'Loose-loose-loose!' the ref's voice thundered above the boards, untying the locked sticks of the two ice hockey jocks in the corner behind the Sword's net. A tense second later, Seaside's tough-guy enforcer Bruce Andreychuk shoulder-slammed one of Pittsburgh's wingers into the glass. The cheers in the crowd around Bull and Alex turned to jeers. It had been a good, clean hit, but Bull knew well enough - a ball cap on his buzz-cut head bearing the red and black logo of the Seaside Swords - that ice hockey fans were rabid here about their favorite team. He'd already gotten more than his fair share of dirty looks from the pumped-up crowd surrounding them in the front row seats for wearing enemy colors.

Almost dropping his fresh cup of beer, Bull let out a deep, loud hoot in Andreychuk's honor, pumped his free fist, and howled out a resounding, 'Woo hoo!' when the Seaside enforcer scored on the power play a few seconds later. The organist belted out a few sour notes after the horn sounded, then appropriate music blasted over the loud speakers.

'Short-handed goal, Bruce Andreychuk, 10:14 in the first. Assist from Aubinofsky,' the announcer stated in an emotionless voice.

Standing and pumping his fist again as Andreychuk skated past on his way to the Seaside bench, Bull howled louder. This time, the thirty-four year old pro hockey jock, known throughout the league as one of the toughest in all of pucks, looked up. A slight grin played out on the hairy corners of Andreychuk's unshaved mouth at the recognition of familiar team colors. To Bull's surprise, the other man fired back a respectful salute.

It might have been Bull's clothes that had given things away - blue jeans and well-worn combat boots, a tight dark-green t-shirt he'd gotten in the Army, and his camouflage jacked over that. Bull saluted back in the direction of the Seaside bench, then retook his seat to a din of good-natured booing around them.

Seeing Alex again after so long had been good, and Bull was happy to be hanging at the arena with his old Army buddy. It helped him, even if only in these broken minutes, to forget the events of the last month.

'I was happy you called,' Alex said, brushing the jeans-covered muscles of his left leg against the solid strength of Bull's right. 'You sure you don't want to stay with Carol and me tonight?'

Bull shook his head. 'Thanks, pal, but don't you think that might be kinda awkward?'

'Nope,' Alex said flatly. The deep growl of his old bud's voice drew them - probably for the first time in fifteen years - face to face.

Alex had aged those fifteen years well. Bull knew without asking that his Army buddy was keeping up with the gym. He'd recognized Alex's hard, firm butt the moment it had sauntered up to the beer stand in their section of seats. He still wore his dark hair short, but not at military length, and a trace of silver had appeared in the tips above his ears. The grin on Bull's handsome face widened.

'What?' Alex asked, smiling back.

Bull realized he'd been staring and looked away. 'Shit, pal. Life in Pittsburgh seems to be agreeing with you. I mean - you got a great job and season tickets to every home hockey game. Bet your wife is some fuckin' pinup model, too.'

'Naw, you should see her without makeup. Scary,' Alex chuckled, gulping a swig of beer with just enough suggestiveness in the action that Bull was reminded of all the times his pal had gulped something else during their months together in Georgia, then North Carolina. 'Actually, it was her idea when I got your call. Why don't you bunk in our spare room?'

The flicker of want he'd been teased into for the other man fell as flat as the remains of the first beer he'd downed waiting for Alex to meet him at the beer stand. 'I already got me a room in the hotel across the street. But thanks, pal. I mean it.'

Suddenly, the truth behind his reason for being in this part of the country surged back. The noise of a spirited fistfight taking place out on the ice between Andreychuk and the Pittsburgh jersey bearing Number Eleven droned away. Alex leaned closer. 'Do you have any leads about your son, Jason?'

Bull took a heavy swallow and shook his head. 'I tried calling. Becky's number's been disconnected. None of the relatives are still up there, but I figure I'll be able to learn something. 'Sides, it's been a long time since I've been to Seaside. Maybe the fact that my home town team's kicking the shit outta yours by two goals right now is a good sign.'

'Fuck you,' Alex chuckled, sending an elbow into Bull's side.

Bull grinned, slugged back the last of his beer, and huffed, 'I'm real tempted to fuck you, fucker,' under his breath. Not that anyone else would have heard - a round of grunts and whistles had ensued out on the ice. When Bull looked up, Bruce Andreychuk had the guy from Pittsburgh down on his knees, jersey over his head, and was pounding him into hamburger. 'I thought you didn't do that any more?'

Alex leaned closer, growling the beer-scented words into his ear. 'I don't, but I'd make an exception for you.'

The itch in Bull's nuts surfaced again, partly at the thought of boning his old Army bud's tight can for the first time in fifteen years, partly, he realized, at the sight of the two hockey jocks throwing down their gloves and tangoing out on the ice.

Yeah, he wanted it. Wanted it bad. But somehow, with Alex, it didn't seem right any more. The present had lately reminded him of all the mistakes he'd made in the past, so two periods of ball-busting hockey later, their night together ended where it had begun, over beer in a Pittsburgh sports bar.

'You're sure you won't change your mind?' Alex said, pounding back the last of his ginger ale.

Bull smiled and ordered another beer before replying. 'You'd better get going, pal. That snowstorm out there's getting worse.'

'You got that right, Chief,' the bartender sighed, setting down a fresh beer. 'Six inches by morning last I heard.'

Bull shook his head and tipped his gaze back in Alex's direction. 'I'll be seeing you.'

Alex clapped a hand to Bull's shoulder and gave him a rough shoulder massage. 'Better not be another fifteen years before you do.'

After that, he was gone, leaving Bull alone in the almost-empty sports bar. A few sips and about twenty minutes of staring at the sports news on the television later, Bull vacated the barstool to take a hearty piss. When he returned, someone had taken residence on the seat two stools down. A quick glance showed a dark-haired dude dressed in jeans, expensive high-tops, a crisp-looking white t-shirt under a black leather jacket, and a ball cap bearing some brand-name logo. Bull did a double take and recognized whom he was now seated beside.

'What'll it be?' the bartender yapped.

Bruce Andreychuk, the Seaside Sword's number one tough guy, drummed the bruised knuckles of his punch-hand on the bar top and ordered a beer.

He'd looked hot out on the ice, but Bull couldn't help but stare at the hockey enforcer's handsomeness here, two yards distant - his hard, square jaw and dark eyes, short black hair, even the barely-healed cut above his day-old-stubbled cheek added to Andreychuk's rugged, good looks. Sipping the head off his beer, the hockey jock's eyes gradually lifted to lock with Bull's. Bull realized he'd been staring and resumed his own tough-guy stance two stools down from Andreychuk.

'Great game, guy,' he growled, burying his eyes again on sports TV. The sight of Bruce Andreychuk up close had re-ignited the itch in Bull's nuts, and all the Army discipline in his twenty years couldn't keep the meat between his legs from stiffening to half its thickness.

'Thanks,' Andreychuk answered, looking up from his beer. Bull again faced the enforcer, who flexed the fingers of his punch-hand painfully. A slight, mean grin had broken across Andreychuk's hairy mouth. 'I saw you in the seats. Lemme guess - Rangers?'

Bull chuckled under his breath. 'Right on the first guess. How'd you know?'

'You look too mean for anything like engineering or artillery maintenance.' Andreychuk's dark eyes narrowed on the chevron detailing Bull's jacket. 'Been a long time for me, but ain't that a First Sergeant's patch?'

'Again, correct on the first guess. When did you serve?'

Andreychuk sidled over to the empty barstool between them, putting both men now side to side. 'I did the economy tour, two years right out of high school. I was a major-league fuck up back then.'

Bull whistled a laugh into his beer. 'I hear ya there. Did the Army help unfuck you?'

'Not really,' the other man said. 'Spent some time over in Germany, though. Hockey fever had swept over the base. That Olympic win against the Russians a few years before was still fresh in everyone's mind. We had an Army team that played in a local league, plus you know hockey's huge in Germany. So I laced up my skates, took a spin out on the ice, got the shit beat out of me by guys who weren't half as big as me. Really pissed me off. So I did something about it when I came back to the skates. Went to college on Uncle Sam, got onto the hockey team, and been skating and sweating my nuts off since.'

Bull shifted on the barstool in an attempt to shift the itchy, painful lump between his legs. He extended his shake hand, hoping the hockey jock now less than a foot away wouldn't notice the bulge in his blue jeans. 'Tom Bullen. My friends call me Bull.'

'Sergeant Bull,' Andreychuk growled, accepting the gesture and squeezing down as hard as Bull's hand gripped back. 'Name's Bruce Andreychuk. My wife calls me fucknuts. Teammates go by Andy. Opponents - hell - take your pick of nicknames.'

Bull nodded. 'Andy it is.' Their hands remained locked together a moment longer. Bull felt the heat of the other man's fingers, the hawk-like focus of his dark eyes, and a spark of attraction he hadn't known for another man since the old days with Sarge Samuelson. The next sip of beer left a trace of moisture on the rough stubble above Andreychuk's full lips. Bull now stared at the other man's ruggedly handsome face without worry, because the hockey jock, too, had started to size him up.

'You Rangers,' Andreychuk said. 'You're the ones who go in first. Not the peace keeping or diplomatic kind. You're the killers. Ever kill anyone, Sarge?'

The directness of the hockey jock's question deflected Bull's gaze back to his beer and the sports news. 'I been to Grenada, Iraq, and Somalia.'

'You didn't answer the question.'

Bull sighed and shook his head. 'You're pretty tough yourself. You ever kill anybody?'

Andreychuk moaned out a cocky whistle. 'Guy, every time I lace up my skates. The rest of those pussies don't stand a chance.' He raised his half-empty glass. 'Here's to the two toughest guys stuck in the middle of this fuckin' blizzard.' Bull clinked his glass against Andreychuk's and polished it off. Before he could order another, the hockey jock asked, 'So what are you doing so far away from Seaside? You didn't come all the way down to Pittsburgh just to watch my hairy ass play hockey - or did you?'

Bull smiled. 'Actually, I ain't been to Seaside in some time. On my way up there now. Been in North Carolina for a couple of years.'

'Yeah, thought you had something of a twang to that baritone a'yours. What's up in Seaside?'

Drawing in a deep breath of the beer and jock-smelling air, Bull replied, 'Haven't driven my hog anywhere but North Carolina. Figured it was time I got off base and did some relaxing.'

'You drive a Harley?' Bull nodded. 'Fuckin'-A, guy. But you ain't going anywhere in this shit.'

'I got a room at the hotel - a good night's sleep and I'll start out in the morning once they clear the roads.'

'This place here?' Andreychuk thumbed the direction of the lobby beyond the sports bar's double doors.

'Yup. You?'

'S'posed to fly to Buffalo for our day game tomorrow, but airport's closed. They booked us here, only we gotta double and triple up, 'cuz the hotel's all filled due to the storm. I have two roomies now - one who farts, and the other's a rookie who's probably gonna keep me up all night spanking his pud to the porn channel.'

Bull narrowed one eye on Andreychuk. 'I got two double beds in my room, but I gotta warn you - I fart, and I ain't gotten off since West Virginia, so the remote control belongs to me.'

Saying nothing, a sexy smirk on his hairy face, Andreychuk fished a twenty out of his wallet and tossed it onto the bar. Bull could barely believe what was happening - it could have been all that beer, or the nut-pumping adrenaline of the hockey game, or the fact Andreychuk was simply looking for a place to crash.

Neither man talked on the elevator ride - which seemed to take forever - up to Bull's room. Finally, Bull unlocked the door and strutted in. He'd barely taken a step into the room when he was shoved forcefully face-first down onto the nearest bed.

'What the fuck-?' Bull huffed, throwing the other man off him. Andreychuk landed on his feet at the side of the bed, a mean grin on his face.

'Just wanted to see how tough you really are, Sergeant Bull.'

'Tougher than you'll ever be, fucknuts,' Bull chuckled in an angry voice, standing.

Andreychuk waved him on, just the way Bull had seen him instigate a fight out on the ice a hundred times. 'Then come on, tough guy. Show me what you got for balls down in those BDUs.'

The throbbing itch in Bull's jeans now pulsed at full steam, robbing the last of the moisture from his mouth. Stopping long enough to give the meaty fullness between his legs an obvious squeeze, he charged the hockey jock, tackling him back onto the bed. Andreychuk growled out a sexy laugh, wrapped his arms around Bull, and bear-hugged their groins against one another. Soon, both men were wrestling on the bed, shedding clothes with inhibitions.

'I don't fuckin' believe this,' Andreychuk grunted, temporarily gaining the topside of Bull. 'You hot fucker.'

Bull grabbed Andreychuk's concrete ass and mashed the bulges between each man's legs headfirst into the other's. 'What about your wife, guy?' he huffed, one hand clamped to the hockey jock's solid, muscled leg.

'She's a couple hundred miles away, Sarge,' Andreychuk spat, humping his cock into Bull's. ''Sides, I don't meet too many guys as tough as me, and that's something a woman could never give you back.'

Andreychuk's leather jacket joined Bull's ball cap in a pile on the floor. Pushing up off of Bull, the hockey jock peeled off his crisp white t-shirt, baring the hairy chest and bushy black fur of his armpits beneath.

'Fuckin' nice,' Bull groaned, kicking off his boots before running a hand up and down the other man's pecs.

'What about you? You're not the typical guy who gets off on man-sex.'

'I like pussy as much as the next dude,' Bull answered, groping the prominent bulge in Andreychuk's blue jeans. 'But, yeah, there's times when hooking up with another guy will only do.'

'Yeah?' The handsome hockey jock stood and stepped out of his sneakers, leaving him now only in white sweat socks and blue jeans. Andreychuk's pants came quickly off, baring his hairy legs and the well-packed manhood trapped in a snug-fitting pair of gray boxer briefs. 'What about don't ask, don't tell?'

Bull stood, puffed his chest, and dropped trou. 'I don't take it up the shitter,' he growled in a threatening voice.

'Neither do I, guy,' said Andreychuk, ripping Bull's t-shirt off his head with so much force, he almost took the First Sergeant's dog tags with it.

'Then we do got us a problem, 'cuz somebody's gonna get fucked tonight, and it ain't gonna be me, guy.' Bull reached into the hot, sweaty fullness of the hockey jock's midlength underwear. The fat, round head of Andreychuk's hairy cock slid out along Bull's wrist. He dipped his fingers lower into the mossy patch of coarse hair lining the other man's flat abs, lower still until he'd gotten a good feel of two fat, full nuts in a sweat-soaked ball-bag. 'That's a big set of stones, guy.'

'I'd say we're an even match.' Andreychuk eased Bull's white briefs to the side, freeing his rock-hard eight incher. 'Fuck, guy-!' Jacking their cocks together for a few moments sent both men groaning. 'This goes no further,' Andreychuk eventually growled, all friendliness gone from his voice, his game face restored.

'That works for you, too, guy. Nobody else ever knows.'

'Rangers oath,' Andreychuk sighed, moving closer. Bull met him halfway, smashing his lips against the hockey jock's unshaved mouth. They kissed deeply, hungrily, teeth and tongues and lips colliding. The other man tasted like beer and oral sex, Bull thought, and fuck - he had to be the handsomest fucker he'd seen in a long time.

Spinning Andreychuk's ass toward the bed, Bull pushed the other man down onto his back. When Andreychuk didn't struggle, Bull squatted down between his hairy, solid jock legs and lifted up one foot. Peeling down the sweat sock, Bull licked at the other man's long, flat toes. Andreychuk grunted his approval. 'Yeah, guy - lick my stinkin' feet!'

Lick and sniff them, Bull did. During his time in the days following Desert Storm, he'd realized how sexy a man's feet could be, and Bruce Andreychuk's feet were about as sexy as they came. Perfectly clipped nails, threads of shiny black hairs on top of each toe, and the kind of manly smell that came after a good, honest game of sweat-drenched ice hockey all worked Bull into a frenzy. He sucked as much of Andreychuk's toes into his mouth as he could take, lapping between each one. From there, it was on to the other foot.

'Aw, fuck, guy-!' Andreychuk howled, rubbing the spit-soaked toes of his free foot through Bull's buzzcut. 'You found the weakness in my offense, Sarge.'

Looking up, his mouth wet with the sour sweat of the other man's feet, Bull could see the truth behind Andreychuk's statement. Fresh beads of perspiration had broken across his brow, and a pained, mean look now twisted the stubbled corners of his mouth. Slobbering the hockey jock's toes with long, wet licks, Bull teased Andreychuk worse, until he'd begun to openly jack the dick hanging out of his boxer briefs.

Bull licked his way higher, tracing his tongue up the taught, solid muscles of Andreychuk's hairy legs. When he reached the elastic leg band of the other man's underwear, Bull gave the knob of his cock a fast lick. Andreychuk raised his hard ass up to accommodate as Bull yanked down his boxer briefs. Finally, he was totally naked, and true to his statement back in the bar, his ass had to be one of the hairiest Bull had seen, corps or civilian.

Wasting no time, Bull stole Andreychuk's bone-stiff seven inches out of the other man's punch-bruised fingers. He lowered his mouth down onto it for his first real taste of the other man's stick. More grunts thundered from the top of the bed.

Bull moaned too, sending the hot, wet hums up and down the shaft in his mouth. The shower he'd taken back in the visitor's locker room hadn't fully removed the gaminess from Andreychuk's manhood; Bull gulped him all the way down to his musky-smelling nuts. Andreychuk bucked up off the bed and buried himself fully in Bull's throat.

'Fuck, you're good!' the hockey jock howled. 'You've done this before, ain't ya, tough guy?'

Bull spit out Andreychuk's hairy root and gave his sweaty low-hangers a wet slurp before standing to push his own crotch into the other man's face. 'Shut the fuck up and show me how good you are at it.'

Andreychuk didn't argue the point. Instead, he shucked off Bull's underwear, groped his rock-hard eight incher by the base, and brushed his tongue over its head. Bull was already dripping precome. He glanced down to see the handsome hockey jock licking his lips.

They settled into a sixty-nine on the hotel room bed, neither man resisting further. Outside, the snow continued to fall and the cold February wind could be heard howling around the building. Inside, pure sweat had started to steam the windows.

Bull looked between the hairy tree trunks of his own legs and watched Andreychuk lapping at his nuts. Pulling the other man's cock back into his mouth, Bull sucked harder and faster, until at last he tasted the first salty drops of the hockey jock's precome. A few slurps later only increased his hunger; Bull licked his way between Andreychuk's muscled legs, down beneath his nuts to the smelly patch of skin between balls and asshole. Finally, he stabbed his tongue into Andreychuk's fuck-trench. The other man jerked his lips off Bull's bone-hard stick.

'No way, Sarge. I told ya - I ain't into that.'

'Shut the fuck up - I wanna eat your asshole.' Bull shoved his face back in deeper, getting a taste of the tangy, oily hole at the center of Andreychuk's hard, hairy ass cheeks.

Andreychuk shifted off of Bull, his stiff seven incher bouncing hard enough to spray precome onto the bed. 'My asshole ain't no pussy!'

Bull pulled him back. 'Naw, that shitter of yours tastes better than any cunt!'

This time, Andreychuk's answer was to bury his face into Bull's crack. The hot, wet tongue-action sent Bull's dick snapping up. A moment after that, he felt something hard invade his asshole. Andreychuk wormed his finger all the way in. Bull pushed back, but after it was obvious there'd be no dislodging it from his can, he jabbed the fuck-finger of his own left hand into the hockey jock's tight, oily pucker.

He hadn't been fingering Andreychuk long when he felt the other man shudder beneath him.

'I'm fuckin' coming, guy-!' Andreychuk roared.

Sucking on the hockey jock's stick, Bull was rewarded with a mouthful of hot spunk. Andreychuk was still spurting when Bull, too, was finger-fucked beyond the edge. He pushed down into the other man's mouth and fired off four steady blasts of nut-juice down his throat. Each man swallowed the other's load.

They settling together, mouths again meeting, sour-smelling man-sweat drenching the covers beneath them. Within minutes of their renewed groping, both were stiff and ready for a second round.

'I don't take it up the ass,' Andreychuk repeated between sucks on Bull's nuts.

'I don't either, fucker,' Bull growled back, tonguing the gamy piss slit on the head of the hockey jock's stick. But by morning, both men had broken their promise.

Bull woke to the sound of the hotel room's shower. The digital clock on the bedside table read just shy of eight in the morning. A quick glance out the window revealed broken sunlight glittering off all the snow the blizzard had dumped on Pittsburgh.

'Roads should be cleared by now,' Andreychuk said while dressing. Bull watched the other man pull on his white socks, jeans, and t-shirt. While lacing up his sneakers, Bull reminded the hockey jock whose seed had soured on his lips that Andreychuk had forgotten something.

'Guy, your underwear,' he said, yawning the words in a sleepy voice.

Andreychuk smiled, picked up his gray boxer briefs, and tossed them toward the bed, hitting Bull square in the face with their musky-smelling crotch. 'Something for you to remember me by. I know it's not the same as an autograph or a sports card.'

Bull smiled and took a deep sniff of the gray midlengths. The other man's smell helped him wake up fully. 'No prob,' he growled.

Andreychuk slung his leather jacket over his shoulder and started toward the door. There, he turned back to face the figure lying naked beneath the soiled sheets. 'This was good, guy. I'm glad we hooked up.'

'Me, too,' Bull yawned. With daylight glowing at the windows, they'd again returned to being just two tough guys, men of few words.

'Maybe I'll see you up in Seaside some time,' Andreychuk said.

'Yeah, maybe.'

But Bull knew it wasn't going to happen and couldn't with what he now faced in his old hometown. Andreychuk smiled; in that instant, the light from the morning sun embossed his handsomeness. Bull wanted him again, wanted one more taste of the kind of rare, pure sex they'd found that night after the hockey game.

He didn't say anything, though, and rolled over.

The sound of the door closing shut reached his ears.

An hour later, Bull stowed his gear - and Andreychuk's boxer briefs - in the saddlebags of his Harley. He smiled weakly to himself, donned his helmet, then mounted the Harley and started it up. Soon, he was flying down the highway. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, was a memory in the mirror behind him.

'Next stop,' he sighed into the cold February wind, 'Seaside, Massachusetts..'



the Hitman

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