Lyle for sure would be first to procreate. Kelly was too young, and I was too… well, too devoted to hockey. That would work as a reason. So yeah, Lyle and his steady girlfriend of seven years, Carmine, would be the baby makers. Maybe he would make little kidlets who resembled the rest of us even if he had been switched at birth.
That was just joshing though because Lyle looked like the rest of us with dark hair and Dad’s gray eyes. He even had Mom’s chin. So, despite his uptight ways he was a Chavkin, and we loved him.
“Are you okay?” Finn asked, spread out like a holiday buffet.
My mind snapped back from my brother and centered right on that sweet ass covered with dark green cotton briefs—well-fitted briefs at that. Finn was fidgeting, moving his hips as if lying on his stomach was uncomfortable.
“Yep, just warming up the oil,” I lied. I was not all right. My dick was in complete control and that was never a good thing. I positioned myself with my erection hidden beneath the table Finn was twitching nervously on.
I rubbed my hands together after applying lots of peppermint-scented oil to warm them then placed my slick palms on Finn’s tense shoulders. The aroma of peppermint and abject fear filled the room. Finn tightened even more when my hands landed on his back.
“Christ,” I mumbled as I began kneading the rock-hard mass of muscle along his shoulders and up into his hairline. “How did you get so tight up here?”
“Skating with my shoulder muscles?” he replied into the padded tabletop.
Oh-kay. Well, that made no sense but whatever. “Today I want you to try to loosen up a little. Now that you know how to fall—”
“And stand,” he added, his voice muffled by the table.
“Right, and stand, you can be less rigid.”
Speaking of rigid…
I shifted my boner to the side with a roll of my hips as the heel of my hands worked the knots free. Slowly Finn began to relax. His breathing was still choppy, and his hips twitched, which made my eyes drop to his ass. Actually, they kind of stayed on his ass as my hands just did their own thing and my mind wove raunchy vignettes. Short little flicker movies where I was lapping at the tight globes I was now drooling over.
Finn mumbled something. It was hard to decipher what as his nose was bent sideways and his lips were pressed to the dark green matting.
“What?” I asked, pulling my wolfish eyes from his backside to gaze down at him. “Are you having a cramp?”
I pulled back, slick hands falling to my side, as he pushed to his hands and knees with haste.
“Cramps, yes, cramps,” he blurted as he did a few cat and dog yoga moves, arching his back like a cat then tucking his head and tush inward. “Cramps. So bad.”
“Where?” If they were in his calves I knew from years of experience how to work those out. You just—
“Cramps,” he replied as he fumbled to get seated while covering his crotch. His hand was in no way big enough to hide the massive hard-on he was sporting. I may have stared at the sight. Finn fell to his side and began apologizing. “I’m sorry. Oh my God, I am so sorry.”
There was a wet spot on the front of his briefs. Holy shit how hot was that?! My head was now vacant of all thoughts that didn’t have to do with his cock in my hand. Or mouth. Or ass. I was vers. All sex was good. Or I could fuck him. I was so down with that.
Excuse me, but this is not professional trainer behavior.
Okay, for starters I am not a professional trainer. I’m a hockey player giving this sexy mother lessons on how to skate for charitable reasons. Fuck off.
Stop being crude and obtuse. Why are you lusting after straight guys? Are you the star of some sad little LGTBQ drama about the gay guy yearning for the straight man? Honestly, Cameron, I should think you would know better than to allow your penis to lead you into this kind of one-sided affair.
Ugh, fucking Lyle. But mental big bro had a point. This was not at all cool of me to be perving on the guy. He was straight. And yes, all guys were capable of popping wood when getting a massage. Didn’t mean they were queer in any way. Cocks just had minds of their own.
“Hey, no, man, it’s fine. Don’t be embarrassed, dicks just do that.” There, that should put him at ease. “I know lots of guys who get hard when getting a rubdown. Straight guys on my team. It happens.” His bright blue eyes opened. He was still curled into a ball, his hands covering his sizeable junk, and his cheeks scarlet. Poor guy. Someone should help him out. I blinked at the tiny dirty voice in my head. Somewhere in the corners of my brain pan I could hear Lyle choking on the sip of his masala chai then sputtering said tea all over his white dress shirt and checkered tie. Either he was choking on his drink or the demon that ran the lever to my prick had slapped a sleeper hold on him like I used to do when we were younger and still yearned to do at times now.
“I just… this never happens when Tin Pan, my masseuse, comes to my house,” he confessed, his voice tighter than his damn shoulders. Which were now drawn up to his ears, so all that hard work was lost because of a stiff dick.
“Maybe she’s not as pretty as I am,” I joked, hoping it would ease his mind a little.
“She’s not,” he whispered as his gaze roamed over me. If I flicked my hips right now, I could flip the table over with my enormous boner.
One of those silent but powerful moments took place then. My brain—which was floating in a sea of testosterone—began connecting dots. There were just two. Dot one was that my touch made him hard. Dot two was that he thought I was hot. One two, buckle my shoe, this guy was hiding something about his sexuality.
“I’m incredibly bi,” I chanced saying, as if he didn’t know that already. “With a new preference for blond men with big pecs, freckles, and a cock that needs some relief.”
Oh, dear God, Cameron Mitchell Chavkin, what the hell are you doing here? Why not just hit him with a porn line like, “Why don’t you let me take care of that for you?” while you’re making a total ass of yourself over this straight man!
Thing is, Bro, I don’t think he’s as straight as he’s playing.
My hunch was proven when Finn, cheeks still candy apple-red, reached out a shaky hand to find one of mine. His fingers slid easily into my hand. His big eyes were fearful but cloudy with lust as he watched me intently.
Bang!
Something clattered outside, and he leaped up as if the room was on fire.
Low voices grew closer—possibly cleaning crew, or admin, or someone else who wasn’t aware this was a closed rink situation.
I toppled back as Finn shoved me to get past, catching the edge enough to keep me from taking a total header as he fucking flew off the massage table like Superman.
Panic filled the room as I struggled to get to my feet. Finn was melting down in a major way.
“That did not happen! Oh shit! No, no, no, no, no, nonononononono!” He threw on his shirt, yanked up his pants, and raced out of there. I got to my feet, stepped on the bottle of peppermint oil, and then slid across the room at top speed. The wall stopped the unwanted forward momentum. My nose kissed the chilly cinderblock. Hard.
“Fuck!” I spat, reeling from the impact as blood started dribbling from my nostril, and I yanked up my practice jersey to use as a mop, I held the cloth to my nose, and headed out of the door to find Finn. He was gone. Totally out of sight, so I ran full bore to the front doors. There I caught a glimpse of Finn’s car tearing out of the parking lot. Stepping out into the heat I padded over to where he’d been parked and picked up one of his gold and black Prada sneakers, size twelve.