For a while, Bobby and Getzy have had this -- thing. Sometimes they're both in a dry spell, and then they'll trade handies. It's no big deal, except for how, well, sometimes Bobby wishes it was kind of a big deal, at least for the two of them.
Then the 2013 season comes to an end, and Bobby is pretty sure that he's just finished his last season with the Ducks. Maybe Getzy knows it too, because he shows up on Bobby's doorstep a couple of times. The first time, they sit on the couch and jerk each other off, the same as they do in hotel rooms, and Getzy sleeps on the couch and leaves in the morning.
The second time -- the second time is weird. Well, it starts off normal enough. Getzy insists on getting Bobby off first, and Bobby squeezes his eyes shut when he comes, like always. When he gets his hand on Getzy's dick, he tries to be cool about it, acting like he's never thought about how maybe he could use his mouth instead.
Maybe it doesn't come across, because when they're done, Getzy says, "Well, I'd better be going," and heads for the door.
"Wait," Bobby says, jumping up to catch him before he can think better of it. "Getzy --"
Getzy turns back towards him, and Bobby just -- he wants him. He wants him so badly, and what if this is the last time? What if he won't see Getzy again before their teams are playing each other, and this is it?
No. No way is it going to end like this. Bobby vaults over the back of the couch and lets the momentum carry him right up into Getzy's space, clutching Getzy's shoulders, pressing his mouth to Getzy's like he can put all of his confused longing into one kiss.
Getzy's back hits the wall with a dull thud. He kisses back, but at first, he keeps his hands in his pockets. Suddenly, it's like a switch flips -- and then Getzy grabs him by the hips and yanks him in closer, turning them so now Bobby's the one pressed against the wall.
It's -- Bobby can hardly believe how awesome it feels, Getzy's mouth, Getzy's weight, Getzy's hands -- and then Getzy pulls back. Bobby tries to follow him, but Getzy keeps him pinned with one hand on his chest.
"I have to go," Getzy says, and he's out the door.
The next time, Bobby's not expecting it at all. He hasn't even been hoping, really. Getzy just bursts in when Bobby's busy making dinner and brackets Bobby's waist on the edge of the counter with his hands, so close that Bobby can feel Getzy's breath on his cheek. "I had to see you," he says.
"What do you mean?" Bobby wets his lips.
"What do you think?" Getzy presses his forehead to Bobby's. Their noses bump, and Bobby tries to meet his eyes, but he's so close they're just a blur.
"I don't know," he says.
Getzy doesn't respond. He slants his mouth against Bobby's, kissing him, biting his lower lip, and Bobby melts against him. He digs his fingers into the hard muscle of Getzy's shoulders, like he can plaster them together.
Then Getzy pulls back. "Where do you want me to fuck you?"
Bobby catches his breath. "The bed," he says. They haven't done it before, and he doesn't know if they'll ever do it again, so he wants to make it good.
"Well?" Getzy hauls him away from the counter by the shoulder and smacks him on the ass, making him laugh almost drunkenly. This is happening.
In the bedroom, Getzy yanks Bobby's polo shirt over his head and shoves his pants down. Bobby fumbles at the buttons on Getzy's shirt and mouths at his neck.
"Let me," Getzy says, and pulls the shirt off over his head. He throws it aside and kisses Bobby again, hands stroking down Bobby's sides and into his pants.
It feels like no time at all before Bobby is on all fours on the bed, with Getzy covering him, driving into him, sinking his teeth into the side of his neck. Bobby arches back into him and groans. "Getzy, fuck --"
"Yeah," Getzy says, "Bobby," and oh, God, it's good. His hands clench on Bobby's hips, hard enough to leave marks, and then he reaches around and gets one on Bobby's dick.
"Ah!" Bobby cries out at the touch, and Getzy laughs into his neck. "Please --"
Getzy jacks him off roughly, twice as fast as he's fucking him, and it's not long before Bobby comes all over himself.
"Don't stop," he begs.
"Wasn't going to," Getzy says. He bites Bobby again, on the shoulder this time, and even though he's already gotten off, it's turning him on so much. He presses back against Getzy's mouth. "Good, that's good," Getzy mutters, stubble scraping Bobby's skin, hips slamming into his ass.
He comes and pulls out right away, taking off the condom before his dick is even soft. Bobby flops onto his side and watches him tie it off and toss it in the trash. "I have to go," Getzy says.
"No," Bobby says. "Why?"
"Because," Getzy says, putting on his pants with his back to Bobby. He tugs his shirt on over his head and turns back around, bending over to give Bobby a kiss.
Bobby returns it, pushing up on one elbow for some leverage. Getzy breaks the kiss, though, and stands back up. "Getzy," Bobby says helplessly.
"I'll -- see you later," Getzy says, and leaves.
Time passes. Bobby watches the technicolor bruises Getzy left on him fade, and gets ready to move his hockey-season stuff to Ottawa, and tries not to think about how badly he wants to have sex with Getzy again.
It doesn't work very well. Every time he jerks off, it's to an image of that night -- the stretch of Getzy's dick opening him up, the burn of Getzy's teeth digging into his skin, all of it.
One day, he's doing something completely unlike moping in his empty apartment in Ottawa when Mika texts him. getting u out of ur funk, it says. get ready!
"Uh-oh," Bobby says, scratching Pele behind the ears. "I don't like the sound of this."
Pele meows loudly. He probably doesn't like it either. Mika is a dog person.
Downstairs, Mika says, "We're getting ice cream," as Bobby climbs into the passenger seat.
"Okay," Bobby says -- slowly, but he's not going to say no.
They go to Stella Luna's, where they can sit in the window and watch Old Ottawa go by. Bobby orders sangria sorbet; Mike gets strawberry basil, and waits until Bobby's mouth is full before he puts his spoon down and starts to talk.
"Look," he says, "I know you had a life and all back in Anaheim, or whatever, but Ottawa's not a bad place."
Bobby gulps. "I know."
"I'm not, like, your therapist," Mika continues. "But a good team is made up of happy teammates. So -- get happy."
"That's fair," Bobby says. He takes another bites of his sorbet and savors it thoughtfully. "Thanks."
It's October before the Senators take their road trip out to play the Ducks. Bobby doesn't know what he's going to do when he sees Getzy. Well, he does -- keep skating, since it's warmups, and fans are watching, and this is his job. Metaphorically, though, he doesn't know what to do. Getzy looks exactly the same, and even as he's shooting the puck into the net, he's thinking about Getzy touching him.
What if he doesn't? No. That's -- Bobby's not even going to think about that. Even if it's just for a moment, Getzy is going to touch him again.
The game is a blur, and so is their post-game dinner. The Ducks win 1-0, which isn't a surprise, although Bobby thinks the Sens gave them a pretty good run for their money. Then he's standing outside, and there's Getzy.
"Let's get out of here, eh?" Getzy pats him on the shoulder.
"Yeah," Bobby manages to agree.
Getzy drives them back to his place. Bobby's mouth feels like it's glued shut, and Getzy doesn't say anything either, but the silence is pretty comfortable.
Inside, Bobby goes right to the kitchen sink and gets himself a glass of water. He drinks it down and sets the glass down in the sink; when he turns around, Getzy backs him up against the counter. It's just like the last time, and Bobby's heart leaps.
"Don't date Zibanejad," Getzy says.
"...I'm not," Bobby says dazedly.
"Good." He hopes Getzy is going to kiss him then, but he just stands there, in Bobby's space, breathing Bobby's air.
"I don't want to date him," Bobby adds.
"Good," Getzy says again, but he still doesn't move.
"I want to date you," Bobby pushes on, daringly.
Getzy starts to smile. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, I do." This time, Getzy does move -- he kisses Bobby like he's drowning, crushing them together, dragging his teeth over Bobby's bottom lip. When he pulls away, he doesn't go far, just barely giving Bobby enough room to breathe.
"Plenty of guys do long distance during the season," Getzy says, so close that Bobby can almost feel his lips move.
"Sure," Bobby agrees. "That works."
"I want to make you scream," Getzy continues.
"Yeah, I want that too." Bobby sort of wiggles against him, desperately.
Getzy smacks him on the thigh. "Quit that," he says.
"Make me," Bobby retorts. He's so happy he's almost giddy.
"Make you, huh?" Getzy looks at him like he's sizing him up. "Maybe I will." He grabs Bobby around the legs, making him squawk, and hauls him over his shoulder like a sack of indignant potatoes.
"Hey!" Bobby shouts, but he is getting a pretty great view of Getzy's ass in motion. "What is this, Tarzan?"
Getzy laughs -- Bobby can feel his shoulder shaking under his stomach -- but he doesn't answer, just pushes open the door to his bedroom and deposits Bobby on the bed. Bobby sits up, takes off his jacket, and starts to unbutton his shirt.
"Let me," Getzy says. He pushes Bobby's hands away, and Bobby does let him, not moving except to get his arms out of the sleeves. He stares at Getzy instead, the way he looks so focused and intense as his hands take Bobby's clothes apart. He wants those hands to take him apart.
"Pants," Getzy says, and Bobby shifts his weight to let him take those off, too. Then, jeez, he's naked in Getzy's bed, and Getzy still has his suit on.
"What about you?" he asks, resisting the urge to cover his junk.
Getzy gives him a long, slow once-over, and grins. "What about me? Is there something you want?"
"You," Bobby says, blushing furiously. "I just want you."
That seems to be what Getzy wanted to hear, because he strips off in record time, and then he's on top of Bobby, pressing him into the bed, covering him.
"What do you want me to do to you?" Getzy asks, his breath hot on Bobby's neck. "Because I guaran-fucking-tee I want to do it. I want to do everything to you."
Bobby nudges his face around for a kiss, a long messy one that leaves him gasping. "What if I'm into weird stuff?"
Getzy pushes himself up so he's hovering over Bobby. His eyes look wild. "I'd do weird stuff for you," he says, and it feels like a promise.
A laugh bubbles up from Bobby's chest. "Cool," he says, and kisses Getzy again.
"First, though, I want to blow you."
Bobby gulps. "Okay," he says.
Getzy grins at him and starts moving down, and Bobby has to think about naked coaches and spelling bees like a teenager to keep from coming just like that. It's exactly like he imagined, only better -- Getzy's rough and enthusiastic, and he's not imaginary, either.
"Want you to fuck me after," Bobby manages to say between gasps, and Getzy groans around his dick and reaches down between his own legs.
He swallows when Bobby comes, then leans down off the bed to fish around in his pants pocket.
"You had a condom in your game day suit?"
"What, didn't you?" Getzy asks, gloving up.
"I wasn't expecting -- I mean, I didn't think --"
Getzy stops Bobby's babbling with a kiss. "I was," he says. "How do you want it?"
"On my back," Bobby says quickly. "I want to see your face."
And it is.
Getzy drops Bobby off at the hotel after they shower. "Text me or something," he says, as Bobby unbuckles his seat belt.
"I will," Bobby promises.
"Warn me if it's going to be a dick pic, though."
"Do you want dick pics?" Bobby glances at him.
Getzy grins. "Damn right, I do."
Bobby smiles back at him. "Okay, awesome. Labeled dick pics only."
"Good." Getzy reaches out and squeezes his hand. "Later, Bobby."
"Later." Bobby has to restrain himself from whistling as he heads back into the hotel. This time, he's sure there will be a later.