Hard Contact - An LGBTQ Roleplay

Chapter 7

Summary:

Blake's left to process the aftermath of his momentous night out on the town, and Caleb refuses to make things easy for him. Blake ends up getting his revenge though, and even makes Caleb...jealous?!

Notes:

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as we did editing it. Caleb loves giving Blake a hard time, but Blake is definitely able to throw it back at him. That's their love language honestly lol. Also, writing jealous Caleb was quite fun ;) We've got some exciting ~events~ happening for these two in upcoming chapters, so try to stick around!

As always, here's a shameless plug to our mailing list: http://eepurl.com/hGdXkH. We'll include two chapters of our MxM, hockey romance Offseason which comes out next year! If you click the link, you get to read it anyways but we'd appreciate a sign-up so that you can support all of our future endeavors :)

Blake

Some guys, the Europeans really, were untouched when it came to hangovers. Something in the water over there left them groggy during mornings after heavy drinking but not aching from head to toe. Blake had been privileged with an upbringing in Canada, in a small town just outside of Montreal. He hadn't faced any significant issues in childhood, probably the reason behind why he was paying for it now. Because Blake had no specialty water and hadn't been blessed with more than a glass of wine at family events, he got to enjoy the whole hangover experience. The morning after was nothing short of hell. Vomit-inducing, leg cramping, head throbbing hell. It was the kind of hangover he lived for after a proper night of rookie hazing. He and the other trainers would smirk as newly-minted players clutched their heads and slipped off the ice to empty the contents of their stomachs after coach ran them hard. Blake didn't like being on the other side of it, even if he was still two days off from the team's return after the Olympic break.

Even two days later, the effects lingered in the form of mild nausea and an ache in his lower back that Blake couldn't adequately explain. But he had every hope that a famed center on the team could. Though the trainer had avoided screens upon first rising, he'd eventually arrived in his living room and, after a segue to clean up a worthwhile pile of vomit in front of the couch, had popped online seeking clues about the night from before that had been conveniently wiped from his memory. Blake had intended to find those clues on his social media, from his friends, people involved in his private life. The trainer had not expected to see his house and ass plastered across the hockey gossip pages that the team had insisted he follow. With Caleb pressed to his side as the two, assumably, made their way up his drive. One profanity littered speech later, and Blake had texted the man to meet him at the rink early before the next practice, too hungover to deal with him over the phone.

In preparation for the morning meeting, Blake had swallowed an entire handful of pain pills and broken some plates so that he wouldn't do the same to Caleb's bones. When the forward finally entered his office, the trainer was grinning, the muscle in his forehead twitching. He swiveled his laptop around, the picture of the two filling the screen. "What the fuck is this?" he asked too cheerfully for a man who had spent the last couple of days cleaning his own vomit (more of which he'd discovered in the bathroom). The stab of distrust and hatred burned into the question was the lone giveaway that he wasn't merely asking Caleb how his time off had gone. He leaned over the desk, still smiling, a look in his eyes that spoke of murder. "What were you doing at my home? And why didn't you tell me about our affair?" Blake lightly tapped a comment debating their sexual history. Fans would go to ridiculous lengths to create a story where there was none. To write them off as sexual partners when they were not sleeping together. At least not past that first occasion, a moment Blake had no intention of reliving.