blu

With a muttered curse, Will exited out of the video and kept scrolling down his feed. Maybe clips from the fans would show it better.

It was image and gif and clip, one after another after another, of Mack’s sour expression; shaking the hands of the victorious Finnish players, accepting the award for being one of Canada’s best players, giving an interview like he wasn’t about to break down and cry-

Will shifted in his bed, his pants getting tight. There was a clip, finally, one good one. And he could see it, Mack turning away from the camera, discretely rubbing at his eye with his glove to catch the single tear that had slipped free.

Oh, fuck yeah.

He skipped back, watched it again, groaning into the silent room as he watched Mack blink, the tear slipping, the turn to scrub it clean.

Again.

Again. And again.

He was so fucking hard it was painful, all of the blood in his body rushing south so quickly that he felt dizzy with it. 

Will should feel guilty, probably, at getting so worked up over his best friend's misery, but it wasn’t his fault, not really. It was Mack, and those pretty, shining green eyes, and his ruddy cheeks and those rough, bitten lips.

The fact of the matter was that Mack looked fucking gorgeous when he was crying. And like, it was a thing, for Will. It turned him on. It had been a very unfortunate discovery to make after the loss at the Olympics, when Mack had called him after winning silver, letting out a sob as soon as the facetime connected, and Will had immediately gotten bricked up.

He’d done his best to be there for Mack, to talk him off the ledge and soothe his hurt and frustration, but the whole time he’d been gripping the phone with one hand and his cock with the other. As soon as the call had disconnected, he’d fucked up into his fist three times and come with an obscene groan, catching his release in his hand like a fucking teenage boy.

It had been a very difficult time for him. He was still recovering from his separated shoulder, and yet he was confronted at every turn by images of Mack’s miserable face, to the point that he’d had to delete all social media off of his phone to give his dick a break.

By the time he was back in the locker room with the guys, he’d more or less gotten it back under control, but he still knew it was a thing, still wondered, late at night when Mack was asleep on the opposite bed and it was freezing cold in their hotel room and the white noise machine was faintly humming, what Mack would look like for him, on his knees, mouth held wide open by Will’s cock, tears running down his cheeks.

So, yeah, it sucked that Canada wasn’t making it to the gold medal game. If it couldn’t be Leno and USA, at least it would’ve been his boy up there, playing the best hockey of his life to date.

Instead, here they were. Playing for bronze. And the weight of the world was slammed back down on the shoulders of one nineteen-year-old phenom, like there weren’t two dozen other guys on the team who’d played like shit as well.

Later, it would piss him off, but right now, he was too busy rewinding the clip and watching Mack cry again, while scrambling with his other hand for the bottle of lube in his top drawer.

He had to be quick. If he was still this hard when Mack facetimed him, it would be so fucking obvious, and Mack would learn his shameful secret.

Will dribbled some lube on his cock and paused the video on the singular frame when the tear was visible, and went to town, fucking into his fist with a furious kind of intensity. He was open mouth panting with it, trying not to creak the bed too fucking obviously or make any fucking noise despite the way he wanted to whine at how fucking amazing it felt. 

Voter was just down the hall in the other room of the Airbnb they’d hired for the summer and it wasn’t really that late. Up until only fifteen minutes ago, they’d been down in the living area watching the game together, so he knew Voter was almost definitely still up.

They’d spent a lot of time living together, though, in juniors, so Voter knew a closed door was a closed door, thank God. That didn’t mean he wanted his buddy to hear him, though. He didn’t need anyone knowing he got off on Mack crying, he knew it was weird as fuck. But to be fair, he didn’t want anyone knowing he thought about Mack in any sexual fashion at all.

He’d seen enough shit in locker rooms and shared living spaces over the years to know none of his buddies would really judge him for it (those in glass houses, etc etc) but that didn’t mean he wanted them up in his business like that. He got enough jokes already about how co-dependent he and Mack were. The last thing he wanted was to give them any ammunition.

And this would be enough to take to the fucking bank. 

Fuck. If Will could stop it, he would, but he can’t seem to fucking help it. It was the same reason he gleefully suggested sting pong after practices, and made Mack watch all these sappy rom-coms, and maybe added a few too many jalapenos to Mack’s chipper order every now and again. He couldn’t help but seek these opportunities, even though they left him desperate and wanting. He felt like some sick kind of bully, trying to make his best friend cry, but he was too far gone. He needed it. 

He turned his head and bit into the muscle of his bicep, smothering the wanton whine that slipped between his lips as he increased the pace.

But it wasn’t enough. His hand just wasn’t doing it for him. He fucking needed-

He paused, pushing up onto one elbow and frowning towards his suitcase. Had he brought it?

With a muttered curse, he rolled off the bed and awkwardly waddled over to check, rifling through the suitcase’s contents. He hadn’t bothered unpacking, and grimaced a little at the way he was leaving tacky lube fingerprints all over his clothes, but decided it was a future Will problem. 

There it was, tucked away down the bottom. He wiggled it free and kicked his suitcase aside, returning to stand at the end of the bed.

Being a public figure had put somewhat of a damper on his love life. Not from a lack of offers, by any means, but because it was a lot harder to get away with being an absolute horndog with this many eyes on him. He’d managed to hook-up a few times, but the risk was only increasing as Mack’s notoriety grew, and he was rarely out anywhere without him.

It would be fine if he was into girls, but despite his mother’s (and God’s) wishes, Will only wanted men.

He didn’t want to go as far as NDA’s, but sometimes, when it was late and he was lonely and utterly sick of his own fist, he really fucking thought about it. 

He liked hockey too much to risk it, though. Not yet. Maybe after they’d won a cup.

So for now, he had to be happy with a fleshlight and a zoomed in, slightly pixelated image of his best friend to get the motor running.

Will rearranged the pillows, moving them to the centre of the bed so that they hugged the fleshlight in place. He lubed it up, fingering it like it was the gorgeous mouth he had been fantasising about for years now, picturing that wide look of shock in those pretty green eyes as he pressed his digits down on his tongue.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Such a pretty little slut for me.”

He grabbed his phone, positioning it in front of his face as he knelt over the fleshlight, resting the tip of his cock on the slit of the opening. Slowly, his eyes glued to Mack’s devastated face, Will pressed in.

He had to rest his weight on one shoulder so that he could keep a hand around the fleshlight, holding it still for him, while the other arm was braced above his head.

Will rolled his hips and thrust deep into the toy, into Mack’s open mouth, and felt a kick of pleasure sing down his spine at the way his throat gripped him.

“Perfect,” he crooned in a soft reverent whisper. “Oh fuck, baby, love it when you cry for me.”

Mack would be so good for him, he knew it. He’d kneel in front of him and he’d keep his head still while Will thrust into his mouth, shallow at first, and then deeper and deeper. Maybe he’d hold it there, choke him on it a bit, until those tears weren’t just threatening to fall but spilling in torrents down his cheeks, and-

“Fuck,” he moaned, and he had to turn and bite at his bicep again. He was being too loud. It was too good. He was thrusting harder now, and the bed was creaking quietly with the motions. 

Macky would moan around his cock. He’d fucking love it. Take it like a fucking champ.

He was close, fuck, his toes were curling, sweat sticking to his skin. Will stared at Mack, at the tear, and it wasn’t enough. Mack would give him more than one, he knew he would. He’d be whining and whimpering and moaning, and his cheeks would be red and blotchy and the tears would cause messy streaks on his perfect skin, and he’d be drooling too, of course.

And then Will would pull out just in time to release all over Mack’s face, mixing it with the tears and the drool, until Mack was a complete mess, looking up at him with this desperate look on his face, begging him to come, please, please, he’d been so good.

It would only take Will getting his hand around him for Mack to blow as well, but he’d wring it out a bit longer, until he was overstimulated and crying again, again, again.

Will grunted as he released into the toy, panting loudly as his whole body locked up, muscles straining as it drank him dry. He slowed down his thrusts, drawing it out a bit  as he came down, his eyes fixed on Mack, his perfect, pretty boy.

Which was, of course, when his phone rang: an incoming facetime from Mack.

Fuck. His cock was still in the toy, but he didn’t have any time. If he didn’t answer, Mack wouldn’t call back, and the opportunity would be lost.

Quickly, he wiped his face on the blanket underneath him. He rolled and got both hands underneath him, answering the call and looming down and back up again in a push-up.

“Will? Oh-”

He smiled. “Hey Macky,” he said, doing another push-up. “Sorry, I was just getting in a workout. I missed my usual one earlier.”

“You okay?” Mack asked, his brow furrowed. “You look flushed, dude.”

“Working hard, superstar,” he said. “But you know all about that.” He winked, and Mack stared at him, his expression somewhere between confused and upset. It was an attractive look for him.

But maybe Will just thought that because his cock was still in his fleshlight, and every push-up jostled it around him.

He was for sure going to hell for this.

“I saw the game, Mack. I’m sorry,” he said, prompting an influx of frustrated narration about the team’s missed opportunities and how fucking gutted he was not to take them to the gold medal game, and so on, getting more and more worked up.

Will held himself in a plank so that he could stare closer, watch the way those green eyes went glassy with unshed tears, the rapid blinking keeping them just at bay. He made sure to hum and give sympathetic noises when he needed to, nodding for Mack to keep going anytime it looked like he was unsure or running out of steam. But the self-doubt was like poison; he needed to get it out. 

“I failed,” Mack whispered eventually. And his lower lip was wobbling, the look of defeat on his face profound and heartbreaking.

“You did good,” Will told him gently, “I’m so proud of you, Macky.”

And that was it. Finally. 

The tears fell.

Will struggled to keep his expression blank as the arousal rose over him like a tidal wave. He failed his plank, covering his screen with his chest as he fucked into the toy for a moment, letting some of the pent out energy out. 

He thrust deep and rolled to the side, gathering up his phone with one hand and holding the toy on his cock with the other.

Mack swore and scrubbed at his cheeks, looking upset with himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Will said, his voice tender. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

“I wish you were here,” Mack whispered, and his voice was so defeated, so sad, that Will stopped slowly humping the fleshlight for a moment, studying him closely.

“I know it feels like the end of the world right now, bud,” he said. Mack looked at him and gave a tight nod, looking down at his lap, expression miserable. “But I promise you, one day you’re gonna look back and realise exactly what everyone else is seeing right now: how incredible you are. What an amazing leader you are. How hard you work.”

Mack shook his head. “They trusted me to be captain, and I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Will reminded him. “You’ve scored thirteen points in this tournament, which is insane. You fucking killed it, bud.”

He watched as Mack shook his head and sighed.

“C’mon,” he said. “Look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Mack did. 

“You’re not a failure, Mack. You’re a fucking inspiration, okay? You centered Sidney fucking Crosby, and you outscored him. How many people can say that, huh? Even MacKinnon wouldn’t have done it.”

Slowly, Mack blinked, and his expression shifted from upset to thoughtful.  “I guess,” he muttered. “It was pretty cool, playing with him again.”

“The coolest,” Will agreed. “Everyone I know is seething with jealousy, dude.”

Himself included. Though not really about Crosby. Well, maybe a little.

“Pressure’s off now,” Will said. “Just go out tomorrow and have some fucking fun. Score a bunch of goals. Get at least two for me, okay?”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” Mack noted wryly, though at least he looked a little less upset now, some of the life coming back to his eyes. 

“Seventy-one seems like a bit of a stretch,” Will shrugged with a grin. “So we’ll just have to settle for two.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Two goals.”

They turned to talking about other things for a bit. What he and Vote had been up to with some of the other BC boys, Mack going out doing touristy shit with the other rookies, the upcoming draft and who the sharks were looking at. While they chatted, Will kept a slow motion going, keeping his cock interested by pulling the sleeve slowly up and down his length, his expression carefully stoic as his blood heated and the edge grew closer and closer.

“I should let you go,” Mack said eventually. “It’s late.”

“Alright, bud,” Will agreed, a little breathless. “Good luck in the game tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Mack said. “And you know, thank you. For talking me off the ledge. Like always.”

“Anytime,” Will said firmly. “I mean it.”

Mack looked at him for a moment. He blinked a few times, lightly frowned as his eyes flitted up and down. Will went still, keeping his expression politely friendly. 

“Okay,” Mack said. “I’m uh, I’m gonna go. See you.”

“Bye,” Will said.

The phone disconnected. Will chucked it aside, rolled back onto his belly and chewed on his blanket as he fucked into the fleshlight. 

Fuck. Why was Mack so fucking pretty? Why did he have to look like that while he was upset, like some kind of Disney prince, all tortured and forlorn. It was devastating for Will’s libido. He pictured Mack again, the tears actually falling in front of him, and he cursed himself for not fucking recording it for later.

Instead, he had to make do with his memories as his thrusts turned erratic and he came a second time, the obscene squelch echoing around his room as he filled it to the brim.

Will collapsed onto his side again, panting, shuddering through the aftershocks of coming twice in such a short period of time. 

He had no idea if Mack bought the working out story or not. From his face at the end, it seemed unlikely, but right then, Will was too blissed out to bring himself to care about it. His limbs were pleasantly sluggish and relaxed, and he could have happily crawled under the blankets to sleep, if not for how disgusting that would be.

Even a degenerate such as him could concede that waking up in a messy dried pool of come would be a step too far.

Instead, he dragged himself into the ensuite and showered, cleaning the toy while he was there for good measure, setting it against his sink to dry. Voter had his own bathroom, so Will felt pretty comfortable leaving it there.

Once he was sufficiently dry, he slipped on a pair of boxers and crawled into bed, turning the pillow over so that any vestiges were away from his face.