Sometimes he wakes up sucking on his fingers, rutting his hips into the bed. He’ll be right on the edge of coming, the wet head of his dick trapped between his hips and the sheets, but he can’t, he can’t, not without – not without something pushed up inside, something stretching him open.

"The bond's fucked up, boys," Jamie says. There are nods around the room, from all the vets. "We gotta fix it." He says it like it's a general statement, like collectively they're all going to do something to fix it. Jason knows it's really directed at him.

After scoring his first game winner, Tyler takes care of all the Bruins, and by take care we mean blow jobs. Afterwards, Marchy takes care of him and his poor come-swollen belly.

Sid draws the short straw after the loss.

Sean’s thought about it before. Lance - or anyone, really - just pushing him down and taking. How he’d just let it happen. How he’d want to just let it happen. But he shouldn’t, and he can’t ask, and so instead he thinks about someone easing his shorts down over his ass and pushing two slippery, anonymous fingers inside him while he sleeps.