Buzz (The Riley Brothers Book 1)

© 2015 E. Davies

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A fucking jock strap.

Jesus Christ, how much hotter could Cameron get?

Noah's jaw dropped. Cameron was kneeling across his stomach, leaning back on his heels. Callused hands slid his jeans down muscled thighs... and Cameron's package bulged forward. He was hard inside the stretchy fabric, and Noah needed to find out how hard.

He leaned up to press a light kiss along the inside of Cameron's thigh, bracing his elbow behind himself. There was stubble there – Cameron shaved and trimmed a little, then. He couldn't wait to find out how much.

Noah ran his hands up along the backs of Cameron's thighs to feel the bare, firm curves of his ass. God, what a great ass highlighted by the straps along the back of his underwear. He pulled Cameron down into him, making Cam's firm package rub against his thigh for a teasing preview for both of them.

Cameron grunted and pushed forward a little, his thighs twitching again. Noah knew Cam's cock had to be getting uncomfortable. He hurried to free it and pull aside the pouch of the jock strap.

“That's so fuckin' hot,” Noah whispered. The stiff warmth of the erection slid down his thigh as Cameron sidled down between his legs. “You have no idea.”

“I have a bunch of these.”

Then, Cameron's thick, warm, callused fingers were wetly pressing against Noah's opening.

Noah breathed out hard. “Oh, the world is a better place now.” He curled his toes into the bed and pushed up a little. Those fingers slid inside, through the first few seconds of discomfort and straight to pleasure.

Cameron's fingers were so fuckin' good. He wouldn't complain if Cam just wanted to get him off now by rubbing his prostate. He pictured Cam pressing broad fingertips inside, rubbing sparks of pleasure into a fire of need...

Noah was whimpering in the back of his throat and he didn't even care. He pushed his hips into the air, arched his back, even gasped for breath despite his attempts to stay calm and composed...

Fuck, no. Don't come yet.
He wanted Cam's cock.

He slapped Cameron's wrist and shook his head at the hunk above him. “Don't waste any more time.”

He needed Cameron inside, now, fucking him into the mattress until he lost control.

More than that: he needed the intimacy of Cameron's lips on his, Cameron's body blanketing his, Cameron's eyes on his.

As Cameron's thick cock pressed into him, Noah's mind spun with dizzying pleasure. He never wanted this moment – the first gasp together as bodies locked and muscles tensed – to end. Unless he could trade for the smooth, skillful thrusts of body against and into body.

Cameron... is all I want.

The realization was quiet, unlike the earth-shattering revelation that he liked men. It was a thrumming hum of love building under his skin, his heart pumping with warmth and passion and pure affection.

Wait. Not love. It was too soon to fall so completely for Cameron.

Yet something in Noah's heart told him this was a relationship he was willing to work hard to start and work harder to never end.

Noah clenched around Cameron for a moment. He moaned into Cameron's mouth and Cameron's lips brushed his, soothing and encouraging him.

“Cam...!”

Ice squeaked as his blades cut clean lines down the center of the ice. Foot over foot, a swerve, a sudden swoop around the net, and back down to the other end. It didn't matter if he was sick, injured, or heartbroken: the cool breeze across his face grounded him. He spun to skate backwards down the ice a few dozen feet, then turned again to swoop around the corner again behind the net.

It was unconscious at this point for Cameron Riley. He'd been skating since he was three. Four years later, he was playing hockey. Then, he became the star forward of the junior team. Back then, the other kids hadn't been competition for him.

Now...

“Heads!”

The weight of one of his teammates slammed into him from the side. They crashed into the boards, pulling their feet up and out of the way of each other's.

“This isn't the fuckin' bunny league, Cam! Keep your head up!”

Coach Walker was right.

This was the minor leagues, but there was nothing minor about the upcoming big games. The series was tied. It was going to game seven. Just as important: the scouts in the crowd would take note of who was responsible for their win or loss.

The
big
job offers were coming in the next couple of months. Everyone on the team who was serious about their pro career had their head up and eye on the puck. They couldn't pass up the salary, the fame, and the chance to do what every one of them had been training for over the last five, ten, even twenty years.

“Sorry, coach,” Cameron recited, focusing on the puck as he swept around to join the drill. It flashed back and forth between Matty and Lou's sticks.

“Get to it, then. All of you. I want a good, clean game. Not too boring, not too flashy. Play to win, both sides.”

They split into practice teams. Another wave of dizziness swamped Cameron as he thought about what they were practicing for.

It was a big deal. Tied series weren't won on game three, but the tone was set for the fourth, fifth, even sixth games.

Their opponents – fucking Montreal, to add insult to injury – were good at nailing them on their weaknesses. Their goalie played aggressively on the crease, and their defense players moved lightning-fast. Cameron liked to figure out the
best
pass, not just the most available one, but their defense were aggressive. They wouldn't let him get away with anything.

He was getting dizzy a lot lately when he thought about it, but that was a common reaction to stress. He pushed through on the ice every time. He'd mentioned it to the team doc after the last game and they'd figured he'd been sneaking in too many extra-salted chips. He liked to rationalize it away by saying the fat gave him extra bulk.

Nathan hated it, but Nathan hated a lot of stuff he did. He was in the bleachers, scrolling through his phone and glancing up now and then. Like some of the hockey wives, he dropped in to watch now and then. He expected extra praise and sex for doing it.

When the puck dropped, Cam easily won the scramble and took off down the ice with it.
Pace yourself, Cam.
Fast games weren't everything. He was going to get the most ice time of any of his teammates – Coach Walker had pulled him aside yesterday to tell him that.

Coach Walker wanted him to be drafted this year.

Lou deked left, then right, then whipped the tip of his stick around Cam's. He lightly nudged the puck around the edge of his blade and took off the other way.

Much as it made his blood boil, Cam admired the move. Lou was the master of subtle grace on ice, underplaying what he was about to do until he took off at a sprint. He was light, fast, and infuriating for Montreal to deal with tomorrow.

Cam pursued, but it was too late: the puck flashed across the ice towards Mac as Chris tried to intercept it. The bleachers were gone, his focus narrowing to the ice. His heart pounded. His breath was ragged.
Control yourself. Don't burn out in the first five minutes, rookie.

He didn't succeed, but after a quick skirmish, Mac had it – for a few seconds.

Mac passed to Chris, who broke out of the pack with the puck and sprinted down the ice. Cam spun on his heel for a two-pronged maneuver. Sure enough, Chris passed the puck to him and they rushed past Lou and McKay.

This was their game-winning move.

Cameron's heart pounded. He slipped Chris the puck, then crossed in a quick dance of blades. He feinted like he had the puck, drawing McKay's eye for long enough to get Chris into position, and
oh shit
, he was
very
dizzy, and his heart was racing and he couldn't breathe, the pounds drowning out the screeches of ice, and then--

--the ice rose, jumping up at him, flying into his face.

Blackness.

***

Loud voices. Screeching, a spray of ice across his cheek. His heart fluttering helplessly, beating one-two-three-four-five before he finished each thought...

Somehow, in that split-second that had passed since he'd fallen, there was a stretcher under him. He was being carried, and--

“Wha--?”

“Lie down,” Coach Walker told him. He was strapped down anyway, and – fuck, that hadn't been five seconds, had it?

He was dizzy and sick and there were voices again. Mac was asking someone if he'd be okay, if this was just a spell or “something more serious” in a carefully calm tone.

An authoritative voice from near his ear told Mac they were doing everything they could.

“What about the game tomorrow?” That was Nathan.

“We don't know yet. The doctors will make that call.”

Cam struggled to open his eyes and see his boyfriend, but it was bright. And warm. They were outside the arena now. His practice shirt clung to him with sweat at the warm spring air compared to the refreshing cold of the arena. He nearly protested about having to go into the warmth, but he kept his mouth shut.

Fuck, his lip throbbed and his head... He wasn't wearing a helmet, but he had been, hadn't he?

“You're with us again, aren't you, Cam? You mind being called that?”

Cameron blinked, focusing on a friendly face as his stretcher was lifted into the ambulance. A man a couple years older than him, with light brown hair. He was smiling, and Cam's lips instinctively twitched. The man had a calming air about him.

“Yeah, s'fine,” Cameron mumbled, clearing his throat. “What-- what happened?”

“You fainted on ice,” the EMT answered, swinging himself up beside Cameron into the seat. That was right, he was an EMT. He had a uniform. Cam appreciated uniformed men, especially those who helped people. Including himself right now.

That reminded him – Nathan. He spotted his dark-haired boyfriend standing outside the ambulance.

“Are you coming with us?” Another EMT was talking to Nathan this time.

Nathan hesitated.

In those few seconds, the sinking truth hit Cameron: he wasn't planning on staying with him. The last time they'd gone on again, they'd agreed to keep it quiet. To the outside world, even to his own team, as always, they'd be good buddies. The team knew the truth, but nobody said it.

Fuck.

What had he done wrong this time?

“Otherwise, I'm coming,” Coach Walker spoke up, and there was something in his voice – a threat? A reprimand?

Nathan's deep, thrumming voice sounded. “I guess I am.”

“Sit up front with me, then,” an EMT directed.

Nathan caught Cameron's eyes for a long moment, those dark eyes penetrating yet veiled. The ambulance doors slammed shut.

I guess so?

Cameron gulped for air.

This time, when dizzying blackness struck, Cameron welcomed it, if just for a moment.