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Thread: Power Play

  1. #1

    Power Play



    The first day of classes started fucked up and went downhill quickly from there. I worked until after closing the night before at the restaurant and then overslept since, naturally, I hit the snooze on the alarm about five billion times before I actually bothered to roll out of bed. My housemates left me barely enough hot water for a shower, so I skipped washing my hair and jammed a black knit cap to hide my messy mop of curls. Of course, those selfish bastards had only left a couple of swallows of coffee, so I was way under-caffeinated, and after circling campus twice before finding a parking place for my motorcycle, I didn’t have enough time to stop to buy any.

    I skidded into the classroom just under the wire and felt the glare of the professor on my back as I mounted the steps towards a couple of empty seats on the last row. Promptly at the top of the hour, Professor Fowler started to call the roll just as a couple of women strolled in, and he stopped to scold them, “I expect punctual attendance, ladies.” They gave half-hearted apologies and rolled their eyes at each other as they walked to their seats.

    The roll call resumed, and I reached into my backpack for a pen and my notebook. A sudden chilly premonition ran up my spine, and I looked at the empty door to the class for some reason. It was suddenly filled with a couple of massive guys laughing about something. They bumped fists, and one of them continued on down the hall while the other one came into the lecture hall. He flashed a million-dollar smile at the teacher, all white teeth and dimples and was rewarded with a smile and nod in return, the professor totally allowing him to slide on being late. He quickly surveyed the room for an available spot and locked eyes with me.

    He was honey-gold perfection: tanned skin; chin-length blond hair; tawny, caramel-colored eyes. Tall, maybe six-three or more, broad shoulders, wearing loose-fitting jeans low on his slim hips and a thin black sweater that fit tightly across his muscular chest and arms.

    He quickly climbed the steps towards me, a tiny smile playing around his full lips, moving with lithe grace and assurance. A brief alarm encoded in my DNA flowed from the pit of my stomach to my balls which tightened in fight-or-flight panic as I channeled primitive ancestors spotting a huge predatory cat stalking us.

    Unable to look away from him, I watched as he bounded up the stairs and dropped into the seat next to me. He jerked his chin at me and growled, “S’up?” with a look in his eyes that there was a shared joke that only he and I got. “Hey,” I muttered, and broke eye contact, swallowing hard.

    The fluttery feeling in my stomach was growing, and I had a hard time focusing on the teacher as he read the names from the roster in his hand.

    “Zachariah DiPasquale,” he called.

    I raised a hand and said, “Zach.” The professor made a note on the sheet, and I thought I heard a whisper of approval from the guy next to me, “Okay… Zach… yeah!” but surely I only imagined it.

    He pushed all my buttons and checked all my boxes. This was not good. With classes, two part-time jobs and obligations to my family, I did not have time for a relationship right now, and I was not inclined to be a notch on some party-boy’s fucking bedpost.

    Something about him made me think I should recognize him, but any man this handsome would have made a big impression on me if we had met before, even on a campus as large as the University of Eastern Pennsylvania. I tried to place him as the roll call dragged on. Maybe he had been in the restaurant? Or we shared one of those humongous 300-student classes as freshmen?

    He had not responded to any name yet when Professor Fowler stopped reading, looked right at him and said, “And, of course, Trevor Wellman.” Heads whipped around to look at him, and I realized why he seemed familiar. Trevor Wellman, star forward of the university’s hockey team. I don’t follow the sport, but at UEP he was a Very Big Deal.

    Professor Fowler continued, “Mr. Wellman, I think you have some documents for me from the Athletic Department about away games and classes you’ll be missing?”

    “Oh, yeah!” Trevor pawed though his backpack, and pulled out a packet of papers that he carried down to the front of the room, oblivious that everyone in the room was eyeing him and whispering to one another.

    Keeping my head down as he returned to his seat, I made twitchy little doodles in my notebook. Slouching next to me, he again went through his stuff, then asked me, “Do you have an extra pen?” He smacked his head lightly. “Moron here went off without one.” Even his baritone voice, with a strong Boston accent, had a golden, honey-like timbre.

    I handed him the one in my hand without looking him in the eye.

    “Wait, dude! I don’t want your only pen,” he said.

    “S’okay,” I mumbled. “I have another.” I could see the corner of his mouth cock up in a smirk as he realized I was unable to look away from the nipple that pressed against his sweater.

    As I leaned down to search through the backpack at my feet for another pen, I cautioned myself, Don’t play this dangerous game, dickweed. No fucking good will come from it.

    Sitting up, my shoulder brushed against his thigh, and a spark of electricity coursed through me. Flustered, I dropped, the pen, and we both leaned down to get it.

    Our faces were only inches apart, and I could feel Trevor’s hot breath against my throat. His golden eyes darkened and became heavy-lidded, his lips slightly parted. For a flash of a second, I had the weird sensation he was about to kiss me, and I shot upright in my seat after grabbing the pen. As he sat up, Trevor gave me a bright, easy grin, tucking his hair behind his ears then turned his focus back to the teacher.

    I was confused as hell by my powerful reaction to him. The room felt a hundred degrees warmer from the heat radiating off his body. A woodsy, leathery scent of pure masculinity drifted over me from his direction. The air between us seemed to crackle. I swear that if the lights were turned off, everyone would see visible sparks arcing between us.

    Professor Fowler droned on about course expectations, but I could barely focus on him. When Trevor leaned forward to catch some point, I looked at the back of neck, a golden patch that my mouth ached to taste. I thought to myself, You could make time for him. Skip meals, don’t sleep, drop a couple of classes. Whatever it takes to feel those huge hands on you, to kiss those lips.

    Oh, yeah, this was definitely Very Bad.

    As soon as class ended, I snatched up my stuff and bolted out of the room before he had a chance to say anything. If I stopped to talk to him, I was sure to say something stupid or to do something stupid.

    Maybe just to be stupid and stare at him, mouth open.

    I was about halfway across the quad when someone grabbed me from behind. Startled, I whipped around to find, of course, Trevor grinning at me. “Wow, you are speedy, bro!” he exclaimed.

    “What?” I said, stupidly.

    “I had to run to catch up with you.” He held up the pen. “You forgot this.”

    “Umm… okay… you didn’t have to do that.”

    He jammed his fists into his pockets, the January sunlight picking out amber highlights in his hair. “I thought you might need it.” He was standing very close to me, close enough that he could have whispered to me and be heard.

    “I have other pens, but thanks.” I tried turning to leave, but I was pinned by the intensity of his gaze.

    “So, DiPasquale, huh?”

    “What about it?” I asked.

    “When I hear a name like DiPasquale, I think of those guys on ‘Jersey Shore’. You watch that?”

    My jaw dropped. “What the fuck?”

    His eyes filled with alarm, and he quickly took a step back. “I didn’t… I just…” he stammered.

    “You think that because I have an Eye-talian name that I must be some Guido with red wine stains on his wife-beater?” I yelped. “What an arrogant, asshole-y thing to say.”

    “I… uh…”

    “What if I said that you must be some hairy-knuckled idiot who is only in college because he can put a puck into the basket? Huh? What would you say to that?”

    He nervously smiled again, “Actually, it’s a net.”

    “What?” I barked.

    “I’m a hairy-knuckled idiot who can put the puck into a net, not a basket.” He had again moved awfully close to me.

    “What the fuck ever,” I grumbled.

    “Please accept my apologies for the shit I said. I am really, really sorry.”

    Trevor looked so guilty and so sincere, not to mention so gorgeously fuckable, that I found myself infuriatingly inclined to forgive him.

    “It’s rude,” I mumbled, somewhat pacified.

    “Say I’m forgiven for being a bastard and that you won’t overreact anymore.”

    “Fuck!” I snapped, angry again. “Who are you to tell me what I should feel and put limits on how I act. You don’t know me!”

    He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I keep stepping on my dick here.” He ran his hands through his hair and tucked it behind his ears. “We had a connection in class, and I know that you felt it.” He took a deep breath. “Can you ignore all of the obtuse comments I made in the last two minutes, and let’s start over?”

    “Obtuse”? If he has a brain to go with that face and that body, I am so screwed… in every sense of the word.

    Trevor held up his hand for a fist bump like he had shared with his friend before class.

    I left him hanging until he dropped his hand, and I observed sourly, “I’m not part of your posse.”

    “Yeah, fair enough. I’m really sorry. I just don’t want to start off wrong with you,” he asserted softly.

    “Start what? What do you want?” I asked cautiously.

    “Could we meet for a beer sometime? Or go for a coffee?”

    The thought of Trevor and coffee made my knees buckle, since I hadn’t had my morning cup, but I shook my head. “Too busy. Between work and school and family stuff, just don’t have the time.”

    “I have a crazy schedule, too, but I really want to get to know you.”

    “All the more reason. It just won’t work since you already have a load of stuff with hockey.”

    “Do you follow the team?”

    I shrugged, “Not really, no. I know that there is a team, but that’s about it.”

    Trevor’s face fell, and he looked stunned, as if it had never occurred to him that he wasn’t the Sun that everyone orbited.

    “Is that all?” I asked, looking at my watch. “I’m running late.”

    Trevor just stood there, brow furrow, looking confused.

    Okay then.

    “See you in class,” I called to him as I hurried off, thinking, Fuck! That’s the most boneheaded move you’ve ever made, Guido. I couldn’t help but notice that there were ten or so people standing just out of earshot that had watched Trevor the whole time. Must suck to be everyone’s idol.

    I heard Trevor laugh behind me. He called, “Hey, DiPasquale!” As I turned around, I saw a huge, cocky grin on his face. “You said you were busy, but you didn’t say you weren’t interested.”


    I like to win; I like success; but I don’t believe in luck. Believing in luck is for sad-sack losers hunkered over the nickel slots in Atlantic City.

    Me? I take the high percentage shot. I fight the battles I can win, fuck the rest. When I see something I want; I calculate the angles; I learn the territory; I prepare, I adapt, I improvise.

    I almost always win. Sometimes stuff happens I can’t control, but I don’t call it bad luck. I just move on.

    That’s how I ended up as one of the stars on the championship hockey team at the University of Eastern Pennsylvania, and at a hockey-crazy school, that makes me a Big Man on Campus.

    My dad laced me into my first pair of skates when I was only three years old and signed me up for a kiddie hockey team a year later. I loved flying around the ice, skating on my blades as naturally as walking in shoes. Dad was patient when he taught me how to play the game that he grew up loving so much. We lived in Boston and sometimes went to the Bruins games at the Garden, but we never missed them on TV. I learned so much from him, not just about hockey, but about caring and compassion, about honesty and decency. Everything I know about being a man I learned from his teaching and from his example.

    He died of cancer when I was fourteen. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him. I will always regret that he didn’t live long enough to see the success he set me up for.

    My mother on the other hand…

    What can I say about my mother? She is a piece of work.

    I never understood why my parents got married. Or why two years later they decided to have a kid. I don’t remember that they had a lot of fights, but they never talked much either. Dinners were brief silent affairs in the Wellman house in the Back Bay, and afterwards, dad and I would go into one room to watch sports on TV while my mother went somewhere else to do her own thing. She never came to any of my hockey games that I recall, and after my dad died, my coach and his wife would take me to awards banquets or events that other kids went to with their parents.

    While I was still mourning my dad, mother started up with the first of a series of men that have gone through her life since then… slick, unpleasant men that blew in for a while, from a night to two or three months. They ignored me for the most part, which was fine with me. Mother and this parade of druggies and drunkards used one another shamelessly, all parties calculating how much they could extract before moving on. Certainly my mother has never done anything that did not benefit her exclusively.

    I came out to my mother when I was sixteen. I walked into the room where she was watching some dumb game show. She had a cigarette in one hand and a martini in the other; I can still see that today, pretty much standard operating procedure for her. After I told her I was gay, she looked at me for several seconds without saying anything. I stood there, shaking and nervous, my hands clammy, sweat dripping down my face. The silence went on so long, I wasn’t sure she had heard me, but she took a long draw on the Marlboro. Exhaling twin plumes of smoke through her nostrils, she huffed a little sigh and said, “Trevor, your capacity to find new ways to disappoint me is astonishing.” She took a gulp of her vodka martini and turned her attention back to the program.

    That’s all there was to that.

    What is odd is how all of her crap influenced my attitudes towards sex and relationships. I hate one-night stands, and after a brief wild period just after I came to UEP, have never given into the many temptations that are part of the perks of being a hockey idol. That always left me feeling hollow inside. It makes sense when I think about it based on what I saw from my mother over the past seven years. I never, never, never want to be like her, using people. It’s the gratuitous cruelty of it all that sickens me.

    The weird part is how much I crave a meaningful relationship considering that I did not grow up with one as a model. Last year I met a guy named Josh at the shore when I was working there over the summer. We spent every night together for three months, and while I never thought that he was The One, I was still left with an aching void in my chest when we drifted apart as the end of the summer approached.

    I was in no hurry to get to class that first day of Winter Term. The hockey team was having a great season, with high expectations of another championship at the end of it. I would be graduating in a few months, with highest fucking honors, thank you very much, and looking to be drafted into the NHL a few weeks later. Life was pretty damn good.

    My best friend and team mate, Garrett, had a class a few doors down from mine, and we took our sweet time getting there. I swaggered into class, dazzled Professor Fowler with display of the pearly whites and immediately felt a shiver of something. I don’t know what it was, but all of my senses ratcheted up about two zillion degrees, and I zeroed in on the last row of seats in the room.

    I saw him sitting there watching me. The seat next to him was empty, and all I could think was That seat is mine, and you are mine. Mine!

    He was definitely my type, maybe even the most perfect embodiment of my type I have ever seen. After being surrounded by jocks all day what pops my cork is a long-limbed sensitive musician type, really pretty much the opposite of me. I guess that is what it’s all about. Opposites attracting, his yin to my yang and all that.

    At first, all I could see was his handsome face, olive skin, full, sensual lips, and a halo of dark curls tumbling out from a black knit cap. Then I could see a scuffed leather jacket over a dark hoody, and as I dropped into the seat next to him, I could see long legs in tight jeans. From a few feet away, he was all dark skin and dark hair, a couple days’ growth of scruff along his jaw and upper lip, but up close his eyes were a shockingly light greenish-blue, like beach glass, totally unexpected. Having looked into those eyes for a few seconds, I could see intense depths under a cool, detached surface. He projected both strength and vulnerability at the same time.

    When I saw a candy-apple red motorcycle helmet on the floor on the other side of him, I was in serious danger of popping wood right in class. If he had a guitar case with him, I probably would have pulled his cock out and blown him while the teacher lectured on.

    As Professor Fowler continued the roll call, I learned his name was Zach. I had never though before what a “Zach” would look like, but the name fit him perfectly. I felt light-headed sitting next to Zach, as if I had just been slammed into the boards by a 250-pound defenseman. The air around us shimmered and distorted like a desert mirage. How could the rest of the class not see this?

    He dropped his pen on the floor between us. We both leaned down to pick it up, and we again locked eyes. His smoldering glance burned through me, and as his lips parted, the idea rumbled through me that we were about to kiss.

    As soon as class ended. Zach grabbed his helmet and backpack and tore down the steps out of the room like he was on a power play breakaway. Cramming stuff in my own pack, I was quickly in pursuit, chasing him out of the building and across the quad. I was almost sprinting to close the gap his long-legged stride made. As I chased him, I had to admire his fine ass.

    He wheeled around when I reached him, snatching his earbuds out. In the sun, his light-colored eyes surrounded by long dark lashes were more arresting, and the cool, even look he leveled at me made me think of a whole slew of naughty things that could arouse his passion.

    My friend Garrett has a list of lines he uses to seal the deal with chicks he has pegged for a quick bumping of the uglies: I lost my number, can I have yours? Should I call you for breakfast or just nudge you? Can I take your picture to prove that angels do exist?

    They are cheesy but they work, mostly because Garrett is a stud hockey player. I wanted more than that with Zach, but instead of saying something witty and charming, I blurt out the first moronic thought that pops into my head.

    As soon as it was out of my mouth, I heard sirens and saw flashing lights. Danger… Danger… Danger!

    The escalation I saw in his eyes from too-cool amusement to DEFCON 1 outrage was frightening. His fury was entirely justified, and I could only throw myself on the mercy of the court and plead temporary insanity on account of how clouded my brain was just being next to him.

    Complicating the issue was that I was so turned on as Zach vented his rage at me, and my brain was further weakened by all the blood rushing to my cock. All I could think about how much passion he would bring to bed: nights of frenzy, afternoons of ecstasy, whole weekends of rapture. Zach was furious with me, but damn fucking hell, he made me so horny that the zipper on my jeans was about to break.

    As he finally calmed down a little and seemed to be willing to overlook the fact that I could turn out to be just a jock with zero social skills, I prepared to throw down my trump card.

    Zach brought up my schedule with the hockey team, and I pivoted that to my status as a star of the team.

    His reaction: Meh!

    I had no idea what to say to that. No fucking clue. Anywhere on campus people recognize me because of hockey. The game could attract a different guy to my bed every night from now to graduation, probably five or six different women if I inclined in that direction, but the one guy I wanted just shrugged and said, “So?”

    What the fuck?

    I only had one plan: prepare, adapt, improvise. I’m not beaten if I don’t accept defeat. The game’s not over until the buzzer sounds, and we were hardly past the face off. If this hot stud wanted to run, I was fully prepared to pursue him until I made him mine.

    I stood still and watched his sweet ass all the way across the quad, thinking You want a chase, you got a chase.

    Okay, babe. Game fucking on!

  2. #2
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Aug 2004
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    Re: Power Play

    Another fantastic beginning of a new story, BD. I know I'm going to like this one. The challenge is set and Trevor obviously is not going to back down and Zach...his guard is up but fragile and it will be a struggle not to cave into this hot stud.

    So excited to read your well written stories, BD.


  3. #3

    Re: Power Play

    Chapter 1


    Three weeks into the semester, and I am still getting nowhere with Zach. Sometimes it seems like his resistance is crumbling, but the progress is too slow for me. I’m a hockey player, damn it! Fast speed, high intensity, that’s my style. If I wanted to move this slowly, I’d take up one of those girly sports like croquet or baseball.

    We’re also a few weeks into the hockey season, and I am starting to feel it a little… bruises that haven’t healed before I am hit again in the same place, strained muscles that are just taped tighter before practice or games. New this year, though, is the dull ache in my cock and balls. If Zach doesn’t cave soon, people will notice that I always walk around with a perpetual hard-on.

    Practice this morning was brutal. We lost for the first time this season a few days ago, and Coach has been putting us through some intense workouts.

    He especially rode my ass hard all day: “Get your head out of your ass, Wellman!… Can’t you see the winger is wide open? Pass the puck!… Do we need to make the net twenty yards wide so you can find it once in a while?… Hell, I can’t look at you guys anymore.”

    After practice, I am sitting in the locker room with my arms resting on my knees, too tired to unlace my skates. As much as I love the game, and as much as it has given me, this is one of these days that I feel lead-footed and sluggish, and I wish I’d never heard the word “hockey”.

    Garrett stops in front of me on the way back from the shower, a white towel clutched around his waist.

    “You okay?” he asks.

    “Yeah,” I shrug. “Not my day, I guess.”

    “Better to have those during practice and not during a game,” Garrett says. “Plus it was kinda sweet to see Coach ripping someone besides me a new asshole for a change.”

    “Fuck you,” I say, bumping the fist he held out.

    “You heading over to The Grill for lunch?”

    “Sure. Let me hit the shower. Gimme ten minutes?”

    __________________________________________________ _____

    Garrett doesn’t say much for the first few minutes of the walk across campus to the Student Union, then asks, “You seem off these days. What’s up with you?”

    “I dunno. Nothing, really.”

    “We’ve been friends a long time, Trev. This isn’t you.”

    “Nothing going on.”

    “Something’s up, and you know I won’t let up until you tell me, so save me a lot of pain and effort and spill it.”

    Garrett and I are a lot alike in that way. Persistent fuckers.

    I take a deep breath. “Remember the guy I told you about that I am interested in?”

    “What guy?” he asks puzzled, thinking for a few seconds. “First-day-of-class guy?”


    He looks shocked. “You still haven’t nailed him? What the fuck, Wellman. Have you lost the golden touch?”

    “Hell, no!” I say. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. He just keeps me at arm’s length.”

    “Forget him! Move on to someone that’s worth your time. Christ, there’s all kinds of guys around that would keep you warm on a cold winter’s night without all this drama shit.”

    I shake my head. “You know I don’t roll that way.”

    “Don’t I fucking know it. The hockey world’s poster boy for romance.” He scowls at me in disgust. Garrett throws his hands up in surrender. “Anyway, I’m the last guy to come to for relationship advice, so you’re on your own here.”

    “Love’em and leave’em, right?” I grin at him.

    “Bet your fucking ass!” he chuckles. “If a chick has a nice face, some decent tits and if her pussy is tight enough, I’ll fuck her, sure. After that,” he shrugs, “gotta cut her loose.”

    I laugh, “Wait! How do you know she’s tight before you fuck?”

    Garrett wags a long index finger in my face. “Gotta test drive the hell out of that baby!”

    I scrub my hand across my eyes. “TMI, dude. Way too much.”

    “You asked.”

    The cafe in the Union is packed when we arrived, but some of the guys have already snagged a table. About halfway to the food service area, I catch a glimpse of Zach’s profile, and instantly my body feels electric. He is eating with seven or eight other students, and they are all engaged in an animated conversation as they eat their lunch.

    I poke Garrett. “There he is,” jerking my chin at the table.

    “Which one?”

    “Dark hair, purple hoody.”

    He squints thoughtfully. “Good looking for a guy. Maybe I should ask if he wants to ride the test finger.”

    I glare, “Not funny, fuckwad.”

    Garrett smirks, “Maybe I’m more his type. Maybe all your relationship crap scares him, and he’s just looking for a good time. ”

    “Shut it, man.”

    “Yanking your chain, bro.”

    “Go eat. I’m going over to talk to him.”

    Garrett sighs, “Why are you determined to ignore all of my wise advice, Grasshopper?”

    “Whatever. Catch you in a few.” We fist bump as he turns back towards the rest of the team.

    I move between the crowded tables towards Zach and his friends. Every time I talk to him I can tell that he is as interested in me as I am in him, and his continued insistence that he is too busy mystifies me.

    However, the thrill of the chase is turning me on more than a little, I have to admit. When I finally wear down his resistance, and I will win this battle, no doubt about it, the victory will be all the sweeter because it is hard-fought.

    It’s time to kick my game into a higher gear though, and here is the perfect opportunity: I will enlist someone close to Zach to plead my case.

    As I stroll up to the table, all conversation ceases, and everyone except Zach stares at me with some degree of amazement. Eventually, he looks around to see what has caught their attention, and he sees me. I know I see a flare of desire in his astonishing eyes.

    “Hey, Zach,” I say easily even though my pulse is racing. “How’s it going?”

    I am introduced around… several guys he shares a house with, a couple of other friends, some of their girlfriends.

    “Did you get the name of that book Professor Fowler recommended?” I ask, “I must have written it down wrong because I can’t find it in the library.”

    “Oh, sure,” he says as he goes through his backpack.

    The guy sitting next to him was introduced with two interesting bits of information: he had known Zach since the fourth grade and they were sharing the rental house. Combined with sitting next to each other, I pick Rob as a likely candidate for Zach’s best friend, so I rope him in as the accomplice in my plans. Rob is a good-looking kid in an All-American sort of way, and I feel a flare of jealousy. If he weren’t holding hands with the woman next to him, I would be concerned that he is my competition for Zach.

    “So, dude,” I jerk a thumb at Rob’s sweatshirt with the logo of the UEP Cougars baseball team on it. “Baseball?” I frown skeptically.

    He looks confused. “Yeah?”

    Shaking my head, I continue, “No. If you want to see real men playing a real man’s game, let Zach know, and I’ll hook you up with some first-class seats for a hockey game.”

    His face lit up with excitement. “That would be fantastic! Thanks!”

    “No prob, bro.”

    One recruit for Team Trevor.


    Trevor is like a damn tornado. Without warning, he sweeps through my life and leaves me reeling in the chaos behind him.

    Even before the talk at the table ground to a halt, I have that shivery feeling I always get before he appears. I knew he was in the room before I saw him.

    As I am pulling up my class notes he chats with my friends, and with the offer of hockey tickets he has Rob gushing like a tween fangirl. There is no way in hell that I am asking Trevor for that favor, so Rob can go stand in line and pay for his own damn tickets.

    “Here is the title,” I tell Trevor, pointing to the reference on the page.

    He tucks his golden hair behind his ears and leans over to read, putting his hand on my back for support. Heat radiates out from where he touches me between my shoulders, and my breath catches in my chest.

    “Okay, thanks. I see where I went wrong with the name.”
    He stands up straight, giving everyone his dazzling grin. “Nice meeting you guys.” He turns to Rob, “Let me know about those tickets, okay?”

    He turns to me, and the heat in his caramel-colored eyes increases, “Have you thought about that coffee yet?”

    I shake my head, “I just don’t have any time.”

    His grin is still wide as he walks backwards a few steps, hands spread out and head tilted a little, “You still haven’t said no, Zach.” His eyes are both calm and intense, and I feel as though he can see right into my core.

    He turns around and weaves between the tables where his crew is waiting for him, several hulking jocks and some skanky-looking sorority women. As he swaggers away, I wonder if he has his jeans altered so that they fit so snug around both his slim waist and his muscular thighs.

    I turn back to my friends to find them all looking at me in shock.

    “Shut. The. Hell. Up,” exclaims Dan. “You know Trevor Wellman?”

    Rob’s girlfriend, Rory, corrects him, “Everyone knows Trevor Wellman. What we’re dealing with here is that Trevor Wellman knows Zach. Right?”

    “Where do you know him from?”

    I scowl, “We have a class together.”

    Rob punches my arm, “Go ask him about those tickets. Now! Before he forgets.”

    “No!” I snap. “I’ll remember later.”

    “You better! I want those tickets.”

    “Shut up about the tickets,” Rory says.

    Rob kisses her cheek, “You can forget about going with me, then, honey.”

    Justin says, “That was some serious eye-fucking going on, am I right?”

    “I know! I need a cigarette after watching them.”

    “I need a cold shower.”

    I mutter, “There was no eye-fucking, alright? I just know him from class.” I gather my stuff, “And speaking of class, I’m late for my next one. Later.”

    Rob says, “Hold up, I’ll go with you.”

    We walk away, and I seethe as everyone chatters about Trevor.

    “Why are you in such a pissy mood all of a sudden?” Rob asks.

    “I’m not in a pissy mood,” I snarl.

    “Okay, you go with that.”

    We walk a bit further, and Rob asks, “What was that about coffee?”

    “Would you drop it already?”

    “Drop what?” he asks. “I have no clue what’s going on.”

    I stop suddenly and grab his arm. “If I tell you something, you’ve got to keep it just between us.”

    “Sure, no problem.” He looks wary.

    “You can’t tell Dan or Justin,” I insist. “Not even Rory.”

    Rob shakes his head, “Zach, I don’t keep anything from her.”

    “I can’t tell you unless you promise that it goes no further.”

    He sighs, “Okay. I won’t tell anyone. Not even the woman who will cut me off from sex forever if she finds out I kept a fucking secret from her.”

    I gather my thoughts for a few seconds. “Trevor Wellman keeps asking me to have coffee with him.”

    Rob jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “The hockey star?”


    “So?” he asks. “What’s your beef? Are you anti-coffee now?”

    “No,” I say, realizing how lame I sound. “He made it clear he wants more.”

    He frowns. “Like coffee and pastries? I’m not following.”

    More!” I growl. “He wants more than just coffee.”

    “Like a hook-up?” Rob asks. “Dude! Go for it. He’s one handsome man.” He slapped my shoulder. “I’ve known you for eleven years, and I know your type. He is definitely your type.”

    “I know!” I groan with frustration. “He’s sex on a fucking stick. He’s not asking for a hook-up; he’s looking for some kind of relationship.”

    Rob stares at me, mystified. “I still don’t see the problem. He’s hot for you, you’re hot for him, and you’re both of legal age. You’re not seeing anyone. Are you worried he’s some kind of manwhore?”

    “Yes! No… maybe… I don’t think so. I just don’t know if I can find the time.”

    “If you think that it’s worth pursuing, you’ll make the time,” Rob says. “And I think that you think it is important. Pull the trigger. Tell him fuck, yeah.”

    “Your advice sucks,” I say grumpily. “You’re the brother I never had, and that’s the best you can come up with?”

    He laughs, “Last time I checked, you have four very large brothers with very volatile tempers, so don’t lay that on me. Besides, if you shoot him down, he won’t give me those hockey tickets.”

    “Shut up about the fucking tickets!”

    I thought it was bad that whenever I saw Trevor he was pressuring me into going out with him, but now he had Rob pushing me towards him even when I don’t see him.

    How the fuck had he done that with a couple of free tickets?

  4. #4
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2004
    City of St. Francis

    Code of Conduct

    Re: Power Play

    Thank goodness both have best friends to advise them on the romantic aspect of this chase. Zach's stubbornness and Trevor's persistence is like oil and water. I really like this new one, BD.


  5. #5
    Join Date
    Jul 2011

    Code of Conduct

    Re: Power Play

    I'm literally addicted to this story! Trevor sounds like my kind of guy lol

  6. #6

    Re: Power Play

    Chapter 2


    Trevor has turned my life upside down, inside out and backasswards. I dread running into him and feel disappointed when I don’t see him. My stomach is tied up in knots before the class we have together, but I feel empty when he is out of town for a road hockey game. I want him to leave me alone, while I can’t stop thinking about him. When he gives me that smug grin, I want to wipe it off his face, but if he smiles at anyone else, I feel a spark of jealousy.

    I am seriously fucked up.

    My insane schedule doesn’t help. In addition to taking a full load of classes, I have two part-time jobs, one at an animal hospital just off of Route 1 and the other at a restaurant in town, the Leaning Tower of Pizza.

    Hey, I didn’t name it! I just wait tables there.

    The vet gig is pretty sweet. Three or four nights a week I go over after the clinic closes just to keep an eye on things after hours. The dogs and cats are all chill for the most part since they are all sedated, so all I have to do is call the doc on duty if any of them is in distress. Other than that, I get paid to hang out and study for my classes.

    The problem is that I am run ragged, and added to the stress of keeping my grades up so I stay on track to graduate in a few months, substituting caffeine for sleep, and working six nights in a row, I am now flailing around in a spin cycle of “what do I do if I see Trevor” alternating with “what do I do if I don’t see him.”

    Maybe the Psych Department can use me for a case study.

    One Friday afternoon in late January I am running on energy drinks and sheer stubborn will power. I arrive home with a couple of hours to spare before I have to go sling pizza for the rest of the evening. The house is a typical brick row house, hundreds like it in town. A small porch leads to an entry hall with stairs going up to the bedrooms, and an arched entry to the living room and the kitchen beyond that. The second floor had two bedrooms, Rob’s in the front, mine in the back overlooking the small yard. On the third floor are Justin’s and Dan’s rooms. There is a small bathroom between each pair of bedrooms. Housekeeping standards are fairly lax: no rotting food in the kitchen, no underwear draped over furniture in the living room, flush the toilet after every use. Beyond that we are all pretty easygoing.

    With any luck, no one will be there, so I can slip upstairs to catch a quick nap before I leave for the restaurant. When I open the front door, I can hear a video game blaring from the living room and Rob cursing loudly, so I pop in there to see him. The women all call this the man cave, and that is not intended as a positive comment: sectional couches, bigass TV with all the latest gaming equipment and a weight bench set up in the corner.

    Rob is on the couch, yelling at the game he is playing.

    The first thing out of his mouth to me, “Did you get my tickets?”

    “Trevor changed his mind.” I have to bust his balls a little.

    “What?” he yelps as he pauses the game.

    “Yeah, he said he would be embarrassed to have, and I quote, ‘a douchenozzle like that sitting with the other players’ friends and family’.”

    “You’re the douchenozzle!”

    I pull the envelope out of my backpack that Trevor had given me and handed it over.

    “Oh, yeah,” I muse. “Maybe it’s me he was talking about.”

    Rob stops rolling around on the couch in glee long enough to say, “We both know that’s not true. Any movement on the going-out front?”

    Changing the subject, I ask, “Is Rory here? I thought I saw her car on the street.”

    “Nice redirect,” he says sarcastically. “She’s upstairs.”

    Before I can ask why his girlfriend is alone in his bedroom while he is playing games in the living room, my phone rings. I look at the display and groan when I see it is my boss from the restaurant. This can only mean that they are shorthanded and want me to come in now to cover someone else’s shift. The extra cash would be good, but I need some down time in the worst way, so I almost don’t answer. However, I give in, and am surprised when Steve says, “We have a broken pipe in the kitchen, and since the plumber can’t get in until tomorrow, we’re gonna close tonight.”

    “Okay,” I say with a sinking feeling about the money I’d be out.

    “We’ll still pay you guys,” he continues, “so don’t worry about that.”

    “Cool!” I answer, relieved.

    “Unless you hear from me that the guy can’t get it cleaned up by then, come in tomorrow, regular hours.”

    “Will do,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

    I gloat to Rob, “Guess who doesn’t have to work tonight!”

    “Great! Rory and I are gonna hit a party tonight, you should come with us.”

    “Which one?” I ask.

    “We’ll talk about it when she comes downstairs.” He tosses me a game controller. “Grab some couch, and I’ll whoop your ass.”

    We play some mindless game with sword-fighting knights, and he is beating me so badly that I can only win if I behead his knight, pretty much impossible in this game, when Rory comes downstairs. We exchange greetings, and just as my game character’s future looks bleakest, the tide of fortune changes.

    Rory asks, “Rob, isn’t it about time for you to get ready to go out?”

    Without taking his eyes off the game, he says, “Hon, I’m busy. After this is over.”

    From the other end of the couch even I can sense this is not the response she wants, so I know Rob is about to get a smackdown. He, of course, is clueless.

    Rory leans over the coffee table to pick up a magazine, and Rob gets a straight shot down her blouse to her breasts. While his eyes are transfixed, I take advantage of his distraction to execute a nifty spin move to build some momentum and slash my sword against Sir Rob’s neck, lopping his head off.

    I jump up in triumph, yelling, “In your face! Boo-ya!”

    Rob howls with indignation when he realizes what happened and screams at us, “You two gang up on me all the time. You planned that!”

    Rory and I exchange innocent looks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, honey,” she coos.

    He jabs a finger at me. “Just for that, you are not invited. Your cheating ass can stay home for all I care.”

    “Uninvited where?” Rory asks.

    “I don’t have to work tonight, so I am going out with you guys.”

    “Yea!” she squeals. “I’ll have someone to dance with.”

    “NO!” Rob yells. “Zach can’t go with us.”

    “Which party are we going to?” I ask.

    "You're not going!" Rob insists.

    “How about that fraternity over on Elm Street, Zeta Kappa?” Rory suggests.

    I nod, “They usually spin some decent tunes. I’m cool with that.”

    “Okay, that’s decided.” Rory turns to Rob to say, “Hon, go dress. Your clothes are on your bed.”

    “He-he-he,” I snickered. “Dude, your girlfriend still has to dress you.”

    He flipped me off and kissed Rory, “Back down in a minute, hon,”

    I pick up a magazine and started reading.

    “Aren’t you going to change?” Rory asks.

    I look down at my clothes. Black high-top Chucks, jeans, grey hoody. Good to go! “Hadn’t planned on it. Why?”

    “When we’re dancing, I want every one of those snobby women to be envious of me, not wonder if we’re going dumpster diving later!”

    “There’s an insult in there somewhere, isn’t there?” I ask suspiciously.

    She grabs my wrist. “Come on!”

    I protest as we go upstairs, but for such a tiny woman, she has a lot of strength.

    When we see Rob in the hall buttoning his shirt, I squawk, “She’s trying to make me over. Do something.”

    “Rory, leave Zach alone,” he says.

    She smiles sweetly at him, “I hope that you and your right hand will be very happy together over the next six months.”

    “Dude, I did what I could,“ he shrugs. “You’re on your own.”

    In my room, he flops on my bed to read a motorcycle magazine while Rory starts sorting through my closet. “Rob, look at how neat Zach is,” she says. “Everything is put away and organized.”

    “Maybe you should ask if he’ll be your boyfriend,” he suggests. “But a word of warning: I don’t think your equipment is regulation for his team.” We both glare at him. “Just sayin’.”

    Rory looks at me. “What are you waiting for? Strip!”

    “Hey!“ I protest.

    “I’ve seen you naked before. Strip!”

    After pulling off everything except my shorts, I wait for her to find something for me to wear. She looks me over and orders, “Underwear, too.”

    “No one will see my underwear,” I grumble.

    “But now I’ve seen it, and all night long I’ll remember the shot elastic and the split seam there.” She starts pulling out the dresser drawers looking for something suitable.

    I shuck down my briefs and kick them aside. “My junk is flapping in the breeze here, so could you speed it up?”

    “I’m working on it,” she says, looking me up and down. “You know, the fact that you have that body and that face but only like boys may be proof that God really does hate women. Before we even get into the whole flapping junk thing.”

    Rob doesn’t look up from the magazine. “Hon, please can the editorial and hand the man something to wear so I don’t have to think about his flapping junk.”

    She hands me some grey boxer-briefs. “Me and my junk say thank you,” I say drily as I pull them on.

    Rob says with exasperation, “I declare a one-hour moratorium of any further discussion of Zach’s junk.”

    “Fine by me,” I snap.

    Rory hands me a pair of olive-green wool slacks and a matching ribbed T-shirt to wear with a cream-colored linen dress shirt. As I put them on, she grabs a pair of black boots for me. She studies the effect and undoes a couple of more buttons on the shirt. “What do you think?” she asks Rob.”

    “Very tasty. Can we go now?”

    Rory eyes me critically. “I have to do something with that hair first.”

    I pat my head. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

    “Nothing. You totally rock that just-out-of-bed look, but we need something a little more under control.” She frowns, “Let me get something from my purse.”

    After she left the room, I ask Rob, “How did I end up pussy whipped by your girlfriend?”

    “Because you are such a romantic at heart and have a pretty face that makes all the girls swoon.”

    “Nobody is swooning,” I scoff.

    “Brother, in the war between the sexes, you are just collateral damage,” he smirks. “Besides, I hear a certain jock is very much swooning.” I make a slashing motion across my throat to shut him up as Rory returns to the room.

    She squirts some foam from a canister into her palms and massages it into my hair before brushing it all into some semblance of order. “There!” she says. “My work is done.”

    “If the princess make over is done, can we finally hit the road?” Rob demands.

    I kiss Rory. “Thanks! If you work that equipment issue out, I am totally available to be your boyfriend.”

    She frowns as she looks at Rob. “Might be worth looking into.”

    __________________________________________________ ____________________

    The Zetas took over a big Victorian house that is just outside of campus before you come to the business district of town. It’s only a few blocks away, so we walk over there even though it has started lightly snowing. When we arrive, we can see the flashing lights from inside and hear the thumping bass of the sound system from the street. The Zetas go all out for their parties, bringing in DJ’s from Philadelphia and setting up elaborate light shows. Inside, we toss our coats into a pile by the door, and Rory grabs my hand, yelling, “I love this song. Come on, let’s dance!” and pulls me into the thrashing mass of dancers.

    Rob shouts after us, “Go ahead with my girlfriend, Zach! I’ll just stand over here by the door. Alone. By myself.” Rory laughs and sticks her tongue out at him.

    We end up staying on the floor for three more songs, having up a pretty good time in the crowded room, the pounding beat from the huge speakers and everyone shouting to be heard creating intense energy on the floor. Then a slow song comes on, and while we are standing there a bit awkwardly before we can decide to sit one out, Rob comes up and pushes me away.

    “Move it along, pretty boy,” he grins. “She’s already drooled over your dick tonight. No way I’m letting her rub up against you during a slow dance.”

    Rory moans, “My panties get so wet when Rob thinks he’s in charge.”

    “Woman! Dance!” he barks.

    I’m looking around for the bar when I see Trevor Wellman bearing down on me. He has his usual amiable smile, but his eyes look dark and determined. He’s holding two red plastic cups of beer in his hand, and greets me, “Twice in one week, Zach, that I find you’re not as busy as you claim.” He leans a little closer to say, “Could give a guy the feeling that you’re just playing coy.”

    “The restaurant I work at has plumbing problems so they closed tonight.”

    “I see. You and Rory were burning up the dance floor there.” I am a little surprised he remembers her name, but he says, “You look like you worked up a thirst,” holding one of the cups of beer out to me. I stand for a second as I think that I might like something different. Trevor misinterprets my hesitation and laughs, “Come on! Are you kidding me?”

    He lifts one cup to his mouth and drains about a quarter of it, then lifts the other to drain a quarter of it. I am mesmerized by the working of his throat muscles as he drinks. After a lusty belch, he tops one cup off from the other and offers it to me. “See? No drugs.” His cocky smile reaches his caramel-colored eyes this time.

    I can’t help but grin back at him as I take the cup. “Thanks! Either that or you just roofied yourself.”

    He throws his head back to laugh, “And you totally gotta hang to see how that plays out, right?”

    “Sure, I guess.”

    “So what’s your story, Zach?” Trevor smooths his blond hair behind his ears and gives me a searching look.

    “My story? I don’t really have a story, I don’t think.”

    He cocks his head to study me, “Everyone has a story. I just can’t figure yours out.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “For instance, I can tell you are from the Philadelphia area from your accent.”

    “South Philly born and bred,” I agree,

    “You can be pretty intense sometimes. I guess that you are an only child? Or the oldest of a couple of kids?”

    I shake my head. “Nope. Couldn’t be more wrong. Four brothers and three sisters, all older. I’m the baby of the family.”

    “Did not see that coming,” he chuckles. “Some detective I’d make, huh?” He chews his bottom lip for a moment.

    I shrug as he asks, “Let me see your hand.” He holds his out to me.

    “My hand?”

    “Yeah! Give it up.” He turns my hand palm up and runs his fingers lightly over it. “You do some kind of work with your hands. Maybe construction? In the summers?”

    “Close. Cabinetmaking.”

    “Like… kitchen cabinets?”

    “No. Furniture.” He is now running his thumb over the pads of my fingers, holding my hand with both of his still.

    “You have something going on with your fingers here. Violin maybe?” He looks thoughtful and asks, “Let me see your other hand.” He takes it, and he gives it the same treatment. “No…guitar. Both hands are roughed up.”

    “Correct again,” I admit. “You could take this act on the road.” He continues to run his fingers across my hand, staring at it for a few more seconds. I say, “Uh… can I have my hand back now?”

    He gives an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Got lost for a second.”

    “How about you? What’s your story. Boston, obviously, and hockey.”

    “Guilty on both counts.”

    “How did you get started on hockey?”

    “My dad. He played growing up but never advanced beyond high school teams.”

    “He must be proud that you are the big college star now?”

    Trevor’s face clouds. “He died several years ago.”

    “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.

    He shrugs. “No brothers or sisters. Just my mother.”

    When he mentions his mother, his face shuts down and stays that way for a few uncomfortable moments, then the sunny smile comes back. “Enough family talk! On to the music round. What kind of tunes do you like?”

    “All kinds,“ I say. “I have pretty eclectic tastes.”

    Trevor scoffs. “Everyone says that they have eclectic tastes, then you find out they only listen to boy bands or some fucking shit like that.” He narrows his eyes at me. ”The proof is in the playlist.” He holds his hand out to me. “Give me your phone.”


    “I reviewing your playlist to see what you really listen to, Mr. Eclectic Taste.”

    I fish the phone out of my pocket and Trevor starts thumbing through the screens. He scrolls through the music menu, nodding and making all kinds of faces at the selections he finds there. He approves of some of my downloads, finds others surprising; a couple he seems to find quite disgusting, but at least there are no boy bands. Every once in a while he punches up a song and holds the phone up to his ear to listen to it. Finally he says, “You do have a pretty wide choice there, Your taste doesn’t half suck.”

    “Thanks, I think,” I mock. “Can I have my phone back now if you are through making fun of me?”

    “Not so fast there, buckaroo.” He holds the phone up and snaps a selfie, then programs his number into my contact list. After taking a picture of me with my phone, he fiddles with it some more. With a big grin, he hands it back just as his phone rings in his jeans pocket and he answers it to show me the text that he sent from my phone with the most unflattering picture of my scowling face ever made.

    “Sneaky bastard!” I protested. “I didn’t know what you were up to.”

    “Gives you an incentive to send me a more attractive, and may if I request, a more provocative photo. Something for the spank bank?”

    I laugh, “In your dreams, hockey boy.

    We continue to chat as easily as if we had known each other for years. Every time he leans closer the feel of his breath on my skin sends a tremble through me. Every time he touches my arm or my shoulder to make a point, my balls tighten. After we have made a couple of more trips to the keg to refill our cups with warm, weak beer, he finally gives me a shy look that almost cracks my chest wide open and asks, “Any thought on going with me for that coffee?”

    I bite my lip to look like I am giving it some consideration. I had decided an hour ago that I would accept the next time he asked, but no need to let him know how hard I was falling. “Sure, I guess.”

    “Great!” he exclaims. “When?”

    We pull out our phones and start comparing schedules. Saturday is a hockey game for him, Sunday is dinner in Philly with my family, Monday and Tuesday I work, Wednesday a game, Thursday and Friday I work, Saturday and Sunday a road trip for Trevor.

    I shake my head. “I’ve been telling you this was too hard to pull off.”

    Trevor ponders, “We just have to think about this creatively, you know? We can’t just give up!”

    Waving off his statement, I disagree, “It’s not a matter of giving up. Our schedules just don’t match up well. We can look into it again later.” I add flippantly, “No big deal.”

    Trevor doesn’t seem to take my dismissal well. The scowl on his face could be used to illustrate ‘getting your game face on.’ I’m feeling a little pissed off, to be honest, by his intensity right now. I had been having fun, and now I feel like he is steamrolling me.

    I mean I’d like to hang out with him, see where this goes. I’m as open as he is to a whole lot more, but he’s about to cross the line into Crazy Fucking Town, and I’d just as soon not take that trip with him.

    “Gotta jet,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’m going to hit the restroom before I leave. I’ll see you in class on Monday.”


    As Zach walks away, I am angry. Angry with him for not fighting harder to be with me. Angry at myself for wanting to be with him so badly but not able to make it happen. Mostly angry with whatever forces in the universe found it amusing to make us yearn so to love and then places so many obstacles in our path.

    As he climbs the stairs, I watch his slim legs, the lines of the inverted triangle of his long back from his broad shoulders to his waist, and especially the tight, hard muscles of his fine, sweet ass, and my anger slides away, replaced by desire.

    Zach closes the door of the bathroom behind him, and my brain clicks off. All I hear in my head is static. Without thinking, without even being fully aware of what I was doing, I mount the stairs after him and lean outside the door. I hear the muffled roar of the plumbing from inside, then the splash of water in the basin, then after a long silence, the metallic click of the lock.

    The door opens, and Zach finds me filling the doorway. He does not look startled or surprised… maybe his mind is as blank as mine at this point.

    I put my hand flat on his chest and gently push him back into the bathroom, kicking the door shut with my foot. Without breaking contact, I lock the door again behind us. My eyes search his for some clue of his emotion, but all he shows is intensity. Under my hand, I can feel the tension in his body. Not “oh, hell, I’m being raped” or “what is this crazy man doing”. It felt more like “I’m leaping into empty air because I know you will catch me”.

    I step into the space between us, and bring my mouth to Zach’s, brushing our lips as softly together as my raging need for him will allow me. I pull back to look into his beautiful blue-green eyes again, finding a flicker of heat. As I wait for that flicker to grow into an invitation to continue, Zach inhales a long, ragged breath and grabs the back of my head to pull me into another kiss.

    His mouth softens on mine, then his tongue flicks quickly against my lips, demanding entrance. My mouth widens, and he darts in, plundering me in a flood of jabs and probes and taking possession. I respond with desperation and hunger, feeling desire uncoil in me in a way I have never experienced. I cradle the back of his head with one hand as I push him against the wall.

    Each tongue tempts the other into play, flittering and dancing, now smooth and gentle, now thrusting with power. I trace the outlines of his lips, then he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth.

    Zach moans as I break the kiss. I look at his swollen lips, parted as he pants, then lower my head to press my mouth along his jaw line, nibbling and tasting the tender flesh there.

    “Damn you, Trevor,” he mumbles, “for making me want you like this.”

    I taste my way down his throat, stopping at the notch just above his collar. His pulse throbs hotly in that little hollow, and his taste filled my mouth, my nose is full of his clean male scent. My heart is hammering under my ribs, and I can feel his pounding against my chest.

    Zach’s hand is on my back, sliding lower and lower, pushing past the waist of my trousers, along the bare skin of my ass. One long finger teases the top of the crevice there, and I groan against this throat. One of his legs snakes behind me, coiling across my thighs, pulling me even closer.

    The dark, sooty stubble under my lips sends a powerful shock up and down my spine. The beautiful curve where his neck swells from his shoulder entices me with its siren call. After a kiss, I must taste it, and my tongue quivers there. A long sigh escapes me against his wet neck, and Zack moans, shivering beneath my arm and arching his back into me.

    I hiss in surprise at the passion in his response and come back up to look in his eyes. I find a mirror of my feelings there… vulnerability… hunger… desire… heat. I press my mouth against his again, angling my head to be able to plunge deeper into him, his tongue taunting me, daring me to give everything he wants. Zach’s fingers snarl in my hair, massaging and probing. The hungry kisses went on and on, slick and hot.

    “Oh, fuck,” I moan. “I need you so much!” I press my face into his tangle of dark curls just above his ears and inhale a scent that is un-Zachlike. Violets? Lavender?

    His hand burrows between us, ripping the buttons on my shirt open. I jam both of his shirts up, my fingers combing through the hair on his hard, rippled abdomen. My thumb finds a flat nipple. I pop it hard with my nail, and the little nub hardens as Zach inhales sharply with a groan. The bare skin of our chests is mashed together, radiating heat and sending a shivering ache through me.

    Every nerve in my body is vibrating and humming with tension. Every point on my body in contact with Zach feels both liquid and on fire. Our bodies fight and strain against each other, both roughly taking and sweetly yielding, our skin now slippery with sweat. We are both shaking with need, with want. Zach is slowly chewing on my lower lip, and every nip of his teeth screams through me, leaving me raw and exhausted. His rough hand searches across the skin of my chest and back with tender hunger, kneading and caressing. I crush my body against his, my cock swollen and throbbing in my jeans, pleading for release, jerking every time Zach’s greedy, searching, teasing hands veer off before touching my crotch. I am gushing pre-cum, and my underwear is soaked though, clinging to me.

    From deep in my core, I feel a clinching, the first shimmery spark that will bloom into an orgasm, and I sense that I will cream in my boxers just from Zach’s kiss. With a groan, I try to pull away, but Zach follows. He moans as I drop my head away from his. My hand slides down his chest and stomach, and I wrap my fist around his waist of his trousers, tugging it away from his skin, seeking agreement in his electric eyes.

    I find only insistence there and take possession of his lush mouth as I unbuckle his belt. I fumble at the button and free it. I start to tease the zipper down the hard ridge of flesh beneath it when there is a sudden pounding at the door.

    “Hey!” a gruff male voice demands. “I gotta piss.”

    Zach and I look at each other, startled by the interruption back to the present.

    “Anybody in there?” the voice calls as the door knob rattles.

    I call “Just a minute,” in a ragged voice,

    There is a pause. “Trev? Is that you?” the man asks.

    “Yeah.” I respond. “Garrett?”

    “Yeah, man. Let me in.”

    “Just a minute.”

    Zach grins nervously at me, chest heaving, then a torrent of words flows out. “My place is only four or five blocks from here, and nobody is home tonight. We can go there unless your place is closer. Oh, fuck, I don’t have any condoms. I can stop at the Sup-R-Sav on the way. Or maybe I can get some out of Rob’s room. Or do you already have some?”

    He was running his hands up and down my ribs under my shirt while punctuating his words with tiny kisses all over my face, his warm breath against my skin driving me to distraction.

    Suddenly I see all of the seedy men I found in my mother’s kitchen in the mornings, some of them smirking at my discomfort, some angry at finding a teenage boy on the premises. “What is this shit? I didn’t sign up for any kids.” My mother glaring, thrusting a box of dry cereal in my hands. “Go eat in your room.”

    I know there is no way I can go to Zach’s house tonight. That would make me no better than my mother, taking a chance that satisfying an itch for rutting could destroy something important with Zach.

    I catch his long, corded wrists in my hands to stop his caresses, “I want to take this slow,” I say.

    He smiles hungrily, “Babe, we can do it as slow or as fast or as many times as you want.” He reaches for his phone, “Let me text you the address.” His eyes are luminous with excitement.

    I say gently, “No, that’s not what I mean. We have more than just physical attraction between us. I know you feel it, too, a connection on a deeper level.”

    Zach looks at me, puzzled, “Yeah… but… I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

    I swallow hard, not quite sure what I mean either. “I want you to know that I am one hundred percent invested in exploring that side of us. Let’s not jump into bed before we’re ready and fuck it all up.”

    He stares at me, then his bruised mouth slams shut and his eyes harden. “So you’re blowing me off?” he demands in a flat voice as he scrubs his swollen lips with the back of his hand to clean off the spit we had left there. He rams his phone back in his pocket.

    “No, no,” I soothe as I try to cup his face again, but he jerks away from me. “I’m all in. I’m committed. I just want to make sure that you are, too, that you aren’t ambivalent.”

    He grabs my hand and presses my palm flat against his crotch. I can feel his cock pulsing and twitching beneath the wool fabric, the heat searing my skin like an open flame. “Does this feel like I am not committed?” he snaps. “And who the hell uses a word like ‘ambivalent’ when talking about fucking?” He starts buttoning his shirt and rearranging his clothes. “After weeks of…”

    Garrett pounds on the door again. “Trev! I gotta piss. Open up!”

    “Wait just a fucking minute!” I yell.

    Zach continues, “After weeks of hounding me to go out with you and after getting me all worked up here, NOW you want to slow down and back off?” He looks down at the obvious bulge his cock is making and with a grunt of frustration, snatches his shirt tail out to hide it. “I’m sure that your buddies are all vastly entertained by your stories of how you periodically swoop down to rattle my cage and see me spin around in a frenzy.”

    He takes a deep breath. “You know what? Fuck you, Trevor! Fuck you and all of your stupid fucking ideas about whatever it is that you think you want.” He slid out from underneath my attempt to take him in my arms. “I don’t need this shit,” he snarls. “Stay the hell away from me!”

    He jerks the door open and slams past Garrett with a gruff, “Sorry.”

    I come out of the bathroom buttoning my shirt, and Garrett looks at me with an eyebrow cocked. “Isn’t that…?” he asks as Zach clatters down the stairs.

    “Yes,” I reply curtly.

    “Hold up for a second,” he tells me as he disappears into the bathroom.

    I watch gloomily from the second floor as Zach angrily searches through the pile of coats in the hallway downstairs for his leather jacket. Snatching it on, he pulls the front door open and looks up at me. Waves of emotion boil across his expressive face… anger… desire…. frustration… sorrow… back to anger. Then with a deep breath he wheels out the door.

    Garrett comes out again, drying his hands. “You okay, man?” he asks. “Are you going after him?”

    “No,” I admit after a pause. “He has enough to think about.”

    “What happened? Hold up a second.” A beautiful blonde woman with long legs and ample breasts pouring out of a tight pink dress is walking into the bathroom. “How you doing, darling?” he purrs to her. She gives him a sly smile as she shuts the door. He flashes me his patented cocky smirk. “So what happened with Dream Date?”

    “We were hot and heavy swapping spit, and I was just about to tug his cock out when the Worst Wingman Ever,” I poke a finger in Garrett’s chest, “has bladder control issues”

    “Oops!” he says. “That what pissed him off?”

    I confess, “No, I turned down his offer to move the party to his house.”

    Garrett stares at me for a few seconds, then cocks his head and cups a hand behind his ear, “Sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

    “Wouldn’t go home with him.”

    He flicks his index finger hard against my forehead. “The fuck? What is your malfunction, dude?”

    I shrug and rub my fingers across the spot where he popped me. “I don’t know. It just…. you know.”

    He glares at me, then comprehension lights in his eyes, and his face softens. “Yeah, I know,” he quietly says. He chuffs a breath out, studying me. “You sure you’re okay?” I nod. Garrett shakes his head. “Bro, your mother fucked you up in ways you haven’t started to uncover.”

    The bathroom door opens again. “I hope you know what you’re doing, man,” Garrett tells me. “Because this looks like trouble for you.” He turns his most dazzling smile to the blonde. “Hey, beautiful! I’m Garrett. I’m sorry, I don't think we've met. I wouldn't forget a pretty face like that.”

    As they walked off arm-in-arm, I laugh ruefully and look back at the front door where I had last seen Zach.

    With an empty feeling in my chest, I realize that I may have fucked this up beyond all repair.

  7. #7
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2004
    City of St. Francis

    Code of Conduct

    Re: Power Play

    Wow! Laughing so hard while Rory is dressing Zach and giving Rob such a bad time. Turned on completely when Trevor actually traps Zach in the bathroom. Sad to think Trevor's mother could be such a strong influence on him still. More sad as logic and sanity destroy the passion. Trevor is right and hopefully Zach will understand, but it is going to take some time for that to occur. What a fantastic chapter, BD. Can't wait for more.


  8. #8
    Porn Star
    Join Date
    Jun 2008

    Code of Conduct

    Re: Power Play

    Ah... to still be young and dumb ... lol
    I am enjoying Trevor and Zach's stress .
    Looking forward to the jock style apology .. lol


  9. #9

    Re: Power Play

    Loving the story Blue, thanks for writing! Can't wait for more, hopefully things work out!!

  10. #10
    Porn Star SexyGuy's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2004

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    Re: Power Play

    Gah!!! Such a good story!
    "Everything popular is wrong." ~Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
    "Even people who aren't geniuses can outthink the rest of mankind if they develop certain thinking habits." ~Charles Darwin

  11. #11

    Re: Power Play

    Chapter 3


    When I return home from the party, my thoughts are whipping in a dozen directions, and my body is totally out of my control. Climbing the stairs to my bedroom requires a conscious effort since my legs are shaking and threaten to give out with each step, to dump me flat on my ass. I shut the door and lean on it, slowly sliding down to sit on the floor.

    My heart pounds against my ribs so hard I can actually see my shirt jumping with each beat. My angry cock throbs in tandem, straining against my zipper. I fumble with my belt and the button on my jeans, tugging them open to relieve the aching pressure.

    Memories of Zach’s swirling tongue and caressing hands haunt me. I close my eyes as though that will push away those thoughts. The passionate arch of his taut body into mine still burns me, and the quick fire in his eyes inflames me, those eyes that whisper, "Fuck me! Fuck me now!"

    I can hardly draw a breath as I sit there in the dark replaying the most wonderful, fantastic kiss I have ever experienced. The taste of his skin fills my mouth still, and the scent of his hair is in my nose.

    My skin is so overheated that it may scorch the carpet,

    Moaning in misery, I think that I could be inside of Zach right now if I had just followed him home instead of throwing out stupid ideas on relationships.

    Fuck! What have I done?

    Instead of aqua eyes filled with desire, I remember Zach’s disbelief and anger. Instead of steamy embraces, I remember his fists balled up ready to punch me in the gut.

    Zach is only a phone call away. In the unlikely event that he would answer, I could be with him in a matter of minutes,

    Ain’t gonna happen, idiot, I tell myself. I’m deep on his shit list, and it’ll take a spectacular effort to get me back to where he sees me as a confident jock instead of as a chronic fuck up.

    Voices and footsteps on the stairs interrupt my self-pity. It sounds like Garrett has brought the blonde in the pink dress back from the party. Hearing their excited whispers and giggles just makes me feel worse. The door to his bedroom slams, putting an end to the torment.

    I haul myself off the floor, and after toeing off my sneakers, I shove my jeans off and hobble to my bed. My hard dick bangs insistently against my stomach demanding attention. I know the greedy son of a bitch wants Zach, not a quick fuck with my fist.

    Crawling between the sheets, I fidget, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep with my aching hard on. From Garrett’s room I can hear the squeals that mean that the woman with the bouncing ta-tas is a screamer in bed, and I know that my buddy will do everything in his power to keep her howling happily until dawn.

    I bury my head underneath the pillows to block out the noise.

    It’s gonna be a long night.

    __________________________________________________ _________________

    Luckily we have an afternoon game against Princeton University the next afternoon, so I don’t have too much time to fret about Zach. As soon as I hit the ice at the arena, I start to feel less tense and more ready to rock and roll. We still only have two losses for the season, and we lead the conference, so between the boards, my life is bright. It’s just away from hockey that my life sucks. As we go through the pre-game warm-up drills, I even start to feel some optimism about Zach

    Just before the game starts, Coach gives us pep talk, reminding us about the information that they had given us all week about Princeton’s strengths and weaknesses and the plan that we have to pull out the victory. We all respect and trust Coach, and as his speeches go, this one is typical, part kick in the ass, part pat on the back, not too much of the over-the-top rah-rah business.

    From the first face-off, the scrappy Princeton squad let us know that they are not going down without a fight. They are aggressive and hard hitting, and Coach is yelling himself hoarse with instructions. My line starts but after a couple of great shots on goal we can’t get one past the Tiger goalie. He is like a brick wall out there. Late in the first period, I am on the ice when Princeton has a bad shift change, and we fly towards the goal to take advantage of the disorganization. I come up on the left wing while Garrett curls around behind the net on the right. I slice the puck to him on the goalie’s blind side, and he pops it into the net for the first score of the game.

    The red light flashes, and the horn blares as we swarm over Garrett in celebration, everyone hitting his helmet and pads with their fists. As we scramble back to the bench, I throw my arm around his shoulder and say, “That horn is almost as loud as your blonde bed partner last night.” He just smirks at me. My mood is much better.

    We are playing a good game, crisp passing, clean hits, creating a lot opportunities to score, but nothing is getting past the Princeton goalie. He is pulling the game of his career out of his ass.

    The one-goal lead holds until the middle of the third period when one of our guys is thrown into the penalty box after a totally bogus call. During the resulting power play, a Princeton forward slaps one past our goalie to tie up the score. As the minutes tick off, I look at my teammates’ faces and see the same grim determination I feel. If the period ends with the score still tied, we go to overtime. Crazy things can happen in overtime, since the first team to score wins. I don’t care how inspired Princeton is playing today, but we are not going to OT if I can help it.

    This is our ice, and those a-holes are going down.

    Our line is up again. Garrett and I vault onto the ice as the arena announcer calls, “One minute remaining in regulation time. One minute.”

    The action is in our end, Princeton fighting to pull off the upset. Phillip Greene, our big defenseman, clears the puck out to us, and we race to the other end. Garrett feints a shot to pull the defender off guard and makes a sweet pass to me. I try a slap shot about two meters out, but the goalie blocks it and clears the puck out. Both teams are swirling around, trying to dig the puck out of the confusion. Garrett comes up with it and speeds down the right side of the ice, with me trailing on the left. The Princeton goalie is focused on Garrett, and he looks like he completely fills the goal. Without breaking stride or looking back at me, Garrett passes the puck back, and I snap a wrist shot to the back of the net for our second goal of the day, and the winning score, just as time expires.

    All of the guys jump over the boards as the team celebrates the win together. Even Coach has what almost looks like a smile on his face. We line up to shake the Princeton players’ hands, and almost every UEP guy has something encouraging to say to their goalie. Before heading to the locker room, we skate a victory lap around the ice as the pep band plays the fight song and the fans cheer, all of us enjoying the adrenaline rush that comes with a last-second win.

    The post-game talk from Coach doesn’t have as much of the back patting as the pre-game talk and a lot more of the ass kicking in spite of the fact that we won the game. He wants to keep us sharp and focused, and since we won 8-1 last time at Princeton, a narrow win doesn’t count for much with him.

    My personal performance pleases me, an assist and a goal, same as Garrett, and we weren’t on the ice when Princeton scored. My confidence is back after the fiasco with Zach last night, and I am ready to go after him again. After unlacing my skates and stripping out of my sweaty gear, I wrap a towel around my waist and catch up with Garrett as he walks into the shower.

    “Good game, bro,” I say as we bump fists.

    “You, too,” he offers. “The soft touch on your goal was un-fucking-believable. Made all the difference.”

    “Nah!” I disagree. “It was your blind pass that froze the goalie.”

    Tyler Jamison asks, “How did you know Trevor would be there to snag that pass?”

    Garrett and I grin at each other. “I always know where my man, Trev, is,” he says. “It comes from playing together for so long.”

    I laugh, “At least you didn’t say it’s because I skate so slow.”

    Garrett grins, “That goes without saying.”

    Punching his arm, I challenge, “I can beat your ass anytime, anywhere. I’m twice the skater you are.”

    I adjust the temperature of the water in the shower. “Are we going out tonight to celebrate?” I ask.

    “Fucking A!” says Garrett as he starts soaping up. “O’Curran’s Pub as usual?”

    “Let’s try something different. You up for pizza?”

    He shrugs. “I guess. But we always go to the pub.”

    “I thought we could mix it up a little, and I feel like pizza and a few brewskis.”

    “Okay. Want to go to Romano’s?”

    “I was thinking of a place in town called Leaning Tower of Pizza. You been there?”

    He thinks for a second. “I know where it is, but I’ve never been there. Is it any good?”

    It’s my turn to shrug, “Never been there either. Just though we could try it.”

    He looks puzzled as he squirts some shampoo into his palm and starts to massage it into his hair. “I guess that’s okay. But why…” He stops washing his hair suddenly and narrows his eyes at me. “This is about that guy, isn’t it? Dream Date?” he hisses.

    I ignore him.

    “Did you find out he’s going to be there or what? What’s the deal?” he demands.

    I mumble, “He works there.”

    With a snort of derision, Garrett closes a lot of the gap between us and stands only a few inches away from me.

    “Uh, dude,” I say nervously as he glares at me. “This is a little close for two naked guys to stand in a locker room shower.”

    “Deal with it, princess!” he snaps. “I don’t like what this guy is doing to you, this what’s his name?”

    “Zach,” I say uncomfortably as I look around to see if anyone notices that Garrett’s junk is almost touching my hip. “Really, back up there a little.” Most of the guys have already headed back to the locker room, but a few of the ones remaining are starting to show some interest in the drama between Garrett and me, giving us the sideways glances.

    Garrett steps back under the spray of his shower. “This Zach character has you acting all squirrelly and weird and shit, and I don’t like it.”

    I just grunt,

    He rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and turns off the shower, “Aww, don’t get your panties all bunched up,” he mutters. “I’ll let everyone know where this place is.”

    “Great!” I say. “It’ll be fun.”

    “I hope he’s worth all this effort,” he scowls as he tucks a towel around his waist and stomps out of the shower.

    Somehow I know that Zach is worth all that and more.


    The next day, I keep telling myself that the whole mess in the bathroom at the party didn’t really happen. Trevor isn’t a real person; he only exists in a fantasy world of make-believe and pretend.

    This charade lasts about two minutes before it crashes down around me as I flash on scorching kisses and a thick, meaty cock mashed against me. Then I stumble around on shaky legs for a while, panting with desire, pawing at my clothes that are suddenly too hot and too tight. I remember the velvety texture of the skin on his back, the crisp hairs that dust his chest, the way that his eyes turn molten with want and need.

    Oh! and the way that he pulls his hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ears.

    After a few minutes of moaning like the slut in heat that I am when it comes to Trevor, I remember how he humiliated me by pushing me away, and I want to hunt him down to punch his lights out. Trevor isn’t some fool who sees everything in two dimensions. His answers in class show that he is a smart guy who easily grasps some sophisticated ideas, so I continue to be confused by the way he treats me, running hot and cold.

    He has to be toying with me, right? No way that he can be this clueless, revving me up to the point of no return and then flipping the switch off, if he isn’t doing it on purpose.

    And that smug fucking grin he is always giving me! He’s driving me crazy.

    After wasting a whole Saturday doing nothing but riding a roller coaster of emotions, I take a quick shower and head to work. The problems with the plumbing at the restaurant are resolved, and since the hockey team played this afternoon and the basketball team has a game tonight, we are expecting a crowd.

    I make a point of not checking on the hockey score, thinking that ignoring the game he loves could be my crappy revenge on Trevor for not coming home with me. Realizing that he is turning me into a twelve-year-old girl makes me even madder at him.

    The Leaning Tower of Pizza is at the corner of Main Street and College Avenue in the business district in town, about five blocks from the university’s main gates and five blocks from the Delaware River. It’s a long, narrow room with a row of booths along on brick wall and a bar running along the other. In between is a row of beat-up tables and chairs that seat anywhere from two to eight diners at a time. Faded vintage travel posters of Italy are tacked on the walls between neon signs advertising beer, Yuengling, Flying Fish, Dogs’ Head, Moretti, all the usual suspects.

    On a busy night we make decent coin in tips if we get the right mixture of patrons and if the weather isn’t too bad. Two games on campus are good and usually mean a big crowd in a mood to eat and drink, but the spitting snow might mean a lot of people get the pies to go. Could go either way tonight.

    The only bad part of working here is that we have to wear a goofy uniform. The black jeans and blue-and-white striped T-shirt are not too bad, but we are supposed to wear a red scarf tied around our necks, a reminder of Venetian gondoliers, I guess. It is embarrassing as fuck, so I started tying mine around my head like a bandana, and so far the boss hasn’t commented one way or the other.

    The dinner rush gets going, and two pretty women sit at one of my tables. After I scoop up a couple of menus and head in their direction, Dylan, one of the other waiters tonight, grabs my arm and asks, “Can I have that booth?”

    One look at the flush in his cheeks tells me all I need to know about why he’s asking, but being a smartass, I can’t help but bust his balls a little. “Hell, no! Almost every table you have is full, and half of mine are empty.”

    “C’mon, Zach,” he pleads. “I’ve been trying to meet the one in the black sweater for a couple of weeks.”

    I look at him dubiously. “I dunno. I need the money. I tell you what… I’ll wait on her but let her know that you think she has a nice rack and are interested in a blow job in the alley during your break.”

    I am halfway across the room as he hisses, “Zach! Zach! Stop!”

    My grin gives me away the second I turn back to him. “Too brazen, you think?” I ask.

    “If you let me have the booth, you can have the next party that sits at the eight-top.”

    Trading a party of two for the biggest table looks like a deal too good to pass up. I bump his fist and whisper, “Go get her, tiger!”

    About two minutes later I realize that the trade of tables was not so good for me after all. As a matter of fact, it downright sucks.

    A half-dozen big guys, all from the university it looks like, come swaggering through the door and occupy the eight-seat table as they shrug out of heavy coats and scarves, yelling and laughing about something. I am picking the menus up from the end of the bar for them when the door opens again and a seventh guy comes in.

    This one I recognize… it’s the friend that Trevor is always hanging out with. I stand back for a minute as he flops down at the far end of the table.

    There is something about this guy that bugs me. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but he makes me uneasy. Good looking, not as handsome as Trevor, but big and muscular, short dark curly hair. His high cheekbones look Russian, but there is something about his blue eyes… feral and cunning. A scruffy goatee adds to his devilish look.

    I can tell that they have already been drinking adult beverages. None of them is obviously drunk yet, but most of them are at about a Level Four on the scale I use. Level One is sober enough to attend a Mormon Bible Study. At the other end, Level Ten is drunk enough to wake up in Atlantic City wearing someone else’s underwear. Better not to ask how I came up with that one.

    As long as they stay around a Four, I am comfortable, but if I’ll have to keep my eye on them until they leave. The best I can hope for out of a group like this is that they stay at the table too long and then leave a tip of about five bucks. The possibility exists that they will bolt for the door in a dine-and-dash leaving me stuck to pay their bill. The worst case is that one or more of them keep pounding back beers until they puke all over the men’s room.

    I hope that Dylan at least gets laid out of the trade of tables.

    I weave through the crowd to them and pass out the menus. “Can I get you anything to drink?” I ask. They order four pitchers of draft, and when I ask for ID’s, everyone starts reaching for wallets except for Trevor’s running buddy.

    He scowls, “Are you fucking kidding me? Do any of us look like we are teenagers?”

    I ignore him as I make my way around the table, checking birth dates. Everyone is either of legal age or had the sense to spend enough cash to buy a convincing fake. I get back to him, and his slight flush and glittery eyes tell me he might be more at a Level Six on the drunk scale, but I don’t back down from his glare, just hold my hand out and smile patiently,

    “Fuck!” he mutters as he slaps his ID into my hand.

    I don’t make a big production out of looking at it although I want to. I want to hold it up to the light and call the manager over to examine it for a second opinion, but I note the name on the Illinois driver’s license, Garrett Ostropov, and hand it back with a smiling “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll be right back with your beer.”

    Behind the bar, I draw the pitchers, thinking that this table of hockey players was not going to be easy to handle, but at least Trevor didn’t come with them. That thought is not even a second old when I see the front door open, and he strolls in, shaking the snow from his coat. When he immediately looks at me and smiles before he looks for his friends, I realize that this is not just another chance encounter. Trevor looks super sexy in loose jeans that ride low on his hips and a maroon Henley that fits like a second skin.The shiver of excitement that I feel irritates me.

    Trevor and I arrive at the table at the same time. He stands next to the only empty chair and says to me, “Hey, Zach! Are you taking good care of my team here?” as he tucks his hair behind his ears.

    Before I can respond, Garrett pipes up from the other end of the table, “No! He’s slow, and he wasted a lot of time making us show ID’s before he would bring the beer.”

    Trevor’s eyes narrow, and he stares at Garrett. “It’s a busy night. You won’t die of thirst.”

    Garrett won’t let it go. “I thought this was the place with the waitresses with the big… “ he leers as he cups his hands in front of his chest to indicate freakishly large porn-star breasts.

    I plaster a fake smile on my face and answer, “No women on the floor tonight. Just me, Dylan and Kyle. I can send one of them over if you’d prefer.”

    Trevor and a couple of the other guys quickly say, “No! No problem.”

    Garrett still is not letting up. “No women? One of those places, huh? What’s the special tonight? A slice and a blow job?”

    Everyone at the table stares at him with surprise. Without raising my voice, picking a spot on the wall about eight inches above his head to focus on, I quietly say, “This is a decent place, and there are families sitting here. How about dialing the rhetoric down a notch?”

    Realizing he had gone too far, his face flushes darkly, and he nods his head. Trevor looks stricken. He says to me, “He had a really big game today, and he’s flying high on testosterone.”

    I jerk my chin at him in acknowledgement and try to move past him to put their beer on the table, but Trevor doesn’t move out of the way so I am forced to press my crotch against his ass to get by.

    That move just adds to my pissy mood, so I walk away before I start punching my way through a pack of slightly drunk hockey players. I would no doubt end up in the hospital, but it would be very satisfying.

    The crowd of customers keeps me hopping all night long, so I can’t brood too much over Trevor and his merry band, but the few times I am able to look in his direction, he is looking at me with a thoughtful expression. We always lock eyes for a few seconds, but neither of us smiles. A lot of hockey fans drop by the table to chat with the team, and while Trevor smiles at them and listens to their comments, he doesn’t look quite engaged by the conversations.

    After a couple of hours, the group finally signals for the check. I drop it off on the table but don’t hang around waiting for them to pony up the cash, retreating behind the bar to do some bullshit chores that keep me from standing too close to Trevor. In my peripheral vision I get a glimpse of him standing near the door looking at me, but I keep running a cloth over clean glasses and straightening liquor bottles by a quarter of an inch on the shelves. He finally leaves, and I look up to see his friend Garrett staring at me with heavily hooded eyes. I jerk my chin at him, but he doesn’t react, just turns and walks out. The guy gives me a chill up my spine. When I go over to clean the table and to collect the money, I see that they left me a three-dollar tip on a hundred-dollar tab.

    Typical. At least none of them puked all over the table.

    After two o’clock on the morning, the last of the customers has departed, and we start winding down for the night. The manager, Steve, is in the little office in the back, tallying receipts and closing out the books. Dylan is in the kitchen doing the inventory there, and after mopping the floor of the restaurant and I’m behind the bar restocking the glasses and mugs.

    I hear the door open and call out, “Sorry, we’re closed,” before I look up to see Trevor is back. Of course he would show up to torment me some more.

    “Hey!” he says, standing a little awkwardly, fidgeting.

    I nod. “S’up?”

    He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, so I ask, “Did you lose something? I didn’t find anything around your table, but you can look through the lost-and-found box.” I pull it out from under the bar and sort through it. “A sock… some broken sunglasses… an umbrella… a couple of pens… pair of mittens…a Hello, Kitty barrette.”

    “No, I didn’t leave anything,” he mutters. Then, “Just one sock?”


    “You found just one sock? How does someone lose just one?”

    I shrug. “People do weird shit sometimes.”

    “I guess.” He shuffles his feet and looks around a bit.

    I watch him warily. “Okay, what gives?” I say. “Why did you come back?”

    He snaps out of his trance. “Oh! I wanted to give you this.” He crosses to the bar, fishes in his pocket and puts a twenty-dollar bill in front of me. “I know the guys stiffed you on the tip, so I wanted you to have this.”

    I flick it back towards him with one finger as though it has bio-toxic waste on it. “You don’t need to do that. We’re cool.”

    “You don’t work here because of the glamor,” he says gruffly, his voice throaty and so sexy. “I know you need the money and you fucking earned it putting up with us. Take it!” He pushes it back across the bar, looking at me with something soft in his eyes.

    I relent and pocket the money. “Thanks.”

    Trevor jams his fists in his pocket and asks, “Can I get a glass of water? I know you’re already closed, but I’m a little dry.” He looks so vulnerable and defensive that my chest aches a little.

    “How about a beer?” I offer. “I’m buying.”

    A relieved grin splits his face. “That would be great!”

    “Bottle or draft?”

    “Draft, I think.” He sits down at the bar across from me.

    I grab a chilled mug out of the cooler and spin it by the handle around my finger before pulling the tap. I grumble, “You would ask for a draft right after I’ve washed all the glasses.” His face blushes deep red, so I chuckle, “I’m just busting your balls.”

    He grins at me as I pop the cap on a bottle of Yuengling and take a long pull. He’s shifting around on the bar stool, so I figure he has something else to get off his chest, but he’ll have to do it under his own steam. I’m not sure I want to hear anything more from him, so I’m not bailing him out of his discomfort.

    I resume the stuff I have to do before leaving and let him work through what he needs to figure out. I look at him after a few minutes and find him watching me. I raise an eyebrow and ask, “You okay?”

    “Can I say something?” He is biting his lower lip. I flash for a second on last night when I had that same lip between my teeth. I push the thought back into my subconscious.

    “Any chance I can stop you?” I wonder.

    “No,” he shakes his head. “I am really sorry that I fucked up so badly last night.”

    I take another long pull on my beer and lock eyes with him. “We’re in a really ugly cycle of screw ups then blow ups followed by apologies,” I say evenly. “This is some crazy shit.”

    “I know, I know!” he exclaims. “You don’t know how much I wanted to go home with you last night. I was so miserable all night long thinking about what we would be doing.”

    “Hmm,” I grunt. “I was suffering a little myself, so I have some idea how much.”

    In spite of my earlier intentions to toss him like last week’s trash, I can feel the heat between us flare up. Trevor has that hangdog look on his face, and all I want to do is throw my arms around him, holding him until he feels better or I feel better or something.

    Even though it’s his own damn fault he feels like this!

    He took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something that is a bit painful for me, but it would give you some idea about why I did… you know, what I did.” He looked like he might break down.

    Cautiously, I said, “Dude, you look like you’re about to get all movie-of-the-week on me here. This won’t involve an incurable disease will it? I bawl like a baby over that shit, and I have a rep to uphold.”

    He chuffs a laugh, “No, nothing that dramatic.”

    “Good! ‘Cause I’m serious… I start blubbering, and there’ll be snot spewing out of my nose. It’s really gross.”

    “Will you cut the wisecracks and let me say what I have to say?” he groans.

    I throw my hands up in surrender.

    Trevor takes another deep breath. “Okay. Without boring you with details, my parents had a pretty cruddy marriage, and after my father died, my mother decided to fuck any man she could find, and she spent a lot of time looking so she found a ton of them.

    I am taken aback. “Sorry, man. That sounds rough.”

    He scrubs his hand across his face, “It was rough; it is rough, still. I was a fifteen, sixteen-year-old kid, trying to deal with my dad, and she is the screwing her way through the Greater Boston Metropolitan Area.” He chuckles bitterly, “And the creeps she brought home. Fuck!”

    I think about my own family, a lot of fighting and a lot of yelling, but an underpinning of love that I always know is there. I can’t imagine how Trevor deals with this.

    “Anyway, my point is that when we kissed last night, it was something really special to me,” he said softly . “Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

    I find myself leaning on the bar towards him and quietly admit, “It meant a lot to me, too.”

    Trevor grins for the first time in a while and reaches for my hand, saying “Really?” He is rubbing his thumb in little circles on the back of my hand. “It was fantastic, right?”

    “Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “It was”

    “It was so hard for me to let you go, and it doesn’t excuse what I did to you,” he begs, “but please say you understand why I had to do it, why I couldn’t be like her?” He is c
    I grab a paper napkin from the stack and swab my eyes. “I knew you were going to make me cry, you jerk.” I stare at him.

    “But you get it?” he pleas in a low and husky voice that makes my breath catch.

    Coughing to clear my throat, I concede reluctantly, “I understand."

    “So you can forgive me?” he asks hopefully. “And you’ll go out with me?”

    “Yes… “ I groan, “and yes, we can go out.”

    He lifts my hand between both of his to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “Thank you,” he whispers. “When?”

    I think. “How does your schedule look on Tuesday?”

    “I’m free.”

    I extricate my hand and walk back to the kitchen door. I kick it open with my foot and yell, “Dylan!”


    “Can you trade shifts this week? My Tuesday for your Wednesday?”

    “No problem!”

    I walk back to the bar where Trevor has a huge smile on his face. “We’re on,” I tell him. “Would you rather go for a beer or for coffee?”

    “Oh, no!” he says. “Those are off the table.”

    “What do you mean, ‘off the table’?” I ask.

    He leans across the bar, pinning me with his eyes. “After that kiss last night, I’m not settling for a drink somewhere.”

    “Okay… what do you have in mind?”

    “I’m not accepting anything less than a proper date,” he says smugly with that grin I dislike.

    “What the hell does that mean, a ‘proper date’?” I’m not sure I want to hear this.

    He ticks off on his fingers. “One, I pick you up… two, we go to a nice restaurant of your choosing, no fast food, no national chains… three, I pay.” Hearing my protest, he repeats, “No, I pay…. that’s not up for negotiation… four, afterwards we do some appropriate activity of my choosing. Wipe that smirk off your face and get your mind out my pants, DiPasquale, I mean go to a club to hear some music or go dancing…. and five, I get a good night kiss.”

    “Just a kiss?” I ask sarcastically.

    “A kiss,” he says lightly. “I don’t want you to think I’m an easy lay.”

    “Nothing about you is easy, believe me,” I say as I pull the bandana off of my head and run my hands through my hair.

    “Okay?” he asks.

    “Okay,” I agree. I yell out to Steve and Dylan, “I’m locking the front door.”

    As we walk towards the front, Trevor says, “See, I told you that if we just think about it we can find the time to make this work,” with that maddening, cocky smile.

    We pause at the open door. Cold air is rushing in, and the snow is starting to pile up on the sidewalk. Trevor takes my hand again. He leans forward to brush his lips lightly against the side of my mouth, saying, “I’m looking forward to Tuesday, Zach.” It was sweet and gentle, terribly romantic, but nothing that could satisfy me in any way.

    I am determined to wipe that grin off his face for once. Like a striking viper I quickly thrust one hand in the back pocket of his jeans to grab his ass, and the other snarls in his hair to pull him closer. Jamming my mouth over his, I repeat the burning, wet kiss from last night, sweeping his tongue out of my way and straddling his leg so I could lightly hump his thick, muscular thigh. After some time, I pull back and look into his eyes. They are satisfactorily glazed, and he is stunned.

    More importantly, that cocky smirk is gone.

    “I…I…” he stammers.

    I pull his head to mine and whisper in his ear, “I am looking forward to Tuesday, too, Trevor.” I can see his skin of his cheek quiver and twitch beneath my breath. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking that you are the one in control here, hockey stud.”

    I pull away from him, place my hand flat on his chest and push him gently out of the door. He stumbles back into the swirling snow. “I…I…” he stammers.

    After locking the door, I flip the light switches off, punch in the code to set the alarm and wave goodnight to Trevor.

    He stands, silhouetted by the street lamps behind him, still stunned by my awesome kiss.

  12. #12
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Aug 2004
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    Re: Power Play

    Ah! That was so romantic. These two are so adorable with their love/hate, need to be with each other... Zach has to respect Trevor's wish for a proper date and I'm sure he won't regret it. Even Garrett will have to give in on this one. If he can have his pink dressed blonde, Trevor can have Zach. I can hardly wait for Tuesday to arrive. Thanks, BD.


  13. #13
    HUGS! ;-)
    Kyanimal's Avatar
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    Oct 2004
    Open Relationship

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    Re: Power Play

    Oh, Geeze! The way you write, the adept "smithing" of mere words, enticing deep emotions, and the enhancing of your characters deepest urges, as "contrary" as they might seem, at the moment, is a True work of wonder!

    Please, by all means, Keep it UP!
    WISDOM is the Knowledge you've gained ... After you could have used it! _Me

  14. #14
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Sep 2009

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    Re: Power Play

    I don't normally like school days stories, but you write so well I'm hooked. Voting for stars.

  15. #15
    JUB Addict EasyRory's Avatar
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    Sep 2009

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    Re: Power Play

    I guess my vote did it!

  16. #16

    Re: Power Play

    This is such a great story, looking forward to so much more from our hot boys!! Excited about their first date! Thanks for writing!

  17. #17

    Re: Power Play

    This is a great story! I can't wait to read more!

  18. #18
    Virgin radeon's Avatar
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    May 2012

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    Re: Power Play

    Great, waiting next part
    Mr. Ryan

  19. #19
    THE FLIRT JUB Moderator ronboy's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    I read the whole story, so far, in one sitting. This is really a great story...

    Looking forward to the update.....
    Last edited by ronboy; August 2nd, 2015 at 04:36 PM.

    The Three Musketeers... Bashful, Chrisglass, and Ronboy!

  20. #20

    Re: Power Play

    Looking forward to more!!

  21. #21

    Re: Power Play

    Power Play Chapter 4


    The next couple of days I try to keep from thinking too much about Trevor, but I am losing the battle. He pops up in my thoughts in the weirdest ways. Pouring a cup of coffee, I think about him because he always yammers on about meeting at a coffee shop. The Student Union where he interrupted my lunch with friends reminds me of Trevor. The quad where he ran me down to return my pen— Trevor. The frat house where we kissed, the Leaning Tower of Pizza, the sports complex at the edge of campus— Trevor, Trevor, Trevor.

    Not to mention when I soap up my cock in the shower. Ugh!

    I am obsessed with him, and I know that it is all part of his diabolical plan, teasing me as I starve for his touch and pulling the plate away just as I am ready to feast.

    On Sunday morning I sleep later than usual since I was up half the night wondering if he would stick to his plan to only kiss me on Tuesday and take it no further. That is just plain wrong. Hasn’t he heard that the Sexual Revolution was fifty years ago? And we won?

    As I head to the University Library to find some place to study in peace, I stop at the Java Hut to buy coffee. The special of the day is a caramel macchiato, and that makes me think of Trevor’s liquid brown eyes and their thick crowd of lashes. Wondering how eyes that warm and gorgeous can cover a mind that is crafting devious plots to drive me insane makes me flash on an image of me tied naked to a bed, moaning with pleasure, while Trevor scores angry red welts into my bare skin with a leather crop.

    Fuck! Where had that come from? That kind of kinky play has never interested me before, and now I am popping a stiffie in a coffee shop thinking about it as if further proof is needed of how unsettled he makes me.

    I jolt from my reverie and order a large back coffee before fleeing from the store.

    After studying as best as I can for most of the day I finally quit in disgust when I realize that I keep doodling little hockey players in the margins of my notes. I swear that if he doesn’t fuck me soon I will not be responsible for what happens. He is an inch or so taller and thirty pounds heavier, but I am way past motivated. With the element of surprise, I am fairly sure I can take him down and force him to have his way with me.

    If the jury can just see his cocky, boxer-dropping grin, I am safe from conviction on the sexual assault charges on account of he drives me fucking insane.

    On Monday, Trevor is not in the class that we have together because he is out of town for a road game. In the middle of the lecture, I slip my phone out of my pocket and, keeping it out of Professor Fowler’s view, thumb a text to Trevor.


    After a few seconds, he replies— hey urself

    —class is boring ur not missing much

    —awww! u miss me!!

    —not what I said. do NOT go there

    —2 late already there. did u pick where we go 4 dinner 2morrow?

    —crab house ok?

    —great. i’ll make a reservation

    —gotta go. fowler’s giving me the stink eye. bye


    When I go home that night I know that something is up as soon as I walk through the door. The raucous conversations in the living room fall suddenly quiet, so I poke my head in there with some reluctance. Everyone is here… Rob and Rory; Justin and his girlfriend, Samantha; and Dan, our other house mate. They’re all looking at me as though I was about to do some card tricks.

    “What?” I ask.

    “Nothing,” says Rob, far too casually to not be suspicious.

    Right, I think. After grabbing a beer from the kitchen, I flop on one of the couches next to Rob. “What are you cooking up in here?” I demand.

    “We’re not up to anything,” says Justin.

    I raise an eyebrow. “Really? You stop talking as soon as I enter the room and all of you look at me as though I have three eyes. No bullshit… what’s up?”

    “Well,” drawls Dan, “none of us have seen you for a couple of days because you’ve been holed up in your room, so we’re curious about what you’ve been up to.”

    “Beyond the usual? Studying, sleeping?” I ask.

    Justin adds, “You’ve been walking around all semester either scowling like you want to punch someone or in a trance like your thoughts are a million miles away.”

    “Jeez,” I grumble. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Sorry if I’m bugging you.”

    Rory pats my leg. “Ignore them, hon. It’s nobody’s business but yours. You don’t owe any explanation to Dan or Justin.”

    My face is burning as I take a long pull on my beer. I cast a sideways look at Rob. “What is your contribution to this?”

    He shrugs. “I didn’t repeat anything.”

    Rory gasps, “You told something to Rob?” She pins him with a steely glare.

    Rob rubs both hands across his face and hisses at me, “I told you that your little secret would get me in trouble!” To Rory he cried, “Honey, he made me swear not to tell anyone, not even you. He’s the evil one! I’m just his helpless puppet.”

    She jabs a finger in his direction, “I’ll get back to you later.” To me, she said, “The cat’s out of the bag, Zach. Spill it!”

    I groan. “Do you remember last week when we had lunch at the Grill and some guy stopped by to ask for my notes from class?”

    “The hockey player?” asks Dan.

    “Yeah. He kinda asked me out to dinner.”

    “Kinda?” asks Rob.

    “No, he definitely asked me out,” I clarify.

    “Ooh!” says Samantha. “Super hunky! You said yes, of course.”

    “Eventually,” I admit. “Tomorrow night.”

    “You sly dog,” Rob punches me in the arm. “Where are you going?”

    “The Crab House.”

    “Fancy!” says Justin.

    “And pricy.” Rob snickers, “Someone will have to put out after that’s paid for.”

    “Shut the fuck up!” I say, feeling the heat in my face again.

    “What’s up with all the blushing? That’s not like you,” says Rob.

    Rory offers, “So of course, you know I’ll be happy to help you pick out something to wear.”

    “No!” Rob snarls. “You’re not going anywhere near his closet or his… his… or anything of Zach’s.”

    Dan and Justin look at each other, puzzled. “What the hell, dude?” asks Dan.

    Rob yells, “The last time Rory helped him pick out clothes she had him standing around naked for about an hour so she could get an eyeful of his man parts.”

    “Yikes!” Justin exclaims.

    Samantha wails, “How did I miss this fashion show?” Justin glares at her.

    Rory squirms away from the grip Rob has on her, objecting, “It wasn’t an hour, and my interest was purely professional… like a nurse.”

    “Sure,” Rob retorts, running his thumb over her lower lip. “You have a little drool there just thinking about it.”

    She grins at him, “Okay, yeah. Maybe.”

    “I want to be included next time,” Samantha insists.

    Rob snaps, “There is no ‘next time’. Zach can dress himself.” He eyes my ripped jeans and hoody. “All evidence to the contrary.”

    I snicker, “Don’t hate on me just ‘cause you’re not man enough to keep your woman from looking for an upgrade.”

    Rob looks from me to Rory and back again. “You two deserve each other.

    “Honey, calm down,” Rory laughs. “Zach has no interest in me. Right, Zach? You haven’t changed teams have you?” She winks at me. “You know that you just have to say the word and I’m all ‘Rob who?’”

    Samantha quickly jumps in, “I’ll take some of that action!”

    Rob sputters, “You women are dangerous. We have to keep you away from Zach because he gets your hormones boiling or something.”

    Dan says, “I’ve never said anything before, but…”

    Rob howls, “Not you, too!” He grabs my shoulder, “What this power you have over everyone? One look from you and all they can think about is fucking you!”

    I grin, “What can I say? I’m a sex god.”

    Dan stares at us, wide-eyed. “Oh, hell no, jeez. That’s… ugh! No offense, Z.”

    “None taken.” I laugh, “I guess.”

    “No, it’s just I know what you mean about keeping a girlfriend away from the Adonis of South Philly there. Remember the girl I was dating last October?”

    Justin asks, “Mandy? Mindy? Something like that?”

    Dan nods, “Mindy, yeah. One of the many reasons that we broke up was that she was always hounding me to ask Z to join us in bed.”

    “Wow,” says Rob, giving Rory the evil eye as she made a dramatic sigh next to him. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warns her.

    Everyone looks at me. “Uh, sorry, bro. I had no idea.”

    Dan shrugs, “Yeah, I just could not convince her that I didn’t think that Z was interested in her, and I had no interest in Z, again, no offense. Plus it would be like sharing a chick with my own brother.”

    My face wrinkles up. “Thinking about my own brothers, just let me say…Ewww!”

    “Exactly my point.”

    Rory says, “Changing the subject now. You’ll need us to make ourselves scarce so you can bring him back here?”

    “What? Why?”

    “It can be a little awkward, going through a crowd of people before taking him up to your bed room,” she says.

    I think for a second about whether to tell them the whole story or not, but then realized that these are my closest friends, so it makes no sense to hold back from them. “No need… he made it clear that the evening ends with just a good night kiss.’

    Both Samantha and Rory sigh, “Oh! How romantic!”

    “I think so sometimes, then I think it’s a little weird setting that up in advance these days.” The exact feeling escapes me. “It’s a little control-freaky.”

    Samantha says pointedly, “Definitely romantic.”

    Rob shakes his head in disagreement, “Definitely weird.”

    Rory grabs Rob’s hand. “He’s courting you old-school. It’s very sweet and old fashioned,” she says.

    Justin thinks for a second. “I can see that. Like how our grandparents dated.”

    I remember the hot kisses the last two nights I saw Trevor, and the raw, knee-buckling passion behind the groping. No way to tell about Justin’s family but I seriously doubt if any of my ancestors experienced anything like that before the first date. Right now, I want to track Trevor down at his road game in New York to make out some more.

    Rory giggles, “Look at that sly smile! Do we even want to know what you’re thinking about?”

    “Um, no, you really don’t.”

    Rory pouts, “Why don’t you look dreamy like that when you think of me, Rob?”

    He turns to me to growl, “Dude, you are so harsh on my game these days.” To Rory he purrs, “Honey, I look much dreamier when I think about you. See, look.” He tilts his head and stares off in the distance for a moment.

    Dan mocks him, “I don’t know… kinda looks not so much dreamy as like you need a laxative.”

    With a look of distaste, Rory frowns at him. “I have serious second thoughts about you. Is that the best you can do?”

    Rob punches my arm. “This is all your fault! Again!”

    I lean over to him and tangle my fingers in his hair. Pulling him closer and looking into his eyes, I slide my tongue across my lower lip and drop my voice an octave to say in a deep, throaty rumble, “Awww, hot stuff! I’m so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

    Rob stares at me with his jaw dropped, and after a few seconds of silence, everyone else howls with laughter. He jumps to his feet and points at me and Rory, blustering incoherently. He then looks to Justin and Dan, yelling, “When they put me on the one-way bus to Crazytown, promise me you will tell everyone it was these two fucking with my mind that sent me there.” Rory and I bump fists as he stomps off to the kitchen to get another beer.

    Rory asks, “Zach, can Sam and I go through your closet to find you something to wear?”

    “As long as I don’t have to be there, knock yourselves out.”

    They leave as Rob returns from the kitchen. “You stay here where I can keep an eye on you, Tiger,” he tells me.

    He studies me over the neck of his beer.

    “What?” I ask. “You’re freaking me out.”

    “And you’re holding something back.”

    I flip the hood on my sweatshirt up over my head and slump deeper into the couch. “You know me too well,” I grouse.

    “What is it? ‘Fess up to Dr. Rob.”

    I scowl. “Trevor comes with a lot of scrutiny and I don’t know if I can deal.”

    “What kind of scrutiny?”

    “Everyone knows who he is and keeps track of where he is in the room. I’m not used to having everyone try to eavesdrop and watch my reactions. Kinda creepy. The other night at the restaurant, he must have had seven different people come over to talk to him. Not people that he knows… strangers.”

    “You ask him about it?”

    “Not in so many words, but it seems to be something that he expects as part of being the hockey star Trevor Wellman.” I pick at the label of my beer bottle.

    “And you just want the hot Trevor Wellman.”

    “Yeah… I guess.”

    “It’s a package deal, my friend.”

    “I know. Just freaks me out, y’know?”

    “Ask him about it. He knows better than anyone how to deal with the fans.”

    “Probably a good idea.”

    “What else?”

    “Like I said the other day, he hasn’t come right out and said it, but I have a good idea that he is looking for a serious relationship, and that…” I leave it hanging there.

    Rob thinks in silence for a few moments. “You’re thinking about Matt, right?”

    I touch my finger to the tip of my nose to indicate that he is correct. “That was a big old clusterfuck.”

    Matt and I had gone out for a while last year. I was content keeping everything light and casual, but he pushed for more from me. The more he pushed, the more I retreated, with the inevitable massive meltdown at a party.

    “It was, but you’re a year older and wiser.”

    “Don’t want to go through that again,” I groan. “That relationship wore me down, but I don’t just want a wham! bam! hookup.

    Rob shrugs, “Should be interesting.” He has a thoughtful look on his face.

    “How so?” I ask.

    “At the risk of being obvious, Trevor isn’t Matt. You won’t be able to push him around as easily. He’s gonna call you on your shit.”

    “The fuck you say!” I yelp.

    He laughs, “He already has you spinning in circles and you haven’t had the first date.”

    “Ugh!” I moan, scrubbing my hands through my hair. “Some therapist you’re turning out to be. Don’t expect me to pay for your so-called ‘help.’”

    He leers at me. “I’ll take it out in trade. Leave your bedroom door unlocked tonight.”

    I punch his arm. “You couldn’t hang with me. By morning, your brain would be fried.”

    “Serves me right for messing with the Adonis of South Philly,” he laughs.


    The highlight of the four-hour bus ride to Ithaca to play Cornell is easily the text message from Zach. When my phone buzzes and I see the mopey photo I took of his face pop up the screen, I practically jump out my seat with excitement. The convo only lasts a couple of minutes, but my face hurts from the big grin I have the whole time. He lets me know that he wants to go to the Crab House for dinner, so as soon as he signs off, I look up the number so I can call for reservations.

    “Can you give me one of the tables by the fireplace?” I ask them. The main room at the restaurant has a huge stone hearth, and it’s romantic as hell to sit close to it. When they confirm that one is available, my grin widens even more.

    Once that is taken care of, as I jam my phone back in my pocket, I realize that Garrett, who’s sitting next to me, is shaking from laughter.

    “What’s so funny?” I ask.

    “You!” he snickers.

    “What about me?” I laugh in spite of myself.

    “I’m expecting you to dislocate your shoulder patting yourself on the back.”

    “Get the fuck outta here!”

    “No, I think it’s great! You’ve had a long dry spell on the sex front, so seeing you move in for the kill is a good deal. Fuck ‘im and chuck ‘im, get your groove back.”

    “It’s not like that at all. I’m serious.”

    He scoffs. “Come on! You know your obsession is just because he’s making you work a little for a change. The thrill of the chase. Once you bag him, I think that you’ll lose interest.”

    I grab a text book and slam it open. “I know you’re wrong,” I snap.

    He snorts in derision and punches my shoulder. “Whatever, Casanova.”

    I flip him off with a big grin and say, “You’ll see.”

    “No, you’ll see.”

    I try to study, but all I can think about is going to dinner with Zach tomorrow. The way that he kissed me at the pizza place, growling that I was not the one in charge… well that was just fucking hot. Garrett would never hear it from me, but he is partly right about one thing: The chase was definitely amping up the action. Zach keeps me off balance, and that is a welcome change of pace.

    Garrett elbows me in the ribs. “You’ve been looking at that page for the last eighty miles… and that smile and all of the sighs you keep huffing are not because you are smitten with advanced statistics.”

    “So?” I ask.

    “It’s annoying me. Cut it out.”

    I laugh, “Did I miss the memo where you were named Relationship Monitor?”

    “You need one,” Garrett nods. “Might as well be me.”

    “Uh, no thanks, Mr. Love-em-leave-em. I prefer something that lasts after the condom cools off.”

    He threw he hands up and groans, “Kids today! Trying to grow up so fast!”

    Across the aisle, Phillip Berrinau opens his eyes to give us a dirty look for interrupting his nap. “What are you two biddies squawking about now? I swear, you argue more than my parents.”

    “Trevor here wants a relationship,” Garrett says sarcastically.

    Phillip frowns and his eyes narrow. “With you?”

    “No, not with me, you fucking moron!” Garrett roars.

    Phillip shrugs. “Dunno. You two squabble all the time. Might as well get the make-up fuck to go with it.”

    “I can’t even,” Garrett snaps. “No! With the waiter from the pizza place.”

    Phillip scrunches his nose in thought. “I can see it. Does he have a sister? I’d hit that.”

    “Older sisters,” I say.

    “Ooh! MILFS,” Phillip grins. “Still interested.”

    “I think that they are all married.”

    “Even better!” he grunts. “No sweat off my balls if she ends up preggers.”

    Garrett chuckles, “Until she gives birth to an eighteen-pound baby with a hairy back.”

    Phillip side arms an empty soda can into Garrett’s chest. “At least I’m a manly man, you little pussy, and not some waxed diva like you two.”

    “Leave me out of this,” I snort.

    “Yeah,” Garrett coos. “Trev gets all hot and bothered thinking about your hairy back.”

    I shove an elbow into him. “Don’t tell Phillip about my secret crush on him! You’ll make him nervous.”

    Phillip says, “Nope. I’m okay with you, bro. It’s your buddy there that I don’t turn my back on in the shower.”

    “Me?” says Garrett.

    “Yeah. I’ve seen you hump a fire hydrant. No telling what my furry back would drive you to do.”

    Phillip and I are both laughing while Garrett bellows a string of curses at us.

    “Hey!” the coach stands in the aisle and yells from the front of the bus. “You three are seniors. Show a little leadership.”

    “Sorry, Coach,” we chorus and then shut up.

    We’re quiet for a while as we near the Cornell University campus. As the bus pulls up outside their arena, I lean into Garrett and ask, “Are we cool?”

    He looks at me from the side of his eyes, and says, “I’m cool. Honestly, you’re a bit of a douche.”

    I laugh and reach up to ruffle his hair.

    He pulls sharply away. “Not The Hair. Nobody messes with The Hair.”

    “Sorry. Forgot,” I say as he smooths it back down.


    The bus is noisy with a post-game celebration for about the first half hour on the way back, but then the team settles down. Garrett falls asleep leaning agent the window in the seat next to me. Phillip is sprawled out across the aisle, playing a game on his phone. I have my stats text open in my lap, but no interest in reading it.

    Phillip glances at me and asks, “What’s with the bitch face, Trev?”


    “Last time I saw a face that grumpy was when my thirteen-year-old sister found out that Justin Bieber had cancelled a concert.”

    I shrug. “Just the usual. Lot on my mind”

    “Worried about your friend?”

    I turn to look at him. “No. Well, maybe.” I look to see if Garrett is awake since I don’t need another fucking lecture from him tonight. His mouth droops open, so I guess he is out. “I’ve put a lot of pressure on this deal tomorrow, maybe too much.”

    “You’ll do fine. Just keep up your end of the conversation, and a word of advice?”


    “Those of us who live this side of Framingham find a little of that Boston accent goes a long way.”

    “Screw you!” I grin.

    “Seriously, rein it in a little. You sound like a thug.” He thinks for a moment. “Wait! You’re from Boston, so you are a thug. Never mind. Carry on!”

    “You’re as bad as Garrett here.”

    Phillip scoffs, “Now you’re just being cruel and trying to hurt my feelings.”

    “Whatever,” I grunt.

    He leans across the aisle and says, “All kidding aside, you’ll be fine. He’s a hockey fan, right? You can always talk about hockey.”

    “Not really,” I respond.

    Phillip looks at me for a moment, and then chuffs out a breath before going back to his game.

    “What?” I ask.

    He looks back at me, chewing his lip. “I don’t want to add to your whatever-you-have- going-on-here,” he says quietly, “and let me know if I’m being an asshole, but that’s a big difference, your life mostly hockey and him not part of that at all.”

    “Maybe,” I say reluctantly, not wanting to pursue this topic.

    “Again, if I’m out of line, just say so, but a couple of years ago I was seeing this woman…” He swallows hard. “The sex was mind blowing. She was not one of those women who aren’t really into the whole blow job thing, y’know?” I nod at him. “Julie loved oral more than me almost. Hoovered my cock every chance she got.” He lapsed into silence.

    “Cool story, bro,” I say after a while. “Thanks for sharing.”

    “Sorry,” he smirked. “The point is that she had zero interest in hockey, which is a big part of my life. Wouldn’t come to our games, wouldn’t watch on TV, didn’t want to meet any of my team mates. Zilch. We were great between the sheets, but once we left the bedroom, not much was going on.”

    “Yeah, I guess. Sounds rough.”

    “I’m not saying that you can’t work that out with your guy, but without some intersecting interests, it’s that much tougher.”

    I sock his shoulder. “Thanks. That gives me something to think about.”

    Phillip leans his head back and closes his eyes. “You’ll be fine, Trevor. Just watch the accent.”


    I think about what Phillip said for a while, and looking at my phone, I see that it is just after midnight, so I text Zach.


    He answers quickly.


    —we beat cornell

    —I know. listened on radio. 2 goals/2 assists. not bad hockey boy

    Relief floods through me. Not only had Zach listened to the game, he paid attention to what I was doing. I look over at Phillip, but it looks like he is asleep already.

    I quickly tap out —cant wait for tomorrow night

    —me too

    —i’ll be the one wearing the big grin

    —i’m hoping a grin and nothing else?

    —think you may be kind of a pervert.

    —nothing kinda about it. ask me sometime about the fantasy i had about you at the coffee shop.


    —not now. still trying to impress you

    —mission accomplished

    —lol. see you tomorrow

    —good night

    I click the phone off and close my eyes. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

  22. #22
    HUGS! ;-)
    Kyanimal's Avatar
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    Oct 2004
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    Re: Power Play

    Awesome chapter!

    Love the banter from all camps!

    It'll be interesting to see what actually hits the pavement.

    Thank You!, Buddy! MORE, Please!

    Keep Smilin'!!
    WISDOM is the Knowledge you've gained ... After you could have used it! _Me

  23. #23
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    The banter of good friends hits on fun memories past. I'm rooting for both Zach and Trevor and it seems their friends are too. I look forward to a romantic dinner at the Crab House and maybe a little more.... Thanks, BD.


  24. #24
    THE FLIRT JUB Moderator ronboy's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    This was a very good chapter. I liked having both viewpoints, too!

    The Three Musketeers... Bashful, Chrisglass, and Ronboy!

  25. #25

    Re: Power Play

    Wow, another great chapter!! Can't wait for the date, thanks for keeping us on our toes, looking forward to so much more!!

  26. #26

    Re: Power Play

    i love going to bed reading this. can't wait for more, hopefully not too long

  27. #27

    Re: Power Play

    Power Play Chapter 5


    Finally the day arrives! Tonight I will pick up Zach, and we will go on our first date. For almost six weeks, I pulled out every trick I have to persuade him to take this step with me, and it has paid off at last. I can’t get him off my mind (nothing new), and I walk around all day with a half boner (nothing new there, either).

    Unfortunately, one of the intense winter storms that in the Middle Atlantic we call a Nor'easter has moved into the area with more than a foot of snow predicted for the day. Since most of it falls during the morning, by mid-afternoon the snowplows have been out clearing the roads, so my date with Zach is still on schedule. Since our reservation is for 7 PM, I told him I would be by to pick him up at about fifteen minutes earlier.

    He texted me his address, but when I arrive, I can't find an empty spot to park in... most cars on the street have not been dug out from the snow. I drive around the block a couple times, but no parking spaces are open anywhere in the neighborhood because it is so close to campus, so I had to double park the SUV in front of his house.

    I pop out of the vehicle just in time to see the door open and Zach bound down the five stone steps.

    He takes my breath away, dressed in a dark gray wool suit with a black roll neck sweater under it. When he saw me he gives me a broad smile, and then his face hardens. He yells over his shoulder, "You hyenas get away from the window!"

    I look at the front window, and between the horizontal slats of the blinds I see five pairs of eyes peering out at us.

    “Who’s that?” I ask.

    Zach looks at me and grins wider, shaking his head. He laughs, "Rob, Rory, a couple of other guys. They’re checking to see if I jump into your arms so they can gossip about it all night and then rag on me when I come home."


    “Apparently the smart money is on I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

    "Okay by me," I snicker. “I mean, look at this.” I wave my hands around to indicate that I am the total package. “That’s the way I've been looking at it anyway. How do I get in on this deal? I’ll put money on you getting a little handsy. To be brutally honest, I’m sorta counting on it.”

    Zach shakes his head, "Get over yourself, hockey boy. You set up all your weird rules for tonight. Now we both have to live with them."

    “Ugh!” I groan.

    After buckling his seatbelt, Zach asks me, "Where we going after dinner?"

    "It's a surprise," I tell him.

    "Hmm, mysterious," he says. "But I am dressed okay, right?"

    I leer, "Or overdressed."

    "Down, boy," he cautions.

    The Crab House Restaurant is about 3 miles south of campus towards Philadelphia on the river. Road crews have been working to clear the streets of most of the snow so it doesn’t take us long to drive there even looking out for slick spots and patches of ice. The parking lot is about half full, so we are able to park close to the door.

    Inside, we are greeted by the hostess, a woman about 30 years old, long blonde hair, very voluptuous, who eyes us both very greedily. I’ll have to remember to mention her to Garrett: she is exactly his type, female and breathing.

    The room has about 30 tables, each covered in a green and white tablecloth with a small bouquet of fresh flowers and an arrangement of little candles. The back wall is all glass windows overlooking a deck, now snow-covered, where in the warmer months diners can sit outside to enjoy the view of the river. Beyond that is the dark water of the Delaware River, with a narrow black stripe of New Jersey on the opposite bank, studded with twinkling lights. The quiet hum of the other diners’ conversations provides a nice backdrop for us, and the large stone fire pit in the middle of the room adds to the atmosphere.

    I am aware that a lot of people are watching us as we cross the room. I walk a little taller knowing that Zach and I make a damned attractive couple.

    The hostess shows us to one of the small tables ringing the fireplace. The gas flames are low enough that the heat is not uncomfortable.

    “Adrian is your server tonight, “the hostess announces, giving us each the once over again, “and he will be with you shortly. “ She hands us the menus we sit down.

    Zach opens the menu and starts reading through it, commenting, “Everything sounds delicious. I am sure I could eat the entire right side of the menu.” I can't take my eyes off of him. The soft candle light and the flickering shadows from the fire soften the angular planes of his face, and I am mesmerized by how incredibly gorgeous he is.

    I am jolted from my trance as the waiter comes up to us. He says, “Janice told me that table seventeen looked like fun, and I have to say that she is right.”

    Zach smiles at him briefly but is otherwise oblivious to the guy. The waiter studies him so carefully for so long that I am feeling a twinge of caveman jealousy. He turns to give me a smirk and a thumbs-up as he nods his head towards Zach. What the hell?

    “Can I start with some cocktails for you?” he asks.

    Zach says, “I’ll have a glass of the Pinot Grigio."

    I say, “I'll have the same.”

    “Very well,” Adrian tells Zach, ignoring me.

    However,I still can't stop staring at Zach. He looks up to see me devouring him with my eyes, and asks, "What’s wrong? Do I have shaving cream or toothpaste on me?" He rubs his hand over his face.

    “I like the scruffy look you usually have,” I admit. “This clean-shaven guy with the combed hair is different.”

    “Different good? Different bad?”

    "Oh, good, I think. You look so hot," I say. “I can’t imagine you would ever look bad.”

    He nods in appreciation. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” he says.

    “I can't believe we finally out on a date,“ I tell him.

    “It did seem to be harder than it had to be for us to get together like this, “ Zach agrees.

    “Can I just put it out there that all I want to do right now is throw you across the table and do all sorts of naughty things to you until the sun comes up?” I whisper.

    His eyes become dark and hooded. “I’d be open to that.” Then he smirks, “What a shame that isn’t on your list of rules for me to follow.”

    “You’re not going to let that go are you?” I ask.

    “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” he grins. He leans closer and murmurs in a low, sexy growl, “My goal is to send you home night so painfully aroused that your balls are the size of grapefruit.”
    I groan, “You’re more than halfway there.”

    When the waiter returns with our drinks, Zach orders the crab and artichoke risotto, while I choose crab cakes and a baked potato. His eyebrows go up when he hears my order, and I ask him, “What surprises you?”

    He smiles, "I had you pegged for a lean protein and steamed vegetable kinda guy."

    "I have to stick to a pretty rigid diet for hockey," I confess. "We have a nutritionist for the team who gives us a lot of do's and don'ts. I stick to it as closely as I can, but I figure this is a special occasion, and I can afford to walk on the wild side for change."

    Before Zach could respond, a man from another table comes up to us, an older guy that my experience tells me is a hockey fan. He beams at me, saying, "You are Trevor Wellman, aren't you?"

    I stand up with a friendly smile to shake his hand, saying, "Yes, I am. Nice to meet you." I look at Zach but he has a blank, guarded look on his face.

    The fan asks me, "Will we beat Rutgers next Saturday, do you think?"

    "Absolutely!" I grinned. "Shut out. 8-zip. Guaranteed."

    He says, "That's what I like to hear."

    "We have to pay them back for last year," I say, "because the way they manhandled us was just plain wrong ."

    "Exactly! If you boys play with confidence and spirit, I think you can go a long way this year. Maybe even all the way to the Frozen Four, do you think? " He turns to Zach and asks, "Are you on the team, too?"

    Before he can answer, I say, "No, he's a friend of mine."

    "Oh, okay. You fellows have a very good evening."

    I sit down and rest my hand over Zach for second, saying, "Sorry about that. Just part of the game."

    "No problem." He looks like he wants to say more but does not continue.

    "And…." I prompt.

    Zach chews his lip for a moment, and asks "How do you deal with living with this scrutiny all the time?"

    "What you mean?"

    "Someone always watches you or comes up to you or in some other way has a whole lot of interest in what you are doing every time that I have been with you."

    "Okay, yeah, that happens. But you just have to accept that it is part being on a high-profile sports team. I get used to it, I guess."

    Zach doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn't dispute what I said. I ask, "Does it bother you? You know, getting attention that is reflected off of me when we are together?"

    "A little," he admits, and he blushes, which makes me think of how he would look flushed with passion, and I have an instant hard-on.

    His hesitation worries me a little, so I ask "Does it bother you enough that you have concerns about us?"

    He arches an eyebrow, wondering, "Oh? We're already an ‘us’, huh?"

    I tease him, "You can't fight fate, dude."

    "Fate?" Zach asks. "And now you’re my destiny?"

    I say broadly, "Sure! I see it all worked out…our future, I mean.'

    Looking at me with surprise Zach leans back, and resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, he temples his fingers under his chin, and asks, "Could you share this plan for the future with me?"

    "Not so much a plan, as a vision."

    "A vision?"

    "Yeah, in about 50 years I see me with our children and grandchildren standing around your bed in the hospital where you are in the middle of a beautiful death."

    He narrows his eyes at me in disbelief. "In your vision I'm dying?"

    "We are all very sad about it, but we have had a long and happy life together."

    Zach glares at me in amazement. "I can't believe this! Our first date and you are killing me off already."

    I grin, "As I said, the children and I are very upset."

    "That's another thing," he grumbles. "Where the fuck did all these children come from? I don't remember agreeing to any children."

    Are you saying you don't want a family of your own someday? The 2.5 kids, the dog, the house with a picket fence, all that? The American dream?"

    He takes a gulp of his wine, saying, "If you knew my family, you would know the answer to that."

    I think about that for a moment. "That is a very ambiguous answer. Could go either way. However, I would like to meet your family."

    "I'm sure you will someday." He grins at me, "One day in the far, far distant future. Maybe around my deathbed."

    "Don't you have dinner with them every week?" I ask.

    “Every Sunday," he says cheerfully, “whether I want to or not.”

    "Maybe I'll go with you one Sunday. It would be fun."

    "Yeah, fun… okay, " Zach muses. "Fun in the sense that having wolves rip your internal organs apart is fun."

    I laugh, "It has to be better than that."

    Zach shrugs. "No, it's worse. Wolves eventually lose interest and move on to another victim. My family just keeps circling, snarling and nipping, week after week." He laughs. "You'll see. I can't wait to take you. Soft little hockey player like you?" He scoffs, "You’re such a tasty tidbit, they’ll gobble you right up.”

    The waiter brought our entrées. He made a big fuss out of placing Zach's risotto in front of him and positioning the plate just right. "Do you need anything else right now?" He coos to Zach, placing a hand on the back of his chair almost touching his shoulder.

    I glare at the waiter as he leaves, and growl to Zach, "The food here is great, but the service is a little overly friendly."

    He looks at me curiously. "Really?"

    "It doesn't bother you that the waiter is blatantly flirting with you?"

    Zach looks around. "The waiter?"

    "Yeah. It's ridiculous the way he is carrying on. I might have a word with the manager."

    "You might want to check the possession arrow, hockey boy," he teases me. "It's not pointing to you."


    "There's that confidence!"

    "I always have it! Changing the subject, this is delicious." I spear a mouthful on my fork and hold it out to him. "Try it."

    He widens his eyes to ask, "Eating from your fork? That's a bit intimate, don't you think?" He leans forward in spite of his doubt to take the bit of crab cake I offer, adding, "That is good." Then he scowls at me, "Now I suppose you expect to be fed like a baby bird from my plate?"

    "Cheep, cheep," I chuckle. He holds out some of his crab and artichoke risotto to me, and after I take it, he leans forward to brush his thumb against my chin.

    "You had dripped a little sauce there," he tells me shyly.

    I drop my voice to point out, "Now you're the one who's raising the intimacy ante."

    "Unusual night all around," he mutters. “I’m not sure why I did that.”

    I assure him, “It’s okay by me. I liked it."

    As we eat, we talk about everything and nothing. The moment our plates are empty, the conversation is interrupted by the return of the flirtatious waiter. He kneels beside the table, smiling up at Zach with hungry, inviting eyes, scrubbing one hand across his short, buzzed hair.

    "Can I get you anything else," he asks. "Coffee, tea, maybe the dessert menu?" The unspoken offering that I hear is my phone number?
    Zach gives me a knowing grin over the waiter's head. I just roll my eyes, and say, "Nothing right now, thank you."

    The waiter huffs a little sigh, "I'll check back with you in a moment," and he wanders off.

    Zach says, "I'm not sure he's flirting actually, but he is working us for that tip."
    I grumble, "Every time he comes to the table, his tip dwindles, and it's almost down to nothing."

    Zach taunts me, "He's awfully cute. Maybe I should see what rules he has... keep my options open."

    "You're gonna make me stand over you, beating my chest, grunting 'mine!' aren't you?"

    "Scratch a hockey player," Zach laughs, "find a Neanderthal."

    "Damn straight!"

    As we walk through the parking lot after I settle the check, Zach smirks at me, saying, "I'm fairly certain that I could have gotten at least some hot three-way action with the waiter and the hostess without much effort. Count yourself lucky, hockey boy, that I'm leaving with you for nothing more than a kiss."

    I lightly punch his arm, saying, "I know I'm lucky to be leaving with you, but just so you know were never coming back here again. I might have to fight for you next time."

    He feints a couple of jabs at my jaw, growling, "Really? What makes you think you're not going to fight for me this time?"

    "Bring it on, Philly. Give it your best shot."

    As we get into the SUV, Zach asks again, "So where we going now?"


    Trevor just looks at me and grins every time I ask him the question, but he refuses to answer me. We drive back towards campus and eventually end up outside the Alumni Ice Arena, where the hockey team plays their home games. The parking lot is deserted, but it mostly has been cleared of snow. He parks the SUV next to a door at the rear of the building. I look at him questioningly, and he gives me that maddeningly cocky grin as always.

    He's wearing a dark red sweater over a white dress shirt with black fitted jeans, and looks damned good. I kidded him a bit about his stupid rules, but every time I looked at him during dinner and saw how the fire light reflected in his honey-blond hair, I was ready to say screw it and drag him into a stall in the restroom to let nature takes its course, especially when he was so adorably jealous about the waiter.

    Trevor knocks at the door, and after a few moments it opens. A man looks through and smiles at us, saying, "Right on time."

    "Hey, Smitty," says Trevor. "This is my friend, Zach."

    "Nice to meet you," Smitty says to me. "Listen, Wellman," he says to Trevor, "when you're done just turn off the lights and make sure the door is pulled closed. It’ll lock behind you."
    Trevor says "I owe you, man.” They bump fists.

    “Do you think you could get a couple of posters that all the guys on the team sign for my grandsons?" Smitty asks.

    "Sure!" Trevor says. "How old are Mike and Sam now?"

    "They are seven and nine."

    “Wow!” Trevor says. "They grow up so fast, don't they? How about if I throw in a couple of jerseys?"

    Smitty's face lights up. "That would be great."

    Smitty shake hands with both of us and leaves the building, calling, “Good night. Have fun."

    "Thanks again, buddy!" Trevor yells after him.

    Once we are alone, he tells me, "My dad always said be nice to all the people who do the little things for you, no matter how low they are on the hierarchy. You never know who will be able to help you. Pay attention to the maintenance guys and the guards and the equipment manager. Remember their names and taken interest in their lives, not because of what they do for you but because it's the right thing to do. "

    I can't hold back any longer, and as we walked down a long dimly lit corridor, I demand, "What the hell are we doing here?"

    Trevor laughs, “What do you think?"

    I grumble, "I'm afraid I might be a human sacrifice to the gods of hockey."

    Trevor bumped his shoulder against mine and says, “That's only for the playoffs. During the regular season we offer up chickens and goats."

    "Ha ha ha.” I say sarcastically. “Very funny."

    "I'm giving you a skating lesson," Trevor says. "I tried to think of how to let you know who I am, and this is a big part of me."

    He holds the door open to the locker room for me. I can only think that his ability to surprise me always surprises me. I would not have thought that a skating lesson would have been what he would planned for this evening, but it does seem to be almost perfect.

    Just inside the locker room is a metal gate, like a grill, that opens to a room with spare equipment stored in it. Trevor fishes keys out of his pocket, and he unlocks the gate, letting me pass through after he turns on the light.
    "What size shoe do you wear?" he asks.
    "12 or 12 ½."

    He searches through the shelves, and finding what he wants, pulled out a couple of boxes.
    "Come on, newbie," he tells me. "You're on my ice now, let's get moving."

    We step into the arena itself through the doorway that the players enter for games. We sit on a couple of metal folding chairs that are there by the wall circling the ice, and Trevor helps me put on a pair of skates. I stand up wobbling and unsteady, and Trevor grabs my elbow to keep me from falling down. He looks comfortable and at home, of course, and I am envious of his confidence, because I feel as awkward as a kitten walking on linoleum.
    It's cold, of course, next to the sheet of ice, and a little spooky in the huge, silent arena.The lights are on over the playing surface but it is dark in the seating area where the fans normally are.

    Trevor opens a door in the wall that runs around the ice and leads me onto the rink. The ice is even slipperier than thought it would be, but he holds me by both of my arms and is murmuring, "Steady… Steady."

    "Uh, I don't really like this," I say with a little more tremor in my voice that I like to admit. "If you let go I'll be on my damn ass in two seconds flat."
    "I won't let go," Trevor says. "You're doing great. Relax and hold on to me. I won't let you fall." Trevor keeps up a low and gentle patter as he skates backwards easily, even gracefully, pulling me along as I wobble and swivel across the ice. I feel awkwardly stiff next to him, but he seems to have me under control, so I start to relax a little and even enjoy myself.

    "Zach, if you'll loosen up a little, you can release the death grip on my arms," he laughs. "I think you're cutting off the circulation in my hands."

    "Sorry," I mutter. "I would hate for the imminent bruising of my ass to cause you any discomfort."

    "Seriously, dude," Trevor tells me. "Your ass couldn't be in better hands."

    We are starting to move across the ice a little faster, and my panic starts to return. I pull back a little, with predictable results. We both go down in a heap.

    “Ow! “ I yelp. The ice is colder and harder than I expected. I snarl at Trevor and punch his shoulder, "I thought you weren't going to let me fall."

    He laughs, "You sure are cute when you're angry."

    He hauls me to my feet easily, and we set off again.

    “Don't just let me pull you along," Trevor says. "Move your feet with little pushes. Left, right… Left, right… There you go."

    "I feel like a doofus," I complain.

    "No, you're doing fantastic," Trevor assures me. "Just breathe, and little pushes, left, right. You're not doing any worse and I did when I first started."

    "Yeah, but you were three years old."

    He laughs. "True. Keep going, nice and slow, little push left, a little push right, there you go."

    I am getting into the rhythm of this skating stuff, swaying as I gingerly move my feet and Trevor pulls me along. As we speed up a little more I almost lose my balance again, but Trevor tightens his grip on me, and says, "I have you, baby. Don't worry."

    We've almost completed the first lap and are coming around the curve part of the wall again when Trevor asks, "A little break?"

    "Just a bit," I say. I grab the wall, relieved to be standing still.

    "You getting the hang of it,” Trevor tells me. ”You look great."

    I shake my head at him, “You make it look so easy"

    Trevor scoffs, “That's nothing. Watch this." He takes off at top speed towards the far end of the arena skating easily and fluidly around the curve of the wall, the sound of his blades against the ice echoing through the empty seats. Just before he arrives back by my side he stops digging with his skates, gliding along for a few yards, and unexpectedly executes one of those jump-in-the-air-spin-around-a-few-times thingies that skaters do at the Olympics.

    He pumps his fists and yells though a wide grin, “Yeah! Double toe loop! The kid still has it!”
    My jaw drops as I marvel, "I didn't know you could do that!"

    He slides next to me and leans up against the wall, tucking his hair behind his ears and saying, "My dad had me take figure skating lessons for couple of years to help with my footwork." Whenever Trevor talks about his dad his face is transformed.

    "I wish that I could've met your dad," I say. "He sounds like a remarkable man."

    Trevor's eyes look misty. "You would've liked him, I think, Zach," he tells me. "And I think he would've liked you, too."

    "Let's try this again," I say. "Lead on!"

    "This time, try it without me holding you up."

    My head whipped around so fast I felt a pop in my neck. "Whoa! You're just throwing me to the wolves?"

    "You're doing great, Zach," Trevor assures me. "Just trust yourself and take it nice and easy."

    I laugh nervously, "I trust myself to end up on my fucking ass again." I am skating with short, choppy strokes, and my legs feel rubbery and wobbly, but I must admit that I'm having fun, and I make it all the way around the rink two more times with growing confidence, since I only wipe out once.

    When we get back around to tunnel that leads to the locker room, Trevor throws his arms around me, laughing, "You're a natural!"

    "A natural klutz on ice," I tried to scoff, but with his arms around me and his face so close my protest is little more than a breathless whisper. I could feel the heat radiating off his body as his warm caramel colored eyes bore into me. His full lips part, and his eyes drift down to my mouth.

    "I have an early class," I say softly. "We better leave."

    "I don't know," Trevor says. "I think I was promised a good night kiss."

    "Later, Tiger," I whisper, "unless you're planning on saying goodnight and leaving me here in the frozen wasteland."

    Trevor groans, "Okay, okay. When I take you home."

    "Your rules, cowboy," I say.

    He frowns for a second, but then asks, “Once more around? I want to try something else.”

    “Now what are you up to?” I wonder.

    He glides effortlessly around me and grabs me from behind, wrapping his arms around my chest. “Let me do the work,” he urges. “Lean back against me.”

    Trevor pushes off gently, and we slowly start to circle the arena again. I rest my arms over his, and we tangle our fingers together. He rests his chin on my shoulder as I lean my head against his. The only sound is the swoosh… swoosh of his skates over the ice. All I have to do is to relax in the warm glow of Trevor’s embrace. The thought drifts into my mind that falling in love with this handsome guy would be as easy as sliding into a warm bath.

    He asks, “What are you thinking?”

    I reply, “That a guy could get used to this.” He groans and buries his face in my hair. “Hey!” I whisper. “Are you getting all pervy and sniffing my hair?”

    “I can’t help it,” he mumbles against me. “You smell so good. Is it a problem for you?”

    “Does it make you painfully aroused?” I ask

    He shifts his hips so I can feel his hard-on against my ass. “Fuck, yeah!” he whispers.
    “Okay, then. Continue perving.”

    “Once more around the rink?” he requests.


    After putting the skates away and turning off the lights, we leave the arena, making sure that the door locks behind us. As we walked to the SUV, I shyly take Trevor's hand in mine, saying, "I had a great time. Thank you for thinking of this."

    He looks at me with his eyes shining. "I had a great time, too, Zach."

    During the ride back to my house we don't say much, but I feel a contented glow. Trevor again double parks the SUV since there is no parking on the block and all the cars are snowed in still. This time he takes my hand as we walk up to the door.

    On the sidewalk in front of the steps, we wrap our arms tightly around each other. I stare straight into his eyes, and they’re warm and languid. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock against my hip. Neither of us moves. We stand shivering a little in the cold night air on the quiet snowy street. At last, I say, "It looks dark inside. I think all the jackals have gone to their burrows."

    "I want to kiss you so badly, I wouldn’t care if there was an audience," Trevor says. I move forward to close the distance between us and cover his mouth with mine softly, feathering my lips across his. He pushes back a little harder against me, and I let my lips part. I feel lightheaded, and my cock swells. When he slips his tongue into my mouth, I feel like I'm melting. I have one hand around Trevor's waist to hold his body against me, while the other one grabs a fistful of his blonde hair, close to the back of his head so I can tug him to a better angle to deepen the kiss. He opens his mouth wider, and my tongue plunges in.
    Once again the contact between us explodes. I groan his name and pulled him even closer.
    The kiss deepens, becomes hotter and wetter. It lasts forever, but is over too soon.

    "Fuck" Trevor says. ""You are one hell of a kisser… and you have the most kissable mouth I have ever felt." He angles his head to kiss me again.

    I pull back a little, whispering, "Don't start anything not willing to finish."

    "What you mean?" Trevor asks me.

    "I want to fuck you so hard, and my bed is only 30 seconds away," I say. "I won’t be happy if you leave now, but I understand if you want to take it slow." We both gaze at our hands as I trace an aimless pattern with my thumb across the back of one of his that I clutch tightly against my chest.

    Trevor groans again, “It's not something I want to do so much as something I feel like I have to do…but you do understand, right?"

    I force a smile, “Sure." I drop his hand and step back. “You know that I'm not happy about it, but I do understand. Horny but understanding, that’s me.” I grabbed his hand again and squeeze it, warning him, “Next time I see you, we play by my rules, Sunshine.” I reach up to caress his head, smoothing down the mess I had made of his hair.

    "And what rules are those," Trevor grins.

    As I unlock the door, I admit, "I haven’t worked them all out yet, but the first one is to always carry at least a dozen condoms and the large economy-size lube."

    "I think I like these rules," he whispers in a raw, husky voice.

    "You've been warned," I say as I close the door. "’Till next time."

    He slowly walks back to his SUV and drives off. I watch through the window of the door until his taillights disappear around the corner.

  28. #28
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    What an awesome chapter, BD. As much as I understand the idea of going slow, I am also as excited as Zach. I wonder is the "hyenas" were watching the goodnight kiss. I look forward to the new set of rules for their second date....


  29. #29

    Re: Power Play

    Another great chapter! I am on the edge of my seat with anticipation!! Thanks for writing such a great story, can't wait to see what is in store for our boys next!!

  30. #30
    THE FLIRT JUB Moderator ronboy's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    BluesDog, that was a terrific installment!
    I love your details in both descriptions and the dialogue.
    I am looking forward to more!

    The Three Musketeers... Bashful, Chrisglass, and Ronboy!

  31. #31
    Porn Star SexyGuy's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    Oh my goodness!!! This story keeps getting better and better!!!
    "Everything popular is wrong." ~Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
    "Even people who aren't geniuses can outthink the rest of mankind if they develop certain thinking habits." ~Charles Darwin

  32. #32

    Re: Power Play

    Great story. Can't wait to read more!

  33. #33

    Re: Power Play


    The morning after my date with Trevor is full of weird contrasts. On the one hand, the weather is about as perfect as you can expect for this time of year. Yesterday’s storm has cleared the air, and under a high, brilliant blue sky, everything is sharp and clean. The bright sun is dazzling as it reflects off the drifts of yesterday's white snow. I, on the other hand, am fuzzy-minded and out of sorts. I drag myself to my early class, but poor Professor Chung could've lectured in her native Korean for all the attention I pay her.

    I sit through the hour-long lecture, but all I can think about is Trevor, of course. Between classes I would normally go to library or one of the study lounges in another building and go through notes or readings for the next class because I am a grade whore like that. I am too restless today, so I head off-campus in search of coffee that is better than the brownish swill they serve at the Student Union.

    I take a big gulp of strong black coffee as I step out of the Java Hut into the harsh morning light. The temperature is so frigid that clouds of steam rise off the cup. As I amble to the corner through the crowds of students, I feel revived by the jolt of caffeine, and my thoughts are not as unfocused as they had been, but they are all still about Trevor. He’s turned me into a tween girl, and he’s a whole boy band of obsession for me.

    I wait at the corner for the light so I can cross the street back to the main gate of the university. A familiar black SUV with Massachusetts plates pulls up next to me. The passenger side window slowly slides down, and I see Trevor sitting at the wheel, looking hot as always and disgustingly fresh and alert.

    He is wearing one of those puffy down-filled jackets with a neon purple and green nylon shell. I feel like something left out for the trash pickup, but with his opaque black sunglasses, he looks like he's ready to head for the ski slopes for a day of downhill.

    We just stare at each other for a few seconds without saying anything. I gradually let out the breath that I had been holding. He hooks one finger in his sunglasses and slowly pulls them down his nose. In his warm brown eyes I see raw desire and an unspoken question that is as clear to me as if he had shouted it.

    I swallow hard and blurt out, "But I have a class."

    Trevor holds his hand out palm up towards me and wiggles his fingers a couple of times to make the universal sign for "come". His face is intense as he softly urges, "Skip it!"

    "We can't miss Fowler's class," I argue.

    He checks the clock on the dash. "Okay, that gives us four hours," he tells me. "We can scratch a lot of itches in that time."

    Even with the caffeine, my brain is still sluggish, so I just stand there like a dolt until the driver behind Trevor leans on the horn a couple times. That jars me into action, and after slinging my backpack into the SUV, I climb in after it.

    "My place is closer than yours," Trevor calculates. "Is that okay?"

    I mumble, “Sure. Unless you're open to grabbing the next available parking spot and crawling into the back seat."

    Trevor groans, “Don't tempt me."

    We ride in a silence that is thick with anticipation and testosterone. Five minutes and a few turns later, we pull up to a large gate, and Trevor punches a code into the keypad. The metal gate slowly rolls open as he impatiently mutters, "C'mon, c'mon!" He grins sheepishly at me, saying, "I swear that damn thing knows when I'm in a hurry and slows down on purpose."

    Trevor lives in a complex of modern condominiums built of stone, glass, and exposed wood that has enough expensive landscaping to make me wonder how students can afford to live here. I keep my mouth shut though as we park in front of one, and he cuts the engine.

    I hesitate before getting out of the SUV to ask, "Should I just leave my books here?"

    He smirks at me and snickers, "I didn't bring you here so we could study together. You can't be that naïve."

    "Okay, I deserve that," I laugh as I get out of the SUV. "But you have messed with my mind, and I can't think straight."

    Trevor grabs my hand to lead me to the front door, saying, "The last thing I want is for you to think straight."

    I snatched my hand away and fake a punch to his nose. "Don't make me regret this."

    "Sorry. Bad joke," he smiles as he opens the door. "Welcome to the pad."

    The living room looks a lot like mine except that the furniture and the electronics are all a lot more expensive and in better shape: black leather sofas and chairs, tables made of aluminum tubing and smoked glass, a huge-ass TV that takes up most of one wall.

    "Let me have your coat," Trevor tells me as he opens the closet door. After I shrug out of my leather jacket he hangs it up, and then hooks his ski jacket on the back of the door. "I live here with three other hockey players, and in the winter it's tough to find someplace to hang all the coats." He gives me a look of smoldering desire. "But you're not here to discuss my storage problems." He reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ears.

    "Hell no," I grumble. "I'm here to do naughty sex acts like floppy eared rodents. Here on the couch?" I start to pull off one of my boots. “Is anyone else here?”

    "Impatient much?” Trevor asks me with a broad grin. “Can you at least wait until we get upstairs to my bedroom?"

    I run my tongue over my lower lip and squeeze my crotch, moaning, "Barely." I jam my foot back into my boot.

    Trevor matches my moan, "Let's hurry then." He puts his hand against my lower back to steer me towards the stairs, and I feel a spark of electricity run through me. As I start up the steps Trevor pauses to stare at the thermostat. "I wonder if we should kick the heat up a notch?" he asks.

    I grin down at him. "Dude, you're like twenty-two going on fifty. I think we’ll generate our own heat."

    "True," he says as we start climbing the stairs again, "and my temperature is going up just watching your ass on the steps."

    "Okay, that's better," I concede. "But still kinda lame."

    He shoves me into the bedroom, and after looking around spies some underwear scattered around on the floor and kicks them under the bed. "Sorry about the mess," he says in a thick voice.

    I shrug and chew my lip for a second, "No problem.”

    We stand a foot or so apart there looking at one another in silence, and I see in Trevor's face the hot yearning that I feel. After about thirty seconds, I whisper, "Somebody has to make the first move." I plant my palm flat against the chest of his navy blue Henley and slowly let it trail down his torso. I feel that something changes between us, and I know Trevor feels it too. His eyes widen a bit, locked on mine. We lean together, inching closer.

    "After weeks of dancing around," Trevor whispers, "I can't believe we are, you know, here." His tongue flickers out wetting his lip. I'm fascinated by it, but I don't think he even is aware he had done it. I reach a hand out to cup his face and run my thumb lightly over that lip. Trevor grabs my hand and kisses the palm. The light stubble that dusts his upper lip roughs up my skin.

    Trevor leans closer, forcing me to look up an inch or two to account for the difference in height, until were so close, just inches apart, that I could taste the sweet mint of his toothpaste on his breath.

    "Think of it as extended foreplay," I say, my voice raspy with want and need.

    He chuffs a soft laugh, “Very extended."

    I lose myself in those warm caramel eyes, depthless and endless. Beneath my hand I can feel his heart hammering as hard as my own. The scrap of distance between us closes, and our lips melt together. Fuck. At first it's a gentle exploration, slow and tentative. But then Trevor's fingers grasp the back of my neck, pulling me nearer, pressing and massaging hungrily. His mouth covers mine, pliant and eager and so damn soft. It feels… intoxicating, and my balls churn in response. I can't taste him deeply enough; I can't hold him closely enough.

    I want to share the same skin with him.

    I crush against his body, chest to chest, cock to cock, hips grinding and hands grabbing. Trevor returns every touch. He flicks his tongue across my lips, and the taste of mint intensifies. My mouth parts, inviting him in, and his tongue slides through as both of us groan with anticipation. I can feel my cock leaking precum, soaking my boxers.

    Trevor falls back on the bed, dragging me with him, a moan escaping from me as our mouths break contact. He lies back on the bed, and straddling his massive thighs, I snarl my fingers in his hair on both sides of his head, leaning down to kiss him again. He tilts his head as I plunge deeper into his warm, wet mouth, sliding his tongue hard against mine. Trevor arches his back off the bed crushing his hips into me, and the searing heat I feel through his jeans draws another harsh, needy moan from me.

    "I want you so fucking bad," I say as I pull back to look at his swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

    Trevor reaches for my belt. "I'm here for the taking,' cause I want you too."

    Knocking his hands roughly away from my waist, I growl, "No way, stud! Did you forget that we're playing by my rules this time?"

    "What?" he asks, confused.

    "My game, my rules," I tell him in a thick voice.

    Trevor throws himself flat on the bed with his eyes closed and his fists clenched at his side. "Ugh! You're killing me!"

    "I doubt that, but now you have some idea of what you’ve been doing to me the past few weeks,” I soothe as I unbuckle his belt. I pop the button on his jeans open and tease the zipper down the length of his thick, hard cock. His eyes fly open and he watches with interest as I roughly tug the jeans off his thighs and shove them into a tangle around his ankles. I kneel on the floor between his long legs to focus on a wet spot on his blue-gray briefs at the tip of his cock.

    "But I want…" He starts to say as I thumb that enticing damp circle, chafing his sensitive flesh with the rough fabric of his underwear. Whatever he wants is lost in the low moan, "Oh, fuck."

    "Tell me what you want, bro," I purr.

    He grabs the hand that is teasing his dick and says hoarsely, "I want to…" but his voice trails off in a groan as my other hand encircles his thick shaft and begins stroking him hard two or three times. "Oh, fuck, oh, fuck." He scrubs a hand across his mouth. His eyes are wild. "Whatever you want. I'm yours." His chest is heaving as he pants, "so long as you know I'm not going to last long. It'll be like I'm fifteen again."

    I hook my fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and slowly slide them down his body. His cock catches the fabric for a moment, and as it pulls free, it falls back against his abs with a meaty thwump! Both of us make throaty growls at the sound. I start to drool as I stare at his long, thick erection.

    He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

    “Don’t rush me!” I plead. “I have jerked off a totally pathetic number of times since New Years’ fantasizing about this sight. I want to savor the moment.”

    Trevor flops back on the bed muttering to himself as I push his underwear down to join the knot of denim snarled around his ankles. He works his legs around trying to free himself, but I grab his calves, saying, “Nope! Leave them there.”

    “Why?” he asks warily.

    I grin, “You’ll see.” I start to pull off the black knit beanie I am still wearing.

    “Wait!” Trevor barks. I look at him with curiosity. With a sly grin, he admits, “I’m kind of a fan of the hat now. Can you leave it on?” He licks his lips. “Please?” I return the grin as I pull the beanie down around my ears.

    Half on and half off the bed, he arranges a couple of pillows to prop up his head so he can watch me. I kneel on the floor in front of him, easing between his legs, determined to lavish as much attention as I can to delay his orgasm. I nibble and lick my way up his body, aware that his skin is twitching every time the stubble on my jaw scrapes the tender flesh of his inner thighs. Just as I near his heavy balls hanging like ripe fruit, I veer off to nip at a hip bone.

    “Oh, fuck me!” he moans as he grabs a fistful of my hair through my hat. “How about you drift a little to the left, huh?”

    “You think?” I ask as I kiss my way in that direction. I bury my nose in the thick pad of golden curls at the base of his cock. He smells of newly-mown grass and leather, some kind of sandalwood soap, all on top of a musky Trevor smell that makes my boner throb. My cheek scours against his shaft making it twitch and jump. With one hand snaked up inside his shirt fingering his abs and one massaging his quads, I can feel his body tighten as my breath ghosts down the length of his cock.

    Circling his stiff erection with a couple of fingers, I pull it away from his body and flick my tongue against the slit to collect the shimmering pearl of sticky liquid there. Trevor groans, “Jeez!” as his hips tremble beneath me. I take his length into my mouth, thinking that he tastes as good as he smells. I pull free of him with a little pop! and lock my eyes on his face as I give the head of his cock a deep, hot, wet, kiss, swirling my tongue across it. A soft whisper of my teeth scrape against his shaft, and as he bucks his hips up, I draw him deeper again. The heat radiating off of him burns my face, and I feel him fighting about the clothes tangled around his legs. With one hand I jerk his shaft as I lick his knob, and with the other hand I caress one of his ankles to settle him down a little.

    Trevor tosses his head against the pillow, every muscle tensed against the sensation, both hands thrust inside my beanie and tangle in my hair to pull me closer. Between struggling to keep his legs in place, and the way that he is tugging fistfuls of my hair, and the thrusting of his hips to ram his cock through the back of my skull, the fight for control starts to be painful.

    “Zach,” he moans loudly, “oh, fuck.” The open pleasure in his voice eases my discomfort, so I can draw this out. As his hard, muscular body arches off the bed, his lean hips pump his cock into my mouth, and I can suck him deep and hard. Suddenly I change gears to attack him gently and sweetly with light kisses and flickering tongue. Again deep and hard, again slow and easy. Trevor is groaning a stream of curses that would make a whore blush, and I reach up to finger his balls. As soon as I started rolling them around inside their silky skin, he grabs my shoulder, moaning, “I’m coming, Zach. Oh, fuck, I’m coming. He tries to withdraw from my mouth, but I hold on tight to his thick shaft to take him deeper. I look up at him as he digs his head into the pillow again, and with a long, shuddering breath, “Fuck”, he comes as his body shivers with the release. His cock throbs against my lips, and the hot spurts jet over my tongue.

    I rise up to look at his face. His eyes are still closed, but his chest is heaving. When he opens his eyes, he has to blink several times at the ceiling before he can look at me. Then he has to blink several more times before he can focus on me. A slow, lazy grin takes over his mouth. “Holy. Shit.” he sighs. “That was… wow… I think you broke me.”

    “So you enjoyed that?” I ask.

    “Hell yeah!” he says. “I thought that you kiss wicked cool, but that…” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t figure out the bit about the jeans around my ankles, but the harder I strained against it, the better it felt.” Trevor pulls me into an embrace. “Where did you learn that?”

    I shrug, “I have four older brothers.” A startled look crosses Trevor’s face. “Oh, jeez, you pervert!” I laugh. “One of them told me about it. I’m from South Philly, not Alabama.”


    Zach may be amused that I thought for a second that he perfected his blow job technique on one of his brothers, but I flash on an image of me in a bed with several men from the DiPasquale family, and it feels like a hot scene for an insane moment. He is howling with laughter.

    “Shut the fuck up!” I laugh. “It’s not that funny.” I lean towards him, watching as he turns suddenly serious, cradling the back of his head to pull him in for a kiss. More hot urges boil hotly in me as Zach traces my lips with his tongue.
    His hand burrows between my legs, and finding my dick hardening again, he whispers into my mouth, “Back so soon?”
    Groaning, I push his hand away, “I’m still a little tender down there, so let’s work you into the act.” I angle my head for deeper access to his mouth. He tastes of coffee and cinnamon toothpaste. His skin smells of clean masculine sweat over a little of the soap that he uses. I moan as he catches my lower lip between his teeth, but I pull free and plant a row of light kisses down his jaw and neck. I pull away his sweatshirt so I can I nuzzle where his shoulder arches up into his neck, whispering softly, “I love this spot.” I kiss and nibble at the skin there, warm and velvety. Plucking at the neck of his shirt, I ask, “Can I take his off?”
    I laugh at his terse response, “Mnhnmh”, and tug it over his head before I strip off my own shirt. I finally kick off my jeans as I reach for Zach’s belt. He toes off his boots and his socks, and I quickly drag his jeans and his boxers free, tossing them to the pile on the floor. His cock, long and fat, curves up from dark, closely trimmed hair. I run my fingertips across the sharp stubble there, grunting in appreciation.

    “What can I say? I’m Italian.” he murmurs. “If I don’t take a weed-whacker to the shrubbery, my pubes go from my knees to my navel.”

    Cupping his heavy, smoothly-shaven balls, I say, “I like it. Very clean.” I continue to gently caress his cock as I lean to mouth one of his nipples. Zach hisses as I lick and gently nibble it, feeling it stiffen into a hard little nub beneath my teeth. The hiss deepens into a moan as I scrape his other nipple with my thumbnail. He continues to moan as I drag a fingertip across the slit on his dick, cleaning away the drop of precum oozing there. I lift the finger to my mouth and flick my tongue against it to taste. I look into his eyes, hooded and heavy with desire. Their normal color, a sunny aquamarine like a tropical lagoon, is gone, replaced by something darker and denser, more like an Atlantic harbor on a stormy January day. “What now?” I ask. “I’d love to take you with my mouth.”

    His voice is thick and deep. ”No, I need you in me.”

    I grin as I turn to the bedside table to root around in the drawers. I fish out a handful of condoms and a bottle of lube. “Not quite a dozen or the giant economy size that you demanded last night, but it’ll get us through the next few hours.” Throwing an arm around him to pull closer, I ask, “Your rules. How do you want it? Slow and sweet?”

    Zach growls harshly, “No! Hard and messy. Leave me with an ache to remind me of you tomorrow.”

    “Yeah?” I question. He nods. Something breaks loose in my chest, and I hiss, “You make me want you more every minute I am with you.”

    “Good,” he rasps out. “Because you drive me fucking insane.”

    His hungry eyes watch me as I squirt a glob of lube from the bottle .I stretch out beside him, tangling our legs together. Reaching beneath his balls, my slickened fingers trail across the tender flesh, and I expect him to tense up as I slide into the crevice and near his hole. He doesn’t fight me, but rocks his hips against my hand. I smear the gel around the entrance for a few seconds before easing one lubricated finger in. Zach clamps onto me as I slide around to stretch him. I make myself go slowly to get him ready so he could enjoy it.

    His groans sound like pleasure, but he still feels very tight. “Doing okay?” I ask.

    “Yeah,” he gasps. “Another finger? Please?”

    I slowly push a second finger into his hot core, and he immediately locks down tightly on me. I watch his face for signs of pain, but he is giving out all the right signals. Scissoring my fingers inside of him and twisting them around, I manage to curl back against the knot of nerves there. Zach’s eyes roll back, and his arches up off the bed, digging his fingers into my shoulder. “Oh, right there,” he hisses. I keep stroking my fingers in and out of him, returning to that sensitive spot again and again. He always has the same responsive reaction. As his body shivers with desire, he grabs my wrist and says, “I want you in me now!”

    I must not have moved quickly enough for him because he pulls himself free of my hand and snatches a foil packet to rip open with his teeth, dropping the condom in my hand. “Okay,” I say. “I like a bossy bottom,” as I unroll the latex over my cock.

    “Then you’ll love me ‘cause I’m all about control, “he snarls. “Enough chit-chat, hockey boy. Get to work.” He rolls on his back, lifting his ass to give me access. After I lined myself up, I slowly push in a inch or so at a time as Zach slowly exhales. He is so tight that it feels like my cock is held by a fist. When I am most of the way in, he suddenly sucks in a ragged breath, “Wait! Hold on!.” His face is tense, but his body is very still.

    I freeze. “Are you hurting?”

    Through clenched teeth, he growls, “Just give me a second to get past this first burn.”

    I wait. “Do you want me to pull out?”

    “No,” he says as his eyes shift to mine.

    “Would it help if I tell a story to distract you?”

    Zach shudders out a half-laugh-half-whimper and groans, “Stop, you jerk!” With a small smile, he continues, “I should have known I would take a donkey cock up the back door today and been better prepared.” His face suddenly relaxes and the grip around my cock eases. Breathing normally he sighs, “Okay. I’m good to go.”

    Supporting myself on my elbows, I rock gently at first, gasping as the hot, greedy clamp of Zach’s body pulls me deeper and deeper. “C’mon,” he urges in a needy voice. “Take me hot and hard.” I squeeze my eyes closed rather than look at his beautiful face so that I don’t climax right away. With a moan of pleasure, I snap my hips to bury my cock deep in his ass.

    Zach pushes against me, begging for more. With his legs braced against my arms, he is positioned so that I can hit the sensitive clump of nerves with almost every thrust. “Harder!” he begs between little cries of bliss. “Fuck me harder!” He has my hips in an iron grip, pulling me deeper and faster into him. I grunt with every push, growling from deep within as I lose control. Zach greedily takes everything I have, demanding more and more from me. I slam into him so hard that the bed feels like it is moving across the floor. Every breath is harder to take as I strain to find more to give him.

    “Trevor,” he gasps hoarsely. “I…” With a long, moaning curse, Zach arches off the mattress and strains against me, erupting in climax as long ribbons spurt over his chest. I cry out as the heat and pressure of his body pushes me over the edge, clutching wads of the sheets in my fists as the tight coil within me snaps free. Waves of heat wash over me, but I shiver all over. I am almost too spent to withdraw from Zach, but I roll off of him.

    I stare at the ceiling for a minute, not able to muster the energy to even turn my head. I finally do mutter, “Fuck!”

    “Yeah,” he whispers. I blindly grope for his hand and lace our fingers together.

    We remain still for a few minutes as our breathing steadies and slows. With a groan, I flop off the bed and pad into the bathroom to discard the condom. I bring back a damp cloth and gently clean the sticky mess off of Zach’s torso before crawling back into bed with him. We stay quiet, eyes locked for a bit.
    I ask, “What happened to the beanie?”

    He palms his head a couple of times and chuckles, “I think you fucked it right off of me.”
    A vulnerable look in his eyes creates a tingle in my crotch and in my chest. As I open my arms in invitation, his face brightens and he scoots into my embrace. Wrapping my arms around him and tangling our legs together, I rest my chin on the top of his head, smoothing his unruly curls with a hand.

    “I knew it!” I snort.

    “What?” he asks.

    I tweak his nose gently. “You’re a snuggler.” He grunts in confirmation. “I am, too,” I whisper into his dark, curly hair.

  34. #34
    HUGS! ;-)
    Kyanimal's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    Geeze! ... WOW! ... Holy ... GEEZE! ... Wow! ...

    If your fingers are as talented at other things, as they are with a keyboard ... Geeze! ... WOW! ... Holy ...

    And ... FINALLY ... perfect timing!!

    THANK YOU! for that Awesome chapter, Buddy, and the build up to it!

    MORE, Please ...
    WISDOM is the Knowledge you've gained ... After you could have used it! _Me

  35. #35
    THE FLIRT JUB Moderator ronboy's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    Simply masterful! I love this story!

    The Three Musketeers... Bashful, Chrisglass, and Ronboy!

  36. #36
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    Sensuality in its finest. Wow! My heart is pounding as hard as Zach's and Trevor's. Lost my breath there for a moment as well. Though the chase may have ended, the intensity is growing by leaps and bounds. Thanks, BD.


  37. #37
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    Quote Originally Posted by Craiger View Post
    Though the chase may have ended,
    Oh! Heck No! I'm hoping for FAR MORE to Cum!
    WISDOM is the Knowledge you've gained ... After you could have used it! _Me

  38. #38

    Re: Power Play

    Oh Wow, that was so worth the wait!!! I am on edge and looking forward to more!! Thanks for such a hot story, can't wait for more!! Thanks for writing!!

  39. #39
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    Re: Power Play

    So fucking hot. Please keep this story going.

  40. #40
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    Re: Power Play

    I found this story late and have just caught up. I loved when you wrote of the romance and I loved when you wrote of the sex. This is a really good story and I am glad that I found it. You are a good story teller.

  41. #41

    Re: Power Play

    Chapter Seven


    We frolic and gambol across Trevor’s bed for another couple of hours, unable to satisfy our desire or our hunger. Finally, I pull my mouth free from another toe-curling kiss long enough to glance at the clock.

    “Ugh,” I complain. “We better get moving if we’re going to make it to Fowler’s class.”

    Trevor scowls. “What’s up with this obsession on making it to that class? I can think of much more satisfying ways to pass the time.” He wraps his hand around my cock while running his tongue around his lips.

    “Don’t tempt me any more!” I beg, pushing his hand away while thrusting my hips into his massage in a clear case of mixed signals. “If we both miss class at the same time, he’ll be suspicious.”

    He scoffs, “So the old lech is suspicious. We’re adults. What’s the big deal?” He rolls me over on my back to pin me to the bed while he kisses my throat. He continues to rub me, and I quickly grow hard again.

    “The big deal,” I gasp, “is that he is a very sub…oh, fuck, right there… subjective grader. No pattern to how he judges… oh, yeah, that’s it… judges our work.” Trevor has started licking and nibbling one of my nipples. “And there’s no sense in… oh, jeeze, don’t stop… in giving him a reason to… a little to the left… lower our grades.”

    He sits up with a huffed breath. “You’re kinda ruining the mood here, Zach. Why are you worried? You have a solid ‘A’ in the class.”

    “Because Fowler luuurves me,” I say in a singsongy voice. I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. “You, not so much.”

    He thinks for a second. “Now that you mention it, he does seem to glare at me whenever he can. It’s like he thinks I’m tracking dog poop into his classroom. What’s up with that?”

    “No idea, but corrupting me isn’t helping your case.”

    Trevor smirks. “You were hardly innocent before I ever got you in my clutches. I suspect the last few hours have only touched on the depth of your depravity.”

    “You suspect?” I ask sarcastically.

    He screws up his face. “Is ‘hope’ the more accurate word?”

    I give him a light kiss that somehow extends and deepens into something more erotic than I intended. “Good luck proving that in court.” I slap his ass. “Let’s move. Can I take a shower?”

    His face lights up. “Now there’s an idea. I’ll join you.” His hands are roaming over my back, and one long finger has started to probe downward into the furrow of my ass.

    After pushing him back on the bed, I laugh, “Us both in the shower only ends one way… with my legs around your waist as I’m fucked against the tiles.”

    He gives me a baffled look as his hands run up the inside of my thighs. “Well, duh! What’s wrong with that.”

    “And we stumble into class thirty minutes late. Kinda defeats the whole purpose of going.”

    Trevor throws his hands in the air. “Finally we agree! Get the water running, and I’ll be there in a second to nail you to the wall.” He tries to pull me into an embrace on the bed. “We blow off class while we blow each other.”

    I pull free from him, rolling off the bed and onto my feet. “My brothers told me about guys like you.” I twist away from his reaching hands. “One-track minds and roving hands.”

    “So they warned you away from me?”

    I think for a moment. “Now that I look back, the general idea was to find one of you sex fiends and hold on for dear life.”

    He groans loudly as I gather up my scattered clothes. “You can’t leave me in bed alone,” he pouts. “Bring that beautiful ass back over here.” I pause in the door to his bathroom to stretch and flex for a second. “You’re killing me!” he yells as I grin at him over my shoulder. I shut the door and loudly snap the lock in place. I hear his muffled shout as he rattles the door knob, “You locked me out? You bastard!”

    After I shower quickly and wash my hair, I see that Trevor has stripped the soiled sheets off of the bed. He carries his clothes into the bath to take a shower, stopping as he passes to give me a quick kiss while muttering, “Killjoy.”

    We are pretty quiet on the way back to campus in Trevor's SUV until he growls at me, "I am so fucking hard just sitting next to you."

    I look at him over my sunglasses. "Really? Prove it!"

    "What?" he yelps.

    "Unzip your jeans and show me how hard you are. I think it's all talk."

    "Here? What if someone sees?"

    I snort, "Just as I thought."

    With a snarled curse, Trevor yanks his zipper down and digs his cock out of his fly. "Need more proof?"

    "Maybe a taste?"

    He first eyes the console between us and then the space between him and the steering wheel. "Maybe if I..."

    "No, I'm not sucking you off in the car," I say. "Rub your thumb over it." He cuts his eyes at me. I nod in encouragement. "Go on." We are stopped at a light. His body tenses and bucks as Trevor fingers his dick, clearing the precum from the slit. We accelerate through the intersection, and he holds his hand out to me, groaning as I take his thumb in my mouth, licking the salty, musky taste clean. He tries to watch me and the road at the same time, snapping his head back and forth.

    I settle back in my seat, commenting, "I was wrong. You are pretty aroused."

    Trevor stuffs himself back into his jeans, whispering, "Goddamn, Zach, you're gonna be the death of me."

    We get to class with only a minute or two to spare, and go to our usual place in the last row. Trevor sits down first, watching as I lower myself gingerly into the seat. He chuckles and whispers , “So you’re feeling it?”

    “Oh, yeah,” I grunt.

    He stretches his long legs in front and laces his hands behind his head. “Another job well done for another satisfied customer.”

    “I said I was feeling it,” I retort. “I am in no way satisfied.”

    “Oooh! A challenge?”

    Before I could answer, Professor Fowler calls out, “Gentleman? May I start?”

    “Sorry,” I say with a smile as I open my laptop to take notes.

    All through the lecture, I look over at Trevor to find him watching me, or sometimes I watch him as he concentrates on his computer screen or on the teacher. We exchange smiles sometimes, and other times we share heavy-eyed glances of desire.

    When class is over, everyone else stampedes for the exit, Professor Fowler leading the charge to freedom. Trevor and I are left alone in the silent empty room, shyly smiling at each other.

    “What do you have going on now?” I ask.

    Trevor tucks his hair behind his ear, saying, “Probably head over to the grill at the Student Union for a snack.” He grins wider. “As you may know, I was distracted and missed lunch. In about forty-five minutes I have practice.” He stops me from jamming the rest of my stuff in my backpack to grab my hand. “You?”

    I can’t keep my tongue from sweeping across my lips. “A couple of hours free then I head to work.”

    He leans forward to whisper in my ear, “I would suggest we look for an empty broom closet, but that would just make me want more.”

    Laughing softly, I say, “I’m already sore. You have to give me a little down time.”

    He kisses me gently on the throat and moves over to mouth me in his favorite spot where my shoulder and neck meet. Suddenly he pulls away and frowns at me. “You don’t smell right.”

    I blink my eyes in confusion. “What?”

    “How can I pop wood on your smell when you don’t smell like you?” He sniffs me suspiciously a couple of times.

    “Could it be that you’re smelling your soap and your shampoo on me?”

    Trevor narrows his eyes at me. “That’s it! You’re right. No, that won’t do.” He pulls out his phone and starts a note to himself. “Tell me what you normally use, and I’ll make sure I have it for next time.” I give him a couple of product names. “At least I don’t have to special order these from Tuscany or something like that.” He gives me a satisfied smirk. “Next time I’ll be able to get all pervy on you.”

    “I can’t wait for the next time,” I growl huskily.

    His face softens. “Me neither,” he whispers. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

    “I don’t think so.”

    “Some friends are coming over to watch the Flyers-Bruins game. Are you interested?”

    “Is that… hockey?” I ask.

    He laughs, “Yes, you infidel dog. Philadelphia against Boston. Big deal among the True Believers.”

    “I'd like to do that,” I tell him.

    He grins. “Yeah?” His voice lowers again. “I had a really good time with you today. Probably the best time I’ve ever had in bed.”

    “Me too.” I agree. “Certainly in the top five.”

    He looks startled. “Top five?”

    I smile. “Sure. I know how competitive you are. You’ll bust your balls trying harder until I tell you you’re the best.”

    He groans, “You’ve already discovered my weakness.”

    I rub my thumb gently along his jaw. “I promise to use my power only for good.” I pick up my backpack. “We better get out of here before we sit back here making out through the next class.”

    “Ugh! Responsibility sucks!” We walk out. “I’ll call you tonight?”

    “OK. Don’t watch my ass as I walk away.”

    He chuffs a laugh. “I’d say I won’t but I’d be lying.”

    After work, I am home at a little after one o’clock in the morning. After putting on clean boxers and a t-shirt, I am brushing my teeth when the phone chirps that I have a new text. The corners of my mouth turn up when I see Trevor’s face on the screen. The message is short.



    ----wont keep you then

    ----thats okay

    ---- thinking about you

    ----me 2.

    ----still sore?

    ----stop gloating!!!

    ----cant help it baby thats me

    ----LOL thats what bugs me

    ----CU 2morrow

    ----cant wait

    ----good night


    The next night, I ride my motor cycle over to Trevor's for the game-watching party. When he opened the door for me, I was glad that Rory and Rob had talked me into wearing something other than a tee or a sweatshirt. He was wearing the usual jeans and sneaks, but the tight black sweater over a lime-green polo shirt looked casually stylish.

    “Here, I’ll hang up your jacket,” Trevor tells me as he opens the hall closet. The opened door makes a barrier between us and the rest of the room, and he pulls me tight to his body, kissing me hotly. “I’m not really hiding this from anyone he whispers in my ear. I just don’t want to listen to all the shit they would chirp at me if they see us.”

    “Got it,” I say as I nuzzle his neck.

    He kisses me again, and murmurs, “That’ll have to keep us until later.” He smirks at me. “Ready to face the lions?”

    Trevor introduces me to everyone, some I already knew: his team mates, Phillip, Alex, Garrett, Ryder, Riggsby, Kirksy and Knuckles, the last three just nicknames, I think. Then the women, Jessica, Brittany, Ashley, Megan and Amber, at least two of whom were there with Trevor’s best friend, Garrett.

    We go into the kitchen where there are several foam coolers packed with ice and beer. Trevor asks me, “What would you like to drink? There’s beer, probably some wine around if you want that. On the counter is some foamy pink frou-frou drink that the women are pounding.”

    I make a face. “Nothing pink. I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”

    “A Sam Adams lager for the gentleman,” he says in an especially thick parody of his Boston accent. "It's a wicked pissah to get ya hammad." He yanks off the top before handing me the bottle. We are chatting a bit about Fowler's class today, when one of Trevor's teammates comes into the kitchen, Knuckles, I think, or maybe Riggsby. Geez, it's like I stumbled into Capone's Chicago hideout. He and Trevor start talking about their last game while I sip my beer. Before I know it, Trevor's hand is on my back, lightly caressing me. As they talk, his hand slides lower and lower, first the small of my back, then hooked by my waist on my belt, and soon his hand has slipped into the back pocket of my jeans and is slowly kneading my ass.

    "Holy. Fuck," booms a deep voice from behind us. "What is going on here?"

    I turn around to see another hockey player, a huge mountain of a man with spiky black hair, Philip, I think, who is looking from Trevor to me to Trevor's hand cupping my ass in my jeans pocket, his cobalt-blue eyes flicking from one to another and his mouth gaping open.

    "Ostropov, get your ass in here," he bellows over his shoulder. "You won't believe this."

    Garrett storms into the kitchen. Philip gestures to Trevor's hand on me, and Garrett's face darkens as he yells, "Motherfucker!"

    Philip grins, "You owe me 20 bucks and a six pack, asshole!" he says to Garrett as he slaps him on the back. "I told him that you had gotten laid, Wellman. You've been walking around with a shit-eating smile for a couple of days. I knew something was up."

    Garrett glares at me, his cunning eyes narrow, saying, "I'm disappointed. I thought you would hold out a bit longer, man." Everyone laughs as he stomps out of the room.

    Someone calls from the other room, “They’re about to face off,” so we settle down to watch the game. As I sit on the couch next to him, Trevor watches me with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. I try to scowl at him, but I can't keep from laughing. "Yes, damn you," I hiss. "Still! And you don't need to look so cocky." He leans over to kiss my neck.

    It’s great watching a hockey game with Trevor because he is patient enough to explain a lot of what’s happening on the screen, but he is also enough of a fan of the game that he has a ton of entertaining stories about the players and the coaches.

    My concentration is hurt by the arm that he has lightly draped across my shoulders, sometimes reaching up to finger my hair, sometimes softly thumbing my back. One of my hands rests on his leg, and occasionally I “innocently” shift in an attempt to caress the sensitive skin of his thigh along the inseam of his jeans beneath my fingers. I don’t give him a glance when I try that, but his breathing comes a little harder and a little faster.

    At the end of the first period, Trevor goes upstairs to take a leak. I'm standing up behind the couch, halfway watching the interviews, when Garrett comes up behind me, touching me lightly on the shoulder. "Can you step outside with me for a second, man?" he asks.

    "Do I need my coat?" I asked.

    "Nah, we won't be but a second," he tells me.

    We step into the tiny backyard, where the snow from a couple of days ago is practically undisturbed. The air is frigid, so I jam my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. "What's up?" I ask.

    Garrett doesn't seem to be affected by the cold as he looks at me intently. "Everyone tells me I was kinda rude to you at the pizza place last week." He's almost glaring at me. "I already had a few beers, so I don't remember much about it. But I wanted to tell you I'm sorry if you were offended."

    That kind of non-apology, not "I'm sorry I acted like an asshole," but "I'm sorry you took it the wrong way," is all I think I'm going to get out of him, so I say "It's no problem."

    "Great!" he says. "So what's going on with you and Trevor?"

    Cautiously, I ask, "What you mean?"

    He makes an irritated face before clarifying, "Are you in a relationship now, like boyfriends or something, or what exactly?"

    I want to tell him it's not his fucking business and go back inside the warm condo, but I don't want to piss off any of Trevor's friends, so I think for a second and tell him diplomatically, "We haven't really figured all that out ourselves yet."

    "I just think you should know," Garrett tells me, "that Trevor and I have been friends for a long time. We are as close as brothers, and I've got his back."

    "That's good," I say.

    "He's got a big heart and always sees the good in everybody even when they're fucking him over. He's really vulnerable these days because he's looking for somebody to fill a void, so if some guy comes along just looking for a warm hole to plug his cock in for a while and then dumps him… That'll fuck him up pretty bad."

    I'm getting pissed off, but I fight to keep my Italian temper under control. "I care for Trevor, so that's not how I look at him. I care a lot as a matter of fact."

    "Maybe, maybe not. I have to also consider that he comes from money, and in a few months, after the NHL draft, he'll be offered beaucoup bucks to sign a contract with some team. I have to be on the lookout for somebody itching for a big payday like that from him. He trusts everyone, so I have to be cynical for both of us."

    My fists are balled up inside my pockets, and I want nothing more than to show this jerk how much I learned from my brothers about South Philly street brawling. He might have about 20 pounds on me, and I am really angry, and I can guaran-damn-tee you that he would remember tangling with me for the next couple of weeks.

    Instead I grit my teeth staring off into the distance and count to twenty. With a clenched jaw I say, "As apologies go, you're working on a beauty there, something world-class. It takes talent say you're sorry and insinuate that I am both a slut and a gold digger at the same time." I slowly clap my hands a few times. "Congratulations. Well done!"

    Garrett holds his hands up as if to appease me, but his eyes are cold and hard. "I'm just saying that I'm looking out for Trevor."


    I come downstairs to find that Zach is no longer sitting on the couch, but I figure I missed him in passing as he went to piss, too, so I go into the kitchen to snag another couple of beers for us. I am excited by how well he is getting along all of my friends, and he doesn't seem to be too fazed by a little PDA in front of them. Some guys might be freaked out to show affection in front of a rowdy bunch of hockey players, but Zach is totally cool with it. That's important to me, especially since in his tight black jeans and plum-colored dress shirt he is too hot to keep my hands off.

    While tossing the bottle caps into the trash under the sink, I looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. "Fuck!" I snap when I see Garrett and Zach in the back having a very tense conversation. The body language is not good. Zach's shoulders are hunched, and his hands are thrust in his pockets. The cold breeze is ruffling his hair. Garrett has his arms crossed over his chest, and his jaw is thrust forward aggressively in a way that I have seen in hundreds of fights he has been in on and off the ice.

    I slam the beer bottles down on the counter and rush outside. As soon as him through the door, I say as cheerfully as I can, "What's going on, guys?"

    The tension is thick, and the silence drags on for way too long before Zach says, "Garrett was just explaining some of the more obscure rules of hockey to me."

    I come up behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest, saying, "Okay? You should've brought your coat out." I give Garrett a hard stare, but the son of a bitch can't even meet my eye. "Did you get it all figured out?" I asked Zach. There is so much tension in his body, it's like I have my arms around the tree.

    After another uncomfortable silence, he stiffly says, "Sure." I'm not sure what's going on between them or why Zach won't tell me anything, but I let it slide for now.

    Garrett says, "Trev can explain all that shit to you better than I can, so I'll leave you in his capable hands." He goes back inside without saying anything else.

    I hold Zach closer to whisper in his ear, "If you are tired of watching the game, we can go upstairs to study if you have any homework to do." I feel a little the tension drain out of him.

    He turns his head a bit to look me in the eye. "Study, huh?" He leans back a little more tightly against me. "I'll have to check my notes, but I don't remember that I have a paper due on the mating habits of the North American hockey player."

    "Damn!" I whisper to him. "I could totally get into helping with your research on that. How about general anatomy? Anything we can do with that?"

    "Nope. I guess you are stuck watching the game."

    "We don't have to. I can catch the highlights later."

    "No way! I'm having a wicked pissah of a time."

    I groan, "You need to work on the accent." I hold him tighter. "Do you have to go home right afterwards or can you stay a while?" I wrap one of his curls around a finger, pulling it out tight and letting it spring back a few times.

    A knot in my stomach grows during another long silence that follows before he says, "I hope you don't think too badly of me, but I brought spare boxers and a toothbrush."

    My mouth stretches into a painful grin, and a warm feeling flows through me. "Why would I think badly of you because of that?"

    Zach's voice is just a husky rumble as he replies, "Because I didn't bring any jammies at all."

    "Fuck. Me. Raw," I moan. "I am so hard right now, like Olympic-class hard, just for you."

    "Good!" he smiles. "At least I won't be the only one to go back in with a boner to flaunt in your friends’ faces."

    “Hmmm… maybe we better stay out here for another minute or two?” I ask.

    He snickers, “I doubt if the situation will improve anytime soon.”

    I bury my face in his neck. “I have plans for you later.”

    “Sounds promising.”

    I push one hand inside the waistband of his jeans, trailing down his warm, velvety skin. He hisses with pleasure as I ghost my fingertips along the hot length of his cock and through the patch of his trimmed pubes.

    “You know what a hat trick is?” I ask.

    “A player scores three goals in a hockey game,” he states promptly.

    “Exactly. I’m giving you a sexual hat trick.”

    Zack asks, “What is that, he asked with heaving chest?”

    I chuckle. “You come in my hand... you come in my mouth...you come with my dick buried balls-deep in your ass.”

    “Throw in humping your leg while kissing and that’s a plan I can live with.”

    “Nope! Hat trick has three elements.”

    “I want four… call it hitting for the cycle with a single, a double, a triple and a home run.”

    I bump my crotch hard against him. “You are not bringing baseball analogies into my bed! You wanted that kind of action, you should have gone to a baseball college like Miami or Arizona State or LSU.”

    He turns his head to grin at me. “So you’re saying that if I had worked my college application better, I would be on a campus with palm trees where I have more variety of sexual experience and wouldn’t have to chip the ice off my ‘nads every couple of days?”

    I kiss his ear. “When you put it that way, it sounds like I have my work cut out for me.”

    “Bet your ass you do!”

    Zach started to shiver a little in my arms. “Come on,” I tell him. “It’s too cold to be out here without a coat. Let’s go inside and parade our hard dicks around so they wonder what we’ve been up to out here.”
    Attached Thumbnails Attached Thumbnails ZACH.jpg   TREVOR.jpg  
    Last edited by BluesDog; September 16th, 2015 at 04:53 PM.

  42. #42
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    Oh! I like! The pics give a real tweak for the imagination. Leave it to Garrett to sour an evening. But our guys have a strong sense to get beyond it, at least for this time... Great chapter, BD. Thanks.


  43. #43
    ********* JUB Moderator Autolycus's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    A great new chapter - one that leaves us eager for more!

  44. #44
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    Re: Power Play

    Such an amazing story. I love it!

  45. #45

    Re: Power Play

    Another riveting and HOT chapter! I hope Garrett doesn't screw things up for our boys, Thanks for writing and can't wait for more!!

  46. #46
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    Kyanimal's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    Fantastic chapter! On "Pins and Needles" for MORE!

    Also digging the underlying !

    Now ... get Thee back to the keyboard, Buddy!

    And, Yeah! ... No Matter What ...

    Keep Smilin'!!
    WISDOM is the Knowledge you've gained ... After you could have used it! _Me

  47. #47
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    Re: Power Play

    Great chapter. It was getting a little tense for awhile.

  48. #48
    THE FLIRT JUB Moderator ronboy's Avatar
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    Re: Power Play

    Love it, love it, love it!

    The Three Musketeers... Bashful, Chrisglass, and Ronboy!

  49. #49

    Re: Power Play

    Chapter Eight


    After only a few hours of sleep I wake up early on Saturday morning when my phone chimes that I have a new text.

    —Let me know when you wake up.

    With a big grin I text Trevor back.

    —I’m awake.

    The phone rings after a few seconds.

    “You’re up early,” I tell him.

    “Been up since the hairy butt crack of dawn,” he replies.

    “Ugh! Why?”

    “Running ten K before breakfast.”

    “I’m disappointed,” I laugh. “I thought the heavy breathing was because you miss me.”

    “Partly,” he concedes. Then, “What are you doing now?”

    “Still in bed. Why?”

    “Now the panting is definitely because of you,” he groans. “Don’t make me think about you in bed. I can’t run with my dick slapping my chin. What are you wearing?”

    I snicker, “Are we about to have phone sex? And by the way… your chin? That’s some wishful thinking.”

    Trevor replies, “I thought that would get your attention. Actually, I just turned onto your street, and I’m hoping you’ll share a drink of water with a thirsty jock.”

    Excited, I hoot, “I’ll meet you at the door.”

    I flash my toothbrush around in my mouth a few times before hurtling down the stairs. When I open the front door, he is just jogging up.

    It should be a crime to look that good this early in the morning, his face pink from the exercise, those killer dimples, that body honed to perfection. Damp tendrils of blond hair escape from a black knit beanie cap.

    "Hi," I say. "Is that my hat?"

    Trevor grins. "I found it between the bed and the wall after we... you know. It's mine now."

    I scoff. "We'll see about that,"

    After stepping inside, he says, “Don’t touch me. I’m all gross and sweaty,” but he leans forward for a kiss. He eyes my t-shirt and plaid flannel sleep pants. “I was hoping to catch you in your skimpy drawers.”

    “You’ll have to wait for a day when it’s not below freezing,” I tell him. “Like July, maybe. Come on into the kitchen.” I am a little embarrassed for him to see my house. His place is so modern and luxurious while mine is furnished with castoff furniture from everyone’s family’s basement, and the old row house itself is cramped and dingy.

    After I toss a bottle of water from the refrigerator to him, Trevor thanks me while saying, “This is a nice place.”

    I look skeptically at the faded wallpaper, the cracked linoleum, the scarred counter tops, the appliances that practically count as antiques. “Seriously? It’s a step above a slum.” I smile, “But it’s home.”

    As he takes a swig of water, his stomach gurgles loudly, and he blushes. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

    “Are you hungry?” I ask.

    Trevor ducks his head, looking at me shyly from under his long lashes. “Aways.”

    “Stay for breakfast?”

    “It’s not a problem? We could eat out. There’s that diner just around the corner.”

    “Not at all. I can cook something here,” I assure him. “I’ll put on some coffee now.”

    “Could I take a shower? And maybe borrow a shirt?”

    “Sure.” I lead him upstairs.

    On the landing outside the bathroom, he leers at me, “Wanna join me, babe?”

    Laughing, I show him the tiny shower stall. “Only one of us could be under the water at a time. The other one would have to stand out here in the hall.” I demonstrate the quirks of the plumbing so he can adjust the temperature of the water, and I grab a clean t-shirt for him from my room, tossing it to him as I go back down.

    A quick search of the pantry and the refrigerator reveals that it is almost time to go to the market to stock up, but I find eggs, cheese, some vegetables and a leftover grilled pork chop and set those out on the counter.

    The coffee is almost ready when he pads barefoot back into the kitchen, his hair slicked back and his skin flushed from the hot water. I ogle him and offer a low wolfish whistle of appreciation. Trevor pulls me tightly against his body as we kiss hard.

    “Well, good morning,” I sigh out of breath as we break apart.

    “I feel better after the shower,” he announces, “so you deserve a proper greeting.” He looks at the stuff spread out on the counter. “Wow! You’re making real food.” He looks at me in amazement. “I thought you were offering bagels or cereal or something.”

    I laugh. “Nope. I’m making a fritatta.”

    “What’s that?” he asks as I dice the mushrooms, onion and peppers.

    “Like an omelet but since it is Italian, it’s better than anything those dim-witted French came up with.”

    “Of course.” He watches me. “I don’t think that anyone has ever cooked for me that wasn’t paid to do it, like in a restaurant.”

    I look at him. “Really? Your mother didn’t cook?”

    His face goes completely blank the way it did the last couple of times that I mentioned his mother. He is silent for several seconds before stiffly saying, “No. We had a cook. I doubt if my mother is even aware that kitchens exist.”

    Okay… ix-nay on the other-may…I turn back to chopping the vegetables. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask.

    Trevor’s good cheer returns. “Great. With a little milk?”

    Placing a cup on the table, I urge him, “Have a seat.”

    As I crack the eggs into a bowl and start beating them with a fork, Rob stumbles into the kitchen in a sweatshirt and boxers, eyes half closed and hair sticking up in every direction. “Coffee,” he croaks. I pour a cup for him, sliding it down the counter.

    He leans one hip against the counter, holding the cup up to his face with one hand to slurp from it while the other hand scratches his balls through his boxers. Catching me staring at him, he growls, “What?”

    I jerk my chin at his crotch. “You need some ointment there, Skippy?”

    Rob mutters, “My balls itch.”

    “And you have to work them over in the kitchen?”

    “All balls itch, Aunt Prissy, and ya gotta tend to them when the need arises.” He squints at Trevor. “Hey.”


    Now Rob is scowling. “You weren’t…” he looks at me, then back at Trevor. “You weren’t here all night were you?”

    Trevor looks confused. “No I just came by a little while ago.”

    “Oh, okay.” Rob looks relieved. “I was gonna say, if you were here all night that was some stealthy ninja fucking.”

    “What the hell are you yapping about?” I ask.

    He rolls his eyes at me. “C’mon, Zach,” he sighs, exasperated. “Everyone on the block knows when you find your happy place. I’m just saying that I didn’t hear anything from that quarter last night.

    I stop working on the frittata to glare at him. “Are you saying that I’m loud in bed?”

    Rob smirks. “Heavy metal concerts are loud. Jet airplanes taking off are loud. You, my friend,” he pauses dramatically, “are in a class by yourself.”

    As I huff in disbelief, Rob studies Trevor shrewdly, “The fact that this guy is grinning in agreement and not running for the door in terror tells me he has experienced this phenomenon first hand.” I cut my eyes to Trevor, and the traitor does have a wide grin on his face. “So you finally bagged the wily Zach, dude… took long enough. High five.” He holds his hand up to Trevor. “Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

    Rob sips his coffee and grins with pleasure at us for a few seconds before his smile fades. “Oh, wait. No… no…. this won’t work for me.” He waives a hand frantically between us. “Oh, fuck me!”

    “What now?” I demand.

    “I have enough trouble with just one of you. When Rory sees a whole stable of Abercrombie models…”

    He is interrupted by his girlfriend singing as she comes into the kitchen, “Zach is making breakfast and there’s eye candy! Rory must have been very good!”

    Rob groans, “Too late.”

    Rory is wearing one of his shirts that hangs down to mid-thigh on her. She comes up behind me at the stove and throws her arms around me, resting her head on my back. “I haven’t seen you in days! Good morning, Sunshine.”

    I pat her arm that is around my chest with one hand while I pour her coffee with the other. At the same time, Rob is stirring two packets of sweetener into her cup. We have the routine down.

    “Thank you,” she chirps as she takes the cup. She looks over at Trevor. “Hi! We met before. I’m Rory.”


    “Yeah.“ She cocks her head at him with a puzzled look. “You spent the night here?”

    Rob howls with laughter as I yell, “Jeez! Your motherfucking boyfriend already delivered a scathing review of my rude and antisocial noise in bed. Don’t you start on me, too.”

    “Baby,” Rory caresses my arm soothingly, “You’re just passionate. That’s what we love about you.” She throws her arms around me again, resting her head on my back. “We wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

    “Speak for yourself,” Rob grunts. He shakes his head at Trevor. “Welcome to my world, dude. You now have a front-row seat for the Rory and Zach show. Plenty of misery for both of us.”

    I catch Trevor’s eye. He laughs, but I can tell he’s not sure about what he is watching. I assure him as I try to extricate myself from her embrace, “She’s not usually this grabby.”

    Rob snorts, “True. I think that she is establishing her prior claim for your benefit.”

    Somewhat reassured, Trevor says, “Okay, but if she pees on him to mark her territory, I’m outta here.”

    “Don’t give her any ideas,” I beg.

    “Zach?” Rory whines.


    “You’re not going to make me eat cold cereal with Rob are you?”

    “Naw, baby girl. There’s plenty for you.” I take the fritatta out of the oven and divide it in quarters.

    “Yea! You’re the bestest. I love you, Zach.” she giggles.

    Rob protests, “What about me?”

    “I made enough for you, too.”

    “Yea! You’re the bestest. I love you, Zach.” Rob squeals just like Rory did.

    After draining a container of cut-up melons and berries, I divide it among four plates. Adding a wedge of frittata and a slice of toast to each one, I put them on the table.

    I tell Trevor, “If Rob reaches into your food, feel free to stab his hand with your fork. It’s pretty much a free-for-all around here.”

    He took a bite of the frittata and groaned in appreciation. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

    “I only know a few dishes, stuff my mother taught me to make,” I admit. “She is always afraid I’ll start living on take-out and pizza.”

    “It’s delicious,” Trevor says. “Thanks for making it for me. I guess that your mother is a good cook?”

    Rob answers, "She's a great cook. Get Z to take you to her house for Sunday dinner. You'll think you've died and gone to Heaven by way of Italy."

    "I've been angling for an invitation," Trevor says, laying a hand over mine on the table. "So far, I've been shut out."

    I grin at Rob, "Can you see him up against the brothers and the in-laws?"

    "Yeah, ummm ... no," he winces. "When you go, channel your inner hockey goon
    or pack some heat. It'll get ugly fast."

    “Don't scare him, hon. When you stay overnight, ask him to make blueberry pancakes for us,” Rory says. “I mean for you,” she quickly amends.

    “Yeah, right,” Rob laughs.

    “So how did you kids meet,” Trevor asks.

    Rory pipes up. “I was struggling with Geometry in high school, and the teacher recommended a tutor. I was expecting some math geek but this adorable face comes strutting in. Rob was so sweet and gentle, completely unlike any of the other boys in school. It was love at first sight.”

    “Damn, woman!” Rob grumbles. “You make me sound like a total wuss. You might as well say you liked me because my vagina is so pink and fresh.”

    Rory kisses him with a mischievous grin. “It’s true, you know. His makes mine look all dried up.”

    Trevor, Rob and I all groan. “Too much information!” I squawk, scrubbing my hand over my eyes. “I can never unsee that visual!”

    “Men!” Rory spits out.

    “Changing the subject now.” Trevor turns to me. “How do you figure into all of this?”

    “I met Rob at Freshmen Orientation,” I say, “and we hit it off right away.”

    “What can I say?” Rob preens. “I’m a likeable guy.”

    I grin at him. “I must admit that if I knew about his va-jay-jay business then, I would have run the other way, pink and fresh or not.” He throws a strawberry from his plate at me with a snarled curse. I pop it in my mouth as he glares at me.

    After breakfast, Rob and Rory wash the dishes while I walk Trevor out.

    “I have a game tonight,” he tells me at the door. “Are you working?”

    “Only until around ten o’clock tonight.”

    “Cool. I’ll call you later? Maybe get together?”

    I kiss him. “Sure. I’d like that.”

    “Thanks again for breakfast. It was fantastic.”

    I hold him close to whisper in his ear, “I can’t wait until I cook for you again. I’ll make you work all night for your food.”

    He laughs, low and rich, a sultry sound. “Look forward to it. I’ll bring earplugs for everyone.”

    I kiss him one last time and punch his arm. “I like the way you think.”


    I leave Zach’s house in a damn good mood. Once I was past his initial suspicion of my intent, he has been as warm-hearted and generous as I could ask for. His friends are open and accepting, and at breakfast I felt as comfortable as if we had been a group for years rather than practically strangers.

    After completing my run, I shower again at home and take a nap for a couple of hours as I normally do on game days. We play the University of New Hampshire tonight, and although there is still a lot of the season to go, they are clearly our competition for the league championship and the top spot in the post-season tournaments.

    In the late afternoon, I head over to the Ice Arena, already getting my game face on. I have a mix of songs on both my iPod and my phone, mostly AC/DC and Iron Maiden heavy metal that I have used for most of my collegiate career for motivation during workouts or pre-game rituals. Hockey players are a bunch of superstitious bastards, and if I have a good game after some random event, I’ll bust my ass to reproduce that random event before every game. I know it’s stupid, but it’s something I have to do. I use the mix tape of music to get my head in the right space while I methodically go through my routines… how I lay out my equipment… the sequence I use to dress… the way I retape my stick… the order of warm-up exercises I do.

    A couple of years ago there was one poor fucker that didn’t have any clean socks before a game and wore a dirty pair as he scored a hat trick. After that, of course, he couldn’t wash them and wore the same stinky socks game after game. When he took his skates off, the smell could make your eyes water and everyone gave him hell for it, but he stuck with those nasty socks for most of the season.

    I’m riding a three-game scoring streak with both goals and assists in every game. The streak started right after I made out with Zach the first time at the frat party.

    Coincidence? I don’t think so.

    I’m keeping this nugget of info to myself for the time being, waiting to see how it plays out. I thought about telling Garrett, but he’d just seize the opportunity to rag my ass, and I’m afraid to tell Coach for fear that he’d have Zach in here kissing every player before every game.

    I am sitting in front of my cubby in the locker room, zoning out to the music roaring through my earbuds, threading new laces onto my skates when the Coach sits next to me. Yanking the headphones off, I nod at him.

    “I want to tell you, Wellman,” he says gruffly, “you’ve been playing top-notch hockey lately. You’re looking good, son.”

    I feel a little glow at his praise. He’s tough, but fair, and compliments aren’t thrown around lavishly.

    “Thanks, Coach.”

    “And you’ve shown a lot of leadership this year, something we haven’t had a lot of for a couple of years, maybe not since Matt Lysenburg.”

    “Yeah. Matty was something.” Lysenburg had been an intense force on the ice when I was a sophomore. “He scared the shit out of me. Hell, he probably still could.”

    Coach chuckled. “Matty scared me sometimes, too. I see a lot of him in you.” I looked at him in surprise. “Not the intensity… you don’t need that to motivate yourself… something intangible you both have, though.”

    “Wow, thanks!”

    He slaps my shoulder pads. “Keep up the hard work and just play your game,” he says, his eyes drilling into me. “You don’t have to be the star out there on every play because you have it in you to make everyone around you better. Keep your head screwed on straight and keep slamming the rubber to the back of the net.”

    “Will do, Coach.”

    “I’m shuffling a couple of players around tonight, putting Babineau on your line to take McNamara’s spot since he pulled the hammie. Keep an eye on him, okay?” He shambles off, and I exchange a glance with Garrett.

    “Fuck!” he grunts with a wry smile. “Just what we need, more fuel for your ego.”

    We skate out to start the game. The roar of the crowd always gets my blood pumping, and Coach’s talk with me really has my motor revved. It was like something that my Dad would have told me…Play my game.

    I slide down the line of players, looking for Andy Babineau, a huge freshman from upstate New York, one of last year’s top recruits. In spite of his size, with his messy blond curls and baby face he came to be called “Bambi” by almost everyone. He looks nervous, but I catch his eye and give him a curt nod. “You ready?”

    “Fuck, yeah,” he says nervously.

    “You’re not trying to fill Mac’s shoes,” I remind him. “You can’t beat the goalie with the speed of your stick.”

    He swallows hard. “Okay.”

    “I can’t either. My slap shot is more dangerous than my wrist shot, so look to pass to me out a distance from the net and Garrett closer in. You’ll always find his fugly mug hanging around the pipes.”

    I slap the back of his helmet with my fist. “Have fun,” I grin. “It’s only looks like a game.”

    Our line starts, and we win the face-off. We fly down the ice, making crisp passes, Bambi to Garrett to me and back, easing smoothly into the offensive zone. Bambi shoots the puck towards the net from the half-wall, and Garrett, true to form, wheels out from behind the net and jams away at the rebound, trying to deflect it through the goaltender’s five-hole. New Hampshire’s top defenseman pulls the puck free and powers it out of the zone. Our defense grabs it and holds on in the neutral zone, waiting for the forwards to clear so the second line can go in.

    Our left wing snags the puck and cycles it down low. The forwards pass it from one guy to the next without any more shots on the net, but they are wearing the defense down. Their guys are starting to look a little winded.

    One after another, the second line comes off for a change, and Coach shouts for our line to replace them. As soon as Riggsby comes to the bench, I vault over the boards and skate into the offensive zone as fast as I can. The left wing passes me the puck on his way to the bench. I haul it in on my stick on the tape. I don’t have the angle, so I flip it back to our defense before moving to a better position. The UNH defender trying to cover me can’t keep up. Even though it’s only midway through the first period, he’s running out of gas. He’s a big ugly sucker, though, and isn’t giving up easily. Every chance he has he slams me hard into the boards and manages to keep finding some crease in my pads to ram the butt of his stick into. One vicious body check sends my mouth guard flying. I wonder if I’ll be pissing blood later. The refs miss all of that, though.

    Garrett passes the puck to Bambi, who doesn’t even hold on to it for a second. He cocks his stick back and fakes the slap shot, redirecting it nimbly to me. I have the perfect angle, and no one can move into my shooting lane to block the shot.

    Time slows to a crawl. My stick arcs back. I swing it forward, dropping my shoulder to get more torque on my stick. Contact with the puck vibrates through the stick to my gloves. It flies toward the net, rising like a bird on the wing.

    The UNH goalie twists too late.

    The puck spins past his shoulder.

    The lamp glows.

    The horn sounds.

    The crowd roars as my goal streak reaches four games.

    Bambi reaches me first, towering over me. “Great fucking pass, Junior!” I tell him. He blushes. I slap gloves with rest of the team as we skate back to the bench.

    We lead three-two with seven minutes left in the third when I "accidentally" hook the skate of the UNH goon that has been tormenting me all night. He takes a tumble to the ice that looks fake to everyone in the arena except the ref who sends me to the penalty box for a minor. I show some acting chops of my own with several gestures of outraged innocence, but I am grateful for the opportunity to take a rest. This a-hole has been roughing me up all night, and I will feel the bruises for sure tomorrow.

    The guys are doing a bang-up job killing off the penalty. Every time the New Hampshire slob skates by me he chirps, “Having fun, Pretty Boy?” I ignore his ass and yell to my boys to slam the door on these wankers. The flow of the game moves the other way, and Snagglepuss glides by the penalty box snarling, “How about you suck my cock later?” I don’t even bother to look at him. A win here puts us two games up in the conference standings on UNH and four up on third-place Boston College. We’re in great shape.

    Deep in the UNH zone to the left of their goaltender, the linesman drops the puck. Riggsby wins it for us, kicking the puck back to our defense. They pass it sharply around a few times and out of the zone. By the time New Hampshire corrals the puck, my penalty is expiring.

    The clock ticks the seconds away. Five seconds. I leap to my feet in the penalty box.

    Three seconds. The timekeeper grabs the door to set me free.

    One second. A New Hampshire defenseman loops a soft pass to their forwards.

    Zero. The door swings open.

    I jump onto the ice just as Knuckles— Danny Freimark— slams into the New Hampshire puck carrier, flattening him out with a jaw-dropping open-ice body check, freeing the puck. Garrett gets to the puck before anyone else.

    “Garrett!” I bark at him, slapping the blade of my stick on the ice. I spin and dart towards the New Hampshire zone, confident that Garrett would find me. Half a second before I cross into the zone offside, the puck slaps my stick right on the tape. Another perfect pass.

    The defense is all out of position behind me, even Snagglepuss. It’s me against the UNH goalie. I loop wide, and the goaltender’s eyes look as big as dinner plates. He tries to cut the angle by skating in tandem with me.

    I feint a shot to his right. To my amazement, he bites on the fake big time even though the angle is so narrow that the puck would have to pass through about a two-inch keyhole to score.

    The backhand shot wheels into a wide-open net to put us up four-one.

    When the guys catch up with me to celebrate, Garrett slams into me so hard I am almost knocked to the ice. “You can send me passes all day like that,” I tell him.

    Time is running out for New Hampshire. Their coach cobbles together a lineup of speedy little suckers that may be able to wear us down so late in a hard-fought game. My legs feel like they are weighed down with lead, and these guys seem to be fresh as they were at the start of the game.

    With a couple of minutes left in the game, Bambi, Garrett and I are sent back in. I see Snagglepuss leap over the New Hampshire boards to keep the pressure on me. I can tell by the labored way he skates that his legs are not any fresher than mine, but he crosses the ice as quickly as he can and body checks me into the boards directly in front of the ref. I go down hard, catching a kick from someone’s skate in the hip as I hit the ice.

    Garrett screams,“Fucking dipshit,” at Snagglepuss.”Go home and fuck some more sheep.”

    “Real smart move, fuckwad,” Bambi bellows as points to the time ticking away on the scoreboard.

    They help me back to the bench where the team trainer checks out the bruise on my hip. It hurts like a bitch, but it looks like we’ll win this one, so that eases the sting.

    Shorthanded with Snagglepuss in the sin bin, UNH is unable to mount another scoring threat. As the crowd chants down the expiring seconds, I catch Garrett’s eye and ask, “They have sheep in New Hampshire?”

    He grins and shrugs. “Who knows? But look at him… you know he’s doing something unnatural.”

    During my post-game shower, I hang under the hot water so long my hands are becoming wrinkled, but the cascade feels so good on my battered body. Tonight was one of the two or three most physical games I have ever played, and I’ll feel it for a while. I reluctantly decide that I’ll have to call Zach once I’m done to let him know that I’m too beat up to see him tonight.
    After the shower I have a long session with the trainers they can check me out after the mauling that I suffered from Snagglepuss. Since I am wearing only nylon training shorts, the bruises on my chest and thighs are a technicolor nightmare. “Damn, dude, he worked you over good, didn’t he?” one of them tells me as he spreads a numbing cream over my skin. I wince, hissing at the sting, “I had two goals and an assist. The bruises will fade, but the beatdown I gave him will be on the eleven o’clock news.”
    “Yep,” he agrees. “You’ll be sore for a day or two, so take it easy until Tuesday.”
    He digs a thumb into a scrape on my neck. “Fuck!” I growl. “You ever heard of malpractice?”
    “Jeez!” he scoffs. “You hockey boys are so tough on the ice and such pussies everywhere else.” He pops me on the back of the head. “You’re done here. Go home.”
    Before I dress I dig my phone out of my bag and call Zach.
    “Hey,” he answers. “Nice game, hockey boy!”
    Pleasure floods through me at the sound of his voice. “Not a bad day at the office.”
    “You coming over?” he asks.
    I don’t hesitate before I say, “You bet! But I’m pretty beat up, so don’t expect too much out of me.”
    “No problem. I cuddle with the best of them. Plus I give a mean massage.”
    I groan with pleasure. “I’ll take you up on that. See you in a few.”
    Zach’s house is very quiet. “Justin is staying over at his girlfriend’s house tonight, and Dan went skiing up in the Poconos. Rob and Rory are at a movie, I think," he tells me.
    He locks the front door before turning to me with a wistful gleam in his beautiful eyes, his lip curling upward as he leans toward me in the silence. He places a hand on my bicep. It is a light touch, but I flinch because the guise there is one of the worst. He looks at me, startled. “What is it?” he asks.
    “Oh, you know,” I say, playing it down. “I went to the fights and a hockey game broke out.”
    “Are you hurt?” Zach asks, concerned.
    “Just a little bruised and banged up.” I lift my shirt to show him some of the marks that the UNH team left on me.
    He looks shocked. “Are you always like this after a game?”
    “No. A thug in a jersey with the number eighteen was on a mission to make me suffer for his small dick. He had a really rough, physical game with a lot of chirping.”
    “You know, insults, threats, that sort of shit, trying to piss me off, calling me ‘pretty boy’, trying to get me to suck his tiny dick.”
    “Wait!” Zach says, grinning. “He was flirting with you? I’m okay with beating you up, but I stake a prior claim to any blow jobs you offer.”
    “Want me to follow him up to New Hampshire tonight and rough him up? A little South Philly Justice?”
    “Fuck, no,” I grin. “He’s not worth the trouble. Tell me more about this cuddling you have planned.”
    Zach takes my hand to lead me upstairs to his bedroom. The only light is the soft glow from a bedside lamp. He kicks away his sneakers as I struggle to pull my shirt off.
    “Let me help,” he says, easing the hem of the shirt up to shoulder level, then gently twisting it over my head, followed by one arm, then the other. He has my belt off and my jeans shoved down my thighs before I realize what he is doing. “Sit on the edge of the bed… let me get your shoes.” He kneels between my knees, pulling them off along with my socks.
    In the blink of an eye I am down to my boxers, watching as he strips off his own jeans. It is hot as fuck that he has totally taken control. I say hoarsely, “You realize this is the beginning of every porno fantasy I have of you.”
    He shakes his head at me. “Watch yourself, hockey boy. None of those shenanigans tonight.”
    “’Shenanigans’, grandpa?” I scoff. “Next you’ll be telling me about drinking bathtub gin with the flappers.”
    “Can the commentary and scoot your ass over so I can get in bed.” He crawls around me and stretches out, patting the duvet to invite me to join him.
    We lie next to each other, face to face. Zach grins happily at me, whispering, "Hey!" The back of his hand ghosts along my jaw
    "Hey yourself," I whisper back. I reach up to push his dark curls back from his face.
    He grabs my hand to lift my knuckles to his lips. "Say the word and I'll whoop that goon's ass for you."
    I smile. "Maybe if we meet New Hampshire again in in the post-season, I'll let you send him a message."
    "My pleasure." He leans in to kiss me softly, his tongue flickering across my lips until they part to let him dart in, hot and sweet.
    "Roll over, babe," he murmurs. "Let me massage away the ache."
    I curl up on my side with my back to Zach, and he starts kneading my aching shoulders. “Oof!” I sigh in a state of bliss. “I’ll give you about thirty minutes to stop doing that.” His laugh, soft and husky, sends a shiver through me. As I relax, his long fingers dig deeper into my tired muscles.
    “Tell me about your family,” I ask.
    He sounds surprised. “My family? What about them.”
    “You always talk about them. I want to know more about them.”
    He kisses the back of my neck, but is quiet for a minute. “I’m going to dinner at my parents tomorrow, so if you’re free next Sunday, I’ll tell them I’m bringing you with me next time,” he says softly.
    I grab one of hands from my shoulder and pull it to my lips to kiss the palm. “I would love to do that.”
    Zach resumes massaging my back. “Be careful what you ask for,” he croons. “You’ll be sorry!”
    “Four brothers?” I prompt.
    He snickers behind me. “You are relentless. Like a bulldog with a steak bone.”
    I chuff happily.
    “Okay, my oldest brother is thirty-seven,“ he starts quietly, “He’s named after my dad, so he’s called ‘Nick Junior’. I always call him ‘Nicky’ because it irritates the snot out of him, since he’s a detective with the Philly police department and thinks I’m not showing him enough respect.”
    As Zach talks about his siblings and the nieces and nephews, the hypnotic cadence of his voice eases me into a half-asleep state, and then I drift off to sleep as Zach’s strong hands gently relax my sore muscles. I awaken to find the room almost dark. I look at the digital display of the clock next to the bed… almost three in the morning.
    My head is resting on his chest, our arms around each other and our legs tangled together. The warmth of his skin beneath my cheek and the gentle rise and fall of his breath seem oddly familiar. The door to the hallway is open, and a light on in hall so the room is not completely dark but that there is not enough light to be distracting. Half-awake, I realize that he had set that up so I wouldn’t stumble around in the dark in an unfamiliar place if I had to get up during the night.
    I feel very warm and tender towards Zach. I shift a little so I can see his face, relaxed in sleep, his mouth parted a little. He has such a generous spirit that part of me wants to awaken him with a dozen sweet kisses and lazy caresses while part of me is content to drowsily watch him peacefully dream.
    In any event, I am about half-way in love with him already.

  50. #50
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    Wow! Geeze! What can I say? AWESOME!!


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    WISDOM is the Knowledge you've gained ... After you could have used it! _Me

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