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“And how many courses would this snack entail?” Henri took off his coat and hung it up, making sure the puck stayed in his pocket.

“Ha ha, Mr. Funny Guy. I was thinking toast and peanut butter.”

Henri started to agree, then shook his head. “After, maybe.”

“After?” Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “After what, Hen?”

“Oh, I think you know.” He crossed the enormous foyer, the living room, and walked close enough to lay his hands on Dylan’s chest. “Let’s go to bed.”

Henri walked behind Dylan, watching as Dylan untucked his shirt, loosened his tie, undid button after button. He was just so handsome, and Henri loved watching his muscles work. He lingered in the doorway to watch as Dylan kicked off his slacks and tossed his wrinkled clothes onto the dresser. When he was down to just his briefs, Dylan noticed that Henri was still fully dressed.

“I feel like I was tricked,” Dylan said. “Why do you get clothes?”

“Because I’m tired and I need help taking them off.” He lifted his arms a little and was thrilled when Dylan obeyed.

“Only because you were first star of the game,” Dylan teased. He turned his full attention to undressing Henri. He took his time, giving each button undue care, smoothing out any potential wrinkle as he went, carefully easing the shirt off. Then he dropped to his knees to work on the belt, the fly, the pants. Henri was in heaven, enjoying a touch that was barely sexual. His head lulled back, and he closed his eyes so he could shut out everything but the feel of⁠—

“Henri!”

Henri nearly fell backward. “What? What is it?” He looked down and saw Dylan was staring in horror at Henri’s hip. The bruise had been a faint thing in the locker room, but it had already turned dark and ugly since then. Henri grimaced, wondering how long that would take to go away.

“Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?” Dylan ran a finger along his skin a hair’s breadth from the edge of the bruise. His skin prickled in warning, but it didn’t hurt.

“I hit the goalpost when that guy tripped me.” He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I’m just pale.” That last part, at least, was true.

Dylan didn’t look convinced. He kissed above the bruise, right on Henri’s hipbone. “I’m glad I didn’t know during the game. I would’ve knocked that guy’s lights out.”

Not knowing how to respond, he cupped Dylan’s neck and ran a thumb through his hair. Why were they talking about hockey when Dylan was on his knees in front of him?

As if reading his mind, Dylan turned his attention back to Henri’s body. The suit pants pooled at his feet, but instead of helping Henri step out of them, he nuzzled Henri’s half-hard cock.

“You played so good today,” Dylan said, so close that Henri could feel every word as it hit his dick. “You deserve a reward.”

Henri gulped. His grip tightened around Dylan’s neck for balance, and he felt Dylan’s arms wrap around his waist to steady him.

“A reward for doing my job?” It was easier to dismiss it. He knew he’d done well, but he’d done well before and had nothing to show for it. There was an unfortunate amount of luck required in sports, and it felt like claiming the good in his favor meant that the bad was part of him too.

“Shut up,” Dylan scolded. He kissed along Henri’s dick through the fabric, mouthing through the material. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you…” Henri pushed through the arousal making his thoughts like lead. An image soon crystallized, one long promised but long avoided. “I want you to fuck me.”

Dylan froze and buried his face in Henri’s abdomen. “Hen...”

He pulled at Dylan and nudged him to his feet. “You asked. I want my reward. I want you inside me.”

If he thought Dylan didn’t actually want to have sex, he wouldn’t push, but he’d heard Dylan’s very vocal and enthusiastic response to the prospect during phone sex; they both knew this was something Dylan wanted and was just too nervous to take.

“C’mon.” He kissed Dylan’s hand and led him to the bed. “We practiced. Get out the lube and show me what you learned.”

In a daze, Dylan grabbed the lube Henri had gotten for him a week ago and left in easy reach of the bed. He seemed unsure about the condoms, looking at Henri for guidance.

“It’s a little less messy if we use them,” Henri offered. They were both medically cleared for any and all extracurricular activities, so Dylan had seemed confused when they’d appeared next to the lube. Not that he’d said anything. This was an area where he trusted Henri’s expertise and seemed embarrassed about his own inexperience.

Dylan took a condom and put it on the edge of the bed. “How are we…?”

At this, Henri made a face. He’d considered several positions, imagined all of them in vivid detail, but in none of those fantasies did he have legs made of jelly or a bruise the size of his hand.

Riding Dylan was out. Henri probably wouldn’t make it.