Archive of Our Own

The Chicago Blizzards’ arena was filled with the loud voices of players and crew members. Every few moments, the sharp crack of a puck hitting a hockey stick rang out, and the sound of skates carving into the ice echoed through the arena. The team was practicing ahead of their next game against Colorado, and spirits were high. The Raptors hadn't had much to brag about lately. Unlike the Blizzards, they had only managed to win three games so far, so the Chicago squad was feeling nothing but positive.

Aaron was busy taping up a few players who required it. For the time being, he was the team’s only physiotherapist since Anthony had recently quit – apparently over a salary dispute. He hadn’t been able to reach an agreement with management, which left Aaron working solo as the head physio, supported only by other medical staff members who had their own sets of responsibilities. It was rare for the team doctor or the medical trainers to interfere with Aaron's tasks unless the specific situation required it, and vice versa.

“Thanks, man,” said Jeffrey Campbell, one of the defensemen Aaron had just helped with a wrist wrap. He patted Aaron on the back and stood up to head toward the ice.

“You're welcome,” Aaron replied with a small smile.

The blonde shivered slightly from the chill lingering in the arena. He liked his job, but he didn't think he’d ever get used to spending so much time outside his office. It was much warmer there, and his circulation definitely preferred it.

“You’re in high demand today, aren’t you?”

Aaron turned toward the voice and saw Kevin Day standing across from him, shirtless. He was wearing only the tracksuit bottoms.

“Have you lost your mind?” The blonde arched an eyebrow, casting a stray glance toward the player’s bare chest, trying his best not to let his eyes linger longer than necessary. “What are you doing? Do you want to get sick before the game?”

“I’ll be fine,” Day rolled his eyes. Diva. “I’ve had this weird feeling in my knee for a few days now. I thought it would go away, but I can still feel it while I'm suiting up. Might be better to tape it up.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Okay, can you come by the locker room? ‘Cause you know…,” Kevin smirked. “I don’t want to get sick.”

This time, it was Aaron’s turn to roll his eyes, but he nodded and signaled that he’d be there in a moment. He gathered his supplies and told one of the coaches where he’d be for a bit if anyone needed him.

Inside the locker room, Kevin was already sitting on the bench and stripping off his remaining gear. He was down to just his compression shorts and knee pads. Aaron nodded to Laurent, the goalie, who acknowledged him with a wave of his stick before heading out, leaving Aaron alone with Kevin.

“Last one on the ice during practice,” Aaron remarked to the striker. “Making everyone wait for you?”

“I’ve earned the privilege of making them wait. Besides, this won’t take long,” Kevin stated in his usual haughty tone.

And technically, he was right. Day was one of the most coveted and significant players in the NHL. Having played for Chicago for three years now, he had contributed to many of the team’s successes, including winning the Stanley Cup two years in a row. It was a rare game where he didn't score. On top of that, he was the captain. So, he was perhaps a little justified in having a bit of an attitude. For someone of his stature, he didn't even flaunt it that often. But Aaron wasn't about to tell him that.

“Empathetic as always,” the blonde quipped, rummaging through his bag to pull out the k-tape. “Any preference for the color?”

“Aaron.”

“Fine,” the physio shrugged and picked out the green one. “Left knee?”

Kevin sighed and nodded. Aaron got to work, trying not to let himself get distracted by the fact that Kevin Day was sitting in front of him wearing nothing but black tracksuit bottoms. Very tight.

With practiced precision, the blonde tended to the player’s knee, then gently gripped Kevin’s calf, lifting it and lowering it back down to test the range.

“Everything feel alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s good. Thanks,” Day replied, immediately starting to get dressed. “You doing anything later?”

“No, I still have to pack before tomorrow’s evening flight.”

“Want to grab some dinner after practice?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“But I still have to pack.”

“You’ll have time to pack, Aaron,” Kevin tried to be bitchy, but it came out in a more amused, teasing tone.

“Okay, I know. Just saying,” the physio shrugged, picking up his equipment bag and tossing a quick “See you later” over his shoulder. Instead of looking at Kevin’s athletic frame, he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

After practice, which ran longer than usual, Aaron checked in with every player and had them perform a series of exercises. He also examined those complaining of minor niggles to ensure nothing serious was developing. Kevin, too, peppered him with questions, announcing that they would finish their conversation over food.

This wasn't unusual for them. Well, maybe not from the very beginning. Aaron had joined the medical team a year and a half ago and, unlike everyone else around him, hadn't been immediately charmed by Kevin’s media persona. He had always been distant with people and didn't have many friends, preferring to keep to a small, trusted circle. But as he got to know the striker better through several rehab sessions, he realized that Day’s specific personality was tolerable. Likable, even. Early on, they had seen each other frequently due to a left-hand injury the striker had sustained back in college. It also turned out that Kevin was a massive history geek, and Aaron often found himself genuinely interested in what Kevin had to say. He’d even started investing time in certain historical facts because of him. Privately, he didn't treat Kevin like a massive hockey superstar. Consequently, they had fallen into an easy friendship that extended beyond the arena walls.

The only piece of propaganda Aaron had unfortunately fallen victim to was that Kevin Day was annoyingly attractive. He wasn’t typically handsome; there was something more akin to a flawless prettiness in his features. The Queen's pawn tattoo on his cheek, the dark hair, the captivating green eyes. Not to mention his physique and overall athletic build

– the broad shoulders, the defined muscles…

Yeah, so Kevin Day was very attractive. Everyone knew it, and everyone talked about it. Aaron knew it too, but he only admitted it to himself, as anything else made no sense in a situation where Kevin was likely straight, and Aaron was the team physio who technically shouldn’t even be thinking about his friend that way.

That was why he usually didn't allow himself to think about it at all.

​He waited for Kevin outside his office, saying goodbye to the players and coaches as they filtered out. When the striker finally arrived, they decided to head to the nearest restaurant right next to the arena. Aaron didn’t live far from his workplace, and Kevin had driven, so he could head back without any trouble afterward. On the way, they discussed a book Aaron had recommended to Day about medical serial killers.

​Once they sat down and placed their orders, Kevin winced slightly and began massaging his left hand.

​“Does it hurt?” Aaron frowned.

​“Sometimes it aches more when it snows for a long time.” And lately, it had been snowing constantly; the weather throughout almost all of January had been really tough.

​“Let me see,” Aaron muttered.

​Kevin extended his injured hand to the blonde, who began to gently massage and examine the tissue.

​“You didn’t have this inflammation before practice,” Aaron noted.

​“I guess,” the striker replied. “Is it bad?”

​“No, it’s not,” the physio reassured him. “But it means you have to be careful during practices and games, because clearly, the hand is starting to get more and more strained.”

​Kevin pressed his lips into a thin line and said nothing. Aaron sighed softly and gently squeezed the hand encircled by a scar.

​“It’s going to be fine, Kevin. You just have to be cautious,” the blonde assured him. “And go see the team doctor, okay?”

​When Kevin still didn’t respond, continuing to stare pensively at his hand in his friend’s grasp, Aaron let go and tilted his head. Only then did Kevin look up at him, as if startled out of a trance, and nodded.

​“Fine.”

​Eventually, the subject changed, and their food arrived in the meantime, but a moment later, Kevin circled back to something more like their previous conversation.

​“By the way, I have a few other things that are bothering me. Like in body pains and stuff,” he said, taking a bite of his salmon salad.

​“Such as?”

​“Just some random pains here and there. They pop up from time to time in different places and disappear, then show up again.”

​“Okay…” Aaron arched an eyebrow while chewing his pasta. “Sounds like psychosomatic symptoms.”

​“No, I don't think so.”

​“Are you sure?”

​“We’re supposed to report everything to the physiotherapist, right?”

​“Well, yeah, but–”

​“Then be professional and don’t undermine my reports, Doctor Minyard,” Kevin was definitely teasing him now, but Aaron wasn’t about to fall into the trap.

​“Very well, Mr. Day. In that case, please report every such instance to me,” the blonde smiled wryly, though without any real venom. “How fortunate that your ego is indestructible. At least I don’t have to tape that up.”

​“Fuck you,” Kevin kicked him under the table.

*

During the game in Colorado, it didn't take long for Kevin to score the first goal. By the seventh minute of the first period, Blizzards' enthusiasts were already celebrating and by the third period, the Chicago team had managed to put six goals on the board, while the Raptors trailed with only two. Fans wearing the same white and orange jerseys as the Blizzards' away uniforms jumped and shouted with delight from the stands.

​The final five minutes of play were incredibly intense. Aaron watched as the opposing players fought with everything they had to capitalize on their remaining chances, but everyone knew they wouldn't be able to close the gap. The Blizzards were still giving it their all, too. Under Kevin’s leadership, no one ever rested on their laurels, even when victory was all but certain.

​Colorado was now on a power play. Blizzards’ Griffin and Hoffmann had been sent to the box for slashing and boarding. The clock showed two minutes remaining. Vincent Ghan from Colorado and Chicago's Ben Williams were lining up for what would likely be the final face-off of the evening. Everyone was ready to end this game, including Kevin. Aaron could see the focus, determination, and sheer concentration on his face even from his seat. Day’s ambition never allowed him to show any signs of celebration or satisfaction until the very last second of the game. He always looked as if his life depended on the final play, regardless of the score.

Ben won the face-off, and the puck went to Fayette. The players quickly moved toward the Colorado goal, practicing sharp, accurate passes. For a moment, several players crowded behind the net, fighting for the puck; the sound of sticks clashing rang out over the loud cheering. Aaron thought the game was about to end right then and there, but the puck suddenly flew to the right, bounced, and landed straight under Kevin’s stick – who had been waiting for exactly that. Giving no one else a chance to intercept, he lined up his shot and, without wasting a second, aimed straight for the goalie's five-hole. In an instant, the puck was in the net, and a split second later, the roar of the crowd took over the arena. The horn blared, signaling the end of the game.

​Aaron, along with the rest of the staff, stood up and began to clap, finally able to fully celebrate the Blizzards’ win. The Chicago players tapped their sticks together and bumped into one another in quick, satisfied gestures. Kevin pulled off his helmet, and only then did Aaron notice a small but definitely pleased smile on his face; pride was written all over his posture. Teammates patted him on the back and ruffled his hair, everyone shouting words of approval.

​Aaron liked watching Kevin in moments like these. He liked it when the whole team was happy and the mood was positive after a win, but his attention always ended up fixed on the striker. On the way his features automatically relaxed and filled with vigor, on the grace and pride with which he moved across the ice as he lined up to shake hands with the opposing team. The blonde felt a strange satisfaction both from watching Day’s ferocity during the game – his professionalism as he scored and moved across the ice – and from his demeanor afterward.

​What Aaron didn't like was admitting to himself that it turned him on incredibly. Far too much for two people who were friends and, above all – for a situation where Aaron essentially worked for Kevin.

​After the game, the team dealt with their post-match routines and talks with the coaches. Their next duty was a consultation with the physio if they needed it, so Aaron headed straight to his hotel room, which doubled as his clinic while on the road. Upon arriving in Colorado, he had set up two treatment tables, mats, and other necessary equipment. He had spent the entire first day, after organizing the gear, on massages and exercises to ensure everyone would be fit the next day. Late that night, while the others were getting into the headspace for the game, Aaron had collapsed onto his bed, exhausted.

​Now, late in the evening, he was waiting for players to show up with potential complaints about injuries. Fortunately, the next full practice wouldn't take place until they returned to Chicago.

​Over the course of an hour and a half, four people showed up: one for a massage, the rest for general stretching and consultations – including Griffin, whose wrist had had a close encounter with a Raptors player’s stick, though he likely wouldn't need to miss any games.

​Aaron was about to pack up his equipment so he wouldn't have to rush the next morning when he heard one more knock at the door. He checked his watch and sighed softly, but went to open it.

​Leaning against the doorframe was Kevin. The striker gave a small nod, and the blonde signaled for him to come in.

​“I was supposed to come with Domanski, but the coach called me in. Sorry,” Day said, hands in his pockets as he looked around the room. “There’s a lot of space here compared to some of the rooms you get on the road.”

​“Yeah, one of the better ones. Sometimes I couldn't even set up a second massage table.”

​“Technically, they should start giving you a separate room for rehab.”

​“Tell that to the management.”

​Kevin took a deep breath and muttered quietly, “I have a hard enough time getting through to them myself.”

​Aaron didn't have time to ask Day to elaborate, because at that moment, the player started to undress. Unwanted shivers ran down the blonde’s spine as he stood behind Kevin, staring embarrassingly at the muscles moving across his bare back. When Kevin stripped down to his boxers and turned to face him, Aaron’s mouth went dry.

​“I have this uncomfortable pain in my lower back. I felt it today, about halfway through the game,” Day announced, meeting the physio’s eyes and touching the spot in question. “I was hoping for a massage.”

​Aaron stubbornly tried to maintain eye contact to avoid looking lower, nodding because he didn't trust his voice. He waved toward the treatment table and went to wash and cream his hands. When he returned from the bathroom, Kevin was lying on his stomach, his head nestled in the face cradle.

​Aaron took a breath, trying to center himself, but the sight of Kevin laid out on the table made his heart thud rhythmically against his ribs. He had treated so many players on the team today. He had touched Griffin’s corded forearms and rubbed out the knots in Fayette’s calves. Every single one of them was an elite athlete – lean, powerful, and objectively attractive. But his hands hadn't shaken then.

​As he stepped up to the table and placed his palms on Kevin's lower back, the heat of the striker's skin felt like a physical jolt. Aaron started with slow, broad strokes, but his fingers were betraying him, lingering on the way Kevin's lats flared out into a perfect V-shape.

​Underneath his hands, Kevin’s muscles were a map of every hour he’d spent in the gym, and every hit he’d taken on the ice. They felt denser than the others, more responsive. When Aaron pressed his thumbs into the muscles flanking the spine, Kevin let out a low, muffled groan into the face cradle.

​The sound sent a surge of heat straight to Aaron’s gut. He focused intensely on a knot near Kevin’s lumbar spine, trying to maintain his professional distance, but it was impossible. He was hyper-aware of everything: the way Kevin’s skin felt slightly tacky, the sharp scent of the muscle rub, and the way the striker’s breathing was slowly deepening.

​“Is the pressure okay?” Aaron managed to ask, his voice sounding thinner than he liked.

​“Yeah,” Kevin’s voice was a low vibration that Aaron felt through his palms. “Don't stop.”

​Aaron leaned into it, using his body weight to work deeper into the tissue. He watched the way the muscles shifted and rolled under his touch. He’d seen Kevin in suits, in his gear, and in jerseys, but this – this raw, vulnerable proximity was different. It wasn't just about the physical beauty, though the way the light caught the contours of Kevin’s shoulders was distracting enough. It was the fact that this body belonged to Kevin.

​He found himself tracing the edge of Kevin's black boxers with his pinky finger, just barely skimming the skin, and he had to pull back mentally before he did something stupid. He had touched a few backs today, but only this one made him feel like he was the one being examined.

​“You're tense,” Kevin murmured, his voice sounding drowsy but observant.

​Aaron’s heart skipped. “I've had a long day. Just shut up and let me work.”

​Kevin let out a huff of a laugh that made his back move under Aaron's hands, and for a split second, Aaron allowed himself to simply feel the weight and the warmth of him. Every so often, he allowed himself a firmer touch – not enough to cause any harm, but the selfish part of Aaron's mind couldn't help itself. Wincing slightly at his own foolishness, he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as he worked his way up toward Kevin’s shoulder blades. The silence in the room was getting heavy, charged with a kind of energy that had nothing to do with hockey.

​“You know,” Kevin started, his voice muffled by the headrest but clearly amused. “You're a lot more aggressive with those thumbs than you were during the beginning of the season.”

​Aaron snorted, leaning more of his weight into a particularly stubborn knot. “Stop being dramatic. This is me being nice.”

​“Is that what this is?” Kevin turned his head to the side in the cradle, peering up at Aaron with one green eye. The angle made him look younger, less like the intimidating captain and more like the man Aaron had spent hours talking to about medieval architecture.

​“Yes, Kevin.”

​Kevin’s expression shifted, the playful glint in his eyes darkening into something more challenging. “Okay.”

​Aaron felt his ears heat up. He shifted his grip, his fingers brushing against the side of Kevin's neck – a touch that was far less clinical than it should have been.

​The entire massage session took about forty minutes, as the blonde wanted to ensure that despite his partial distraction, everything was done correctly. He let out a shaky breath, his thumbs tracing the line of Kevin’s spine one last time. The tension in the room was so thick he could almost taste it, even despite the fact that for the last few minutes, the room had been filled only with the quiet sounds of Kevin's satisfaction. Aaron knew he should pull away, pack his bags, and tell Kevin to get some sleep. Instead, he lingered, his palms resting flat against the warm skin of Kevin’s back.

​“You're done,” Aaron said quietly, though he didn't move his hands.

​“Am I?” Kevin asked, his voice low and suggestive. He began to push himself up, his muscles rippling under Aaron’s touch as he turned over to sit on the edge of the table.

​He didn't reach for his shirt. He just sat there, inches away from Aaron, looking at him with an intensity that made Aaron’s knees feel weak. “Thanks for the help,” Kevin said, his voice dropping an octave.

​“Sure,” Aaron managed to say, finally forcing himself to take a step back and grab a towel. “Now get out of here before I charge you overtime.”

​Kevin chuckled and a rich sound filled the small room. He stood up, grabbed his clothes, and headed for the door, but stopped with his hand on the handle. He looked back at Aaron, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

​“See you tomorrow.”

​Before Aaron could respond, the door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the quiet room.

*

The following weeks were spent on practices, games, celebrating wins, and occasionally coming to terms with losses. However, Chicago’s position remained strong, and hope was building within the team that this would be another year for the Blizzards to claim the Stanley Cup. Aaron still hadn't received any backup and had to manage as the sole physiotherapist, which was becoming increasingly burdensome. He didn't complain much about the pay, unlike Anthony, but with the play-offs approaching and several players suffering injuries, he felt as though he were constantly stationed in his office or in private rehab sessions.

His own exhaustion, which he was skilled at masking, allowed him to notice the same in someone else. Lately, he had been seeing a lot of Kevin. The striker showed up at his office again and again, each time with a different problem. Aaron even suggested him to take a break from playing and return only for the play-offs, but the player refused. It was understandable that the team captain wanted to be in the best possible shape and play it safe, but with every conversation or message from Kevin asking if he could come in for a private session after hours, Aaron began to wonder if Day wasn't becoming a hypochondriac. Usually, players show up because they know they have to, but none of them were as determined or as regular on their own accord as Kevin had been lately.

Perhaps it was a consequence of the fact that Kevin was the most sought-after element of the team – the prodigy, perpetually under fire from the media and coaches who noticeably demanded a great deal from him. Aaron saw the signs of fatigue in the striker and the tension in his posture. No amount of physical exercise would help if it were constantly being undermined by stress.

In mid-March, before a game against Nashville, Aaron decided to take a risk and, for the first time, it was he who called Kevin to his office.

Practice wasn't scheduled to start for another two hours, so they had enough time before the first people would start arriving at the arena and he and Kevin would have to attend to their other duties.

When the striker appeared in the team physio's office, Aaron already had everything he wanted to say prepared in his head, with various reports and Day's medical file lying on the desk.

“You wanted to see me?”

The blonde gestured toward the chair on the other side of the desk. “Hey, yeah. Have a seat, please.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow uncertainly.

“Sounds serious,” the striker said, complying with the request.

“Look, I know we’ve talked about this before, but as a member of the team’s medical staff, I have a duty to pay attention to these things and not downplay them,” Aaron began. “You're reporting various pains and physical issues to me far too often. And before you say anything–,” the blonde raised a hand when he saw Kevin trying to interject, “yes, that's what I'm here for, for players to report all inconveniences and things that worry them, but Kevin...literally only you are a constant presence reporting something every single time. Even when we go out together, you admit that something needs checking and so on.”

Surprisingly, instead of firing back with a smart response, Kevin looked embarrassed. He looked down and began to fidget nervously with his fingers, looking almost as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't.

“I don't know what to tell you. I thought it was a good thing that I wanted to keep everything under control,” the striker finally looked at Aaron and folded his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture.

“Don't take this as an attack, because this conversation isn't one,” the blonde took a breath and stood up. He walked around the desk and sat on the edge of it, so as to be closer to his friend. “I'm simply worried about your condition. My notes from our sessions since October are almost ten pages long. I can't ignore that.”

When Kevin again said nothing, Aaron continued his argument: “How often do you see the team psychologist?”

At that, Kevin snorted. “What are you suggesting?”

“That you won't last long if you continue to ignore the signals from your body that you are mentally overwhelmed,” Aaron replied firmly, without a hint of hesitation. “Answer me.”

“I see Jared.”

“How often?”

“Enough.”

“Meaning?”

“I don't know, once a month?” Kevin raised his voice. “Maybe I missed a few meetings, but I have a packed schedule.”

“And that's exactly the point, Kev. You're important to this team, but you're overworked. Everyone has a limit they can endure while simultaneously being one of the best players in the NHL.”

“I'm fine,” Day sighed.

“No, you're not,” Aaron was trying, he was trying really hard. “What's going on? Just tell me.”

Kevin closed his eyes and looked as if he were mentally bracing himself for an answer. Finally, he looked back at Aaron and cleared his throat.

“The coach has been riding me a bit lately. He's very focused on me staying in shape and leading the team the way I am for as long as possible,” the striker admitted. “Chicago hasn't had a good run like the one we've had for a few years since I've been here, so everyone wants to keep it going.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Aaron, I'll go to the psychologist, just don't make me do a confession booth thing here.”

“This is a serious matter. It's not just about your hypochondria, but also about the chronic pain in your left hand. If–”

“Wait, hypochondria? Don't exaggerate.”

“Psychosomatic pains, pains caused by stress and tension, whatever, Kevin. It’s not healthy,” Aaron, in a burst of courage, leaned in and touched the striker's shoulder. “Your tests are normal, and some of the problems you report are so unverifiable that there isn't much I can do with them, but I can't ignore it either. Consult with Jared urgently, okay?” The blonde squeezed his shoulder lightly. “I'll talk to the coaches, maybe.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“But I want to. I care about you,” Aaron confessed, then added quickly: “As a player whose good shape I'm supposed to look after. And as a friend.”

Kevin looked him in the eye with an unreadable expression. There was a hint of hesitation, a desire to add something else, and some kind of inner turmoil. Day frowned and rose from the chair. Only then did Aaron realize he had still been holding his hand on Kevin's shoulder.

“I've taken everything on board. I'll try to follow the instructions.”

“This conversation was for your own good. Show up at my place less, and at Jared's more,” Aaron even smiled a little as he said it, but at that moment Kevin made a face as if he had just heard something unpleasant.

“Sure,” he nodded and turned on his heel, exiting the office.

Now it was Aaron's turn to frown. For a moment he wondered if he had said something wrong, but then again, Kevin was Kevin. Right now his ego, which hated being questioned, was suffering. But he would recover.

*

​A week later, during a few days off, Aaron’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. The blonde, watching a cooking show, picked up the device.

The notification turned out to be a message from Kevin, asking if he could call. Aaron responded with a thumbs-up emoji. A moment later, the phone rang.

​“Hey,” Kevin greeted him.

​“Hey,” Aaron shifted his position on the bed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “What’s up?”

​“Look, I know we just talked about this and I’ve already seen Jared, but I’ve got a really nasty cramp in my calf this time, and I can't seem to get rid of it.”

​Aaron sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. “When did the cramp start?”

​“Yesterday evening.”

​In Aaron's head, potential reasons for the cramp were swirling, despite the fact that Kevin should have been resting – and likely had been for the last few days – so maybe there really was something to it. Besides, he couldn't find it in himself to refuse him.

​“Alright, I’ll drive over to your place.”

​“No, no need,” Kevin answered quickly. “I’m the one calling during our time off, so I’ll come to you.”

​“Are you sure? Can you manage the drive?”

​“Yeah. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

​They hung up, and Aaron got up to quickly clear the worst of the clutter in his apartment. He also changed into something a bit more presentable. He wasn't entirely sure why.

​When Kevin crossed the threshold of his home at the appointed time, Aaron offered him a glass of water and directed him to the room reserved for these kinds of emergencies, where he kept his own purchased equipment and useful exercise gear, which he also used on himself.

​“Thanks again for doing this. I don't exactly want to head into the play-offs with cramps.”

​“For sure,” Aaron nodded. “Change your pants and sit down,” he pointed to the treatment table standing against the wall and went to grab an oil to reduce the friction and some gloves.

​Kevin did what he was told, getting dressed in shorts he brought with him and sat on the edge of the table. His movements were slightly stiff, before he finally swung his leg up as Aaron instructed. The room was quiet, much smaller and more intimate than the arena office, filled only with the hum of the city outside and the sound of their breathing.

​As Aaron began to work on the tight muscle, his hands were steady, but his mind was anything but. Every time he pressed into the calf, he could feel the underlying tension in Kevin’s entire body – not just the physical kind.

“I don't feel anything alarming. I'm sure it's not anything that bad, but you have to relax a bit,” Aaron informed. ​“How was the session with Jared?” he then asked quietly, his eyes focused on his work.

​Kevin let out a sharp breath, his head falling back. “Heavy. He talks a lot about unmet expectations. My own, the coach's. And so on.”

​“I told you,” Aaron murmured. “You carry the weight of the whole team on your back, Kev. Eventually, your body starts looking for ways to scream for help.”

​“Maybe,” Kevin said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Or maybe I just like the way you look when you're trying to fix me.”

​Aaron’s hands froze for a split second. He didn't look up, but he could feel the heat blooming behind his ears. He finished the massage in a tense, charged silence, the slick sound of the peppermint oil the only thing filling the space between them.

​When he was done, Aaron stepped back to grab a towel, but instead of leaving the table, Kevin stayed where he was. He shifted so he was sitting on the edge again, his knees nearly brushing Aaron’s thighs. Aaron hesitated, then sat down on the small stool beside him, trying to maintain his professional distance.

“How's your hand?” Aaron tried to act normal.

The striker looked down at his injured hand for a moment and shrugged. “It's okay for now.”

“Good,” the blond said, and for a while, neither of them spoke again.

​The silence grew thick, suffocatingly heavy. Kevin didn't move to get dressed. He just watched Aaron, his green eyes searching the blonde’s face with a raw, terrifying honesty. Kevin leaned in just a fraction – so close that Aaron could smell the faint scent of his cologne.

​Aaron’s gaze dropped to Kevin’s lips, then snapped back up. The urge to close the distance was so overwhelming it felt like a physical weight in his chest. Kevin's hand twitched on the table, moving inches closer to Aaron’s knee.

​Just as Kevin’s breath hitched, Aaron stood up abruptly, the legs of the stool scraping harshly against the floor. The sound was like a gunshot, shattering the moment.

​“You're... you're all set,” Aaron said, his voice shaking slightly as he turned his back to grab his supplies. “Don't forget to hydrate. And stay off the ice for the rest of the break.”

​Kevin stared at him for a long beat, the air still vibrating with what hadn't happened. He cleared his throat and stood up, reaching for his shirt.

​“Right,” Kevin said, his voice flat but strained. “Hydrate. Stay off the ice. I'll see you at practice, Aaron.”

​When the door finally closed, Aaron leaned against the table and closed his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. What the fuck is happening?

*

​The final game before the play-offs had drawn the usual massive crowds. Today’s clash between Chicago and Dallas was important and everyone in the arena could feel it. Especially the players.

​Both teams were warming up on their respective sides of the ice, while Aaron stood close by, watching the Blizzards players. In particular, one of them.

​It had been two weeks since the last time Kevin had reported anything to him. Their last meeting had been at Aaron’s house and the blonde was no longer sure if this gap was truly the result of progress made with the team psychologist, or something else. Something unspoken and incomprehensible to Aaron, which he didn’t quite want to think about.

​At the appointed time, the Blizzards and Dallas lined up on the ice, and Chicago’s Kalimov won the first face-off.

​The game started at a blistering pace. Dallas was playing a heavy, physical game, trying to intimidate the Blizzards. Kevin, however, was playing like a man possessed. He was everywhere – winning battles along the boards, directing the power play, and taking hits that would have sidelined a lesser player.

​Aaron watched from the bench, his medical bag at his feet. He noticed that Kevin seemed paler than usual under the harsh arena lights, his movements a fraction of a second slower than his peak performance. Still, the striker pushed through. Mid-way through the first period, Kevin managed to slip past two defensemen, rifling a shot into the top corner to put Chicago up 1-0. The crowd erupted, but as his teammates swarmed him to celebrate, Aaron saw Kevin lean heavily against the goalpost for a second too long, his chest heaving.

​With three minutes left in the first period, the intensity reached a breaking point. Dallas had sustained a long attack in the Chicago zone, and the Blizzards' defensive line was gassed. Kevin dropped back deep into his own zone to help clear the puck. He took a hard hit against the glass from a Dallas enforcer, but he didn't stay down. He scrambled back to his feet, chasing the play toward center ice.

​Suddenly, the puck took a weird bounce. Kevin pivoted to chase it, but his skates seemed to catch on nothing. He slowed down, his stick slipping from his gloved hand and clattering onto the ice.

​Aaron stood up instinctively, his grip tightening on the railing. “Kevin?” he whispered to himself.

​On the ice, Kevin’s head lolled back. He took one more staggering step, his legs turning to lead and then he simply crumpled. He didn't even put his hands out to break his fall. He hit the ice hard, sliding a few feet on his side before coming to a dead stop near the face-off circle.

​The whistle blew instantly, cutting through the roar of the crowd. The arena went deathly silent.

​“Ashton, Arina!” the coach screamed for medical trainers, who immediately rushed to the striker. 

Aaron, taking advantage of the fact that he was the one primarily responsible for directing Kevin's physical health lately – and was the one who authorized his consultations with other medical specialists whenever necessary – sprang into action as well. He threw on his skates in a flash and sprinted toward the motionless figure in their black and orange home games uniform. His heart was hammering against his ribs in a way that had nothing to do with professional duty.

​When they reached him, Kevin was unresponsive, his eyes closed and his face a terrifying shade of gray.

​“Day! Day look at me!” Arina, an assistant athletic trainer, shouted, dropping to her knees beside him, her hands moving frantically to check for a pulse and breathing. “He has a pulse, but his breathing is very shallow.” Around them, the players hovered in a panicked circle.

​Ashton, seeing Kevin’s condition, didn’t even bother opening his bag. Instead, he made several sharp, dynamic gestures toward the paramedic team, who appeared on the ice moments later with a neck collar and a portable stretcher to get him safely and efficiently to the ambulance.

​“Has he complained of any dizziness or general weakness lately?” One of the paramedics asked. Arina and Ashton both looked toward Aaron.

​“None of that. It’s always been strictly injury-related,” the blonde said, watching as the paramedics carefully secured the collar and lifted an unconscious Kevin onto the stretcher. “Where are you taking him?” He knew that, first of all, he couldn't go with them, and second, as the head physiotherapist, he couldn't just walk out on the rest of the game the Blizzards still had to play. Not that he’d be able to focus at all.

​The paramedics gave them the name of the hospital before quickly heading toward the arena exit with the striker. Aaron was still staring after them when one of the referees nudged him gently in the back, signaling for him to get off the ice.

​The rest of the game was a blur of whistles, cold air, and a hollow ache in Aaron’s chest. The moment the final buzzer sounded, he didn't join the muted celebration of their win. He left the arena as quickly as possible and called a taxi to take him to the hospital.

​When he arrived, the atmosphere was clinical and frustratingly impenetrable. He also had to argue with the receptionist for a while.

​“I'm the team's head physiotherapist,” Aaron told the woman in her forties, his voice tight with a mix of exhaustion and fear. 

​“I understand, Mr. Minyard, but the patient is currently undergoing tests and the doctors have requested no visitors until he is stabilized. Only immediate family or the designated team physician are allowed back right now.”

​Aaron spent the next four hours pacing the waiting room, ignoring the vibration of his phone as teammates texted for updates. He tried calling the team doctor, Higgins, three times, not caring if his persistence seemed suspicious or rabid. He was a professional, sure, but the thought of Kevin – vibrant, arrogant, unstoppable – looking so grey on the ice made his stomach churn. Higgins finally picked up but was brief, only confirming that Kevin was conscious but sedated for observation.

​Aaron eventually drove home in the early hours of the morning, collapsing into bed without even taking off his shoes.

​He woke up late the next day, his head throbbing. He reached for his phone, expecting a barrage of emails from management. Instead, the top notification was a text from a familiar number.

​Kevin (11:14 AM): I'm alive. Stop harassing Higgins, you’re giving him a headache.

​Aaron felt a wave of relief so violent it made him feel dizzy. His fingers shook as he typed back.

​Aaron (1:16 PM): You scared the hell out of everyone. What happened?

He thought that the answer would not come quickly, but after a moment he received another message.

​Kevin (1:18 PM): Severe exhaustion and a freak drop in blood pressure. My body decided to go on strike. It looked a lot worse than it is. They’re just running some baseline neuro tests to be safe.

​Aaron (1:19 PM): I was worried, Kev.

​There was a long pause. The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared several times.

​Kevin (1:25 PM): I know. I'm sorry. Look, they’re keeping me here for one more day just for observation. Don't bother coming down here. The media is camped outside and it's a circus. Go to the arena, handle your own work. We’ll talk when I’m out. Properly.

​Aaron stared at the word properly. It felt like a promise – or a warning. He replied with a simple “Okay” and took a deep breath. He needs coffee. Or paracetamol. Maybe both.

Only a fraction of the coaching staff was at the arena that day. Aaron didn't hesitate to remind them that it was, in part, their pressure and lack of both professional and human decency that had pushed Kevin into this state.

But later, seeing the striker's file while opening a drawer in his office, Aaron started to think that maybe it was his fault too.

Had he missed something? Overlooked a detail? He had advised Kevin on which specialists to see when he couldn't help him personally, and he had tried his absolute best to fix things himself, but maybe it still wasn't enough? Overthinking and guilt washed over the blonde’s body in a feverish wave. How could he have let this happen? Kevin must have felt that something was wrong. He definitely felt it, otherwise he wouldn't have asked for help so often, but he hadn't known how to define it. And Aaron had gone and accused him of fucked-up things like being a hypochondriac. Now Kevin was lying in a hospital. Jesus Christ. He felt like shit.

He left early, unable to concentrate on anything, and went home, constantly glued to his phone, waiting for more information from Kevin. His migraine wouldn't let up, but Aaron didn't want to go back to sleep.

Finally, at eight in the evening, a text from Day arrived.

Kevin (8:11 PM): I’m being discharged tomorrow morning. House arrest. I told them you’d be the one picking me up.

*

Aaron was at the hospital entrance twenty minutes early the next morning. He had barely slept, his mind replaying the image of Kevin collapsing on the ice like a broken marionette. When the sliding doors finally opened and Kevin appeared, Aaron felt his breath hitch.

Kevin looked better than he had on the ice, but he was still noticeably worn out. His usual sharp, arrogant edge was softened by exhaustion.

The Uber drive to Kevin’s apartment was uncharacteristically quiet. Aaron kept his eyes on the road ahead of them, his hands nervously tapping on his thigh. The guilt was still there, a heavy stone in his stomach.

“Aaron,” Kevin said softly, breaking the silence as they pulled into his underground parking complex. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“The silent self-flagellation. I can practically hear your brain spiraling from over here. It wasn't your fault.”

Aaron didn't answer until the car parked and they left the vehicle. He turned to look at Kevin, his expression guarded. “I’m the head physio, Kevin. My entire job is to make sure you’re fine to play. I called you a hypochondriac while your body was literally shutting down from stress.”

Kevin reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he let it rest on Aaron’s forearm. His touch was warm, grounding. “You were the only one who told me to slow down. I was the one who was too stubborn and when I barely listened to you, it was apparently too late. Now, let's go upstairs? I feel like I've gone ten rounds with a Zamboni.”

The elevator ride was again filled with a strange tension. Once inside, the atmosphere shifted even more. The modern, spacious flat felt too quiet, too still. Aaron guided Kevin to the large sofa in the living room, hovering anxiously as the striker settled in.

“Do you need anything? Water? Food? I can check your vitals again if–”

“Aaron,” Kevin interrupted, catching Aaron’s wrist as he tried to move away. He pulled gently, guiding Aaron to sit on the edge of the cushion beside him. The distance between them was gone, replaced by the same heavy, electric tension that had haunted them at Aaron’s house.

Kevin looked at him, his green eyes searching Aaron’s face. “I'm not going to break if you sit still for five minutes.” 

Aaron looked at Kevin’s hand still holding his wrist, then up at his face.

“What if this is partly my fault, Kev?” Aaron sighed, sounding utterly defeated. “If I’m not your physiotherapist, I’m still your friend. I should’ve intervened more firmly when I saw you being exhausted that much. Maybe do something more, take it all even more seriously, I don’t know.”

“Aaron.”

“I should have made Higgins bench you. Something concerning was clearly happening and you needed to rest. Maybe we should’ve assigned more tests. All those pains you reported…maybe the hospital managed to find something more? If–”

“Aaron,” Kevin interrupted him strongly. Seeing the blonde starting to spiral again, he turned fully toward him and grabbed him by both shoulders. “Half of the stuff I came to you with was a fucking lie.”

“Excuse me?”

“I made it up because I wanted to see you more often. It was purely an egoistic act of mine. I needed your attention like a fucking 16-year-old,” Kevin said it all almost in one breath, his voice rising slightly at the end.

Aaron, now even more confused and in total shock, stared into the striker’s eyes as if searching for an explanation for what he had just heard – something he couldn't quite wrap his head around.

“Wait,” the blonde frowned. His worry suddenly began to morph into something else. “Are you saying you were lying to me?”

“No,” Day denied immediately. “Not about everything. I had… I have problems with stress, pressure and all that shit, and I know that was the main reason for what happened during the game. But most of the physical problems I reported to you were a sham.”

“I still don't understand.”

“Jesus, Aaron!” Kevin suddenly stood up and started pacing the room.

“You tell me something like that and expect me to understand why you did it?” Aaron started to get seriously angry, standing up as well.

“I already told you! I did it because I wanted your attention! Your touch, without having to say it directly in other ways because I'm a coward. And I couldn't help the fact that I like you a little too much!” Kevin ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it.

“You like me?” Aaron stood frozen to the spot.

“Yes, fuck,” Day had the audacity to look like he was about to drop dead right then and there.

“So for that reason, out of all possible ways to show me, you chose one where you let me think I was incompetent? Where you played games with me?” Aaron was furious now. If he could have brought himself to ignore the fact that Kevin had just been discharged from the hospital, he would have shoved him.

“I didn't want it to turn out like this. I didn't plan for the accident to happen or for you to think it was somehow your fault.”

“I can't believe you came up with something like that. Do you have any idea how unprofessional this is?”

“I wasn’t playing with your career. I was trying to get to you.” Kevin stepped back into Aaron’s space. The blonde tried to contain the rage and resentment bubbling inside him. But Kevin suddenly took his face in his hands and, worse, pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes. Aaron instinctively hooked a single finger into the hem of Day’s shirt, pulling the fabric down slightly.

“This isn’t fair,” he managed to choke out.

“I know. I'm sorry,” Kevin opened his eyes and hovered close, still too close to Aaron’s face. Their breaths began to mingle. The blonde felt the striker’s thumb gently stroke his cheek. Emotions were piling up in Aaron's head. Each of them – anger, shock, fear – were fighting for the forefront. However, Kevin's current actions and his closeness took the lead, and what's worse – getting out of Day's embrace was the last thing Aaron wanted to do. And he definitely should. His stomach tingled like he was back in high school.

When Kevin kissed him, his ears started to ring. It was as if someone had switched off his brain; he suddenly forgot everything that had happened a moment ago, everything that wasn't Kevin’s lips on his own. Before he could even regain his clarity, the striker had already pulled back, looking Aaron in the eyes. As he leaned in again, likely intending another kiss, that was when the gears in the blonde’s brain finally started working again.

He scrambled out of Day’s space instantly and began shaking his head. “No. No. This is wrong. This is incredibly wrong, Kevin. It’s too much.”

“Aaron–”

“Just think about it,” Aaron covered his face with his hands. “It's too much. We can't.”

At that moment, his legs began leading him toward the exit. Panic and fear took control of everything driving him.

“Aaron, let's just talk” Kevin sounded just as panicked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“I’m not mad about–” He swallowed hard. “I’m not mad about the kiss. I don’t know if I’m mad at you about anything at all, and I probably should be and that’s the problem. I have to go. We have to talk, just…not now.”

“Aaron, please.”

Kevin’s plea was the last thing he heard before closing the door behind him. He was so fucked.

*

The week following Aaron’s exit from Kevin’s apartment was one of the longest of his life. Their communication was reduced to clipped, awkward text messages – strictly about Kevin’s vitals and recovery status. Aaron spent his time hiding in his office when he had to be there, while Kevin remained under house arrest by the order of the team doctor.

​However, the laws of physics didn't care about their emotional turmoil. Kevin had hit the ice hard during his collapse, and as the bruising settled, the real physical toll began to show. His recovery wasn't just about rest; he needed actual physiotherapy to prevent his muscles from seizing up during the play-offs. Aaron didn’t have as much time as he would have liked to process what had happened between them, but in truth, he wasn't sure if any amount of time would ever be enough. He simply had to pull himself together and face what he had been afraid of from the very beginning.

​A text arrived on Thursday evening.

​Kevin (7:22 PM): Higgins said I need a session. My lower back and hip are locking up from the fall. I have the treatment table, just bring your other stuff. Please.

​Aaron stared at the screen for ten minutes. He knew Kevin wasn't lying this time – the fall had been violent enough to warrant legitimate care. He also knew he couldn't send someone else; the team was already suspicious enough about their, apparently, special dynamic.

​When Aaron arrived at Kevin’s penthouse, the air was still thick with the memory of their last encounter. Kevin looked tired, dressed in simple athletic shorts.

​“Hey,” Aaron finally said as his grip tightened on his equipment bag. 

​“Hey,” Kevin replied softly. “The table is in the bedroom.”

Kevin migrated to the said room and Aaron went to wash his hands. When he entered the bedroom, he set his bag down on the floor and Kevin was already sitting on the edge of the treatment table standing in the middle, his hands resting on his knees.

“Did you order a rehab table specifically for this?” Aaron asked.

​“I didn't want to ask you to lug yours all the way here,” Kevin said. 

​A heavy silence fell between them for a moment, during which they looked anywhere but at each other. The blonde finally broke it, snapping his bag open with a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet room and took out his gloves.

​“I'm here as your physiotherapist first. But we also need that talk.”

​“I know,” Kevin replied, his eyes finally meeting Aaron's with a look of honesty.

​Aaron nodded and got to work, biting his lip as he began his examination. As he checked the bruised areas of Kevin’s body before moving on to massage specific muscles, he finally forced himself to speak.

​“So,” he began, his thumbs pressing into a tight muscle on the striker’s thigh. “The lying. You really went through all that effort just for… an excuse for me to touch you and stuff?”

​Kevin let out a shaky breath, his head falling back as Aaron’s hands worked. “I know how it sounds. I just... I didn't know how to ask for your time without a good enough reason. I know it was stupid. And childish. I'm sorry.”

​“You could have just told me,” Aaron muttered, increasing the pressure slightly to work out a knot. “I don't know if it would have been any easier, but you chose an extremely bizarre way to handle it.”

​“I was simply afraid of being rejected,” Kevin admitted, his voice dropping an octave as he looked down at Aaron’s busy hands. “So I chose the only path that seemed logical at the time. One that didn't require me to announce how I felt straight away, I guess.”

​“I still don't know what to do with all this, Kev,” Aaron whispered. He stopped his movements for a second, his palms resting flat against Kevin's skin, feeling the heat radiating from the striker even through the gloves.

​“I have feelings for you, Aaron. If you feel… something for me too, and I get the sense that you do after what happened last time, then I think we both need to say it out loud.”

​Aaron pulled his hands back for a moment, to hide the way his fingers were trembling. “I have feelings for you, Kevin. But this is complicated.”

​“We'll figure something out,” Kevin insisted. He reached out, his hand hovering near Aaron’s hip, waiting for permission.

​“You say that so easily. Relationships like this in the sports world are difficult,” Aaron countered, finally meeting his gaze. He felt the familiar weight of his own anxiety pressing down. “And secondly, I’m pretty sure the fact that I’m your physiotherapist wouldn't exactly help.”

Kevin didn't back down. He sat up straighter, closing the small gap between them. “I care about my career and I know you care about yours. But I also care that you're in my living room and you're not running away.”

Aaron looked at him, the professional mask finally cracking completely. A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I'm only staying because you're literally too beat up to chase me.”

“And you still have to give me that massage,” Day offered him a smile that was truly difficult to ignore. “And… despite everything, this doesn't look like rejection.”

“Because it isn’t. You’re hot and wanted by half the planet, yet you’re confessing your feelings to me. It’s a bit of a confidence boost, honestly.”

“So I’m just hot to you?” Kevin raised a playful eyebrow and pulled Aaron closer by the waist. Aaron had to stop his work entirely.

“No, I literally just said I have feelings for you,” Aaron replied, feigning annoyance and trying to maintain a semblance of calm, though the butterflies in his stomach told a different story. He took off his gloves. “I’ve thought you were hot almost from the very beginning. The feelings came as an occupational hazard.”

“Oh really?” Kevin unexpectedly kissed his jawline, and a shiver ran down Aaron's spine. Resting his cheek against Kevin’s arm, he asked quietly, “What are we going to do, Kev?”

“No one has to know for now.”

“You know this is going to be incredibly difficult and suck in every possible way, right?”

“I know,” Kevin caught Aaron’s chin, forcing the blonde to look him in the eye. “But I want to try. I’m known for handling myself well under difficult conditions,” the striker concluded with a roguish smirk.

Aaron rolled his eyes, the smile returning to his face. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

“But do you want to try?” Day asked, his voice laced with genuine hope.

“I don't think I could not try at this point,” the blonde confessed softly, his gaze dropping to the striker's lips.

Kevin tilted his head, his smirk softening into something much more intimate as he brought their faces closer. “Can I?”

“Oh, now you're asking?” Aaron shot back ironically, but still smiling.

Kevin didn’t wait for a second invitation. He closed the remaining distance, his lips meeting Aaron’s in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and full of the pent-up longing of the past few months. Without any of them running this time.

Aaron felt the heat of Kevin’s skin radiating through his thin shirt, and his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the contact. He reached up, his fingers tangling in the dark hair at the nape of Kevin’s neck. Kevin groaned softly into the kiss, his hands tightening on Aaron’s hips, pulling him flush against the edge of the table until there was no air left between them.

The kiss, despite the lingering aura of something forbidden, was one of the best Aaron had ever experienced in his life. Or perhaps it was exactly for that reason. Either way, Aaron had no intention of letting go of this, now that he had tasted it.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. Aaron’s heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and for the first time in weeks, the crushing weight of his professional anxiety felt manageable.

“Okay,” Aaron whispered, his voice unsteady. “Okay. We try.”

Kevin smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that Aaron rarely got to see away from the cameras. “Now, about that massage…”

“Yes, Kevin, I’ll give you a massage, be patient,” Aaron teased, playfully tugging at the striker's hair. When Day reacted with a low moan, Aaron felt another shiver run through his entire body. “Let me work.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

This time, the silence that fell wasn't uncomfortable – Aaron only occasionally asked Kevin if anything hurt while touching and moving his limbs, the gloves forgotten.

Aaron didn't rush, not only because he wanted to perform his job with his usual precision, but because he simply wanted to spend as much time as possible with Kevin. Now that he knew how his touch affected the striker, he felt the need to provide him with that extra bit of pleasure.

“Okay, strip down and you can lie on your stomach,” the blonde instructed.

“Finally,” Kevin said, letting out an impatient breath.

“You’re acting as if you’re expecting something,” Aaron noted provocatively.

“And should I?” Kevin settled onto the table and asked in an alluring tone.

“Be quiet,” the blonde gently poked Day’s side.

The physiotherapist prepared a fresh towel and began the massage. He started at the bottom, focusing on the particularly strained part of Kevin’s lower back, before slowly moving his hands upward.

Every so often, the striker let out small sounds of approval, making Aaron feel satisfied as well.

When, after several minutes, the massage could have theoretically ended, Aaron still couldn't take his eyes off the sculpted landscape of Day’s back. His body was practically impossible not to admire, even from behind.

Before he could properly weigh all the pros and cons, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to one of Kevin’s shoulder blades. Then the other.

The striker didn't say a word, but he lifted his face from the cradle and turned his head, trying to see what Aaron was doing. Aaron, unfazed, continued to plant delicate kisses across various spots on Day’s back.

“Did they teach you that in med school?” Kevin tried to maintain a nonchalant attitude, but everything in his tone betrayed that this was actually hard for him to do. It gave Aaron the motivation he needed to continue what he had started.

“Not exactly,” the blonde replied. “But they do teach us, for example, which parts of the human body are most sensitive to various…things.”

“Interesting.”

“Mm,” Aaron pressed one last kiss between Kevin’s shoulder blades, then straightened up to look at the striker's face. If Kevin stayed in that position much longer, with his neck arched awkwardly toward him, they’d have a new injury to deal with. He was about to point it out when Kevin pushed himself up on his forearms, chest lifted, and asked: “And which places are those?”

“Well, you’d have to change your position…”

“Are we done here?”

Aaron tried his best to hide a smile. “We’re done.”

Kevin didn’t wait a second longer. He got off the treatment table and moved to the oversized bed in the bedroom. He leaned back against the headboard and looked at Aaron in a way that was no longer playful or subliminal. In his eyes, there was a mixture of challenge, encouragement, and–

Oh.

Oh.

Aaron’s gaze drifted to Kevin’s boxers, which were significantly tighter now than when he’d first arrived.

“So?” Kevin arched an eyebrow. “Are you going to show me now, or…?”

Aaron didn’t answer immediately. He crossed the room slowly, every step measured, only heightening the heavy atmosphere of anticipation. He stopped at the edge of the bed, looming over Kevin, but instead of aggression, there was a nearly reverent focus in his movements.

“Since you’re insisting on a demonstration,” Aaron began in a low, slightly raspy voice. He sat on the mattress right by Kevin’s hip, feeling the heat radiating off him.

He reached out and trailed his thumb along the inside of Day’s wrist. Gently, barely brushing the skin, until he felt Kevin’s pulse hammer beneath his touch.

“The skin is thin here,” he whispered, watching with fascination as Kevin caught his breath. “The receptors are right beneath the surface.” He moved his hand higher, along the forearm, until his fingers tightened more firmly on Kevin’s bicep, pulling him a fraction closer. Kevin let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a grunt of frustration.

“Aaron, stop talking,” Kevin rasped, his hands instinctively tightening on the sheets.

“You’re very impatient. And indecisive.” Aaron offered a half-smile, but his eyes were dark, stripped of their earlier amusement. He leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched. “Do you know what happens to the nervous system when you limit one stimulus to heighten another?”

Before Kevin could ask what he meant, Aaron pressed his lips to the sensitive spot just below his jawline. It was hungry and wet, making Kevin tilt his head back and expose the full line of his neck.

The exploration grew more intense. Aaron’s hands, previously so cautious, began to wander over Kevin’s chest, mapping the hard muscle and the way his skin shivered with every contact. Kevin didn’t hold back either. He lost the last of his self-control and shoved Aaron back, pinning him to the mattress. He braced his arms on either side of the blonde's head and, looking into his eyes with dead seriousness, said in a low voice: “I don’t want to play this anymore.”

“You asked,” Aaron countered. He could feel his own breath becoming uneven, goosebumps prickling his skin from the proximity.

“Aaron,” the striker’s tone remained serious, “I’m going to kiss you again right now. I might do something more, too. Are you okay with this?”

Aaron swallowed hard.

“But you’re the one–” he started, glancing down at Kevin’s crotch, but he was cut off by Day’s firm: “Aaron.”

The blonde waited a beat before finally nodding. “Yeah. I’m okay with it.”

Kevin didn’t waste a second. He leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss that lacked any of Aaron’s medical precision. It was desperate, hungry and filled with relief, showing that Kevin had been stifling this craving for a long time. Aaron responded instantly, tangling his fingers into Kevin’s hair and pulling him even closer, as if trying to erase any remaining space between them.

The kiss quickly deepened, turning more urgent as their tongues met in a heated rhythm.

Kevin broke away for a moment, breathing heavily against Aaron’s lips. His hands slid from the mattress to the blonde’s hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants.

“Off,” Kevin rasped, his voice thick with want. “Everything off.”

Instead of answering with a snarky remark, Aaron simply lifted his hips, helping Kevin strip away the unnecessary layers – first the pants, then the shirt. When they were both finally down to their underwear, the chill of the bedroom seemed to vanish; the only thing that mattered was the feverish skin-on-skin contact.

Kevin began the slow exploration. His hands roamed the sides of the blonde’s body. Every touch was a question and every tremor of Aaron’s body was an answer.

“Did they teach you how the body reacts to this, too?” Kevin asked, sliding his thumb along the taut line of Aaron’s hip, just above the edge of his boxers.

Aaron let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. His composure was shattering. “Theory… theory doesn’t help much without the practice, Kevin.”

Kevin smirked then, seeing just how much he’d managed to throw Aaron off balance. He began to work his way down with kisses, marking a path from the sternum, over the stomach, down to where the desire was most palpable. When his hand finally slipped beneath the fabric of Aaron’s boxers, they both flinched. 

It was their first time like that and despite all the tension, there was something incredibly intimate about it. Kevin moved cautiously, testing what elicited the loudest sighs from Aaron. In the meantime, he had also completely stripped him of his boxers. Day pulled his hand away for just a fleeting second, only to spit into his palm before returning to Aaron's cock, pumping up and down. The blonde mentally slapped himself for the fact that this sight only turned him on more. The slickness was slightly better now, and Kevin also made use of Aaron's precum that was appearing in increasing amounts.

“Kevin…,” Aaron’s voice broke when the striker found the right rhythm and pressure. He arched his back, digging his nails into Kevin’s shoulders, his face a mask of pure, unrefined pleasure. 

“Fuck, you're so hot,” Day gasped, planting frantic kisses along the neck of the boy beneath him.

“I'm not...doing anything,” Aaron wheezed, his eyes squeezed shut.

“You're doing everything to me.”

A few seconds passed before Kevin suddenly pulled away completely, his hand leaving Aaron's length. The blonde nearly let out an embarrassingly desperate sound, but the moment the striker replaced his hand with his mouth, the only thing that escaped him was a startled: “Jesus Christ, Kev.”

Kevin let out a low, long hum, sending vibrations directly through his dick. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive head before taking him deep, his throat tightening around Aaron in a way that made the blonde’s hips jerk off the mattress. Kevin used his hand to stroke the base, his thumb smeared with slick, while his mouth worked with a hungry rhythm.

The sensation was overwhelming. Aaron’s breath came in short, jagged hitches as he watched the dark crown of Kevin’s head move between his thighs. Every time Kevin’s lips hit the root, Aaron felt the spark of it behind his ribs. The friction of Kevin’s tongue was too much and Aaron’s hands migrated from the sheets to Kevin’s hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, not to pull him away, but to hold him there.

“Kev, I'm gonna–” Aaron groaned, though his hips were arching upward, seeking more. The intensity was climbing too fast, the pleasure turning into a sharp ache that demanded release.

Kevin didn’t stop. He looked up, his eyes dark and hooded, meeting Aaron’s gaze for a split second as he took him even deeper, the sucking increasing until Aaron’s vision blurred at the edges. The combination of the heat, the wetness, and the sight of Kevin Day so completely focused on him was the final straw.

“Fuck–”

Aaron’s body went taut as a bowstring. He moaned loudly, fingers tightening in Kevin’s hair as one of the most powerful orgasms of his life took over him. Kevin didn't flinch; he stayed with him through every pulse, his throat working to swallow everything, refusing to let him go until the last of the tremors had faded into the quiet of the room.

Afterward, Aaron lay there like a log, in the same position, waiting for his heartbeat to settle and for the spots in front of his eyes to fade. He stared at the ceiling as if he had just experienced some kind of epiphany, while Kevin let out a soft laugh and lay on his side next to him, propping himself up on an elbow and waving a hand in front of Aaron’s face.

“Are you still here?”

“Don't be such a smartass,” Aaron finally blinked and looked at the man beside him. The smirk vanished from the striker's lips, replaced by an expression the blonde couldn't quite read. Day licked his lips and looked as if he wanted to say something, but Aaron beat him to it. “I don’t…” He swallowed hard, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I want to return the favor, but I could be bad at it, so…”

“Oh,” Kevin frowned. “I didn’t intend to ask that from you. You don't have to. I wanted you to feel good.”

“Well, I want you to feel good, too. I want this, but…” the blonde bit his lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready for a blowjob, but maybe I could at least help you somehow…” This was all new to Aaron, and even though Kevin had just sucked him off, he still felt a lingering sense of shyness.

“You sure?” Kevin reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Aaron’s eyes.

“Yeah, I just don’t know–”

“C’mere,” Day pulled him onto his lap and, resting one hand on the back of the blonde’s neck, drew him into another kiss. This one was calmer than the first, lazier but still searingly hot, causing them both to moan softly. Aaron, not knowing what to do with his hands, dug the fingers of one of them into the striker's hip and he placed the other on his own thigh. Finally, Kevin broke away to push down his boxers. His cock sprang free immediately, leaking onto his stomach and lower abdomen. Aaron felt a flush creep up his neck, his ears burning at the sight. Kevin smirked and, for the second time, spat into his palm.

“We’re so gross,” the blonde muttered, though deep down, he found it staggeringly hot.

Day began to work slowly over his length, while his other hand traveled up Aaron’s thigh to find his hand as well. He placed it carefully over his own, wordlessly instructing Aaron to follow his rhythm. The blonde swallowed hard as Kevin bit his lip and picked up the pace, groaning.

“I’m not gonna last long, fuck.”

Aaron’s fingers felt clumsy at first, but with Kevin’s larger hand guiding him, he quickly found the groove. The texture was different; firmer, hotter and the way Kevin’s hips began to hitch upward into their joined grip made Aaron’s own breath hitch. He started to exert his own pressure, his thumb mimicking the way Kevin had touched him earlier, swirling over the head as they pumped in a frantic, wet rhythm.

The sound of their slick friction filled the quiet room. Kevin’s head fell back against the headboard, his eyes rolling shut, his throat working as he tried to catch his breath. “Right there… just like that,” Kevin hissed through grit teeth.

Aaron watched him, mesmerized by the loss of control on Kevin’s face. He let go of Kevin’s hand and took over completely, his grip tight and confident now. He used his other hand to steady Kevin’s hip, leaning in to lick at the striker’s pulse point while his hand worked faster and faster. The combination was lethal. Kevin’s breathing turned into a series of broken, guttural hitches.

“Aaron, wait, I’m–shit,” Kevin choked out, his body tightening.

Aaron didn't slow down. He watched with wide eyes as Kevin’s muscles corded, his entire frame vibrating with the effort of holding back. With one final, forceful stroke from Aaron, Kevin’s back arched. He let out a loud, strangled groan, his release spilling over Aaron’s fingers and onto his own stomach in thick, hot pulses.

Kevin collapsed forward, burying his face in Aaron’s shoulder, his chest heaving as the tremors slowly subsided. They sat there for a long moment, tangled together, the silence of the room only broken by the sound of their syncing breaths.

“Just so you know,” Aaron said, “There's no turning backs. You're stuck with me now.”

The striker rolled them over so that Aaron was lying with his back pressed against Kevin’s chest. He buried his face in the crook of the blonde’s neck and inhaled, as if taking in his scent.

“I guess I'll have to live with that.”