Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 07

Taking the lube, I spread it over my fingers and wrapped my hands around both Owen's and my cock. Stroking them together, I quickly was back to fully hard. Keeping his cock in my hand, I slid down so that my lips were level with that perfect space between balls and ass—my favorite term for it would be the notya.

My tongue found every inch of his skin there, flicking teasing licks on his balls but neglecting his ass which he kept trying to angle up at me. As if I had forgotten it was there. I glanced up and Owen was flushed and was breathing in open-mouthed exaltation. His breathing faltered as my tongue swept around his pucker before kissing it deeply. Alternating between probing and teasing flicking, Owen opened up to me.

My hand, still slick, ghosted over his opening. First just a little pressure, then more, then the tip of my finger was inside. Owen pulled on my shoulder until I came up to meet him. My finger began to sink into him slowly opening him up as we kissed.

Two fingers stretched and wiggled around preparing him for me. I was sure Owen could take me but it had been a while for him and I was loath to hurt him. Owen broke our kiss to whisper against my lips, "Get in me Jake. I need you."

I pulled away and though I lined my cock up with his entrance, I whispered, "We're going at my pace; let me love you." I swooped down to reclaim his lips as I pushed inside. I captured his groan at my entrance with a deep kiss.

I went in slowly, dragging my cock up through his sensitive nerve endings. When I was fully seated inside him, I waited. Kissing him until he was breathless and I could feel him pressing his hard cock up into my stomach trying to get some friction. He clenched his muscles, milking my cock and the pressure was too much for me. If he wanted me to move I would but he wasn't going to get a fast fuck. No, I was going to make love to him.

I withdrew just as slowly until just the fat crown remained inside him and then worked my way back in smoothly. Over and over making our bodies come together. I sat up, gazing at Owen his blue eyes hazy with lust, and the angle change made direct contact with his spot. "Fuuuuu—", he didn't get the opportunity to finish the epithet. I picked up the pace, still loving but a constant smooth pace leaving him in paroxysms of pleasure. I watched as the flush stole over his skin and his cock purpled with the need to come. With three sharp stabs over his prostate and my hand slipping over his cock, he erupted his pleasure. Ropes of the viscous white cream splattered onto his chest before I could angle his cock up towards my mouth. I caught the end, drinking in his vitality.

His coming sent me over the edge as his ass clenched and moved, but it was seeing him cum that really did it for me. I sent my hot seed deep into him.

I didn't extricate myself, I just settled onto Owen. I felt his arms come around me as wetness alighted on my cheeks. He held me as the tears leaked out of my eyes. He didn't rush me but eventually I pushed down my sadness.

We took a shower together, washing each other tenderly, the evidence of our love making swirling down the drain.

I fell asleep in his arms, for the last time in a long, long while.

My plan to wake up quietly and not disturb Owen while leaving him a note was dashed when I woke to a soft kiss on my forehead. Owen was already fully dressed and had a cup of coffee in his hand as I blearily blinked sleep away. "What are you doing up?" I asked gruffly.

"I was worried I would be groggy and not wake up to see you leave. So I didn't sleep."

"Owen—" Christ. Calen would kill me if Owen was out of it for the day.

"Boyfriends take each other to the airport. No way I'm going to miss it," he said sadly but with a small smile.

I leaned up to kiss him softly; his lips were wet and soft. I met his gaze; his eyes were red rimmed and watery. "Thank you," I whispered. My heart broke. How could I leave him, someone so thoughtful and lovely?

The morning silence as I quickly grabbed my things was filled with sorrow and hope. Such sorrow at the thought of separation but hope for the things to come and to eventually be back together. Owen seemed pensive as he hailed a cab my suitcase strangled in his hand and my back pack slung across his back. I only held his hand and the weight of my leaden heart. One would think I was going off to war but the distance from Arizona to Boston seemed like the red sea and there was no Moses in sight.

The airport was not incredibly busy, a few harried businessmen flew through TSA pre-check and Owen and I just stood in the entry way. My flight got closer and closer, my hand was still in his. Eventually, I would have barely enough time to get through security and get to my gate before take-off; I turned to Owen. His jaw was so tense, the muscle jumping every few moments. He was glaring above my head, his eyes red and raw. I thought I saw a tear track on his cheek; I brushed away the remnant moisture with my free hand resisting the urge to cry myself.

"You have to go," Owen said, not a question but more like he was really coming to terms with that unfortunate fact.

I took his other hand. Anyone could have walked by and took a picture, this was more important than worrying about a secret Owen didn't even want to keep anymore. "I'll see you when you come up to Boston, and I'm flying down for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'll come to New York when you're playing up there. It'll be like we're together, we'll text all the time—"

He cut me off with a kiss, his lips soft and insistent. I pressed into him our fingers laced together like the teenagers we really were. He smiled against my lips, "We'll make it work Jake; I know that. But we have to get you on that plane." He kissed me again lightly, before removing his hands and lips from me. "I love you Jake."

"Love you too," I floundered for anything to make this less painful, "Have fun today. I'll be watching your interviews and reading all the articles." I didn't know what else to say. This was it, we were really separating.

A last long lingering kiss had our tears mingling, Owen pulled away and weakly chuckled, "Your parents will kill me if you miss your flight." His eyes were red and watery; I knew Calen would personally administer Visine if necessary.

I took my backpack and suitcase from him and stuffed my hands in my pockets, "It's just a few months, right?"

Owen tried to grin but it still looked like a grimace, "You won't even know the difference." He waited until I was ushered through security and out of sight, mouthing I love you whenever I had a nanosecond to look back at him.

` We made it work: the whole long distance thing. We texted constantly—well as much as we could. I had classes, and new friends and parties and he had practices, and games, and obligations. My roommate, the one straight man I met at Emerson: Derrick, was pretty cool about leaving the room so Owen and I could Skype. And we did Skype and FaceTime a lot. In the beginning we did really sext or anything but one afternoon I remembered my ploy of sending him pictures of me in a Speedo.

I had toyed with the idea of sending him a nude photo but it took one, less-than-sober night for me to actually do it. It was a classy photo, as tasteful as a nude photo could be. A picture of my cock hard in my hand as I jerked it, over my abs. I had sent it and in my boozy haze mostly forgotten about it until I received a very hoarse phone call which began with the words, "I opened that in the fucking locker room."

"So you don't want any more?" I asked, still a little tipsy and pleased to be hearing the sound of my boyfriend's voice—even if it sounded incredulous.

There was a pause, "I didn't say that."

We agreed that I would give him some sort of warning so he didn't suddenly have my ass on his screen when anyone could be walking by.

It worked but going from seeing someone every day to only through a screen was very difficult. Somehow we made it through those first few months of me getting settled into college and him starting to practice and play with the Coyotes.

It was the middle of October when we saw each other again. The Coyotes and the Bruins were playing each other in Boston. Owen elected to fly up a night early, much to the chagrin of his teammates and coaches. He was due into Logan and I was waiting for him at baggage claim. I wanted to bring a sign with his name declaring how much I had missed him—he was a little too conspicuous for that.

He had of course sat in first class, a courtesy of the Coyotes to their newest, brightest star even if he was making bizarre requests like flying to a city early. Of course, Owen had told several members of the Coyote's organization exactly why he was flying out early so they kept their nose so far out of his business.

I'd like to say we were sedate and calm when we saw each other. And for a moment we were. I'm sure he was breaking about a million rules for what he was supposed to be wearing as a member of the Coyotes but he was here incognito. Owen didn't have a suitcase under the plane, his hockey stuff would come with the team. So he stepped off the escalator wearing a Twins hat low over his eyes and a backpack slung over his shoulder. To me, this was about as momentous as when Jesus rolled the stone away. He has returned! I spotted him before he found me. I ran up and for a moment all we did was grin at each other.

I wanted so badly to throw my arms around him and show him exactly how much I missed him. Owen jerked his head in a come this way motion. He quickly found a single-stall family restroom and locked us in. His lips descended on mine. After two months, reunited and it felt so fucking good. I whipped off his hat, and his long wavy hair fell sideways across his warm blue eyes.
I grabbed it in my fists and held him to me. I felt him lowering my zipper and turning me around. He rustled with his bag for a moment, "Are you serious you brought lube with you?" I asked laughing but needing him to use it right then.

"Well it was under three ounces," he pushed into me and I was complete. Fuck I had missed him. Oh yeah we fucked in that restroom. Could anyone really blame us?

As I straightened my jeans I heard him say, "I really missed you, not just the sex you know."

"I love you too."

Owen didn't play his best against the Bruins, he was a little tired out. He actively broke curfew much to his road roommate's chagrin. My roommate was a darling and fucked off for those two nights.

The morning he left to continue his trip up to Vancouver, we laid entangled on my bed.

"This wasn't long enough," he murmured his sapphire eyes flashing.

"I completely agree," and I did, I wanted him to stay with me forever. I felt crushed that he had to leave me so soon, especially when I had just gotten him back.

He sighed, "I wish you could come to the airport with me." I did too but Calen would hate that. There would be the reporters who follow the Coyotes there; me being there would cause a lot of questions to be asked. He sighed again, "Soon."

Owen had wanted the second he entered the draft to come out, or really well before that. Calen was not impressed with either of those options. Calen argued that Owen shouldn't be paying him if he wasn't going to follow Calen's advice. His advice was to wait several seasons, become one of the top players and make sure that no one would doubt his validity.

Owen agreed under duress, acknowledging his need to earn his stripes as a hockey player and how that would ease public opinion. He just didn't get as far into his career as Calen would have liked before doing it.

Being selected as a rookie to go to the All-Star game is a big deal, like a BIG FUCKING DEAL. Of course Owen was selected: he had been kicking ass. His was the new popular jersey to have and Owen often good-naturedly complained he was going to get carpal tunnel from signing everything from pucks to iPhones to foreheads. He was being ridiculous; he sounded over the moon with all the attention.

Owen asked me one day in January, as my phone was wedged between my ear and my shoulder, half listening to him and half focused on the textbook laid out in front of me. I craved talking to Owen but we had been talking about his meeting with the PT to strengthen his shoulders for what seemed like forever and I had started to tune him out with a quiz the following day. I felt bad but there are only so many exercises I could stand to hear described.

My attention was brought back to the conversation when Owen cleared his throat loudly. "Shit, sorry. What were you saying?" I squeaked as I was startled out of studying.

He sighed. "I asked if there isn't any way you can come to the All Star game." We had already talked about this, the game was right in the middle of mid-terms and I had projects due all that week and the following one.

"I wish I could go." I whispered feeling contrite about disappointing him. I really did wish I could go. I wished I could be with him and experience the excitement. I wish I could just be with him.

He was quiet for a moment, "I do too."

"I'll be there for other ones. You better believe when you're captain I'll be there."

"I'm going to hold you to that." It sounded like he was smiling but I knew he wasn't happy that I couldn't go.

I was right about how swamped with mid-terms creeping up on me from all sides I was the week of the festivities. So with a textbook on my lap, I settled myself into the couch to watch the game with Derrick. Though straight Derrick had very little interest in sports so was generally not enthused with the prospect of watching the All Star Game. He was nice enough to see that I didn't want to be alone so he settled in to be supportive.

To say Owen owned the ice would be an understatement. A frequent criticism of the game is that there is very little defense: Owen really didn't help that. He scored twice and his smile was shown on a screen three stories tall. Derrick even got sucked into the excitement, cheering for Owen.

I had just run to grab some water before the third period was set to begin when Derrick called out, "Owen's on screen."

Derrick knew the basics of Owen and I's relationship especially that it was a secret, but he definitely didn't know that Owen being interviewed by Megan Pally would set my teeth on edge. There she was, getting to be with Owen while I was thousands of miles away.

She looked great as ever, her long auburn hair gleamed and she looked like she really did care about hockey, instead of just sleeping with the players. She stood way too close to Owen for me to be comfortable. "So the biggest question on everyone's mind I think is what you're doing after the game. I bet there are a lot of people willing to buy you a drink."

Owen smiled his long wavy hair slicked back with sweat, "I'm not old enough to drink but if someone wants to buy me a water I'd really appreciate it."

There was something just so grating about Megan's laugh, "I totally forgot how young you are; you are just so mature." Owen just smiled blandly. "Surely tonight is a time to let loose a little bit, interact with your fans."

"This whole weekend has been incredible: I've met so many kind people. It's amazing to see so many people out here enjoying the game."

"Anyone that caught your eye?"

Owen's eyes narrowed, "I'm sorry?" It was like he was offering her a life line she didn't know she needed.

"C'mon Owen, everyone is dying to know. I'm just asking because it was the highest requested question off of Twitter: are you single?" Her wide eyes seemed to be guileless but around her features there was the frantic hungriness for information, for validation. The raw neediness was almost frightening.

I felt like throwing up, Owen looked calm but put on a slightly contrite face, "Oh, I'm actually in a pretty serious relationship." Megan's mouth actually dropped open, her shock blatant. I'm sure mine was a perfect mirror.

Even Derrick realized the gravity of his statement, "Oh shit."

Megan struggled to frame her next question, "You're so young to be in a serious relationship. How long have you been together?" I wondered if everyone else could see her pouting as my heart felt like it was being enclosed in a vice.

"A year and a half," Owen answered with a smile, "The long distance has been tough but we're committed to make it work."

If we were in a cartoon Megan's face would have been sickly green with envy, instead she just looked like she sucked on a lemon, "Anything you want to say to her tonight? I'm sure that would make her day."

"Oh shit," Derrick murmured, leaning forward.

Owen nodded and looked straight into the camera, straight into my soul, "Hey Jake. I miss you so much and can't wait to see you. I love you."

"Oh shit." I think that one might have come out of me, Derrick, and Megan all at the same time. Maybe Owen's dad, my parents, and Calen as well. There was a brief moment of silence as Owen grinned at the camera.

Megan looked like she was going through a stroke. This was still live; nothing but dead air was being shown. Then the scene exploded, I could hear Calen's voice saying that the interview was over as well as someone who I later found out was a Coyotes publicist. It took the commotion for Megan to break out of her conniption, "Owen for clarification, you just said you love—"

"My boyfriend," Owen's eyes sparkled in their sincerity, his still flushed from the game face bright with a triumphant smile.

"OH SHIT." That was all Derrick, "He fucking did it." Yes, he did. I was still in a state of complete disbelief; my only reaction was to stare at the tumultuous scene unfolding.

Megan seemed to have recovered her mental acuity and was firing questions at Owen, "How long have you been gay?" "Did the rest of your team know?" "Did the League know?" Calen and the other publicist was shooing her away but you could hear Owen in the background say, "But I don't have anything to hide."

Calen reappeared to officially shut down the interview, "Mr. Holt will be available for interviews at the conclusion of the game."

I'm sure Owen didn't mean to upstage the rest of the game but attention was completely diverted from the action on the ice. Anchors were a mixture of astounded, aghast, and amused as they looped his 'confession' commenting on every subtle nuance.

Twitter blew up into two opposing camps one with the hashtag: HomoHolt which wasn't necessarily all bad just more sarcastic about it, although that camp was churning out some steady vitriol. The other camp was very pro-Owen: HoltsOut, a series of gifs of him scoring and celebrating and smiling. The most common was the loop of Owen looking into the camera and saying I love you. I unashamedly saved it to my phone.

Soon the story spread from just the hockey world, major news anchors picked it up calling his coming out both adorable and courageous, or alternatively poorly timed and disrespectful.

Owen wasn't the first to get interviewed after the game; I'm sure he was getting coached/yelled at by Calen. Several of the players gave non-answers about Owen, stating that it was none of their business. Then one of the newer players from the Wild actually said something, "Look, here's the bottom line: I've known Owen Holt for years and yeah I knew he's gay. He's a great guy and an amazing hockey player. I'm really happy for him and I hope that everything works out for him."

I was a little choked up as I watch Owen shake his hand, the other player slapping on the shoulder as cameras flashed and the tapes ran. Owen took his seat and the questions began flying. He had changed into a new crisp suit, not the one he had been wearing before the game. Was it possible Calen had scrapped the first suit for being too flamboyant or something else equally nit-picky?
"Why did you decide to come out today?"