take it."
"Yes," Ethan moaned, struggling against Blake's grip on his wrist. "Jesus, yes, Blake—"
"Tomorrow," Blake promised, his hand accelerating. "Or the day after. But tonight, Boss, you're mine."
Ethan's response was a broken moan. Blake's thumb swiped over the head of his cock, spreading pre-cum down the shaft. His other hand finally released Ethan's wrist, sliding down his body, spreading his legs wider.
"Blake—" Ethan's voice shattered as Blake's fingers found his entrance, tracing the tight ring of muscle. "Please—"
"I know," Blake said, his voice rough with desire, affection, and guilt. "I know what you need, Boss. Let me give it to you."
Then he pushed inside.
"Fuck— Blake—" Ethan choked, his head thrashing against the pillow.
"I'll take care of you," Blake promised. He began to move his fingers, slowly scissoring them open, stretching Ethan out. By now, Blake knew Ethan's body almost as well as his own—exactly where to press, exactly how to angle himself to hit that sweet spot deep inside.
Ethan's breath hitched, transforming into a broken whimper when Blake's fingers curled and found his prostate.
"Right there," Blake said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Found it."
He established a rhythm, pushing his fingers deep and curling them upward, mimicking the kind of fucking he knew Ethan wanted but couldn't have tonight. With his other hand, he gripped Ethan's hard length again, stroking in time with the thrust of his fingers.
Ethan came apart quickly. His hips ground upward to meet Blake's hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. His eyes screwed shut, his face flushed, his lips parted in silent begging.
"Open your eyes," Blake commanded gently.
Ethan's eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide, raw need written all over his face. He looked wrecked.
"Look at me," Blake said, bending down until their faces were inches apart. "I'm right here. It's just you and me."
Ethan released a ragged sob, his gaze locked on Blake. "Blake— please— I need—"
Blake pulled his fingers out, and Ethan trembled, instinctively pushing forward as if trying to chase back that feeling of being filled.
But Blake had already moved.
Ethan's eyes snapped open to find Blake braced over him, spreading his legs wider, pressing forward. Blake's cock head was against his entrance, hot and hard and heavy, pre-cum already slicking Ethan's hole.
Blake growled, something almost feral in his eyes. "Ethan. I need you right now."
He already had himself positioned, gripping Ethan at the hip, spreading him completely open.
"Blake—" Ethan's voice wavered, caught between protest and urgent need.
"Tell me to stop," Blake said roughly. "Just say no, and I stop immediately."
But Ethan didn't say no. Instead, he grabbed Blake's hair and pulled him down into a kiss with teeth, aggressive and hungry.
"You better not stop," Ethan panted against his lips.
Blake pushed inside.
Ethan practically screamed, his nails gouging Blake's shoulders, his body tensing like a bow.
"Breathe," Blake pressed against him, his body rigidly still despite the instinct screaming at him to drive all the way in. "Boss, breathe with me. You can take this. You can take me inside."
Ethan panted, trying to relax the tension around Blake's invading shaft. Blake peppered his jaw and neck with kisses, cursing softly and praising him at once.
"That's it, good boy. Fuck, you're amazing. You're squeezing me so tight I'm losing my mind."
Inch by inch, Blake fed himself inside. Each additional penetration came with a suppressed whimper from Ethan. When Blake finally bottomed out completely, his entire body was shaking, his forehead pressed against Ethan's, his breathing shot.
"Fuck," Blake gasped out. "Your insides—"
"Move," Ethan interrupted, his voice already shattered. "Blake, please, move."
Blake withdrew halfway, then sank back down, establishing a careful rhythm. Each forward stroke dragged solidly over that sensitive spot, making Ethan's vision swim with stars.
Within a few strokes, Ethan had his legs locked around Blake's waist, pulling him deeper, desperate to be impaled on his cock.
"Harder," Ethan practically begged. "Blake, I need—"
Blake snapped.
He gripped Ethan at the waist, angling him differently, and started to truly fuck him. The wet smack of skin against skin echoed through the small dorm room, mingling with Ethan's broken gasps and Blake's ragged breathing.
"Is this what you wanted?" Blake growled through gritted teeth, pounding into him. "Want me to stretch you open? Want me to fill you up?"
"Yes— god, yes— Blake!" Ethan was already beyond forming complete sentences, his head thrown back against the pillow, his hands raking red lines down Blake's back.
Blake could feel his climax building in the base of his spine, tightening like a vice. He kept one hand braced on the bed, his other hand wrapping around Ethan's neglected cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.
"Blake! Blake!"
A few more thrusts, and Ethan shattered.
His entire body went rigid, his hole clenching down impossibly tight around Blake, nearly strangling him. His voice broke into a high-pitched wail. White heat spurted across both their abdomens and chests. The sight of Ethan completely undone, trembling like he was being electrocuted—it pushed Blake straight over the edge.
Blake slammed him deep, burying himself to the hilt, and released a roar-like groan, shooting thick ropes deep inside him.
When he came back to himself, he was half-collapsed across Ethan's body, both of them sticky and sweating, breathing ragged.
They lay in the darkness like that, their bodies cooling gradually, their heartbeats slowing. Outside was the chaos of Friday night not yet winding down. But in this small room, there was only them—tangled together, wrung dry, finding solace in each other's arms.
"Thank you, Boss," Blake murmured against his temple, pressing a kiss there.
"For what?"
"For being here. For being you."
Ethan was silent for a long moment. Finally, he exhaled. "Then you better win for me tomorrow."
"I will," Blake replied, almost like a vow. "For you."
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