"Okay, where's Legwand?" Mike Comrie stormed into the locker room, irritation tinting his cheeks.

             "Legwand?" I asked innocently, "Why are you looking for him?"

            He smirked at me, "Bastard. You know why I'm looking for him," he said, and then held up the remains of his skate laces.

            I fought a laugh, and Dan Blackburn walked by, "Why would Legwand know about your skate laces?"

            Mike rolled his eyes, "You two are just complete fucking comedians. Really. Thanks a lot," he pouted, crossing his arms like an angry toddler.

            I couldn't hold back a snort, and I reached out to ruffle his hair. He ducked away from my hand and glared at me, which only made me laugh harder. "You fucking suck," he told me, stomping over to his stall. He muttered a few more things under his breath as he pulled his shirt off, and then I didn't really pay attention to his voice, because I was distracted by the pale skin of his chest and stomach first, and then his broad back as he turned away from me.

             "Comrie," I called, and when he looked at me, I tossed a pair of skate laces at him. "Relax, kid. It was a joke."

            He nodded and rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I know," then a glint of mischief flickered in his gaze, and he smiled wickedly at me, "but that doesn't mean I don't want revenge."


            After the game, our entire team met up for drinks, and Mike didn't say anything else to Legwand. He'd smacked him in the back of the head when we got off the ice, claiming that the ruined skate laces were what caused us to lose, but now Mike seemed relaxed. He'd ordered a scotch on the rocks, which left me to tease him about that as well.

            What could I say; he was fun to laugh at.

            We broke into smaller groups for the cab ride back to the hotel, and I ended up with Mike. "Never got your revenge, did you?" I asked.

The same light as earlier glittered in his eyes, and he smirked at me, "Not yet. But I will. Don't worry."

            I arched an eyebrow at him, then shrugged and watched as the lights of LA went past the windows of the taxi. I wasn't the one he was plotting against, so I wasn't all that concerned. Besides, it would be fun to laugh at Legwand when Mike finally got back at him.

            Mike's room was across the hall from mine, and I waved goodnight, then slipped the keycard into my door. As the light flickered to green, I was pushed into the room, then up against the now closed door. "What the hell?" I asked, staring down into Mike's fiery brown eyes.

            Without warning, he pressed his lips hard against mine, and my eyes fluttered shut as his tongue forced entrance into my mouth. His tongue, tasting of scotch, rolled against mine, then licked over the edges of my teeth. When it retreated, his teeth took over, biting on my lower lip, then tugging on it. I tried to pull away, but he growled and wrapped his hands hard around my wrists. He held them up above my head, then kissed me again, running his tongue along the seam of my lips.

            When he pressed his hips against mine, I stopped fighting him...and myself. I let myself sag against the door, knowing he was going to hold me up. "On the bed," he growled, mischief darkening his eyes.

            I toppled back on the bed, and he landed on top of me, his lips capturing mine in another bruising kiss. He reached into his pocket, then grabbed my wrist. I glanced up just in time to see him tie me to the bed using the skate laces I'd lent to him. He tied the other wrist down as well, and then he smirked down at me.

             "Revenge," he explained, "you wouldn't tell me who did it."

            He moved a bit until he was straddling me, one knee on either side of my hips. He loosened my tie, rolled it into a ball, then stared at it, apparently contemplating something. "Nah, I want you to see all of this," he decided, tossing the tie to the floor.

            He pushed my sport coat out of the way, then grabbed the collar of my shirt, pausing for only a second. Then he pulled hard on each side, and the buttons started popping off, shooting in all different directions.

            "Mmm, very nice," he commented, running a fingertip along the tattoo decorating my chest. I shivered under his touch and he smiled, then slid his finger along my collarbone, up my throat, and to my lips. He lined them softly, then I opened my mouth and sucked the digit in, swirling my tongue around it. "I think..." he said harshly, "that we're going to have to put that mouth to better use."

            He stood from the bed and slipped his suit coat off, then discarded his tie with mine. I tugged at the skate laces around my wrists to no avail, so instead I let my eyes wander over Mike's body that was slowly being bared as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, then slipped his slacks down. His excitement was clearly evident by the tent in his gray boxers, and rather than dropping them, he crawled back onto the bed, once again with a leg on either side of me.

            "Flannel boxers," he told me as he slid up my chest. The head of his cock was just a centimeter from my mouth, and he thrust against me, the flannel soft on my chin and cheek, despite the hard shaft hidden beneath the fabric. I arched an eyebrow at him curiously, and he nodded in answer to my unspoken question. "Yes, right through the flannel. Now."

            He thrust again, and this time, I opened my mouth and let him inside. The flannel made my lips dry, but the look on his face--complete ecstasy--made me pull an extra couple of inches into my mouth. He moaned loudly as my tongue pressed hard along the underside of his dick until I had to pause to try to get some moisture to my mouth. He shuddered as I blew a stream of air over the now damp fabric encasing his cock, then he slipped back down my chest and stomach.

            He pressed a kiss to my mouth, less forceful than before, more passionate. His hands slid down my sides to the front of my pants, which he discarded in much the same way as my shirt. I heard the zipper being pulled apart, and then felt the fabric slip down my legs and off of my ankles.

            He slipped a finger into the waistband of my dark blue boxers, then he pulled them slowly down to uncover my hipbones, then further until my cock came free, and in an instant, his hand was wrapped around the base of my shaft. "Your turn," he whispered and opened his mouth wide around the head of my cock. My head fell back, and my vision blacked out a bit as I felt his the skin of his throat surround me. He pulled away until only an inch was still feeling the suction of his lips, and then he took me deep into his throat again, the muscles working until I wasn't sure I was still breathing.

            Then the world tipped, because a saliva slick finger slipped into me, sending a shock up my spine and making my body tremble from the intensity of the double stimulation. Without asking if I was ready, Mike slipped a second finger in, and this time I moaned his name and begged for mercy.

            As if to frustrate me more, Mike sat up and smirked at me, "What was that Andy? What did you want?"

             "Mike..." I pleaded, breathless.

            "What? Did you like my fingers inside you?" he asked, crawling up towards me. "Do you like being controlled?" He leaned close to me, his lips right next to my ear, his breath tickling my cheek. "Do you want me, Andy?"

            "Yes..." I breathed, thrusting my hips up at him.

            "Want me to fuck you?" he asked, then ran his tongue along my earlobe.

             "Mike...just...please..." I begged.

            He wriggled free of his boxers, then pulled my legs up so I could wrap them around his waist. "Sweet, sweet revenge," he murmured, grinning at me, then thrust into me.

            I arched off the bed, biting my lip to keep from screaming in pain, with tears tickling the back of my eyes, until I got used to the size of him. He was still for a long moment, waiting for me to adjust, and when my moans turned from agony to growls of desire, he started to move. In and out, a slow, steady rhythm that sent my already racing pulse to a speed I hadn't known possible.

             "Andy..." he groaned, pushing me hard into the mattress with each thrust of his hips. His movements became quicker, less controlled, and as I felt myself slipping further and further into the dizzying black of orgasm, I realized I liked knowing he was losing control.

            He came a moment after I did, and when he stopped shaking, he collapsed against me, his energy spent. He languidly reached up to untie me, then pulled the blankets up over the mass of tangled, sweaty limbs in the center of my bed. I glanced over at the laces and smiled to myself. Mike thought he was the one controlling me, but in all reality, he didn't have any more control than I did.