Hooking the Hockey Player Ch. 01

"No one else does." The bleak answer put a pained expression on his face. I didn't want that, the deep ridges marring his perfect face. Then mask of angry resolve bloomed.

"This won't happen again. I'll make sure of that," he gritted out.

My own eyes narrowed at his high handed declaration, "I don't need anyone to fight my battles."

He scoffed but the tight set of his jaw showed that he was less than amused, "You showed you aren't capable of fighting for yourself."

Who did this attractive asshole think he is? "It's your first day. You've met me once. You don't know me at all. You have no right to judge me on how I handle myself. Now go and leave me alone. I don't need saving." I drew myself up to my full height and walked away leaving behind an angry beautiful boy.

I went through the rest of the school day ruminating about my run in with Owen. I came to several distinct conclusions. Primarily, that I needed to quell the instinct to drop to knees and worship Owen Holt's cock every time I see him. Secondly, that it was idiotic to yell at the one person trying to stick up for me. Thirdly, that I really wanted to see Owen again to both apologize and see what his ass looks like because all my mental imaginings couldn't be doing him justice. The mantra, just because he was nice to you doesn't mean you should have a crush on him ran through my head throughout the last periods of the day.

Running always cleared my mind, the slapping of my soles against the ground was a balm to my frayed nerves. You lose yourself in the motion, it's routine and amazing (or it sucks but you still can't think because you're focused on the cramp in your side and how you might pass out from exhaustion). I get into a zone when I run, a tunnel vision that makes only the few feet in front of me real until the next step.

Our course in the woods is a perfect 3.1 miles long, but for practice doing laps around it is tiresome. So me and the other few serious runners ran the course and then started doing loops around the school. While running on concrete was hell on the shins, the rapidly elevating hill made for a good aerobic exercise.

I was running through campus completely in my zone when a hand jerked out and grabbed my arm. A shriek squealed out of me that I immediately regretted, thinking that it was Johnson or Killhorn or one of the other goons. I regretted it even more when I saw the hand connected to a massive forearm with a long vein running through it, and that it belonged to the man I had stared at, and yelled at. Owen held me firm and I tried to quell the excitement that came with his hands on me.

"You're on the running team?" He spluttered incredulous. He looked glorious, his hair slightly tousled like he had been running his hands through it. And I looked, sweaty, really sweaty.

"Yeah, funny how we keep running into each other," I quipped, gasping for air, trying to lighten the mood and keep my dick from hardening in my tiny running shorts.

He wasn't in the mood to laugh, "Why didn't you run away earlier?"

I snorted, "Yeah, because that would be manly."

"No, it'd be smart."

Rolling my eyes, I turned fully to him. My retort dying on my lips as he spotted and then caught my other arm gingerly between his fingers. My tank top did nothing to hide the already purpling handprint bruises and the large splotchy bruise on my shoulder.

He was a study in contrast, his face was apoplectic in rage. His lips were a thin line, his eyes slits, the angry set of his jaw kept me docile lest he turn his fury on me but as his fingertips traced the marks there was nothing but gentleness. His touch took the dull ache out but a new ache began, every movement went straight to my dick. I wished with every atom that he would turn the same careful attention to my cock.

"You said they didn't hurt you." His tone was accusatory.

"Bruises are nothing. You play hockey, would you tell a coach you were hurt if you got a bruise?"

His lips pressed out in a scowl, "No, but I signed up for hockey."

"I signed up for high school," I smiled wanly.

When he took his hands away to scrub a hand across his face, I acutely felt the loss of his hand on my arm. God I wanted the touch back. I wanted his hands everywhere, sliding down my chest, my back, pulling me closer to him, I wanted to feel his hands on dick. Maybe test his stick handling. A slight shudder went up my back as I imagined his hands lightly roughened with callouses stroking my cock.

"Why are you trying to make this not a big deal?" He asked, leaning forward getting in my face. He may have been using it as an intimidation technique, but I was all for him getting in my space.

"Why are you making this your problem?" I retorted holding my own.

Then like all the wind had been taken from his sails, he deflated, "I heard them. I heard what they called you." He swallowed, "I know they're beating you up cause you're gay."

"Because they think I'm gay," I reflexively blurted.

He looked bewildered for a moment, "So they're wrong? Why are you just letting yourself get beat up then?"

"I'm not letting myself get beat up. They're bigger than me and there's more of them. And what does it matter if they're wrong or right? They think I'm a fag so my agreeing would just make everything worse and if I deny it like I have that does nothing. What does it matter, Owen?" My frustration rose with the volume of my voice until I was almost shouting at him.

"Believe me, it matters." Owen's deep blue eyes were wide and guileless as he spoke.

So I said the words for the first time, "Yeah I'm gay."

A genuine, encouraging smile broke across his face, then replaced sheer lust that shocked me down to my balls. "Thank fuck," he breathed as his came up and framed my jaw before his lips touched mine. For moment, the pressure was measured, soft as if he expected me to back away, silly man. I leaned into the kiss, and he took it from there. His lips were hot brands against mine, his tongue swiped lightly across my bottom lip and I gasped. He took full advantage and his tongue drove in tasting, exciting.

One of my hands reached up and fisted itself in his silken hair and the other came behind his neck pulling our bodies flush. Our tongues wrested and slid together as our bodies met. His hands abandoned my jaw to slide down my back over my ass. I arched into his touch and his lips left mine, he left open mouthed kisses down my throat as I tilted my head back reveling in his hands kneading my ass through the silky texture of my running shorts.

My hand left his neck and trailed its way down his chest memorizing the hard planes. I wished the cotton of his t-shirt was gone as I found a nipple. With a low groan as my fingers circled the nub his mouth reclaimed my attention as his lips recaptured mine. I was lost in him, his smell covering me, all spice and man.

With a weak chuckle he lifted his lips from mine and took a small step back creating a gap, "Did I tell you I was a big fan of your uniform?" I was breathing hard from his kiss.

My cheeks flamed, my cock jutting out from my hips made even more obvious by the tight shiny fabric. I gazed down at his crotch, though less distinct through the dark denim I could see he was also excited, "Yeah, I can see you're a big, big fan."

With a low groan he gave me a brief but scorching kiss, "You really don't want to talk about my cock right now Jake. We're at school but that won't stop me from fucking you." Lust warred with humor in his eyes.

Peeking a sultry look through my eyelashes, "I don't want to talk about your cock. There are so many better things to do with it."

He let out a strangled laugh but took a step back. I mourned the separation, "You're trouble. While I can think of a million better ways to get you sweaty, you should finish your run. I'll see you tomorrow Jake."

As he walked away, I knew that I wouldn't be able to finish my run. So I stood there hard while I watched his ass flex in his jeans as he strode away, my imaginings were nothing compared to the real thing.