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Laurent was going to be a mess. Isaac just knew it.
The game in Asheville was one of the nastier games of hockey Isaac could remember, even more so because he was watching instead of playing. And that was hard, because he wanted to be playing. Seeing those assholes in their black, blue, and orange uniforms made him angry, but being on the bench and watching Denis St. Savoy was like torture.
He wanted to leap over the boards, skate across the ice, and put his fist in St. Savoy, Sr.’s mouth. Like that bench brawl in Toledo last season, only he wanted his whole team to dog-pile that sorry excuse for a man and beat him to a pulp, like he did to Laurent.
That was violent and inappropriate, but Isaac couldn’t help it.
He wondered how Laurent felt, playing his old team with a new one in front of him that didn’t like him all that much. The outward hostility had cooled somewhat since Laurent was making an effort, but he still wasn’t the easiest guy to get to know.
And the guys knew that Laurent playing his old team was a Thing, even if they didn’t know the extent of it. Isaac had yelled at them on the bus, during warm-ups, and in the locker room during intermission to go out there and demolish the Ravens, and of course they wanted revenge for the playoffs the year before, so they didn’t necessarily need Isaac egging them on.
When a team was knocked out of the playoffs, they typically beat that team the next time they met, and that game was no exception. The Spitfires scored three goals before the end of the second, and no matter how many fancy plays the Ravens ran or how many insults they hurled at the Spitfires or their new goalie, they couldn’t find the back of the net with a floodlight.
And for the first time, Isaac saw just how good a goaltender Laurent was.
He was amazing.
Isaac was a good goalie, and he had a lot of natural grace and flexibility to thank for that. His stature wasn’t as broad, and he wasn’t as tall as most goalies, so he’d improved his speed and flexibility to compensate.
But as he watched Laurent, he was amazed the guy wasn’t in the NHL. In practice and during drills he’d been fine, but it was hard to measure a goalie’s talent when you had an entire hockey team skating and shooting pucks at him. Even the year before, when Laurent was in net for the Ravens, Isaac didn’t remember seeing that sort of performance from him.
I threw those games in Asheville.
Laurent was way better than the performance he turned in during the playoffs.
And he was as quiet and reserved in the locker room as always, but with more intensity and focus than his usual standoffish or prickish persona. He was also hot as fuck, with his thick dark hair all sweat tousled and his fair skin stained red from exertion.
In the second period intermission, no one said a word to him, but it wasn’t because they didn’t like him. It was because of superstition. Laurent was well on his way to a shutout, and referencing it in any way was bad luck.
The Spitfires won the game, 4-0, and for the first time, the whole team skated down the ice to give Laurent his helmet taps. Isaac was wearing his Spitfires cap, but he went out on the ice too.
Even Coach Samarin couldn’t quite keep his expression neutral when he gave Laurent a restrained pat on the back as he came in from the ice—unlike Coach Ashford, who enthusiastically knocked Laurent between the shoulder blades with a wide grin.
“Man, Saint,” Hux said to Laurent when they were getting ready to head to the hotel. “Those fuckers do not like you.”
“They don’t like anything,” Laurent said. “My fa—their coach makes sure they don’t.” He paused. “I don’t like them very much either.”
Isaac was proud of him for saying that, and the guys’ attitude thawed by a few more degrees.
But Isaac knew Laurent was going to be a mess after what was arguably a successful game, because he saw the man waiting to speak with Laurent when they were leaving the locker room.
Laurent, who’d fallen into step beside Isaac, looked not so much happy as grimly satisfied, which was better than his usual pissed-off expression. Isaac took a chance and bumped him with his shoulder. “Dude, that was awesome, Saint. You were great.”
And Laurent turned to him with an actual smile and said, “Thanks.”
Goddamn. He was so hot.
A cold voice interrupted Isaac’s admiration of his sort-of friend and fellow teammate.
“Laurent. I expect a word with you.”
Isaac’s entire body went rigid as he saw St. Savoy step out of the shadows toward his son and reach out for Laurent’s arm. And he reacted before he could think about it and stepped neatly in front of Laurent, even though St. Savoy, Sr. had just as many inches on Isaac as his son.
Fuck that shit. Isaac would show St. Savoy, Sr. what it meant to be scrappy. “We’ve got to catch the bus,” Isaac said, which wasn’t the most brilliant thing he could have come up with, but he was too keyed up by St. Savoy’s sudden appearance.
“I will speak to my son,” St. Savoy said, snidely and looked down his bulbous, stupid nose at Isaac.
“It’s fine,” Laurent muttered next to him.
“Seriously. We’ll be late. Don’t want to make Coach mad.” Because Isaac had never learned when to keep his mouth shut, he added, “We respect our coach enough to do what he says and follow the rules.”
Lamest jab ever, but it was something.
Laurent had inherited nothing from his unattractive father but his height and build, and St. Savoy, Sr. had eyes that were nowhere as rich a brown as his son. They were also cold and beady. And mean. Isaac hated him, because bullies pissed him off.
St. Savoy said something in French, and Laurent actually reached out and pushed Isaac aside—and not nicely. Isaac didn’t speak French, so he didn’t know what it was, or what Laurent said back to him. But he did know what it meant when Laurent said, “Leave it alone, Drake.” Return of the Prick, apparently.
There was only so much he could do. St. Savoy was Laurent’s father, and Laurent used that sneering, dickhead voice, but his eyes gave a different, far more desperate message. Please leave it alone.
“Okay. But you better be on the bus. You don’t want to have to walk.” Isaac hated leaving him there, but he didn’t want to give St. Savoy, Sr. any more reason to be mad at his son.
“Laurent is staying at home tonight,” his father said. He gave Isaac a disgusted stare. “My son doesn’t need to—”
“Ah, Drake. St. Savoy. There you are.” He heard Coach Samarin’s voice, even and smooth, as he moved toward them. “Please get on the bus so we can go to the hotel.”
“Samarin, you can’t stop me from speaking with my own son,” St. Savoy, Sr. snapped.
Coach Samarin looked at Denis St. Savoy as if he were nothing but a bug on the bottom of his shoe. “The bus. Both of you. Now.”
Isaac took a step, but Laurent’s father reached out and grabbed his son’s arm hard enough to make Laurent wince.
When Misha saw St. Savoy grab Laurent and saw Laurent’s automatic response, Isaac knew things were dangerous. Misha muttered in Russian and then stepped forward and said, “You may see your son on his time, not mine. The bus, Laurent, Isaac. Now.”
He didn’t touch Laurent, but when St. Savoy let go of his arm, he deliberately put himself between them. Samarin was taller than Denis and about a thousand times more dangerous.
Laurent’s face was pale and his dark eyes wide as he looked between his father and his coach. Isaac waited not one second longer and nudged him toward the bus. He knew instinctively that Laurent didn’t want to be touched, but he also knew that he would physically drag Laurent away if necessary.
St. Savoy was clearly going to try and say something about it to Coach Samarin, but Samarin just turned his back and walked away. That enraged St. Savoy, who shouted something at his son in French, and whatever it was, it made Laurent inhale sharply next to Isaac.
Everyone was talking on the bus. A few people had seen the altercation, but Coach Samarin’s face made everyone pause. He looked infuriated—the exact opposite of how he should look after a shutout win over their rivals. But then he sat down next to Coach Ashford, the engine turned on, and the bus was on its way.
Isaac looked out the window and could just see Denis St. Savoy’s figure, alone in the parking lot.
He resisted the urge to wave. Or maybe flip the guy off.
Laurent sat next to Isaac and trembled.
“What did he say?” Isaac asked in a low voice. He was surprised that Laurent wanted to sit next to him, but glad they could talk without anyone overhearing. “Saint?”
As always the name seemed to reach through whatever dark fog held Laurent in its grip. He gazed at Isaac. “I’m not telling you.”
“Why? Dude, I know he’s a prick. You can say it to me.”
“No. I promised I wasn’t going to say that stuff to you anymore.”
Isaac made a face. “That bad, huh?”
Laurent slumped down in his seat. “I can’t do that again.”
“Talk to him? You don’t have to,” Isaac promised, though he had no idea how he was going to keep it.
“No. I mean. Play like that,” Laurent said, drawing in on himself. “It’s too.... He’ll make me come back.” He looked around, visibly panicked. “He’ll expect that, but I’ll do it, and he’ll hate it. He can’t stand when I’m good. He can’t stand when I’m not good. He can’t stand me.”
“Hey.” Isaac was worried. He expelled a breath and thought about what he could say. “He can’t make us trade you. We’re not going to. Okay?”
Laurent gave a wild, trapped laugh. “You don’t know anything, Drake. You think you do, but you don’t. You have no idea what he can do... what he’s done.”
“Well, I know Coach Samarin could beat him up,” Isaac said seriously.
Laurent stopped talking. He looked at Isaac. “He could get Coach Samarin fired. And that’s what he told me he was going to do. He hates him. Because he stood up for me.”
“I don’t think he can do that,” Isaac said, trying to be soothing. “On what grounds? That Coach Samarin told his player it was time to get on the bus?”
Laurent opened his mouth, but suddenly Hux loomed over the seat in front of them. He held some comics in one hand and a graphic novel in the other. “Hey. Saint. Your dad sucks balls. Here’s your comics.” He handed over the Demon Detective series.
“And I don’t know if you’ve read Judge Dredd, but it’s awesome. Here’s the first one. He’s like, a dude that doesn’t smile and never takes his mask off. Like you, kinda. I mean you take your mask off, but you know.”
Laurent reached up and took the graphic novel. He blinked and then looked at Isaac.
“Anyway I don’t know what your problem is, but after seeing your dick ex-teammates on the ice, I figure you’re just not used to like, normal teammates who aren’t dickheads.” Hux nodded. “So sorry about the shower. We’re not dickheads. And that’s like, my favorite comic, so I hope you like it. It’s cool you like comics. Means you can’t be that bad. And no one else on the team reads anything, so tell me what you think when you’re done with it.”
“Thanks, Hux.” Laurent, whether he knew or it or not, used Huxley’s nickname.
“No problem. But like, if you go back to saying dumb shit? I will beat your French ass up and get those comics back.” Hux paused. “You’re French. Right?”
“I’m American,” Laurent said flatly. “My mother was French, my father is—”
“A huge dickwad,” Murph offered, popping up next to Hux like an ill-timed, well-meaning jack-in-the-box.
“French-Canadian,” Laurent finished. “But I was born here.”
“In a bus?”
“In America,” Isaac said, exasperated. “Seriously, y’all?”
“He says y’all, ’cause Drake’s from Memphis.”
“Cordova,” Laurent said. “He’s from Cordova.”
Isaac smiled, and something warm and totally unhelpful swirled inside. He didn’t need whatever was making him feel kind of dopey. He needed Laurent to not be hated by his teammates and for them to win the Kelly Cup and for Coach Samarin to go all Russian mobster on Denis St. Savoy.
And maybe to see Laurent walk around in nothing but a pair of jeans.
He didn’t need whatever it was making him feel all warm and stupid about the guy. No.
“Anyway, you played like a badass out there,” Murph continued. “But if you go back to being a dick, we’re all going to be mad.”
“I probably will,” Laurent said, surprising Isaac. “But I won’t mean it. Sometimes it’s just what I do.”
“Well, try and stop,” Hux said, and he and Murph popped back down and left Isaac and Laurent alone again as the bus pulled into their hotel parking lot.
Coach Samarin rose from the shadows, and it only took a moment for the whole bus to fall silent as they acknowledged him looming there in the dark.
“A very good game,” Coach Samarin said, and all traces of his earlier anger had vanished. “It is not easy to face one’s former team. But I think our Saint deserves some credit. Yes?”
That got a rousing cheer, and Laurent turned redder than usual and slumped down in his seat. Isaac noticed that Samarin had adopted the nickname, and figured it would stick. He was glad.
Isaac realized he shouldn’t cheer for a guy who might knock him out of his starter spot... but it would be nice to have a reliable backup. He just didn’t want to be the reliable backup. Lathrop had been a good player, but Isaac never felt his spot was in danger from him.
He remembered that Belsey said he put Laurent on the team as an incentive to Isaac, and he tried to put it out of his mind. If playing with Laurent helped him be a better goalie, then that was a good thing too.
Isaac usually left Laurent and spent the night in Hux and Murph’s room when they were on the road. But he wasn’t feuding with Laurent, so he figured he should probably stay in.
“You coming to our room? We were thinking pizza,” said Murph, and Isaac wondered for the millionth time if Murph and Hux knew how much they acted like they were dating.
Not even Coach Samarin and Coach Ashford said we as often as those two.
“Not tonight, I don’t think,” Isaac said. He glanced at Laurent, who had shouldered his gear and was waiting for Coach Ashford to give out the room keycards.
Hux and Murph stared at him. “What?” Isaac asked defensively.
“You remember that guy you were kinda dating?”
“Uh,” Isaac blinked. “No?”
“He’s a Raven. The only one who doesn’t suck.” Murph thought about that. “Or who does. I dunno how you guys work that out.”
“Xavier?” Isaac had a brief fling with the Ravens forward, Xavier Matthews, but it didn’t last, since Matthews refused to even consider coming out. He was a nice guy, but Isaac had no interest in staying with someone who couldn’t be honest about who he was.
He understood it wasn’t as easy for some people and that situations were different, but he knew himself, and it never would have worked. And Isaac rarely saw anyone more than a few times. He had never been all that keen on commitment.
“Yeah. Remember how you weren’t into the whole he’s not really gay thing?”
“He’s gay,” Isaac said dryly. “Trust me.”
“But you weren’t into him being like, closeted.”
“Right. And it was long-distance. And I suck at that. What is your point?” Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. “You think—you guys, trust me. Laurent is the literal definition of a hot mess. I’m trying to help. We’re trying to be friends, and that’s it. Okay?”
“You think he’s hot,” Murph accused. “That’s what literal means.”
“Duh. But remember how it gets me all mad when you think I can’t be friends with hot guys and not want to sleep with them?”
“Oh, we know,” Hux said. “But don’t lie. You know you want to.”
Well, he couldn’t lie about that. Isaac flipped his friends off, grabbed his gear, and headed for his room.
Laurent was in the bathroom by the time Isaac got there. He sat on the bed and wondered if Laurent was okay and what the fuck he could even do about it if he wasn’t.
Laurent came out of the bathroom dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, his wet hair slicked off his face and looking so insanely hot it wasn’t fair. The second his eyes met Isaac’s, he looked away. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Isaac grabbed his stuff and headed for the bathroom. He gave Laurent a friendly smile and felt a twinge of strange tension as he escaped into the small tiled shower. He picked up the little soap as he stood under the spray, rubbed it over himself and had an unbidden thought about Laurent doing the same. In Isaac’s imagination Laurent soaped up that goddamn gorgeous body of his and rubbed his hands all over his chest and the sleek muscles of his stomach.
Isaac got hard immediately. He tilted his head back, enjoyed the water and his fantasy, and pretended Laurent didn’t have more issues than The Hockey News and that he was gay or bi and totally into Isaac and didn’t have a crazy father and—
The thought of Denis St. Savoy’s evil face immediately killed Isaac’s good time. Isaac scowled, grabbed the shampoo, and viciously scrubbed at his scalp. When he saw blue Manic Panic dye beginning to run down the drain, he noted that he needed to re-dye his hair.
Isaac finished his shower and toweled off. He dried his hair with the blow dryer tucked beneath the counter to avoid staining the sheets of the bed with the dye. He padded back into the bedroom and expected to find Laurent asleep or reading comics. But he was sitting at the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands.
“He said I shouldn’t let you touch me or I might turn into a fag that takes it up the ass.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. Spoken like a man who’s never had anyone show him how magical his prostate is. “Original. You hungry?”
“He doesn’t even care. I know he doesn’t. He knows Matthews is gay. But he said it’s okay as long as you’re giving it and not the one on your knees.”
Isaac huffed and flopped back on his bed when it was apparent that Laurent was going to ignore him about dinner. “I bet your dad doesn’t know shit about sex with dudes.” He wondered if he should say anything about Xavier. He didn’t want to. It wasn’t a surprise that Xavier’s sexuality wasn’t as much a secret as he thought. Isaac had been telling him that for ages, but Xavier clearly wanted to believe otherwise.
Laurent looked at Isaac. “I don’t know anything about sex. I hate the thought of anyone touching me.”
“I know. You said that.” Isaac studied him. This was going somewhere, and he was suddenly afraid that he knew where. Not that he didn’t want things to go there, but.... In a way, he sort of didn’t. “What’s this about?”
Laurent got up, and walked over to Isaac’s bed, and stared down at him with his intense, sharp-eyed stare. “No one has ever. Done what you—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m.... Fuck,” he muttered. He crawled up the bed, all lean-limbed and graceful, and alarm bells went off in Isaac’s head just as quickly as his dick hardened in his pajama pants.
“Saint—”
“I tried to get off the other night. I kept thinking about you.”
Oh holy fuck. What? That was so not what Isaac needed to hear. Needed to think about, maybe, when he was alone. But right then? Yeah no. “Look, you’re probably just—”
“Don’t tell me what I am.” Laurent sat next to him. “Listen to me.”
Isaac shut up and listened. He tried to ignore how close Laurent was and how he could feel the warmth from Laurent’s body. “All right.”
“Usually when I do that, it’s just about getting off and getting it over with. I don’t think about anyone. Men, women. I don’t think about anything. But I thought about you. Why?”
Because I’m nice to you. But Isaac couldn’t bring himself to say that. “Because we hang out?”
“Maybe. I’ve been playing hockey and on teams my whole life, though. And I’ve never wanted any of my teammates to touch me.” Laurent moved closer. “Isaac?”
It was a terrible idea. Terrible. “Yeah?”
“Other people touch me, and it makes me want to be sick. But I don’t think that happens when you do it.”
How the fuck was he supposed to deal with that? Isaac stared at Laurent and searched his warm eyes, which were just the color of melted chocolate. Maybe with bits of caramel. Great. He was thinking about Laurent’s eyes like candy. Was he hungry or horny? Hard to tell.
“I don’t know what you want right now from this,” Isaac said. “You look like you had a rough night.”
“I got a shutout, Coach Samarin made my father go away, someone gave me comics, and people talked to me like a person.” Laurent gave a very small, genuine smile. “It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”
Isaac groaned and put his hand over his eyes. “Why are you doing this? Look, Laurent. I’m gay, and it doesn’t make me some kind of predator, but you are so goddamn hot and totally my type, and—mmph.”
Laurent suddenly pressed his mouth awkwardly against Isaac’s, and kept it there, not moving.
Lust hit Isaac like a slapshot to the gut. He twitched, his body heated, his cock got harder, and okay... it’d been awhile, but he shouldn’t be acting like that. He was attracted to Laurent. Sure. But his reaction was too intense for it to be merely about attraction.
Laurent pulled back. He looked terrified.
Isaac sighed, and then rolled on his side. “Come here. Lie down.”
Laurent faced him, but Isaac kept enough distance between them to make sure his sanity stayed intact. “What is this about?”
“I don’t know,” Laurent said. “Is your type assholes with daddy issues?”
It was so unexpected that Isaac gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Wow. No? Maybe? I don’t know. It’s usually just pretty. And that’s definitely you. How’d you get so hot, anyway? Your dad is so not good-looking enough to be your father.”
Something cold flashed in Laurent’s eyes, and his expression tightened. Isaac had said the wrong thing. But he answered anyway. “My mom was a model.”
“Was?”
“Maybe she still is. I don’t know. I’ve never met her. She didn’t want a kid, so my dad kept me.”
Talking about Laurent’s dad was nowhere near as awesome as kissing. Even if Isaac wasn’t sure they should be doing that either. “I don’t know that this is a good idea.”
“I’m sure it probably isn’t,” said Laurent. “I’m awful.”
“You’re... well, sometimes. Yeah,” Isaac said, teasing gently. “But I meant because you don’t like being touched. Is that what this is, you just want someone to touch you, and I don’t make you sick?”
“I thought about you. How you told me to be quiet. How you call me Saint. I don’t know what it means. You’re the only person I’ve ever met that I don’t hate.”
Oh great. That’s totally normal. “Because I’m nice to you.”
“You’re not that nice,” Laurent said, but he smiled again. “That’s the thing. You treat me like I’m normal.”
Isaac closed his eyes and groaned. “You don’t have, like, internalized gay panic do you? You can’t. That would make Murph right, and that’s just weird.” He opened his eyes. “Murph thought that was why you were always calling me a fag.”
Laurent had the grace to wince. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was a word that hurt you. That’s why I used it.”
“It doesn’t hurt me.” Isaac reached out and lifted Laurent’s chin. “I need you to understand that. I don’t care what you call me. I care about why you’re using it. Because you want it to hurt, and that’s what I’ve got a problem with. That and all the other people who aren’t me who might hear it, and who might feel bad because of it.”
“I know.” Laurent didn’t flinch from Isaac’s touch. “You should just go back to hating me.”
“Stop telling me what to do,” Isaac said. He pressed his mouth to Laurent’s and kissed him.
Laurent didn’t do anything, so Isaac pulled back. “You don’t even know if you’re gay,” he said. “You might not even like guys.”
Laurent’s brows drew together in a scowl. It did nothing to make him less attractive. “I don’t like anyone.”
Well, Isaac couldn’t argue with that. He leaned in again, kissed Laurent a little harder, and lightly stroked Laurent’s jaw.
“Do you like this?” Isaac asked when they broke apart.
“I don’t know,” Laurent said, frustrated. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I want you to stop touching me, but I’m not sure about kissing.” He exhaled loudly. “I like your lip ring, though.”
You should feel it on your cock. “Okay.” Isaac settled on his back and rested his hands behind his head.
“Do you want to touch me?”
Laurent gave him a tortured look. “How do I know?”
That probably meant no. Isaac’s cock throbbed, and he wanted to hit someone. “I don’t know how to tell you that. Are you turned on?”
Laurent had to think about that way too long for Isaac’s liking. Yet another reason it was a bad idea. Isaac was so hard he hurt.
“Could you just....” Laurent waved a hand to indicate himself.
“Perform magic? What?”
Laurent gave a little soft noise that Isaac realized was a laugh. “Try something. I feel tense.”
He wasn’t the only one. “You’re always tense, dude.”
“Not like normal. I think I want you to touch me. Can you just try?”
Isaac huffed and moved so he was facing Laurent again, not sure that Laurent should be on his back. “Fine. But tell me to stop if you don’t want to.”
“Do you?”
“Want to stop?” Isaac tilted his head.
“Want to touch me,” Laurent said, so shyly he could barely look at Isaac at the same time.
Oh, you have no idea what I want to do with you. I want to touch you, fuck you, put you on your knees, and teach you how to deep-throat my dick instead of say shit I don’t want to hear.
“Yeah,” said Isaac. It seemed safer. More succinct.
Laurent appeared to be waiting for him to do it. “Okay.”
Isaac reached out and drew his fingers over Laurent’s mouth, his beautiful cheekbones, and the smooth curve of his jaw. He must have shaved in the shower, or else he didn’t grow much of a beard. Isaac was the same way.
He brushed down over Laurent’s Adam’s apple with his fingers, and slid his other hand gently through Laurent’s hair.
That got a noise, and Laurent’s eyes slid half closed. “You like that,” Isaac said.
Laurent nodded.
Did Laurent want to make out with Isaac or just have Isaac pet him? It frustrated Isaac not to be able to tell, and for about the thousandth time, he thought he was way out of his depth. He usually didn’t let his dick overrule his common sense, but he also could see Laurent was touch starved, even if it had nothing to do with sex. Isaac wanted him so badly that it was hard for him to take sex out of the equation. But he was going to try, because Laurent needed it, and Isaac remembered what it was like to go without touch unless someone paid him for it.
Laurent closed his eyes, and Isaac sighed and carded his fingers through Laurent’s hair again. He could do that. It was fine. Nice to be able to give Laurent something. He’d just keep telling himself that.
“Don’t you want something else?”
Oh hell. Did he ever. “Would you stop being so bossy?” Isaac sighed. “I’m not sure you want this.”
Laurent opened his eyes. He looked annoyed. “Me neither. I’m trying to find out.”
Fair enough. If Laurent just wanted to be petted, then Isaac should probably rule out the sex stuff right away. It seemed only fair.
So he shifted closer, put one hand lightly on the back of Laurent’s neck to hold him still, and moved in to kiss him. Not just a peck with his mouth closed either. He kissed him slowly, aware that Laurent might move away at any second. He gradually increased the pressure and intensity until Laurent very tentatively started to kiss him back.
Isaac maybe lost his mind a little when that happened.
He moved closer, and at the last minute, he realized it wasn’t a good idea to roll right on top of Laurent, which is what he wanted to do. And pulling Laurent down on top of him—also an attractive idea—wasn’t a stellar plan either.
So he just kept kissing Laurent, and Laurent kissed him back until they both needed to stop to breathe.
“Umm,” Isaac said, once he was sure he could talk. “How was that?”
Laurent’s eyes were wide and blurry, and the flush was back on his cheekbones. He licked his bottom lip, and if that weren’t bad enough, he reached up with visibly shaking fingers and touched his own mouth. “You’re good at it.”
Isaac thought that meant Laurent had to like it at least a little. Right?
But it was Laurent, who was likely to say something asshole-ish. When Laurent opened his mouth, Isaac was tempted to just lean in and kiss him again so he didn’t ruin the moment by saying anything.
“That’s the first time anyone’s kissed me.”
Isaac stared at him. “Seriously? You have seen yourself, haven’t you?”
“I told you, my father said—”
“I know,” Isaac said, not wanting to talk about St. Savoy, Sr. when he had a hot guy in his bed and a hard-on, even if he wasn’t going to do anything with either. “But you’re so hot.”
Laurent looked away. “People have told me that before.”
More issues than The Hockey News. Right. “And I mean, yeah... your personality could use some work.”
Laurent’s head snapped up, but he saw Isaac’s smile and rolled his eyes. He then shifted a little closer to Isaac. “Could we...?”
No. No we can’t. This is a terrible idea. It’s not going to do anything but fuck up everything... and I don’t even care. “Yeah,” Isaac said and reached for Laurent again. “We can.”