Work Text:
Blue, green, purple. The bad weather makes the tarmac shimmery and ultraviolet and John Logan sits at the edge of the parking lot, peering at the shifting colors. He had stopped wanting to cry about five minutes ago but sulking outside sounded better than going back in and seeing everyone with their families. Logan has Jules, but Jules is more concerned with Fifth Line most of the time. That’s fine. Logan is more concerned with hockey and doing anything else but working at the shop.
He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. @the_fifth_line_ has posted something likely scathing about the way he played today; Jules never holds back, even if sometimes he wishes they would. Logan swipes the notification away with a huff.
He’s trying to work up the nerve to head back to the house tonight. It’s the last game before the December break and the house is bound to be full of people. Dean hadn’t mentioned anything about a party but he’d gone and got out the beer kegs last night, so. Logan is going to drag himself up to his room and find Dean going down on some girl. It’s happened twice before, and at this point Logan is starting to expect it. It might be Dean’s way of forcing him back downstairs to party, which is maybe sweet if it didn’t piss him off so bad.
“Hey,” someone says. Logan startles, phone skidding away from him, and suddenly Phil Graham is handing it back to him with a smile. It stretches his face in an odd way. “Hey,” says Phil again.
“Mr. Graham.” Logan falters for a second before he remembers his manners and gets to his feet, offers his hand to shake. Phil clasps it and gives him a pat on the back. He smells good. Like crisp linen and cologne. Logan’s dad usually stinks of grease from working at the shop all day, and he never touches Logan with the familiarity that Garrett’s dad does.
Phil grins at him. His teeth are straight and white the kind of way only a retired hockey player’s teeth are. Now that he doesn’t need to worry about pucks taking them out, Phil can afford to make them nice. “Good playing out there, kid,” he says.
Logan grimaces. He knows he played terribly—Garrett had been the one keeping them in the game. He wonders if Phil’s apparent dislike of Garrett is enough to make him like Logan. The thought makes him feel sick.
“I’m serious,” says Phil. He puts his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Garrett was fine. But I saw what you were trying to do with those seam passes. You were getting somewhere.”
“Really?” Logan murmurs. His voice comes out pitchy. He hates that Phil had seen the insecurity on his face but hates even more how much he craves to hear those words again. That he’d been good. That he’d been worth something.
“Really.” Phil’s silver hair looks blue in the fluorescence of the rink’s lights. The harsh lines of his face seem to smooth out somehow. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Um,” says Logan. The idea of going home and having to talk to anyone makes him queasy. He’d much rather sit here. Phil’s company is soothing. “That’s ok. I just need the quiet right now.”
Phil’s eyebrows raise. “I could take you back to mine. Talk hockey.”
Logan feels a blush crawl up his neck. It’s unsettling how easily Phil reads him. “Really?”
“Really, kid,” says Phil. He smiles at him. “Now, c’mon. I bet you could really use a drink.”
Phil leads him to his car and gestures for him to take the passenger side. Logan stares at the sleek black exterior before he remembers himself and glances around. Garrett is probably back home already, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. His fingers slide along the smooth surface of the car handle before he slips inside. Buckles himself in. He can feel Phil watching him quietly and can’t tell if he’s supposed to act like he’s noticed or not.
Garrett has always been weird about his dad. Logan is mostly jealous that his dad cares about him enough to go looking for him, but he’s not stupid enough to think that Garrett is lying. Having Phil Graham as a dad must suck. But he’s not Logan’s dad, so that doesn’t matter. He’ll feel guilty about it later.
Phil starts the car and turns the radio down before Logan can tell what he’d been listening to. Then he fiddles with the vents so that the hot air is spitting out onto Logan’s thighs.
“Thanks,” says Logan. It feels good to be taken care of, but Phil is doing things Logan usually only does for his dates. That’s a weird thought. He brushes it away. Phil is more than twice his age and has a fiancée.
“Sure,” Phil answers, easy. He glances over at him. “I think what you’re missing with your passes is just the angle of your top hand.”
“Really?” says Logan, blinking at him.
Phil laughs. Then he tells Logan exactly what he’s doing wrong and how to fix it.
Garrett’s dad’s house looks like it belongs in a Homeowners Weekly magazine. Logan has been here before but only once, back when he and Garrett had first met at training camp. Phil flicks the lights on and takes off his shoes, and Logan quickly takes his off too.
“The place is a mess, sorry,” says Phil sheepishly. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Phil be sheepish in his life, and he knows he’s only seen it on rare occasions from Garrett. Normally when Hannah is involved.
“Is your fiancée around?” asks Logan. He flushes when Phil raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I don’t want to be rude and sleep in your house without also thanking her.”
“She’s with her parents for the weekend,” says Phil, shrugging. He crouches down in front of some cabinets and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “Could I interest you—”
“Yes,” says Logan. He hadn’t realized how awkward it would be being alone with Phil in his huge house. The car had been fine. Phil chuckles, sliding him a glass, and Logan takes a tiny sip. It’s really good. Better than anything Dean springs for, and they usually get decent stuff.
When Logan looks up, Phil is already watching him. He smiles. “I meant it when I said you played well tonight.”
“I think I was pretty terrible, Mr. Graham.”
“Phil, please,” he says, waving his hand. “And I think Garrett is getting to your head.”
Logan wonders if this is his cue to step in and defend Garrett. He takes another sip to stall, swishing the sharp taste around his mouth before he swallows. It feels wrong to argue with Phil when he’s letting him into his home. And he’s so nice. Nicer than anyone has been to Logan in a long time. So he just shrugs and says, “Maybe.”
“Definitely,” says Phil. He comes around the edge of the counter and leans against it. Logan shifts himself to he’s staring at him. Their knees knock together and Logan flushes, apologizes, then nearly trips as he steps backwards into a counter stool. He stumbles down onto it.
Phil shifts closer. I think he might kiss me, thinks Logan, half a joke, but then he leans down and actually does.
Logan has kissed boys before, but that was a long time ago. He has a second to think about if he wants this—because he can leave, head home, and join Garrett firmly in the Phil-Graham-is-a-weirdo camp. But Phil has been so gentle with him and he’s handsome and kind and so, so cool. Logan tilts his head up and kisses him back.
Phil puts his hand on the back of his neck and rubs his thumb along the skin. All the nervous energy drains out of Logan. He can feel Phil’s breath against the sides of his mouth, the scratch of his stubble against his chin. Logan pulls back, panting.
“Logan,” says Phil, voice low.
“Okay,” says Logan, “okay, sure.” He leans in and kisses Phil again, mouth wet and open. Phil makes a surprised sound but kisses him back, keeping his hand on the back of his neck. It’s anchoring. Logan hasn’t let anyone lead a kiss in ages. They kiss for what must be fifteen minutes. Phil’s mouth is full and pink and he drags it down Logan’s throat, up his cheek, and keeps kissing him all over. Logan grips the front of his shirt desperately.
He’s starting to think they might fuck. Phil murmurs his name and says, “Do you want to,” which is as close to a confession of attraction that Logan can hope to get. So he nods and follows Phil up to his room.
The bed is made all nice but Phil strips it, then yanks his shirt over his head. Logan isn’t sure what he’d been expecting from a former NHL star but Phil is ripped. He swallows the sudden spit that pools in his mouth. The last time he hooked up with a boy had been at the start of freshman year and Logan had been the one to fuck him. He doesn’t think that’s the case this time.
“We can go slow,” says Phil. He steps closer, runs his fingers along Logan’s neck. “It’s okay, kid.”
“Okay,” he whispers. He tugs his shirt off too and then his pants. “I don’t need to be coddled, though.”
“It’s not coddling,” Phil mutters. His gaze is fixed at where Logan is tenting his briefs. Logan’s stomach is warm and twisty, the same kind of sick nausea he gets before he steps onto the ice.
“It’s coddling,” he says.
“I just want to take care of you,” says Phil. He twists a piece of Logan’s hair between his fingers. “Look at you, baby.”
Logan shakes his head. The way Phil is treating him makes him feel—strange. He steps back until his knees hit the bed and sits on it. Phil is kneeling between his thighs before Logan can stop him. “What,” starts Logan, but Phil rucks down his briefs and gets his mouth around his dick before he can figure out what he’d meant to ask. His mouth is hot around him, tight like a girl’s cunt, wet. Logan makes a strangled noise.
Phil puts his hand on Logan’s thigh and pets it. He glances up at Logan through his thick lashes and hollows his cheeks. Logan squeezes his eyes shut. Holy shit. Defenseman Phil Graham is blowing him.
He’s blushing so badly he can feel the heat against his palm when he throws his hand across his face. He lays down on the bed and Phil drags him down so he can fit more of his cock into his mouth. Logan hiccups.
“Oh, fuck,” he whines.
Phil pulls off. “If I get you off,” he says, and his voice is shot, “can I come on your face.”
“Yes,” gasps Logan. Phil laughs. He wraps his hand around Logan’s dick and jacks him off slow and tight. Logan moans loudly. He’s never been this loud with a girl before.
“You deserve it, baby,” Phil is saying. “You played so well today. So good for me.” And Logan thinks he must have been playing for Phil at least a bit, because outside of NHL talent scouts he has no one to impress. But he’s always wanted to impress Phil Graham, no matter how stupid that is. There’s no one else he cares that much about. Who might care that much about him.
His orgasm takes him by surprise. Phil leans down and gets the head of his dick in his mouth and Logan is coming before he can even recognize the sensation of a warm mouth around him. He makes a horrible noise in the back of his throat and then gasps when Phil gets his cock out, yanks Logan down enough that his back is against the bed and his ass is half on the ground. Then he says, “C’mon, kid.”
Logan very bravely sucks his dick. He does the best he can with what he remembers, but the sensation is strange all the same. Phil is heavy and hard in his mouth, and Logan can’t get his bearings about him. Drool keeps seeping out of the edges of his mouth. But he’s doing something right since Phil pulls out and hisses, “Close your eyes.” Logan barely gets them shut before come is streaking across his face. Phil makes another rough sound and then kisses him, tongue fat in his swollen mouth.
“There you go,” he says when he pulls away, “that’s my boy.”
Helplessly, Logan grins at him.
Garrett finds him sneaking up to his room through the back. “Where have you been?” he asks. He kind of reminds Logan of Jules when they’re upset. Foot tapping and everything.
“Out,” says Logan, heart in his throat. Somehow he must be incriminating himself. The smell of the makeup wipes Phil used to clean his come off of his face or Phil’s number newly saved in his phone. But Garrett just raises an eyebrow. Smirks.
“Nice,” he says.
“Nice,” says Logan weakly. He gives Garrett a quick salute and vanishes upstairs.
Downstairs, Hannah frowns. “That was weird,” she says.
“Was it?” asks Garrett. “I think you think too much.”
“I think you’re drunk,” sighs Hannah. She kisses him on the cheek and gives the staircase one last look before dragging her boyfriend back to the party.