***
I’ve been doing word games for years. I’ve always been fascinated by them, how one particular word in all the hundreds of thousands that exist is the right one. Just that one, and no other. One or two simple hints are all you are given, and the work of finding the lone word is all up to you.
Some of my teammates do word games, too, crossword puzzles mainly. Darren does it for the challenge. Darren thrives on challenge; whether he finishes the game or not is beside the point. Brett does it, as he says, to keep his brain active. And while Cheli will snort and say “too late,” I agree with him. Anything that involves thinking is good for you, for your game and for you in general. Though, you don’t really have to look farther than me to know that too much thinking can break you.
My eyes drift over to the man sleeping quietly on the bed. Seeing him resting peacefully draws my attention to the noise in the room and I reach for the remote. The third period is on now, the excitement levels in Sunrise reaching a frenzied peak, and I turn down the sound. We had been watching the All-Star game before finding other, more interesting things to do. And I for one was grateful for that. Seeing what I could have been doing if things had been different was getting too painful. My mind kept going over an endless stream of what if what if what if… see? Too much thinking.
He must have been feeling the same way; it must be just as painful for him to see what he can’t have. Was that why he called me? Invited me to come to this warm, pleasant state by the sea and spend time with him? Was that what I really was after all, a distraction? I’ve been working on this puzzle for over a year now and I am no closer to the answer.
Dammit. I’m not supposed to be worrying about that right now. I was worrying about it and that’s why I’m not curled up with him now, snoring softly (I hope softly) against his back. I couldn’t sleep and so I got up, pulled on my boxers and found the word game I’d been working on during the plane ride here. I’m supposed to be working on it so that my mind will be busy with something not quite as worrisome until I’m tired enough to slip back into Ron’s bed and wrap my arms around him, and not keep him awake by fidgeting and tossing and turning. Right. So let’s do this.
This particular type of word game I’m working on right now is my favorite. Darren does the games for the challenge, Brett for the mental exercise. I do it for the joy of seeing my thought process reward me, for seeing that one, special word materialize in my mind. Dredging it up out of nothingness and putting it where it belongs on the page, in carefully written letters. With this game, you are given a word and a number. One of word’s synonyms is the answer, and the number the amount of letters it has.
Astonishment, 6.
I let my mind ponder the possibilities. As always, to find the synonym I associate the word with something that has happened or is happening to me. What does astonishment mean to me? Astonishment was what I felt last year, the first time it happened.
Fuck. Apparently I'm not going to get out of thinking about this situation after all. Well dammit I can’t sleep and there is no way I am leaving him and I just can’t watch the game and I am doing this fucking puzzle no matter what it makes me think about.
Yes, astonishment. It was early last November, in Detroit, the one game we had against the Hurricanes in the regular season. I knew him, well, I’d met him before. We are similar, he and I. Born only two years apart, in Canadian towns, drafted fourth overall in the first round of the draft at 18, multi-Cup careers, and now we’re both Captains, with all the work and reward that comes with that position. I’d always wanted to get to know him better. After the game I got my chance.
It was he, actually, who did the asking. That was the first time I was astonished by him. It wouldn’t be the last. His intelligence, affability, and humor during the conversation at dinner, as if he’d known me for years. The way my body flushed and tingled at the drowsy smile on his face. His hand on my thigh. His lips brushing against mine. The way I almost came the first time he slid his tongue into my mouth. The way our bodies fit together so well in the velvety dark of my bedroom, our gasps and whispered words complementing each other like melody and harmony. The incredible feelings that spiraled though me with my orgasm, pleasure and satisfaction and contentment, all of them synonyms except one, and that was-
That was my word. Wonder. Six letters, meaning astonishment. Wonder is what I felt that night as I fell asleep against Ron’s chest, the pounding of his heart pressed to my temple and his hands rubbing soothing circles onto my back.
I carefully pencil in the word.
You know, that’s part of the problem here. I haven’t ever stopped feeling that sense of wonder. Not since all those months ago. It’s a beautiful enough feeling after sex. But I’d really like to know where I stand with him. I wish I could bring myself to ask.
Dammit.
Next word: Stubborn, 10.
I look to the bed again as Ron sighs. He rolls onto his back, muscles flexing smoothly and without design. A smile spreads slowly across his face and it makes my heart stutter away from its rhythm. It isn’t fair; I have no power against a man who smiles in his sleep. Ah God, he is beautiful. He looks so calm and peaceful… and he is. He is the most steady, relaxed person I think I’ve ever met. If I didn’t know from experience I would never have believed he could be as stubborn as he is.
We didn’t have any more games against each other during the regular season, but we managed to be together a few more times. Only a few more, not nearly as many as I would have liked. We never said anything, but some of our teammates knew, I think. Jeff gave me some strange looks whenever I saw him. There was some whispering in my own locker room that I made sure not to hear.
I called Ron when I found out our teams would be playing each other in the playoffs. I should have known better.
“No, Steve,” he said. His voice was firm. It tolerated no argument.
I gripped the phone and tried anyway. “But…”
“No. This is the most important time for our teams, Steve. No distractions. Not even you.”
Me. A distraction. I swallowed.
“You know it as well as I do. We can’t and I won’t.”
And the hell of it is that I did know it. I knew what was at stake and I knew that it was no time for the two of us to be together. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do and I knew he would refuse. I knew it. But I called anyway. I couldn’t help it. Maybe before the round officially started, we could…
“No, Steve.”
He would not be moved. He was inflexible. Ten letters, meaning stubborn.
I pencil in the word and Ron is still smiling in his sleep. Fuck me.
It makes the next word only too simple to figure out.
Attractive, 8.
Was there any clearer definition than that which lay before me?
His hair dark against the pillow, dark brows slanted above his closed eyes. Dark lashes pressed against flushed skin. His face speaks of character and strength, the line of his jaw purposeful and slightly shadowed with stubble. His chest and arms are bare to my sight and I drink it in. Smooth skin with a light covering of dark hair on his forearms, spanning the distance between his nipples, forming a trail down his belly and even lower… past where the sheets, starkly white, cover him. What is below them isn’t visible, but I can see it. The image has lived in my memory and fantasies since that wonderful (wonder six letters meaning astonishment) night when I discovered that his touch was dizzily new and comfortingly familiar at the same time.
The image was renewed with those few times we were together afterwards, before the finals began. And that was the last time I’d seen him, until now. Eight months. Eight months of touching him, tasting him only in dreams. He didn’t call me and I was afraid to call him because I didn’t know what was going on. I still don’t know what’s going on. All I know is that tonight my image of him has been reinforced by the reality and it wasn’t enough because I’m hard again and I want what’s under those sheets.
I set the game aside.
I stand up and walk slowly toward the bed. He’s sleeping so naturally and I hate to wake him but I can’t resist. He draws me. He is fascinating, captivating. He is my word and it is alluring. Eight letters, meaning attractive, and I pull down my boxers. I can’t bother with penciling in the word because now I’m lifting the sheets and sliding in next to him. I shiver as I take in the sight of his body. He is as naked as I am, and I want so desperately to press up against him, but I hesitate. I don’t want to wake him, I don’t want to bother him, I don’t want to distract him, I don’t-
“Welcome back.”
I jump.
Ron opens his eyes and smiles tiredly at me.
“Where did you go?”
“I… couldn’t sleep.”
He turns toward me and slides a finger across my brow. “So why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I didn’t want to distr- bother you.”
He chuckles. “I’m not that old, you know.”
I grin. “Oh, I know.”
He leans and my arms accept him. His weight presses as he moves on top of me and we kiss slowly. He groans into my mouth, and I know that he’s felt my erection. He rubs himself against my leg and I can feel him swell, and my body trembles. I need him so much but there’s something I need even more. Yeah, that thinking too much thing? When I first got here all the blood in my body was concentrating in my cock and the only thing I wanted was to bury myself inside of him until I exploded. But now I have to know. I have to know if all I am is a distraction. I have to know.
“Know what?”
I blink. Ron is looking up at me quizzically, halfway down my body. He’d been kissing his way downward but he’d stopped. I gape at him. How the fuck did he know what I was thinking? Unless…
“Did I just say that out loud?”
“Yeah.” Ron smiled, but the puzzlement didn’t leave his eyes. “You were moaning and then you said ‘I have to know.’ What do you have to know?”
I bite my lip. I need to know but I don’t know how to ask.
“Steve?” Ron’s puzzlement has turned to concern and he slides up. He lies on his side and draws me against him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
His heart is pounding against my temple. His hands are rubbing soothing circles onto my back. And then I spill it.
“Ron, what’s going on here?”
Ron is quiet for a moment.
“Well, something we both want is going on here. Right?”
“That’s not what I meant. What is this to you, what…” I can feel what I want to say but all the word games in the world haven’t helped me in my ability to say it. “Why didn’t you call me during the summer?”
He sighs heavily.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I… I guess I thought it wasn’t the right thing to do then. I know you had a lot to deal with with your knee, and I thought I’d be a distraction.”
My eyes widen at the word but Ron is kissing the top of my head and doesn’t see.
“It wasn’t a good time for me either, Steve. I needed some space. And after I was ready… I… well, I guess…”
“What?” Now it’s me who’s puzzled. I’ve never seen Ron at a loss for what to say. A thought runs through my mind and I wonder if Ron plays word games, too. I bet that he does.
He hugs me a little tighter.
“I guess I was afraid you’d say no.”
I digest this.
“Because you said no in May?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t have to be afraid.”
“You understand why I did?”
“I understood before I made the call.”
“I thought you did. Even if you didn’t want to hear it from me.”
“So why did you call me last week?”
Ron pulls away a little and smiles at me.
“I wanted you to be with me and I was tired of denying it. And I’m extremely brave. You don’t make Captain if you’re a weenie.”
I laugh and I press my forehead against his chest.
We lay silent for a bit, the hum of the TV just barely audible.
“Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“What am I to you?”
He is quiet again.
“What am I to you, Steve?”
Again, my words fail me. Damn puzzles. What the fuck good are they anyway?
“Ron, Christ, I… I just… I just feel like I’m playing a game and nobody’s told me the rules. I don’t know what to say to you or what to do. All I know is that I want you and I need you and I like you. I like being with you. I like who I am when I’m with you. I don’t know what else I feel, I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, I don’t know what I’m supposed to think-”
My ramble is stopped as Ron kisses me. The kiss is long, deep, and slow, and like always I melt against him. When he pulls away I am breathless and my cock is throbbing.
He looks deep into my eyes and I am held there.
“Steve, you think too much.”
I stare at him.
“You just told me what I am to you. That’s what you are to me.”
He kisses my forehead, my lips, my throat.
“I want you. I need you. And I like you.”
His lips brush the skin of my chest and I shiver.
“I like being with you.” His voice wavers as his hands pass over my hips. His lips trail over my cock and I cry out.
“Go with it, Steve.” He is whispering but his voice is louder than even my own breathing. “Don’t analyze this. Don’t think so much.”
He doesn’t have to worry about that right now because he’s just taken me into his mouth and holy fuck I can’t form a coherent thought and Jesus that feels so fucking good I’m going to come and his name will be what I’ll say when I do.
The air is cold against my cock as Ron moves his mouth away and I whimper. He’s reaching for something, something past my head, when he moves back I see that it’s the lube. My cock strains and my whole body ripples with pleasure.
“What is this to me, Steve? This is desire.”
He slides a slick finger across my opening and presses gently inside of me. And dammit doesn’t my brain realize I’m not playing the game anymore? Because as he prepares me, stretches me, helps me relax, words keep appearing in the hazy recesses of my mind.
Longing, as he replaces one finger with two. I hiss at the added pressure but there is no pain.
Yearning, as his finger brushes my prostate. I groan, arching off the bed. He is breathing explosively and I know he’s getting close from just this. Fuck, he’s not the only one.
Craving, as his fingers leave me and the bed shifts. His weight is on top of me again and now it’s the head of his cock that is pressing into me. Slowly, so slowly and his hand is jerking me off as he does. He enters me bit by bit and I am ready and he is right because I think way too much and all I want to do is let go.
Desire, his word, the last word, the last synonym of the chain, as he begins to thrust. And now there are no words, no letters, no numbers. Just breathing, and groaned words, and two heartbeats, and his body pressed down to mine until I can’t tell where my skin ends and his begins. He cries out my name, his muscles going rigid, and I can feel him spill hotly inside of me.
He jerks harder on my cock and moans something unintelligible against my throat. I feel my mouth form the syllable that is his name but I can’t hear it because-
Oh… oh my…
I’m in pieces and every single one is on fire. Ron has all the pieces of me gathered up in his arms and he’s holding me gently. My cum is sticky between us and we’re lying on our sides again. When did we move? His heart is pounding against my temple. His hands are rubbing soothing circles onto my back.
My mind is quiet, because now I know that we feel the same way. I can sleep now, and when I wake up he’ll be there. And really, that is enough for me.
Suddenly Ron cranes his head at an odd angle and squints toward the TV. His laugh causes both of us to shake.
“They’re doing a fucking shoot-out!” I move my head, and though the world hasn’t stopped spinning yet I can make out that yes, the players on the screen are, one by one, taking shots on goal.
Ron laughs again, laying his head weakly back down with a thump. He yawns.
“Life is strange, isn’t it, Steve.”
I kiss his chest and though I can’t see his face I sense him smile.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. It’s-”
Unqualified. Superlative. Excellent. Ideal. Finished, entire, complete.
“Perfect.”
