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He would remember how Dylan had taken him apart and left him undone.

“Tell me if you’re close,” Dylan said. His breathing was as ragged as Henri’s. How could that be? How could he enjoy this as much as Henri did? “I want to suck you off.”

Then his tongue was back, fucking into him like Henri was the best thing he’d ever tasted. And his beard, which always tickled, was rubbing against his oversensitive skin. Henri squirmed in a desperate attempt to both get more, and to pull away and feel less. It was too intense.

“No,” Henri whined. “I’ll die if you stop. Dylan, plus, plus, plus…”

But despite his pleas, Dylan soon left Henri’s hole with a final, parting kiss before his mouth was wrapped around Henri’s dick once more. He sucked greedily at the pre-come before his head started bobbing. He was propping himself up on his left arm, and his right disappeared, jacking himself off with the same desperation he worked over Henri. And not only did Henri get to feel that talented mouth on him, he got to watch. He got to admire Dylan fucking Everett give head and be so hungry for it that he might actually come before Henri did.

Henri reached down and tilted Dylan’s head just enough for their eyes to lock, and that was enough. Henri tried to keep looking, dared himself not to close his eyes or look away, as he came. He watched Dylan’s gaze go hazy as he swallowed Henri’s come. Watched as Dylan eased his mouth off and lay there on Henri’s leg, looking up at him needily as he continued to stroke himself. And he especially watched as Dylan’s whole body tensed and then relaxed as he came against Henri’s leg.

“Fuck,” Dylan whispered. “Fuck.”

They lay there catching their breath, sweaty and tangled in the sheets. Henri laid a hand over his chest and felt how his heart pounded. He suspected it wasn’t just from the orgasm. Dylan was resting on Henri’s stomach, a beautiful dead weight. Once again, Henri amended his plans for eternity: this was the moment he would revisit again and again for the rest of his life.

“Where did that come from?” Henri asked. It was a struggle to keep his voice even. He wasn’t complaining, but he couldn’t fathom what had woken Dylan in the middle of the night and made him think I should suck off my sleeping boyfriend before I rim him within an inch of his life.

“I have no idea,” Dylan admitted. His voice was still wrecked. Would he sound like that all day? Would he give his pre-game speech, and would they all hear the evidence of how deeply he’d taken Henri’s dick? “I woke up so fucking horny, and you looked so fucking good. Hen, holy fuck, you looked so beautiful, and I just…wanted.” He lifted his head enough to steal a glimpse of Henri; Henri wanted to dive into those blue eyes and never come back out again. “Was that okay?”

It was the dumbest thing Henri had ever heard. Is it okay that I just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life? Sorry, won’t do it again.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he said.

Dylan’s lips quirked. “So it was good? You didn’t mind?”

“Feel free to wake me up like that whenever you want.” He sighed in contentment. “It’s encouraged.”

“You score tonight”—he paused to place a kiss just next to Henri’s belly button—“and I’ll do it every game day.”

“So superstitious.”

“Not a superstition. It’s a reward.” He pulled the nearest blanket over them and wrapped his arms around Henri, nestled in as if he were as happy as Henri. Impossible, but it was a nice thought.

Vanessa (January 2024)

How we feeling going into this Chicago game?

Dylan

It’s just another game

I play eighty-two a year

Yeah but you only play 3-4 versus Sokolov

I can’t believe I let that motherfucker visit my house

V

Sorry sorry not productive

I’m just checking in

You’ve been playing really well lately

And I’d hate to see you let that slip for someone who’s not worth it

I won’t