Butterfly Read online

  “I’ll, uh—go get a change of clothes,” Felix said, and escaped.

  Henry was asleep on Felix’s bed, and he rolled over and stretched with a rusty meow when Felix stepped inside.

  “‘Allo, bâtard,” Felix said. “You’ll be nice to Fisher, yes? No biting this one.”

  Henry yawned and blinked sleepy crystal blue eyes. Felix bent and dropped a kiss on his head and went to find clothes.

  When he got back to the bathroom, the door was open and Fisher was already tugging soft pants up over his hips, his chest still bare and hair curling damp against the base of his skull.

  “How are you feeling?” Felix asked.

  “Sore,” Fisher admitted. He raised an arm and twisted to inspect his ribcage in the mirror, grimacing at the bruise blooming under his skin. “Seatbelt did a number on me.”

  “It means you’re alive,” Felix said. “I’ll take it.” He hesitated but Fisher didn’t seem to be going anywhere, pulling a shirt over his head and then leaning against the sink. “You can wait in the living room,” Felix suggested. “You’d be more comfortable.”

  Fisher’s lips twitched. “I’m comfortable right here.”

  Felix sighed and skinned out of his shirt before pushing the sweats down and off. When he straightened, Fisher was watching him, arms crossed over his chest and eyes hot. Felix swallowed hard and turned to flip the shower on.

  Definitely the fastest shower he’d ever taken, he decided when he was done rinsing his hair and shut the water off.

  Fisher hadn’t moved when Felix stepped out, and he said nothing as Felix got dressed. Only then did he reach out one long arm to catch Felix’s wrist, gently hauling him in.

  “Hey,” he said as Felix stepped close. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  “Better,” Felix said. He couldn’t help pressing his face to Fisher’s throat, taking a deep breath of his warm skin before raising his head. “Do you want something to drink? I should have offered, before—”

  “No,” Fisher said immediately. “Let’s talk.”

  Felix took him through into the living room and they settled on the couch, Felix cross-legged on the cushions so he could see Fisher’s face.

  He found himself at a loss once they were situated, though. Where to even begin?

  “Tell me about Paul,” Fisher said, and Felix stiffened. Of course he wanted to know about—him.

  “You figured it out, I guess,” he said, drawing his knees to his chest, and Fisher put a hand on his calf, solid and comforting.

  “That he was the one who doxxed you?” Fisher’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. But I have a feeling he did a lot more than that.”

  “It took me a long time to… see it,” Felix whispered. “He was so charming. When he was with me, it was like no one else existed. It was a heady thing, yes? I was drunk on it, it was all I could think about. He was funny, he was smart, he was—he seemed kind. He knew how to make me want him. He gave me attention, got me wanting more, and then he’d back away. Hot and cold. I wanted him to want me as much as I wanted him. I—” He swallowed. “I despaired, thought he didn’t love me, that I wasn’t good enough, or smart enough, or educated—I didn’t go to college. He’d tease me about that, how I didn’t have an education, hold it over me—but subtly. He never said it outright, so if I got offended, well… I was the one overreacting, being unreasonable.”

  Fisher’s mouth was pinched in a flat line, eyes hard and cold.

  “I should have seen it sooner,” Felix said, looking away.

  “No.” Fisher sounded angry, but not at him. “No, none of this is your fault. You were too deep in it to realize. You loved him, didn’t you?”

  Felix put his head on his knee and nodded silently. He held out a hand without looking, and Fisher took it, squeezing.

  “He wanted me to quit hockey,” Felix continued after a minute, eyes closed. “I loved him, I wanted him to be happy. I… thought about it. I am ashamed of that, now.”

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  Felix lifted a shoulder. “But I told him no. That I loved the game too much to quit, that I have several good years left, the fans counted on me, my team needed me. I couldn’t just walk away, even if I hadn’t signed a contract.”

  Fisher squeezed his hand again. “Good for you.”

  “He was angry,” Felix said, looking up. “So angry. He said I was being stupid, that the fans didn’t truly love me. That they’d drop me when I hit a slump, demand I be traded, turn on me and tear me to shreds when I couldn’t perform well enough. I told him it didn’t matter, that it was part of the price, and one I was willing to pay.” He stopped, remembering Paul’s handsome face twisted in fury, how his stomach had been so tied in knots from the confrontation that he’d vomited after Paul had stormed out.

  “So he was trying to teach you a lesson?” Fisher asked softly.

  “I suppose.” Felix sighed. “He wanted to hurt me as much as possible. It worked.”

  “But you never told anyone it was him?”

  “What good would it have done?” Felix countered. “He knew my passwords, he used my own phone while I was asleep. There was no proof of anyone ‘hacking’ me. It was my word against his, and I saw no point in accusing him. I just wanted it all to go away. And eventually, he did.”

  “I met him,” Fisher said abruptly, and Felix reared backward in shock.

  “You what?”

  Fisher met his eyes, but guilt lurked in them. “I wanted—I’d read about what happened. All the speculation and rumor that it was Paul, but you refused to confirm it. You said good things about him. It didn’t make sense to me. I understand if you’re angry, if I crossed a line. I probably did. But I needed to know if it was him, and if it was, how he could do such a horrible thing to you.”

  Felix wrapped both arms around his knees, a shiver wracking him. “I’m not angry,” he managed after a minute. “What—what did you say?”

  “Well, I didn’t give him my name,” Fisher said. He didn’t try to touch him, tracing the embroidery on the cushion in his lap with one long finger. “I—” He grimaced. “I had to flirt with him. Made me feel filthy.”

  “Bet he liked you,” Felix murmured. “Tall, dark and handsome? You’re just his type. He always said I was too thin, that he liked more muscle.”

  “God, I really should have punched him,” Fisher said. He rubbed his face and blew out a breath. “There’s no point in going into specifics, in any case. But he all but admitted to having done it, doxxing you.”

  Felix nodded, unsurprised. “He’d told me, the night before. That I would regret my decision, that he would show me how wrong I was. I didn’t know what he meant, not then.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Fisher said. He held out a hand, his eyes unsure, and Felix took it immediately. “The more I learn, the more obvious it is to me just how much he fucked with your head. And then I went and yelled at you, drove you away. Had the fucking nerve—or stupidity, whichever you prefer—to blame you for not telling me, as if I’d ever done anything to earn your trust that way.”

  Felix squeezed his hand. “Tell me about your ex.”

  Fisher huffed an almost-laugh and rubbed his face with his free hand. “You sure you want to hear about that?”

  “I want to know what made you you,” Felix said steadily. “Will you tell me?”

  “It doesn’t look good for me,” Fisher replied, dropping his hand.

  “Was there cheating?” Fisher asked. “Abuse? Did you hit him or manipulate him?”

  “No!” Fisher looked genuinely horrified, and Felix’s chest eased. “No, nothing like that. He didn’t do that to me either. We just….” He sighed. “Weren’t good for each other.”

  “How?”

  Fisher’s lips twitched. “You’re really gonna just drag the whole story out of me, huh?”

  “What’s good for the goose, as my maman would say,” Felix said, smiling back at him. “I want to know… what made you the way you are.”

  �
�He wanted to go pro.” Fisher’s eyes went distant as he remembered. “It was all he thought about. Everything he did was geared to that. Diet, working out, practices. He loved the sport like no one I’d ever met. And at first, I thought that was sexy. He looked good dripping with sweat, in just his pads and shorts. He was hot and he knew it, and for a long time it was just a part of who made him who he was.”

  “What changed?”

  Fisher sighed. “There wasn’t a single defining moment. Just a few things that built to a lot of things until I resented his game as much as I loved him.”

  “Things like what?”

  “Like a math tournament that was important to me, but he had practice. Not a game, I wouldn’t have asked him to skip a game, but I thought—surely he’d be willing to skip one practice to support me. But he wasn’t. It was stuff like that, things he did that showed me that there was hockey, and there was me. But I would never matter as much to him as hockey.” He hesitated. “This is the part that looks—not good.” He glanced at Felix, who raised an eyebrow, waiting, and Fisher sighed as if giving into the inevitable. “I broke up with him. But the way I did it—I made it obvious it was because of hockey. That if he… backed off it, maybe, then we could stay together. I didn’t quite give him an ultimatum, but I’m still not proud of how I did it.”

  “You wanted to matter as much,” Felix said, and Fisher’s head snapped up.

  “Yes, exactly! I just wanted to know he cared about me as much as he cared about the game, and he didn’t. So I blamed hockey. If it didn’t exist, I’d have had Peyton. I told myself that until I believed it, but I know now that if it hadn’t been hockey, it would have been something else. Football or soccer. Doesn’t matter. I was never going to be able to compete.”

  “I see why you hated it,” Felix whispered. “Do you—” The question stuck in his throat. “Do you still?”

  “No,” Fisher said, cupping Felix’s face briefly. “No, I don’t. And yeah, at first I was only learning about it because I wanted to support you, but the more I watched, the more interesting it got. The interpersonal dynamics, the speed of it, how everyone knows where they need to be—and the goalies.” He shook his head, awe clear in his eyes, and Felix couldn’t help the smile.

  “You like the goalies, then?”

  “One in particular,” Fisher teased, and took a quick kiss from him. “But yes, goalies in general are definitely my favorite.”

  “Aren’t you worried, though?” Felix said, unable to help himself. “It’s my job. I have a duty to perform, to play as well as I can. Why would you not assume I’m just like your ex?”

  “You left a game for me,” Fisher said simply. “Jason would never have done that. It never would have occurred to him. And even before you did that, I just—” He lifted a shoulder. “I knew. Once I had time to think about it, once I got over myself. Of course you weren’t like that. You care. You’ve cared from the beginning, haven’t you?”

  “Just about,” Felix admitted. “But I travel so much. I’m so busy. You’re okay with… that?”

  “I knew you traveled before,” Fisher pointed out. “You’ve always made time for me. I think you still will, won’t you?”

  Felix nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Always, mon pêcheur.”

  “Can I take you to bed now?” Fisher asked.

  Felix tilted his head, smiling at him. “I would like that very much.”

  “Oh thank God,” Fisher said, and lunged.

  He bowled a laughing Felix over, bearing him to the cushions in a flurry of arms and legs. Felix let him, wriggling beneath him until he could open his thighs and wrap his legs around Fisher’s hips to pull him closer.

  Fisher bent his head to kiss him, making a soft noise as their lips met. “Missed you so much,” he murmured, kissing his way along Felix’s jaw. “God, do you even know what you do to me?”

  Felix shivered. Fisher’s mouth felt like reverence pressed into his skin, worship and prayer as he nipped at Felix’s earlobe and then set his mouth on his throat just below his ear and sucked hard. Felix twisted, hands coming up to grip Fisher’s shoulders. He could feel his pulse hammering under Fisher’s lips, heartbeat thundering in his ears as adrenaline careened through him.

  “Bed,” he managed to gasp, but Fisher didn’t move, still pinning him to the couch and apparently doing his best to suck a permanent mark into Felix’s throat.

  Felix got a hand up and into Fisher’s hair, the strands silky soft and curling around his fingers. When he pulled, Fisher moaned but didn’t lift his head.

  “My love,” Felix managed, and Fisher jerked like he’d been hit. He lifted his head, pupils blown.

  “Say that again.”

  Felix twined his arms around Fisher’s neck and tugged him down until he could brush their noses together. “You already know I love you,” he said.

  “Yeah, but hearing it—” Fisher dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Please?”

  “My love,” Felix said, giving in. “I love you like air, like water. Like the things I don’t notice but that I need to survive. I need you, with your Halloween and Christmas decorations and the glitter in your hair and the way you love me, so fierce and strong and steady. I love the way you touch me like a prayer you never thought would be answered, the way you tease me, how you make me laugh. You see me, you know me. The real me.” He’d slipped into French somewhere in there, but Fisher was just staring at him, wonder in his eyes.

  Felix cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  “I’m in love with a poet,” Fisher said, and kissed him again. Then he rolled off the couch, pulling Felix with him. “We need a real bed, because I’m going to make love to you until you forget all those pretty words of yours.”

  “All of them?” Felix teased, pointing in the direction of the bedroom and letting Fisher tow him that way. “I know a lot of words, amor, in several languages. You think you’re up to it?”

  Fisher got him through the door, pulling on Felix’s shirt until he lifted his arms and let him drag it up and over his head. “How many languages do you speak?” he asked, almost absent as he spanned Felix’s ribcage with his huge hands.

  Felix tried to remember how to talk. It wouldn’t do to let Fisher win just yet. “French, English. Some Russian, enough to get by. A little German, but only a very little. Ich bin der Torwart der Seabirds. And a few words in Swedish, I guess.”

  “Got my work cut out for me,” Fisher mused, and pushed him toward the bed. He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Henry, who still hadn’t even bothered moving.

  “Fisher, this is Henry,” Felix said, leaning back into his frame. “I can’t promise he won’t bite you. He’s a little bit of a bastard.”

  Fisher held out a hand for Henry to inspect. Henry sniffed him, yawned, then rubbed a cheek against Fisher’s fingers.

  “Oh,” Felix breathed.

  “Is that good?” Fisher asked, voice rumbling in his chest. “I don’t really know cats.”

  “That’s good,” Felix said. He scooped Henry off the bed in a swift motion and dumped him outside the bedroom, shutting the door before turning back to grin at Fisher. “I don’t think he needs to see this.”

  Fisher skinned out of his shirt and Felix went to him, catching his wrist before Fisher could take his pants off.

  “Let me?”

  Fisher swallowed and dropped his hands. Felix took a minute to appreciate the sight, the soft curling hair on his chest that thickened on his abdomen to disappear below the waistband of the pants. Fisher twitched but managed to hold still as Felix hooked his thumbs in the elastic and tugged the pants down and off.

  “Beautiful as ever,” he murmured.

  Fisher’s cock was thickening, liquid pearling at the tip, and Felix couldn’t resist wrapping a hand around him and stroking.

  “Fu-uck,” Fisher managed, hips jolting.

  Felix hummed and let go, smiling as Fisher protested wo
rdlessly. He stepped back and pushed his own pants down, and Fisher’s forehead creased.

  “What?”

  “Have you lost weight?” Fisher asked. He traced a path along Felix’s abs, frowning.

  “A few pounds,” Felix said, shivering. “That time of the year.”

  “It’s January,” Fisher said. “What do you mean?”

  “Pushing for playoffs,” Felix explained, and comprehension dawned in Fisher’s eyes. “It’ll get worse if we do make the playoffs, which I think we will. The trainers have a hard time keeping weight on me.”

  “Jesus, baby,” Fisher murmured, and pushed him onto the bed, crawling on after him to settle between his thighs. “Guess I’ll just have to up my cooking game, huh? Make sure you’re getting enough calories.” He ground down and Felix arched against him with a gasp. The sudden pressure was overwhelming, sparks skittering along his nerves as his body woke up to the memory of Fisher’s touch.

  “Lube,” he managed, flopping a hand in the direction of his bedside table.

  Fisher laughed as he leaned across him to rummage in the table, coming up with the lube and—Felix could feel the fiery blush as Fisher held up his dildo, eyebrows arching.

  “That—um. Forgot about that.”

  Fisher’s lips twitched. “Replaced me already, huh?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Felix retorted, snatching the dildo away. “You wish you could make me come like this can.”

  “That sounds like another challenge,” Fisher said. Mischief danced in his dark eyes. “Maybe I should make you come with that.”

  The mental image made Felix’s mouth go dry. On his knees, Fisher behind him, working the rubber dildo inside him slowly, Felix helpless to do anything but take it.

  “Oh, you like that idea,” Fisher said. “I think we’re going to have to do that at some point. Right now, though, I really want to get my dick inside you.”