Page 184 of No Line Change

Dylan bristled. “Because I wasn’t warmed up anymore by the time⁠—”

“I didn’t tell Novak you were hurt,” Henri said. “He played normally most of the game, yes?”

“What?” Henri saw the exact moment it clicked. Dylan went pale, and the tight lines of his anger loosened into fear. “What?” This time the question was much smaller.

“He noticed you weren’t looking good. Asked me if you were okay. I said you were,” he assured him. It hadn’t been fun lying to Novak of all people, but Henri wouldn’t expose Dylan when he was trying so hard not to let it show. “But…he’s known you for years. He saw how you were playing. I don’t think it’s obvious to anyone else yet, but…”

But it’s only a matter of time.

Dylan stared blankly at him. This was so outside of what he was used to dealing with that he couldn’t properly process it.

“I can still play,” he said weakly. He sounded broken, the words all jagged edges as they fell from his lips and ruined everything they touched. “I’m not useless.”

Henri closed the distance and wrapped Dylan in a hug, making sure to get him around the chest and not his arms. He squeezed tightly, tighter than usual, to show he knew Dylan wasn’t fragile. He was hurt, but not shattered. And maybe shattering.

“I know, mon coeur. But you are so very good at hockey, so it’s obvious when you are even a little worse than usual. I know you want to play. We need you, we do, even hurt, but…”

But is it worth it? Would you risk ruining yourself forever for this?

“I want to win,” Dylan said in answer to Henri’s unspoken question. “We’re so close. It’s so hard to get this close. I can handle it. Five more games.”

Assuming they’re all wins…

Scared of what else they might say, Henri kissed Dylan. If comfort and assurance were what he needed, Henri had plenty of ways to offer it. He kissed along Dylan’s neck, down his clothed chest and abdomen until he dropped to his knees. He looked up at Dylan and mouthed at his hardening cock.

“I can help you forget,” he said. “Help you relax.”

“Yes,” Dylan breathed. “Please.”

“Comme vous voulez.” He pulled down the waistband of Dylan’s sweatpants. “Je suis à toi, mon coeur.”

As you wish. I’m yours, my heart.

He took his time taking Dylan apart with his mouth until Dylan could no longer stand. Then he gently, so gently, guided him to the edge of the bed (and much less gently pushed his duffel bag onto the ground).

“What would you like?” He kissed along Dylan’s thigh, down to the knee, then moved to the other leg to start over.

“I’ll fall asleep if you keep doing that.”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

Dylan sat up just enough to give him a bitchy look. “I want to come first.” He flopped back down. Adjusted his shoulder and lay his right arm over his chest. “Then sleep.”

“And how would you like to come?” He kissed the base of Dylan’s dick and brushed his fingers across his hole. Dylan arched off the bed.

“Down your throat,” he moaned. “With your fingers inside me.”

“Comme vous voulez,” Henri said again. His goal was to make Dylan so boneless, so calm, that he’d actually sleep well tonight. He’d been tossing and turning, waking himself every time he moved the wrong way. He wouldn’t magically be healed with a good night’s sleep, but they’d both feel better.

Henri grabbed the lube from the duffel bag and set to work. He licked Dylan from balls to tip, lapped at the precome, then did it again and again until Dylan was writhing.

“More,” he whined. “I said I want your fingers⁠—”

“I haven’t forgotten.” He took the head of Dylan’s dick into his mouth and tongued at the slit. This time, it was Henri who moaned at the taste, salty and familiar and just for him. While he used his tongue to coax more precome out, he set to work with the lube. He didn’t waste time teasing, immediately pushing a finger in up to the knuckle. He stretched and fucked shallowly until Dylan’s hand came to rest on his head.

“Deeper,” Dylan urged and guided his head farther down his cock. “Hand too.” So he thrust deeper. Dylan pulled his hair to urge him into the rhythm he wanted, and Henri complied. He matched his hand with his mouth, only stopping to add more lube and another finger. When he hit Dylan’s prostrate, he cursed and started fucking up into Henri’s mouth.

“God, Hen. Fuck, you look beautiful like this. Gonna come, sweetheart. Holy fuck…”