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Joel watched the kid jitter away in his seat the whole plane ride after they beat Calgary: yapping Fabbro’s ear off, trying to re-engage Carrier in their standing argument over wether golf really deserved to be an olympic sport—just generally being a little shit.
He was practically bouncing off the walls after they rolled through Edmonton and earned another W, back to back. It was a test, then, not to just walk down the aisle of the plane and find elaborate new ways to pin Sam still in his seat.
Joel knew well the quality of the rush, getting to play in your hometown—and winning. Knowing friends and family were there watching you; putting your skates to the ice you’d only ever dreamed of as a kid; the ice that made you start dreaming as a kid. Joel felt it himself every time they faced off in Winnipeg, even after close to a decade. Jesus—shit, a decade? Fuck, he was getting old.
By the time they touched down in Nashville even Jo was looking a little harassed, not realizing that in taking his usual aisle seat he’d unwittingly become the top piece of bread in a figurative Fabbro-Burrard sandwich, except that Fabbro was drooping unconscious against the plane window the minute his ass touched the chair and Sam, who’d recently turned into the human equivalent of a chihuahua with a squeaky toy, had nobody left to focus on but him. The poor sucker. And Johansen was usually up with the best of them when it came to matching Sam’s relentless enthusiasm blow for blow.
Joel wanted to catch the kid by the scruff and tuck him under his arm—he thought he shouldn't touch him at all. Should take Sam home and make him keep himself very still on the bed, no restraints, while Joel took his time finding each and every way to make him break, over and over and over again.
Unfortunately, none of that was going to happen—not tonight, anyway. It was just passing midnight, and what Sam’s body clearly needed now was rest, not to be worked up all over again. Joel walked him to his car and leaned in towards him, until Sam took a step back and bumped up against the door.
“No video games tonight, Sammy,” Joel said firmly. “Get your rest in while you can, because you and I are hitting the gym tomorrow and I’ve got plans to make you work for it.”
Carefully not touching him, because they were in a parking garage with the entire team and most of the staff wandering around, hunting down their respective cars.
“Yessir,” Sam said, grinning like the devil. Then, because he was a reckless brat who knew how to get away with it, he snagged Joel by the edge of his jacket and used it to balance on tiptoe as he landed a smacking kiss high on his cheek, almost his eye.
He pushed away from Joel in the same motion.
“See you tomorrow, Tiger.”
“You’re going to be paying for that,” Joel replied evenly. Sam grinned wider and ducked into his car.
Of course, they had to run through an actual hour-and-a-half workout before anything else.
If he were ever to tally up his career, Joel would credit consistency just as much as adaptability for whatever success he could claim. Some were calling his recent 60+ point season a second wind—Joel just thought that he was grateful for the new defensive system and that he’d always wanted hockey exactly this much.
Sam had his own routine at the gym that meant he was near but not next to Joel for most of the morning they spent doing strength and conditioning. Joel had been pretty confident that the frenetic energy built up on their Alberta roadie would keep overnight, and it seemed he’d called it right—Sam was pushing himself harder than he needed to this morning.
Joel could've told him to take it easy, but he'd rather make the point by getting Sam face down underneath him instead.
Sam was still doing pronated pull-ups when he walked over. It was probably an even 50-50 split on his garden variety over-fed competitive streak and wanting to impress Joel specifically that made him keep doing reps until he was almost straining with it.
He finally dropped down from the bar, sweating. Red-faced, smiling like he was waiting for Men’s Health to walk in and snap him for their next cover page.
He got his bottle and squirted water into his mouth, then his dark hair, and then shook like a dog. Water droplets splattered over Joel’s face and chest.
“You waitin’ your turn?” Sam asked, dropping his voice, making it something like a come-on. “Or just enjoying the view?”
Joel palmed the sweaty back of Sam’s neck and reeled him in, not gently. “Time to cool down, Mutt,” he said, steering them both towards the stationary bikes. Sam broke loose of the hold with a spooked glance down the other end of the gym, two strangers occupying the bench press, not even looking at them. Sam’s face was red and pale in splotches, eyes uncertain.
He got on the bike next to Joel’s, though, and grinned at him as they started peddling. He tried goading Joel into a race three separate times. He was twitchy and cocksure and absolutely begging to be put down right. Joel’s palms were itching to do it, but he made himself be patient. They did twenty minutes on the bikes.
“Ugh, seriously?” Sam complained as Joel dragged him away from the machines. “I could keep going. I thought you said you were going to make me work for it. What happened to that, huh? You getting tired, old man?”
Joel said nothing and led them away from the change rooms, down a hall lined with special-function rooms.
“I can see that one tendon in your neck jumping,” Sam said to him, edging closer now that they were alone, leaning into Joel’s space like he'd never been scared to do it. “I know what that means. Bet you wish you could shut me up right about now.”
Joel opened the last door on the left and said “I know how to get what I want.” Calmly, steering Sam in and flipping the lock behind them.
He watched Sam look around the room. The floor was wall to wall thick padding, safety yellow like the rest of the equipment in the gym. The walls were cinderblock painted a clean white. It was quiet—no music. Almost soundproofed.
Sam turned slowly back around to face him, huge smile breaking out on his face.
“Are we going to fight?” he asked.
Joel crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Sir.”
Both of Sam’s eyebrows went up, and he sounded a little breathless as he repeated “Sir.”
“We’re not going to fight,” Joel said, toeing his shoes off. He caught Sam’s gaze as he straightened. “We’re going to wrestle. And I’m going to win.”
The curious look in Sam’s eyes sharpened. He bounced up high on his toes, like he had too much energy to contain it right then, and then scrambled to take off his own shoes.
He set them aside and got back on the mat, shaking out his limbs, bouncing lightly around on the balls of his feet and doing his best imitation of a boxer.
“Respectfully, Sir,” he said, tongue poking at his bottom lip. “I don’t like your odds here.”
Joel walked up to him. Sam watched him coming, and his hands stayed curled into fists even as they ended up down at his sides like an afterthought, his eyes darting back and forth over Joel's face, leaving himself open to it when Joel put one steady palm on his cheek.
He met Sam’s gaze—and held it. Watched his pupil grow and contract minutely. Felt Sam settle a bit under his hand.
He dug his thumb in to Sam's cheek, not very hard, just to see Sam’s lips stretch out with it. He was looking up at Joel—staring like no one had ever told him that it was okay to look away.
“Kneel,” Joel said, quiet but firm. Sam reached up and wrapped his long fingers around Joel’s wrist—held on as he sank fluidly to his knees. Joel’s thumb stroked carefully under Sam’s left eye. His fingertips found the curve of Sam's skull.
“That wasn’t fair,” Sam said. Took a deep breath and tacked on “Sir.”
Joel roughened his grip. “When did I say this was going to be fair.”
He knelt too, taking away his hand.
“When you said you wanted to win,” Sam’s eyes flashed. “We both know that a win only feels like a win when you’ve earned it, Sir.”
Sam shook himself out as he spoke: widened his stance, knees spreading just further than his hips, toes curled to press flat into the mat while the arch of his foot stretched out. He held his hands up, limbs loose but ready. He was taking this seriously. Of course he wanted to win, too.
“Let’s say a five-count takes it,” Joel let himself smile. “But when I get you down I plan on keeping you there a lot longer than that.”
Sam’s fingers curled in anticipation.
“And if I win, Sir. What do I get?”
Joel laughed. “I guess if you can pin me that long it’ll be all up to you, what you wanna do with me.”
Sam’s eyes got darker and wider.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Joel smirked. “You gonna give me everything you got?”
“Fuck yes, Sir.”
“Attaboy. Let’s see it in three, two, one.”
He expected Sam to lunge at him right out the gate. The kid apparently had an ounce more sense than Joel would’ve given him credit for, because he held himself back instead. Sized Joel up. Feinted left just to watch Joel’s reaction time.
The kid was faster, they both knew it already, but not all that much smaller. He could try to play it slippery, be evasive, take his time and wait for an opening, but that didn’t sound very much like Sam. No. Say what you like about the kid, one thing he definitely wasn’t, was gutless.
Joel swiped at him casually a few times, just testing his reach. Sam shied away. He was watching Joel—not how a cornered animal would, but like a hawk. Like he had all the time and space in the world to work with. He kept moving backwards, though, as if he needed any more.
Joel followed. Sam jolted abruptly to the right, like he was going to make a break for it, and Joel instinctively moved to intercept him.
When Joel’s weight was pitched forward, biased to his front knee, that was when Sam went for it.
He went in a straight line—grabbed Joel under both arms, grounded his weight into the balls of his feet, and fucking heaved with everything he had. Doing his level-best to bowl Joel over.
Joel grunted and had to drop to his right elbow to avoid ending up on his back as Sam’s weight hit him. Sam was putting his fucking ass into it, shoulders flexing, and he wasn’t a lightweight.
Joel could barely hold him off.
Above him, Sam was grinning, proud of himself. He could tell Joel hadn’t expected the move. Joel huffed like he was annoyed and got his positioning together. He had to strain for it, but he managed to grab the back of Sam’s thigh with his right hand, clutched at his shirt with the other and drove his shoulder into the bulk of Sam’s body, pushing up with his legs, trying to push Sam flat.
“Fuck.”
Sam went backwards, nearly toppling over, catching himself at the last second, keeping his feet. He scrabbled and locked his knees against it when Joel pushed at him, straining. They were pressed shoulder to shoulder, and Joel could feel Sam’s breath heaving, their shirts getting damp with effort. Sam tried to twist out of the grip, but Joel had both hands wrapped around him. It was a bad place to be.
“Shit, shit,” Sam panted, pushing but getting nowhere. They were both on their knees, grappling. Joel set his stance wide and put his back into it.
Sam grimaced. Joel felt his resistance give an inch.
“Fuck,” Sam muttered, and threw himself sideways, threw them both down against the mat.
Joel’s left arm ended up pinned under Sam’s body. His right hand still had Sam’s thigh, but that leg was stronger. Sam got his knee up into Joel’s armpit and used it to pin his shoulder back, rolling with the movement so that he came up straddling Joel’s chest, knees pinning his shoulders flat to the mat.
“Hah,” he grinned, triumphant, and pushed the hair back out of his face. Joel tracked the red flush of his cheeks, the sweat at his temples. “One,” he said. “Two…”
He was so damn cocky, he forgot he didn’t have Joel’s legs pinned.
“Fucking shit!” he yelped, as Joel braced up and heaved them over. Sam’s back hit the mat and Joel ended up back on his knees again, skin chapping from the tough vinyl.
He caught Sam’s calf and dragged him close when he tried to scoot back, held him down and muscled his way in between Sam’s knees before he could flip over or sit up. Sam flexed up and tried to grab at him, at his shoulders or his face, but Joel caught his wrists.
Sam struggled hard against Joel's grip, then, bucking like a wild animal: grinning with his teeth bared and fighting him for it, thighs clamped around Joel’s waist counter-intuitively, twisting and pulling to get his wrists free.
Wearing himself out.
Joel loomed over him and watched him squirm, felt how hard he was trying to break away, getting more turned on when he couldn’t. Sam’s body was still over-warm from the work out, the insides of his thighs burning hot where they were wrapped around Joel’s hips. Joel slammed Sam’s left wrist down against the cushioned mat, just as his right wrist finally managed to twist free.
Sam hooked his right arm around Joel’s neck, fast as anything. Reared up, and attacked.
The kiss was all teeth, no finesse. Sam was literally hanging off of him, thighs cinched vice-like to hold himself up off the ground and tight against Joel; one hot, needy line all down his front.
Sam was kissing him, panting fast through his nose, grinding the bulge of his cock into Joel’s stomach. Desperate like he hadn’t had it in months. Making little noises, horny and pleased with himself. Joel kissed him back, got his tongue in Sam’s mouth and stroked it up slow over his palate. Bit him sharply.
“Losing sight of the goal here, kid?” Joel asked, without pulling away from Sam’s mouth, now hot and swelling just slightly against his.
“No, Sir,” Sam breathed, flexing sinuously somehow, even as he was literally clinging to Joel like an overgrown monkey. “Just thought I should play to my advantages, Sir.”
The press of his body was delicious, but Joel’s arms were feeling it. He folded down, lowering them until Sam’s back touched the mat, taking his weight off, then got his hand up in between. Pressing at Sam’s chest to dislodge him.
Sam didn’t let go. Joel raised a challenging eyebrow and pressed harder.
“Really?”
Sam grinned unrepentantly and tightened his grip, a glint in his eyes like this was the funnest game he’d played all year. Cling to your dom like a koala to a tree. Joel snorted and changed tact. Two could play this game. He leaned down and reignited the kiss.
Sam tipped up for it instantly. He pulled at Joel with both arms, somehow winding his limbs tighter. Boa constrictor style. He sighed happily as Joel growled and bit at his mouth, pushed his lips open almost punishingly, tongue-fucked his mouth. Sam’s hips got going then, rabbiting a needy little grind against Joel’s abs like he couldn’t help himself. Wasn’t even thinking of it— just had to have the friction... Jesus, did the kid never jerk off?
He went almost completely still when Joel’s hand landed on his belly. Taut as a wire. Joel almost felt like laughing—Sam was so responsive; he gave everything away. Joel dragged his hand down and Sam immediately whined at him, impatient, as if it was possible to miss what the kid so desperately wanted.
He grabbed Sam’s crotch through the thin fabric of his workout leggings and squeezed, hard. Hard enough to hurt. Sam’s back arched up like a bow pulled back, and he let out a gasp
Joel pressed down firmly and sat up, pushing his weight down against Sam’s cock in his fist. Sam made a hurt, needing noise and only then seemed to realize that in all his desperate horniness, he’d let Joel go, arms hanging uselessly at his own sides.
“Oh, fuck,” he said. Joel did laugh, then.
“What was that about your advantages?”
He let more weight fall against Sam’s dick, crushing it into his lower belly. Sam groaned low in his throat.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Joel smiled sharply down at him, and started counting. “One.”
Sam whimpered pathetically at him, brown eyes cutting up to Joel’s face with something that was halfway dread, halfway desire. If Joel had an ounce less self control…
“Two.”
He squeezed up Sam’s entire package in his fist, kneading it; feeling how delicate he was, how fucking hard he was getting for it, when Joel pulled his cock and balls down away from his body— pain that Joel knew from experience felt like having your insides hooked and pulled on. The kid was panting and groaning, chanting “Oh my god, oh my god,” under his breath. Hips twitching up and then back away from Joel’s hand.
“Three.”
“Fuck me,” Sam panted desperately, wrenching his eyes open. His fingers dug down against the vinyl mat, and then before Joel could react he got a knee up, dislodging Joel’s hand, and he was on his hands and knees and scrambling to get away.
“Not so fucking fast,” Joel growled, catching Sam’s leg.
The fucking kid started fucking kicking him. Joel took one solid hit to the forearm, bruisingly hard because Sam wasn’t playing around, before he snagged the offending foot out of the air and pulled. Sam yelped as he got yanked down the mat, fingers clawing uselessly at the yellow vinyl.
“Come here,” Joel said gruffly, getting in between Sam’s legs. Sam tried to get up on his hands and knees—Joel put one hand on the centre of his back and pushed him down, his stomach hitting the floor with a smack. “Fucking tricky little thing, aren’t you.”
Sam got up on one elbow and tried to twist around to swing at him. Joel caught his arm and put it up tight behind his back.
“Fuck,” Sam swore as his shoulder hit the mat too. He stretched his free arm up over his head like that was going to keep it out of Joel’s reach, just being fucking stubborn. Just to get Joel to move it for him.
“Come on, Sammy.” Joel bent forward over him, leaning his weight on Sam’s pinned arm until he made a small noise, and went still. He was panting fast and caught as a rabbit. Joel stretched up leisurely and caught his left wrist, body blanketing Sam’s from thighs to shoulders. His hard cock dragged up over Sam’s ass, got right in his crack through the leggings, and Joel didn’t see any reason not to enjoy it, rolling his hips down. Getting himself harder. It was Sam’s fault he was all worked up in the first place, anyway.
Sam whimpered, shifting so that his forehead was digging into the mat, exposing the vulnerable nape of his neck. Joel put his mouth there, thinking that Sam’s body knew exactly how to be owned.
“There we go,” Joel said, finally sitting up, both of Sam’s arms pinned behind his back. That bit of Sam’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt, was a dark red. He was panting. “Got yourself nice and stuck now, didn’t you.”
Sam rolled his head so that his temple was pressed to the mat, his face in half profile. His hair was all fucked up and sticking to his skin in strands.
“Seems like that was mostly your work, Sir.”
Joel tightened his grip and slid closer, wedging his knees under Sam’s thighs, forcing him to kneel up, put his ass on display. Joel rubbed his cock up against that ass—thick and round with hockey muscle.
“You could be lounging on your back right now, all nice and comfortable while I work you how you need it,” he said, watching Sam’s cheeks get pinker at the thrust of his cock. “But instead you just had to keep fighting me, huh Sammy? Couldn’t have it the easy way.”
Sam grinned, took it as a compliment. Cocksure even at being caught, even at Joel’s not-so-tender mercies.
“I think I’m pretty comfortable right now, Sir.”
“Is that so?” Joel growled.
He transferred his grip on Sam’s wrists to one hand, pinning them up on his back. His free hand went around Sam’s body, found his cock in the silky cage of his athletic leggings and gripped it mean and tight. Sam immediately tried to thrust into it, and Joel tightened his grip past a warning.
Sam sucked in a harsh breath.
“Comfortable?” Joel asked.
“Sir,” Sam said, voice tight, which Joel took to mean Definitely not but please don’t stop.
“Hmm,” Joel tilted his head. “One.”
Sam's breath got slower at the tightening of Joel’s hand.
“Two.”
Joel abruptly let go of his cock to squeeze his balls, gathering them in fist and pulling down, slowly but firmly, until Sam jerked in his arms like he’d touched a live wire, and groaned. His ass felt perfect against Joel’s cock. Joel grabbed his dick again and squeezed.
“Three.”
Tighter.
“Four.”
Tighter and tighter. Sam was squirming and sweating underneath him, mashing his face into the mat. He was so red. Joel made a pitying noise in the back of his throat when Sam finally cried out, high and desperate. It hurt, Joel knew it hurt. It was like scratching an itch to get Sam to break and admit it.
“Five,” he said, and Sam gasped and shook as the pressure released, as Joel let his poor cock go. Sam slumped underneath him like a puppet with its strings cut, except for the way his chest was heaving.
“There we go, Sammy,” Joel squeezed his ass. “You’re so pretty when you stop fighting me.”
“I can’t just not..” he gasped. “Try.” Blinking rapidly like he was coming back to himself. “Sir.”
“I know,” Joel said, rearranging him closer. He leaned in, putting his mouth next to Sam’s ear without letting his weight down, aware that Sam’s shoulders and wrists were nearing their limit in this position.
“That’s okay Sammy,” he said, quiet, breath gusting his soft cheek. “Fight me all you need. We both know you don’t actually want to win.”
Sam made a hurt noise. Like it wasn’t true, or he didn’t want it to be true. Joel gave him a moment to make his peace.
“What,” Sam finally managed, licking his lips. Off-balance, but trying not to show it. “What are you gonna do with me now, Sir?”
“Hmm,” Joel sat up and considered him, like he didn’t already know exactly what he wanted. He took a second to pull Sam’s arms down straight, so that they were relaxed with both hands at his tailbone, instead of twisted up towards his shoulders. Sam made the quietest humming noise as Joel palpated his arms, made sure the blood was moving, that his fingers weren’t cold.
The whole time, he was rubbing his hard cock against the firm give of Sam’s ridiculously perfect ass.
“I think,” he said, letting his hands wander, pushing Sam’s t-shirt up to expose the smooth skin of his back, newly sheened with sweat. He ran his thumb down the bumps of his spine, down the back seam of Sam’s leggings, pressing between his cheeks. “That now I’m going to play with you a little.”
Sam moaned behind his teeth, fingers twitching, and then just as abruptly his body locked up completely. He twisted too hard to look up at Joel over his shoulder; face uncertain underneath the blotchy redness.
“Joel, we’re not actually going to— Someone’s gonna hear! Someone could walk in!”
Joel looked at him, nonplussed.
“Are you going to be loud enough for someone to care what we’re doing in here?”
Sam tried to move to get up, and Joel caught his wrists. It took almost no pressure to keep him down.
“Joel.”
“The door is locked.”
Sam untwisted and pressed his forehead hard into the mat.
“This is a public gym,” he said into the yellow vinyl.
“Actually,” Joel corrected. “It’s a private one.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Hmm.” Joel considered him. He relaxed his grip an inch. “Stay still for me. I’m going to let go of your wrists but I don’t want you to move.”
Sam didn’t. Joel stripped his shirt off over his head, then gathered both of Sam’s wrists again in one hand. He leaned over him, bare chest to his straining arms, and held the bunched up shirt next to Sam’s face so he could see it.
“Okay Sam, two options. You can say the word,” Joel murmured, holding Sam’s gaze. “Or you can open your mouth for this, and let me do exactly what I want until I’m satisfied. Feel free to try and make as much noise as you’d like.”
Sam looked right at him, brown eyes calculating, gaze focused inwards. Joel liked that he was giving it due consideration. Of course Sam could safeword out even after he let Joel gag him, but Joel wanted more than that. He wanted Sam a little uncomfortable, a little scared, even, and to still stay yes. Desperate enough—to be good, to please, to take whatever Joel gave him—to do exactly what Joel wanted anyway.
Slowly, Sam nodded. He licked his lips before he opened his mouth wide enough for the bundle of shirt to be wedged between his teeth. Joel watched him breathe around it and listened for those steady inhales and exhales. Stroked his thumb over where his jaw was stretched but not straining.
“Very nice, Sammy,” Joel said, straightening to his knees behind him again. He grabbed Sam’s wrists one at a time, and moved them so they were pressed to the mat next to his head. “If you need to stop or you need a break, what do you do?”
Sam slapped the mat twice with one hand.
“Beautiful,” Joel rubbed his low back. “If you feel like you’re choking or having problems breathing you go ahead and pull that gag out yourself, you have my permission. Otherwise I don’t want your hands to move from where I’ve put them. You move ‘em, I stop. Nod if you understand.”
Sam nodded against the mat.
“Excellent, Sammy,” Joel brought his hands up and framed Sam’s ass. A pretty fucking picture. “Now what am I going to do with you, huh? My sweet little prize.”
Sam had his elbows down against the mat, looking at Joel over his shoulder. One dark eye on him, red lips stretched to take the gag. Kneeling with his ass up for way longer than could be comfortable just because Joel wanted him to. Because he wanted to show Joel how he was good, and useful.
Joel thought Sam could be very useful.
He debated trying to rip them at the seams, but in the end they had to walk out of here, so Joel got his fingers under the waistband and pulled Sam’s leggings down as far as they’d go.
His ass was smooth and lightly fuzzed underneath, tilted up. Joel got his hands full, dug his fingers in and massaged that hard-earned muscle, the protective fat where ass met thigh. He spread Sam’s cheeks and watched his hole twitch, like it could feel how much Joel wished he had two hours and a bottle of lube with him. So he could use it properly.
Sam made a low noise when Joel put a dry thumb there, where he was tight and furled and sensitive. He was so pink, now, flushed all over, even down his back. Joel got his own cock out with one hand and spat once and jacked himself. He watched his thumb, still petting over Sam’s hole. Sam’s fingers twitched against the mat, and Joel watched the effort it took to hold himself very still.
“Wish you could see yourself,” he said. “If you weren’t so good at hockey I’d have to give a real thought to keeping you like this all the time. All worked up and ready to be used. You think you’d be my favourite toy, Sammy?”
Sam made a wanting noise that Joel was sure would be wordless even without his mouth stuffed full.
“Yeah. You’d look real pretty on my shelf, wouldn’t you? Make all the other fucktoys jealous with how good you take it.”
Sam’s body curled forward as he made more noises, head pushing into the mat like that would somehow contain it, how worked up he was getting. Joel could see the white of his teeth where they bit into the shirt.
“Proud of that, aren’t you.” Joel let spit build up in his mouth, pursed his lips and let it dribble out and down across Sam’s hole. Sam flinched. “Let’s see how nice you take it.”
Joel pushed in with his thumb, and a keen rang out from behind the gag.
“Shhh. Come on, you can do better than that.”
He hooked him thumb in and tugged, and Sam’s whining went all high-pitched and greedy. Joel pulled back and spat on his hole.
“Mmmmmhhh,” Sam made an urgent, startled noise as Joel’s thumb pushed again deeper into him. It was crazy, no matter how many times they did this: every time Sam got something put up his ass he’d act like a total virgin about it. Like he couldn’t imagine why Joel thought he had any right to do this to him. It drove Joel insane, feeling Sam struggle and clench against his thumb like it was his first time, the fucking sounds he made. Joel pulled at his rim, a little mean about it, and Sam jerked so hard, full body against the mat, that it made a loud grating noise.
“Easy. Settle down,” Joel’s tone wasn’t soothing; it was an order. “You like that, don’t you?”
Sam whined imploringly at him. It sounded like pure encouragement to Joel. He eased his second thumb in next to the first. Sam was barely slick with Joel’s spit, stretched pink to take it. Joel dragged his thumbs away from each other.
“So pretty,” Joel said while Sam moaned. He was red in the face and panting quick breaths out of his nose. “You like it so much, Sammy. You want it, don’t you.”
Sam managed a muffled noise that sounded pretty much like Yes, please.
“Want me to give you my cock.”
He moved his thumbs in Sam’s ass. Deeper, feeling the resistance of his body, feeling like he was making room. Sam was so beautiful—his face. Pain, and pleasure.
“You want me to fuck you.”
Sam shook all over. The muscles in his back bunched up and then released while Joel watched. His hands slid slightly on the mat like he wanted to move, turn over—not like it was too much, but with a restless energy. He needed to move but he wouldn’t. He needed to stay still even more. Because Joel had told him to.
“You want me to fuck you, Sammy? Right here, right where you can leave a wet spot for someone to slip on later? With people walking by right behind that door.”
Sam looked over his shoulder and whined pleadingly. Yes, yes, yes.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” Joel said, pulling his thumbs out. Sam made a sound like he was taking a hit, the air knocking out of him.
“I don’t think you’ve been good enough to deserve my cock.”
Sam went completely silent. Nothing but the puff of his breath, arrhythmic. If they’d had more time, Joel might make him cry about it. Could work him up into a real mess, just by telling him no. No, I don’t think so, Sammy. I don’t think you’ve earned it. Why don’t you try a little harder now. Sam was obvious—didn’t just want to be the best, almost needed it. Could be a real brat about it sometimes too, but more often he went as soft as butter. Almost too willing; ready to be pushed too far. Coachable, Joel’s brain supplied, and he almost laughed at the thought. He was sure Sam had heard that all his life.
“Do you think you deserve to get fucked, Sam? You think you’ve been good enough?”
Sam stayed quiet.
“You didn’t even beat me. Were you even trying? Or did you just want to see what I’d do with you when you lost? I didn’t go through all the effort of setting this up just for you not to try, Sammy," Joel chided. "You know I expect better than that from you.”
Sam whined low, protesting, and Joel did laugh, then. He pushed his cock up Sam’s crack and revelled in it it; the hot drag, the wet head of his dick against Sam’s flushed skin. He held Sam’s cheeks closer together and fucked back and forth between them a little. God, every part of Sam’s body felt so good; like he was made for it.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Sammy,” Joel said again, over the sound of Sam’s panting. “M’just gonna give you the tip.”
Sam groaned. Joel could picture how hard he must be, his dick an angry red, abused and untouched. Poor Sammy.
“Stay still,” he ordered, kneeling up. “I need something to put my cock in.”
Sam let out a thin whine as Joel pushed in. He wasn’t really wet enough, was just barely stretched enough, but Joel made room anyway, screwed him open. It felt so good just to put the head inside—hot, tight squeeze around him—that Joel had to breathe to calm himself down, not to just fuck in and take. Hissed out through his teeth.
“Fuck, you’re nice,” he sighed. “You feel so nice, baby.”
Sam made another pleading noise, wanting more, not even caring. The shirt in his mouth was soaked through with spit, and he was biting down to keep it inside.
“Don’t be greedy now,” Joel admonished, getting a hand on himself. “This is already more than you deserve.”
Sam moaned as Joel started to jerk off, stroking what he could reach with his cock barely buried in Sam’s ass. It felt so good, the clench of Sam just around the sensitive head of his cock. Somehow dirtier not to be fucking him, just taking this. Sam holding still underneath him for it. Joel pushed just another half inch deeper into him, and Sam jerked like he’d been tazed, his hands almost coming up off the mat, except they didn’t because Sam was a good boy.
“Look at that,” Joel said, stripping himself faster, meaner. “You are good for something after all.”
Sam whined, and clenched, and Joel came inside him, watching his dick kick and unload with almost nowhere to go. It was a hot mess, everything wet enough for Joel to let his hips go, fucking in shallowly through the tail end of his orgasm. Sam’s face screwed up. His jaw dropped open so he could pant more air, desperately, his tongue pushing Joel’s balled-up shirt out of his mouth. Joel just barely pulled out and pushed in again, watching his come as it dripped out Sam’s ass, making a mess of his leggings.
When Sam moaned this time it was at full volume, no gag, and Joel smirked even as it pulled one last shudder up his spine. He eased out.
“Very good, Sammy,” Joel said, stroking his hand up Sam’s back, up to muss his sweaty hair as he leaned forward and plucked up the half ruined t-shirt where it’d ended up next to him. He ruined the rest of it cleaning Sam’s ass up as best he could. Sam was panting like he’d run a race, cheeks as pink as cotton candy. “You can move now. That’s good.”
“Get your knees under you,” he said, tossing the shirt aside, and guided Sam’s knees together. “I’m going to help you roll over.”
Sam flopped like a ragdoll when Joel got him on his back, which was par for the course. Joel held his legs up, folded almost against his chest, and only eased them down carefully and slowly once Sam settled, watching Sam’s face for any signs of pain as Joel straightened him out. The leggings had left deep red creases across Sam’s thighs where they’d been half pulled down. He didn’t even twitch as Joel rearranged him, just rolled his head back against the mat, languid and boneless about it.
Leggings down around his knees, cock hard and wet and almost angry looking, Sam just barely raised his head when Joel got between his legs, blinking slow up at him like a cat. He had a pink mark across his forehead from digging his head in against the vinyl. His eyes were dark and wet-looking, like polished glass.
Joel liked him like this—mostly under and almost stoned with it. The tension fucked out of him now that Joel had come, like that was all the hard work done, even though Sam himself still hadn’t. It turned him into such a pillow princess.
“You did so good baby,” Joel said gently, probably too nice, but c’mon. “You wanna come now?” It was almost always a yes. Today it was a yes. “Alright Sammy. Spread your legs so I can make you feel good.”
Joel got his mouth around him. Made it soft and not urgent, took Sam as deep as he could and used his tongue more than he moved his head over the shaft. Sam moaned and it seemed over-loud without the gag—Joel thought he must’ve almost startled himself, even, because he was quieter after that. Joel sucked him and felt the small spasms of his thighs, his hips, twitching. Little shocks under his skin like fireworks. It was just Sam’s breathing, at the end—just him panting quietly, faster and faster, until he gave it up to Joel’s mouth.
Joel sucked him clean and fumbled his leggings back up best he could.
Sam’s eyes were down to slits when Joel kneeled up again, watching as Joel started massaging out his legs, both hands on each from calf to thigh. He avoided pressing at Sam’s hips and repeated the same thing with each arm, gently pushing in with his fingers, firm circles with the heel of his palm. Sam came back slowly and stayed boneless through it, quietly watching Joel rub at his hands and wrists with increasingly aware eyes.
“Hi,” Joel said, when Sam seemed with-it enough.
“Hi,” Sam said, and smiled.
“That was fun,” Joel kneeled up over him. “How’s your jaw?”
“Feels fine,” Sam said, and let Joel press his fingertips into the line of his jaw anyway, a pleased look on his face while Joel felt for tension. Didn’t flinch.
“Hips?” Joel asked, sitting back on his heels.
“Little sore,” Sam admitted, so Joel scooted back to make room. He picked up each leg in turn and moved it in easy circles. Small, and then bigger. One way, then the other. He made Sam do a couple spinal twists too, arms stretched out long on either side and everything.
“Kept you hunched over for a while there. How much are you dying to do a backbend right now?” Joel asked, watching Sam untwist.
“I might as well have booked a yoga class, at this rate,” Sam complained, but he planted his feet and shoulders flat on the mat and pushed his hips up. Something in his back definitely popped, so. Joel wasn’t ever above saying I told you so, but he held it in just this once, listening to Sam’s satisfied sigh.
“I’m gonna ask if you’re sore tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“How are you feeling?”
Sam smiled, wide enough that Joel could see his left incisor, the one that was a little crooked and that Sam somehow managed to be self-conscious about even though he played a sport where one in every four guys had at least a tooth punched out. Joel tried not to find it endearing whenever Sam forgot to keep his smile small, didn’t remember to hide it. The kid was flushed across the nose still, but with his pants pulled up there wasn’t a mark to be seen on him. He was sweaty like they’d only been wrestling.
“Great,” he said easily. “About ready for a nap I think.”
Joel put his hand on Sam’s stomach, over his t-shirt, and leaned in.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked. Sam’s smile pulled wider, tooth poking out.
“Absolutely.”
When they finally got up and got the hell out of the room Sam’s body stayed loose and easy. He let himself be pressed up along Joel’s side and let Joel sling an arm over his shoulders and push him towards the showers. He was grinning and giggling the whole time exactly like somehow who'd just gotten spectacularly laid; satisfied and obvious. Joel liked it. He liked the pointed, unimpressed look he got from the meathead at the other end of the locker room; he liked letting his grin go sharp and smug and unbothered as he followed Sam onto the wet tiles, like anything was going to happen other than a brisk shower while they both kept their hands to themselves.
Sam probably wouldn’t like it, if he ever got an idea of how much he was giving away. The kid was cocky as hell about some things and uncharacteristically shy and embarrassed about others. Joel wasn’t a headshrink, he wasn’t about to guess why. And he wasn’t a saint, either—he slung a heavy, possessive arm around Sam’s shoulders again as they walked out past the front desk, bundled Sam into his car with every intention of taking him home and napping more or less on top of him, pinning him to the cushy bed, probably going another round or two after that—it was an off day, and Sam would be hot for it. Was hot for it. Was like a black hole of wanting, sometimes, with everything Joel could give him. Make him take.
If Joel were a better person—less selfish, less drawn to the part of Sam that wanted him, maybe even sometimes needed him, fuck—he’d drop Sam off at his own apartment. Let him sack out on his own less-than-king-size, probably made-by-IKEA mattress. Sleep it off. Not wake up to Sam warm in his bed, his soft mouth ready to choke around what Joel gave it. Joel wasn’t ashamed of himself—what he got off on. What he liked to do to people or even what he liked to do to Sam, in particular.
But they weren’t supposed to be doing this. This wasn’t supposed to be the Boyfriend Experience—fuck, he really should just drive Sam home. It was worse because Joel knew better. It was worse because he didn’t want to, not even a little bit, and he blew right by Sam’s exit without so much as a twitch.
Some days, Joel could muster up a little guilt. A little contrition over the fact of shitting where the team eats, and a little shame at the fact that it was probably going to blow up on Sam in the end, too. Hopefully the kid knew better than to get invested. Hopefully Joel had made that clear enough from the start.
Usually, Joel had enough self-control. Apparently not today, and Sam didn’t stop him either.
“We should get that place down the street for dinner,” Sam said, as they blew by his turn-off, confident with making room for himself at Joel’s table like he’d been invited. “The one with the chicken with the funky hat.”
Joel tapped his thumb against the steering wheel and suppressed a smile. “With the waffles?”
“Yeah.”
“You want breakfast for dinner?”
“Chicken and waffles isn’t breakfast,” Sam said, like duh. “And it’s my cheat day.”
Joel rolled his eyes. “Oh, so I guess that makes it mine, too?”
“Feel free to eat something nutritionist-approved if you want,” Sam grinned, unrepentant. “I’m having waffles.”
“I haven’t even said yes yet.”
“Like you’re gonna say no.”
Joel reached out and squeezed Sam’s thigh right above the knee, right where it would smart. “Brat.”
Sam squawked. “Hey!”
“You earned it.”
“But did I earn waffles?”
Joel sighed theatrically.
“Yes, Sam. You can have waffles.”
“Whoo!” Sam clapped his hands, pumped his fist obnoxiously in celebration. “That’s what I thought.”
Joel rolled his eyes again, but signalled for the turning lane that would take them back to his apartment, to his bed, to his mouth on Sam’s neck. At least the kid wouldn’t be bouncing off the walls tonight.