Tyler’s breath came in shallow bursts, the air thick with the scent of sweat and something achingly sweet that clung to his skin and seemed to bloom from the sheets. Sunlight crept across the battered motel room, painting stripes across the tangled bed, illuminating the bruises and bite-marks blooming pale and pink on his collarbone. Dylan’s arm was heavy around his waist, his face slack and peaceful in the dawn light. There was an unfamiliar tenderness in the way Dylan’s thumb unconsciously traced circles against Tyler’s side.
He stared at the ceiling, memories flickering behind his eyes—the shock of Dylan’s weight pressing him down, the way his own body had arched, desperate, greedy, betraying him with every gasp and whimper. The knot was gone now, just a dull ache lingering where Dylan’s body had fit so perfectly against his, but Tyler felt strange inside: hollowed out and somehow… filled.
What the hell happened to us? The question thudded, heavy and relentless, against his racing heart. He tried to recall the night before, but it was a haze of heat and honey-scent, vague flashes of a bar, the strange old woman with the sharp eyes, the drink that tasted like summer. After that, everything blurred.
He shifted, careful not to wake Dylan. The movement sent a spark of sensation through his core, and goosebumps broke out across his skin. He swallowed, pressing a hand to his stomach. That same heat simmered beneath the surface, as if his body was still waiting for something, refusing to let go of last night’s madness.
Dylan murmured in his sleep, his nose brushing the crook of Tyler’s neck. Tyler’s breath hitched as lips grazed the place where neck met shoulder. "You always smell so damn good," Dylan muttered, voice slurred by sleep.
Blood rushed to Tyler’s cheeks. He should get up—shower, dress, put as much distance as possible between them before the others in the team woke up and found them in bed together. But it was hard to move, hard to even think past the soft, insistent buzz of pleasure still humming in his veins.
A sudden, sharp knock at the door jolted him upright. Dylan snapped awake, his hand tightening protectively at Tyler’s waist. For one irrational, wild moment, Tyler thought it was the old woman from the bar, come to see what her potion had wrought.
“Tyler?” It was Coach Mark’s gruff voice, muffled but unmistakable. "Dylan? You boys awake? The bus leaves in fifteen."
Panic slammed through Tyler, white and cold. The team—he’d forgotten about the tournament, about the schedule, about everything that mattered. He sat up fast, and the sheet slipped down, baring the evidence of last night’s marks.
Dylan blinked, his eyes clearing, taking in the situation. "Shit," he whispered, then louder, "Yeah, Coach! We’re up!" His face was ashen, but his tone was steady.
Another knock, impatient. "Hustle, boys. Don’t be late."
Footsteps faded down the hall. Tyler swung his legs out of bed, clutching the sheet around his waist. Dylan sat up slowly, his gaze lingering on Tyler’s bare back, something uncertain flickering in his eyes.
Tyler’s heart hammered. They had less than fifteen minutes to make themselves presentable, to hide all traces of what had just happened. He glanced down, noticing the faint, sticky sheen between his thighs, the aching throb deep inside. His body felt traitorous, unfamiliar.
Dylan reached out, hesitated, then withdrew his hand. His voice was low, hoarse. "Tyler—are you okay?"
A wild urge to laugh or scream built in Tyler’s chest. He bit it back, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to fall apart. If anyone on the team saw them like this, if even a whisper of what had happened got out…
A second, sharper knock came—this time from the adjoining wall. Another teammate, already awake. Voices drifted in the hallway, teasing and shouting, the familiar chaos of hockey boys on a road trip. There was no more time.
He met Dylan’s gaze, pulse thudding in his throat, realizing that whatever magic had changed them last night wasn’t done with them yet. One false move, one lingering touch, and everything they’d fought for could unravel.
In the next minute, the whole world could find out what they’d done. Tyler’s heart was a drumbeat of terror and want.