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Mark saw the opening and threw the ball to Pete, who was just above the burly defenseman on the other team. Pete shot towards the goal and threw, only to have the goalie catch it. Mark heard the audience make one big exhalation of suspense.
The ball was out again; Armstrong had it, but he was blocked by Simpson. Mark saw Richardson hovering below him, ready for a pass from Armstrong, and let himself grin. Richardson was a fast son of a bitch, but he always left an opening from above. Judging his moment, Mark folded his wings and dropped.
He caught Richardson squarely between the shoulders. They both fell, and Mark saw the grass of the field come up towards them. The crowd noise swelled with cheers and boos, filling the air around him.
No penalty, though, and Mark grinned. There were rules about tackling someone where it could hurt the delicate wing bones, but Mark knew just what he could and couldn't do. Below him, Richardson flapped inelegantly down to the grass, cursing.
Mark recovered in the air and beat his wings to get higher up, breathing hard--he'd be no good in the offense till he gained some altitude again--and watched his teammates' play be defeated again. That damn Fuller was good, Mark thought with grudging admiration.
But five minutes later the tide of the game turned again, and Mark distracted Fuller while Pete got the ball squarely in the goal.
They rode the crowd noise like an updraft.
***
Mark was high on adrenaline, endorphins and the rush of winning when he heard the voice calling to him.
"Mark!"
He turned. There he was, Ben Fraser, in jeans and a leather jacket and looking good enough to eat, his big slate-gray wings folded up on his back.
"Ben!" He went up and clasped him hard on the shoulder, grinning. "You came."
"Of course I came. Wouldn't miss seeing you beat the Blackhawks."
"'Course we beat the Blackhawks." Mark looked around and said in a lower voice, "You alone?"
Ben licked his lips. "Yes. I am." His voice went deeper, and fuck, this was not what Mark needed right now, unless he wanted to be outed in front of half the city of Chicago.
"I'm at the Fairmont hotel. Did you fly here, or do you have a car?"
"I flew. But perhaps you're tired after the game?" Was that a hint of a challenge in Ben's voice?
Mark raised his eyebrows. "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I can make it to my own hotel room. In fact, I'll race you there."
Ben grinned and spread his wings with a whoosh. Mark fought his way up the first difficult feet in the air--starting from the ground always took a bit of work, but he refused to admit that he was tired. This was just like when they'd been kids, racing each other and practicing maneuvers in the air, except then they'd had the MacKenzie delta spread out below them instead of the city of Chicago.
Mark was pretty sure he would've lost the race, because a game like that took it out of you, except that Ben backed up in mid-air, hovering to let an old lady pass who was gliding stiffly down from one of the skyscrapers. Mark dove past him and narrowly won, skidding to a halt on the hotel roof.
Ben glared at him as he landed. Mark grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Pretty sure that means I get to fuck you."
Ben drew in a sharp breath. "You don't need an excuse for that."
Mark pulled away reluctantly, aware of the hotel doormen at the topside entrance to the hotel, with their uniforms and decoratively sheathed wings. The doormen were politely not looking their way, but still.
"Let's get inside, all right?"
Ben nodded, with one last intent glance at Mark before they went over to the entrance.
Mark had a room to himself, which he was grateful for at the moment. Not that he hadn't gotten it with just this purpose in mind, but he hadn't known for sure that Ben would be at the game. They'd fucked the last time Mark had been in town, but that didn't guarantee that they would this time. He'd hoped, though.
But Ben was here now, and out of sight of any one else but him. He watched Ben pull his jacket off, lifting it over his head to clear the wings. Not one to resist a temptation, Mark hooked his fingers in Ben's jeans and pulled him in for a kiss. It began open-mouthed and didn't exactly get more decorous from there.
Afterwards, Ben lay on his side with his wings curving off to one side, taking up half the room. He had the relaxed and sated look of someone who's been well fucked.
"You need to get laid more often," Mark said.
"Possibly." Ben's lips were twitching, like he was trying not to smile. "We can get dinner from room service, and after that you'd be welcome to make a further contribution to this worthy cause."
Mark snorted. Then he looked at Ben, at the smile that was now definitely there. "Yeah, I'd like that."